The deadly thorn of her words was reserved for those who thought to pick such a flower; she was a wild rose, and no mortal hand could pluck her. Her quiet, gentle voice, never rising, would stab her suitors, and lacerate them. She never failed to strike the vein, and men died from such wounds. Then a winter came on earth, and such flowers as she wilted under the frost. It is a dreadful thing to see, beauty turned into ugliness, but a dead rose’ thorn may prick just as deeply. Though she died, undead she would do her evil.
Pacing across the bridge, the cold rifle in my shoulder moving up and down with every step, I passed through the fog. The air was so thick with mist that the guardhouse quickly faded from sight. One felt he was drowning in that cold air, and it was labor to draw breath. Distantly, I saw a form, dark, ahead. Huffing, I tried to stand a little taller as I approached. I came upon a hooded crone, her face behind a tattered veil. I said the bridge was closed, but lifting her hand to her ear, she made as if deaf.
I leaned down lower and told her she must turn back. Still again, she craned her ear toward me as if she couldn’t hear. A third time I leaned still lower, but before I could speak, she suddenly turned. Her hood flew back, and her veil fell off. O that hideous face! The skin was tanned and sagging; her cheeks drooped like a slobbering dog’s. I looked into her eyes, so hateful, murderous. She sprang upon me, clasping her arms around my shoulders and sinking her teeth into my neck. I think I screamed, but it was too late then.
I fell, lifeless, at her feet. The change was extraordinary. The bent and wizened figure straightened, tearing from her back the beggar’s rags she had worn. Underneath was a silky gown. That disgusting face was transformed: It seemed the face of a twenty year old, with high cheeks and perfect skin. Her hair, which had been stringy and sparse, was now full and long, falling over her shoulders and over her now blossoming bosom. Blood, my blood, reddened her lips, and she wiped a bead of it away which was slowly falling down her chin. That was my vampire’s kiss.
Tale Told 