3 - Varsity

Europe, piercing, necromancy and all things sanguine.BDSM. Please respond to Box 443.”black horses and thundering through the craggyFriday November 2 2007varsity.co.uk/artsWrite for this section:arts@varsity.co.ukVIEWArts29Gothic LonelyHeartsheThe following was posted recently in the LonelyTHearts section of Practical Gothic Living: “En-igmatic, demonic (in the bedroom), sharply dressed,male seeks bloodthirsty female with a sweet tooth toshare his castle with. Enjoys travelling in EasternCount Dracula received a multitude of replies tothis alluring advert, but one in particular caught hispassionate imagination as he read it over one morn-ing in his cavernous carriage, drawn by behemothicmountainous valley, not far from his home. Theresponse was written on decaying yellow paper in asexy, crawling hand:“Dear Sir,I long to gaze into your brilliant red eyes from mysunken sockets and learn more about your piercinghabits. I am a sinuous, silvery, eye-catching lady ofmature years, in possession of a large manor anda dark heart. I reside amidst the English marshes;my dinner table is permanently set with a mouth-watering banquet which only awaits your feastingmouth to reawaken its former glory. I expect the dia-Beast Of The NightShelleydidn’t fit in with the other Goths.Maybe it was because she had refused tochange her name to Scarred Psyche. Hereyeliner was heavier and her shoes higherthan anyone; she still listened to Slayerand went to the Doom Fuckers gigs likeeveryone else: she just couldn’t help it if shethought James Blunt was…. pleasant. ButRaven Suicide felt like Shelley needed toprove her satanic mettle.They were sitting outside Costcutter, likemost nights, drinking the Strongbow thatEbony Rape had bought with her fake ID,and talked turned to local rumours.“Yeah, so, like, my mum – evil hag – wassaying there’s some big cat or wolf or somethingon the loose,” Rex Gravedigger said,swigging, “Like when they used to see thatshit in Bodmin, panthers and stuff. Butthis one, like, killed something. She tried tostop me leaving the house.”“Oh my god, she’s such a fascist,” Ravensaid, sucking on a Drumstick. Shelleygroaned inwardly.“It’s just some story.” The Goths turnedto stare at her in a flurry of bad hair-extensionsand kohl. Raven did a cider burp.“Jesus fucking Christ, Shelley, who evenare you? You’re so not one of us. You’re sucha fascist.” Shelley sighed.“Are you Shelley Thomas or are youScarred Psyche?”The other young Goths waved theirfringes at her in disapproval.“I don’t even care,” Shelley grimaced, gettingup, “I’m going home.”“Fine you fucking fascist.” Pulling herhair over her eyes, Shelley walked offthrough town. Winter was setting in; thenights had become darker and sharper. Herbreath made tiny puffs that got lost in themist settling over the city. The sky gloweda dull red. Only monolithic towers and thechurch spires rose forcefully through thefug. A lamppost throbbed on the street corner.Turning down an alley for a shortcut,Shelley suddenly heard something. Footsteps?Only her own, she reassured herself,and kept on going. She hummed JamesBlunt guiltily.There it was again. Too soft for feet. Itsounded more like - she looked around.Nothing.Shaking her head, Shelley continuedwalking. The night mist seemed to havefilled up the alley. She felt herself gettingdizzy. Maybe it was just the corset she hadbought a size too small from that one timeshe hadn’t been ID-ed in Ann Summers,but her breathing quickened. She gasped;the mist pressed closer. She wasn’t usuallylike this after three swigs of Strongbow.She tried to take a deep breath. She couldstill see the proud steeple of the cathedralpenetrating the fog, and headed towardsit. She loosened the top three fastenings onher corset. Her skin pricked with sweat.Suddenly, a black shape flitted across hervision. What - ? The sound again. Closerthis time. Shelley whirled around, but foundonly mist. She panted frantically. Her headwhipped side to side trying to locate thepatter. Just mist. She continued walking,quicker this time. Something soft, hairy,brushed against her skin. Shelley screamed,desperately trying to push out of the fog.Something was here. The sound seemedto deafen her, closer, couldn’t see, thingbrushed her skin again, gripped somethingin the dark, a lamppost or was it? Did itjust move? Sweat pouring, couldn’t, just themist, something grabbed her, screaming –The shivering woke her up. How did sheend up on a tombstone outside the cathedral?Shelley wiped her eyes.“Fuck, my eyeliner-” she muttered, check-ing her hand. But it was stainless. Someonehad also meticulously removed her blacknail polish. And taken out her red hairextensions. She looked down.“Why am I wearing a nightdress?!?”Something had changed. Everything abouther felt…different. Older. She glanced upat the steeple rising into the dawn. Sherose, pulling the sleeves of the nightdressdown for warmth – when she saw, on herwrist – clawmarks.Next week, they were back outside Costcutter.Rex had stolen some vodka and waspassing it round.“Yeah, like, the big wolf? It was just somefarmer trying to get money off the papers.”“So obvious. So un-satanic,” Raven gripeddisdainfully, “Some people are such fascists.Yeah, Scarred Psyche?”Scarred Psyche hummed Kate Bush toherself and looked down at the claw markson her wrist.“Yeah,” she said, “such fucking fascists.”Black Swan Obsidianbolic reply of your pulsing heart as I gaze from thisslotted window and pick at a piece of blood-red fruit.Yours with desolate passion,Miss Havisham”Dead on time, Count Dracula pulled on the creak-ing bell of Satis House and took a moment to checkhis teeth in a small fang-shaped pocket mirror. Hewrapped his top-of-the-range silk cashmere mixcloak tight around his gaunt yet toned body andbristled with anticipation as a rancid mist creptaround his ankles. A chill came crawling in throughthe open window and over Miss Havishman as shesat waiting, festooned in rotting lace and silk, hereyes shining with excitement through the noxiousvapour that hung in the room.Count Dracula stepped in, his moist red lipsslowly receding from his glimmering white teethto reveal an erotic grimace. The mice and spidersfeeding amongst the heaps of fetid food were inter-rupted and, picking up on the intimate atmosphere,scampered back into the dusty holes whence theyhad came.Dracula’s ruby-red eyes flashed with ardour asthey beheld the deliciously morbid figure of MissHavisham. Although she was too old to be a decentmarriage prospect, he was a vampire in his primeand she has a certain ‘Mrs Robinson’ charm. Sheherself swooned in rapture at the sight of his crook-ed nose, silky black hair and long, brittle fingernails.They sat down to dinner and gazed longingly acrossthe cantankerous remains of black wedding cake.Eventually they could no longer hold back theimpulse. Blood was pulsating through her heartas she strained her frail and sinewy neck upwardstowards his luscious mouth and he pierced herpapery skin in an instant, his long fingers closingaround her neck.But when the sunless morning light brokethrough the dust-encrusted drapery, her Count, herheart-throb, her piercing lover, was gone. The jiltedMiss Havisham let out a blood-curdling scream thatshowed off the full extent of her new fangs. Despiteher night of passion, she was all alone once more.Camilla Ignatius Ermintrude Temple