Camilia Mondragon strode purposefully down the cobblestone streets of London, England. As the pale full moon reflected off of the newly formed puddles, the rain steadily cascaded down. Camilia had been pursued for the last few minutes by what she believed to be a homicidal killer. A large, striding figure attired in a white felt hat and khaki overcoat followed closely behind. The pursuer shrank into the shadows, his rhythmic footsteps echoed by the clock-like beating of his prey’s heart. Although the chase was far from rapid, the pace was decidedly faster than a leisurely stroll. Every few steps, the young Romanian woman glanced behind her to gauge her hunter’s progress. With every look backwards, the villainous figure hugged the streetlamps, trying to appear nonchalant. Camilia could not help but notice the sharp object in the fiend’s grip, but could not discern whether the weapon was a knife or something more crude. As her panic intensified, she reflected on what brought her to this time and place.
Camilia Mondragon was born into a family of considerable means. Her father, Prince Mondragon, ruled Romania for several prosperous years, until a rebellion led by a young Turk named Vlad Dracula and his followers forced Mondragon from power. His young daughter watched her father captured, then brutally murdered. Hidden away for several years, she managed to raise herself, surviving on her wits and, yes, her beauty. At the surreal age of ten, Camilia began plying her trade as a prostitute. It was a terrifying, demeaning existence, but it kept her alive. At the age of sixteen, she met a young Count, someone who appeared to be perhaps ten years her senior. Although she was an uneducated street urchin, the young nobleman could see the nobility in Camilia. At their first chance meeting, in one of the seedier sections of Transylvania, they met and fell in love. Soon after, they were married.
Transylvania is a region renowned for its superstitions. The legends of werewolves and vampires have made this Romanian village infamous throughout the world. Camilia never invested in such wild meanderings, and she and her royal husband lived a life of seclusion, in an expansive castle far removed from the commoners who engaged in such prattle.
Unlike the popular fairy tales, this seemingly perfect marriage ended in depressing and horrendous fashion. The union was undone by the primitive mindset of the townspeople which the royal couple hoped to escape. One evening, as her husband was out hunting, he was identified by one of the superstitious lot as resembling a certain bloodsucker which had been terrorizing the region. Immediately, a mob was formed, and the poor nobleman was brutalized and murdered.
Heartbroken, Camilia vowed to abandon this absurd district and the mindless citizens who populated it. She chartered a ship the next morning headed for London, England. There she was determined to start a new life, returning to her roots as a woman of the night. She had heard all the rumors of the monstrous Mr. Hyde and the diabolical Ripper, both of whom seemed to possess an unholy appetite for hookers. Undeterred, she boldly stepped into England, rented an apartment on Baker Street (because she assumed that the world-famous detective who resided nearby may keep her safe from the twin terrors) and was reborn as a London streetwalker.
For the past two weeks, all had gone well for Camilia. She had benefited from the male Brit’s infatuation of foreign females and had begun to build up some revenue for herself. Last night, however, something had gone terribly wrong. The police discovered the bloody remains of her last lover. They traced his activities of the day to her and warned her that, although he usually specialized in the murder of call girls, this could be the work of the Ripper. Camilia had decided that tonight she would not ply her trades, but, after checking her cupboard and discovering it bare, decided to risk a late night walk to the marketplace. It was upon leaving the market that she noticed the stranger. Now, she was undoubtedly being pursued by the fiend.
Camilia’s step quickened. Just around the corner and she would be safe in her apartment. She cast a fearful look behind her. The man was closer now. She could see the door to her room now. Just a few more feet, and….suddenly, she felt an icy cold grip around her wrist. She saw the fiend draw his deadly weapon. That face! She knew what she must do. With a bone-chilling shriek, she bellowed, “Help, help, oh God, help me. It is the Ripper!” As fortune would have it, the great detective and his foil were traipsing nearby. When the shouts were uttered, Holmes and Watson came rushing up to the helpless maiden. With lightning-like reflexes, Holmes pulled his handgun from his coat, and pulled the trigger.
Camilia’s tracker lay in a bloody pool on the London sidewalk. Sherlock Holmes bent over and pulled out a ragged wallet from the dead man’s overcoat. “It appears that the mystery of the Ripper has been solved, my dear Watson. It seems that, ironically enough, this German gentleman was our own fair Britain’s greatest criminal.” Turning to the frightened woman, Holmes asked, “Are you alright, Miss….”
Before he could finish the question, the detective noticed that his trusted friend, Dr. Watson, was also lying face down in his own blood. In a flash, Camilia was upon Holmes, her fangs sunk deep into his jugular vein. Holmes’ body crumpled. As she wiped the blood from her lips, the vampire answered the dead sleuth’s question. “Yes, Mr. Holmes. I am quite well. And the name is Miss Mondragon. But you may address me by my married name, Countess Dracula.” Camilia stepped over the prone bodies of Watson, Holmes, and Van Helsing and disappeared into the fog-shrouded London night. The hunted was now free to become the hunter again.
0 Comments