Bark at the Moon: A Tale of the Transylvanian Concubines
By Dmitri Storm
Gwen sat in the bed, waiting for her husband to finish in the bathroom. She wished she had something to read, but all the books and newspapers in the hotel were written in Hungarian or Romanian or some foreign language like that. So instead she sat and glowered.
Coming here had been a terrible idea. Who takes a holiday in Romania? The weather was awful, the food was barely edible, the people were dull, that disgusting dog biting her had only made a rotten holiday worse. She had wanted Paris, or New York, but no, Lawrence had insisted on exploring the continent. His childish obsession with exotic cultures meant every holiday they had gone on had been grueling more than relaxing. Another mistake in the long list of mistakes the man had made in their marriage.
Lawrence finally emerged from the bathroom. “Cheer up Gwen.” he said almost fearfully “It’s not that bad.”
“I was bitten by some Gypsy mongrel… calling it a dog is being too kind Lawrence. A wolf would be more accurate.”