Above the rooftops, there was a rumble of thunder. Lucy thought it might be her stomach reminding her it was still hungry. She hurried her step.

A bit later, rounding the corner leading to her street, she unexpectedly came face to face with a man.

He smiled at her.

She didn’t immediately smile back. Instead, she gave him the once up and down.

He was elegantly dressed, as if for a soiree, and sported spats on his shoes, a stiff white shirt, a tuxedo, complemented by a red-lined opera cloak with high collar. Lucy had never seen anyone dressed this way before. The average Clujian, if that’s the right way to consider inhabitants of the city (or town or dump, whichever you prefer, given she lived in Transylvania, a part of the world renowned for its agriculture and not its cultural heritage), would dress in lederhosen and boots.

He must be one of the actors, she decided. She politely addressed him, “Hello. Are you here for the play?”

At this, the man grinned, showing shinning white teeth. Lucy was surprised how long some of his incisors were but was too polite to mention it.

“In a manner of speaking.” He stared at her, and Lucy could but be drawn to his eyes. “I’m Vlad. And you are?”

‘Lucy.’

“What a juicy name… I mean what a pleasure to meet you,” the man answered.

Mesmerised by his eyes, Lucy eventually managed to stutter, “And why are you here?”

At this the man put his arm around her in a most forward way and led her slowly on. “To meet you of course.”

Lucy tingled at his touch. A man! A man was promenading with her. Not any man. One of the actors. It was unbelievable. She chose to believe it.

They walked on in silence for a moment. Then Lucy, seeing her home, managed to croak, “I live here.”

This seemed to disconcert the man and he looked at the house and then at Lucy. He gazed even more intently at her. “Will you invite me in?”

***

Realising he was not being followed, Derek scowled. “Come on, we need to go and find them.”

“Is that really necessary?” Hapless bleated.

The music, the full-on pedal notes now shaking the building, reached a crescendo. Dust descended from the rafters like snow in one of those little half bubbles you shake and then watch the flakes gently descend to cover everywhere with a fine white ash. Except in this case, it was more a dirty grey.

Hapless was yanked forward and held at the shoulder, frog-marched across the stage towards the orchestra pit. The dark trench didn’t look alluring. A red light flickered from its depths and a miasma rose from the pit. As if it was alive, the fog twisted and curled as it rose.

Derek stopped at the edge of the stage and peered down. Hapless merely peeked.

The red light came from a small lamp over which a thin piece of red material had been placed. It was smoking, giving off the pungent smog that curled up in the heat. Hapless then noticed a tiny man, no bigger than a garden ornament sitting playing the organ. The instrument and keyboards dwarfed him.

“Hello,” Derek called out in his best impresario voice. That’s to say, it was loud.

The music stopped.

***

Hapless wandered back inside the inn and made for the bar. Several groups of locals sat drinking at tables. There was an empty chair. Hapless grabbed it and sat down. No one paid him any heed. He noted that the novelty value of a visiting theatre company had quickly faded. A one-night stand. It didn’t bode well for the play’s success. He pulled out the now tattered invitation and consulted it.

“Excuse me,” Hapless called out as one of the buxom barmaids flowed past his table.

She looked at him askance.

“Do you know the way to Castle Drago?”

She shrieked and ran off.

A terrible hush descended on the room. Every eye turned to him. A man smoking a long clay pipe pointed it at him and growled something unintelligible.

“Youssh don’tz wantz toz goz therez,” another man opined.

“Iz evilz placz,” another added.

“Therze nofink butz badnezz forz youz therez,” a third chimed in.

Hapless was flabbergasted. “But I have an invitation,” he bleated, waving the document at them.

They shrank back in horror as if he’d pointed a loaded blunderbuss in their direction.

A man wearing an apron emerged from behind the bar and came over. “Nowz, listzenz,” he whispered, as if imparting an important secret, “nozbodyz goesz therz. Itz yuouz deazth.”

The candles in the room all flickered, as if disturbed by an unfelt wind.