Although the date is July 19, the recollection that follows is from last night.

The full moon glowed white. I sat around the fire with my mother and Juliet, the flames popping and casting light and shadows on the tall evergreen trees around us.

I shivered without my coat. All my other coats had burned down with the house.

"Why are we out here?" I asked. I had no clue as to how these witch-hunting rituals went.

"We're going to send a calling to the vampire," Juliet answered.

Mother opened a case and pulled out a small box. It resembled you, Journal. It had the same leathery texture.

Juliet opened it. I peered over her shoulder. There was a red cloth wrapped around an unknown object.

"What's that?" I queried.

"Patience, son," my mother said.

Juliet removed the scarlet cloth and placed it back inside the box. When she turned around, I saw that she was holding a dagger.

I breathed in the cold air. "Is that how you're going to end her?"

"No, there's another dagger for that. But that's only if our plan doesn't work out," Juliet explained.

"Then what's the plan?"

"Give me your hand."

I gulped and gave her my hand. She gently turned it palm-up. Before I could ask another question, she swept the edge of the knife diagonally across my palm. I winced as a white line appeared. In less than three seconds, the white line turned into a thin river of blood.

My mother led me to the fire as Juliet wiped off the knife. She held my hand above the fire, so that the blood trickled into it. She then pressed a black cloth into my palm and wrapped it around my hand, motioning me to clench my hand like a fist. It stung.

I held my hands to my chest as I returned to my seat on the stump. I shivered.

I watched as my mother and Juliet stood on opposite sides of the fire. They chanted quietly, slowly raising their arms. I couldn't understand the language they spoke in.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, realizing I hadn't gotten the chance to use the loo since noon when my house burned down.

I got up and motioned to my mother and Juliet that I'd be back.

I walked deeper into the forest. I was just about to head back when I heard a twig crack. I jumped. Perhaps it was just a small animal running through the bushes. I don't know why I'd let myself get scared. I continued walking. Another twig snapped. Leaves crunched. I stopped. Silence. I took a few more steps. Leaves crunched behind me. I heard my heart throbbing in my ears. If only I hadn't gone so far out...

I quickened my pace. All I had to do was reach the fire, and the calling would prove successful. I saw light flickering in the distance. Yes, I was getting closer!

Nay, a rough hand reached across my face and covered my mouth. I attempted to yell but the hand muffled my screams.

"Shh! Shh, it's me," a gruff voice whispered.

The blood drained from my face.
"Jffy?" I tried to say.

"No. It's Samson," Samson released his grip on my shoulders.

I turned around to look at him. All I saw was a grand figure outlined in the darkness. That was him, alright.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. I glanced back at the fire, then back at Samson. "You need to leave," I warned.

"I will. But you need to come with me," Samson whispered.

"I can't," I said. Not when Tara was over there.

He gave a frustrated sigh. "Why not?"

"Your daughter is a vampire. She killed Jeffrey. YOU could be a vampire for all I know!"

"Shush! Don't speak so loud. It wasn't her, I promise. Please come with me, I'll explain everything."

"I can't trust you," I shook my head, gulping down the tears.

"Please, Kenneth." I sensed the urgency in his voice. Something told me to listen to him, but I couldn't. I just couldn't.

"Take this," he handed me a cold object.

"A blunderbuss?" I observed.

"It's yours. If ever you think I'm going to attack you, go ahead and shoot me."

I stood gaping at him.

"Well then? Are you coming or not?"

I took one last glance behind. They were still chanting.

I gulped and nodded. "Let's go."

The mansion turned out to be much closer than I anticipated. Past the mossy wilderness, I saw the silhouette of a grand building outlined by pale moonlight. The front of the mansion was in complete darkness, not a single light from within was turned on.

In we went, Samson leading me to his study that resembled a miniature library. This was the same room where we interrogated one another; he questioned my intentions with his daughter and I was inquisitive about a particular ancestor painted on a canvas.

Samson brought with him into this room a small five-armed candelabra and proceeded to light up small candles around the room. I resisted the urge to blow out all the candles and run.

I rubbed my arms, still feeling a chill.

"Why don't you just turn on the lights?" I suggested. In my humble opinion, this man was making the ambience creepier than it needed to be.

He took his seat on a red padded chair after setting the miniature candelabra on the mahogany coffee table and motioned for me to sit on the one across from him. I did, holding the blunderbuss firmly on my lap.

"It's almost midnight, it will look far too suspicious," Samson answered, peaking behind his shoulder at the closed curtains.

"Right," I cleared my throat, feeling a tad foolish.

More present than that was fear. The awareness that Tara was somewhere in this house sent shivers down my spine. I clutched the blunderbuss tightly.

I wasn't the only one feeling uncertain. Samson was evidently apprehensive. He was trembling faintly, his eyes shifted left and right, his neck straining against the urge to turn his view behind him.

It became clear to me, that perhaps I was the one meant to take control. After all, I had the gun. Straightening my posture, I started to speak, "I believe you brought me here to defend your daughter's innoce-"

"Pardon. Do you mind if I..."

I shut my mouth, annoyed at his interruption.

The nervous man reached a hand into his pocket, pulling out something with a black handle. My eyes widened. I prepared to raise the blunderbuss when the object finally came into view.

"It's just a pipe," he raised his hands so I could see.

"It's just a pipe," my fa- Hunter had said, leaning back on the his cushiony padded chair with his legs propped on the coffee table. "Come closer."

Being the curious, naïve six-year old child I was, I came closer.

He moved his legs off the table and lowered his head to my level. His lips parted ever so slowly, ever so slightly, and a cloud of thick grey smoke hid his face.

I inhaled sharply, not expecting such a vast curtain of smoke. The miasma slipped through my nostrils and reached into my lungs, like a witch digging her nails into them and slowly tearing them apart.

I coughed violently, repeatedly, desperately, all the while that lunatic flung his head back and chortled. Evidently, my inability to breath properly was humorous to him.

"Ahaha that's enough. No need to put on such a show. Now, tell your pig of a mother to fetch me another cup of gin!"

"Would you like one?"

I was brought back to the present, sitting in front of a large, nerve-racked rich man smoking a pipe.

"No thank you," I looked away sullenly.

He blew out a puff of smoke whilst turning his head to the right. He sighed.

"I'll tell you our side of the story," he started. "But first, you must tell me what you saw in that shed."

"I... I saw Jeffrey's dead body. There were two pin-sized holes on his neck. My suspicions had been confirmed the moment I'd been ready to let them go," I said the last part with deep sadness. Such a shame that it had to be Tara I let go.

"Kenneth. It wasn't us! There must be something you're not telling me- a- a missing detail. Please Kenneth, tell me everything."

"What else is there to say?" I said, frustrated.

"Has anything else been occurring to you? Have you experienced anything... supernatural?"

I stared at him. "Well..."

Thus I confessed to him the presence of a paranormal entity, and how it had crawled out of a portrait I never painted.

He listened with intrigue, his face concentrated on every detail and every moment.

"So then... she escaped the frame," he murmured.

"What frame?"

"Remember the room you snuck into? The one with her portrait on the wall?"

I nodded.

"She must have attached herself to you, and you carried her to your home."

I recalled the hidden chamber, full of cobwebs and dust. I'd found myself kneeling, though not with the awareness of a purpose.

I told Samson how Octavia went into a violent frenzy and burned down my house. I narrated how she ran after me, but failed when a horse-drawn carriage hit her.

"She no longer poses a threat, does she? Her corpse practically shattered into a thousand pieces," I theorized.

"That's wrong," he stood up suddenly. "She can piece herself together again after a day!"

He ran his burly hands across his face, looking very agitated.

"Where is she lad? Where is she? Where did you see her fall apart?"

"In front of my house, sir," I answered. "What do you plan to do?"

"We must get her back into the frame and burn it, once and for all."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"We burn the frame and her bones on the same fire, of course. First, we must go to the shed and pick up an empty sack. Then we'll run to your house to collect the bones. Now come on!"

I got up and sprinted to block the doorway.

"We haven't much time," Samson protested.

I kept a firm grip on the blunderbuss, though I didn't point it at him.

"Wait. I'm not going anywhere before you tell me the truth."

"This is the truth!"

"NOT ABOUT THAT! I'm talking about Tara. Is she a vampire? Are you all vampires?"

Samson looked up and gave an exasperated sigh.

"NO! Of course not, where would you get such ridiculous ideas?"

"Where then, did the two bite marks on Jeffrey's neck come from?" I snapped.

"For the last time, it wasn't us! I don't know who did it, but it wasn't us! Let us move on now, shall we?"

"No. Not yet. Answer me one final question. Why do you hide Octavia's portrait?"

"Do NOT speak her name!"

"Why? Is it because she fancied women?"

"Nay, my granduncle fancied men. The issue was not that, but that this woman became a vengeful spirit. She wasn't a vampire either, she was just a madwoman obsessed with witchcraft."

Who killed Jeffrey then, if Octavia resided in the haven of my house? If not a vampire, then what?