Into the vampire’s dungeon, the wayfarer was led. No torture chamber with the air compacted in a cacophony of agonized screams met his burning ears, but the dreadful atmosphere of death, the silence of the tomb, the weight of doom and damnation, was the unavoidable half impression his fading senses brought to him. Pallbearers seemed his guards, walking at the corners of his bier. The thin, dried out figures shuffled across the stony floor, swaying in unison, as they passed the other cells.
Sad, wearied eyes gazed out at him from the barred portholes of the black and heavy doors, or else nothing at all but darkness, and how deep was that darkness.
A skeleton, more emaciated than the four, smiled at him as all skulls smile. He held open a thick, oaken door with one hand, while the other jangled a ring of keys from which drooped a long, thin chain leading back to his belted waist.
“Welcome, stranger,” he seemed to whisper without moving his jaw or teeth. He had no lips to move at all. “We hope your stay will be long and comfortable. This cellar is home to many vintages, and you will be set here to age for the delight of our host.”
Shuffling steps carried the helpless victim into his prison where he heard the moaning complaints of others unseen in the darkness—their moans and their clicking shackles! Cold metal bit into his wrists as his listless arms were lifted from his sides.
“Rest, get your strength,” said the voice from the skeleton as the poor victim was laid upon the bare stone. “I am told your flavor is a favored one. Such blessings will preserve your life here, just ask your neighbor. He has been with us a long, long time. Be of good cheer. You too will live a long life. We will make sure of it.”
Psst! Hey kid, wanna buy a book?
