by M. K. ROZE
baroque houses. I took photos of the pigeons, restaurants,
gift shops, and bistros that surrounded us.
As we continued toward the Black Church, I took a
picture of it. “Mom, how old is the church?”
“It’s about six hundred years old. After it burned down
in 1689, they restored it and named it the Black Church
because of the markings that remained on the exterior of the
building.”
“That’s interesting.” I looked up at the colorful clock
tower at the top of the church. “Why does it feel like I’ve
been here before?”
“Probably from all the pictures we showed you,” Dad
said.
“Huh. Who’s the statue of the boy leaning forward on
top of the pillar supposed to be?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Do you know, Jules?”
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“Yes. One of the most famous legends I’ve read said
that he was the son of a priest, and he always disobeyed his
father’s rules. Because he was wicked, his dad made him stay
in the upstairs room as punishment. One night, there was a
fire, and the boy was trapped inside and died. Out of guilt,
his father made a statue of him trying to escape.”
“Aw, that’s so sad.” I looked up at him.
“Wait, there’s more,” Mom said. “The other legend read
that when the boy was helping with construction, a man
asked him to make sure the wall was straight. The boy did as
he asked and leaned over the wall to look. When he did, he
lost his balance and fell to his death.”
I gasped. “That’s horrible.”
Mom rubbed my back. “I know, honey.”
Dad looked up at the statue of the boy again and
frowned.
As we continued inside, my mouth fell open as I looked
at the tall pillars and the high cathedral ceiling. Beautiful
oriental rugs hung like pictures on the wall. Below them were
paintings. I looked up at the long gold and silver pipes
hanging from the ceiling in the front of the church.
I pointed at them. “What are those pipes for?”
Dad placed his hand on my shoulder. “That, my dear, is
an organ that was built in 1839. That beauty is one of the
biggest organs in Europe.”
“It’s beautiful. How many pipes are on that thing?”
“I believe it has four thousand,” Mom answered.
“Wow!” I stepped back and took some pictures, then
froze while looking at the front of the church where we
walked in. I felt as though I’d been there before.
Mom stepped in front of me. “Are you okay, honey?”
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I snapped out of it. “Yeah, I was just thinking about
something.”
“Okay. Well, your dad and I are going to sit while you
look around.”
“Alright.”
While my parents went to sit on a wooden pew, I
wandered around taking pictures of all the fifteenth-century
murals. A portrait of a woman wearing a gold Victorian gown
caught my eye, so I took a few pictures of her, too. I couldn’t
stop staring at her. Where have I seen you before? History class? I
couldn’t remember. I shrugged it off and looked at some
more portraits.
After another hour, we left because we were tired. At
the inn, I stopped in front of my room.
Mom and Dad hugged me. “Try to get some rest,” Mom
said.
“Oh, I will.” I opened the door and went straight into
the bathroom. I filled the Jacuzzi up with hot water and
emptied the entire bottle of soap into it, creating bubbles that
went on the floor. Before getting in, I took a picture of my
mess and sent it to Kaylee.
She didn’t respond, so I put some relaxing music on and
got in. After the water got cold, I got out, lay on the bed and
the growling started again, followed by something smashing.
I placed the pillow over my head, but it didn’t help. I got up
and pulled the blinds back. I saw nothing but pure darkness.
The growling continued all night, making it impossible to
sleep.
The following afternoon, I awoke to the gorgeous sun
peeking in the window. Feeling refreshed, I got up and
walked toward the balcony window to look outside. The
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view was so beautiful—I decided I could live there forever,
minus the wolves keeping me up all night.
After I got dressed, I went to my parents’ room and
knocked on their door. “Come on,” I called out, “let’s go
drink some blood for lunch.”
Mom opened the door with a black mask on her face.
“Really, Viata, must you? That’s gross.” Her face was al
puckered up like she had eaten a lemon. Guess my joke
worked.
“Kidding, Mom. But seriously, I’m hungry. Where’s
Dad?”
“He went downstairs.”
“Oh. I’m going down to find him.”
“Alright. Tell him I’m still upset because he didn’t set
the alarm.”
I sprinted down the stairs and found Dad at the desk,
talking to a man.
“Good morning,” I greeted.
Dad turned to me. “Hey, you’re finally up.”
“If you didn’t forget to set the alarm, I would’ve gotten
up earlier.”
“Did you lose your phone?”
I smirked. “No, but you must have.”
He shook his head. “You’re such a wise ass.”
“I get that from you.”
Mom came down soon afterward. “Are you guys ready
to get a bite to eat? And I don’t mean blood, either,” she
added, looking my way with a mock frown.
I laughed.
Dad raised his eyebrows. He was clueless.
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“Mom, one can’t eat blood, but one can drink it,” I said
as casually as I could.
She stopped gagging. “You’re right. I wanted to make
sure you’re as smart as you are a jokester.”
“You can thank Dad for that.”
When we got done eating lunch, we went to Mount
Tâmpa and stood inside a small cable car. It felt like I was in
a rollercoaster as it climbed up the mountain. My ears
clogged up, then popped. When I got the courage to look
down, the tops of the trees were beneath us. I closed my eyes
as we climbed thirty-three hundred feet.
“You’re missing out on the fantastic view,” Mom said.
“I don’t care. Are we almost to the top yet?”
“Yes,” Dad assured me.
When we reached the top, I got off. “I’m not going on
that again.”
Dad rubbed my back. “That’s fine, we’ll hike back
down.”
Mom glanced at a woman next to us wearing sandals.
“I’m glad I wore sneakers.”
We walked the narrow path for five minutes until we
reached the Brasov sign. It looked like the Hollywood sign
in California. When people started taking a selfie with the
Brasov sign behind them, I took my phone out of my back
pocket and took one too.
As I ob
served the town of Brasov below us, the
rooftops started to spin, so I sat on the grass for a while until
my vision was normal again.
“Are you alright?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
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“We’re going to take a few photos. Are you okay here
alone?” Dad asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. Go ahead.”
I felt much safer sitting but felt like an idiot too.
After a while, I got up enough courage and strolled over
to the edge, admiring the town of Brasov. All the houses
clustered together, and the clear sky went on for miles. It was
a stunning view but way too high for me. I walked over to
the other side of the mountain and looked at the fog that
settled over the trees with dark shadows. The hairs on my
arms stood up as I wondered what was out there.
My parents approached me. “Let’s get going,” Dad said.
“Okay,” I replied.
As we were hiking down the winding trails of the
mountain, Dad stopped. “I think I see something. I’m going
to go take a picture.”
“Dad, get back here,” I whispered.
“Bret, it could be a bear. Don’t be stupid,” Mom said
and stood behind me.
Dad ignored us and walked off the trail, disappearing
behind a large tree.
“I can’t believe I married an idiot,” Mom mumbled.
“Don’t move!” Dad shouted.
My heart jumped into my throat, and I backed up into
Mom.
A low growl came from the direction where Dad was.
“Is that a bear?” I asked.
Mom squeezed my shoulders with her shaky hands. “I
don’t know, honey.”
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Seconds later, a black leopard with a long mane walked
out from behind the big tree. It was twice the size of a normal
leopard and had emerald green eyes.
I held my breath as I watched its every move. There’re
leopards out here?
The leopard stared into my eyes as it walked up to me.
It was as tall as I was.
“Don’t move,” Mom mumbled between her teeth.
When the leopard rubbed its head gently against my
face, I held my breath and stood frozen without blinking.
Mom gasped and stepped back.
Dad came out from behind the tree. “Get out of here!”
The leopard turned around, charged toward Dad, and
leaped over his head. Dad dropped to the ground and looked
up to see where it went. Within seconds, it climbed to the
top of the tree and looked down at me.
“Bret, are you okay?” Mom shouted.
The leopard jumped from tree to tree then vanished.
When I didn’t see it anymore, I fell to my knees and
sobbed, unable to believe what I just witnessed.
Mom grabbed my hand and pulled me up. “Come on.
We have to go!”
Dad rushed over to us with scratches all over his face
and arms. “Are you all right? What the hell was that thing?”
I shook my head in a daze.
“Are you guys okay?” an older male yelled out with an
English accent as he ran up the hill toward us.
“We need to get off this mountain,” Dad said.
“What’s wrong?” the man asked.
“A huge black leopard was about to kill us,” Dad
replied.
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The man gave Dad a confused look. “I’ve been hiking
these trails for years. There’re no leopards in Romania.
Perhaps you’ve mistaken it for a lynx?”
“No,” Mom said. “I’m not sure what it was, but I know
it wasn’t a lynx.”
The man readjusted his blue backpack. “Miss, was it a
leopard you saw?”
I nodded, unable to speak. I was still in shock because I
had never seen a leopard that size or with a mane before. It
looked like it belonged on another planet.
Dad looked up into the trees. “Do you have a
tranquilizer gun?”
“No, but I have bear spray. Follow me back down.”
After another half hour of walking and getting to know
each other, we arrived at the base of Tâmpa without seeing
the leopard again.
“Here you are,” John said. “When you go on hikes,
always make sure you’re with other groups. You’ll be safer
that way.”
“We will,” Dad replied. “Thank you for getting us back
down here safe.”
John smiled. “You’re welcome.” He looked at people
walking down the trail, laughing. “Are you guys certain you
saw a leopard?”
“One hundred percent.” Mom’s voice trembled every
word.
“I’m going back up there to see if I can find it. Enjoy
the rest of your stay.” John sprinted back up the trail.
Mom looked at Dad. “Is that man crazy?”
Dad shrugged.
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Mom turned to me. “I don’t understand why the
leopard rubbed against your face like that. I thought we were
dead.”
I was a lot calmer but at a loss for words.
“Let’s go.” Dad walked away.
At the inn, I took a long hot bath and told myself that I
would never go into the woods again.
I lay in bed and snuggled under the soft linen sheets,
with the white down pillow propped beneath my head. I
turned on my side and looked toward the window, gazing off
into the shadows, thinking about the leopard.
The following morning, I met Mom and Dad
downstairs, and we went out to eat at a small restaurant in
town. I ordered a delicious omelet and hash browns. The
dark coffee made me want to run a marathon.
After we ate, Dad flagged down a taxi that took us to
Bran Castle. When we arrived, I stepped out and looked up
at the castle on top of the hill. It sent a chill through me.
There was something vaguely familiar, yet unsettling about it
as I stared at the eerie structure.
As we got closer, I noticed there weren’t many people
around. My stomach churned as I walked up the narrow
cobblestone pathway toward the castle. I stopped and looked
back at my parents, who were straggling behind. I wiped the
sweat off my face and sprayed myself down with a water
mister. Seconds later, a gust of cold air hit my face, and the
nausea subsided. I didn’t know how, but the cool air helped.
I picked up the pace and looked over my shoulder again
at my mom and dad. They were way behind me.
“Slow down,” Mom shouted. “It’s been there for
hundreds of years.”
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“Come on, slowpokes.”
Mom raised her hand and motioned me to continue. I
walked on and stopped to take some pictures. The castle was
well-built, and its incredible structure was fascinating. When
I reached the top of the hill, there was a long wait before
entering the castle. After another ten minutes, my parents
joined me.
Inside, a male tour guide greeted the group of sightseers.
We joined them, and the tour guide drew our attention to the
beautiful paintings on the stone walls. He told us the castle
was riddled with secret stairs and passageways.
My parents wanted to follow the group, but I was more
interested in going through it at a faster pace. The musty
smell had me sneezing nonstop. I walked ahead while my
parents stayed back with the tour guide.
As I explored, the sneezing subsided. I walked from
room to room and inspected the antiquities that greeted me
at every turn. Down the long narrow hallway, I found
mahogany furniture and embellishments that dated back
more than five hundred years. I stopped and stared. I wish I
had furniture like this.
In the next room, there were suits of armor in a glass
case. I took some photos and wondered how people walked
in them.
I entered another room with a dark brown desk and a
beautiful matching chair. On the wall, a plaque explained the
room was where Dracula had done is writing. As I admired
its beauty, a couple who also spoke English said that they
wanted to check out the upstairs. Curious, I followed them
down another long hallway and up the narrow secret stone
stairway. With a few more steps, the wall started to spin. I
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stopped and grabbed the guardrail, experiencing a strong
sense of déjà vu.
Feeling unsafe, I ran back down, trying to find my way
out. The dizziness subsided. I continued down the hall until
I ended up in another room with a painting of a man on the
wall. I walked up to it and snapped a picture. I read the
inscription: Vlad Tepes III (Dracul), meaning the son of the devil.
Also known as Vlad the Impaler. It read that he was a prince of
Wallachia in 1482 until his death. He was a menacing-looking
man with long black curly hair and a thin white face.
As I stood there gazing into his dark brown eyes, a cloak
of silence fell, and I felt as though he was staring back at me.
Something cold touched my shoulder. “Remember,” a
male voice with a strong Romanian accent whispered in my
ear.
Without warning, a rush of weakness took over my
body, making me stand frozen. After what seemed like
minutes, I snapped out of my trance and rushed back
downstairs to find my parents. They were still with the tour