Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?

Part 8 The End

This time when Bo opened her eyes, it was the sheriff. When he realized she was awake, he pointed, “this is Mini from the diner. She’s studying to be a physical therapist. We are going to get you up.”

Gently, Mini moved Bo’s feet toward the floor. The sheriff put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her up. She screamed from the pain. Chad swung the door open. “Good, you might need to help.” The sheriff calmly spoke. “Little lady, walk to the door and we will leave you alone for today.”

Every move she made invoked a scream. Mini was on one side, the sheriff on the other and Chad was in front of her. Each step shot needles from the bottom of her feet, up her legs. Each step brought a scream from her lungs and tears to her eyes. Chad locked eyes with her. His black eye wasn’t shining quite as brightly. But his eyes had filled with moisture listening to her screams.

She collapsed at the door. He caught her carting her to bed. “5 more minutes NuNu,” she hissed.

“How’d she know that?” The sheriff asked.

Bo focused on the yellow ring under Chad’s eye. Her arm burnt as she tried to raise it. I.v’s had been attached to her. “You’ve been out for days now.” He held up a tablet, “I’ve been learning about you. 5 MINUTE PLAN is the title of a poem you’ve written where you just want 5 more minutes of sleep.” He paused. She just blinked. “Your blog wasn’t hard to find.” He laid the tablet on his lap, “how did you know my sister used to call me NuNu?”

With great effort she squeaked out, “I didn’t.”

“How do you know that song you keep humming?”

Bo whispered, “what song?”

As she closed her eyes, Chad screamed “don’t pass out on me again!” But she was gone.

Voices filled her head, “she’s been speaking Spanish, French, and Russian according to the internet.” That voice was the sheriff

“This bullshit all started with a visit to the cemetery.” That was Chad.

“She wasn’t like this when you first met her?” That was Dan.

Chad sighed, “no.”

“How do we fix this?” The sheriff spoke, maybe.

She heard the door open or close? The voices were too muffled to hear what was being said. Was she trying to get up? She needed to hear what was being said. A desperate pull was urging her out of bed. She thought she saw her hand wrap around the i.v. pole. It struggled against her as the carpet grabbed at its wheels. She kept telling herself she had to hear. Had to know what was being said. This force that was pulling her to the door felt like it was outside of her. Invisible yet strong. Pushing her to the door. A glance at her feet set off alarm bells inside her mind. Her toes were curled inward; to her eyes, her feet were blue. Swollen ankles protruded from under the hospital gown someone had dressed her in. ‘Must hear!’ Raced over and over in her mind.

Her hand was shaking wildly as it reached for the knob; it was absent of her presents. The door knob was blurry. She wasn’t sure it existed. ‘Open it!’ Her mind screamed.

The knob wiggled with her finger tips only centimeters from it. Light poured through the crack blinding her.

Chad was standing; with a bewildered look on his face, in the bright glow of the door. He caught her as she fell.

Bo was dreaming?

Chad, the sheriff and Dan were standing by the gravestone. The sheriff started digging in top of the grave. A perfect ditch. “Normally, I don’t condone the destruction of graves.” He wiped his brow, “I’ll make an exception in this case.”

All three men pushed the stone in the ditch.

Dan started beating it with a sledgehammer. Screaming and sobbing as he pounded away at the stone. Chad too was crying. His tears paled in comparison to the heartbreak Dan was pouring out.

Bo felt herself scream. She felt the fall. The pounding on the gravestone. As if it was happening to her body. Each thrust felt like a bone breaking; blood vessels busting. Her skin burnt. As they covered the rubble with dirt, she couldn’t breathe. The weight of all that soil was crushing her chest. She wanted to scream but couldn’t.

Something was happening to her. A smile danced across her lips. Wet, a little coarse, what 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 opening her eyes. A bone shaped tag danced before her, “Van Helsing?” A giggle tried to escape her raw throat, “Chico isn’t short for Van Helsing.”

Chad laced his fingers through hers, “hi. His name is Van when the sheriff calls for him. But for whatever reason he will only answer to Chico for me.”

Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?

Fall craft

Recently, I had the opportunity to teach a craft class. The person that was suppose to teach couldn’t and I was the pinch hitter. Needless to say, this brought out the nerves. I can’t do this.
I purchased 2 glass goblets at the Dollar Tree to practice. The parameters of the class: the students would have 55 minutes to paint their glass. GREAT!
If you would like to try this craft at home, you will need: at least 2 regular craft paint brushes, 1 large craft paint brush, some water in a cup/glass to clean your brushes. A plate or palette to put your paint on. (I just paint right out of the bottles.) 1 glass goblet, paint to match which ever project you choose, and some paper towels to dry your brushes with and if you would like to stay with the 55 minutes, a hair dryer.
The class was small, which was great. We kept blowing fuses with our hairdryers. The ladies did a fantastic job.

Winter Season

Uninvited guest

“For what?” Her smile was warm.

“This afternoon. I haven’t played in the snow,” he thought for a moment. “In a long long time.”

“You’re welcome.” Her eyes sparkled. “I love snow, winter, rain, it’s magical to me.” She sighed. “I know that sounds silly.”

“No, not at all.” He blushed. “Not at all.”

“Do you not own a t.v.?”

“There’s one in the guest room. I don’t watch a lot of t.v. I have this condition, that if the t.v. is on, I’m watchin’ it…”

She interrupted him, wiggling her fingers at him as she talked. “The house could burn down around you and you’d never know it?”

“How’d you know?”

She laughed, slapping her knee, “I’m the same way. It could be fishin’ and I’m watchin’ it. Golf, it doesn’t matter. The president of the United States could be sittin’ in my living room, but if that t.v.’s on, he doesn’t exist.”

He smiled, “oblivious to the world around me.”

“It must be like a human bug zapper.”

He chuckled, “I’d never thought of it that way.” A beeping noise went off in the kitchen. “Dinner.” He helped her out of the floor. This time when they touched he felt his right arm tingle all the way to his shoulder. Right, he told himself. Not even. That only happens in the movies.

“Your fire place, wood or gas?” She asked.

“Gas. But I love the sound of wood, so I paid the extra for the sound package.” He blushed, “why?”

“Just being nosy.”

“It used to be a wood burner but when my aunt got sick the wood smoke choked her so we put in gas.”

“COPD?”

“One of many health problems.”

They were busy eating their soup and enjoying a quiet dinner when someone pounded at the door. Oscar jumped. Esther thought it was weird, but said nothing. It was a good thing his spoon was empty or he would have been wearing soup. “I’ll be right back.” He excused himself from the table. From his reaction, she figured he knew who was at the door.

“Least I not beat the door down dis time.” The voice roared.

Okay, Esther thought. Scar-rie

“So ja get city trashed moved in?”

What? She almost choked on her cornbread. How dare him. He doesn’t even know me. Trash!

This little man waltzed into the kitchen as if Esther wasn’t even sitting there. As he walked past the table, the odor from this fellow about knocked her out of her chair. It was a mixture of beer, sweat, and cheap cologne. She now knew what $3.00 worth of bathroom Polo from a truck stop smelt like. His clothing looked like they hadn’t been washed in months. Esther could appreciate a work uniform. But to not wash one at all was a lack of pride.

Oscar stood in the door way, his head hung in shame. Little man stirred in the soup pot sniffing as the steam wafted up and out. “You got maw’s cookin’ knows how but I got dad’s good looks.” He wiggled with delight. “You sure you not one of dem homo’s? Sum times you act just like a girl. Take the ways you spruced up this house and the way you dress.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

Esther couldn’t stand this little man. Even if it meant losing her new friend, she had to say something. “There isn’t anything sexier than a man that knows his way around a kitchen. That old saying the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach; for us females it’s, ‘honey you cook dinner tonight and you can have anything you want.’ And as far as the decorating goes, what can be sexier than a man that can pick out his own drapes then shake the dust off yours.”

Oscar got a private joy and charge from her comments.

Winter Season

My last weight loss journey: choices

Life is a series of choices. Should I get up and go to work today? Or not? Should I wear jeans or dress pants? Should I eat breakfast at home or wait?

When you are dieting, more choices take shape. I want a candy bar but I’ll eat these apple chips. I will drink more water. Have a banana instead of a sucker.

I’m still eating some junk. For dessert after lunch, I ate a little Reese’s bat.

Instead of this single serving (1.25 ounce) bag of apple chips, I’d much rather have a bag of Doritos.

Don’t eat the whole cornflake chewy; which is what I want to do. Break it up into the 3 servings recommended on the package.

All the choices.

Update: I’m gonna have to buy a belt. 🤣🎉 I guess I could use some rope. 🤣

My last weight loss journey: the chart

Personal history

What major historical events do you remember?

If readers will indulge me, I am going to deviate from world history to some personal history. I would like to thank everyone that has read/liked my work. My first post to reach 50 likes. Thank you so much. This blog was started for a few reasons: boredom relief, to share my work, a way to get what I was feeling inside out. Who knows where this blog will lead. I know where I’d like you to see it go. Again, thank you so much. You are the best.

Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?

Part 7

Bo opened her eyes to see an old man’s profile standing in her open door. Long white hair. Long white beard. Chad stepped into view, nose to nose with this man. “Coward!” He roared again.

The sheriff’s hat bobbed in the background.

“If you are not a coward, tell me then.” Was this man about to break out in tears. He looked into the room, locking eyes with Bo. His thin haggard frame began to shake. Each step toward her was a clumsy mess. He fell in a chair that was near her. Tears streamed down his face. “Are you able to talk to me?”

“Brown blob.” She giggled.

He looked confused toward the men that followed him. Chad pointed at the sheriff. “Oh.” Compassion filled his features as he turned back to Bo. “What do you remember?” He whispered.

Dan; if that was his name, wasn’t as old as she had thought. White hair, white beard, sun drenched skin, but his eyes told the real story. He wasn’t as old as he appeared. Maybe her age? Maybe he was standing at the crossroads of life as well?

“Nothing.” She finally whispered.

He looked again desperately at the other two men. Chad was staring at the floor. The sheriff at Dan.

Chico bounced on the bed, army crawled up to her shoulder and laid his head down. It took massive amounts of energy for her to raise her hand to pet him. “Good boy.” She moaned. “You’re soft.” She hissed, “5 more minutes

*When she opened her eyes, Dan was still sitting in that chair. His chin rested on his chest. No, he had on a different shirt. Didn’t he?

“Hi.” His voice pulled her attention from his shirt to his face. He was no longer angry. “I’m Dan.”

“Bo,” she whispered.

“Chad said your name was Ruby.”

She smiled. Was she able to smile? Smiling took energy. In her head, she was smiling. “I like Bo.”

“How do you feel?”

“Tired.” She thought for a long minute, “sore.”

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

With closed eyes; Bo started humming.

She thought she heard the door open. “Bastard! You filthy bastard.” Was Dan crying? The room was filled with crashing sounds.

“That’s enough!” A very authoritative voice said.

Yes, he was crying. She could hear it in his voice as “you filthy bastard”, rang out again.

Bo opened her eyes to see Chad sitting in the chair sporting a black eye. “Hurt?” She mumbled.

“You hurt Dan worse. That song you’ve been humming was ‘their song’.”

“What song?”

Chad sat straight up in the chair. “What song?! You’ve been humming a tune for days now.”

“Days, NuNu?”

Chad’s heart stopped, “what did you say?”

“5 more minutes.”

Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?

Winter Season

The invitation

Ask. A voice inside his head called. Ask. “I…” he stammered looking away from her; “made a large pot of soup and I’d be honored if you’d join me for dinner.”

She was stunned. The two halves of her spoke at once saying hell no and trust him. Should she let down her guard and accept his invitation? Shoot, she’d already spent the better part of the evening playing in the snow with him. “Why not?” She smiled, shoving her hands into her pants pockets.

“There’s no reason why not. Either you want to or you don’t.”

“Oh, you really are an ellic through and thru” She giggled.

At the door, Oscar took her coat, slipped off his shoes, then spread out her coat in front of the fire place. It was soaking wet. When he took his coat off, he was dressed very handsomely. He had on a pair of jeans and a dark gray sweater and a white dress shirt with pink and gray stripes on under the sweater. Very metro, she thought. She had this strange notion in her head that because he lived in God’s Country that he would be wearing Carhart and flannel. Not that there was anything wrong with it. It was just an image she had in her mind.

“Do I need to take my shoes off?” There was a hint of concern in her voice.

“I never ask my guest too.” He studied her face. He could tell this made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t anything like any of the women he knew. The couple women he had invited over to his house had no reservations about taking their shoes off. Odor or not.

“But you prefer them too?”

He gave a slight grin as he lowered his head toward the floor, “yes.”

She took her shoes off right beside his. Nail polish! He thought. Nail polish? He disappeared into the house. As she looked around the room, she noticed the coffee table covered with papers. Some had big red grades on them. Other’s didn’t.

“School teacher?” She asked as he walked back into the room.

“Yes, high school science.” He handed her a pair of socks.

She blushed, “thanks. I packed all of mine up. Silly me didn’t lay a pair out to wear.”

“It happens.” He picked up her shoes and put them as close to the fire as he could get them before toddin’ off again.

She sat down in the floor between the coffee table and the bay window looking out toward her house. She couldn’t help but notice that the entire living room was oriented so that he could look out the window. But as she studied the room, it was a logical choice unless he wanted to stare at the fireplace.

For a man, his living room was well put together. His couch was chocolate brown with tan pillows; two overstuffed recliners were tan with chocolate brown cushions. The fireplace was behind the couch. It seemed a little odd that the back of the couch was toward the fireplace. But what was oddest of all, no t.v. There were a couple framed prints on the walls and several live plants. The room was neat and very tasteful, except for the papers around and covering the coffee table. She figured he was either metro sexual or gay.

He sat two cups beside her in the floor before he sat down. “Hot chocolate.”

She took the warm cup, nuzzling it to her nose. “If you don’t mind me saying, all the men I know,” she breathed in the heat from her cup as she corrected herself, “knew that enjoyed hot chocolate are gay.”

“The straight ones don’t know what they’re missin’.” They both laughed. “Thank you.”

Winter Season