Archive for Gothic Tales


Posted in Dracula, Fairy Tales, Frankenstein, Gothic Tales, The Wolf Man with tags , , , , , , on January 23, 2012 by Manuel Paul Arenas

Cover art, by Jesus Gutierrez, for the 1st Edition of the “Gothilocks” comic.

And so they sat: Count Dracula, the Wolf-man, and Frankenstein’s monster, alternately staring at the mean mess spread before them, and the dreary countenances of their compeers.

“What I would give for a nice young milkmaid to feed on,” said Dracula, lisping through his overbite.

“Yeah, then when you were done draining her, I could take her limbs to gnaw on and store the rest in the smokehouse for jerky during the winter!” growled the Wolf-man.

“Jerky would be nice.” uttered the monster.

“I thought you were a vegetarian!” the Wolf-man barked.

“Yeah, well maybe I’m getting tired of all this squirrel food, ever think of that?” retorted the monster, “I need to find something I can really sink my teeth into.”

“Amen to that!” blurted Dracula.

“Something with resistance, but that won’t crack my brittle denture”, the monster continued, as he absentmindedly ran his great gray hand along his massive jaw.

“Hey, you’re the one who said, ‘I do not destroy the lamb and the kid, to glut my appetite; acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment’.” His lupine messmate howled.

The monster, frustrated and somewhat embarrassed, just clenched his teeth and pounding his big cadaverous fist on the table, responded with an agitated “Arrgh!”

“Gentleman, please!” hissed the count, “Why don’t we go for a walk in the woods, and work out some of this pent up choler!” The other two mumbled their consent and off they went.

Gothilocks had lost her way in the forest looking for belladonna to blanch her complexion, which just wasn’t fair enough for her taste. Even though she was renowned for her lovely mane, which framed her round face in shiny black ringlets, she still secretly coveted the pallor of that bitch Faustine, who was so wan and thin that she looked positively consumptive! “I’m going to get that ghostly hue,” Gothilocks swore, “even if it kills me!”

For a self-proclaimed “Child of the Night”, the little darkling was starting to get uncharacteristically worried now that she noticed the crepuscular sky beginning to drape over the treetops and settle in heavy folds ‘twixt the branches. She had all but lost hope when she noticed a dingy little cottage in a clearing. She was feeling weary, as well as a little peckish, and figured this was the only shelter she was bound to find this deep in the woods. It was a little forbidding and uninviting in its appearance, but it would have to do.

She walked up to the curtained window, caught a glimpse of her reflection in the moonlight, and stopped to primp herself for her meeting with the denizens of this lowly hovel. She wanted to look her best so that they would automatically take her in on account of her jetty locks, and fetching good looks. She grabbed the heavy knocker, unusually ornate for such a paltry looking place, and rapped three times.

No answer. She tried again, only this time a little harder, and to her surprise the door swung open! She sashayed across the threshold and stopped for a moment to take everything in, as well as look for a host to charm.

“Hello there, is anyone home? Hello!” No reply. She noticed a table with three places set for supper. At the head of the table was a fancy dish with a thick red fluid in it. To the side of the dish was an inlaid ebon spoon, with a small bat design on it; the bat had its wings wrapped around it as if it were sleeping with its head at the top of the grip and its body tapering as it wound its way down the spoon. Placing it into the bowl, she scooped up a generous spoonful of its ichorous contents, which she eyed suspiciously, as she mused,

“What is this, borscht? Wait, there’s no sour cream, it must be gazpacho! Either way, I don’t do cold soup, and this stuff looks like it’s starting to congeal.”

She then dropped the spoon into the bowl, causing some of the dish’s contents to spill onto the table, and moved on to the next seat. Before her sat a dish with a large marrowbone that had many teeth marks on it, which indicated that it had been chewed a great deal by something with a large bite.

“What, they let the family dog eat with them at the dinner table? Ew!”

“Ew!” sketch by artist Kim Mc Kelvey.

Disgusted, she pushed away the bone and went to the last place, where she found a dish full of nuts and berries. She figured this was as good as it was going to get without any hosts in sight, so she ate them all up, and washed it down with a swig of water from an Evian bottle she had in her satchel.

Feeling sleepy, she went upstairs to the loft where the beds were kept. She saw a casket, which she climbed into, because she always wondered what it would feel like to be in one. It was too creepy for her though, and she began to feel claustrophobic, so she bailed. She saw a basket with cushions and blankets, but upon closer inspection, found them to be repellant with animal sweat.

Finally, she found a slab, which had a small cushion at the top, and even though it was a bit more like a table than a bed, it reminded her of some Japanese accommodations she had seen in a magazine.

“This is no worse than my futon at home,” she thought, and soon she was fast asleep.

Now, the night was waning, and our boys were all tuckered out from walking around the forest and venting spleen, so they decided to head back and eat their supper, no matter how dismally pathetic it was. Upon arrival, they found the front door ajar, so they chose to enter the cottage with caution; Dracula leading, reddened penetrating eyes peering out from above his heavy black cape. Wolf-man followed, beady black eyes squinting, snout a-snarl, teeth bared for an attack; and the monster trailed behind, his yellowed eyes wide as doubloons, nervously looking about, like an oversized, and misshapen boy, frightened out of his patch-worked gourd.

In the main room, where their meal had been set, they found a sight which caused the trio some concern and, for the monster at least, some degree of dismay.

“Someone has spilt my plasma potage!” cried Dracula

“Someone has been hanging around my marrowbone, I can smell it!” yelped the Wolf-man.

“Someone has eaten all of my nuts and berries!” sobbed the monster, “Now I won’t have anything to eat for supper tonight!”

“Don’t worry mon frere, all is not lost,” the Wolf-man said to the monster, as he patted his elbow reassuringly, with a furry black-taloned hand, “for I smell an intruder in our midst!”

And so the Wolf-man led his friends up the ladder, into the loft, where they found a disturbing scene.

“Someone has been in my casket!” gasped Dracula, aghast at the thought of someone else desecrating his immaculate crib.

“Someone has been snooping around my basket!” gnarred the Wolf-man irately.

“Yeah, well someone has been sleeping on my slab, and they’re still there!” bawled the monster, “Where am I going to sleep now?”

The three friends stood around the monster’s sleeping slab and began to marvel at the beauty of their uninvited guest.

“Boy, she sure is pretty,” said the monster, as he rubbed the tears out of his eyes and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Yeah, her hair is so shiny and black,” said the Wolf-man, “I just love the way the curls frame her pretty little face. I mean look at that skin, white as alabaster.”

“I’ve seen whiter,” Dracula interjected, “but yes, she is a fine specimen.”

Then the Wolf-man grinned a toothy smile and growled slyly, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Dracula responded with a leer, as the monster looked back towards his comely usurper and said, “Jerky.”