Dark Odyssey

Ratcliff lay on his side, gazing at Melanie. She was asleep, the bed linens in disarray at her feet. He could hear her breathe softly. Morning sunlight streamed in from the window of his Manhattan apartment. Ratcliff could see past Melanie, through the floor to ceiling windows, past St. Paul cathedral, all the way to New Jersey. The view was spectacular, he thought, but no more spectacular than the beautiful woman who lay beside him. "So this is what love is like," he thought to himself. "I never realized that it could be so all-consuming. The other times in my life that I thought I might be in love were, by comparison, just mild infatuations." He took in her flawless features, her satin skin, and her perfectly proportioned figure. "How," he asked himself, "could I be so fortunate? How is it possible that such a woman could care for me as passionately as I care for her?" He thought forward to their wedding. He was impatient for the day to arrive. The day on which they would begin a new life together as Mr. and Mrs. Heathrow.

Melanie opened her eyes and saw Ratcliff looking at her. "A penny for your thoughts," she said dreamily.

Ratcliff turned toward her and folded his arms around her. She nestled her head against his shoulder. "I was just thinking about our wedding," he responded, "and how much I'm looking forward to making you Mrs. Heathrow. About our honeymoon to Madigascar. And about buying that house in the Hamptons that you like so much. I love you, Melanie."

"And I you, Ratcliff. Dearest Ratcliff. The only thing that prevents me from suggesting that we move the wedding date up is that we have already received invitation responses from five hundred of our relatives and closest friends. That, and the fact that there is a five year waiting list to book the cathedral. Daddy was able to use his influence to jump the line, but I don't know that he could do it twice."

"Even so, we could elope," Ratcliff responded, only half in jest.

"I would be tempted," said Melanie, looking fondly at her tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed fiance. She, too, was deeply in love. "If it weren't for my upcoming trip. There's no way for me to avoid it. But as soon as I get back from Transylvania the date will be upon us. While I'm gone, I'll be as impatient as you."

"As soon as I get back from Transylvania." Melanie's words echoed in Ratcliff's ears. Little did he know, as he pressed his lips to hers, that they would come back to haunt him. Little did he suspect what dark shadows would descend upon them. "As soon as you get back," he murmured as she caressed his....
[Maddog}
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expansive wild thicket of chest hair. Ratcliff, like the men in his family, has always had an abundance of body hair. He grooms himself thoroughly and often--a fact which his fiancee is quite unaware of. Fearing Melanie will be extremely distressed and flee from his arms upon hearing of his condition, Ratcliff hopes to keep his secret until after their marriage.

"Ratcliff, didn't you tell me your family came to this country from some small town in the Carpathians?" Melanie asks with a sudden expression of delight. "After I finish business with my client I'd love to see your ancestral home. Maybe you still have relatives there! Wouldn't that be so exciting?" Ratcliff nodded deep in thought. He strained to remember the name of the town.

Being an only child and his parents having been deceased for some time, he had no one to tell him anything about his heritage. He has only vague memories of sitting in his grandmother's kitchen as a small boy where she would stuff him with goulash and tell him stories about the old country in a very thick, almost indeciferable accent. Ratcliff just thought she was strange and generally believed most of what she said was nonsense. He never knew his grandfather. And whenever he asked where he was his grandmother would say "Wulfgang is wild good for nothing dog! I vill check the pound in weeks or so..." This was followed by a long ebb and flow of muttering, cursing and drinking. If she was alive she would be the one to solve this mystery...

Suddenly Ratcliff recalls that a friend of his grandmother's may still live in New Jersey. "I'll have to pay a visit to the boardwalk in Atlantic City. My grandmother worked down there for many years as a seer with a woman named Vilma. She would know the name of the town...why, she came from there herself I think!!". Melanie claps her hands in excitement. "Can I come with you?", she asks. Ratcliff almost agrees, but then for some reason declines saying "I best go alone."...
[Jeff]
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Ratcliff wasn't sure why he had agreed to go all the way to Atlantic City on what he thought of as a fools errand, other than that Melanie had asked him to learn whether he still had relatives in Romania. He was vaguely aware that his antecedents had emigrated to the United States from that part of the world, but he never thought much about it when he was growing up. In fact, until Melanie had brought it up he had pretty well forgotten it. It wasn't important to him. After all, hadn't most of the population of North America emigrated from somewhere far away, like Europe, Asia or Africa? If he weren't so eager to please Melanie he wouldn't have bothered.

Atlantic City reminded Ratcliff of an aging beauty queen who'd fallen on hard times. You could still imagine what she had looked like in her heyday, but she'd developed wrinkles, lost a few teeth, and picked up a couple of prison tats along the way. He parked his car and headed for the Boardwalk. He felt out of place in his tailor-made cashmere jacket, charcoal slacks and Italian, alligator tassel loafers.

Once he was at the Boardwalk things began to look vaguely familiar. Still, finding his way was largely a matter of wandering around. After forty-five minutes of trial and error, however, he finally arrived at a small storefront that was squeezed between an arcade and a shop that sold nicknacks made of sea glass and driftwood. The sign said, "Madame Vilma's" and displayed a hand, palm up. Ratcliff pushed through the beaded curtain and found himself in a dimly lit room decorated with a few candles and a couple of antique chairs that looked as if they were about to collapse. There was a small escritoire by the door with a bell on it. He lifted the bell and gave it a tentative shake.

Moments later, an old woman entered the room. Ratcliff couldn't guess at her age. In the dim light she could have been anywhere from eighty to one hundred. "Are you Madame Vilma?" he asked. The old woman answered in the affirmative. "My name is Ratcliff Heathrow," he went on. "You may not remember me. I was here once when I was little. I'd come to see my grandmother who was living here with you at the time. Is she still here?"

The old woman smiled and said, "Sit, sit." She gestured at one of the rickety chairs. "Ah, yes. Iliana. She was a good friend. After her husband... your grandfather... Wulfgang disappeared she lived here for a long time. Sadly, she passed away a few years ago." She shook her head in regret.

Ratcliff received the news with mixed feelings. On one hand he didn't feel a sense of loss, either for his grandmother whom he had hardly known or the information she might have given him. On the other, he was disappointed that he wouldn't have anything to pass on to Melanie. And, frankly, he told himself, it is a downer to make that pain-in-the-butt drive all the way from Manhattan to Atlantic City only to come up empty-handed.

Madame Vilma saw his expression and in consolation asked if there were anything she could do. Ratcliff explained the reason for his visit and expressed his interest in locating any kin he might have who might still be residing in The Old Country. To his surprise, she responded, "I can tell you the answer to your question. You have a great uncle who still lives in the area where your ancestors have resided since the Middle Ages. He is a retired physician. His children are still there as well. Of course, who knows what might have become of your birth parents."

"What do you mean, 'your birth parents'" Ratcliff exclaimed. "My parents live, or lived until their untimely demise a few years ago, in New York. Long Island, as a matter of fact."

The old woman took Ratcliff's hand in her own gnarled, dry hand and said, "Your parents never told you? You were adopted as an infant from a state agency in Romania. Your mother and father had tried to have children of their own but were unsuccessful. Finally, they decided to adopt a child. I suppose your father may have felt some kind of affinity for the land of his parents. They went to Romania to seek a child. It wasn't easy. The government of that terrible despot, Nicolae Ceausescu, was very repressive. Not only was it hard to adopt a child, but it was even harder to get the child out of the country once the adoption had taken place. But they managed. Your birth parents?" Madame Vilma waived a hand dismissively. "I think they were gypsies."

Ratcliff reeled in his chair. Adopted? Gypsies? He felt as if his world had been turned upside down.
[Maddog]
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Ratcliff thanked Vilma although for what he wasn't sure. He had come to this depressing place seeking details of his heritage just to learn that nothing he knew about his ancestry was true. Sure his parents loved and adored him, but they hadn't prepared him for this.

"How can I marry unless I find out who I really am?" Ratcliff thought. Although he wanted to rewind to just a few hours before and forget he had ever talked to Vilma, he knew that life as he knew it had been forever altered.

As Ratcliff sped back to Manhattan in his candy apple red Porshe 911 Turbo, he mentally started planning his own trip to Romania. He would go while Melanie was away on business. She was going to be gone for a month so surely he had time to find the answers he sought. Fortunately for Ratcliff, when his parents died, they left him a fortune so he was free to travel without the hinderance of a work schedule or weekly paycheck.

Melanie, pulchritudinous Melanie. What would she think of him when she found out not only did he have Werewolf Syndrome but he also came from gypsies? Melanie came from a line of blue bloods, the finest of the fine. Despite their deep love, would it be able to sustain these truths?

Back in the apartment, as Melanie was beginning the arduous task of packing for a long trip, she was also struggling with her own hidden truths. She was impatient to get back to Transylvania to wrap up some unfinished business. Until she put it all behind her, she wouldn't be truly free to marry Ratcliff. She longed in her heart to elope and forego the pomp and circumstance but her father would never allow it. It had surprised her when Ratcliff had gone to her father and asked for her hand in marriage, and even more so when her father agreed. She didn't take time to ponder the reasons.
[Margaret]
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Ratcliff began to mentally sketch out what he would do once he was back in the City. There were a few things on his schedule, but nothing that would prevent him from booking a flight to Bucharest within the next week or so. He was scheduled to host his monthly poker game, but he could cancel that. There was the appointment with his dentist, but he could put that off for awhile. Ditto his barber visit and his visit to his tailor. Of course there was his appointment with the cosmetologist. He'd better keep that one, he thought. He was making good progress with the laser hair removal and didn't want to lose momentum. He was getting close to being able to live free of depilatories and razor rash. Thanks to years of hair removal sessions, except for a patch of hair on his back he now had hair pretty much only where it belonged: on his head, chest, groin, and soles of his feet. Human Werewolf Syndrome had been no picnic to live with, but the end was now in sight. Ratcliff had pondered the oddities of human mores before. Why was it that body hair was perfectly acceptable on animals, especially adorable furry housepets, but not on humans? Why did women like to cuddle with puppies and kittens but not with excessively hairy men? Why is it, he asked himself, that women in particular, go to great lengths to remove all visible hair except for what grows from their scalps? Scalps. What is so special about the hair on their heads? Those hairs are nothing more than long, thin, often mouse-colored, tubular fibers that spring from the skin, infested with follicles and oil glands, that covers their skulls. Head hair is peculiar, he thought, in that it - unlike hair elsewhere on the body - continues to get longer and longer - unless cut - for a lifetime. The more the better, as far as most humans are concerned. And women are quite proud of it, this hair that sprouts out of their heads. They dye it and cut it into strange shapes as if it were topiary. They spray it and curl it and tease it to make it look fuller. They are so self-conscious about it that their hands are constantly touching it as if to reassure themselves that it is still there. Women miss no opportunity to check it obsessively in mirrors to ensure that no strand is out of place. Some men, too, are so concerned about this cranial growth that if they lose their hair they wear a strange covering of artificial fibers to replace it. "So what's wrong with a little body hair, anyway?" thought Ratcliff as he sped toward Manhattan.

Ratcliff arrived in Manhattan just before rush hour. It seemed to him, however, that any time of day in Manhattan was rush hour. He negotiated his way through narrow, congested streets, swerving to miss hurtling taxis, suicidal pedestrians and drivers desperate to leap into the few parking places that unexpectedly became available along the curb. Dropping his Porche off with the parking attendant in his towering apartment building, he stepped onto the elevator and moments later was home.

As he entered his apartment, Melanie stepped into the room and greeted him with a smile. She had just stepped out of the shower and was wrapped in a towel. He hair was still damp. Her smooth skin was still rosy from the warmth of the water and she smelled of the perfumed soap he had given her for her birthday. Ratcliff thought he had never seen anyone as beautiful. He stepped forward and wrapped her in a hungry embrace.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Ratcliff and Melanie tried to ignore it but it rang again. Reluctantly, Ratcliff went to the door and asked, "Who is it?"

"It's the plumber and I've come to fix the sink."

"Huh?"

"It's the plumber and I've come to fix the sink."

"Come back later."

"Hey, buddy. It's either now or you can wait two weeks. I got a long list of people who're waiting for me."

"Crum!" thought Ratcliff. "We can't wait two weeks. Melanie and I will be gone." He hadn't decided whether to tell her that he would be traveling to Romania during the time she would be there. No reason not to, he thought, but for some reason he was hesitant.

He opened the door and Melanie directed the plumber to the kitchen. "I'm sorry," she said to Ratcliff. "I called him quite some time ago and had forgotten he was supposed to arrive today. While we're waiting for him to fix the sink I'll slip into some clothes and you can tell me about your visit to Atlantic City. I can't wait to find out what you discovered!"
[Maddog]
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As Melanie closed the bedroom door behind her, Ratcliff wondered what he should do. Would she still love him if she knew? Would her father disallow their marriage? He had to tell her something.

Ratcliff shook his head and collected himself. Seeing that the front door stood wide open, he walked over to close it. He noticed an envelope on the entry hall table. It was addressed to Ratcliff Strogonoff. "Thats odd." he thought. "My last name isn't..." Had he not recently learned about his real parents he would have dismissed this article of mail as a wrong address.

Melanie cracked the bedroom door open and called out "I'll be out in 5 minutes honey! Sorry dear!".

Ratcliff was hesitant to open the envelope. He tries to convince himself its just a coincidence that his name is the same on the label. Looking at the return address, his mouth drops open in shock. It bears the words "Bela Strogonoff Transylvania 6-5000"...
[Jeff]
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A letter from Transylvania! Ratcliff was stunned. Who in the Old Country would be writing him? He had never set foot in Romania and had never even discussed his origins with his parents. How would anyone there even know he existed? And even if some distant relative were vaguely aware that he did, why in the world would they write and how would they know how to find him? He had only decided to go to Romania a few hours ago. He hadn't even decided whether to tell Melanie he was going. "This," he told himself, "is really weird." He felt a little shaky and sank into the large leather easy chair next to the mahogany bar. He tore the envelope open and peered at a letter written in thick, black letters. There was no salutation. There wasn't even a date. The letter read:

"Mr. Heathrow. Your wife must not come to Transylvania. You must tell her that her mission is an evil one. She is representative of her father's big American company who will destroy Transylvanian way of life. They come here to change the castle of Dracula into playground resort for elderly American jetsetters. They will install swimming pools and hot tubs, spas and saunas. They will add on penthouse condominiums and put in giant bay windows to look onto mountains. They will play volleyball in offensively little bathing clothing. There will be nightclub with dancing and drinking. There will even be a casino. Gambling. With stripper women. Much music and laughing and yelling and cavorting all night. It is an insult to the old ways. It is a hit in the face for the traditions. Is bad enough that the castle is already tourist attraction. This will be a terrible thing. Tell her that it must not happen or a dark shadow will fall on her and her greedy employers. She will find that the old legends maybe aren't only legends. There is more here in the mountains than you dream of. Stop now!"

Ratcliff let the letter drop onto his lap. He didn't know what to make of it. Was it some kind of prank? He quickly dismissed the idea. The letter was postmarked Romania. He was aware that Melanie worked for her father's company, which was involved in real estate development overseas, but he had no idea of what, specifically, it was doing. He knew that something was going on in Romania, just as it was in Dubai, Shanghai, and Oslo. But remodeling Dracula's castle? He'd had no inkling. He wasn't sure the letter wasn't from some crank, some loonie. And even if the letter were legitimate and Melanie's employer was about to Americanize one of the country's most well-known (perhaps its only well-known) landmark, what could he do.

He was still in a quandry when Melanie came into the room. "Melanie," he began, then he paused. He wanted to tell he how much he loved her and how much he regretted the plumber's intrusion. But he was too concerned about the strange letter he'd just received. "Melanie, do you know a Bela Stroganoff?"
[Maddog]
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"Bella Stroganoff?" Melanie exclaimed. "Of course I know Bella Stroganoff! It was my favorite dish as a child. My mom used to make it for all our special occasions. Just thinking about it is making me hungry. How about if I run out to the market for the ingredients so that I can make us a special dinner?"

As Melanie chattered on exuberantly, he realized that she had no idea what he was talking about. Not to mention the fact that he had now guaranteed that they wouldn't be eating dinner until midnight as one does not simply whip up stroganoff. In a desperate attempt to derail this moving train, Ratcliff suddenly reached for Melanie and drew her in close. He pressed his lips to hers and felt her begin to melt into him. Ah...a distraction. Although he knew this would be a delicious respite from thought, he realized that come sunrise he would have to make a decision. Should he press his love for answers or pursue his own truths?
[Caroline]
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Ratcliff awoke with a start. He realized that he must have dozed off after his exuberant interlude with Melanie. "Odd," he thought, "not long ago her mention of stroganoff made my stomach growl. But through the magic of love my appetite must have been redirected. Who cares about stroganoff?"

However, no sooner than he said that than he felt a twinge. Maybe he'd spoken too quickly. Some dinner wouldn't be a bad thing. On his way to the kitchen to check out the refrigerator he could hear the water running. Melanie was back in the shower. One of the drawbacks to these frequent dalliances, he reflected, was that the water bill was out of the roof. The sound of the water also let him know that it was back on following the plumber's visit. He wasn't sure what time it was when the plumber announced his departure as he'd been distracted by Melanie. A few minutes later, with a plate carrying a thick slice of cheese and some crackers in one hand and a large glass of Dom Perignon in the other, he wandered into the living room and sank into a chair. As he did so, his gaze fell on the mysterious letter he had left on the coffee table.

"OK," Ratcliff thought. "I have to figure out what's going on. I've just learned that my birth parents are Romanian gypsies and now I've received a letter addressed to Ratcliff Stroganoff. The letter began with 'Ratcliff Heathrow' but why not? That's how I've always been known. That's my legal name. The only name I've ever known. Up until now." He paused. Then he asked himself, " Am I a Stroganoff by birth?" Then his racing mind jumped back to the letter's message. "Clearly," he went on to himself, "what triggered the letter was Melanie's trip to Romania to represent her father's interests."

It was then that he decided not to mention his turmoil to Melanie. He didn't want to upset her, especially on the eve of her important business trip, with some silly, unfounded misgivings on his part. He would make his travel arrangements tomorrow. First he would check with his friend, Stoddard Farnsworth, who was a partner in the prestigious law firm of Lagrippe, Malaise and Catarrh, LLP. Stoddard had connections with legal professionals all over the world. Surely, he would be able to refer Ratcliff to someone in Romania who could, in turn, put him in touch with a private investigator.

"It shouldn't take long to find out the truth about who my birth parents were and, more importantly, who wrote the letter," he reflected. "And once I know who wrote the letter I'll be able to do something to make sure nothing unexpected comes up to interfere with Melanie's business negotiations." Ratcliff had not yet admitted to himself the possibility that anything untoward could happen to Melanie personally. And of course, he didn't give the letter's reference to legends and 'dark shadows' a second thought.
[Maddog]
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As Melanie stood in the shower, she let her mind wander to the upcoming negotiations. The only way to be truly free of her father's grip was to complete these negotiations successfully. A few weeks ago she had received an anonymous letter. The letter writer attempted to dissuade her from going to Transylvania by scaring her with ancient legends of evil, but she wasn't afraid. "Everyone has their price," she thought. "And nothing was scarier than her father."

Though her father had never laid a hand on her, he scared the crap out of her. He could silence her with a withering stare and he held her, just like everyone else, to impossible standards. There was never reward or recognition for a job well done, only punishment for failure. Melanie always wondered if he was truly capable of love since he never showed it. Unfortunately, she never experienced a parent's love since her mother died during childbirth and she was left to be raised by this cold-hearted and exacting man. Still, she had spent her whole life trying to please him and win his affections. Finally, she realized that he was never going to truly love her. Her father had told her that if she successfully cemented the deal with the Transylvanians he would release her trust fund. This would secure her financial independence even if she had to use the bulk of it to pay for counseling to overcome her lifetime of emotional baggage.

Although, Melanie had her work cut out for her, she knew she could handle it. Afterall, she was Melanie Hummdinger, daughter of Trammell Hummdinger, world-renowned real estate mogul known for his ostentatious ways and a mop of hair that defied explanation. For a man that made more money than Bill Gates, it was a mystery why he didn't spend some of it on a talented barber. Fortunately, Trammell had Stacy and Clinton in his back pocket and as a result was a snazzy dresser. Melanie, too, benefited from their rules which gave her the confidence to rule the boardroom and her boudoir.

She continued to contemplate these things as she expertly applied her make-up and then straightened her expensively colored hair. She hadn't told Ratcliff she was leaving tonight by red-eye but she thought it would be easier to leave without a drawn out goodbye. Being separated from her true love would be difficult, even for a minute, so parting quickly, like ripping off a bandaid, would be easier.
[Margaret]
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Melanie looked at her diamond encrusted Rolex and gasped. "Holy Cannoli!" she muttered. "I can't believe it's so late." She began throwing her make-up into her Elizabeth Arden cosmetic bag and gathering up the last few items she would need for her trip, especially the newest Stephanie Plum adventure, Lean Mean Thirteen. She loved the protagonist's spunk in all situations, romantic, explosive or both.

The future Mrs. Heathrow/Stroganoff ran out of the bathroom eager to give her true love one last smooch before she left. However, she turned the corner into the living room and found Ratcliff snoring loudly in his favorite leather chair. She noted that the bottle of champagne was three quarters empty and the cheese plate wiped clean save for a few lingering crumbs. Melanie decided that she would let her love sleep and leave a note instead.

She went to the desk in the next room for a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote, "I'm leavin' on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again...I love you. Love, Your Little Smoochikins." As Melanie signed the letter she so hoped that this little moniker wouldn't become public...that wouldn't be good for her image. She quickly spritzed the letter with some of her Chanel No. 5. She then applied her luscious red-coral lipstick, Lancome's Hot Nights, and kissed her note. Not wanting to wake Ratcliff and delay her exit any longer, she placed the note on the cheese tray, potential cheese stains be damned, grabbed her things, walked out the door and headed downstairs to the limo waiting to take her to JFK International Airport. There she would board her father's private jet and head to Eastern Europe.
[Caroline]
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The transatlantic flight from New York to Bucharest was uneventful. Melanie used some of the time to review a large volume of paperwork, which included various financial projections, completion dates and technical schematics connected to her company's Romanian project. She didn't enjoy the kind of detail that went with her work... she was happier in an outdoor setting, hiking, rock climbing, white water rafting... but it helped to occupy her attention until her flight landed. She spent the interludes in her attention to business thinking of her upcoming wedding to Ratcliff and dozing. She couldn't wait to become Mrs. Heathrow and start a new life. The prospect of leaving her father and his business empire behind was exciting.

Melanie managed to pass through customs at the airport with only a slight delay and was met by a large, dark man in an ill-fitting suit who held up a sign that read, "Hummdinger." In no time her luggage was stowed in a black limousine and she was on her way to her hotel. It was difficult to see anything through the dark tinted windows of the limousine so she sat back in her seat and relaxed. She let her mind wander and, tired from her long flight from New York, a few moments later she drifted off.

Melanie woke with a start. It took a moment for her to collect her thoughts. She realized that she had been sleeping and that something had awakened her. Was she at her hotel? No, the limousine hadn't slowed. However, the roadway had become much rougher. It was was the swaying and bumping of the vehicle that had brought her out of her dreams of Ratcliff and her new independence. She looked at her watch. What time was it? She held the watch face inches from her eyes. "Rolexes have lots of diamonds," she thought, "but precious little radium on their dials. I can hardly see the damn thing." However, by squinting she finally made out the time. She was startled to realize that she had been asleep for several hours! Melanie pounded on the partition between the passenger compartment and the front seat of the vehicle. "Where are we? What's going on?" she shouted at the driver. She was met with silence. She looked for a way to lower the partition but it was controlled from the front seat. She looked about her nervously and realized that there were no handles on the inside of the doors. Panic began to set in. She felt trapped and helpless. Was she being kidnapped? She had never even considered the possibility. Her father was a rich man... maybe that was it! She pounded on the partition again and again until her fists ached. "Oh Lord!" she thought. "Oh crap! Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap!

After what seemed an eternity, the vehicle began to slow. Finally, it stopped. She could hear a crunching sound as the driver walked back to the rear door of the limousine. Suddenly, the door opened and the large man reached in and pulled her out. Melanie took in her surroundings even as she struggled to break free of his iron grip. The ground was rocky and rough, and there were towering trees all around. No sound could be heard in the chill air. A thin mist hovered a few feet above the ground. A short distance away she could see, in the dim light, a huge stone edifice. It was toward this castle that her captor was forcing her to walk. Melanie could feel her heart pound. It was hard for her to get her breath. At first, she thought it was her panic that made it difficult to breathe. Then she realized that it was the altitude, too. She was in the mountains! "God!" she thought. "Will anyone be able to find me in this remote place?"

The driver raised the massive cast iron lion head knocker and pounded on the castle door. Moments later it opened slowly, its huge hinges creaking as if protesting the intrusion. In the gloomy interior, Melanie was greeted by a tall man in a smoking jacket. His skin looked like parchment and he had cavernous, dark eyes. He nodded his grey head and said in a deep voice, "Why, hello, Melanie. I've been expecting you." He turned to a servant who had appeared at his side as he spoke. "Igor! Igor. Get young Miss Hummdinger some warm brandy. There's a chill in the air." Igor muttered "Yes, master" and disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared. As her host turned back to Melanie she thought she could see a strange light deep inside his deeply set dark eyes. She felt something inside her wilt. "Come in, my dear," he said, "and have a seat by the fire. We have a lot to talk about." Melanie wanted to scream.
[Maddog]
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So she did. "Eeeeeeee....." she paused to get her breath..... "eeeeeeeek!"

Her host looked pained. "Here's Igor with your warm brandy. Have a sip. You'll feel more relaxed."

Melanie looked at the man, who had not yet identified himself, and said, "Are you nuts? Here I am, in a strange country, in a strange castle (against my will, I might add) being encouraged to drink something that you say is brandy. How do I know it's not poison? Or a mickey? Or high in unsaturated fat?" She shuddered at the thought.

"Perhaps this will assuage your anxiety," the man said. He reached across and lifted her glass. He put it to his lips and in a single swallow emptied it. He smiled a ghastly smile. "Now, let us have our conversation."

Before they could begin, however, Melanie heard a strange sound emanating from the bowels of the castle. At first it was faint. It seemed to crawl out of the gloom. But as she listened, all of her senses heightened by her frightening situation, it appeared to get louder until, gradually, she could hear it more distinctly. It was a musical instrument, she decided, accompanied by a voice. An unfamiliar Romanian stringed instrument, she wondered? Both it and the voice were slightly off key. She turned away and strained to listen.

"Lydia, oh Lydia," the voice sang, "say, have you met Lydia?
Lydia the tattooed lady.
She has eyes that folks adore so,
and a torso even more so.
Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclo-pidia.
Oh Lydia, The Queen of tattoo."

Where had she heard that music before? Melanie wondered.

"On her back is the Battle of Waterloo.
Beside it, the Wreck of the Hesperus, too.
And proudly above waves the red, white, and blue.
You can learn a lot from Lydia!"

Melanie was intrigued. She didn't know whether the source of the music represented some new threat, whether it was benign, or whether she was losing her mind. It continued.

"When her robe is unfurled she will show you the world,
if you step up and tell her where.
For a dime you can see Kankakee or Paree,
or Washington crossing the Delaware.

La-la-la.... la-la-la
La-la-la.... la-la-la"

The strange man hardly seemed to notice. As he opened his mouth to pick up where he had left off before the interruption, Melanie thought to herself, "I know. I've gone mad. I must be deranged. This is just too weird. Horrors!" It occurred to her that she might feel better if she screamed again.
[Anonymous]
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As quickly as the thought to scream again crossed Melanie’s mind it was replaced with a desire to laugh hysterically. And so laugh she did. This was all so ridiculous. She felt like she had awakened in the middle of a bizarre episode of the Addams Family. Where were Thing and Cousin It? Surely they were going to show up at any time. This can’t be real. Igor is always the name of the hunched-back assistant or butler in all those silly horror films. Where was the camera, the director, the best boy grip? And makeup, where was makeup? This guy needed some serious help. Doesn’t he get cable? Surely Stacy and Clinton could make some wardrobe suggestions, even for a vampire. He was a vampire, wasn’t he?

She stopped laughing and wiped the tears from her eyes. Surely she would wake up soon. As she tried to get a grip on the situation, she found herself humming the words to “Lydia, the Tattooed Lady.” It was an intriguing tune that she knew she knew but where… “I’ve got it,” she shouted, surprising herself and her creepy host. “Groucho Marx! It was one of his signature tunes! My father had the whole collection of Groucho Marx movies and I used to watch them as a kid. I really wished he would watch those movies with me so we would laugh together. But he didn’t laugh and we never did anything together…” Her voice trailed off.

Her host was a little stunned. Clearly this was not the reaction he was expecting. Yes, usually guests were a little offput by the surroundings and his manner was intimidating but no one had laughed before and no one would mistake him for Dr. Phil. “How am I going to get her back on track?” he wondered. “I’ve got to convince her that this castle is a landmark. Visitors to Transylvania expect to be terrified by vampires. If this is turned into an American playground, what would happen to him, to his family, to the legend?”

He started to wonder about her relationship with her father. He knew of Trammell Hummdinger and that he was a man who could squeeze blood from rocks. Not quite father material. His own relationship with his father wasn’t ideal but compared to Trammell Hummdinger his father was Ward Cleaver. Suddenly, he realized he enjoyed watching her laugh. There wasn’t a lot of laughter around this drafty old castle. Maybe he could find an old Groucho Marx movie on cable and heat up some popcorn? Did they have popcorn in the castle? Did they have cable?
[Margaret]
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As these thoughts flooded through the old man's mind and as Melanie's own reflections began to recede from hers, there was a sudden booming noise. Melanie started. Before the thunderous sound could fade her host turned to his servant who was lurking in the shadows along the wall of of the great room. "Igor! Igor, run get the door, will you? There's a good fellow."

"Yes, master." Igor scuttled, crab-like, toward the entrance.

With a tortured creak, the massive door swung open. Both Melanie and her host crained their necks to see who was there. Perhaps it was a minority kid selling candy bars to finance a trip to Six Flags Over Transylvania, or maybe some young, well-scrubbed Mormans. No, it was a single, adult figure that stood in the shadows. Before Igor could prevent it, the visitor rushed in out of the gloom. Melanie was stunned.

"Smoochikins! What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York! How did you know where to find me? Thank God you're here!" The words tumbled from her mouth.

Ratcliff seemed equally stunned. "Melanie? What are you doing here? I thought you were at a hotel in Bucharest! Or at a meeting! Or off looking at a development project somewhere!"

"You didn't come to rescue me?"

"Rescue you? From what? I had no idea that I'd see you here." He paused, then said, "This is amazing!"

The old man watched the excited conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, turning his head to look first at one and then the other. As soon as there was a pause, he invited them both to sit. After he put another log on the fire, he dispatched Igor for more brandy. Once the shock at seeing each other wore off somewhat, Ratcliff explained to Melanie that he had come to Transylvania to seek his roots. Before he left New York, he explained, he had talked to a Romanian private detective recommended to him by a friend at a law firm in Manhattan. By the time Ratcliff's transatlantic flight had landed the detective had found the information he sought. At the airport, the private eye had given Ratcliff the name of his ancestral family and had provided directions to the home of his great uncle Bela Stroganoff.

"Are you Bela Stroganoff?" asked Ratcliff.

"You're Bela Stroganoff?" Melanie asked her host in an incredulous tone.

The old man nodded modestly. "That's me."
[Fiona and Hondo]
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Ratcliff and Melanie exchanged puzzled looks. "What the hell is going on here?" they exclaimed simultaneously. Then, overcome by the giggles brought on by fear and confusion, they said in unison, "Jinx, you owe me a Coke."

Once they got themselves under control, Melanie and Ratcliff turned toward Bela. "So, Great Uncle Bela, what exactly is going on here? Why did you wait all these years to contact me? What is Melanie doing here apparently against her will?"

Bela Stroganoff looked at his guests, smiled in an eerie fashion and then spoke. "The two of you must be tired after your long journeys. I know you Americans enjoy deep fried, sugar-filled, transfat-laden vittles so I have asked Igor to bring us some fried chicked, tater tots, Ding-Dongs and Dr. Pepper. Once you are sated, Igor will show you to your room for the night. In the morning I will answer your questions."

Melanie and Ratcliff, indeed tired, agreed. Bela chose to retire while the lovebirds sat at dining table in the castle's cavernous dining room. The two didn't speak much. Instead, they ate hungrily, relishing the taste of home. After a final swig of Dr. Pepper, Ratcliff wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sat back and burped loudly. Smoochikins giggled like a school girl. Suddenly, Igor appeared out of nowhere. Melanie jumped and let out a little "eeek!"

"I have prepared your room. Please follow me." Ratcliff and Melanie stood and followed Igor from the dining room to the foyer and up the long winding staircase to the rooms above. Igor led them to a large room with a giant four poster bed and a massive fireplace, complete with a roaring fire. Their bags were placed at the foot of the bed awaiting their arrival. Igor walked toward the door, turned and said with a spooky grin, "Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite." Melanie and Ratcliff produced gratuitous giggles (afraid not to) and bid the butler goodnight.

As the two began to relax a little, the door to the bedroom swung back open with a creak. Igor peered around the door and offered a note of warning. "For your own protection, please remain in your room until sunrise." With that he closed the door with a thud. Melanie ran over to the door and turned the lock. "What does he mean by that?" she asked Ratcliff in a trembling voice.

Ratcliff, unwilling to show his own fear, drew his love close and said suggestively, "Well, if we shouldn't leave, I can think of plenty of other things to keep us busy." He then began to kiss her. First, he kissed her lips, then her neck and shoulders. Soon, Melanie found herself without her clothes and her worries as Ratcliff carried her to the bed and proceeded to make sweet love to her in the firelight.

Around 2am Melanie woke with a start, confused. "Where am I?" she thought. Then she remembered the events of the previous day and evening and rolled over and snuggled up against her lover. Suddenly, she heard a sound, a voice, and picked her head up off the pillow to listen more carefully. "I must be dreaming," she thought. Melanie laid her head back down and closed her eyes. A moment later she heard the sound again. By this time she was wide awake. She rose from the warm bed, pulled on her silk robe and approached the door. Even though Igor's words echoed in her head, she wasn't worried. Her host was nothing but polite (even if he wore a creepy expression and brought her here against her will). The voice was probably the one singing about Lydia, a recording she was sure. Though Melanie hesitated briefly her curiosity got the best of her. She opened the door and stepped into the drafty hallway.
[Caroline]
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Melanie looked down the long corredor to her left. She could just make out a wide stone stairway leading down to a lower floor. She groped her way toward it, and as she approached she could make out a light. She had only gone a few steps when she bumped into a large piece of furniture. She struck the corner of what seemed to be a marble-topped sideboard. It was huge. She was sure she would have a visible bruise on her breastbone in the morning. It took an effort not to swear aloud. After a pause to get herself together she resumed her silent journey down the hall, but moments later she stubbed her toe on one of the slabs of stone with which the floor was paved. Again she stopped and stifled a yell. She would feel a lot better, she told herself, if she could have jumped up and down and screamed. She mentally kicked herself for not putting on her slippers before she left her room.

By the time she reached the stairs, Melanie could see a bit better, thanks to having become acclimated to the gloom and the slight illumination from below. She inched down the stairs and at last reached the bottom. There was a high, arched doorway to the right. She peeked around the corner to see if she could determine the source of the music. The room into which she peered was, like everything else in the castle, vast. At one end there was a fireplace with a low fire, which cast long, flickering shadows across the floor. On the walls hung large tapestries. A sound in the room drew her attention. There were voices and also a faint clicking, accompanied by a flickering light. She craned her neck to look further into the room.

She realized that she was looking at the old man, Bela Stroganoff, his servant Igor and the man who had kidnapped her from the airport and delivered her to the castle, sitting in front of a screen, watching an old movie. The clicking sound was an antique, 35 millimeter film projector. Before she could withdraw, Stroganoff, who had evidently caught motion out of the corner of his eye, saw her and beckoned. "Come in, come in, my dear," he said. "Join us. We're watching a movie. I love American movies. This is one of my favorites." He gave a grin that Melanie could only characterize as ghastly. "The Marx Brothers. Graucho. Harpo. Chico. And sometimes Gummo, although I don't think Gummo is very funny. He is more of... how do you say it?... a straight man."

Melanie hesitated. "What is he doing here?" She pointed at the large man.

"Oh," said Stroganoff. "That's Milos, my grandson. I sent him to the airport to pick you up. I gave him strict instructions to make sure you got here, no mistakes." He lowered his voice and turned his back toward Milos. " I'm afraid he's not too bright. Clearly he was a bit non-communicative and a little bit too assertive when he brought you here. He means well, but his interpersonal skills could use a little work." Melanie looked doubtful. The old man continued. "Really. He's actually a very nice boy. He's a big baseball fan. Get him started and he'll rattle on about the old Yankees teams. DiMaggio. Berra. The Babe."

Melanie glanced warily at Igor. Stoganoff caught her look. "Please," he said. "I know Igor looks a little odd, the way he hunches over and with his sideways walk. Believe it or not, he used to be a chick magnet." He paused. "I think English is a terrific language. Did you know that there is no phrase in Romanian for 'chick magnet?'" He went on. "Years ago, poor Igor had a nasty fall from his polo pony and injured his back. When my dear wife, Olga, died he agreed to move in here and help out. Maintaining a big place like this is no picnic unless you have a staff."

At the old man's urging, Melanie entered to room and tentatively took a seat in front of the movie screen. She checked to make sure she had a clear path to the door in case she needed to get out in a hurry. As she sat, Igor noticed her foot. Her stubbed toe had bled a little. "Oh," he said, sympathetically. "I'm sorry you've hurt your foot. I told you to be careful when I showed you your room. There isn't much light and these old castles are full of obstacles and tripping hazards."

"As long as you're here," Stroganoff said, "I'd like to talk. Your father's development plans hang over our heads like the sword of Damocles. I grant you, all this doesn't look like much," he waived a deprecatory hand about him, "but after all it is home. Progress, if you can call it that, isn't always good. After all, you wouldn't turn Montecello into a Holiday Inn, would you? Or Mount Vernon into a Motel Six?" He didn't wait for Melanie to reply. "OK," he went on, "maybe that is a bit of hyperbole, but you get the idea. What will we do when we lose the castle? Where will we go? What will happen to our quaint traditions? Will the gypsies, with whom we have a love-hate relationship, have to play their music for outsiders and steal from tourists? Miss Hummdinger, we need your help. Surely you can deflect your father's commercial juggernaut!"
[Maddog]
___________________
Melanie looked at Stroganoff curiously. "Uncle Bela? May I call you Uncle Bela? When I first arrived here against my will, I must admit that I was a little fearful and slightly put out by the whole kidnapping thing. You do have a curious way of getting someone's attention. However, I understand your intent. You are trying to protect your home, your way of life."

Stroganoff looked at Melanie carefully. Maybe he wouldn't need threats after all. Milos and Igor stood in the background, waiting expectantly for Melanie's response.

Melanie slipped her hand into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a sheaf of papers. She walked over to the table in the middle of the room and spread out the plans for the new development. "Don't worry. When we move in, we don't hand out eviction notices and pink slips. In fact, you all are a perfect fit for the newest DisneyWorld twist: DisneyWorld Transylvania."

Beside her, Melanie heard the audible intake of breath from the three men. Being a true businesswoman and Trammell's daughter, she barely registered their concern and plowed ahead. "We will incorporate the castle as a big part of the park. Of course, we will need to add bats, coffins, mirrors, garlic, stakes...you know, all the typical vampire type fare. There will be a bat ride, a roller coaster ride in which the cars are shaped like coffins!" Melanie took a breath and the three men stared at the robed woman in horror and disbelief. She was going to make a spectacle out of their family's history.

Melanie was like a moving train. She went on, "Uncle Bela, we envision you as Dracula. Igor, you would be the manservant and greet the park goers. They will adore your accents!" Melanie clapped her hands like a schoolgirl. "Can't you just see it?"

Stroganoff was horrified. DisneyWorld Transylvania, indeed. Well, that just wasn't going to happen. He couldn't let the world traipse through his home, being titillated by the ridiculous spook show developed by Humdinger's company. It was an insult to his ancestors.

Bela decided that Melanie would have to be deterred. "Melanie, my dear, so many plans. Why don't we discuss them more completely in the morning. You must be tired. Why don't you return to your room now. And remember, be careful in this dark old castle." Outwardly, Bela smiled benignly at his guest. All the while, however, he thought about ridding himself and his castle of this awful nuisance.

Melanie agreed as she let out a little yawn and turned to leave. She walked back through the room past the moveie screen still showing the old Marx Brothers movie. She found her way back to the large staircase being careful not to bump into massive, hard to see pieces of furniture. When she reached the top of the staircase, she forgot which hallway led to her room and her slumbering lover. Melanie turned left and walked a few steps and then bumped into a table. After rubbing her shin, something caught her eye and she looked up to her left. She stared, open-mouthed, at the large, gilt-framed painting hanging just over the console. Melanie rubbed her eyes and looked again. She couldn't believe it. She was staring at her beloved Ratcliff.
[Caroline]
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Melanie peered more closely at the portrait. It was old and dark. The paint was crackled. It must have been hanging on the wall of the castle for a long, long time. She could just make out a name on a brass plaque on the frame below the painting. It read, "Vlad III."

Melanie wasn't a student of history but even she knew that Vlad III was Vlad Tepes, known as Dracula (the son of Dracul, the dragon)! She was stunned. She turned and ran, doing her best to avoid tripping hazards, back to her room. When she entered the dark chamber she couldn't make out the bed, but after a few moments her eyes adjusted and she made her way to the sleeping Ratcliff. She reached out and shook him. Ratcliff abruptly sat up.

"Melanie! You startled me! Why are you up? What's going on?"

"You won't believe this!" she exclaimed. "I just saw your picture hanging in the corridor, just beyond the staircase. It's true! It looks just like you! Too much to be a coincidence! And guess what the name on it was!"

"Who?"

"Dracula!"

"You're kidding. THE Dracula?" Ratcliff wasn't sure whether Melanie was playing a joke. He could tell that she was agitated, however, so he decided that she was serious. He started for the door.

"Wait!" Melanie said sharply. "You can't go out there!"

"Why not?"

"You're in your birthday suit. You don't want to go wandering a drafty old pile of rocks like this one with nothing on!" She gave him an admiring glance. "Slip into your robe, and while you're at it put on your slippers." Melanie's toe still throbbed.

A few moments later, Melanie and Ratcliff, in their silk paisley Neiman Marcus robes and wooly sheepskin slippers, stood in front of the portrait. "Except for the antiquated style of dress, I could be looking in the mirror!" Ratcliff murmured in amazement. "Do you suppose this is the bad boy himself? I guess it must be!" He paused, then added, "Handsome devil, wasn't he?"

Melanie smiled in the gloom as she gave him a playful poke in the ribs. A moment later, she gave him another, gentler poke. Then she touched him again with a gentle caress. "Stop it!" she chided herself. "This isn't the time to be doing this! We have to know what the connection is between Dracula and Bela Stroganoff. And I really want to know what the connection is between that draconian, legendary despot, dead for almost 530 years, and my Ratcliff!"

Who else would have the answers but Bela Stroganoff? Melanie slipped her hand into Ratcliff's and started back down the wide staircase. After a few steps she stopped, however. There was no longer a light at the bottom. It was as dark as a cave. Another step or two and she and Ratcliff would be completely unable to see. It was as silent as a tomb.

[Maddoggie]
_________________
Melanie squeezed Ratcliff's hand a little tighter. If they were going to get answers, they had to proceed. Treading carefully, the lovebirds continued down the dark staircase, step by step. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Melanie took note of her surroundings. What was it about castles? They seemed to be built and decorated for giants! And the inhabitants seemed to have egos to match as indicated by the enormous portraits hanging on the wall, following the slope of the staircase.

After descending a few more steps Ratcliff pulled Melanie to him. He caressed her face then put his lips to hers. Melanie wrapped her arms around her lover and responded eagerly. A few moments later Melanie pulled back and whispered "I love you, Smoochikins." Ratcliff murmured his agreement and gathered her into his arms. As they held one another Melanie opened her eyes. She saw something glinting. Puzzled, she looked again and realized it was a mirror. Unable to resist admiring herself she took in her reflection and decided that she looked damned good, especially for someone who had traveled long distances, been kidnapped, stuffed herself with junk food and enjoyed some very satisfying love-making.

Suddenly, she gripped Ratcliff. "Ouch! What did you do that for?" he said, surprised. "Ratcliff," she whispered, "you're not here!" "Whatever do you mean? I am standing right beside you," he responded. "In the mirror! I saw the twinkle of glass and noticed the mirror hanging on the wall. While I was giving myself the once over I realized that I couldn't see you! What is going on?" Melanie felt a shiver run up her spine. But ever the business woman she said, "You know, babe, this mirror thing would be a great bit to include in DW Transylvania. Maybe a new version of It's a Small World but with vampires!"

Ratcliff peered a little closer into the mirror. Sure enough, no reflection. "You saw the portrait upstairs and the name, you've heard the stories, you can't see me...maybe I am a vampire!" He laughed loudly, clearly amused with himself. Melanie didn't know what to think. More steps, more questions. "We need to find Uncle Bela!"

Once more they began to pick their way down the cold stone steps. The further they went the colder and darker it seemed. "Bela?" Melanie called out tentatively. Suddenly, Melanie felt a bony hand clasp her shoulder. She knew it wasn't Ratcliff, he had large, warm, smooth well-manicured hands. Creeped out, Melanie let out an earsplitting scream. Ratcliff was so startled he almost tumbled down the remaining stairs, managing to steady himself at the last moment.

When Melanie had recovered somewhat, a small light blinked on. She turned to the source and saw Bela standing on the steps with a weak flashlight illuminating his parchment-like skin. It was not a pleasant sight. "You called?" Bela responded.
[Caroline]
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Ratcliff was taken aback momentarily by the apparition. For an instant, he wondered if the old man was deliberately trying to frighten them. If so, his motive wasn't apparent. He didn't seem to represent much of a physical threat. Ratcliff decided that Stroganoff was just a reclusive, dotty, old man, unused to interacting with people from the outside world. He put his arm around Melanie's shoulders and gave her a comforting hug. He didn't think they were in any danger. And even if they were, he knew that he was up to any kind of confrontation, even if it involved the hulking Milos. Ratcliff might be the product of an Ivy League education and affluent circumstances, but the time he had spent in the military's special forces, stalking the Taliban in Afganistan, had given him the experience and the tools to deal with almost any situation. He had never been much on self-analysis but he was aware that he had a talent for aggressive 'problem solving.' It was that awareness that put him at ease, even in their eerie surroundings.

Addressing their host, Ratcliff said, "There you are. Sorry to disturb you, old chap. But we just noticed something rather odd. Bloody odd, in fact. We just passed a mirror a few minutes ago and damned if I could see my reflection. I could see Melanie next to me, and objects behind me, but I couldn't see myself! Is there something special about that mirror, or am I in urgent need of a neurologist?"

Stroganoff gave Ratcliff a thin smile. "You have no reflection?" he asked. "You must have a difficult time shaving, my boy." Then he said to both of them, "I know that you are in surroundings that must be very different for you, and that everything must seem strange, at least compared with New York. I know you have many questions about your ancestry." He nodded at Ratcliff, then looked at Melanie and continued, "and that there are also things you want to discuss about the, er, project. It all must make it difficult to sleep. But wait until tomorrow. Go back to bed. Give jet lag a chance. I can't have you wandering about the castle in the middle of the night."

Melanie and Ratcliff didn't show any inclination to move. The old man sighed, and looking somewhat exasperated said, "Alright. I suppose I can't get back to my own bed until I satisfy some of your curiosity. Come down to the great room, have a cup of tea, and we'll chat."

A few minutes later, a cup of hot tea in his hand, Ratcliff asked Stroganoff, "Who am I?" The words tumbled out. "I've just learned that I was born in Romania to gypsies and that by adoption I am related to the Stroganoffs. And now I've seen a portrait upstairs that looks just like me, yet it is labeled Vlad III. Is there a connection between the Stroganoffs and Vlad Tepes? If so, how can there a resemblance between me and Vlad the Bad? I'm not a Strognoff by blood." He paused, then concluded, "I am so confused!"

"First," their host responded, " I will tell you that you weren't gypsy-born. No. You were born a Stroganoff. However, when you were only a few weeks old, you were stolen by a band of gypsies and taken deep into the Carpathian mountains. But when your abductors learned just who they had taken they were struck by the enormity of what they had done and were filled with a deep foreboding. The old legends die hard, and the gypsies are a superstitious people. They were afraid to return to the village near the castle for fear of being seen and apprehended, so they left you on the steps of the orphanage where you remained until, a few months later, you were adopted." Then, after a momentary silence he said, rather coldly it seemed to Ratcliff, "Welcome to the family."

Bela Stroganoff turned next toward Melanie and rose from his chair. His shadow, thrown across the room by the glow of the low fire, seemed to have a life of its own as it spread up the wall and onto the ceiling. Somehow he didn't seem like the dried-up old man of a short while ago. He seemed taller, more imposing. Melanie could feel menace radiate from him like heat from a stove. "And as for your plans to create a theme park here..." the words "theme park" dripped venom... "we will deal with them in the morning!" With that, he turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Ratcliff and Melanie to themselves.

"Oops!" said Melanie.
[Maddog]

__________________________

"I think I may have taken the wrong approach with Bela," she mused. "He clearly is not seeing the benefits of converting this draft castle to DW Transylvania and senior retirement playground He can get as huffy and scary as he wants but I am going to win! After all, he is dealing with a Hummdinger and if I have learned anything from my father it is that we always get what we want. I am going to close this deal and get the freedom I want!"

Resolved and determined, she started to sing softly to herself the new DWT theme song running through her head...

It's a bat world after all

It's a bat world after all

It's a bat world after all

It's a bat, bat world

Meanwhile, Ratcliff was mumbling beside her. "What did you say?" Melanie asked, roused from her musical reverie.

"I was wondering what this all means. My whole life has been turned upside down since I met you! I have found the love of my life in you and also found out that I am not who I think I am! Here you are in a turf war with my new uncle and I am standing on the sidelines not even able to take comfort in looking in the mirror at my own handsome face," he wailed.

"Sweetums, it will be okay. How bad can it be Who doesn't have a Vlad the Bad character somewhere in the family tree? Bela is just trying to scare us off. He is old and a little worried about being displaced and no longer useful so he is pulling out every trick in the book to ward us off. Apparenly, his momma never taught him you can catch more flies with honey!" With that, Melanie, still confident she was going to win this fight, took her man by the hand and they found their way back to their room. Once settled snuggly in bed, Ratcliff quickly fell asleep. Meanwhile, pragmatic Melanie pulled out her Windows Mobile device with a satellite connection and started doing a little family research...

[Margaret]

_____________________

It didn't take Melanie long to discover that Bela was the inheritor of the castle. How long his family had owned it was unclear. There was no trail of Stroganoffs in the historical record... or at least what record was accessible through the internet. Apparently Bela Stroganoff was a pseudonym. Perhaps he chose to disassociate himself from the family name to avoid unwanted attention from the West. If Ratcliff was a Stroganoff, or whatever the true family name was, who were his father and mother? Was he really a direct descendant of Vlad the Impaler, Vlad Tepes, Vlad the Bad, Vlad III, the basis for Bram Stoker's famous novel? If so, what did it mean? After all, she and Ratcliff were madly in love and were to be married. His natural environment was New York, as was hers. Both were the product of an affluent, Ivy League upbringing. Romania and the region that used to be Transylvania were terra incognita to both of them. They would soon be back home where their friends were, where their favorite restaurants were, where they could resume spending long, lazy afternoons making love. Nothing was going to change...... was it?

Suddenly, Melanie's screen went dark. Had her battery given out? She tried to turn the device back on, but to no avail. It was odd, she thought, that it should cease to function. She had checked to make sure it was fully charged and in working order before she disembarked at the Bucharest airport. She moved toward the bedside lamp to get a clearer view of the small computer, but as she did so the room went dark. She tried to turn the lamp on again but nothing happened. She began to feel apprehensive. Surely the bulb had burned out, nothing more. Without waking Ratcliff, she stood, tightened the sash of her silk robe and groped her way to the door. She twisted the heavy iron lever and pulled. Nothing happened. The thick, carved panel didn't move. Her apprehension surged. "Don't panic," she told herself. "This creepy place just has you spooked. Get a grip."

Melanie reached out and found Ratcliff. She shook his shoulder. "Ratcliff! Wake up!" she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. Ratcliff didn't respond. She shook him again. Still no response. Something was wrong. He was usually a light sleeper, responsive to the lightest touch. "My God," she thought, "is he dead?" She brought her face close to his. He was breathing, but faintly. She took his wrist. His pulse was very slow. "What's wrong?" she whispered to herself. "What can I do? We're trapped!" Even as she fought back the urge to throw herself at the door and shout for help she began to feel drowsy. In moments she found that she couldn't keep her eyes open. She felt the energy drain from her body as she sank to the floor next to the bed. In moments she was unconscious.
[Maddog]
____________________
Moments, maybe hours, later, Melanie awoke on the floor of the dark room. Momentarily confused, Melanie let her eyes adjust to the dark. She looked around then grabbed the bedpost and hauled herself up. She didn't know what was going on but she intended to find out. She reached for Ratcliff to let him know she was going to get the lights back on when she remembered that earlier he failed to respond to her touch. Melanie knew what he would respond to. She climbed into the bed and slid underneath the sheets, spooning her lover. She began to nibble on his ear and kiss his shoulder. Ratcliff emitted a deep growl, smiled and rolled over and began to snore loudly. Gratified that he was still breathing, Melanie crawled out of the bed, pulled her robe around her and slid her feet into her slippers. Suddenly, she heard a strange noise, a swishing sound she hadn't heard before. Melanie looked around a little spooked. Squinting in the dark she thought she saw two tiny red lights that looked like eyes. She shivered inwardly but was determined to find out what was going on. Squaring her shoulders, Melanie walked to the door, pulled it open and entered the dark hallway.

Melanie found her way, careful to avoid massive pieces of furniture. Soon she located the wide staircase that led back down the the vast room she had been in before. She was halfway down the staircase when she heard the swishing sound again. She turned her head and saw a bat hovering a few feet away. She stifled a scream and began to move more quickly down the stairs. With her head down, watching her steps, she failed to notice the pale, gaunt man with the long fingernails waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs and bumped into him with enough force to knock them both down. As Melanie stood, she noticed a reddish glint in the man's eyes.

"Bela!" exclaimed Melanie, a little nervously. "I was coming down to see if I could find the fuse box. The lights are out everywhere."

Bela smiled eerily. "Follow me, my dear Melanie." He pulled a flashlight from his cloak and led her back to the room where she and Ratcliff had spoken with him earlier. Bela soon located the fuse box and in no time the room and stairwell were back to being dimly lit. As she stood there, she glanced at the table in the center of the room and noticed the teacups. The tea! "Bela, what is going on? Why did you drug us?" Melanie demanded.

"Melanie, my dear, you are a tenacious and inquisitive sort. I thought I could easily dissuade you from going forward with your ridiculous theme park plans. I should have known that a Humdinger wouldn't be rebuffed so easily. Well, what do you think of this?" said Bela and in a flash, Bela was gone and a large bat with pointed teeth and a hungry look hovered in his place. Just as quickly Bela returned. Melanie stood there trembling, mouth agape. Soon she recovered and said, "You had me at first, but that is a cool trick, one that surely would delight the park goers!"

"Melanie," Bela hissed, "you don't get it! It's not a trick! You have heard the legends of vampires in Transylvania. Well, they aren't just legends. We Stroganoffs are descendents of Vlad the Bad, a true vampire. We exist!"

A giggle of hysteria escaped Melanie's lips. She didn't know whether to laugh or scream. Was this man mad? In a tone more cavalier than she felt, Melanie queried, "Why should I believe you. Anyone could do the bat trick. You can't scare me."

This woman was getting on Bela's last nerve and needed to wake up to the truth. "Melanie, you leave me no choice. I will tell you about your love, Ratcliff. He is indeed a Stroganoff and a vampire." As Melanie began to shake her head, Bela continued, "One doesn't become a vampire upon birth. The traits reveal themselves over time."

"Is body hair one of those traits?" Melanie couldn't help but ask. She had wondered about the stack of receipts she found indicating laser hair removal.

Bela smiled his creepy smile. "Yes, among others. The fingernails grow long and pointy, the skin becomes more translucent, the teeth change shape..." He could see that Melanie mentally was putting the pieces together.

Suddenly, Melanie started wailing like a banshee. After a few moments she settled into a moaning mixed with muttering. Bela heard her say, "How am I ever going to escape my father? Ratcliff is my love, my hope for freedom! Woe is me!"

Bela stood by and as he watched Melanie's dismay, a plan formed. "Melanie, my dear," he said most avuncularly, "maybe we can help each other." Melanie looked at Bela, asked for a Kleenex and then blew her nose loudly. "How?"

Bela replied, "I have a proposition for you. If you will agree to cease and desist with this DisneyWorld nonsense, I will release Ratcliff from his destiny as a vampire." Melanie interrupted him, "And what if I don't?"

Bela continued, "If you insist on going forward, not only will your lover become a vampire, but I will make sure that all those giggling fun-loving, thrill-seeking park goers are infected with vampirism." When he saw Melanie's skeptical glance, he continued, "Most people think that vampires are created when a mere mortal is bitten by a vampire. At times, but not always. Vampirism is also a disease of contagious demonic possession. It wouldn't bode well for the success of your venture if your guests became possessed. And before you make some witty reply about hanging garlic and crucifixes around the park, those apotropaics won't work with the disease form of vampirism. Think of this as biological warfare!"

Melanie looked at Bela with a mix of hope and horror on her face. For a moment she didn't know what to say.

[Caroline]
_________________

It took Melanie a few moments to regain her composure. Taking a deep breath she addressed Bela in a shaky voice, "Where did you get a word like 'apotropaic'? You're Romanian. English is a second language to you. Besides, Romanian is a romance language. I'll cut you some slack on words with a Latin origin, but apotropaic is pure Greek. I'll apotropaic you, you bat!" With that, she reached into the pocket of her thin, silk robe and withdrew a black, vinyl, 45 rpm disk and held it out as a defensive shield. "This will bring you to your knees, you evil creature. It's a recording of 'It's a Small World.' If you take a step toward me I'll slap in on that old Victrola over there," she gestured to the old record player in the corner, "and play it!"

Bela Stroganoff drew himself up to his full height and stuck his tongue out at Melanie. "Phoo!" he said.

Melanie continued to press what she thought was her advantage. "No matter what you do, you fiend, my father's plans to develop Dracula's Castle into an entertainment magnet for the western world, no, the entire world, will go forward. You're an anachronism. You can't prevent progress!"

Bela looked confused. "Did you say 'Dracula's Castle?'"

"Er, yeah. Duh!"

"This isn't Dracula's Castle!" the old man responded. "You've got the wrong place! OK, so this pile of rocks was once owned by the Tepes family (Dracula was a relative on my father's side of the family... a great, great... lots of greats... uncle, I think,) but the Vlad in question built a new, bigger, more up-scale place north of here and moved out around 1462 or so. That's the castle that gets all the attention. It caters to tourists and curiosity seekers. For atmosphere it even has a wild boar that doubles as a watch dog. Do you know what I think? I think there has been some conclusion jumping compounded by a failure to communicate."

Melanie was stunned. She felt herself blush. "Silly us," she stammered. "Silly, silly. Who'd a thought?"

Just then, Ratcliff staggered into the room.
[Maddog]
________________
Ratcliff rubbed his eyes groggily. He was quite pale, Melanie noticed. Ratcliff turned to her and grinned. His canines looked strangely like fangs. “I vant to suck your blood”, he said.

At first, Melanie started to respond with “Not now, sweetums” because he sounded so cute when he said it, but then she realized Ratcliff was no longer the sweet love of her life but a fledgling vampire.

She should have been horrified, even terrified but it was then that Melanie saw red. “That Bela is a liar, just trying to confuse her and protect his anachronistic ways,” she thought. He had already infected her beloved with vampirism. She was not going to stand for this. She was going to google an antidote and she was going to use her silver bullet. One that she hoped and prayed she would never have to use. One that might seal her fate to be indentured to her father forever. But, it was a risk she was willing to take, a sacrifice she was willing to make to save Ratcliff. And darn it all if she wasn’t going to have her way and turn this stinking, drafty castle into DW Transylvania.

Melanie turned sweetly to Bela and said, “My blackberry isn’t working. Can you remove the interference? I need to call Daddy Hummdinger and let him know that we have made a mistake and that we need to decamp your lovely home and invade the castle up the road.” Bela willingly obliged, not knowing what he was going to reap by his actions.

“Baby bird to Big Bird,” Melanie said into the blackberry. “New flight plan required.” When she disconnected, she turned to Bela and said, “My father is too busy for a real conversation so we talk in shorthand. He would be great at texting if he had time for it, or for me. Anyway, we will be out of your way shortly.” In reality it wasn’t verbal shorthand but a code that she and T.H. had worked out long ago in the event anything went awry.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I must pack my things.” Melanie scurried off to the room, leaving Ratcliff with his uncle, so she could google the antidote.
[Margaret]
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As she entered her room Melanie's Blackberry sounded. She had a text message. Peering into it's screen she realized that it was from her father. She realized that he must have gotten her SOS. The message read,

"Where are you, Peaches?" Tramell Hummdinger was a failure as a father. He was insensitive, overbearing and often indifferent. However, oblivious to that fact, he deluded himself that he was a 'daddy' by using terms of endearment like 'Peaches.' "I've been here at Chez Dracula for almost 24 hours now, and haven't seen hide nor hair of you. Ordinarily I wouldn't care, except that you have the plans for the development in your briefcase. We need to get this underway, before the Romanian Historical Society can garner enough popular support to block the deal. How soon can you get here?" Hummdinger wasn't technically savvy so his text messages tended to be free of abbreviations and rather lengthy. It wasn't an inconvenience for him, however, as he never went anywhere without his fiendishly overworked secretary who did all his typing. Early on, she discouraged his efforts at 'textspeak' and had asked him to dictate as if he were writing letters. She couldn't understand his efforts at verbal shorthand. BTW came out as 'bwut'.

It occurred to Melanie that the easiest thing to do under the circumstances would be simply to grab Ratcliff and their belongings and catch the nearest bus, train or limo to wherever in hell her father was. Bela Stroganoff had mistakenly thought that his home was the target of the American developer, and Melanie had mistakenly thought that his castle was Dracula's medieval stronghold. They were both wrong. No harm, no foul. She could just walk away. But Stoganoff had made an even greater mistake. He had turned her Sweetums into a vampire. She was really, really pissed off.
[Maddog]
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Melanie gathered her wits and, like the true business woman she was, she began organizing and prioritizing her tasks: save Ratcliff and squash Bela.

“If you can find instructions on how to build a bomb, how to do your taxes, how to save the planet, then surely there were instructions on how to create an antidote for vampirism”, she reasoned as she started searching on Google After multiple Boolean searches resulting in nothing useful, Melanie began feeling a little hopeless. What was she going to do? And then the answered hit her like a ton of bricks! True love’s kiss would cure Ratcliff. Didn’t this always work in the Disney movies she watched as a child, dreaming of her prince charming riding to her rescue? Whenever the damsel was in distress, like the chick who pricked her finger on the spinning wheel and slept for 100 years, wasn’t it her prince’s kiss that awakened and saved her? Surely, this was how she could save Ratcliff! Modern science be damned! It was true love to the rescue. Melanie looked up and realized that when she scurried off to their room, she had left Ratcliff behind with Bela. Shoot, she was going to have to get Ratcliff alone and away from Bela if she was going to save him.

But first, she was going to punish Bela for his evil ways. Hell hath no fury, so the saying goes. Melanie was about to unleash all the power she could wield as a Hummdinger. She grabbed her Blackberry and dialed the number.

“May I speak to Kelly Ripa, please?” she asked the person on the line. “Kelly! It’s Melanie. I have a ratings grabber of an idea for you!! I am in Transylvania now and have met the most fascinating man, well, vampire really. I think his life would make a fabulous reality show. Surely in the world of reality TV, among LA Ink and Ace of Cakes, Trading Spaces and, my favorite, What Not to Wear, there is room for one more about the life of a vampire, especially one that works at the new DW Transylvania supervising the ‘It’s a Bat World’ ride.”

Melanie and Kelly chattered on, formulating the details for the reality show. Melanie explained that it would be best if Bela knew nothing of the show in advance so that it would be more “realistic.” Little did Bela know that his life was about to become a living hell. “Bwah, ha, ha,” Melanie laughed wickedly.

[Margaret]
___________________________

Melanie returned to the great hall on the main floor of the castle where she found Ratcliff having brandy with Bela. She walked up behind him and whispered in his ear. The sensation of her hot breath in his ear gave Ratcliff goose bumps. He became very attentive. "Yes?" he murmured.

Melanie slipped around in front of him and gave him a kiss, then stepped back to assess it's effect. Nothing. She kissed him again, this time a deep. passionate kiss. After a long moment, she released Ratcliff. He sucked in air like a drowning man and said, "May I have my tonsils back?" Clearly, the kiss hadn't done the trick.

"It's time to use the heavy artillery," thought Melanie. Whispering in Ratcliff's ear again, she said, "Come upstairs with me," Melanie whispered, "and we will have uninhibited, unrestrained and rambunctious sex."

Ratcliff looked vaguely apprehensive. "Not gymnastic sex again," he said, sotto voce. "The last time we did that it took my orthopaedist three weeks to straighten my spine. How about something more like Olympic swimming, or even bowling?"

Melanie took Ratcliff by the shirt and led him from the room. "Don't worry about a thing," she told him as they ascended the stairs.

The next morning, Melanie awoke early and took a long look at her sleeping fiance. Her approach to curing vampirism had worked! Ratcliff's widows peak had receded and when she pried open his mouth she was elated to find that there was no evidence of the fangs he had displayed the night before. She wanted to shout with joy. She hopped out of bed and gave a little dance. If only she had brought her tap shoes, she thought to herself. She could show Michael Flatley a thing or two. What a fabulous day! Then she sobered somewhat. If hers was the only cure for vampirism then Bela and his ilk were flat out of luck. She smiled to herself. "Tough cookies," she said. Then she laughted outright.
[Maddog]
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Still laughing to herself a little, Melanie made her way to the bathroom to ready herself for the day. Glancing in the mirror, she thought she looked a little pale. "I need to get out of this dingy old castle," she thought. "I need some sun or I'm going to fade away."

In fact, as she was standing there, she did seem to be fading. "Oh, for Pete's sake," thought Melanie. "Knock it off with the tricks already Bela!"

Melanie washed her face and then brushed her teeth for the requisite 90 seconds. When she was finished, she ran her tongue along freshly polished teeth. "OUCH! That hurt!" Melanie said aloud, startled. Her tongue had been... pricked? "What the hell?" Melanie looked back into the mirror, which now showed very little reflection of her at all and a lot of the bathroom wall behind her. Quickly, she opened up her mouth and peered inside.

"You have GOT to be kidding me," Melanie screeched.
[Susan]
------------------------------

"Dammitdammitdamitdammit!" said Melanie. Her first thought was that she should have grabbed her Snookums and beat feet as soon as the moment presented itself, instead of hanging around to get back at Bela. But this last development was just too much. She would have her revenge. She couldn't wait for Kelly Ripa to show up. Bela's reaction to one of the most irritating people on television would be fun to watch. If Kelly could only bring Regis Philbin with her! The two of them could bring the old man to his knees just by being themselves, regardless of any reality show hoopla.

After a few minutes of savoring thoughts of Bela Stroganoff begging for mercy, Melanie's mind turned to other things. "How did Ratcliff and I turn into vampires?" She looked into the mirror again for confirmation and, sure enough, she had fangs. "Ratcliff doesn't have any evidence of having been bitten anywhere on his lithe, muscular, well-tanned and generally hairless body. Nor do I." She craned her neck and looked at herself again, although by now she could barely see herself. "I wonder if it has something to do with where we are? Whether it's something in the air, like some sort of virus?" She comforted herself with the thought that perhaps, like the flu, her condition would go away in two weeks. "And," she thought, "until I get a handle on this, what do I do about these fangs? Do they recede into my gums when they're not needed" ( needed? yuk!) or fold back like a rattlesnakes?" Suddenly a thought struck her. If she was able to cure Ratcliff's vampirism with a little energetic (she smiled to herself... energetic was such a puny word...) love-making, would he be able to do the same for her? Certainly it was an idea worth pursuing! She rushed back to her room.

Just as Melanie launched herself onto the bed where Ratcliff still slept she heard the booming of the huge brass knocker on the front door of the castle. Curious, she caromed off of her lover and bounced over to the high, narrow window. Peering down, she was surprised to see five large trucks disgorging men in jump suits, carrying lighting equipment. Standing at the door was a petite, blond woman. "Wow!" she thought. "That was really fast. It didn't take Kelly long to get here! I guess it's her talent for action that got her to where she is today... an ex-soap opera actress who worked her way up to tiresome talk show co-host. And now it's gotten her here, too. Pronto. Prontissimo. Like lightning. Wow!"
[Hondo and Harry]
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Melanie was starting to feel light-headed from giddiness. Or was it something else? As she looked out the window again at Kelly and crew she found herself overcome by a desire to fly like a bat. She climbed up onto the window sill but before she could take off she felt her robe being tugged and she started to fall…

“Melanie! Wake up! Melanie!” she heard Ratcliff pleading in the distance.

Melanie shook her head, trying to get her bearings. The last thing she remembered was seeing Kelly at the front door and an insane urge to fly down to greet them. “Ratcliff, what’s wrong with me? My reflection is starting to fade, I’m growing fangs and I was seized by a desire to fly! Am I be a becoming a vampire?” she asked tearfully.

She babbled on. “This will never do. They will never take me seriously again at Hummdinger & Co. And what will my friends say when I go back to my 20 year college year reunion in a few weeks? The whole widow’s peak will be so unbecoming on me and I will look too goth if my hair turns jet black and my face pasty white. And they say red lipstick just makes a woman look old…”

“Melanie!” Ratcliff interrupted forcefully. “You are not a vampire! When I was downstairs earlier, I used the bathroom in Bela’s room. I couldn’t help but look in his medicine cabinet. I found a bottle of liquid labeled “Temporary Vampirism.” I read the back of the bottle and it is a hallucinogenic that causes a person to think he or she is turning into a vampire! Apparently Bela must keep this at the ready to ward off tiresome party guests. The bottle was half empty!”

Melanie, relieved, sat up and kissed her love. It was time to skedaddle before anything else could befall them. Relative or not, Bela was going to get what he deserved for this. He may have ensured that DW Transylvania would not be built in his backyard but he was going to get it alright. Surely Ratcliff would understand when he wasn’t invited to Christmas dinners!

Melanie and Ratcliff quickly packed their things and crept down the stairs to make a fast getaway.
[Margaret]
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They reached the bottom of the stairs just as Kelly Ripa came into the castle. Unobserved, they could see her across the great room. Ripa didn't wait to be invited to enter. She barged past Igor and paused to check out her surroundings. She nodded with approval. The great room was cavernous and dim. There were tapestries on the walls and a massive bronze chandelier hung from the high ceiling. There was a fireplace large enough for a tall man to stand in. It was just what she had hoped it would be. "I smell ratings," she said under her breath.

At that moment, Bela Stroganoff strode into the room. He looked angry. First, he had thought that a ruthless American developer was going to try to turn his home into a giant amusement park. He had tried to derail the process by writing a letter to Ratcliff, alluding to some vague danger should the plan go forward, knowing that he would try to persuade Melanie to use her influence to stop her father. It hadn't worked. Second, he brought Melanie to his castle to try to dissuade her in person. Clearly, that hadn't worked out well. Third, no sooner had Melanie arrived, than his grand nephew Ratcliff showed up, uninvited. The whole thing had been a disaster. To top it off, he discovered that it had all been a big mistake. The real target of the Hummdingers' attention had been another castle all together! And now, as if that weren't enough stress, here came a stranger, elbowing her way into his inner sanctum. Not only that, she had a small army with her!

"Who are you, and vat do you vant?" grated Bela.

Kelly Ripa started to answer, then did a double-take. Bela was wearing a rubber bathing cap and a lime green Speedo bathing suit. He had a inflatable plastic donut around his waist. "Oh," she said. Do you have a pool?"

"Not exactly," responded Bela, somewhat disarmed by her question. "The basement is flooded."

Kelly gazed at Bela, lips slightly parted. She felt herself flush. Her face felt hot. Her nostrils flared. She fluttered her eyelashes and raised one eyebrow. "I take it that you're Bela Stroganoff?" she asked in a husky voice. Involuntarily, her hand went to her breast. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.

Bela Stroganoff looked slightly muddled and somewhat uncertain. "Er, yes," he replied. "And you are?"

"My name is Kelly," she purred. "I had no idea that you would be such a handsome man. I think that maturity is so attractive! I've always been so taken by men like Cary Grant, Clark Gable, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. My current favorite is Sean Connery. You remind me a lot of Sean. A little older, perhaps, but equally compelling. Wise. Experienced. Debonaire." She had stepped so close to Bela that he could feel her breath and smell her Crest Double Whitening Mint Explosion toothpaste. She continued, "Until a moment ago I was expecting to make a spooky 'reality' show about a bat-infested, creepy old castle and its mysterious, reclusive inhabitant. But now that I've met you I've changed my mind. You have star potential! I see you in a role like the host of Masterpiece Theater. Every week you'll introduce and do the narrative for a series of artistic dramas set in Romania. You'll wear a smoking jacket and carry a pipe. I can see it now. You will enjoy the recognition and respect you deserve. You will be handsomely compensated. You'll be able to have a house in Tuscany. A chalet in the Alps. A chateau on the Loire. You can cruise around the world. And I'll love working with you," she added. She stressed the word love. "I can't wait to get to know you better!"

Bela was stunned. His first reaction was that it was all madness. But as he reflected the idea seemed less repugnant. A series didn't have to be shot in his castle and the money would be nice. He could pay to have someone mow the yard and could give Igor a raise. Of course, he thought, any amount would be a raise as Igor worked for free. Still, money has its advantages. And no-one of the feminine persuasion had shown any interest in him since his wife died. He looked at Kelly and said, "Let's talk."

In the back of the room, Melanie couldn't believe what she was witnessing. What she had intended as revenge had turned into something entirely different. In a last ditch effort to salvage the situation she called out, "Kelly! I saw how you looked at Bela! You're married!"

Kelly slipped the ring off of her left hand and dropped it into her pocket. "We'll see about that, " she responded.

Melanie, though somewhat disappointed, saw that anything further on her part would be fruitless. Putting her arm around Ratcliff's waist, she and her fiance stepped out of the back door and into the limousine that had brought her to the castle only a short while ago. "Where are we going?" asked Ratcliff. "To find Daddy," Melanie responded. "I persuaded Milos to drive us to Dracula's castle where I will deliver the plans and an ultimatum to Daddy. This is it, whether he likes it or not. After this project I'm out. Then you and I will be able to spend the rest of our lives together in a fog of romantic bliss."

Ratcliff responded with a long, sensuous, heart-felt kiss. Soon they would be back home in New York.
[Maddog]
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