Instead of an introduction, which this story really does not need, let me just update the reader to the far past of this tragedy, which leads up to the present [2002, that is my present, when I went to Wales and met this man prior to his death. Yes, I do say, his death. Before he died though I got to explained to him his twisted past, and he got to explain to me his twisted present.
As I explained, I told him he was the residue of a demonic genetic pools, that took place around 11,500 BC when the Watchers, the Angelic Renegades God sent to watch over the earth, but whom took it upon themselves to commit the unpardonable sin, in angelic form, by cohabitating with human females; thus, producing a gene pool we have not been able to rid ourselves of to this very writing, a pool that produced several different species of living creatures, mostly called demons, hybrids. This gene pool as I explained to Vlad infected him, being the 7th son of a family in Romania. In that area of the world, it has infected many in the past in a like manner. But this is the story of just one it infected, my friend Vlad. Again, the story of Vlad Bran, otherwise know as Vlad Hoof starts back in 1969.
He had a small tail at the end of his spine, and a hoof for a foot, when he was born. He was to be what no one wanted to be--draco, meaning dragon. But to his family he would be nothing less than a freak of nature, a vampire by folklore.
His family names him Vlad Hoof, although their name was Bran. He was born in the region called Transylvania, in Romania, in a city called Bransav.
At an early age Vlad read and heard Bran Stokers Vampire stories, although to be quite honest, the book was never seen or translated to Vlads home country language until 1990. That is when he became even angrier with his ugly looking body. Yet he covered his tail with pants, and no one was the wiser, for he neither dated female nor male. And his hoof foot, he put o n an oversize shoe, and walked with a cane to maintain balance.
He was 21-year old when he first read the book Dracula, and its myth. He seemed to fit the nature of this creature, that is, everything but the blood craving, which the creature liked of his victims. He laughed at it. But he understood everyones fears. Was he the vampire Mr. Stokers book said he should be, proclaimed him to be? No, he wasnt though a little odd maybe, but not the vampire. To Vlad Bran this was very unfair. Matter-of-fact, if he was alive, hed have liked to kill him, slowly, very slowly for defaming his life. For making the world think he was a freak. Kill went through his mind like water down a dam.
Vlad was a silent kind of lad, that is, he kept to himself. Like to drink when he could. Some say a good Welsh trait or Celtic at best. But silence is not what was going on inside of him. He wanted to break out, not hide. He had something to say, to scream. As I suppose, like an yone with a long line of ongoing pain, he wanted the pain to stop, or at least, revenge for this misfortune. Why me, he said standing in the middle of the street by his house. But he didnt ever get an answer, and today would be no different. But today would be different, in a new kind of way. He had in his hand a small suite case, and $2,000 in his pocket. His father had given it to him when he was 15-year old. Told him to take it when he decided to leave home, and never come back. And today was the day. And he knew where he was going. To the train station to get a train at dock #4, 13:50 PM for Cardiff, Wales, where he would become a manager of a hotel restaurant. He was already given the job. How long theyd let him work there was another question after they met him. But it was a beginning. And so at 13:10 PM, Vlad sat at the station waiting for the train.
Cardiff, Wales
Upon his arrival in Cardiff, he established himself at an apartment overlooking the new Millennium Stratum along the city river [Taff, and not too far from the Cardiff brewery. And within the following first few days, he secured his job down at one of the local well known hotels by Cardiff Castle.
After working there a few days he discovered to his amazement, the employees and employer did not make fun of him publicly because of his leg, but rather gave him sympathy. And in addition, he soon found out he was well liked by his peers as well as his subordinates. But none-the-less, it didnt heal the long scars he had within his belly, and throughout his blood running veins.
As several months passed, he established himself as a serious manager in the food department, the headwaiter, with several under him. And would attend weekly meetings concerning improvements, in which he gave good advice; never showing his discontent for the world outside his mind, his damaged soul. It was justice he yearned for. When he walked by city hall, he spit at i t. When he walked by the National Museum he stopped and would always wondered if there were any misunderstood freaks of nature like him in there. He liked walking the riverfront and watching the alcoholics get drunk sitting by the benches, overlooking the Millennium Stadium. He felt if anyone knew what he was thinkingwhich was killing--, and if they were half sober, they would realize he could and would carry it out. And just what he was thinking was revenge. Yes, revenge on the world. Anyone would do. But he was not a vampire like people thought him as. He was just misunderstood. He didnt need blood to cure him, only blood to wipe the dirt they threw on him away. And so, as spring came, he drew up his plan.
The Secret Plan
From this day one, he made a pledge to himself; he would carry out his revenge plan. He called it his Blood Plan. Saying to the passers by who could not see nor hear him as he was looking out of his apartment window, Who will it be y ou? Oooor you, orrr maybe you, pointing his finger at them.
His first victim was selected while visiting a local caf and coffeehouse. One he had never visited before. He had found the staff to be very friendly, and so he sat towards the back unnoticed, smiled lightly when looked at, and drank his coffee, and ate his doughnut.
He overheard two women talking, both around 30-year old, it was 7:26 PM. They talked about cheating on their husbands who were kind of computer troubleshooters on the road, and presently on a train going to London to fix some problems for their company. One of the women was tall, about six-feet, the other about five-foot, four inches. Vlad, figured he could handle either one, but the five-footer would be easier, plus she was the one bragging about how her ass could attract any mans eyes, once she caught them, that is. And then, it was simply a matter of when and where. The taller one blushed and told her how about them two getting it on. The smaller one didnt go for that, she preferred men to women; nor was she bisexual.
It was about 8:17 PM when the taller one got up and left, Vlad just glanced from the side of his eye; -- another ten minutes went by, the small one now got up catching Vlads eyes. And yes, showed that ass. He smiled, and so did she, teasing him; she picked up her purse and went out to her car. Vlad followed behind. She didnt turn around, and therefore she didnt see Vlads leg being pulled along like a dead log on the river, his eyes getting bigger and bigger as he pulled his leg, his mouth slurping with spit, and his upper lip wanting to swear at the bitch before him. Wanting to tell her how cruel she was, unfair to her husband. But he would show her. It was only fair. And he had the guts: --the number one asset in this situation.
He walked behind her as she went for her keys, turning around, hearing that dragging noise of his leg, and as she made a 45-degree turn of her neck, Vlad pulled out his 16-inch knife strapped to his leg, and with one sweep in the cool-wind, decapitated her, --her body still standing, her head now under the car, and her blood spurting all about. Then like a tower crashing, her body fell onto the asphalt street. Vlad jumped back, wiped his knife off as if it was just paid for, and attached it back to his leg, and started to walk home.
As he walked along the riverfront, there was that drunk again, the blond, and mumbling to himself.
He stopped by him, looked, then the drunk said, What the f*ck you want mister? Vlad started back walking, said nothing out loud, then when he was a distance he shouted, Number one, number one, I like the blood. I got number one.
Number Two
Two weeks had passed by since the murder, and Vlad simply would pick up the paper after work, read it while walking down Castle Street, and marvel at how easy it was to murder, once you had a halfway decent plan. It didnt ta ke a lot of money, just guts. And he felt better. He felt relief; justice had taken its course. It was his justice, but who cares, it was fair. That is, fair to him. She had everything he had nothing. No one ever laughed at her, he told himself. He even looked at the possibility of what the papers said that she did the murderer no harm. But so what he thought. It wasnt done because she was innocent anyway. It was done because he was harmed. That was his justification. Not innocence. If that was the case no one was truly innocent. He just happened to find a person who could trigger his plan.
I want a clergy for number two, he told himself as he stood silently at work, staring out the big window onto the street, then having thought that after work he walked home slowly, but a different course. It was 6:30 PM. He thought as he walked home how he liked this city, and its architecture, culture, history. But all the facts and figures in the world he told himself wo uld not stop this second killing. He couldnt get even with God, but he could with one of his believers. And it was Gods fault he was like this, he thought. He could have made him different at birth he told himself. Maybe make him the 6th son, not the 7th. Why him? Why not one of the families down the street? Why couldnt one of them be born with a tail at least? God was nothing but an unfair big shot he told himself: --one that nobody could hurt, but if hurting was possible, it must be through his clergy, he told himself.
He mumbled to himself:
I hate those Jews, Gods chosen. No I hate them Christians, they think they are the only ones that will go to heaven. No I hate them Muslims, those terrorist freaks.
As he continued to walk he was trying to program himself to murder whatever clergy he found first, for he hated them all equally.
And there he stood, Cardiff Central Station. There he approached a preacher, saying, Sir I have a serious probl em, it has to do with knowing who the slayer is of that woman who was in the paper a few weeks back. I need your advice.
The preacher looked into his eyes, then at his ticket, and then around. How about a police officer, son. He told Vlad. Possibly, but I still need your advice, replied Vlad. Then Vlad asked if they could talk somewhere quite, so no one would hear, possible over by the loading area not far from them. And they proceeded to walk. They both could be seen by the public but there also was a shadow blocking half their view, but the preacher felt safe. He could see the police officer over by platform #4, and this man who walked with a bad leg was surely not harmful, at least not in the open. Vlad asked if they could pray together. And the preacher said sure, with hopeful eyes.
As the preacher shut his eyes lowering his head downward, he started to pray; then Vlad pulled out of his pocket a wooden spike, and carefully aimed it, and forcefully dr ove it through the preachers backbone like lightening hitting a tree, the preacher fell to his knees. As he was about to scream with pain, Vlad shoved his glove in his mouth. The police man now was looking at them both, but did nothing, as Vlad got on his knees as to pretend he was going to pray. Then with a push, the preacher fell over, falling to the dark unused tracks where the cargo sat. Vlad knew he had missed all the preachers vital nerves, for it was planned that way, he wanted the preacher to suffer for forth-eight hours. As the preacher tried to get up from his position, Vlad tied his hands behind his back, and his legs together. Then jumping back up onto the platform, into the light, the police officer was gone. No one really noticed, he assured himself; then one last glance at the preacher, and Vlad was off to his apartment, mumbling out loud, Number three, now I got to get number three.
Number Three
When Vlad got home that evening he told himself t he third victim would be a tourist. They got lots of money to throw away. Plus they used to come to Transylvania looking for Dracula, when it was simply a myth. They wanted blood. Dracula was nothing but a Romanian ruler of the 15th Century who ruled by force. Matter-of-fact, he was well liked by many. And this Stokers guy comes along and distorts everything, and gives him a bad name. And the tourists come looking for Stokers vampire, not the true Dracula; how misled can people be he told himself. But he would iron this myth out, once and for all he told himself. If they wanted to see a real Vampire in action, he was the action man.
Vlad waited for another month to pass before he implemented his new plan, then after work on the 32nd day after the previous murder, after work 6:35 PM, he went up to the hotel room #304. He knew the lady had been there only two days and that she knew no one in particular. She was just vacationing from America, and came to Cardiff from London, bored with the city she had been to several times before. She was in her early 40s, a divorced woman.
As he knocked at her door, she asked who is there!
The Captain of the waiters, Vlad replied, adding, You left your scarf in the dinning room.
Vlad had stolen it while she was in the bathroom for this very occasion. As she opened up the door, she took the scarf from Vlad, putting a smile on her face with a big thank you. Then like a wolf in sheeps clothing, he hit her in the left side of her jaw, knocking her out. Finding she was dressed, he took out a small bottle of whisky, poured it down her throat, as she spit some up and out, and swallowed the rest of the pint. By the time she was fully awake, she was fully drunk, commenting, You can rape me, get it over with.
My dear, lets go to the river walk, and there I want to rape you, and there get it over with, and I shall set you free. She nodded her head, not wanting to cause any problem s, knowing she was a small woman of about five-feet, and if this was all he wanted her for, life was more important.
And so he took her down the back steps, and out the back door. Walking, and threatening he could kill her with the knife he had in his pocket, which he did have, if she tried to scream or run at any moment. And so they walked several blocks until they came to a fence. He told her to be quiet, insofar as, not to wake up anyone and so they snuck in, behind a building. He told her a second time not to make a sound. Her life depended on it as to not wake up the owner. And there on the ground, he pulled his pants down, and her dress up, and jumped between her legs. That is what she expected, and it would be his first time having sex. As she felt him entering her, she put her hand behind him, feeling his tail accidentally, and started to pull on it. He stopped quickly. And so you have discovered my tail, bitch. She looked shocked, and then out of nowher e started screaming. Vlad jumped up ran out to the gate climbing over it then stood quietly looking through the fence as her shadow stood up. And behind her three dogs were walking slowly. She turned hearing the dogs nostrils breathing in oxygen, and the sound of the dogs growl coming out of their mouths, --the next scene was the dogs were on top of her like vampires, chewing her flesh.
The papers read the next day, Woman mulled by dogs, while being raped.
Number Four
It was not over yet. Vlad wanted 7-dead, for his seven deadly sins, and for his curse of being the seventh son. And his next victim was an old man, in his 70s. He lived in his apartment building. He bragged, and was envious of everyone. Made lies up about everyone, told them about their sins, but never about his. He would be the one to sacrifice him for mankind, the pure one; the one who did it all. What more did he need to live for? Just taking up air and space, and life was no more to him than a drop of water in an almost full pale of water.
And so it was two weeks after the last murder, when Vlad went to the old mans room, knocked on the door, with a pizza in his hand offering it to him, saying Sir, I know you have a hard time getting out, and so I thought Id offer you a pizza out of friendship.
Smiling, the old man took it. Looked Vlad in the eyes, and shut the door. Vlad went then to his apartment waited two hours and went back to the old mans apartment. Knocked on the door, and he didnt answer, as Vlad expected for he put sleeping chemicals all over the pizza. Vlad quickly took out a master key of sorts, he had made out of a nail by carving the end of it to a funny looking t-shape of sorts, and open the door; put the old mans arm around his shoulder and walked him slowly but caring him mostly down to the Cardiff Castle [the Keep: several blocks away. There he opened the gate again with that key he had made months ago, and snuck th rough its grounds to the Keep the castle part on top of a small hill. He had to walk up about 30-steps, and then to the left of him was an old well, with water still in it. He took the iron platform off it, and threw the old man in it. As he hit the bottom, he awoke screaming, but no one could hear.
It was two weeks later before anyone had discovered him dead.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Part of a story
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