“Valeriu!” called out Irini. “Valeriu, you worthless fool!”
Valeriu raced down the east wing hall to meet his mistress head on.
He had not extinguished the lanterns in this hall for the night, but he’d been about to, and now that task had been interrupted by the count’s first wife, someone he had no wish to deal with at the current moment, or at any time, for that matter…She had a habit of twisting things he did not want twisted.
“We must hurry,” frowned Irini. “Your master commands you to help me quarantine the infected.”
Valeriu noted that she had spoken “your master” rather than “our master.” It did not surprise him she would say as such, though she had received the count’s whip many times. The woman was nothing but pride, and he hated his dealings with her, but she was right about one thing: The infected needed to be dealt with, and quickly.
“How many are the sick?” asked Irini in a panicked hush.
In truth, he did not know. Several of the servants had come down with the illness, at least ten, but judging by his mistress’s urgent tone, she clearly knew something he did not.
“I’m not exactly sure,” he frowned. “I avoid them for obvious reasons.”
“Don’t take that tone with me!” hissed Irini.
Her eyes flashed a crimson red for a split second, and he flinched, but she did not strike him, not this time.
“There is something deeply wrong with the diseased,” said Irini after a moment of struggled calm. “I and Mr. Gilford were attacked on the road by something that may have once been a little boy, but it was not…It was an abomination, and I fear that it may have once been one of the infected.”
“A boy?” asked Valeriu in slight confusion. “A little boy, you say?”
“Yes, you ignorant lout!” spat Irini. “A terrible force is at play here, something beyond evil, something so terrible that even the count cannot define it.”
Valeriu’s heart leapt into his throat. He had some idea of what had happened—was still happening—if his theory was correct.
“The professor…” he muttered.
“What about the professor?” asked Irini through narrowed eyes.
“I…I have seen things…” stammered Valeriu.
“What things?” asked Irini. “Speak up, you fool!”
“Odeta…” said Valeriu reluctantly.
“She has been spending time with that weasel,” scowled Irini. “What of it?”
“She enters his room, and then a light appears, an evil light,” replied Valeriu. “It glows with many colors, this light, and I feel something beyond death within it…It glows when Odeta is in the professor’s quarters…The sounds she makes, like love making…But she is not the same, not since her nightly meetings with the professor…That light frightens me. She frightens me.”
“We shall pay a visit to the professor, then,” frowned Irini. “I think first, however, we shall see Odeta and confront her. Something foul is afoot.”
“Yes, mistress,” replied Valeriu.
They hurried to Odeta’s room, but the heavy wooden door was shut when they arrived at their destination.
Valeriu nervously peered over at the ornate battle axe decorating the stone wall across from Odeta’s quarters. The count had purchased this particular axe from foreign dealers, and Valeriu was vaguely aware of the history of it, but it was the only weapon in the vicinity, so it would have to do.
He had never, at any point, considered arming himself whenever he’d had dealings with the count’s second wife, but now his mind was wandering toward just that. He hoped it would not come to that, because he seriously doubted he could defend himself against her, even with a battle axe.
Irini pushed open the heavy door and peered inside.
There, in the dim lantern light of the large room, was Odeta sitting upon the crimson sheets of her ornate, dark-wood bed, and across her lap was a boy of a mere eight or nine, a little tow-headed boy in clean peasant clothes. The count’s younger, second wife was feeding off of the boy’s neck, the child’s blood running in rivulets across his body and Odeta herself, staining her white nightgown a deep red, and the boy’s flesh was so desiccated, so mummified, that Valeriu could immediately tell that the child was deceased, drained to nothing.
This was a capital crime in the count’s eyes, as killing the villagers without permission, especially the children, would lead to the people turning upon the count, and the count viewed the people of Luna Plina as his property, his cattle, so what had happened here? What had happened in Odeta’s room mere minutes before Valeriu and his mistress had arrived?…Only the Devil himself knew the answer to that.
Irini, of course, automatically knew that the child in Odeta’s arms was dead.
“What have you done!” screeched the count’s first wife.
Odeta popped her mouth from the boy’s withered neck and grinned at Irini, the younger woman’s mouth, chin, and neck coated over in the sanguine lifeforce of the boy, her fangs exposed and glistening with that blood, and Valeriu backed away, taking a quick moment to eye the ornate battle axe mounted on the wall behind him, because something was deeply wrong with Odeta, and he knew this without a doubt.
“The young ones are always the sweetest,” grinned Odeta. “They have the most delightful burst of flavor as they pass on. Their dying sings to me…I hear their music, Irini…Don’t you?”
Valeriu’s eyes widened as Irini’s own eyes glowed with an inner red light. The older vampiress’s fangs dropped as she hissed in reply.
“You stupid cow!” cried Irini. “The master will destroy you for this! He will cut off your arms and legs and pike you in the courtyard until the sun comes up to burn your bones to ash!”
“One should not threaten one’s superior,” said Odeta in a strange, warped voice, that weird, fanged and bloody grin still upon her evil face.
“Superior!” shrieked Irini. “Valeriu is superior to the likes of you, and he is barely above a dung heap!”
“You have no idea what you are dealing with, dear Irini,” grinned Odeta. “I have power now, real power, because I have seen the truth, a truth that reaches beyond the stars, a truth that reaches into the heart of the black cosmos, and what have you?…All you are is a sad little doll of a woman who plays at being a vampire…
“I think on all the times that little man whom I called husband has whipped you, and it brings a smile to my face…Of course, he holds no power over me anymore, and neither do you…
“No, no, dear Irini, our past lovemaking holds no bearing here…No, I’m afraid I’m going to have to rip off your arms and legs…Yes, I’m going to rip off your limbs and put you on a pike in the courtyard, dear Irini, and your torso shall turn to bones once you are impaled, and then the sun shall rise, and you shall be no more, and I shall not feel a morsel of pity over it. I think a fitting end to you is the one you have decided for me…No, your sweet lips and your gentle caresses cannot save you now.”
“You dare threaten…me…” trailed off Irini.
Valeriu backed away toward the battle axe on the wall, and with good reason, the same reason Irini stood in speechless shock at the sight unfolding before them.
Odeta continued to smile, but her mouth widened until it spread all the way across her face, that mouth loaded with fangs, many, many fangs, a multitude of sharp, sharp teeth that spun in a circle all the way down her throat.
Her mouth opened to an impossible size, a huge circle larger than her actual head, and then she stuffed the dead child in her arms into that gaping fanged maw, stuffing him in until he disappeared altogether, no trace of him, no bulge or bump or mound within Odeta to show for it.
That maw shrank to fit upon Odeta’s face, but barely. She was still grinning, that blood-washed grin still fanged from ear to ear.
Valeriu struggled to take the battle axe off the wall. He did not know how well such a weapon would fare him, but it was better than nothing.
He turned out of panic, though he wished he hadn’t.
Odeta’s arms extended to an unholy length, stretching across her room, bending in several places as if the expansive limbs had far too many joints, and her fingers lengthened into demonic claws as those grasping hands gripped Irini’s arms without mercy.
The older vampiress was lifted into the air to dangle above the floor, her arms spread up and outwards as if she were being crucified. The count’s first wife struggled against Odeta’s monstrous strength, but her struggles meant nothing in the face of the abomination Odeta had become.
“Valeriu!” screeched Irini. “Protect me!”
Valeriu turned, loosened the axe from the wall, and held it in front of himself in poor defense, readying the weapon in a two-handed grip. He was not particularly skilled with weapons, but he was strong from years of working under the count, and he could swing a woodcutting axe with ease, so this was little different…
But Irini’s fate had been sealed just after Valeriu had gained possession of the weighty battle axe.
Irini’s arms came off at the shoulders, the stumps spurting out a fountain of blood, but this would not kill her, and Valeriu knew this. He did not know if her limbs would grow back or not, but it appeared she would not get the chance to regenerate them, even if she could.
The older vampiress dropped to the stone floor, her fanged mouth agape with both horror and pain, but she did not remain on that floor for long.
Odeta tossed Irini’s arms aside and then raised both of her freaky, twisted, gnarled hands, palms up. Irini was flung upwards by an invisible force, spinning in midair so that her back struck the ceiling. The older vampiress was spun in a circle on the ceiling, and then her legs dangled downwards as she simply floated in midair, armless and defenseless, her back to Odeta, her front facing Valeriu, blood still spraying from her terrible wounds.
Odeta motioned downwards with her clawed hands and her incredibly-long, weirdly-bent arms, and Irini’s exquisite red dress split in twain as it was ripped from her, undergarments and all, revealing her nude body in all its naked glory.
“Valeriu!” choked out Irini. “She has defiled me! It hurts! Help me!”
But Valeriu could not move. He was terrified, stuck fast in place by his own fear.
Odeta’s huge and clawed hands grasped Irini’s bare legs and then pulled. Irini’s legs came off at the hips, and more blood sprayed from what was left of her, just a floating female torso with a head, all as the monstrous Odeta tossed Irini’s severed legs aside.
Irini simply hovered in the air, held in place by whatever demonic power Odeta now possessed.
Valeriu stared in horror at his older mistress’s beautiful face. That pale and gorgeous face was now twisted in pain, her eyes squeezed shut, her ruby-red lips opened wide to reveal a silent scream accented by her glistening white fangs, her mouth filled with her own vampiric blood.
Odeta’s monstrous form stepped from the room as her weirdly-long and bent right arm wrapped around Irini’s bare torso to carry the older woman as a child would carry a doll. Odeta had grown in size due to her extending legs, those legs bent in weird places, and she stepped forward in great strides…
Valeriu ran. He ran without looking behind himself, because he was not stupid.
“Run, my little Valeriu!” taunted Odeta. “Run for all you can, you feckless toad!”
There was a loud, high-pitched screech that reverberated down the hall to pierce past Valeriu’s hearing. That screeching pounded over him from behind, a warning or alarm of some sort from Odeta, no doubt, though he had no idea what such an alarm might bring his way…
He clutched his battle axe tightly to him as one of the castle servants, the maid named Simona, stepped out of her room to block his path.
The young maid was naked, and normally Valeriu would have stopped to gape at her nubile body, but now she was a monstrosity fit to rival Odeta in heart-stopping terror.
Simona was covered in mouths, mouths like the one on her face, but lipless things that displayed gnashing human teeth. She had mouths all over her, even where her nipples should have been, even on the palms of her hands…even between her legs…and she spread her arms wide as if to give Valeriu a hug, a hug that would eat him alive if he allowed it to.
“Come to me, my handsome Valeriu!” called out Simona. “Let us make love like you have always wished to!”
But his brain had switched off. This was much too much for him, far too much.
Valeriu swung his axe at full force as he continued to run, swinging it in a horizontal spread of death, and he never slowed down, because he had to make it out of the castle…He had to warn the master.
The axe buried itself in the soft flesh of Simona’s bare belly, and she was sliced in two, but nothing came out of her but a clear gelatin, some sort of opaque slime that splattered here and there as her naked, mouth-covered body fell in twain.
He did not stop to look behind himself as he ran for his life…He had to make it out.
But he had yet another servant step out of their room. A portly, balding man with a bushy brown beard, this man in his early thirties, a man by the name of Oan, a groundskeeper, exited his room in order to block Valeriu’s path once more.
This man was just as naked as Simona had been, but he was far more grotesque than the mouth-covered young woman could ever hope to be. The flesh of Oan’s arms and legs were a sticky mix of melted skin and congealed blood that shot out in four lines, shooting out in turn to glue themselves to the stone walls of the hall, thereby providing a human-like net to prevent Valeriu’s progress.
The man’s skin was in patches of oozing, flayed flesh, and his deformed and melting face extended outwards as the jaw bones extended as well, those human teeth yellowed and sharpened by strange metamorphosis. His neck extended on wrinkled lines like a weird serpent, and between his legs was yet another human head, this one identical to the malformed one mounted upon his greatly-lengthened neck. This new head slithered forth upon another “neck” that flailed and winded about in no seeming direction.
Valeriu was a hardened man. He had witnessed many horrors in Castle Recolta, many terrible things he did not wish to speak of, but this…
Oan’s lower head shot forth in a gnashing fit. Valeriu broke from his momentary bout of disgusted shock, stepped to his own left, and then he brought down the axe to sever Oan’s disgusting nether-head from its winding, serpentine neck. He ducked down to avoid the upper head’s cobra strike, and then he stepped forward to chop into that extended neck near its base, near Oan’s melted, sticky shoulders.
Oan’s original head fell to the floor in a thrashing fit, but his body was still glued across the passage, still effectively blocking Valeriu’s only means of escape.
Valeriu chopped away after that, cutting loose the glue-like strands of flesh, blood, and muscle that held Oan’s body to the castle walls. Oan’s grotesque corpse splattered to the floor after that, and Valeriu was on his way once more…
But he had only just stepped over the body when he was grabbed from behind.
Valeriu turned to see Odeta’s weirdly long and bent left arm trailing off down the hallway, and around his own left arm, up near his left shoulder, was her huge and clawed hand. He meant to swing his axe down with his right hand; he meant to sever that arm as best he could, but he never got the chance to.
Valeriu could not even scream as his left arm was torn from its socket. The limb popped off as easily as had Irini’s, and now his blood sprayed from the grievous wound to decorate the castle walls with yet more of the crimson liquid.
Odeta’s arm receded down the hall, snapped backwards by its own pull, and Valeriu ran again, minus one arm, but that would not stop him, because he still had to warn the master.
He had to make it out, but how far he was going to get was in question, as he knew his wound was fatal. Valeriu did not feel any pain from his missing arm, not yet, so he ran, because that was all he had left in him to do.
More of the abominations exited their quarters as Valeriu ran, but he ran past them and around them, running without fear this time, because he was going to die, and he knew this, so there was nothing left to fear. He only had one last job, one last mission to complete…
He had to warn the master…He had to make it out.
*****
Samuel drew his pistol as the citizens of the fair city of Luna Plina ran in terror down the street. They flooded past him in a tidal wave of ambient and tangible fear as the soldiers in front of him and behind him moved aside to let the fleeing people pass.
“Hold fast!” yelled the count. “On my command!”
The imposing leader of Luna Plina stood tall and unwavering within the center of a contingent of soldiers, and Samuel stood next to him, though what was going to happen, Samuel did not know.
The Gendarmerie readied their rifles, these stoic men in blue uniforms and couched hats, and Samuel knew they could handle whatever threat had sent the good people of Luna Plina in a blind stampede, but what he could not understand was why he was here, why the count would want Samuel P. Gilford here, right here in the thick of things.
Perhaps the count’s plan to have Samuel inform the authorities of what Samuel had personally witnessed was why the count had originally ordered him to come out here, but now that everything was breaking down into chaos, there was no reason for him to be here at all.
Really, he was just a banker, and he needed to be back at the castle where it was safe.
In fairness, the count had mustered the Gendarmerie from their barracks as soon as he had arrived here with Samuel, but then this had happened, and whatever this was, Samuel did not know, but it left a fearful pit in his stomach.
The soldiers around him aimed outwards toward the dark. Samuel pointed his pistol at the darkness as well, if only to fit in, because he did not want to appear weak in front of these men, but what came out of that darkness? What came out of the pitch black of that unholy night?…That was a far better reason to have his pistol ready.
The shambling horrors that came out of the black were an indescribable nightmare. They had all once been human—Samuel could tell that much—but no longer…They were now awful amalgamations of teeth, eyes, and limbs where none should be, along with streaks and patches and melds of melted flesh, pink slime, yellow ooze, clear gel, and inky black pitch that turned Samuel’s stomach upon the sight of them.
Samuel turned to view the count’s reaction, but the tall, pale man wearing a well-appointed black suit and a superlative red cape did not show fear…No, he only displayed rage, a fury unlike any Samuel had seen on a face before.
“What madness is this!” cried the count.
One soldier broke ranks and ran from the front line, running toward the back ranks, running out of blind terror, but he did not make it far. Count Recolta caught this man by the neck, lifting the poor fool above the ground to where the soldier’s black boots could not touch the cobbled street below. There was a loud “CRACK!” as the coward’s neck snapped, and then he was tossed aside like so much rubbish, tossed aside to land somewhere off to Samuel’s right.
“The only thing you have to fear is ME!” shouted the count in audible fury. “Hold steady now! On my command!”
Samuel watched in strange surprise as the executed soldier’s rifle flew from the ground and into the count’s hands, though he did not know how such a thing could happen. Perhaps another soldier had thrown the rifle to the count and Samuel had somehow missed that action, but considering the monstrosities quickly closing upon them all, there was no time to ruminate over this oddity.
Count Recolta flipped over the rifle to a firing position and then aimed.
“Fire!” he yelled. “Destroy them all!”
The count pulled the trigger, the rifle discharged its bullet, and then the soldiers fired in time after that first shot rang out. The steadied Gendarmerie unleashed a hail of deadly bullets, so Samuel aimed and pulled the trigger of his own pistol.
These creatures that had once been men, women, and children fell one after the next. Some melted into bubbling pools of black ichor or flesh, while some simply splattered across the cobblestones in a semblance of hair, bone, and gore.
But that was only the first wave of them. More erupted from the darkness, a gibbering horde all speaking at once, spouting whatever normalcies they would have spoken in recent life, a creeping of verbal madness that nearly rivaled the visual one of their mere existence.
A dark-green tendril shot forth from out of the horde to attach itself to one soldier’s midriff. The man screamed as more tendrils burrowed beneath his skin, and then his flesh began to bubble and melt.
The count turned and fired upon the poor soldier, putting a solid round through the man’s right temple, shattering bits of skull and blowing out his brains without hesitation or remorse.
“Do not let them touch you!” cried the count. “Keep firing! Destroy them all!”
Samuel turned and unloaded his pistol at the gibbering horde as shots rang out around him…He did not want to die here, not here in some foreign land away from his loving wife, certainly not at the hands of whatever these things were.
The second volley of shots rang out in the night, and the horde of unspeakable horrors before them fell one by one until there were none left.
The count turned and centered his brutal stare upon the captain of the Gendarmerie.
“Sweep the city and kill any who remain!” he hissed.
The tall, pale, and imposing man then fixed his fearsome gaze upon Samuel.
“You shall return to Castle Recolta, Mr. Gilford,” frowned the count. “I’m certain my man, Valeriu, and my wives have armed the servants by now to eliminate those infected at my ancestral home, but you shall return to the castle and assist them. I shall lead the men here and ensure the city is purified of these abominations.”
At this point, Samuel would do as he was commanded, for these vile things had to be destroyed, but in all truth, he did not wish to argue with someone as formidable as the count. The man was fearless, brutal, and swift in his decisions, and those decisions had been final ones…
If anyone could stop whatever madness was occurring, it was Count Alexandru Recolta, and Samuel was not about to stand in his way.
*****
Valeriu knelt upon cold earth, his axe clutched in his right hand.
He was fading out, dying from blood loss, but he had at least escaped the castle. Unfortunately, his master was nowhere in sight.
He knelt some distance from the castle, but he had turned to face the lit lanterns upon its walls, for if he were going to die, he was going to do so staring at the home he had come to love so dearly.
He was a murderer, true, and the count was an evil creature of the night, a demon in human skin, true, but Valeriu’s loyalty was unwavering toward the ruler of Luna Plina…
Perhaps he would see his master again in Hell.
He looked up to see the monstrous form of Odeta exit the castle gate. She was still carrying the delimbed, naked torso that was Irini, the nude vampiress still carried about like a doll tucked within Odeta’s elongated and bent right arm.
Behind Odeta was the sinister profile of Professor Moore, the odious fellow following closely behind as if Odeta were no demonic abomination at all. The terrible little shrew of a man held a discernable grin upon his weathered face within the light of the lantern he held aloft, and Valeriu understood now…It had been Moore all along.
It was Moore who pulled the strings, and it had been Moore who had somehow granted Odeta a horrific power beyond anything Valeriu could have imagined. The old weasel was probably behind the plague as well, and it was a good bet that Moore had come across this terrible power and this terrible plague at Cele Trei Pietre…
The Three Stones should have never been disturbed.
Valeriu’s dying thoughts were pulled back to his old mistress due to her cutting tone, an imperious, judgmental tone he was all too familiar with.
“Valeriu!” called out Irini in a voice wracked with pain. “You old fool! How dare you die on me! I am defiled! She has taken my dignity! Why have you not fetched my husband! Can you do nothing right!”
Valeriu smiled and gave a short chuckle. So were the last words to him of the would-be countess, and those last words did not surprise him at all.
“So, there is another one?” asked the professor.
“He is outside the light, but he is there,” said Odeta in a deep and menacing voice. “He is dying. I have torn away one of his arms.”
“I see,” replied the professor. “Dispose of Irini then. We do not need her. She irritates me anyway.”
Odeta raised her gnarled, enlarged, left hand, and the thick root of a nearby tree burst from the ground to stand tall and true like a pike.
“You will burn for this!” screeched Irini. “You will burn in Hell for an eternity, you foul witch! I shall be there wait—”
“Oh, shut up,” said Odeta in her strange, deep voice.
She gripped Irini around the woman’s bare waist, raised her up high like showing off a prize, and then spiked her upon the tree root without pause.
Irini’s nethers were impaled, and the woman screamed high and loud until that pitched scream was choked off as the root exited her bloody mouth. Her flesh and organs burned away after that, burning to ash, black ash that floated off in the night breeze until there was nothing left of the would-be countess but an armless, legless skeleton impaled by the root up past the pelvis, up through the rib cage, and farthest up through the open jaws, open jaws that sported twin long and sharp fangs where the canines would be.
“Kill the other one,” commanded Professor Moore.
There was no hesitation in the enactment of his command, nor did Valeriu believe there would be.
A root burst through the ground in front of Valeriu, only to impale him through the stomach, exiting out his back. His grip faltered on his axe, and it fell beside him as he struggled not to slide further down the natural pike he was impaled upon.
He spit out blood as he smiled, and though he knew the professor could not see his bloody grin, he also knew that Odeta most certainly could.
“The master…will show you…your place…” he choked out.
Even at this great distance, he knew the count’s second wife could hear him, and he knew that his statement would not go over well…Those statements never had.
Odeta’s warped face bent downwards into a menacing scowl as she raised both hands, palms up. Roots burst from the ground after that and impaled Valeriu from every direction, sending terrible agony through him all at once.
As darkness closed in on his vision, he could see the fires of Hell, but he did not fear them, because he knew that Odeta and her puppeteer would soon follow him there, and this gave him some comfort, the only comfort he was going to find where he was going.
*****
Samuel journeyed through the dark on foot, lantern in hand. He reached the castle mount without too much trouble, but as he approached the lantern-lit gates in the distance, he could see something ahead upon the leaf-strewn ground…
It was Valeriu. The poor man was very deceased, impaled by what looked like dark spears of some sort, and upon closer inspection, he was missing an arm, his left arm.
“What in the name of…” breathed out Samuel, but his voice trailed off as he heard the beating of wings within the night sky.
He turned to look for whatever had made such a loud flap, but he was startled by the sudden presence of the count, the tall and pale man appearing next to him as if from out of nowhere.
The count must have followed him. The man must have followed him on silent footsteps all the way here.
But none of that mattered at the moment. The lord of Luna Plina’s face twisted with rage at the sight of his head-servant’s body, and this caused Samuel to take a step back from the count.
“Valeriu!” hissed the count. “Who has done this to you!”
“I found him this way, your lordship,” said Samuel fearfully.
“Someone must pay for this!” spat the count.
“Oh, someone shall,” came Professor Moore’s voice from the distance.
The older man held a lantern high to reveal all that was around him.
Samuel could see the pike next to the man, and impaled upon that pike was half a skeleton, though who that person had been, Samuel had no idea.
“What is this!” called out the count.
“I’m afraid your time has come to an end, your lordship,” smirked Professor Moore. “Dawn approaches, but I think I shan’t let you into the castle. I’m afraid it’s under new management.”
“What!” yelled the count in clear outrage.
Odeta stepped out from behind the professor. The woman was fully nude, and normally she would have been a beautiful, gorgeous female of perfect proportions, but her sultry lips and her narrow chin were coated with blood, blood that had dried in a winged splatter all the way down her bare chest, all the way down to her visible belly button.
“What treachery is this!” cried the count.
“I gave you the chance to worship me,” said Odeta in a low voice. “I gave you everything…my beauty, my body, and even my soul…Like Irini, I came from an honorable, noble family…but you threw me away for some worthless peasant girl. Now I will be taking the castle…I will be taking Luna Plina.”
“You are blinded by foolish jealousy, Odeta,” frowned the count. “I will punish you later, and you will be punished…I will not let the death of Valeriu go as such…Unfortunately, I must execute the treacherous Professor Moore for his role in all of this. I can see now I should not have brought him into Castle Recolta…But where is Irini? She should have put a stop to all of this before it had even begun.”
“Oh, she tried,” smiled Odeta.
The count’s gorgeous, nude, and bloodstained second wife waved her right hand toward the pike with the partial skeleton impaled upon it.
“You jealous little fool!” hissed the count. “Why have you done this! Such an act cannot so easily be forgiven! I must carry out the same fate upon you now! Why would you do this! Why would you do such a thing!”
“Destroy him, my dear,” smirked the professor. “He is nothing to you…You may take Mr. Gilford as a prize after that. He is a simpleton, but even the blood of a simpleton can be satisfying.”
Samuel really hated that man. However, as much as he hated Moore, his thoughts were overshadowed by something truly puzzling. He could not understand how the professor had murdered both Valeriu and the count’s first wife in such a short period of time, or how the pair’s bodies had ended up in the states they were currently in. Yet even more puzzling was how the professor could in any way believe a naked and unarmed young woman could possibly defeat a brutal, merciless warlord such as the count…
But his thoughts trailed off into trembling horror as Odeta began to change.
The beautiful young woman’s bloodstained and naked body bent and warped as roots burst from the ground to merge with her, and a nearby tree bent and stretched out its bare branches as those same branches merged with her body in synchrony with the roots beneath her. She coated over with bark as her figure warped and grew and grew and grew…
The monster within the professor’s lamplight looked nothing like Odeta.
The giant thing in the distance had three thick, bent, and curved roots for legs, a narrow tree trunk of a torso, an overbroad and bark-armored chest, two long arms with pillared root spikes for hands, a sloping curved head, beady orange eyes, and a maw filled with grim red fangs.
Two huge, red, devil-like bat wings sprouted from its back, and those wings spanned out to an impressive twelve feet each. One of them was still connected to the tree Odeta had merged with, but that wing snapped free from the offending branch a second later, and then that awful metamorphosis, that twisted transformation, was complete.
The creature that had once been Odeta had to be at least ten feet tall, but Samuel could not accurately judge its height from here.
“What sorcery is this!” cried the count.
His question was answered in the most brutal way possible.
The creature’s right arm raised as its root spike shot forth in an extension of both arm and branch to impale the count through his own left shoulder. The count had moved slightly to his own right at that very moment, and if he had not, he would have been impaled through the heart.
The man opened his lips and hissed in both pain and fury, and Samuel could swear there were fangs there, there in the lord of the castle’s open mouth.
There was no more time to shake in fear, no more time to think, and no more time for anything but to act, so Samuel opened fire.
He drew his pistol and fired three shots into the beast, but his bullets did little but ricochet off the creature’s hardened bark armor. This did, however, distract the unnamable horror, and this gave the count enough time to prevent himself from being impaled again.
Samuel backed away as roots burst from the ground in front of him, backing away as those deadly, sharpened tips tried to impale him in an upwards explosion. He fell to his bottom as he fired off one more round, though that bullet missed and zinged off somewhere skyward.
The count reached out with his right hand, and the axe that Valeriu had held before he had expired flew from the blood-soaked earth beneath the count’s most-trusted servant and straight into the lord of Luna Plina’s right hand.
Samuel watched in wide-eyed amazement as Count Recolta cut downwards with one hand, severing the root pike that had impaled the man within his upper-left shoulder. The count then quickly switched the axe to his left hand, pulled out the severed root with his right hand, tossed that root aside, and then gripped the fearsome weapon with both hands, ready to fight, though how the man was going to fight this unnatural creature was beyond Samuel.
The fusion of woman and tree that had been Odeta ignored Samuel entirely and fell back upon attacking the count. Another root spike extended forward in order to impale the leader of Luna Plina, but the man exploded into a cloud of large black bats just before the deadly root tip would have struck him.
At this point, Samuel’s wayward brain finally made the connection. It was the fangs, the strange ability to move objects with the mind, and finally, the screeching, flapping swarm of bats that finally turned the gears…Nosferatu. The peasants of Luna Plina had often spoken in hushed whispers of these unholy creatures of the night, these creatures that drained the blood of the living and used dark, infernal powers to rule mankind…Vampire. It made sense now. It had all finally come together.
“Dear God…” muttered Samuel under hoarse breath.
The swarm of bats flew forward and surrounded the giant creature. Those same bats coalesced into the shape of the count from above the woodland horror, and then the man dropped from above with his axe to slice off one of the great wings of the creature, the left one.
The unnatural beast cried out in rage and pain as that huge wing fell to the dark earth, and Samuel swore he could hear the cry of Odeta within that weirdly-high-pitched screech.
The unnamable horror turned and struck the count with its massive, right, tree-trunk arm, but the count fell apart from the blow, falling apart into a swarm of rats, large, ugly grey things that scattered in all directions.
Samuel found it strange how the man’s clothes and the axe the lord of Luna Plina wielded seem to form back into existence whenever the count reappeared as his familiar self. This was all he could think about at the moment, as his rational mind was on hiatus, long on vacation since the battle had started.
He was running on clockwork gears now, his mind automatically ticking over from one notch to the next, because his logical mind could no longer adjust to the reality of the situation, as there was no reality anymore, at least, not the one he had lived in for thirty-six years.
His cursory attention, however, was still on the fight before him.
Deadly roots burst from the ground to impale rats here and there, but the swarm of nasty little vermin once again reformed into Count Recolta, only this time he was some distance from the giant woodland horror.
The man raised his axe high into the air, raising it high as if in challenge.
“Come to me!” cried the count. “Come to me, creatures of the night!”
The howls sounded out after that, howls from all around them, one after the next, those forlorn howls mixing into a symphony of wild mourning.
The wolves bounded out of the surrounding countryside from seemingly everywhere at once. They charged the unnatural creature that had once been Odeta, and then the count joined them, changing into a large black wolf that charged in time with the pack.
The wolves were all over the woodland monstrosity as the creature flailed left and right and left again in order to keep the pack off of it. However, even with the strength of the unholy pack, a vicious group of rabid predators that could easily tear apart a fully-grown man, the wolves could do little to the bark-armored creature…
But the count most certainly could.
The great black wolf that was the count leapt forward, only to transform into the imposing figure of Count Recolta, and the man who ruled Luna Plina, this ancient terror of the night, brought down his battle axe to completely sever the creature’s left arm from its body.
This thing, this woodland horror, cried out in its high-pitched shriek, but it did not bleed, no. A black pitch, black as the darkest night, spewed forth from the stumped wood and slithered outwards, only to shoot forth tendrils all around it, pulling itself free from its tree-bark shell. It then set to flailing in all directions with its many tendrils, gripping wolves with its oozing, black touch.
The husk of wood that had surrounded the creature toppled over as tendrils of black ooze shot towards Count Recolta, but the man who was not a man would not be tethered by those deadly, whip-like appendages. His body turned to mist, and those ebony tendrils passed harmlessly through him, but the wolves of the pack, the summoned creatures of the night, were not so fortunate.
Those unholy animals of darkness were drawn into the great blob of pitch, and then they merged with it, becoming something truly horrifying, truly terrifying, something that Samuel had no words for, nor would he ever for as long as he lived.
The great oozing thing that had once been Odeta sprouted waving tendrils all over its amorphous body, and each tendril sported the melted head of a slavering wolf, the flesh of the animals dissolved in patches to show the white of lupine bone. Within the center of this pitch blob a mouth opened, a wide and grinning mouth filled with fangs, those fangs glistening within the lanternlight of Moore’s nearby illumination.
The blanketed mist around the monster spread outwards toward Samuel, that mist drew inwards to form a single cloud, and then the absolute ruler of Castle Recolta reformed into his fearsome self. He stood tall and proud next to Samuel, unwavering and unforgiving in his countenance.
The night’s dark shroud had lifted somewhat as dawn made its approach, so Samuel could clearly see the outline of the man without the need of the lantern in his own left hand.
“If I do not survive this…” said the count in a grim tone. “If I do not survive this, my will is in my study. I have left all of my assets to the eldest wife who remains. At this point in time, it appears that heir shall be Rodica Enache. She shall be the new countess of Luna Plina.”
“You would leave your assets to a dead woman?” asked Samuel.
He had said this without thinking, because his rational mind was still in hiding from all he had seen and witnessed…When it would return?…He did not know.
“She is undead, and she will soon rise,” quickly replied the count.
“I…see…” hesitated Samuel.
“She will take a new name, the name of Recolta, the name of the harvest,” said the count. “Now, I will finish this creature, and I will finish it, but if I cannot survive it, you must end Moore…He must not be allowed to escape.”
There was no argument there.
“On that, I most heartily agree,” frowned Samuel.
He stood and readied his pistol. He had two shots left before he was forced to reload, but one well-aimed shot was all he needed to end the treacherous professor.
“You are a good man, Samuel Gilford,” said the count. “Unfortunately, this world is not made for good men…Farewell…We shall not meet again, in this life or the next.”
The man then charged after that, moving at blinding speed, so fast that Samuel could not track his position until the count was standing before the slavering horror of pitch terror that had once been Odeta.
The creature struck with multiple tendrils at once. The count sliced through tendril after tendril with his axe, but two of the wolf heads bit into him, one in his right shoulder and one on his left leg. The count opened his own fanged mouth and hissed as the tendrils drew him in, drawing him toward the gaping fanged maw of the blobbing horror, that maw two-and-a-half meters across with fangs one-and-a-half-decimeters-long, pure death embedded within that distance of teeth and terror.
Samuel ran forward with his lantern to shine light upon the creature and the count. It was not in his nature to run toward death, but the professor was still outside of his range of shot, and Samuel did not wish to miss his chance, not now, not with everything on the line.
He closed that gap rather quickly, aimed, and pulled the trigger, but his shot was wide, and the professor bolted, running off into the night, the weasel shuttering his lantern so that he could not be followed within the thin veil of darkness that led toward dawn.
Samuel raised his lantern to witness the finale of this unholy, otherworldly contest, but he did not know what he was going to do if the count actually lost, and he was uncertain as to what he even could do if that happened.
The count staggered forward as he was drawn toward the chomping maw of the creature. The man cut off the tendril binding his leg, and then he gripped the last melted wolf’s head with terrible strength, gripping it with clawed hands as he dropped his precious battle axe to the earth.
The count cried out in rage as he ripped free the last tendril, and then he became a bat, a transformation of horrific proportions, a large and singular demonic-looking terror that flew upwards to land on the top-center of the black, oozing nightmare. That tremendous and unholy bat then bit down into the ebony mass with huge fangs, and then the bat became a half-man, a hybrid of man and bat, a demonic figure if Samuel had ever seen one.
The fanged, blobbing pitch that had once been Odeta wobbled, and then it began to melt, slowly dissolving into a bubbling tar-like substance as the bat-demon upon it continued to drain its horrific lifeforce.
Soon there was nothing left of what had once been Odeta, and the man-thing, the demon that was the count, shifted back into human form once more.
The count’s figure was ragged and bloody, his suit rent, his scarlet cape torn, and he staggered forward a few feet, only to drop to his knees, his mouth agape, his fangs coated with the black nightmare of ichor that had made up the unnamable thing he had just ended…
His eyes were jet black, and within those sable eyes were lights, multicolored lights that swirled in a granular, cosmic circle.
“Go…find…Moore…” choked out the count. “I must…end this…I cannot…contain it…for much…longer…It must…be…destroyed…”
Samuel watched the count struggle with whatever was inside the man. Count Alexandru Recolta twitched, his hands shaking, his body trembling, his fanged mouth agape, and then dawn’s light appeared upon the horizon.
That light washed over them both with its soothing warmth, and then the count set aflame, the ancient ruler lighting up like a lit torch, as did the bones of Irini upon the root pike she had been impaled upon, and then they were both gone, nothing more than ashes in the morning breeze.
*****
Samuel read through the will he had discovered within the count’s study. It was rather vague in its ownership of the count’s assets, but if Count Recolta had been correct, then Samuel needed to locate the man’s remaining “wife,” though he had no idea how to do that. That woman’s location was currently unknown.
Of the professor, Samuel had found nothing. That weasel of a man had disappeared, vanished, though the authorities were actively looking for him. Whatever Archibald Moore had unleashed upon the countryside and within the castle?…Those horrors had been removed by the soldiers, the police, and the armed citizens of Luna Plina, but the professor was still at large, and he would have to be dealt with.
Why a man of any standing would wish to unleash such abominations, Samuel had no idea, but he knew the world itself was in danger as long as the professor yet lived.
There were few servants left in the castle. Some had died, obviously, but many of them had fled during the initial madness that had occurred the previous evening. There were a few loyal servants left, and Samuel had depended upon them to show him around the estate during the day, assuring them that new ownership was indeed on its way, though few believed him.
Now it was evening, so he would head back to his quarters for the night. He would stay here for a week at most, and then he would be forced to be on his way…This was not his country, and with the count destroyed, there was little reason for him to remain; the firm would not allow it. If he could not “tie up business” here with the count’s estate and exact a proper fee for the firm’s involvement, then he was to return to England post haste.
Besides, his wife was waiting for him back in London.
He walked back to his temporary quarters within the east wing, and from what he understood from the servants, this wing had been a terrible sight to see earlier in the day. The bodies they had removed…
Nevertheless, he walked to his quarters and did his best to ignore the terrible stains upon the stone floor and walls of this old east wing of the castle. The remaining servants would clean away those stains, but the stains remained for now, as disturbing as that might be.
He entered his quarters, but his attention was quickly drawn to a note written on browned paper, that note laid out upon the room’s old writing desk:
“I have information about the count’s remaining wishes upon his death. Meet me outside the castle this evening, outside the east wing, and we shall speak there.”
The note was written in Romanian, though poorly, and there was no indication of the identity of the writer of the letter, but Samuel felt it important to tie up any loose ends.
He holstered his revolver and took with him a lantern in preparation for his new endeavor, and then he exited the castle without further ado.
He wandered around the wooded countryside until he reached the outer walls of the east wing of the castle, but who he was looking for, he had no idea.
Of course, that little mystery was solved when he felt the barrel of a gun at the back of his head and the sound of the gun’s hammer locking back in place.
“Why, good evening, Samuel,” came the wicked voice of Professor Moore.
“Moore…” muttered Samuel as his adrenaline spiked.
He should have known. Of course, what the professor wanted at this juncture was beyond Samuel. The man was a wanted criminal, and there was nowhere the professor could run without being accosted by police.
“A good shot you had last evening, wasn’t it, Gilford?” asked Moore. “Perhaps you should have worked on your aim instead of your accounting.”
“What is it you want, Moore?” asked Samuel.
He needed to calm down. The professor wanted more than revenge, or Samuel would already be dead, and they both knew this.
“Oh, we’re going to take a little trip, you and I,” stated Moore. “I think a little evening walk is in order.”
“Do you now?” asked Samuel. “And what purpose—”
“Move,” ordered Moore. “We’ll head ’round back, I think. Somewhere distant where we can talk in private.”
“Is that so?” asked Samuel.
His revolver was holstered, and he could reach for it, but…
No, he would be shot down before he could do anything. He was simply going to have to play the professor’s game for now.
They walked around the east wing walls and then headed south, heading toward where, Samuel did not know. Still, there were questions that needed answers, and Samuel wanted to know the answers to those questions anyway, so he asked them, but whether that was wise or not was anyone’s guess.
“How did you spread the plague, Archibald?” asked Samuel. “You were unaffected by it, so I know it was your hand that spread it.”
“That ‘plague’ was spread by the count’s own deary wife, Odeta,” said Moore. “At first, I thought it fascinating that she could directly spread it through her bite, but I quickly grew alarmed, as the infected began to spread it themselves. It drew far too much attention to myself via suspicious eyes. The only option I had was to eliminate the count. I had no idea what effects the artifact would have on a Nosferatu.”
“Artifact?” asked Samuel. “What artifact?…Wait…You knew the count and his wives were vampires?”
“Of course, I knew, you fool!” spat Moore. “Only the most blind and idiotic simpleton would fail to see that, Samuel, but that is irrelevant. Those creatures are destroyed, so my plans may continue unhindered.
“As for your first question, the artifact I discovered within Cele Trei Pietre, the ancient artifact I have been searching for since you were an awkward lad in yellow knickers…that artifact…is something your tiny mind could never comprehend. There are gods so old, beings so unfathomable in this universe, they have no name, yet they still exist in the heart of the cosmos, long before your indolent excuse for a god came to be worshipped.
“As Nosferatu, Odeta had some natural resistance to their influence, but she was seduced by their power, so she let them in, accepting them for what they are…the true masters of reality. Watching her undress and commune with the artifact was like watching Leda bring her swan, Zeus, into her open arms…It was quite the show, Gilford; I’ll say that much.
“Of course, she did not have the protection I have, the protection I searched and killed for over many years, so she had no chance…none at all…
“You see, these beings can grant great power to those with the mind to seek them, and seek them I have, and now that I have sought and found them, I shall have that power.”
Samuel shuddered at the memory of the horrors he had encountered upon what was supposed to have been a simple fiduciary journey. If what the professor was saying was true, if there really was some ancient artifact that could contact such beings…That artifact…what it had done to the citizens of Luna Plina…what it had done to Odeta…Odeta, a creature of the night…
“Good God, man!” cried Samuel. “Are you insane! If such things exist, they cannot be controlled! Have you no sense at all!”
“I have the sense to rule wherever I wish,” replied the professor. “And I shall. I shall mark my territory with blood and fire until I have carved out the kingdom I have always dreamed of…
“This little foray was merely an experiment, though I did not expect such a simpleton as you to throw a wrench into the gears of my project…Nevertheless, I have hidden away the artifact for now, but I shall return for it when the time is right. For now, I think, I need to ‘lay low’ and go into hiding for a while… You are going to help me with that.”
They stopped within a small copse of dark trees, and then the professor walked around to stand before Samuel, the odious little man’s pistol pointed in deadly threat.
“Undress, Mr. Gilford,” ordered Moore.
“What!” exclaimed Samuel.
“Remove all articles of clothing and place them on the ground,” said Moore.
“Why would I do something so indecent!” argued Samuel.
“It’s quite simple, Samuel,” smirked the professor. “I need to leave this backwards little country for now, and in order to do so, I shall be taking your place. All documents associated to you shall henceforth be in my possession until I return to London. I’m afraid I shall have to report your untimely death to the authorities, but that should be no trouble.”
“You cad!” cried Samuel. “There is no room in Hell frightful enough to punish such wickedness! The Devil himself shall have you!”
“Sticks and stones, Samuel,” smirked the professor. “Sticks and stones. Now off with your clothing. I don’t want blood on it when I dispose of you.”
“You’re not half the man I am!” exclaimed Samuel. “You can’t possibly fit into my suit without a tailor!”
The professor stood straight and tall without the hint of a stoop upon receiving that verbal challenge.
“Oh, I’ll think I’ll manage,” grinned the professor. “Now off with your clothing, or I’ll do you in right now and take your luggage from your room. I’d rather not have that, however, since I quite like the cut of your current jib.”
“You coward!” cursed Samuel. “You cad! You’ll get nothing…from…me…”
His words trailed off as the pale and naked form of a beautiful blonde woman appeared like a ghost from behind the professor. This gorgeous creature’s bare skin was smudged with black earth, and she was as silent as the grave, so Moore had no idea she was there.
“What is it man?” smirked the professor. “No more insults for me?…Are you that much of a coward?…Why, you’ve turned as white as snow. You look like you’ve seen some specter from beyond the grave.”
The nude woman smiled at Samuel, and he could see the fangs there, the glistening white fangs of the Nosferatu, and he knew quite well now the current location of Rodica Enache.
The beautiful nude blonde pulled back the head of Professor Moore by his receding white hair, opened wide her fanged mouth, and then bit deeply into his neck. He made a slight gasp as he was taken away by her, merely a whisper for one so aggravatingly verbose, and Samuel watched as the odious faker was pulled back into the trees of the night, pulled away by the ‘specter from beyond the grave’ the little shrew of a man had so accurately coined.
Samuel shook in place for a bit before following. He held his lantern high to give him accurate steps in the dark, but it did not take him long to find Moore’s body, or what was left of it. The older man was nothing more than a withered husk of a corpse in a brown suit, a desiccated mummy that looked hundreds of years gone.
“Good lord,” said Samuel.
He turned and received a shock to see the nude and bloody form of Rodica Enache standing before him. The woman had blood running down her chin and over her bare chest, and she stood before him in all her nude glory, uncaring or unaware that she had no stitch of clothing upon her.
She smiled and revealed her blood-coated fangs.
Normally, this would have terrorized Samuel, but he was a practical man if anything, so he held his lantern high and asked her a simple question instead.
“Are you Rodica Enache?” he asked with only a slight tremble in his voice.
The gorgeous blonde ran her right index finger up her sternum, right between her full breasts, running that finger over and through the blood on her bare chest, and then she pushed that finger into her mouth to suck on it for a bit before answering him.
“I am,” she said in a husky voice. “You know of me? How is it that you know of me?…You hold a foreign accent. You speak like an English man.”
“I am in charge of the assets of your late husband, Count Alexandru Recolta,” said Samuel quickly.
“My late…‘husband’?” asked Rodica in visible surprise. “I…don’t remember…I remember fangs in the dark…a cold embrace and…Oh…Oh, I see…The count has done this to me…And you say he is gone?…What of his wives?”
“Deceased, I’m afraid,” explained Samuel. “You were to be his wife, and as his sole remaining heir, you are now the countess of Luna Plina.”
She had bewitching green eyes, and those eyes flitted back and forth as if she were thinking at tremendous speed, but then she stopped and stared into Samuel’s own as she shone him a wide grin.
“I can sense you are telling the truth,” she grinned.
She leaned her head back and let forth a resounding laugh, and then she leveled those bewitching green eyes back upon Samuel.
“He trusted you…I can see it…” said Rodica slowly. “I feel…I feel…powerful…I think my ‘husband’s’ death has granted me powers beyond what I should normally have…Yes…I think I should not kill you, good sir. No, I think you shall help me quite well.”
“Of course,” nodded Samuel. “It is my duty to carry out the count’s will. My firm will exact a modest fee as such before any documents are transferred to a Romanian firm, but for now, I think we should get you to the castle so that you may clean up and wear something…appropriate. I believe the count’s wives had many fine dresses and nightclothes you could try.”
He turned a little red at mentioning that last part, for Rodica was indeed beautiful, even as a pale, bloodstained creature of the night, and he felt a little unfaithful to his loving wife just by viewing this gorgeous creature’s stunning nudity.
“I think I shall enjoy that,” replied the new countess.
“I’m not sure how the citizens of Luna Plina will accept this, however,” warned Samuel. “You are supposed to be dead, interned within the crypts here at the castle.”
“The people of Luna Plina will see what I want them to see,” replied Rodica.
She waved her right hand over her face, and then she changed in appearance, her long, feathered, blonde hair turning black, her sparkling green eyes turning blue.
She looked different enough now that the people would accept her, and this was good, because Samuel did not want any more headaches over the matter. All he really wanted was to return to London and to his wife, and then maybe God would forgive him altogether for becoming embroiled in this unholy mess.
The new countess nodded in the direction of Moore’s mummified body.
“That person…” said Rodica. “I killed him. I was starving…I did not know him. I took him out of instinct…Was he a friend of yours?”
“He was most certainly not,” spat Samuel. “That was the traitor who was responsible for the count’s death and the deaths of his wives. He unleashed a terrible, nightmarish plague upon your fair city, and he attempted to kill me at the end of it all. In fact, if you had not arrived when you did, I would now be dead.”
The new countess studied Samuel for a moment, her now ocean-blue eyes flitting back and forth yet again as if in thought, and then she threw back her head once more and let forth yet another resounding laugh.
Castle of the Betrayed Part II Copyright © 2024 bloodytwine.com Matthew L. Marlott
Note: The art for this story was generated via artificial intelligence courtesy of canva.com.