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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
What is the Cup of Puce?

Submitted: March 28, 2017

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Submitted: March 28, 2017



Cup of Puce (1)

The sunset began like most other times.  Then as it lowered the red orb seemed to settle upon a silver cup, there upon the altar.  The sacrifice was given to the Lord.  We all took a sip of the red stuff.  Three humans tasting the power of evil, from the Cup of Puce.


Darren Most woke from his daydreaming.  Then passed the football from his head to his team mate.  Skinny Dev Duval slotted the leather orb, passed the static Man United ex-reserve goalkeeper.  The fans and players cheered and danced when the ref blew his tin whistle for goal and full time.  The minor league final had been won one nil to, Siltown FC.  They had just beaten Southwold Town. 


The Cup of Puce was not big but it was carried like it was the FA Cup.  Darren sipped bubbly from the palm sized chalice.  There was no blood or human sacrifice.  Only a few bruised limbs from the gutsy game.  Darren hoisted the cup from the terrace of White Hart Lane.  It had been used to hold the match.  All went home and dreamed of that winning goal.  The shot that had won the Cup of Puce.  Still there was a macabre secret about its name..


Cup of Puce (2)

Dev and Darren joined me in the Corner Arms, after the game.  We sipped diet coke like good sportsmen.  Then played pool, before walking home.  The banter faded behind.  As we passed the cemetery.  Dev Duvall and Darren Most lived in the small housing estate, five minutes after the Church.  I bade them farewell at the Gates of Hell.  My two pals knew not of my secret.  That I remained in the tomb of my forefathers.  I was the sacrificed spirit that could never die.  I was the Ghost of the Cup of Puce.


The black night shrouded my place of rest.  Here I passed through the crack in the doorway of my crypt.  My story is a strange one.  During the day I am as real as anyone else, alive.  My bones do not crack as they do, when I sleep.  Several decades ago, I was deemed a evildoer.  A murderer.  So I was ransomed to the devil himself.  At the do the men around my corpse drank blood and wine from a shiny Silver cup.  It was left on my body.  As I died and remained dead.


My father was buried after me.  In a place of false blame and corruption.  So I wandered the area and found friendship with Dev and Darren.  Ever since they think I am a player for their local football team.  I found out that spirits can fool the living.  My name is Mark and I am the living servant of the Cup of Puce.  I had jokingly given it to Darren as a cup to win at football.  So when we won it again, I could avenge my spirit. 


The truth is, I am a vampire of the daytime.  Thanks to the existence of the Cup of Puce.  Yet I enjoy time with my mates.  Dev and Darren keep me alive.  Even though I am dead. 


So heed my warning my friends.  If you pass a graveyard.  And see a cup left in a tomb.  It could be me.  Every time you take a sip, I may be taking blood from your lips.  This is my short story.  If you see men staring and talking to nothing.  It could well be me.  Or another human sacrifice.  A lost soul. 


And if you are wise you will avoid the dreaded chalice that I drink from.  I am Mark.  The Son of Dracula.  Servant to the Cup of Puce.

Ha, ha, ha.












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