Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?

Part 5

She focused on the stone itself. It was dark gray, weathered by time, covered with lichens. The lantern section of a church steeple came to mind. A solid base with those few letters and the date. There were four columns. ‘How weird.’ She thought. The top of the columns looked like spears. Or those wrought iron fence posts fancy houses had. Spikes. Suddenly there was a sharp pain under her chin. The columns supported a solid top, adorned with a cross. This cross was slightly different from the Christian crosses she knew. Instead of one bar at the top, there were two. The very top one shorter than the one below it. At some point there had been something in the center of the stone. Time had eroded it or someone had stolen it.

She sat on the ground near the stone. Letting her eyes trail up the vine work coming out from the center up the pillars to the cross.

Something was happening to her. Anger overtook her. An anger not at the world but more of a self loathing. Anger at being found out? Struggling, fighting, anger because….. Maybe not. Self loathing turned to delight. More on point, freedom. Anger at freedom? Anger at the feeling of joy? She hugged up her knees. Her body felt like it was going to fly apart. Maybe if she hugged her knees as tightly as she could, there may come some control over this feeling. Suddenly, she was tired. Every muscle ached. She felt freedom, release. Release from what?

Something wet and a little coarse. Was she dreaming? What was wet and a little coarse? Something was rubbing against her cheek? Warm puffs. As she pulled her hand to her face, it touched something soft and furry. “You’re soft.” She muttered unable to open her eyes.

There was noise. Sound. Screaming? “Chico!” It had to be screaming. “Chico!” The voice sounded desperate. “Chico!”

As she opened her eyes, a beagle came into view. She patted its head “Hi there.”

“Chico!” The voice was a little closer but still desperate. The beagle started howling.

“Are you Chico?” Bo smiled continuing to rub its head. The dog licked again at her cheek.

“Chico!”

He howled again.

More sounds filled her ears. Foot steps crunching pine needles. Chico bounced off her. “Good boy.”

“Are you okay?” It was her breakfast companion.

“She okay, Chad?”

Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?