Cliches

Clichés

It was a dark and stormy night and raining cats and dogs so hard you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.

A weary traveller was stumbling along as best he could, knowing that every cloud has a silver lining but wishing one would appear soon just for his benefit. Behind him the wolves were howling. They had been following him for several miles and were getting closer and closer.

Then at last he saw a light on the distance through the rain, beckoning him with the promise of warmth and company. The wolves were getting very close now and the traveller’s blood began to run like ice through his veins. It was time to face the inevitable.

He turned just in time to see the pack leader poised for a spring at his unprotected throat. As quick as a flash the man wrapped his heavy coat round his forearm and pulled his trusty camping knife from its sheath. The wolf sprang, its muzzle slavering with the prospect of an easy meal. A red mist came across the man’s eyes, as he thrust his arm across the creatures open jaws and stabbed viciously into the unprotected belly of the animal.

Throwing the corpse to the ground, he ran towards the light with the last of his strength, his feet squelching through the mud and fear lending wings to his heels as he heard the pack noisily devouring the body of their slain leader.

He was in luck; the light as coming from the windows of an inn, where a sign creaked rhythmically in the wind. A sudden flash of lightning lit up the sign which proclaimed that all travellers were welcome at the Dracula’s Arms. He stood aghast for a moment, then the wolves began howling again. They had concluded their grisly meal and if he didn’t act now he would be next on the menu.

Nobody inside seemed surprised as he burst through the door and slammed it shut behind him. Leaning on the door for support, he unwound his coat from his arm with shaking hands. The room had become very quiet as he looked at the few people sitting round the log fire blazing in the hearth. Every face was turned towards him with a blank stare and every one of them seemed to be more than a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

”May I have a large neat whisky please Landlord”?

The Landlord returned his gaze without any sign of intelligence, or apparently understanding a word he said.

The man wearily hauled a well worn phrase book out of his pocket and thumbed through the well worn pages.

“Mi nomo estas John, do hast verbitten sie mein Herr?”

Without a flicker of emotion on his face, the landlord in his turn took a phrase book from under the bar turning through the pages before replying solemnly. “My postillion has been struck by lightning,” then the whole room burst out laughing.

“Go and sit by the fire my friend, Dolores will come and serve your drink in a moment.

The locals made way for him, smiling now in a friendly manner, although it did seem that none of them could actually speak English.

Then Dolores made her entrance. Their eyes met across the room and John knew instantly that this was the woman for him. Dolores seemed to know as well, as she swayed voluptuously towards him, supporting a drinks tray in one hand.

“Hello English,” she murmured seductively in his ear as she leaned over him to serve his drink.

“Where have you been all my life?” whispered John blushing furiously.

“Vaiting for you darlink,” she replied huskily.

She sat with him all that evening as they both confessed to their mutual attraction.

“Ve are a close community here, “said Dolores, “and ve need new blood to strengthen our children.”

John agreed with every word she said, feeling that he was drowning in the limpid blue pools of her eyes.

That night she came to his bedroom and they spent a wonderful night in each other’s arms. She was very passionate and seemed to take particular pleasure in nibbling at his neck.

They were married only a week later and although they were never seen pout again in daylight, they both lived happily ever after.
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