Chapter 6: A trip down memory lane...
"Erm, Dad, are you completely sure this is necessary?" winced Vlad, trembling. Ingrid probably would have laughed if she hadn't been caught up in memories...
She sat in the moonlit garden (well, it was more like a stone courtyard), sat on an abandoned coffin right in the middle. It was covered in a purple velvet cover, all scrunched up in a ball. Ingrid shivered and wrapped it around herself. She heard an owl hoot somewhere in the distance and she jumped when it flew right over her head.
The sound of shuffling trainers pierced the silence and she whirled round to see what the annoying noise was. She scowled when her little brother sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on the back of his blue sleeve. Oh well, she thought, It couldn't get much worse. I mean, pink and blue? Definitely not acceptable for the son of the "prince of darkness". Or whatever daddy liked to call that little maggot breath.
"Ingrid, daddy says I have to sleep in here," he said, jabbing his finger at the grand coffin. He didn't deserve that, thought Ingrid, what had he done to earn it? He was always so happy, and way too good. But no one seemed to realise how bad and brilliant she was. They were too concerned with Vlad, Vlad, Vlad.
"Yeah, like, whatever. This is my coffin, Vladerina, and no one is going to take it from me. I want this one!" She yelled, and stamped her little black boots on the lid of the coffin. That wasn't the cleverest idea, the coffin lid fell on to the stone ground and made an enormous clash! The sound vibrated in her ears, making them ring.
She groaned. Her dad would be down any minute now to give her another rant about just inviting the breathers and their flaming torches in to the castle. She wasn't wrong; the screams came about four seconds after the big noise.
"INGRID! COME here THIS INSTANT!" came the count's strong voice from somewhere up in his castle. It wasn't fair, why couldn't she have her own room? Whenever she complained about this fact, the response was always "I gave you a room Ingrid, you just refuse to use it," then he usually just flitted off, too high and mighty to deal with his one and only daughter's problems. By room, the count meant Renfield's ingredients cupboard, stuffed with rat's eyeballs, newt's tails and assorted things. Ingrid just camped out somewhere new every night in the castle, always somewhere new to explore.
Dad stormed down and right up to Ingrid and Vlad.
"My precious son, what did that wretched girl do to you?" he hissed at Vlad, who was looking a little worried and whimpering.
"Er, daddy," more sniffs as usual, "Ingwid won't let me sleep in the coffin," he sniffed yet again, speaking as if it was some sort of tragedy rather than a brilliant gift (that he didn't deserve) and that really grated against her nerves. That was pretty much the story of her short 7 years, Vlad stole everything she could only wish for and wasted it.
"Look, my precious children, and Ingrid," he sneered at her, "it's very simple.
Ingrid smirked, happy to get the last laugh - and the last coffin.
"Vladimir will take the coffin and you Ingrid, will sleep on the floor," he chuckled and disappeared.
"Grrrrrrrr!!" Ingrid growled and disappeared in a huff.