Vlad the Impaler's Wine and Cheese Party

I saw a History Channel show on Vampires. You know, the kind of thing they show around Halloween. They went over Bram Stoker and how he wrote Dracula, then they covered the history of Vlad the Impaler of course. Last they showed some people in the United States that believe they are vampires. I guess I was impressed by a midwest couple who believes that they live with the spirit of old Vlad himself, and they think he is a nice guy. They showed a mental health professional dismissing their beliefs as a fetish and a few psychics who said they have a spirit around them who says nice things but is very negative. I thought no more of it. They showed a few people who drink a little blood on occasion at vampire parties and a woman who sleeps in a coffin. The next show was about ghosts, but I was tired and went to bed.

Very early in the morning I awoke from a nightmare featuring, Vlad the Impaler. Something about this couple captured my imagination and provided inspiration for the dream and this story, but this is a work of pure fiction and has nothing to do with any real people. Beyond inspiring my dream and this story, any resemblance to real people ends.

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They seemed like a nice couple, the Valentines. We met at a Halloween costume party shortly after we moved to Springfield. They had the best vampire costumes there. We were dressed in our middle ages garb. They had a son, Dirk, our twins’ age so we got on well. The children often played together after school. Our twins admired the, “Dungeon,” playroom they had built for their son in the basement, complete with Halloween decor and every video game imaginable. Often they begged us to build a similar dungeon in our basement for them, but we allowed only one video game system, upstairs in the living room.

About once a month, the Valentines invited us for dinner. We always enjoyed their fantastic cooking, a glass of blood red wine and the animated conversation. They had a few peculiarities though. As many times as they invited us over, they always declined our invitations to dinner. Mrs. Valentine always said that they preferred to entertain rather than be entertained. My husband had this odd notion that they only invited us over when the moon was dark. But I thought that was nonsense. Oh yes, another peculiarity was that the Valentines did not use their first names, they went by formal titles, Mr. and Mrs. They even addressed each other that way and called their son, “Master Valentine.” Dirk asked our children to call him, “Dirk,” so that is what we called him, when his parents were not around.

Mr. and Mrs. Valentine seemed like a very happy couple. One evening, as we sipped some ruby burgundy after dinner, we asked them what their secret to a good marriage was. They replied that they channeled Vlad the Impaler, the middle ages folk hero of Transylvania in Romania. There was an awkward silence. They they proceeded to tell us all about how he advised them in all their affairs, and looked after them. It seemed a harmless fantasy to us. We have another friend who sets out food dishes on Halloween for the spirits of her pets who have passed on. Then Mr. Valentine described how he channeled the spirit of Vlad and Mrs. Valentine would have sex with old Vlad himself in her husband’s body. My husband and I exchanged glances. That night my husband asked me if he should channel old Vlad to get me in the mood. I replied that I was happy with my real husband, thank you.

Still, this peculiarity stuck in my mind, since I am somewhat a student of psychology. I looked it up and found that it was described as a fetish. So this was how they kept the interest alive in bed. I never imagined there was anything darker than this. I thought the choice of characters, old Vlad, was a bit odd, but to each their own. I never felt the same about the Valentines though after learning about their fascination with Vlad. Indeed, although I would admit it to no one, I felt a strange attraction for Mrs. Valentine whenever I saw her from that day forward.

The Valentines kept a marvelous wine cellar, in their basement of course but we had never been invited to view it. Halloween rolled around again and the Valentines hosted a party for us and two other couples, the Lorries and the Fischers. All of us had children around the same age. The children’s party was in high spirits down in the play dungeon while we tasted vintage wines and savory cheeses upstairs. Finally Mr. Valentine asked if we would all like a tour of the wine cellar. No one had seen it before but we had all tasted it’s fruits so we were all eager for a tour. I had a moment of misgiving because I was a little tipsy, and I hung back from the rest.

Mrs. Valentine and I chatted in the kitchen while she tidied up some of the empty bottles. She tilted the last empty bottle as she placed it in the recycling bin. A single sanguine red drop fell and she caught it with her finger which she placed between her glistening lips and sucked in rapture. My head began to swim and I was sure that I had not drunk that much. I am not even sure where my next words came from. It felt as if it were not me, yet it must have been. I told her that I was the spirit of Vlad and that I loved her for all eternity. I began to sing an old folk song and to caress her gently. She smiled and pressed her moist lips to my forehead. They she took my hand and led me toward the basement steps saying that we should join the others.

A door from the dungeon playroom, usually kept locked, was open. We passed through into a large musty smelling place. I remember thinking that this wine cellar must be under their backyard for it surely was large than the area of the house. The guests were admiring the racks of wine and wine memorabilia. The racks of wine were behind glass in three huge gleaming commercial steel refrigerators each set to keep the particular wine it contained at precisely the optimal temperature and humidity. There was also a grape press and a collection of vintage wine making equipment which drew the attention of all, including the children.

Mrs. Valentine motioned to her husband who joined us at the doorway. She told him that Vlad had appeared to her this night and gestured toward me. Mr. Valentine looked stern and replied that they must not let use go. I must have looked quite alarmed for they quickly stepped through the door, back to the playroom and locked us all in. They even left their own son shut in the shocked darkness. Little Dirk called and cried to his parents, pounding his small fists upon the door but no answer was forthcoming and the door, reinforced with steel, remained locked. We could not get out and you can imagine the panic that ensued. Mr. Lorrie was sure that we would all be murdered. Mrs. Fischer found a window, but Mr. Fischer and my husband declared that it too was barred with steel and sharp spikes and therefore impassable.

Mrs. Lorrie and I tried to comfort the children. We found two lamp and turned it on for some comforting light but the children in their commotion soon knocked one of the lamps over and broke it. Somehow I was so worried that we would offend the Valentines by breaking their lamp. I asked the other adults quietly if they thought anything had been put in the wine as I felt most peculiar. They denied any such effects. I did not mention my behavior towards Mrs. Valentine in the kitchen, but I felt so very guilty. I returned to comfort the children at at last they went to sleep and strangely so did I.

I awoke in the morning to see the door standing wide open and the morning light from the basement window shining in. I was alone. Cautiously I peered out the door. No one was around. The video games were in disarray. I tiptoed up the stairs and saw the kitchen door wide open to the bright November sunshine. I headed straight for it and ran into it blinding welcome embrace. I kept running until I reached my own home. I hoped perhaps my husband and children would be there and they were. The children were still asleep in bed and my husband was making coffee in our kitchen.

Gasping for breath, I asked him how he escaped. He seemed very puzzled. I asked him if he remembered being locked in the Valentine’s wine cellar last night. He replied that he remembered my passing out down there, which was embarrassing for him, so everyone left the party then. Mr. and Mrs. Valentine promised they would look after me until morning. He was surprised that they had simply left me like that in the cellar all night. My head began to pound and I went upstairs for some aspirin and a shower. I examined myself in the mirror, no fang marks marred my neck, there were no unusual scratches, cuts or bruises of any kind. I told myself that I should never again drink more than one glass of wine. I checked my children, but they were unharmed.

We never saw the Valentines again. The Lorries and Fischers remember the party just as my husband does. The Valentines simply vanished that night. I was curious enough to look up the real estate records and saw that they had never owned their house. It was owned by the nephew of the previous owner and he rented it out. I looked him up and asked about the Valentines. He knew of no forwarding address and was a bit put out that they gave him no notice when they left. Still, the value of the wine and equipment they left behind compensated him well. He offered me a glass, but I refused. To this day, I never touch red wine.