Tuesday 14 February 2017

Please Mr. Postman, have you a letter just for me?

Ebony sighed as she picked up the post off the mat, a brochure on coffins for her father and two magazines for her mother, Midnight Style and Gothic Housekeeping. It wasn't what was there so much as what wasn't, with a heavy heart Ebony realised another Valentines day would pass without any card from a beau. She'd long since ceased to count the card that appeared under her bedroom door every Valentines Eve. Her mother was not the subtlest of people and creating a sense of curiosity was not her strong point either as a card signed with just the letter B and a picture of a bat had proved over the years. While Ebony loved her loyal Batty pal in a way that not even a beau could replace in her affections, she was not blinded to the fact that he could not write let alone go and purchase a card.

Placing the post, such as it was, on the tray in the hall Ebony walked dejectedly into the library, alongside Batty, books always provided comfort. She curled up in the big chair near the fire and took down the biography of her several times great grandfather to read through once more, though of course the ending was so sad, but then as her father pointed out it was a biography. She really wished someone would write a new version someday as she rather thought the writer of this one, a certain Bram Stoker seemed rather biased against her illustrious ancestor. Still she still love to read it and of his story on arriving in this country and his attempts to be accepted in to high society, his numerous love affairs and adventures. It all sounded so thrilling, life just wasn't like that anymore in the 21st century, at least Ebony had seen no evidence of it.

Maybe it was exiting in some places, she'd seen some of the modern vampires who had actually become film and TV stars, she was sure they must have glamours existences. Her mother of course didn't approve of such things, called them imposters. In fact she seemed to disapprove of most of the modern world. She nearly had a fit when Ebony came home with sparkles in her hair after a short holiday with her lovely but rather eccentric Aunt Corvidia. She threatened to ground Ebony for a century, remove the TV and no more visits to her Aunt who was now classified as a bad influence. It took quite some time for her father to calm things down again. Ebony settled down to read, if life wouldn't provide any excitement she'd disappear into her books.


The letter box clattered once more, strange, we hardly ever get a second post anymore, 
that is something else that seems now to belong to another age.

   




 
Thanks to Holly from Hollys Horrorland for once more hosting
this annual Vampire's Day Soiree. Please visit her blog if you wish 
to find the other people playing along today.

8 comments:

  1. Ebony's mother sounds like a real bore, not to mention a difficult person to live with. Aunt Corvidia, on the other hand, yay! I hope Ebony can go live with her some day, I also hope that she does get to read an unbiased biography of famous ancestor.

    I love the uplifting ending, Jane, particularly the sneaky way in which you delivered it!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Oh, I love everything about this... Ebony is fang-tastic, Batty is splendid, and the little letter and copy of Dracula... Squeeeeeeeeeeeee!! ♥

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Ebony was sulking because I was writing about the undead and not including her, so I had to invite her to take part in the Soiree.

      Delete
    2. I'm so glad Ebony and Batty attended the Soiree. I LOVE them and this story!

      Delete
  3. Very well done--and the pics accentuated the story so well. It looks like Ebony has a secret admirer after all.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Such a funny antecedent, I love both the beautiful detail of Ebony and her familiar Batty is exceptionally cute.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Aw! Ebony and Batty are just too cute! I'm glad at the hint of a happy surprise for her at the end.

    ReplyDelete

Thank you for leaving a kind comment it's appreciated.