Page 3 of Bloodstained
Gheorghe grabbed my suitcase and started heading to the front door before I even got out of the car. He pulled out a big ring of keys, found the one he needed, and opened the door before stepping aside to allow me entry. It creaked as it swung inward, and I followed inside.
The space was cozy with a small bed, a desk by the window, and an antique wardrobe that was hand carved and reminded me of the one my grandmother had in her home. My items I’d had shipped here sat off to the side, the boxes dirty and beat-up from the trip.
He set my bag on the ground by the front door, muttered something about Anca being around shortly to introduce herself, and then he was gone before I could respond. I stood in the center of the room and looked around. The outside had seemed ancient and made me think the inside probably was, too. But I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t at all how I'd envisioned it.
The walls were painted a soft cream, and a stack of folded blankets sat neatly on the foot of the bed. I glanced out the window. The view overlooked the forest on the edge of town, its dense trees stretching toward the distant hills. Something about the sight sent a shiver through me.
There was a soft knock on the front door, and I went over to answer it. An older woman stood on the other side. She was so tiny that she was dwarfed by her thick cardigan and over-sized dress.
“Good morning,” she said in a soft, sweet, elderly voice. “I’m Anca.”
I smiled and held out my hand. She shooed it away and stepped inside, pulling me into a soft hug. I wasn't tall by any means, standing at five foot five, but I felt like a giant compared to her.
When she pulled back, she walked around the room and explained everything to me. She said she did the grocery shopping weekly, and if I needed anything other than essentials to just let her know and she’d get it on her trip. After she gave me the short tour, she talked about the town and the people, and I told her about my grandparents, who had moved to the States—but my grandfather had passed years ago—and had lived just in the next village over.
“You’ll love it here,” Anca said, her smile kind. “The gallery is just a short walk away, and the town has everything you’ll need.” With one more wave and a smile, she left me alone.
That afternoon, I explored the village on foot. The gallery itself was breathtaking—a restored 18th-century building with vaulted ceilings and intricate hand carved moldings.
Inside the gallery, the air smelled faintly of oil paints and varnish, and the walls were lined with pieces from local but also well-knownartists.
It was easy to see why the Primejdie had such a reputation. The art was a breath of the old world.
The rest of the town was equally captivating, and I imagined my grandparents walking similar streets when they were younger.
Tiny cafés with patio seating spilled onto the streets, and an old bookstore beckoned me with the promise of being taken to another world and time. I shamelessly spent an hour walking its narrow aisles, tracing my fingers over the spines of books I recognized and ones in languages I didn’t know.
But even as I wandered the town and visited all the shops, something felt...off. I couldn't place what was different. It wasn’t an eerie or threatening feeling, but there was definitely a heaviness in the air, like the town carried something I couldn’t quite see.
My grandmother’s voice played in my head about dangers that lurked in the shadows and misty corners of the mountains that surrounded her village.
And as the sun dipped lower beneath the horizon, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, though I didn’t see anyone paying attention to me.
That night, as I drifted off in this foreign house, my strange and ethereal dreams came back.
I stood in the middle of a forest, fog rolling around my legs, this unusual light illuminating just ahead. I could make out the faint outline of something—a man—towering in the distance. I didn’t know who he was, couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was the most dangerous man I’d ever seen.
“Come to me,” a voice so deep and distorted echoed in my head.
The air was charged, heavy, and hummed with something unnatural.
I woke with my hands gripping the sheets, the air sawing in and out of my mouth, and sweat covering my body. My heart raced as the darkness of my room pressed in around me.
“Come to me.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as that monstrous voice kept playing in my mind.
I didn't know why I was here, what drew me to this place, but I knew without a doubt I would find out soon.
CHAPTER TWO
CLARA
Days later
The phone was pressed hard against my ear as I leaned back in the worn armchair by the window and stared outside. There was a little bird on the gate that I found mesmerizing.
The fading daylight painted the wilderness surrounding my home for the foreseeable future in soft golds and pinks.
