Dragula

by Ma'am Stoker

Genres: Horror

Synopsis

In a land where the wolves howl 'yassss kween' and Bloody Marys are the only cocktail on offer, Jonathan Harker (a most basic b*tch) makes a series of horrifying discoveries at the House of Dragula. A battle between old queens draws fresh blood as the VAMPageant grudge match looms closer. Will Dragula defeat the infamous Van High Heelsing? Will a new protege werk the cape? Will the old bat ever learn to contour? It's all to play for as these classic characters step out of the shadows and into the shade for a tale of unflinching death drops and the ultimate lip sync for your (after) life.

Release date: September 27, 2018

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 112

Sample

Finally! thought Jonathan Harker, as he glimpsed a ‘Welcome’ sign to Tuckerweiner-von-Sea. It had been an arduous journey to the heart of Transylvania, and he was delighted to arrive at the village where he would spend the night before journeying on to Castle Dragula the following day.

Tuckerweiner-von-Sea was a strange place, mused Jonathan, noting the chipped mirrorballs hanging haphazardly from a signpost. It gave the impression of having once been a bustling village that had now faded from its past glory. Several shops had closed down, leaving only their signage – a manicurist, two hairdressers, a plus-size lady’s shoe shop, a fabric stall, a Party City … Jonathan supposed this must have been some kind of spa town back in the day.

He also spied various tattered posters as the horse and cart trundled through the streets. He managed to make out the lettering on one, which advertised a show by Hairy Shelley – a remarkable-looking woman who also had a luxuriant beard, if the illustration was to be believed – entitled ‘Skankenstein’, and promising a ‘monstrously slutty time’. Well, now, that sounded interesting, although Jonathan reminded himself that he was engaged – to the charming Mina, no doubt pining for him back in the UK – and that he was here to focus on business, namely the restoration of Castle Dragula.

The clip-clopping halted – no, not the sound of heels on the runway, Dear Reader, try to control yourself – but the noise from the exhausted pony that had been dragging the cart for days.

‘You’re staying with the Cummerbunds, aren’t you?’ shouted the driver.

‘Yes, that’s me!’ called back Jonathan.

‘Well, we’re here.’

Jonathan scrambled down from the carriage, catching up his suitcase. Tbh, he was glad to see the back of the villagers. They’d been a strange bunch of travel companions, refusing to play rummikub, shuddering theatrically when he told them he was on his way to Castle Dragula, and constantly trying to ply him with garlic – he presumed as some kind of snack, but he had surreptitiously thrown the cloves out of the window at the first chance he got.

Hopefully the Cummerbunds might be a little more civilised, he thought, as he entered an adorbs thatched cottage, so rustic chic! There was no one to be seen at the reception counter, so he tinged the bell and waited.

After a few minutes, an elderly woman shuffled through. She was as wrinkled as a pair of sweaty tights hastily yanked off, scrunched up and thrown into a corner, thought Jonathan. Wtf, where did that metaphor even come from?! Jonathan shook his head. He’d had some pretty weird thoughts ever since he’d entered Transylvania. Like, why were his own clothes so boring, and wouldn’t it be nice if there was more glitter in the world? It must have been all that fresh mountain air, and the lashings of local wines with names like Golden Krone – not the best drag name we’ve ever heard, but Jonathan has to start somewhere.

‘Mrs Cummerbund, I presume?’ said Jonathan, turning on what he thought was his big-city charm.

The old woman nodded once, scowling.

‘Well, dear lady, I am Jonathan Harker – an ambitious young estate agent here to sign off on the reparations of Castle Dragula. I am most wonderfully excited, as I hear the Count is a man of exquisite tastes—’

Mrs Cummerbund winced. ‘Sir, please do not speak of Dragula’s tastes!’

‘Well, why ever not?’ asked Jonathan.

She shook her head. ‘If you think a Dorito-dusted velour onesie counts as off-duty chic, that’s your business. Here’s your room key. Oh, and there’s a letter for you.’ She pushed a note across the reception desk with trembling hands, before disappearing once more.

Rolling his eyes at such nonsensical behaviour, Harker opened the letter, which was from the Count.

BBBBBBZZZZ!

So excited to have you here in my lands, FINALLY! Hope the journey not too awful and some lolz with the villagers possible, they’re quite good fun when you get the party started.

Little favour to help a gal out. Can u go to Lil Bloodsucker’s Junk Emporium and pick up a parcel for me my niece?? It’s a corset, size medium, you can try it if you like!!! Also, get some glue and tweezers, they need to be strong as these brows are wiry as fuck.

Looking forward to spilling the B – I mean T!!!!!!! – with you later.

Love,

Dragula xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

That’s nice, thought Jonathan, even though he had understood less than a quarter of this rambling letter and presumed it had come from a frail old man struggling to make himself understood in English. There was a scrawled order form along with the note, which Jonathan tucked in his pocket before depositing his case in his room then setting out for an evening stroll to find Lil.

It took Jonathan some efforts to persuade the villagers to guide him to Lil Bloodsucker’s, but finally a girl pointed a trembling and badly manicured finger in the direction of a cute little stone cottage, the rural idyll completed by a heavy-set lady of middle age viciously chainsmoking out front.

‘Mrs Bloodsucker, I presume?’ called Jonathan, tiptoeing his way up the path.

‘Who’s asking?’ she replied in a voice that sounded like something out of Jurassic Park, and lit up another cig.

‘We haven’t been formally introduced, but I am Jonathan Harker, and I am a guest of Count Dragula’s. He has asked if I will pick up a parcel for his niece and various other … necessities.’

This statement set Lil Bloodsucker off into a hacking laugh that seemed life-threatening, what with all the coughing and spitting that ensued.

‘Niece!! Niece! Oh that’s a good one, come this way, Mr Harker … It’s trade at least and I don’t get much of that nowadays …’

Mrs Bloodsucker turned, and Harker followed her ample backside into the shop’s interior. It was full of strange wonders – wigs in every hue imaginable, fabrics that seemed to sparkle with a life of their own, strange foam pads – and the shoes! Oh, the shoes! Harker’s hands trembled and began to move with a power of their own towards a pair of rhinestone platforms, before he snapped out . . .