Chapter One

Maiden In Distress

 

Most of the men would rather die than be kept here to provide carnal pleasure and horrifying nourishment for the women in this foul place. Not me. Not Roy Travis. I don't want to die. Life is very precious to me, and as long as they let me live, I will keep searching for a way of escape. And another reason to stay alive is the sexual pleasure that comes with my purpose for being here. These women are dedicated to achieving the greatest possible indulgence in the supreme physical sensuality the human body can accomplish; both for themselves, and their stable of men, like me, who serve them. Perhaps some of you will charge me with cowardice and debauchery, but you were not here; you did not have the choice I had to make. The day will come when I may beg forgiveness for enjoying the ecstasy of their female flesh, but not from you. Learn now of my fate, and pray it will not become yours. I live in hope that some brave shepherd boy will pass close enough for me to toss this manuscript down to him from my barred window. That is my only chance, as I see it, for him to get back to civilization and send it home to be published.

But be warned, the evil is not dead, only sleeping. And it is the nature of fate that there will be another servant like Karel to rouse them and protect them. God willing, there will be another Roy Travis to challenge their right to exist.

Curiosity, as usual, was my downfall. In my youth it woke inside my mind-the lust for knowledge, the hunger for discovery. Like the Ancient Greek tragedy plays, I laid my own trap, and am unabashedly ashamed that I was snared so easily. Although I am an American, I chose a career in science to disprove the venerable European folklore that grips the minds of so many ignorant people. I went to study Central European folklore at Oxford in England. My father, a respected and honored scientist, disapproved.

"Roy, my boy," he said one night as we sat together, smoking in his library, "be sensible. What possible discovery or theory could you possibly write about? There's nothing up in those mountains but superstition and ignorance. Leave it alone! I can arrange a position for you at any of the universities, where you can do meaningful work in their laboratories."

"Thank you, father, but you know how much I love to study languages and other cultures. You and mother want me to marry soon, and give you grandchildren to spoil, and to cheer your golden years. I'd like that, too. But first, I must seize this opportunity for one last great adventure."

"A fool in his folly," Father replied, shaking his head. "Your colleagues will steal a march on your career while you're wandering around in those boorish villages. Now, I could get you a situation as research assistant to professor..."

"My mind's made up, father. I'm going, next week."

He sank back in his overstuffed chair, frowning, with disappointment in his eyes. I reached out and patted his forearm. "I respect you, father, and appreciate all you want to do for me." I clasped his hand between both of mine. "Remember all those stories you told me about your adventures in the Great War of 1914? Your face glowed with your smiles. There were tears in your eyes when you spoke of your officer friends dying in the trenches." I patted his hand. "I'm your son. I'm your flesh and blood. Didn't grandfather argue with you when you decided to go to Europe and work in scientific espionage? He said almost the same things to you that you are saying to me now."

"Yes, yes." The smile slowly crept back into his face. "I'd almost forgotten about your grandfather's gruff words." He sighed. "Well, go ahead-but just for the fall season, mind you!"

This was my vacation after obtaining my Master's degree from the university. I decided on a walking tour through the mountains of Central Europe, mainly to gather evidence to disprove all the silly tales and legends that originated from there. Also, the value of exercise and opportunity to increase my skill with Slavic languages was an irresistible lure. I would write a book about my discoveries to earn my PhD degree, and promote my career. Father will be proud of me.

As it turned out, I did write a book about it-but not the one I expected!

It was late in the fall of 1930, and the world was fresh and beautiful to me. The glories of the gold and crimson leaves, the orange carpet of the meadows, the new cape of snow just beginning their stealthy creep down from the mountain peaks, the clusters of birds winging south. It was bliss to be far from the financial grief of the 1929 Wall Street stock market crash spreading its misery throughout the cities of the world. Here in the foothills of Rumania, I crossed over into Transylvania. The leaves, already tinctured with fall colors dripped from the trees to carpet my path. They quivered in the mountain-chilled autumn breeze, beckoning to me, their color giving fair warning of what lay ahead.

I laughed at the villagers' tales of doom awaiting travelers on the lonely paths through the almost endless forested mountains ahead. I sat with the locals at the rough wooden tables in front of the tavern, hoisting our steins in mutual salute, relishing the home-brewed beer as I commented how beautiful the sunset was. The red sun sinking toward the trees on the western horizon, the fading azure glow of an evening sky. Their faces paled, and their voices spoke low, cursing the impending darkness.

The young, buxom serving maid laughed good-naturedly at my accent and fumbling struggles to find the right words in her language. Then her face became somber. Her blue eyes widened and her long, blonde braids trembled. "You do not know what you praise," she whispered. "The sun is our guardian, protecting us from fey creatures in the forest. They can live only in the darkness; we are safe only when dawn drives them back to their wretched hovels." She gave a swift glance at the blood-red sun hovering low, its belly tickled by the pine treetops. "When you retire for the evening, be wise. Close the shutters in your room, and bolt them."

She turned and scurried back into her tavern before I could scoff at her fears. So, they still believed that Dracula, Frankenstein's monster, and werewolves still prowling, seeking their victims throughout this land.

Hell, maybe it's just an act, something to entice us tourists to stay longer and spend more money. I smirked as I scribbled some notes for my book.

Well, as it turned out, I did stay longer-much longer than I and those others ever dreamed I would.

I spent the night at the tavern, bedded in the guestroom, luxuriating in the oversized bed and goose-down comforter. It was already dark outside with a waning, sliver-crescent moon low in the eastern sky. Through my open window the stars gleamed in a cloudless, ink-drenched velvet canopy that stretched from the eaves of the forest in the west, to the jagged teeth of mountains in the northeast. I stripped naked, slid into bed, snuggled under the covers, blew out the candle, and rolled over with a long, contented sigh.

At first I believed I was dreaming. She stood just inside the open window, a dark cloak and hood covering all of her body except her young, sensual face. She vanished instantly when there was a soft knocking on my door.

"Sir, I just..." The serving maid stood at the opening door and gasped, one hand covering her neck, the other holding a flickering candle. "Your window, sir, it's open!" She set down her candle and dashed across the room and slammed the shutters closed and slid the locking bar in place. "It's very dangerous, sir, I warned you about..."

"Surely no one still believes the old tales," I replied. "This is the twentieth century, for heaven's sake."

"It is for heaven's sake we must be so careful!" She glanced around the room, searching through the shadows. "Thank heaven they did not come through the window into your room!"

She hadn't seen the girl at my window. I must have dreamed it.

"Who? Who would come at this time of night? And it's preposterous they should enter through my window. The sill is fifteen feet above the ground."

"Do not ask who, sir. We do not speak their names. They slay our souls, but keep the body alive for their own foul use."

I sat up in my bed, exposing my naked chest. "You don't mean to suggest that..."

She fetched her candle and rushed to my bedside, setting it down on the side table. She bent over me and clapped her hand over my mouth. Her luscious breasts almost tumbled out of their precarious cradle in her bodice. "No, don't say it! Speaking their name only draws them to you." She removed her hand from my mouth and pressed her forefinger over her trembling lips. "You must not ...but I forget, you are a stranger here. You need someone to watch over you tonight." She smiled in the faint light and began unlacing her bodice. She tugged it off, revealing the beauty of her abundant breasts in the soft gleam of her candle's flame. Next, her full skirt slid to the floor, and she loosened her petticoat.