Dracula's Tower

The sky loomed over the tower

Dark and grey

The tower inhabited the forest

Surrounded by shrubbery and mud

It always rained and poured

A living thing not to be found

By this lonely stone tower

In Transylvania, Romania

Stories went around

Around the world

Of an elderly old man

Supposedly living above

He is said to be Death's right-hand man

Or maybe even Death himself

This morbid creature

Lurking inside a hollow shell

May God bless any lost soul

Who may find himself standing upon the

Devil's door

For he does not know what evil lies

before him

A poor, lost soul

A young man wandering

Does he know where he is?

He stands before the tall gates

Aggressively rapping his bruised knuckles

Upon the ancient, wooden door

The gentleman looked rough

But, nevertheless, a gentleman

Shaggy, long hair that was once well-combed

His demeanor is oddly calm

Considering the location

Without hesitation, the doors swung open

Oh, how they creaked

The rotting wood of centuries

The dark abyss that lay beyond those doors

Slowly lit up by candlelight

One by one, appeared a tiny flame

The young man entered the portal

This enchanting place

"This was a place for kings,"

the man thought to himself

A large crystal chandelier overhead

A red velvet rug beneath his muddy feet

Then he looked before him to see

A long, spiral staircase going up and up

Vanishing somewhere in the ceiling above

Stairway to Heaven, maybe?

He found himself climbing up each step

Numb, like a zombie, and dazed

As if he were under hypnosis

Up, up, and up he went

His brown eyes just barely peeked over

Enough to see the next floor

The sight horrified him

If this invisible Puppet Master had stopped

pulling his strings

He would have skyrocketed out of that place

But he was in no control

He kept walking and looking

Oh, how he hated to look

Upon silk sheets, lay three women

Each one enchantingly beautiful

Garmented in matching silk robes

Their backs arched as they swarmed

'Round a small object: a newborn babe

Red, red, everything painted red

Spilling over their lips

Dancing across their tongues

Red blood

These ghastly fiends

These horrid creatures

What kind of waking nightmare was he in?

They seemed not to notice him

Even as he came to a halt behind them

Some strange force keeping him paralyzed

A sudden coldness fell upon his shoulder

"Do you see?"—There came an eerie whisper

Which startled him beyond belief

The paralysis broke so he could spin around

The Prince of Darkness

Death himself

This was him

Standing over the young man

Six feet tall

His pale skin, a light in the shadows

Draped in a long, red robe

An elderly man, but his aura was terrifying

His presence caught the ladies' attention

Without a doubt

He could feel them creep closer behind him

They tugged at his arms and clothing

Calling out his name—Jonathan

How did they know?

What kind of devilish mind-readers spoke his name?

Had he stepped through the Gates of Hell?

Had he climbed the Stairway of the Damned?

Who were these wicked dames?

The devil's brides

The Concubines of Satan

The young Jonathan was speechless

As they continued pulling on him

As they brought him to his knees

Their cold flesh burned against his warmth

Their lips traced over his skin

Lips parting to reveal sharp canines

He felt everything

Every puncture and tear

Razors shredding his flesh

He cried for help, begged

Begging Death for mercy was pointless

The elderly man watched with a grin

His lip curled to reveal similar "weapons"

This, Jonathan could see.

They were not cannibals, as he once thought.

One word came to mind as he slipped into darkness:

Vampyre.

He was kept in a dungeon

Deep down below

With the trio of succubi

Slowly drained of life day by day

Left to languish and rot

If he were to rot, that is

Or would he become a mindless creature

Such as the four he has now encountered

Damned for eternity

To kill and watch life all around you fade

Could he ever become such a thing?

Was there anything he could do

Before Life's hourglass ran out?

He was weak, so very weak

Too weak to move

He knew he would die like this

He was dying, that he was sure of

As the room and beautiful women around him

Faded to black

Sudden rejuvenation he felt

But, dark, it still was

The room was warm

Unlike the cold chamber he had been in

In fact, there was a source of heat

somewhere

His eyes fluttered before opening

This was a different room indeed

Bright light and red canopy drapes

Everything seemed so clear and pristine

His vision had improved by thousands

It was surreal

He lifted himself up

As to see the room around him

The heat came from a fireplace

in the corner

He quickly spun his head, feeling a sudden

presence

"How is it?,"

This voice—familiar yet new

This low baritone of a voice

Which once spoke his name

Which called him to this place

"What is it I'm supposed to feel?"

These young, brown eyes weren't the same

Nothing was the same

He felt different, saw different

Everything—different

"Who are you?," young Jonathan inquired.

"I-I am a creature of many names

A fiend of myths and legends

I am the one they fear at night

Stay inside and lock your doors,

For there I may lurk

I am Dracula, heir of Dracul."

"Evil spirit of Hell, I beg you

What have you done to me?

I have seen many strange things

Cannibalistic, murderous monsters

Now I see with new eyes

What is happening to me?"

"Death," answered Dracula,

"You are experiencing what everything must

You are dead, young one

But very much alive"

Nonsense, nonsense...

"Nonsense!" Jonathan cried

"I am very much alive, that you are right

I feel as if my mind is running away on me

But I am no fool"

Silently, the creature reached for a glass

A wine glass, nothing more, neatly filled

Wine? Is that what this was?

Jonathan could not be so sure

But he was parched, so very thirsty

So when the glass was offered

He drank...

The thick, maroon liquid crept past his lips

Washed over his tongue

Like rainfall quenching a drought

The sweetest perfection

Jonathan could feel it

All of it

Coursing through his veins—Life

This euphoric feeling...

What was it?

As if on cue,

Dracula replied:

"Eternal life."