Another Night in Transylvania

by Roberto Sanhueza

Night after night my death goes on, and the full moon blurs colours to a sad and lifeless grey.

I walk the empty streets towards a lighted window where music and gaiety leak out.

The patrons and their companions see me not, mind me not; they live their moment of euphoria knowing well they must in time return to their musty wives, to their petty lives.

One of them will walk home tonight stumbling over the cobblestones, perhaps searching for a dark spot away from the lamppost to find relief from too much ale.

Perhaps intuition will make him raise his head in the last minute of his life as I descend, a demonic grin on my fangèd smile.

He shall be found on the morrow, and the peasants will gather courage out of fear, raising their torches, sharpening their sticks, and they will walk the mile to the ruined castle’s doors. To no avail, mind you, for only fading memories find their home there, and I have long since dwelt elsewhere.

They will hold their garlic and raise their crosses in hopeless frustration as they start back home and look back every two steps in fear, forgetting it is daylight and I sleep for yet another day till dusk brings back my curse, brings back my death.