The Blood Paintings

By Elenor Wu

Centuries of vampire hunts have ensured vampires live on the brink of extinction. Only the Goya clan survives by working as vampire assassins for unscrupulous humans who want to eliminate their enemies. The vampires are in demand because their killings are unsolvable. The Goyas have a fetish of their own, a sadistic need to feast on human flesh. St. Anyas vampire hunters are the only ones who can stop them.

What has a writer, an old man and a dog to do with it? Nothing, until a vampire abducts the writers best friend. Tossed between fear and loyalty, Artesia Cane pushes herself into the horrific war between the living and the undead by joining forces with St. Anyas, a mysterious old man with immense supernatural powers and Stalkers, an unusual breed of vampire killers, to rescue her friend. The vampire hunt culminates into the ultimate battle where the hunters discover they are betrayed. No one can trust anyone.

The Blood Paintings is a horror-action novel of a nightmarishly enduring tale of the test of loyalty, love and most of all, faith and hope under the duress of the eternal battle between good and evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475928921

Elenor Wu

Elenor Wu immigrated to Canada as a young child and aspired to be a writer since childhood. Her writing draws from the tapestry of everyday life. Elenor owns a super active dog that has pulled her into many unforgettable escapades. The Blood Paintings is her first published work.

Book preview

Chapter 1

An exhibition on vampires. What will they think of next?! Artesia spoke with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval to Emmalie across the small bistro table at their favourite outdoor café. Her dog, dozing at her feet, opened his eyes at the tone of her voice.

A collection of artworks and artifacts related to vampirism, to be held at the National Museum Gallery from the beginning of October to the end of November. Artesia read her newspaper out loud. No doubt for Halloween, she added for the benefit of her friend in case it wasn’t obvious enough.

Emmalie, flipping through her magazine, commented in a casual manner, That’s kind of eerie, don’t you think? Why would a world-class museum do something tacky like that?

Pure marketing gimmick. Vampire stuff is popular. It’s a sure way to attract attention and attendance. Actually, I admit even though I don’t like vampire stuff this sounds kind of interesting. Hey, listen to this, Artesia continued, the exhibition is made possible through the generous sponsorship of The Society of the Tarnished Cross. What kind of society is that? Never heard of it.

Okayyy, that makes it even more creepy. Why would anyone want a name like Tarnished Cross? It’s like a medieval movie, Emmalie remarked.

It’s the kind of name that generates attention, goes well with the exhibition. Probably planned, Artesia replied knowingly. Want to check out the exhibition anyways?

It’s working. Emmalie said without answering her friend’s question.

Hunhh? How’s that?

The marketing gimmick. It worked because they got your attention, her friend could not resist teasing her.

Members get a discount on the ticket. Good, I can get it for both of us, Artesia offered. There’s a special guided tour on opening night for thirty-five dollars. And… light refreshments. Well, that certainly is a good enough incentive as any to go.

Oh, if we attend that tour we get a ten dollar discount on the Halloween Gala. With my membership we get another ten percent off. So all together thirty-five plus fifty… Artesia did the math in her head.

You should go back to being a financial analyst rather than be a writer.

What?! And lose my flex hour privilege? No way. Artesia said with humorous truth. So what about it? Let’s go. According to my calculation, it’s a good deal.

No… Emmalie wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea. Have you forgotten that you just said you don’t like ghoulish stuff? She elongated the pronunciation of each word to emphasize her statement.

Yes you’re right but then this is worth it. Besides there is nothing else much in my social calendar this month so it’s better than nothing, Artesia bluntly admitted. Being single in the big city required a conscientious effort and skilful maneuvers in order not to let life fall into a routine and pass her by.

The ad also says costumes welcome for the Halloween Gala. Artesia took a couple of sips of her sweetened milk tea and proceeded to read the details on the vampire exhibition.

That’s even worse. There’s no way I’m going to dress up in a Halloween costume, Emmalie said decisively.

But you’re a performance artist. You pretend all the time. Artesia generalized without thinking.

All the more so. I’m already in emotional disguise when I perform. There is no need to dress up off the stage.

Artesia and Emmalie had been able to remain the best of friends since grade school. Their commonality lay in what they disliked rather than what they liked. Hours of social chatting were pretty much spent on the discords in everyday life and relationships. There was always this and that to comment about. They were of a common front in their views of the world.

Well, we can either attend the opening night event or just the Halloween Gala. We don’t have to do both or dress up. I’ll get the tickets and let’s just go check it out. Artesia compromised to make it more palatable for Emmalie. After some persistent persuasion she was finally able to convince her friend to agree to go to what seemed to be the event of the season, The Ancient and Modern Art of Vampirism at the National Museum Gallery.

Artesia could not explain why but she felt compelled to go. As soon as she read about the vampire exhibition she was gripped by a weird sensation and an extraordinary desire to see it. She reflected whether it was related to the fact that lately she was persistently having nightmares and not just any nightmare, but ones that she actually remembered. Artesia could never see the images clearly but was acutely aware of the intensity of the danger in her surroundings while vaguely knowing she was in a dream state. Upon waking, she could still see the dark shadows darkened further by the dead of the night. Infinitely disturbed by the frequent occurrences of such nightmares, Artesia was all the more glad she had Zen, her large handsome German Shepherd, to keep her company. She didn’t mind being single but there were times when she wished she wasn’t living alone.

After they had their fill of afternoon tea, Artesia and Emmalie went their own way each feeling alive under a bright blue cloudless sky, each with the intention to diligently finish off their tasks so they could have the rest of the day free. Gradually Artesia slowed down to a sauntering pace trying to procrastinate facing another day without being able to produce a single word for the new book she wanted to write. Everything was so fuzzy and cloudy in her head, like the nightmares she was experiencing.

As soon as she unlocked the front door of her house Zen abandoned her. He trampled over her shoes which were scattered all over the dark wooden floor of her small foyer with his large paws and then sprang onto the sofa, settling down for his usual nap before dinner time. Artesia sighed out loud. She had run out of her list of excuses to delay her book.

Coincidentally, a low-budget vampire movie was playing on television that night. Artesia watched the film as she ate her dinner of savoury Thai chicken salad while Zen watched her, waiting for the usual handouts. Artesia tried to sit through the movie but soon grew bored by the unstimulating dialogue. I vanto driinnnk your blood, sneered the arrogant vampire in a fake Eastern European accent. It was always this very image that popped into her mind whenever vampires were mentioned. A tacky and comical caricature that concealed the evil underneath.

She decided to abandon the movie and tried to start writing her next novel yet again after failing to do so in the afternoon. Try was the key operand. Artesia contemplated on creating a sequel to her last novel given the relative success it had. It wasn’t a best seller but did grab the critics’ attention. Once the good reviews were out, the book moved briskly off the shelves. She felt she was on a lucky roll as it was her second consecutive successful book after the inconsistent and sometimes unfavourable responses to her earlier works. Of late, she was experiencing a severe case of writer’s block.

The dog became fidgety and started to nudge her with his cold wet nose, telling her the urgency to do his thing. So soon? Seems like we just went. Alright, alright, last run of the day. Artesia took to Zen’s cue. The dog smiled as if he understood and scrambled to the door.

Artesia zipped up her soft purple hoodie, braced herself against the coolness of the September night, and stepped out to the quietness of the street. She stood there for a moment and then for unexplainable reasons decided not to take her customary night walk route, turning right instead of heading towards the usual left. The dog tugged and pulled trying to sniff out every scent making the progression slow. Artesia did not pay attention to how far they had walked from the house when she suddenly felt a shadow causing her to immediately raise her level of alertness. She stood frozen for a single moment as the thought rushed through her head that it was odd she sensed it first rather than saw it, an opaque dark shadow fleeting across the street about fifteen feet in front of her.

Zen had sensed danger the moment The Master turned right. He could smell Their presence around him. They had come earlier than expected. Nevertheless, he was ready to explode into his true form, ready to take on any evil that came his way. Instead, his frightened master pulled him in the other direction, depriving him of a good kill.

Artesia stepped back quickly. Hastily she took another few more steps back and turned towards the direction of the nearest busy street. Zen’s growls increased her level of anxiety. She started to run and the dog, picking up her vibes of fright and flight, started to run beside her at an even more rapid pace. She finally reached her house in the span of eternity. Her heart was pounding erratically and the moment she stepped into the haven of her house Artesia quickly switched on the entrance light to avoid the dark. A new sense of fear enveloped her.

By the time she had completely calmed down it was well past eleven o’clock but she was in no mood to sleep. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a large bag of puff cheese sticks, one of her favourite comfort foods. At the wrinkling sound of the bag, Zen at once went and nudged her with his snack time expression. Artesia lay on the firm but comfortable brown sofa with her netbook and for the umpteenth time attempted to begin her new novel.

To her surprise, the ideas came swiftly as if a floodgate had been opened. Ideas and themes started to flow naturally, congealing themselves into sentences, forming sequences of events that strung logically together to tell a story. A surge of creativity she had never experienced burst forth. She enjoyed the adrenaline rush. Zen became bored waiting for her to go to bed and decided to retire for the evening first. He left her, turned a few times on her bed and settled down comfortably in the usual manner, stretching his large form to claim all the space as if it was his god given right.

For the next few days Artesia worked feverishly dedicating all her time to the writing of her new book. She couldn’t stop. The story appeared to her like visions. She made exceptional headway until one rainy afternoon a few days after the disturbing incident of the night shadow. Artesia sat in front of her computer with a hot cup of green tea to review what she had written so far and was startled at the words in front of her. It was a collection of morbid thoughts interwoven into a story. They were distressingly alien to her eyes, visions full of terrifying evils tailing her relentlessly in a surreal landscape. The style was not her usual cheerful comical narrative but page after page filled with torturous scenes linked together by blood and violence.

She started to worry. Would her readers accept this? Artesia didn’t want to give up her artistic integrity by becoming too commercial, adhering to a formula that proved successful. She was reluctant to let her readers’ taste dictate what she should write. But then, she wasn’t the first writer to be in that predicament either. Artesia was crystal clear on the fact that after a long struggle to make it, she had became apprehensive about losing what she had achieved and was the first to admit that success had actually made her less secure. Before success she had nothing to lose. But now, the sweet taste of fame and fortune made it a different story.

That’s it Zen. I’m going to ask Téa to read it, she said to the dog and then took a large bite of a shortbread cookie.

Téa was Artesia’s older Chinese half-sister. Her sister’s father passed away when Téa was only ten years old. After their mother’s first husband died, she was forced to sell their house and find a cheaper place to live. As fate would have it, Artesia’s father was their new landlord. He was a good-natured Englishman who happily and kindly took care of the widowed mother and young daughter. Inevitably an intimate bond developed between them but it took considerable persuasion before their mother agreed to marry Artesia’s father.

The siblings, their blood forever bounded by their mother’s, held an unshakable bond. Artesia trusted Téa’s judgment and frequently sought her advice. Téa as the older sister gave her advice freely, solicited or unsolicited. She was the big sister after all. There was a time in their childhood days when there were hints of sibling rivalry especially as Artesia, being younger, demanded their mother’s attention more. But once they smartly realized that they faced common antagonists, the parents, the two quickly teamed up. They were not just sisters but best friends ever since and supported each other through the ups and downs of life.

Téa, it’s me.

I know. I have call display.

You’re too hi-tech for me. Artesia responded jokingly. I want to run something I wrote by you.

Sound serious. Sure, anytime.

Let’s do lunch tomorrow then. Twelve-thirty at Haiku House.

On the next day both of the sisters arrived early at the small Japanese restaurant. After they placed their orders, Artesia pulled out two sheets of paper from a large red leather tote bag. She didn’t bring all she wrote, just a taste of it. Read this.

Téa skimmed through it first then took her time to reread it in greater detail. She looked up inquisitively. It’s so not you. What made you change so much from your normal light-hearted style?

That’s just it, I don’t know.

It’s so bleak and dark. Honestly, very ghoulish if that’s the right word. On the other hand, there is nothing bad about it. Very stylish. It’s just so different, that’s all. Téa gave the appropriate degree of criticism and encouragement. Why not?

Why not what?

Why not write something totally out of character? It may not be such a bad idea because it’s so bizarre the critics certainly won’t be able to say sequels never live up to the original story. It doesn’t allow room for comparison. I think change would be a good strategy.

On her way home, Artesia walked with a springiness reflecting her happy mood after hearing her sister’s opinions. When she opened her front door, the dog slowly left the comfort of her bed and performed his perfunctory greeting, a slight wagging of the tail. What’s the matter with you, your highness? Geesh. Be glad to see me because I’m treating you to a longer walk today.

Before she knew it, the afternoon had sunk into autumn dusk, filtering the sky with a blend of orange and purplish blue hues. She had been out with Zen for almost three hours but decided to continue the walk in the healthy glow of the setting sun until the growling of her stomach told her she was hungry. Artesia was finally tired from the long walk and headed towards home.

On their way back, the light had darkened into varying shades of grey. They strolled unhurriedly through a narrow side street with small, neat, picture perfect houses, all of them with lovely tiny well-manicured gardens. As Artesia crossed the road she was suddenly filled with a strange sensation similar to the night when she felt the shadow. She tried to shake it off by humming a light cheerful tune and the first one that popped into her mind was My Favourite Things from The Sound of Music. She sang the words softly that only Zen could hear. Generally it helped relieve any symptom of nervousness but not this time. Her stomach tightened and knotted up.

They are here again, those annoying evil creatures. Zen saw evil drifting in slowly with a sense of uncertainty putting him in an advantageous position. He just wished The Master would not pull him in the other direction again like last time. He was ready for a good kill. With each kill he grew stronger. With each reincarnation he became more powerful.

Artesia was growing concerned, half expecting to see the shadow again. The dog’s unusual behaviour of aggressive growls made her nervous. She quickened her pace, once again trying to tug the reluctant dog along with her. Instead Zen stood steadfast on his spot like a ton of bricks. A gossamer veil of grey floated right in front of her for a few long seconds then sashayed across the street. Artesia froze. She thought she had stepped into a surreal painting as shapes around her became warped and exaggerated by the blurring of grey tones as dusk descended into night. All was hush around her.

Zen’s barking broke Artesia out of the reverie. She pulled him by the collar and ran the long way home. The two arrived home without any further nerve chilling incidents. It happened again, that sensation of feeling the shadows before it crossed her vision.

The next few days were pleasantly uneventful which was exactly what Artesia needed to concentrate on her writing. All her time was dedicated to the new book. She made creative progress and pushed the novel ahead faster than she anticipated. Everything satisfactorily dovetailed into place, the plots, themes and characters.

Oh, I just hope the publisher feels the same, she said to Zen in a very natural manner. The dog pushed his head onto her laptop. No, no, Zen, don’t drool over my computer! Ughhh. Off, Zen get off.

Zen kept nudging his master. He wanted to tell The Master to stop writing. She was creating too much evil, evil so powerful it would be beyond her understanding. Beyond any normal mortal’s comprehension and control.

One day Artesia had such a splitting headache that she couldn’t write. Let’s do an extra walk Zen. I need to clear my head.

She put on her red fall coat and leashed the dog with his thick red rope leash. The early afternoon was as brilliant as autumns should be. Fall colours dabbled through the trees on the city streets and parks like watercolour. A spot of red and orange here, a splash of green and yellow there. Artesia was glad she took time off as Zen pulled her towards one of the neighbourhood parks. The dog knew where he wanted to go.

Zen don’t pull, stop pulling. Artesia tried to exert some form of dominance over the oversized dog brimming with pent up energy.

Good afternoon.

She turned to face the source of the greeting. It was Mr. Go, an average height and built Chinese man with a head of white hair peppered with light grey. He possessed an unassuming demeanor and plain facial features, making him one of those people that blended in unobtrusively at any place and time. Yet, she sensed Mr. Go was anything but average. He had presence and exuded confidence. In the same instance, he showed reservation. It was as if he had secrets hidden in his pocket he didn’t want to let out, not because he was afraid of people knowing but because he was protecting others from them. He was the keeper of Pandora’s Box. No one at the dog park could describe his uniqueness but everyone unanimously respected the old man.

Hello Mr. Go, how’s it going? Artesia asked casually. One thing every dog owner at the park knew about was that Mr. Go was an avid dog lover without a dog. He would often go to the neighbourhood dog parks to get his daily dose of wagging tails. The dogs loved him for his affection as much as for the treats he always carried in his pocket.

Going to the park?

Yes to park. They strolled together in the direction of the park making polite conversation along the way. As they approached the small well-used park, Mr. Go stopped as if he changed his mind.

"Aren’t you going in?’

Ms. Artesia, Mr. Go addressed her as he always does, with the Ms.. I want to tell you something. He pulled on the zipper of his brown jacket and, unlike his normal self, looked down as if afraid to meet her eyes.

Yes, of course. What is it?

Mr. Go lifted his head and stared at her. Silence. Awkwardness ballooned up. Although they were nothing but dog park acquaintances, Mr. Go’s hesitation was something Artesia had never seen before. Yes, what is it? Totally puzzled by his behaviour, she repeated her question, prodding the old man to say something. Anything.

I hope you don’t mind me saying this but I must. Your aura is off.

The comment caught Artesia completely off guard. Where did that come from? She successfully suppressed an incredible urge to burst out laughing. That would be too rude. She donned on the most serious face as she possibly could and simply asked, What do you mean? Sorry, I don’t understand.

As the Chinese say, your chi or energy. The aura. You don’t have to believe me. All times before, I see you with happy chi. Today, you surrounded by black chi. All around. His grammar was beginning to scramble. He must be feeling embarrassed, Artesia thought.

I’m puzzled. I feel very happy and good today. Life is good. My book is coming along very well.

No, no, no worry. I mean no harm.

You read chi though? Do you do fortune telling? Mr. Go’s warning piqued Artesia’s interest and curiosity. Her mind turned to her nightmares. Could it be that they were surfacing physically onto her face? Could sharp enlightened eyes see it? As kids, her mother had told her and her sister tales of unexplained things when she was living in China so many years ago. She was frightened by the stories as a child and simply denied it as an adult.

She didn’t know Mr. Go’s background and definitely nothing about his personal life. Undeniably there was more than meets the eye. Well-respected yet mysterious. Those were the two words that popped into her head. Who was he really? An enlightened monk? A Taoist grand master? She was intrigued and determined to find out who was Mr. Go behind the reticent exterior.

Be careful, Mr. Go cautioned her. Okay, I go to bakery now. He stopped abruptly leaving Artesia in a state of suspense. Nothing was more irritating than being left hanging trying to interpret the nonsensical sentences coming out of a stranger’s mouth.

Thank you for your kind advice. Artesia didn’t know what else to do except to be polite. Can we talk more when you have the time? I’d like very much to know what to do. How do I regain my happy chi as you put it?

Mr. Go nodded without adding anything new to the strange conversation. I go now. Maybe next time when we meet, I let you know. Ugh, Artesia grimaced. What the hell was that?! She thought with double exclamation marks. Why couldn’t people simply finish what they started or at least say what they meant? Didn’t he realize that his advice was no help at all? Artesia was frustrated and thought it was too much of a coincidence between her recent strange outpouring of creativity and the ghostly shadows she had sensed floating around her. Did these tidbits of events add up to a sum of unknown danger? It occurred to her that Mr. Go might actually be crazy. She shuddered at the thought.

Zen stared after the old man as he walked away. He recognized an ancient ally when he sensed one. They understood each other perfectly. There was no need for human words. Both of them knew of the evil hovering on the horizon. It was just a matter of time before they would have to face it. But until then, he quickly turned into the park to find his usual play pals.

Chapter 2

Emmalie was late as usual. On the night of the Ancient and Modern Art of Vampirism exhibition an irritated Artesia stood waiting for her friend on the broad steps outside the National Museum Gallery. Artesia looked at her watch and frequently checked around to see if Emmalie could be spotted from afar. Her friend had the bad habit of being late on almost all occasions. Artesia grew impatient as she texted a message to her friend on her cell phone. Where are you?!

Well-dressed people in ones, twos or more were making their way up the museum’s mosaic tile steps. Some people were chattering in animation, some were laughing loudly. Limousines queued up at the front steps to drop off groups of lovely people. Excitement was the order of the night. It was understandable as it was the premier showing of the exhibition in the country. The reputation of the exhibition preceded it. Many had heard about the unique collection and now they would have a chance to see the world’s largest and finest collection of vampire artifacts for themselves. The grandeur of the evening fed on itself. Artesia didn’t imagine it would be an event of such magnitude. She was glad she persuaded Emmalie to come.

Hey! Emmalie came running up the steps waving madly to get Artesia’s attention. Soorrryyy, she apologized. I had to go for an audition for that Christmas Festival last minute.

You could’ve called. Come on, let’s go in. She pulled her friend by the arm to the front gate of the museum.

What’s the hurry? The exhibition will be here all night. Let’s enjoy it at a leisurely pace.

The crowd that arrived earlier was milling around in the museum’s rotunda. It’s already jam packed. Artesia observed.

I’m sure it’s because they have nothing in their social calendars just like us, her friend replied humorously.

The two of them queued up in the long coat check line. As they moved along at a snail’s pace, they heard Hey you two. Both women looked over simultaneously at the sound of the familiar deep voice. A man with the height to match the baritone voice walked up to them.

Mac, what are you doing here? Artesia asked.

Why do you sound surprised, Artee? More appropriate that I ask you. You’re the one who hates gory stuff.

I’m doing research for my next book. Artesia responded quickly as if she needed to legitimize her presence to Mac.

She’s writing a book on vamp…

Artesia cut her off. Hush, you know I don’t like to talk about it.

Can never understand why you’re so secretive, you of the artistic temperament. Does that mean you’ve gotten over your writer’s block? You must be relieved. There’s nothing worse for a writer than not being able to write, to be paralyzed in thoughts. Your whole career on the line. There was too much delight in his voice.

More saliva then tea, Artesia muttered in accented Chinese. It was what Téa always said when someone she disliked talked too much.

By the way, you need a researcher? Hey, I’m the best around so how about hiring me? Actually I just lost a job to someone else so I need to find an assignment quickly. Shitty market. Mac pitched as the three of them stood around waiting for the tour to begin.

Mac was a freelance researcher who specialized in historical subjects and did work for some of the writers under her publisher’s roster of talents. The two of them had hit off right from the start as more than just a business relationship given that they had very similar literary tastes. Nothing ever developed romantically but their friendship continued since they found each other mentally stimulating and enjoyed one another’s intellectual banter.

She had tried to set Mac up with Emmalie but her friend didn’t take to him. Mac was too Bohemian. His life consisted of an odd research job here, an assignment there, and then a bit of time off to pursue the art of nothingness. Emmalie was looking for someone with more stability to counter-balance her own Bohemian ways. Although the matchmaking ended in utter failure, no one felt the worse and because of it, they socialized together on and off.

Don’t worry, I’ll use you when I’m at that stage. Artesia said generously knowing she could afford paying for an extra bit of assistance with the royalties she was still receiving from the success of her last novel.

‘‘Good, remember you promised. In that case, I’ll buy you a drink afterwards." They grinned happily. Everyone was in an exhilaratingly cheerful mood, wholly expecting a good time.

I feel like I’m waiting to go into the Haunted House in Disneyland, Mac added as a bell twinkled musically through the rotunda, announcing that the tour was about to start.

Please proceed to the guide holding the number you received when you came in, a museum staff instructed. Mac followed Artesia and Emmalie to their assigned group.

Oh, you’re in our group? That’s a coincidence.

Nope, but who cares? I decided I want to be in your lovely company for the evening. That was Mac’s way.

All the museum tour guides for the special event were tall men dressed handsomely in tuxedos and capes, playing up to the dark mood of vampirism.

Please move in closer so you can hear me. Closer please. The guides moved their arms in a scooping motion as if that could physically pack the attendees together. As the guests shuffled in to form intimate groups, silence fell over the museum rotunda. The evening had begun.

The guide of Artesia’s group took the guests down a long hallway explaining, We are going into a section of the museum that is usually closed to the public. It is one of the original wings of the building now used as one of our interim stations for changing collections. We’ve opened it temporarily to accommodate this show. The outer edge of the building actually consists of staff corridors. It’s hard to tell but if you go through one of the doors hidden behind the drapes, it opens to those hallways. The basement, especially the older part of the museum, is quite a labyrinth.

The older style architecture was conducive to the nature of the exhibition. Artesia was impressed by the décor. The hallway was lined on each side with pillar candles burning brightly on caste iron candleholders. The flames danced in the drafty passage creating an unearthly, ethereal effect. The group stopped in front of a set of heavy wooden double doors with metal knockers in the shape of vampires hanging upside down. The double doors were opened by two women with powdered white faces and perfectly painted blood red lips, dressed in figure-flattering long black gowns.

The doors opened to reveal a high ceiling, dimly lit exhibition hall. The main lighting was on the centerpiece. As everyone entered, all the guests were immediately drawn to the portrait of a handsome dark haired male with vicious savage eyes. He possessed the look that could kill. They were sharp and seemed capable of sucking the soul right out of a person.

This painting is one of the original collections of Count Gregor Vllach of the House of the Black Stones in Eastern Europe. Count Gregor was the third count in the line of Vllachs and lived around the late thirteen hundreds, the tour guide began his commentary. "As some of you probably know, the Vllach family is one of the wealthiest families in the world today. They are major shareholders in some of the largest global conglomerates and are said to have numerous private companies and ventures but being private, there aren’t much information about these.

Count Gregor the Third was also known as Vllach the Mighty. The handsome young man in the painting is not the Count however. He was actually the benefactor of the family. Although the Vllach family claimed that Count Gregor was saved by this man, there is actually no record of his name let alone any historical documentation. The story goes that the Vllach clan was in a battle with a rival feudal lord. Count Vllach was mortally wounded and while trying to escape from his enemies he lost his way in The Forbidden Forest. Apparently this man saved him. Out of gratitude, the Count had the portrait done and hung it in the great hall of his castle facing the main entrance. The painting hanging here has been retouched several times through the centuries. The figure remains the same but the backdrop has been redone. We don’t know the reason."

How did this man save the count? Did he help him escape?

The answer to this question is also we don’t know. The only source on this is from the Vllachs’ own historical family records which they haven’t shared with historians. There are records referring to the battle but unfortunately most of the details have been lost or destroyed through time.

If the portrait was so valuable to the Vllach, why would they put it on exhibition? What happened to the castle? Did it go to ruins over the centuries?

On the contrary, the House of the Black Stones remains one of the best-preserved castles today. It is called Black Stones because it was built with exactly that, huge black stones. It was their decision to include the portrait as part of the exhibition. Through the years the Vllach family had acquired a vast collection of vampire artifacts but this is the only piece that seemed out of context, as it is non-vampire subject.

So why do they want to show the benefactor as part of the exhibition? the question was asked again.

They didn’t offer any explanations but interestingly enough, this was part of the condition of lending the collection to the museum. The condition stipulated that the portrait must be exhibited and not only that, it must be hung in the centre directly at the entrance of any exhibition hall. The guide offered the information wanting to heighten the mystery surrounding the portrait. This stipulation applies every time with no exception. We learnt from the other museums when they had their turns. The vampire exhibition has plenty of drawing power and is easy enough for the museums to comply. I don’t know of any museum refusing this condition.

Artesia found the look