Written in Blood

As we moved toward the doors, they swung open, revealing a man standing at the entryway. He held out his hands, bruised and bloodied, from his pounding his fist against the door, begging her. He fell to his face, prostrate on the wet stones.

"Please, Mistress Countess, return her to me," I'm sure he spoke his native tongue, but oddly, I perceived him in English.

"No," Countess Drago said, "she pleasures my children. They please her far more than you can. Soon, she'll feed for nights to come."

"No," he cried out. "Take me instead. I'm full of blood for you."

"You lack energy in your life. Your blood is far too pale to give nourishment. No, will keep her, too, late for her. You wouldn't want her back now, for I have ... contaminated her."

"She will be as you are?"

Her laughter rang into the still night's air, echoing in the courtyard and off the sides of the mountains. The haunting chuckle reverberated and returned to her. That's when I spotted the beasts behind the man. I was sure he didn't realize they were so close, I supposed, in my hallucinating dream state, her laughter called them to her. A lynx moved to his right, while a giant bear stood not five feet behind him, and three enormous wolves stood in the archway entrance to the courtyard.

"Never shall she be like me, once she has satisfied my Undead children, she'll feed these the other children of the night or rot in the tombs below my home, forage for my rats. I would never allow such common blood the gift of infinity."

He turned his gaze to his left, his right, pivoted about, and stood face to face with the bear. Twisting back to the Countess, his eyes wild, he started to run toward her. Taking two steps, he froze when she whispered to him.

"Be still," she said, "turn," he moved around, faced the bear. "Walk to them, embrace them with open arms, give yourself to them, leave them something of your happiness, so they might remember you with fondness ... after you fill their bellies."

The man tried to resist, but with his right foot pushed forward against his will, the other one followed. In a few short strides, he stood in front of the bear, the front paws of the beast rested on the shoulders of the peasant, the bear's slavering mouth began to lower to the man's face.

The Countess moved us inside, and the doors closed behind us. The weird, disgusting sounds of the beasts devouring the man filled my brain as she carried me to my bed. As though I was in a stupor, I didn't move, offered no resistance to what happened to me.

The boy kissed me and hugged me. In the meantime, his powerful arms engulfed me. The Countess and I intertwined, Alexandru joined the orgy, as thoughts of Michael sprang into my intellect. In a flash, these sweet thoughts, driven from my mind by a yearning. A deep carnal, craving hunger consumed me, as the Countess and her young disciple did the same.

I wandered in and out of consciousness. Salacious corruptions happened in flashes. Through spurts of memory, I can only recall glimpses of our coupling. Weirdly, only the Countess and I were intimate. The hulking Alexandru, only joining in with sweet, longing kisses. He and she sucked on me in long, loving bites of the tender flesh, on my neck, shoulder, or breasts. Valarie kissed me, long, and we wound our bodies together again. Alexandru only watched as we pleasured one another.

My rapture held a price, for my breathing was not easy. In the excitement of our congress, my breathing turned ragged, and I took lengthy, rugged wheezing pants as I struggled to pull enough air into my lungs. But this only served to heighten my utopia.

As swiftly as all this began, it ended, and I lay alone in the dark, whereas my two hosts turned into two wispy pillars of smoke which rushed toward the door and vanished around the cracks of the doorway. The dream ended, and darkness covered me.

I lay alone in my bed. My energy sapped, my confused needs, which I had never admitted I possessed, satiated. I struggled to return to sleep, but the thoughts of the dream plagued me.

I mulled over the disturbing vision, eventually falling into a deep slumber. I dreamed of Michael. The dream took a turn, and I perceived as Valerie made love to him on my bed. The vision ended when her long incisors dug deep into the soft flesh of his shoulder -- waking from my dream with a start. My heart raced, my chest heaved, I had anger in my heart for Michael. In a few moments, I calmed myself, realizing this was only a dream, a translucent vision made of storms and mist.

In the morning, I awoke in my bed. I remembered nothing of returning from the library. Odd dreams came to me, and I couldn't help but wonder if they indeed happened if the Countess carried me. If the man, in reality, had been torn apart by those beasts. Every night brought a new revelation and new horrors. Coupled with unique visions of ecstasy. The shape of these things, I can't quite make into some sensible idea. Nonetheless, they creep into my subconscious.

I did not know what treatment the boys received. They feared her, and they feared me, other than in my dreams. But again, are their mere dreams, or are the dark terrors I see not imagined but lived? If they are actual, I'm the one Doctor Drago treats? If all the goings-on were genuine, indeed, I was the lunatic.

Each day, I spent in the company of one or the other lads, or I spent my time alone. On odd occurrences, the Countess was my companion. We talked well past midnight every evening. I asked questions, and she avoided the answers. She asked questions, compelled me to answer by her sheer willpower. She learned where Michael has moved for his summer's work and my small circle of friends, where they live, and what they do for livings.

I asked her this or that, she replied with long, rambling orations, which in the end, left me wondering what my questions were. After a while, she leaves me alone. In the dead of night, in this prison where I locked myself into my cell, only to return in my torrid, tortured, wanton dreams. All the while, I loathed her, yearned for her touch, her cold scorching flesh pressed to mine.

In all my life, I have never touched anyone with so little warmth. Nor one who inspired such sweltering covetousness for them inside me.

Alone in my room, I hungered to press my mouth to hers. I longed to feel the icy touch of her lips touching mine. The tension of fear, hatred, and lust built inside me every single moment we were together and a desire to flee, mixed with a necessity, to find her and be with her, each moment when we were apart.

And as always, the dreams followed her nightly departure. Wild, sexual fantasies of one of the boys. Still, Valerie Drago guided the boys, giving me, one of them, or both of us, instruction. Always, she and I make love until she sups from my neck or breasts.

In all the encounters with the boys, they only drank my blood or oral joinings. I wondered, was this to make me think they were dreams? These visions haunted my waking hours, and longing had overtaken logic. I tried and questioned her about treatments, but the words refused to issue from my mouth.

Let us consider the roses. The vase filled with twelve is lessened by one each day. The decaying petals cover the table, and new ones fall every morning. Those in the vessel are alive and vibrant. But where 12 began, 11, 10, and so on, until this morning, six remained. Were it not for the falling petals, I wouldn't mark the day of the month. I feared those dying flowers were counting down to something. What I feared, for the thing might be the countdown to the death of me.

When I was not randy with lust, I trembled with fear. Strange occurrences shadowed my every move. One night, I witnessed the Countess turn to vapor, assuming this was another dream. The fog drifted out the window. I ran to the opening in terror, gazed outside while the mist wafted down the wall like sinister smoke drifting down into the trees. The fog evaporated into an immense wolf, which bounded away into the trees.

When I was awake, some nights, late in the evening, I heard men at the doors pounding. They screamed, shouted in angered voices to gain entry, and I remembered the dream from my second night.

I overheard the wild animals, and those poor wretches screamed louder as the beasts ripped the men to shreds, hideous, frightful noises. Once morning came, the dreadful sounds remained in my thoughts. I pondered if these awful events happened, or were these too, merely dreamt?

One day, whilst I was alone, I spied men loading coffins into carts from a room high above the courtyard. I counted 11 of the oblong boxes, being hauled away from the castle in oxen carts by rough-looking men, their heads wrapped with brightly colored bandanas, and the clothing was bright. They carried formidable daggers in their belts, and the workers gave every impression of being violent menfolk. For a brief moment, I thought they were Dacians, but the thought soon fled from my brain.

I remembered the word the coachwoman hurled at the coachman, Dacians trash. Which I thought, a specific insult. I learned from the Countess, those called Dacians were descendants of an ancient race. Once warriors believing, they turned themselves into wolves, but nowadays, mere peasants are afraid of their own shadows. A people who gave up their own religion and became Catholic Christian. Thus, the coachman's propensity for crossing himself frequently. I realized these wild men were not Dacians but were, in fact, Gypsies.

I had learned much about the people, both in American and my journey here. Unbelievable stories of witchcraft, strange religious beliefs, and practices, including the cannibalism of small children, which they stole from unsuspecting strangers. I had never put much stock in the tales, but looking at these men, one believed they were capable of almost anything.

Where might they be taking these containers? Why move her dead? Was an oblong-box waiting for me? Were these packaged dead other people she had tricked into coming here for some perverse pleasure, which, once she finished with them, she murdered?

Had I become the subject of some strange experiment in terror and sanity? At that point, I believed I would soon be driven mad. If in truth, I had not already been made insane, for, truth be told, I held no certainty one way or the other.

Seeing this odd transportation of what I supposed to be human remains caused a distinct sense of vulnerability inside, illogical as this was. One day we all shuffle off this orb to whatever is beyond the curtain of our understanding.

After all, we are all finite, living in an infinite universe.

I'd never considered my mortality quite like I had the past few days. I couldn't shake the fear, the dread, I'd become the Countess's prisoner, and anxiety invaded my waking hours, my dreams, my heart had sunken into me as despair filled every fiber of my substance.

Think about the questions surrounding my intercommunications, for Michael's messages come every few days. Each letter detailed what happened since his last. And each asked me why I hadn't written to him. He begged me to write to him.

However, I wrote Michael each morning detailing events of the previous day. I told him I had bizarre dreams, though I omitted all the lurid details, which I never quite shook from my mind. I sealed those letters, again, every day, placed them in the Countess's hand. She assured me she mailed them; natheless, Michael claims I do not write to him, may they both have told me the truth?

I had determined to explore, and this exploration had a mission. I must leave this terrible place. The air itself had taken on a whiff of imprisonment -- if such a thing is possible. I must have the freedom Countess Drago robbed from me, and I must escape and return to Michael. I want to feel free. To breathe fresh air and fill my lungs with freedom once more. The foul stench of a landfill in America would smell better than the sweet, putrid fetor of my captivity.

Not an actual odor, mind you, subtler than stink, more of an emotional sense. With this in mind, I must find some means of egress to the outside world. I realized this would be difficult, but were I to be free, it required action on my part.

The windows, which face the courtyard, refused to open. Those facing outward, escape through them, appeared all but impossible. For with all sincerity, I couldn't have survived such an effort. None of the windows open at all until the third floor.

Such a fall would surely kill me. For while I was on the third floor above the entry, at this place, I'd fall five or six stories to what lay beneath the level. At the library, you plummet fifty feet to a raging river. Should you move to the far side, you shall tumble and continue in a plunge hundreds of feet into the thick forest, which laid at the bottom of the cliff. Only one possible exit remained for me.

With my resolve steeled for my escape, a harpy voice issued a fretting warning inside me. The lust, yes, a dark desire the Countess, forced into me shouted for me to stop, to turn back from this ill-conceived plan, and to give in to my Aphrodite-driven cravings.

The veiled voluptuous beast desired to be free inside me, to gratify all those fleshly urges; the creature had no desire for liberty. I pushed the thought from my mind and continued my quest. Even so, the thing lingered in the darkest recesses of my understanding, called to me, too, forget Michael and embrace the Countess.

Regaining my focus, I lighted on an actual plan. It might be possible, and I might climb down into the courtyard, using toe and finger holds in the rocks, which covered the castle's outer walls. In a frank and straightforward assessment of the situation, this appeared unlikely. First, to date, not one room facing the courtyard had any window possible to budge, or else, they were mere notches far too small for me to pass.

Second, and more fundamental, I doubted my physical ability was up to the dangerous feat. Notwithstanding, I must try, an open the window or not, I must attempt this. For the courtyard was the only place where I might survive a fall. I must succeed, or the snickering voice in my head should indeed have won out, and whatever fate awaits me here would have, in a short time, come to fruition.

I made my way to the other side of the castle. I was on the east side, where the outer wall held a cliff at its base. To the south, the river ran under the library window tumbled down in a massive waterfall. Once I arrived on the third floor, I found a substantial window looking over the center square, an opening, which held a single, great pain of glass. I took a chair in hand, raised it over my head, and threw the furniture at the window.

The first time, the piece bounced off, landing on the floor, breaking into pieces. Seizing another chair, I hurled my new projectile at the window harder than before, and the glass yielded, shattered into thousands of fragments, as the chair tumbled outside and disappeared.

Such a thrill passed through my every fiber. I had done the first feat; I had broken the window. Tearing away the lower part of my gown and underpinnings, I began clawing and kicking, pulled myself up into the spacious opening, sat on the inside ledge, turned my body, and hung my feet outside. I gazed down at freedom.

I beheld the broken chair and glass on the stoneworks below me -- the stark realization of how far down the ground lay sent a shiver up my spine. Not three stories, as I had presumed, a fourth floor, or half of a fourth, for one must walk up a half-a-flight of stairs to the first-floor door. I was opposite to the side of the dwelling where my room, the Great Entryway, and the massive door stood.

"Courage, old girl, courage," I said. "Think of dear, sweet, Michael."

The other voice taunted me from deep inside, Yes, insipid, lifeless Michael. But, would you not prefer to think of the Mistress?

"Leave me alone," I said.

Observing the wall, I took courage, for chinks had fallen out of the mortar, chunks of rocks gone in other places, and hole stones missing at odd intervals down the entire surface of the walls. I kicked off my shoes, I might get better traction this way, and I needed every advantage I might muster. With some care, I swung my body out the window.

Finding a toehold, I lowered myself. Ever so, cautiously, taking hold of an opening in the wall, I let myself down a tad. The climb took me more than an hour. I slipped several times, clutched hard to keep from falling. In the end, I dropped the last 6 or 7 feet to the hard-stone courtyard.

Curling into a ball, I cried from the hurt, wiped my tears, and sat up and considered the patio. I took a deep breath, dragging the air of freedom into my lungs. Never had air's bouquet been so sweet. Such a pleasant aroma, I forgot the aches and pains.

Gathering my strength, I stood, marched toward the arched opening leading to the winding mountain road, with my courage soaring as I shed the numbness and stench of captivity and Castle Drago. As I passed the steps, I caught sight of a wild lynx from the corner of my eye as she examined me. I refused to turn and look at her.

At the arched gateway, the beast stood, massive and angry, reared up on its hind legs, in the middle of the opening. A mighty bear raised its enormous head, let loose his harrowing roar. Running from outside, cutting around the bear, were three wolves. They ran toward me, howling, snarling, and snapping at me. I froze in place. One critter ran up and butted against me on my left side, the side away from the door. He pushed on me like he wanted me to turn.

I twisted the direction he seemed to want me to turn. The lynx ran down the stairs and stood in the middle of the courtyard. She yowled at me and turned her head toward the massive entry doors. The doors creaked, moaned, shuddered, and a crack appeared betwixt the two of them.

The sunlight began to fade as the sun dipped below the roofline of the western face of the castle. I felt Countess Drago's darkness creeping over the place, the air chilled, and I a shiver ran through my insides. My hopes faded as the door swung inward. I detected her standing in the spot when I first arrived.

"Return now, child," I plodded up the steps, marched to the threshold but stopped short of the entry, "Foolish, Jane, if you wish to leave, you may."

"I may?"

"Of course," she said. "As soon as my coachwoman returns, in two or three days, she will take you and let out where she collected you. A day or two, certainly no more than three, and one of the coaches will come through the area, and you can return to whence you came."

My hopes dashed, for how may I possibly do what she suggested I do?

"How can I pay for such a thing? Where do I stay while I wait for the coach?"

"What concern of mine are those things? I have given you shelter, food, purpose, and you repay my hospitality by sneaking away, at a time I'm busy tending my patients, like a thief absconding with their ill-gotten gains, rather than telling me you wish to leave."

"I'm supposed to be assisting you, and you haven't asked, not one time, for me to help. How do you suppose being ignored, in such a way, makes me feel?"

"Your presence here as my assistant is to assist me, and at present, your company is all I need from you. And your willingness to be of assistance and provide what the boys need."

"How can I be of assistance? You haven't told me anything, and you haven't asked anything of me, save personal facts of my life in America."

"Of course, I have asked you many things. Think, what do you think all those visions are? You desire to help, give in to your dreams, accept what we are, and let go of your foolish fondness for your American lover. Let go of Michael, let your ill-conceived and foolish commitment to an addle-brained bore pass and give in to your deepest, darkest longings. Join us, become one of us, reach the perfection you deserve."