- prologue -

🚔   "Been dead for about three days..." the medical examiner pronounced looking up at the Guardia Civil officer standing right behind him.

The body lay sprawled in a small clearing deep inside the woods... limbs splayed wide, stark naked!

There was no doubt about the identity of the victim -- Brother Lucas from the nearby abbey -- for he was well recognized in the small rural community. Plus, there was the camping gears with the markings of the abbey, and of course, the distinctive vesture lying nearby.

Founded in the 13th century in the remote, rugged mountainous borderland as a small cloister for monks living a strict religious regime, it soon grew in sacred repute, patronized alike by kings and commoners, knights and knaves. Over the centuries expanding to become the magnificent abbey it's today - providing solace and sacrament, raising orphans, and imparting the highest standard of education and other training.

And Brother Lucas was a much beloved teacher at the school - sports and games - very popular with the boys he coached. Taking great interest in his orphans - engaging them, urging them, encouraging them. Even taking a few for short hiking and camping trips - sometimes a small group of 2 or 3 younger boys, sometimes just a single lad.

"The throat has been ripped off..." the doctor continued once more looking back at the naked body, "probably the cause of death. Flesh from parts of the lower abdomen, the left thigh... and the genitals have been gorged out, presumably eaten."

Killed by a man, and eaten by scavengers? - the officer wondered looking down at the body.

Doubtful - for the injuries to the throat was clearly not from any weapon or farm implement...

Besides the body didn't seem to bear any other mark of injury, or defensive wounds. And no further signs of predation...

In fact, there were no signs of a struggle anywhere in the vicinity!

"Man? Or animal?" the officer asked.

"Ah, that would be mere conjecture..." replied the doctor, pausing as he studied the neck wounds more closely, before finally saying, "See these marks here? Seems to be teeth marks, um, fangs... very large fangs," remaining silent for a moment before adding, "I can only say for sure once I have him on the table."

"Bear?" the officer asked looking at the hard, dry ground around the body.

"Can't even begin to guess..." the examiner shook his head, "but whatever, it was a very large... " suddenly trailing off without finishing his thoughts.

"Wolf?" the officer wondered aloud looking around the small clearing.

The tent hadn't been set up yet, nor the knapsacks unpacked... the canteen knocked over.

And the two sets of clothes - the monk's habits and the boy's uniform - that lay strewn around didn't seem to have been ripped or torn off... rather, taken off... hurriedly perhaps, and then carelessly scattered!

"Well, we've never had such attacks in over a century!" the ME mumbled in response, signaling to the men that they could now remove the body.

"And what happened to the child?" the officer mused, still looking around, wondering if the boy had been carried away by whatever attacked the monk.

The doctor was right, there had hardly been any report of encounter between man and bear, or of any bear mauling. And absolutely no incident of wolf attack.

Interestingly, there were no spot with any signs of struggle... and neither any blood splatter, or trail. So, what happened to the boy?

Terrified, did he simply run away into the woods? Where could he be now?

The officer had already had his men look around... search the surrounding woods while calling out the boy's name, but nothing so far!

And, why was the monk naked? Was the boy naked too?!   WHY?

"Well, my work here is done, now back to the morgue and the autopsy... patiently waiting for the lab reports," the doctor commented walking behind the men carrying the body, adding over his shoulder, "And you, sir, time for you to muse and mull, do your questioning and interrogation. Hope you catch whatever, or whoever, did this!"

🐾   He had been on the move for three days now... resting during the day, and traveling during the night.

Avoiding all human contact - their habitations, their glittering lights, their noisy vehicles. Instinctively remaining in the shadows... assiduously sticking to wooded trails and remote farmlands. Hunting as he went along, whenever he was hungry - small animals, and a lamb once.

He hardly remembered anything from his past, his previous existence... everything forgotten except snatches of fleeting moments from three days ago flashing through his mind: that invigorating smell of warm human blood... the feel of it gushing out and filling his mouth... the taste of the human's warm flesh as he tore into his innards.

But all of that was a faint counterpoint to the impossible urge that filled him... filled his senses, his very being... goading him... spurring him on to go without pause!

Those visions... of miles upon miles of dark emerald hills, lush and forested, interspersed with paler shades of green of the valley bottoms... of rolling meadows and pastures alive with wild flowers, honey bees and butterflies... of a castle, high upon a towering rock!

And the scents... of sodden earth... of sage, narcissus, and meadow saffron... of wood smoke rising from the chimneys of houses in the village... of honey, and cheese!

Was it some distant memory, lost in the maze of his long forgotten past?

Or, maybe, generations of collective consciousness encoded... embedded into his very genes?

He didn't know the location... he didn't know how to navigate... and yet, he was headed there, as if guided by sheer instinct...

Egged on by an unknown, yet strong, restless desire to be there... get to that unknown place...

For his destiny lay at the foot of that castle... in the surrounding woods... and amongst those colorful little homes!

And he speeded up, panting... tongue lolling as he ran...

- howling -

I

🏰   "Bună ziua!" old man Mihai called out waving at Ian as he passed by with his loaded horse-cart, no doubt headed for the village-square.

"Good morning!" Ian smiled, waving back.

Ian was in the tiny front garden of Ana-Maria's quaint little B&B at the edge of the village, snacking on his mid-morning plăcintă cu cartofi, and sipping his vișinată.

He too had been on his way to the village-square, for the weekly market... but the aroma of the fresh batch of bulz (urs de mămăligă) wafting in the sluggish air as he passed by made him stop... and pop in for a quick bite!

It had been exactly three weeks since he'd arrived, and he was absolutely loving every moment of his stay at the village: the simple, friendly folks, warm and welcoming... the fresh, crisp mountain air, the stunning vista... and of course, the amazing local food!

And he'd been gorging to his heart's content... especially the freshly prepared plăcintă cu cartofi, bulz, and plăcintă aromână -- breakfast, mid-morning, late afternoon... whenever!

Besides, of course, guzzling gallons of the incredibly delicious Vișinată at all hours of the day - with his mid-morning snack, his lunch, his dinner... and in-between!

🕈    🕈    🕈

🌲   Ringed in by the Carpathians, and encircled by enchanting forests of gnarled old oak, pine and hornbeam, Brasnov -- another picturesque one-street settlement of medieval vintage -- was a tiny little speck of a village in the deepest Transylvania that Time had simply forgotten all about.

Enshrouded in an aura of mystery, and steeped in legends and myth, where fables seamlessly melded with facts, Brasnov sat somnolent under the shadow of the awe-inspiring silhouette of the 14th century castle perched high atop the massive rock outcrop towering over the village...

The village had remained unchanged like it stood hundreds of years ago, its well-preserved Old World traditions manifesting itself in every aspect of their daily life -- food, clothing and folklore... the small farms with traditional set-ups, the horse-drawn carts rumbling along bumpy dirt roads, shepherds tending their flocks in lush pastures surrounded by hardwood forests and wildflower meadows -- transporting the brave visitor to an era long past.

The single cobbled road starting at the base of the castle cut right through the settlement, winding its way past quaint little homes, brilliant white with red-tiled roofs and colorful windows... skirting the village square, and moving past the centuries old fortified church with its firing holes and defensive towers that dominated the medieval skyline...

Rambling on beyond habitation, up and down the undulating landscape as it meandered past fields and meadows before meeting up with the distant highway... venturing into the forest, leading to other hidden villages, and far-away towns!

Other paths branching out, unpaved and bumpy, lined with cars and horse-carts as they weaved past the little homes with their own little gardens and vegetable patch... past barns and workshops... going on to orchards and farms further afield.

The wooded fringes beyond the farms and groves still sporting the scattered remnants of tumbled down walls and ruined bastions.

🕈    🕈    🕈

🚴   "Hiii!"

Ian heard the excited holler over the loud jangle of bicycle bell and looking up saw young Cristian sail by, waving at him.

"Hey!" he responded waving back.

All of fourteen, yet unlike the other boys his age, Cristian was of a delicate construct - captivatingly cute and pricklingly pretty!

With a radiant smile, and long-lashed hazel eyes that perpetually sparkled with a puckish glint, the boy was beguilingly immature, still stuck in his prepubescent innocence like a twelve year old.

Childishly playful and unselfconsciously exuberant, forever preoccupied with having fun - Cristian was the finest example of perfect boyhood if ever there was one!

And with that devilishly divine pair of delicious buns seductively sweeping up, rising high from the small of his back -- oh, so full and firm -- filling the seat of his pants like a mortal sin, the boy was a delectable little specimen of flawless adolescent temptation.

A living, breathing wet dream on two legs!

Ian loved watching the boy, watching him every opportunity he got... his very sight setting Ian's pulse racing, stirring up a raging storm in his starved loins!

Watching from his upper floor bedroom window. Watching as he sat out in the front garden of the manor house. Or while he strolled the village path on his way to the square...

Watching as Cristian worked in his yard next door, doing his chores... as he zipped by on his bicycle, running errands... or horsed around with his friends, playing boisterous games that boys that age play - wild-eyed and red-faced as they ran around, everyone loud and giggly.

Sometimes going over and joining in... kicking a ball, or tackling and jostling with the boys... and no matter what the game, always managing to stay close to Cristian... repeatedly touching him as they sported - a casual pat here, an appreciative thump there... tousling his unruly mop of dirty-blond hair... even giving that plump teen rump a quick, unobtrusive grope!

Cristian garrulously talkative as he chattered away in his passable smattering of English... seeming to enjoy the attention of the foreigner come to live amongst them.

Though people in the bigger towns, and the more popular villages along the tourist circuit spoke English, what with the influx of wide-eyed vampire hunters, but this deep in Transylvania, off the beaten track and beyond the route of the tour buses, English was mostly alien.

The older generation barely spoke a word of it, their interaction restricted to smiles and waves, conversation limited to a smattering of monosyllabic words. But the younger lot surprisingly more articulate, and all the young boys in Brasnov spoke enough to get the job done!

Oh, how Ian would love to get the boy alone, away from all those other folks... take him to his room, to bed.

Slowly strip him naked, and spend hours just caressing that slender form all over... lavish the lad's lithe and supple frame with tender love and gentle care... chew and nibble every delectable little inch of that smooth adolescent body while his hands explored the boy contours, examining every hidden fold and crevice...

Especially that luscious pair of boy-buns -- kiss and nuzzle, nip and nibble, knead and fondle -- letting his fingers slip and slide, rove and ramble... over and about, and within...

Tug apart those plump cheeks and explore the deep boy cleft... let his mouth do all the talking while his tongue slavered, lathering the tender boy portal in preparation for penetration!

Lord, how he'd love that!

"Some more?" the voice of Ana-Maria abruptly intruded upon his lubricious wanderings, jerking him awake, back to reality.

"Um... nu, mulțumesc," Ian shook his head giving the lady a sheepish grin, fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to hide his erection -- the shameless boner that the salacious thoughts of Cristian had produced, causing his crotch front to bulge high in flagrant disregard to all propriety.

"Off to the square, yes?" she asked in her stuttering English.

"Da..." Ian nodded, dropping the money on the table and standing up, hands stuffed deep in his trouser pockets in an effort to hide the blatant bulge, quickly walking out of the tiny garden.

God, yes, he'd so love to get the boy alone in his room!

Back in New York Ian wouldn't have even bothered with a kid Cristian's age -- a bit too young for his taste -- but then, the kid was so insanely alluring... so refreshingly different from the kids back home.

Besides, he'd gone without sex for such a long time - almost two months now - that it was fogging his thoughts, clouding his judgment... making him kinda desperate.

But he held back... he was visiting, a guest here, and he didn't really want to do anything that could complicate things - after all, it was a small village and everybody knew him... and he knew practically everyone: each man, each woman and every single kid!

He wasn't here on vacation... for the mesmerizing beauty of the place, or the off-the-face-of-earth remoteness. He was here on work - researching for his doctoral thesis: Social Implications of Myth, Mythology & Folklore.

Ian had worked hard, very hard, and was on the verge of getting his PhD... so, no risky or stupid stuff...

But no harm in just watching, and admiring, right?

🕈    🕈    🕈

🦇   It is human nature to be curious, to seek answers, look for explanations... and lores, myths, mythologies do exactly that - answer the ununderstood, explain the baffling, help make sense of the incomprehensible.

It has played an important part since the dawn of human civilization, and every culture, every land, during every age, had, and still have, their own myths and mythologies, their folklore and legends!

And such enchanting tales of witches and mages, of fairies and goblins... sirens, mermaids, unicorns and centaurs... and especially, stories about vampires and werewolves always fascinated Ian, since forever... and after graduating (sociology major, with a minor in religious studies) he decided on pursuing his passion even further, do his masters and then work on his doctorate.

So, when he got his grant - a months and a half, all expense paid study trip - the choice was simple, and obvious...

TRANSYLVANIA!

The mysterious land of creepy Counts in crumbling castles and voracious vampires...

Land of ravening beasts, bawling bears and howling wolves...

A land with rather too much of history, and even more of hostility...

Transylvania, that captivating piece of Europe stuffed full of medieval fortresses, historic monasteries, and ancient villages where people still live as they did hundreds of years ago... steeped in superstition where garlic still reigned supreme!

Transylvania, the folklorist's paradise...

Where the Dacian past, its many wars and skirmishes, its forever sparring Romanians and Hungarians... the Habsburgs and Ottomans... the centuries of constantly shifting, transient and diverse populations -- of the Vlachs, the Székelys, the Saxons, the Turks, the Jews, and the Romanis -- together fostering a fascinating tradition of storytelling, each lending a hand in weaving a vast and varied tapestry of legends and lores that was rich and enchanting... giving birth to fantastical creatures, and horrendous wights!

Transylvania, where there is magic in the air... in the water... in every grain of its soil...

Where every strip of land, every stream, every stone, every tree has a story to tell... where every nook and cranny overflows with legends and myths... where no village exist without its own spine-tingling tale... and every monument has a scary or jaw-dropping anecdote attached to it!

Transylvania, that far-away land, where Pied Piper led the little children of Hameln to - probably commemorating the historical arrival of Saxons to Transylvania during the Middle Ages on the invite of the Hungarian King, to fight against the marauding Tartars and Turks!

And, of course, Transylvania, home of Vlad III Dracul, immortalized as the spooky Count Dracula by Bram Stoker in his outrageously popular horror novel!

But then, long before Bram Stoker conjured up Dracula, there was the `strigoi' already haunting the vast Transylvanian landscape - undead souls that rose from their grave at night to wander the countryside, visiting villages... feasting on the blood of the living.

With many more equally fearsome entities literally crawling all over the Carpathian Mountains... crowding its stunning woodlands and meadows...

The Bau-Bau, a man in black coat designed to scare children shitless... the Moroi - a ghost or phantom of a dead person come out of his grave to draw energy from the living... the Pricolici - a fusion between a werewolf and a vampire - undead souls risen from the grave to feed on the living... the Vârcolac (werewolf)... the Muroni - type of vampire with the ability to transform into a variety of different animals... and the Zburător - a roving spirit who makes love to maidens by night!

And the Sanziene, magical fairies... the Ielele, a darker version of the benign Sanziene.

Transylvania was also home to the terror inducing Hunyad Castle, the scary Liar's Bridge of Sibiu, and bloodthirsty lakes that required human sacrifice!

🕈    🕈    🕈

🏛   Ian had started his trip with two weeks in Bucharest - meeting and interviewing a couple professors at the University, a few historians and experts, some folklorists and traditional story-tellers he came to know about while working out his itinerary...

His plan was to then follow the usual pilgrim's path of vampire hunters, visit all the places associated with the fictitious Count Dracula, and also Vlad III Dracul -- the REAL, historical Count Drăculea, son of Vlad Dracul, a knight of the Order of the Dragons -- the inspiration behind the story-book Count.

Visit the Poenari Fortress, the real castle of Drăculea... the fearsome Hunyad Castle where Vlad was held prisoner in the dungeons... the gorgeous, pastel-hued fairytale like city of Sighișoara, the real Count's birthplace... and, of course, the spooky 16th century Snagov Monastery located on an island, where Drăculea's remains are supposedly buried!

He had it all planned out, down to the last detail...

And then on the suggestion of Prof. Bolovan at the University, he met up with Ștefan Antonescu.

🧛   "Just Bram Stoker's vampire, huh?" Ștefan had laughed, mentioning some of the numerous other creepies and crawlies that inhabited the stunning landscape of Transylvania, "Why don't you visit Brasnov instead?"

"Brasnov?" Ian had never even heard of the place.

"You want to learn about... understand the local culture... its association with legends and myths," Ștefan had said, "so, what better place than the Count of Brasnov's library!"

The Count, Mr. Antonescu explained, had an extensive library of books that included the largest collection of manuscripts and rare documents on the subject in all Europe...

"Be it ancient mythology, legends or medieval myths, witchcraft or occult, necromancy or divination... creatures of the night, he has them all!"

After the end of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and the fall of the Habsburgs in 1918, the Count moved to Vienna... though the family visited Brasnov regularly, his oldest son even building a manor house with modern amenities under the shadow of the castle since it was too expensive to maintain the drafty old structure up on the hill, keep it habitable...

But with the end of the second war, and establishment of the communist regime in 1947, the noble families of Transylvania were forced out - some fleeing to Hungary, some to Austria, and others reduced to penury - the old Count and his family was out for good.

The family refusing to return to their ancestral home following the 1989 revolution and the fall of Ceaușescu. Disinclined even after the restitution of seized properties to the nobility in mid-90's.

"His descendants are now settled in Monaco," Ștefan disclosed, "but they still own the castle... and Andrei, a distant cousin, along with his wife Elena, live there... um, not the castle, but in an outhouse of the family manor. Looking after, taking care of things... um, the upkeep, maintenance, and such, you know... caretakers.

"They take in people, um, students, scholars and researchers who visit the library. You too can stay with them, visit the library each day..." pausing for a moment before letting out a laugh, "um, just 321 steps, an easy trot for a young man like you, not a grueling climb like Poenari Castle's 1480 steps...

"Well..." he explained after another laugh, "no one is allowed to stay in the castle, you know, haunted and stuff!"

And as Ian sat, listening, Ștefan continued...

"It's a nondescript little village, pretty and picture-postcard perfect... even has two B&B, if you'd prefer that. Of course, you can still visit Poenari, Hunyad, and Sighișoara on your way to Brasnov..."

🏰   So, there he was, in Brasnov - sipping vișinată, and ogling Cristian!

But Ștefan had been right, the library at the castle was indeed a treasure trove of information... and Ian had spent the first two weeks immersed in his studies - enlightened and entertained, educated and enthralled, amazed and amused by the terrifying tales and bloodcurdling anecdotes... the mind-numbing facts and crazy constructs... the sheer horror and hilarity of human habits!

This was his third (and final) week in the village, and he'd be leaving in another three days... go back to Bucharest, and then home, to New York!

... to be continued     ♻     
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