Chapter One
November 15, 2015
Location- Sofia, Romania.
High up in the desolate, remote, wilds of the mountains of Romania, there are innumerable tiny villages. Many lie in various ruinous states. They sit as silent reminders that even in this modern era the more things change, the more they tend to stay the same.
“Tell me about this case, because it seems quite unreal. A cannibalistic ritual meant to ward off vampires, here? Today?” I asked with the help of the young man next to me. I noticed he did not manage to sound so incredulous as I did.
“Yes, it does seem quite unbelievable. But trust me, it did happen. I was called to investigate the offense.” The petite woman spoke no English, the translator I had hired worked hard to ensure every nuance was translated properly.
I noticed her green eyes, they were wide, and fit her face quite nicely. She was pleasant to look at. I glanced at her hand. No wedding ring I noticed. Such a pity, she seemed like she’d make a good wife to some worthy person.
I shook the thoughts from my head, they were off track and I needed to stay on point. Who knew how long these people would agree to assist me? “So tell me when this happened?” I leaned forward pen poised.
“It was a few years ago, the daughter of a man called to alert us to the desecration of her father’s grave. When we arrived, what we found was beyond anything we had seen before. Macabe, but quite extraordinary”
"How did you end up with this case?"
"I grew up in a small village, I guess someone assumed I'd be the best person to get them to talk."
"And were you able to get them talking?"
"To some extent. The people in the mountains are rather closed off. They prefer not to be bothered by outsiders and we prefer to let them do whatever it is that they do without too much interference."
"So, is it fair to say, that they act as their own police?"
"Usually, yes. There are a few rare times when we get called in, but something of this nature... it's not been seen in a very long time. It's not something one expects in today's world. It belongs to a different time period. A much darker one. At first, I was taken aback. It was quite shocking."
“Can you describe the events in detail?”
“No. I do not wish to talk about these things. It’s very disturbing, and I wish to keep the images from inside my head.” She flipped open a simple-looking manila folder. “Inside are the…” she paused, seemingly to find the right words. “Photographs of the crime scene. The condition of the body. It’s quite gruesome. Are you sure you want to see this?” She asked without a hint of purposely trying to ramp up the anxiety that I was beginning to feel.
"Yes. I mean I came all the way here to investigate this matter. To uncover what would drive people to such lengths.”
She slid the folder to me, and I began to flip through the pages of photos, and transcripts, which were fairly useless to me at the moment, as they were written in Romanian. My stomach lurched. I coughed into a closed fist. My breath came in small sucking sips between clenched teeth. I could feel the blood leaving my face. After long quiet moments, I finally found my voice. “How is it that this came to happen? Why would anyone do something like this?” I closed the folder. Praying my lunch would stay where it was.
“The reasoning is a bit complicated. It is partly fear, partly tradition. Part love even.”
“Love? How so?” I couldn't imagine what love would have to do with something so unsavory. So barbaric. And in my opinion something so vile and evil.
“The man who led this party was concerned for his people. They were falling ill, having nightmares. They were scared. It was a bad time.”
“I'd think the one who had a bad time was this guy.” I slid the folder back to her. My assistant was already working on obtaining copies for us to use during our investigation and the writing of the book.
“To get the full picture, we must go back, to when Petu was born. To understand the crime, we must understand the man.”
“OK. So tell me about this Petu.”
“In around 1950 Petu entered the world as most babies do, naked and squalling at the harshness of his arrival. As he grew, villagers began to avoid him. Poor, even by their standards, and growing increasingly mean spirited by the day, they had every reason to do their best to dodge him.” She paused long enough to sip the glass of water on the table, careful to not touch the folder again.
“His hobbies included stealing, leering at the ladies in a way that made their skin crawl and of course, exalting the very worst of what had become a national hero. Vlad III Dracula.
The world would come to know him as Vlad the Impaler, he was harsh, cruel and to some simply misunderstood in those dark times. Part hero, part villain. His legacy is that of a complex man in his time, and a mystery in ours.
However, Petu did not wish anyone to forget a single gory detail. From long speeches, given mostly to himself on the beauty of spiking the heads of dead animals in front of a doorway to warn others to steer clear, to other more unsavory acts, he seemed to enjoy them all and seemed to relish scaring the younger children with these terrifying details.”
“He sounds… Delightful.” I tried to manage a weak smile.
She nodded slightly, “Impossible as it seems, Petu did eventually win the heart of a young lady, one who was kind, soft and seemed not to be bothered by her husband's unusualness. And oddly, from what we learned from neighboring villagers, he never raised his voice to her or their child.”
“So he was born in the ’50s?”
“Yes, but, our story begins some 60 years after Petu’s birth. By now the village he had always called home had fallen, leaving himself as the singular resident. His wife had died during childbirth, leaving him and his young daughter alone years before.
By all accounts, he was a simple man, though he had his share of troubles. He farmed, hunted and did his best to provide a life for his daughter, even managing to save up enough to send her to college. When she left, it seems he was utterly alone, the remainder of the village had long relocated to nearby areas, many fleeing the desperate poverty that plagued them all in the remote regions for the modern cities below.
According to witnesses, Petu, having never traveled much, decided his home, inherited from his parents after they had died in a period when illnesses were as plentiful as oxygen, they succumbed to one such illness late one fall when he was about 16, to the best of our knowledge. Dates were unimportant, the daily struggle was all he or anyone else alive during the time were able to focus on.”
“So he was an orphan at 16. He’s just a boy. How did he survive?”
"We don’t have those details. No one we spoke with seemed to know, not even his daughter. What we do know is as a man he was feared, and his temper remained unchanged until his death. People who traded with him or bought his wares would pay more just to see him gone. Though the old ones admit, his goods were of superior quality to most in the region.”
“So he was a farmer, trader, and hunter. Are these skills most people in the area have?”
I asked trying to build a mental image of the man, and burn away the images of the violated corpse.
“To various degrees, yes. It is how they chose to survive. Away from people and the cities.”
“What else do we know about him?”
She took a deep breath, “We know he once was accused of beating a man to death for making a disparaging remark about a hide he had for sale. The village did as they often do and dealt with the matter themselves. He was brought into the village head’s quarters where he was asked about the incident.
The account of that meeting was written, it was still within the former house of the man who was their leader at the time. Though parts of it were destroyed having been left to the elements.”
She pulled another folder forward,” I will read this to you, but some of it is missing, and some of it I will need to try and say in a way that it translates properly.”
She took another drink of water and began.
“Did you beat him for the simple act of saying your hide was inferior to the quality most have come to rely on?”
“No. I beat him because his sharp tongue wagged too much, and he was sinful. He defiled our laws, God’s laws, and he attempted to defile my young daughter with his foul words. That is the reason he no longer walks among us.” Petu’s demeanor as noted here was ‘sincere.’ she added, while I wrote, thankful I had the video camera set up so I’d not miss any details later.
"We were told while investigating, that the leader took pity on a man who by all accounts was just as misunderstood as the next person. However, he still sentenced him as harshly as he could given the circumstances. Pay the family with a year's worth of grain and a hide for each of the members of the household. You will remain within the confines of your property unless it is to trade. Or there is a medical emergency.”
“You can’t do that! It would cause me to lose everything I have worked since childhood to build.”
“Petu, actions have consequences. It is high time someone taught you that, for too long you have run around here acting as if you are the only one who matters. We are a small community, but your reputation has spread to encompass everything so far as the eye can see. It has damaged our reputation, made people afraid to come for trading, you may be making a tidy profit with your unsavory ways, but others are suffering, directly because of you.”
“It’s not my fault if others are too blind to hear the truth.”
...
