Saphiria Meets Vlad the Impaler

Greetings, dear readers,

I hope you all enjoy this submittal. This story contains paranormal and psychic erotica, if you are not open minded to such topics, read no further.

Immense thanks to Bloodbaron62 for his stellar, impressive editings.. Please leave feedback and enjoy!

Saphiria was a goth. She loved wearing the trappings of the culture – the black clothing and makeup, the jewelry, the boots – but for her the greatest thing about her goth personality was the subculture of vampirism. She was an active member of House of the Midnight Song, the nearest vampire community group, and anything to do with the vampire community (or VC, as she liked to refer to it) enticed her. But one thing she loved more was the East European country of Romania, which encompassed the old nation of Transylvania. She found Romanian guys ridiculously hot, Romanian girls strikingly beautiful, and she was certain that her soul belonged in Transylvania. Somehow the universe had made a mistake and dropped her thousands of miles away from that almost mythic land where she should have been born and where her soul yearned to be. There was no way of convincing her otherwise. Saphiria felt the tug on her heart of that faraway place and she knew that would surely, someday, be her physical home.

But until then she lived in a small, quiet town --little houses populated by little people with little lives. The only thing about the town that kept her from going insane there was a tiny but vital population of immigrants from Romania. Seeing their dark, strong faces every day made the bucolic Noplace livable. Saphiria had made friends with several of these sturdy, pleasant people and she never got tired of hearing about "the Old Country" from which they (or, increasingly, their ancestors) had come. There was a Romanian woman who intrigued her. Lina, unlike many of her European countrymen, was blond and blue-eyed, and Saphiria thought she was strikingly beautiful. Lina's house was not too far from where Saphiria lived, and it was quite common for the two women to see each other when Saphiria passed the blond's home on her way to the shops at the other end of town. Lina would often be seated on a wrought-iron bench in her little front yard singing softly to herself and playing with a small grey cat named Misty, whom she had rescued from the friendless streets. Saphiria would give her a friendly greeting with a smile as she passed her tidy blue house to go to her VC meetings or coffee shops. Lina always returned the friendly wave, her sapphire blue eyes brightening up the day more than any amount of sunlight ever could. The whole planet could plunge into darkness, thought Saphiria, but if Lina were still here we'd all find our way around by the light of those eyes.

It was Thursday, the day that Saphiria liked to spend in the town's book store. As she was walking down the quiet street she passed Lina's house and, as usual, saw the woman out on her bench. "Good morning, Lina," she waved cheerily.

"Greetings to you as well, Saphi," Lina replied in her musical voice.

Saphiria carried on, smiling to herself. I'd really love to get to know her better. She's adorable! Damned hot too, she thought to herself, blushing as she finished her sentence, afraid Lina had somehow heard her unspoken comments. Saphiria was bisexual, so her lusting after a pretty Romanian girl was normal, but she was sure that Lina didn't know of her orientation and she hadn't yet decided whether to act on her attraction to the blond Romanian woman.

Part 2

On the exterior, Saphiria's house wasn't much different from the rest in town. Once you passed the front door, however, the differences became more obvious. Although other houses had photos or artworks hanging on their walls none had a painting to match the one that hung in a

prominent place in her living room. The man in the painting was handsome in a hard sort of way, with a long and angular face that bespoke of harshness and cruelty. The portrait was draped in glimmering red satin and flanked by tall black tapers. If anyone from town had visited they would have felt uncomfortable around the picture, although they could never have defined exactly why. Even if they had read the small brass plate affixed to the bottom edge of the frame the legend it proclaimed, "Tepes, 1431 -1476" would have been meaningless to them. This man was Saphiria's ultimate Romanian fascination – Vladamir Tepes Dracula, whose name meant "Vladamir the Impaler, Son of the Devil."

Saphiria's thoughts were filled with Vlad as she watched paper feed out of her printer. Three pages of information from a new source concerning the Wallachian prince's diplomatic visit from three Turkish emissaries and how, when the three men had refused to remove their turbans in respect for the viovode, or warrior prince, he'd had the turbans nailed to their heads. She barely realized she was putting the pages in the red three-ring binder with her other data about the Romanian ruler because she was imagining herself awaiting him in his bedchamber, a captive from an enemy's palace brought to him for his pleasure. "Great impaler, mighty prince of Romania," Saphiria would whisper to him, her heart begging that he not do to her as he had done to conquered enemies without number – skewer them on long stakes and stand them in great gardens of torture and slaughter – and her body pleading for his cruel touch on her wanting flesh. Without consciously realizing she was speaking she kept repeating the name to herself: "Vlad Tepes. Dracula..." She'd had it bad for him ever since she found out about his savage image and brutal reputation. She loved guys with a vibe like that. She'd never admit it to anyone, but Saphiria would often bring herself off with her favourite toys whilst thinking about Vlad. She would picture him taking the place of them, or moving her hand out of the way to take over.

Saphiria was a psychic medium, a natural gift that enabled her to talk with nearly any spirit she wished. She had never dared try to contact the spirit of Vlad Tepes but in the past few weeks the compulsion to do so had grown stronger and more consuming. Now it was an obsession to the woman, if only she could determine the proper ritual to draw his essence to her from the land behind the veil. "I will summon him somehow," she promised the empty room. "I will bring him to face me and find out for myself what kind of man he was." Switching off the computer, Saphiria was still determined to learn about Vlad Tepes and what savage heart had beat in his breast so many centuries ago.

She walked to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of strawberry drink. Saphiria loved strawberries, especially when they were mixed in food or a beverage of some kind. Their phallic shape and blood-red color were almost as pleasing to her as their tangy flavor. But this batch of juice wasn't quite what she needed today. Not as strong as the last strawberry juice I bought, but it'll have to do for now, she frowned as she raised the glass to her soft, and very kissable, lips. Saphiria was a pretty and petite Celtic woman, only standing about 5 feet tall, with crimson hair which fell around her face in soft, calm waves. Her hair was thick and quite plentiful, and she loved to have it played with or done up in a sophisticated manner. Saphiria loved to dress sexily and provocatively, and at times even erotically. She was known to go out at night looking for male and female attention alike, especially to get warm and cozy with some hot Romanian if she could. Most times, the attention she received was from the wrong group, and was often beyond her control.

Saphiria's house very much reflected her personality. A two-story Cape Cod, it had soft white carpeting in all the rooms except the kitchen and bathrooms. The walls were painted ocean blue to reflect the spiritual, serene layers of the many sides of herself and the rooms had numerous ornaments, trinkets, and decorations of all kinds decorating them. But none of the artifacts those rooms held drew her now, and serenity was a forlorn hope; she was too deep in thought about the cruel prince of her dreams.

Saphiria closed the red binder and sat down on her sofa, cradling the book against her breasts as she pondered. Interesting, she mused. There are no records of him haunting anyone, yet spirits

who die violent deaths almost never cross over fully to the other side. Vlad was slain in a terrible battle, fighting for his people. He should have come back to visit somebody, or at least haunt the site of his burial or his fortress. Yet there were no reports she could find of Vlad Tepes' restless ghost appearing to anyone. The puzzle enchanted her but her answers stayed stubbornly out of reach. A trip to Transylvania to seek his psychic presence might be needed, she knew. If Saphiria could not get her answers from her research then perhaps she would have to try to reach the prince himself.

Skimming again through the pages she'd printed Saphiria searched for any bits of information that stood out, reading them aloud to herself. "Wallachia? Do they even still call it that anymore? Where the hell is Wallachia anyway?" The pages stayed silent, as always.

She wanted to call Lina. She had decided it would be a good idea to get closer to the beautiful woman for various reasons, and perhaps the blond Romanian could shed additional light on the history or legends that Saphiria was so wrapped up in. "Perhaps I should walk over there tomorrow," she said out loud. "Maybe go and have coffee with her, and take along a notebook." Saphiria hated writing without her laptop, but the old fashioned way would have to do if they were in a tiny coffee shop downtown.

Part 3

Hours later Saphiria fell into a restless sleep under her silk sheets, with her velvet pillow crushed tightly in her arms. Slumber had been elusive because she knew that again tonight she would dream of her own Romanian prince, still in Transylvania, as she awaited Fate to drop the answers to her questions into her lap.

She awoke in the gray hours preceding sunrise, a dream still vivid in her mind. She could still hear a voice – Vlad's voice, she was positive – begging to be freed from the shackles of this Earthly plane. "I knew it," she whispered into the darkness, "he's trapped between worlds and can't move on. I've got to help him find peace." Already she was wondering what steps she must take to contact the spirit of the dead prince. It could be dangerous," she reminded herself. He might not take too kindly to being awoken. But if he hasn't crossed over, I can help him.

Part 4

"What is it you are looking for, Miss?" the lady in the pagan store asked Saphiria as she browsed.

"Uh, well, I'd like to summon a spirit of someone who's been gone for several centuries, but I've never reached that far through the veil before so I'm kinda lost. Maybe some herbs, symbolic objects, stuff like that? Saphiria laughed lightly and nervously. She suddenly felt like a fool.

"That's a very dangerous thing to do, miss," the clerk replied. "It's really not a good plan to mess around with such things if you don't know what you're doing. I can't refuse to help you, but I hope you'll change your mind while you have a chance."

Saphiria tried to reassure the clerk that she would be very careful, but the older woman obviously wasn't convinced. "Ah well, people will always do what they want," the lady murmured while gathering up miscellaneous supplies needed for the ritual. "Be careful, young lady. And for Ra's sake, be sure to close any doors you open. Don't make someone clean up after you," she urged as Saphiria paid and bustled out.

Hurrying home with her things, Saphiria suddenly felt very uneasy, like she had just stepped into a place she shouldn't be. Almost a feeling of being watched. She suddenly wanted it over with.

Part 5

"Hello?" Saphiria's best friend, Sarah answered the phone.

"Hey Sarah, uh, I need you to come over and do me a quick little favour?" There was more of a question in Saphiria's voice than a request.

"Uh, Saph, it's kinda late. I hate going..."

"I know you don't like going out at night," Saphiria interrupted, "and I'm sorry I have to spring this on you, but I need some extra hands."

There was a long pause on Sarah's end. She sighed. "Well, I guess I could be there, but I can't stay too long, and you better not argue with me when I have to go."

"Deal," replied Saphiria. She hung up the phone and went to prepare the items for the evening's events.

Part 6

"Ok, Sarah, you hold this candle and the juju bag. I'll hold the summoning pendant and energy symbols."

"Saph, I really don't think we should do this," Sarah protested as her friend lit the wick and the flickering flame of Prince Tepes' candle grew tall and bright.

"Just hold it," Saphiria commanded. "It'll be okay. Just don't screw this up. I might not get a second chance at this." Satisfied that everything was ready Saphiria raised the pendant – a silver vial filled with arcane ingredients and etched with eldritch symbols --and cleared her throat loudly, then started to recite the necessary phrases to perform the summoning. "I am calling upon the spirit of Vlad Tepes Dracula, prince and great ruler of Wallachia." Saphiria spoke bravely into the dark silent room, hoping that her knees didn't knock so loudly that the spirit of her prince would hear them. "Come to me, Prince Vlad Tepes. Show yourself to us. Come through the divide to speak to me. I do not fear you, Son of Dracul."

Minutes passed without result. "Nothing's happening," Sarah said, her voice a mix of frustration and relief.

"Just wait, it will. I know it will," Saphiria replied.

More silent minutes ticked away. When a muffled bang burst from the far corner of the dark room both girls jumped. "See? I told you it was working!" Saphiria piped up.

"Saphi, that could have been anything," Sarah spat angrily, "even the friggin' cat."

"Yeah?" Saphiria challenged her friend. "Watch this." She raised the pendant again and addressed the shadows that flickered and danced in the air around them. "If that was truly the spirit of you, Tepes, do it again. Make the same noise three times more." There was no response for a seemingly endless minute. "Come on, Vlad," Saphiria hissed. "I know you love a duel, a challenge, so why don't you get out here and challenge me!"

Silence hung expectantly around the two women, its very presence an almost palpable thing. Then three more muffled bangs from the far corner. "Hah! Told ya!" Saphiria took the candle from Sarah's trembling hand, and raised it to better illuminate the room. In a corner the air seemed to be moving, almost as though the darkness there were twisting into itself. As the women watched the shades grew thick, coalesced into a shadowy mist blacker than a starless midnight. Sarah screamed "O my god!" and leaped to her feet, dropping the juju bag and running

up the stairs. A loud WHAM drifted down the cellar steps as the front door slammed behind her as she tore out into the night. Only Saphiria remained. "V...Vlad?" Saphiria stammered in disbelief. The lightless thing in the corner seemed to swell as though it were drawing a deep breath, and a voice that seemed to purr from the very emptiness of the room whispered in Saphiria's heart. "Who summons me?"

Saphiria slowly advanced to the corner of the room, her eyes riveted to the swirling ebony knot there. "I summon you, Prince of Wallachia," she said. "I, Saphiria, call you forth from your place of rest to speak to me. I hold the charm of summoning, and you will heed my voice." Icy prickles ran up her back and she had the strange impression of being laughed at. "Indeed?" whispered the silence and an invisible hand wrapped itself around the redhead's lungs and squeezed. The room was suddenly airless and ice cold. She was choking. Involuntarily her hands flew to her throat and tried to claw away the alien fingers that were cutting off her breath, losing the pendant as they scrabbled at nothingness. The room was growing faint around her and her ears rang with her own panicked heartbeat. The voice that she could only hear in her heart was openly laughing now but it was growing more and more distant as Death hungrily reached for her.

Part 7

Saphiria was on her hands and knees. The earth below her was cold and littered with dry, brown pine needles. As her eyes focused she realized she was still breathing; the scents of soil and pine and moisture filled her nostrils. She rose up and sat on her heels. What had become of her clothes? The 20th century outfit she'd had on when she'd begun the summoning spell had been replaced by a long, woolen skirt and white cotton shirt. The blouse had a low-cut bodice that barely concealed her slight cleavage. The cellar was gone and she was surrounded by tall, silent, shadowed figures. For a moment she thought they were deceased souls waiting for her to join their throng, but then she realized they were only trees. How did I get here? she wondered. And just where the hell is "here," anyway? She could feel an electromagnetic energy all around her, surrounding her with its powerful otherworldly grip.

The girl looked up through a hole in the leafy canopy above her. A jagged indigo peak punctured the sky, silhouetted by the last remnants of sunlight disappearing behind the mountaintop before setting. Scared but curious, Saphiria was functioning only with the help of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Clambering to her feet she began to wander, her eyes seeking any clue to where she'd been taken. A few hundred steps passed and soon Saphiria could see a portion of the forest in which trees became fewer and further apart. She advanced toward the area and when she reached the edge of the forest there was a plain of low hills. To the left was what appeared to be a dark village, its buildings angled and in disrepair, and to her right stood a bizarre grove of spindly trees with small clumps of vegetation on top. A ghostly sound came from the grove as a breeze played among the trees, a sound like weeping. She walked towards the trees – maybe the people from the village had gone there when their town became unlivable? As she drew near the weird grove a full moon appeared and poured its silvery glow over the plain, lighting the grove for her. What Saphiria saw in the second forest would haunt her for the rest of her mortal days. "O my god! The forest of impaled!" she whispered to herself as she stared in horror at thousands upon thousands of impaled bodies, all at different stages of their demise. Some were freshly staked and still writhing in indescribable agony as their wooden poles swayed in the breeze, while others appeared to have been there for days. It even looked as if a few of them were reaching out to Saphiria to help them. Tattered clothes, stained with gouts of gore, stuck to their ravaged flesh, thready ribbons of fabric drifting in the copper-smelling breeze. Skulls plastered with rotting skin and floating hair turned to her, their vacant eye sockets filling with hate for her because she still lived, and silent throats sang a siren's invitation to join them on their lofty perches. Skeletal arms moved in the wind as though their wasted fingers were reaching for her. "Get away from me!" she shrieked at them. "All of you! Leave me alone!" She attempted to run past the ghastly horde as far, and as fast, as she could. Ravens and vultures were everywhere, surrounding the remains of the impaled and preparing to feast, the moon glistening on their greasy feathers and in their oil-drop eyes like a mocking smile.

Saphiria ran blindly through the monstrous forest of the dead and dying, finally collapsing and out of breath. A noise behind her made her jump. At first she saw nothing and, reminding herself how powerful the mind can be, she willed herself to be calm and closed her eyes. A twig snapped and her eyes flew open, and she found herself staring into a pair of blood red eyes like live coals. Saphiria ran again, screaming through the forest of impaled, between the stakes dripping with blood, past the noisy, unrelenting birds, toward the open gates of the ruined city. Looking back, Saphiria saw no one, and her breath burned in her lungs as she stumbled through the gate and into the silent village.