ďEven now, I still donít know why I purchased it. I was at an estate auction in Bucharest that featured an extensive collection
of rare medieval and early enlightenment scientific journals that would be an interesting addition to the museumís collection, when
I noticed it in the auctionís listing, a late medieval era sacrificial dagger of unknown origins. All I can remember was desperately
longing to possess it. Ironically, after arranging for my purchases at the auction to be shipped back to London, I never gave the
dagger another thought.Ē
Arriving back in England after a summer spent visiting estate sales on the continent, I was surprised to find a box waiting for me on the table in the foyer of my familyís ancestral country manor. Inside the box I found a note from the museumís curator of antiquities.
Nice find at that estate auction in Bucharest, two of the Arabic texts you keenly purchased carbon dated from around 490 AD, our linguistic expert believes these are original Arabic copies of texts thought lost with the burning of the library of Alexandria in 642 AD.
Also, and although it wasnít listed on the invoice of the museumís purchases, I did take the liberty of running a metallurgical analysis on your dagger. The bladeís carbon dating and metallurgy make it historically consistent with other samples from central Romania in the late 1400ís. Congratulations Gwyneth, youíre now the proud owner of what might be Vlad Tepes demonically inspired sacrificial dagger.
Removing the heavy dagger from the box, I admired the pummel's demonically erotic carvings as I carried it down the hall to my study and placed it on the window shelf behind my desk. Perhaps next summer Iíll return to Romania and do some further research into its origins in the area of central Romania once known as Transylvania.
Months later, Gwyneth paused to stare out into the rain swept night, throwing another log into the fireplace before continuing to write in her journal, ďIt was on a particularly stormy night, that the nightmares started, horrifying nightmares of ritual human sacrifice, covens of witches and warlocks sacrificing countless beautiful women to their demonic masters. Nightmares, that always end with that same sacrificial dagger, the one thatís sitting on the shelf in my office, plunging fatally deep into those dying womenís bosoms.Ē
Gwyneth felt a sudden cold chill on ominous foreboding as she continued, ďItís been almost six months since I returned from my summer trip to the continent, and yet, on every stormy night those horrifying nightmares reoccur, each time becoming more vivid, steadily more brutal and obscene. However, I never imagined my nightmares could grow even worse, that was until last night. In last nightís nightmare, I dreamt that Iím the woman chained down upon that satanic blood-soaked altar. That Iím the women helplessly staring up at the ancient sacrificial dagger held high above my chest, the women destined to be its final sacrifice, the women whose agonizing death unleashes the demons of Hell.Ē
The sound of breaking window glass somewhere downstairs in the manor house caused an almost delightful sensation of pure terror to course through her as she wrote, ďOh, and before that sacrificial dagger plunges into my heart, did I mention, it happens on a stormy night just like tonight, and when they come they find me alone in my study, dressed in revealing lingerie and enjoying this glass of rather excellent wine as I write this final journal entry?Ē
Knowing they would be upon her in mere moments, Gwyneth smiled as she heard the sound of violent pounding on the locked door to her study and wrote the words that would conclude her journalís final entry, ďI find when it comes to nightmares, especially obscene and darkly erotic nightmares, one should never leave even the smallest details to chance...Ē