Estimated reading time — 13 minutes

Spring had arrived with the aroma of cherry blossoms, gentle zephyr, peace and lots of greenery..Occasionally a short, gentle and warm rain..A neighborhood in a splendid area, where most of them were characters with a lot of talent, but also former owners who had won their claimed houses, who had a lucrative business, either here or abroad, or just used a splendid villa from the beginning of the century as a vacation home…the connection with the family’s past, etc….various reasons…

A neighborhood where the average age was around 50 or so, because most were intellectuals, or older upstarts who didn’t stay at home..In itself, a quiet, central, exclusive area..In the shade of shiny maples, with an imposing allure, with a floor and attic according to the fashion of the end of the glorious Belle Epoque, but also with a slight touch of Romanian style, there was, excuse me, still is, a splendid villa..with a magnificent garden in the back…A unique appearance in itself..Although framed among other villas, it seemed somehow isolated, detached…The villa at number 6…Always elegant, well-kept, or so it was at least in 2002, but since 1902, little inhabited, rarely, occasionally..The family had always remained the same as the owners, although between 1951-1990, it had been intended for communist use, as a party and protocol villa, given being the proximity to the famous location on Primaverii… From the beginning, it had been talked about… Suspicious wealth… who knows how… And now sins were freely residing in the house. Although between 1903-1914, it had been permanently inhabited, although events had taken place, a businessman with an uncertain past… there had been rumors since then. A bad, hungry house, where accidents were always happening… After 1920, the descendants kept it as a place of residence when they had business in Bucharest. With occasional parties… but with great absence of staff… With two suspicious suicides… Then in 1936, a murder… a guest is found shot… A state of anxiety, fear… despite the joy imposed by the gatherings, parties and events, it was felt… A strange atmosphere had always surrounded the place… Even after 1954, stories were circulated about the faces in the windows, staring at passersby, although they had nothing to do there..The administrative staff between 1968-1988 had had great troubles…Various “personalities” were disturbed if not attacked during their stay..Not directly, unforeseen accidents attributed to negligence…Sometimes objects disappeared…Even after the descendants had won the house in 1992, although they had renovated it to its former glory…it remained uninhabited…Until 1997…
On a late spring evening, bringing an oriental-flavored laziness on the wings of the zephyr, the neighbors were clustered at the windows… For the first time in years, the windows were discreetly lit, in a shade of yellowish white. Somehow it was to be expected, given that before that, about two weeks ago, several trucks had brought some luxurious furniture and packages packed in cardboard boxes with the “Fragile” logo… And now, from an elegant car, of Russian origin, probably dated 1940, a well-built man got out, dressed in a gray suit, with small petrol blue stripes, with snow boots. You swore you were watching a movie from the 30s… Under the last rays of sunset, the man’s silhouette seemed wrapped in gold and purple blood. He didn’t linger long in the street, he entered quickly, leaving behind small wisps of smoke… although no one had seen a cigarette in his hand this one..A little later another van arrived, which had unloaded a long box, with a strange shape, damn heavy, considering that 5 men could barely fit it into the house…This was the arrival of the new tenant..or successor, or owner…or…
………..
With a sigh, Mrs. Dulitze, owner of a small shop, an organic grocery store…the last thing she could find, at that time they were products from the country…she had managed with a sigh to find out the name of the new tenant…Mr. Anton Sangieri…a young doctor, Romanian, but settled in Italy, who at not even 30 years old had won countless awards for research in the field of genetics and evolution…He was here now for a short vacation, he had rented the place for a period of peace and to write some papers. It seemed that Bucharest was a good research area…She had learned all this from the only being who left the house during the day…the young man “Si atat” as that was his name, after having a little discussion in Mrs. Dulitze’s grocery store:
– Oh, what a pleasure, come on… You are the new owner of the villa at no. 6…
– Hello…no…it’s just the driver, the security guard and the bodyguard..
– And what is your name, young lady?
-Daniel..
– And how…?
– Daniel and that’s it…
However, she had obtained some information, after a few weeks when the young servant had become more tame… He never bought anything but the finest drinks and coffee, also luxurious… he probably bought his food from the larger stores… Although never, no matter how much she had been lurking, had she seen Mr. Anton Sangieri outside… Not during the day at least… he probably wrote or maybe had a study laboratory… the house was enormous, it was not excluded… In return, a little after sunset, the irresistible Mr. Anton, would go out into the garden… Tall, handsome, young… Mrs. Dulitze appreciated the beauty… He would stay in the garden for hours, drinking coffee and occasionally talking to a guest… Never during the day… only in the evening… At one point there was an evening… but the guests… all of them except one… would leave at the latest an hour before the first rays of dawn.
In the warm, even more animated summer evenings, Mrs. Dulitze had come across Mr. Anton…who was smoking in a sweet reverie on the small terrace in front of the villa…as if waiting for something…
– Good evening…I assume you are Mr. Anton..
– He himself, good evening…
Oh…what a man…healthy, well-made, that contrast of white skin, ivory, a living stone and black curls…and those brown eyes behind which smoldering embers burned…thoughts from his youth came to him..He had a special magnetism…And the linear smile, except for those young wolf fangs, healthy canines…
– I haven’t seen you all day…what are you doing? the woman asked.
– With anything but useless gossip, the newcomer replies…
The man stood up and in a split second she saw him in the back garden..she was absolutely fascinated and yet:
– What a wretch!…the poor servant…well, of necessity…
It was just that this had sparked Mrs. Dulitze’s curiosity and ambition to spy, more than anything else… For a while everything was the same routine… Daniel at the store, in the evening the owner on the terrace, from time to time he would visit… Then… from time to time, once every 3 days, late in the afternoon a car with pizza written on it would stop by… He would leave 10-12 boxes. Always at the same time…
– How much pizza is this guy eating?!
She had seen him countless evenings on the terrace, drinking coffee or a cognac, but never eating… A snack or something… But what had angered her even more was the unfortunate accident, when the boy “And that’s it”, tripped over the hose stretched out in the garden and dropped a pizza box… He rushed with fantastic speed to collect what had fallen. She hadn’t seen well, but it was clearly not pizza… it seemed like it was something plastic. Curious… what a big deal to sweep up afterwards… or he could have given them to some dog on the street… Suspicious… There followed another period of several days of silence, then one evening he stopped a van and unloaded some crates… from the sound Mrs. Dulitze assumed they were bottles… and later there was a small party, which ended somewhere around 3:00 in the morning… And yet… this guy never leaves the house? How the hell do you study, research… or maybe he was sick? How much drink and coffee did the servant boy drink…what was the surprise..? He spent all night and slept like a pig during the day or recovered…What does it mean to have a lot of money…And she still wasn’t convinced…
He had caught the moment one evening, when Daniel was leaving in his old car… The house seemed empty… Had he left the house? They had left the windows open… How imprudent… they didn’t even have bars or dogs… They were circling, spinning… at 11:00 PM the house was dark… Not even a glimmer… the curtains were playing in the wind… Oh, no, this was practically an invitation… He left the house, looking left and right, there were still lights on in the surrounding villas… but the street was deserted… he climbed over the fence, panting like a pregnant pig… and entered the ground floor… An office lounge… elegant, period… Wide armchairs, a solid wood desk… like in his great-uncle’s time… A Galle lamp on the desk… He covered it with a handkerchief and turned it on. He tried to force the drawers open, to no avail… he closed them… then rummaged through the room… Nothing interesting, correspondence, bills, magazines. He thought he heard something in the hallway… he opened the door slowly, took a look… No one… he calmly left:
– I mean, I found the door open, I saw the windows and I was worried, so like a good neighbor I am…
There was clearly a noise…someone upstairs…but there was also a noise downstairs, where the kitchen should have been…It really was…Mr. Anton was pouring himself a glass of wine..
– Sorry…I didn’t mean to..
– Oh…he forgot the door was open again…said the man…Don’t be shy…if you’re still calling here, why don’t we have a glass of wine…or something else…
– I didn’t want to seem curious…I was worried…
– Of course….
The man’s approach was intoxicating her..A raw perfume, a harsh aroma…She felt him within a hand’s reach of her…smiling…The room was spinning with her..a vertigo, a drunkenness, an ecstasy..and…that’s it..
Mrs. Dulitze hadn’t opened the door the next morning. She had come as an employee, she had the keys, but at lunchtime when she was usually a doll…absent…He called her…the phone was busy. Her husband hadn’t even noticed that evening that she had gone out…He had forgotten about the match…noise, passion…he had no idea…And Mrs. Dulitze was nowhere to be found…However, when the situation had become serious…the police had noticed the absence of a bag of clothes, of some money…She and her husband were not in a magnificent marriage, she had left without announcing it to Timisoara, to relatives…He wasn’t there either…Here’s a topic of discussion in the neighborhood…
…………..
15 meters below, in an interwar villa, in the purest art deco style, futuristic and asymmetrical, lived Mrs. Elvira Tomescu, together with her husband, Grigore Hernescu. She had been retired for a few years, and from Monday to Saturday at lunchtime, she gave French lessons. High school and university students would visit Mrs. Elvira. She would lead some of them to the door. She would give herself a few minutes to breathe between classes… but also to spy on the area… She had also found out about the unknown person who had moved to number 6. It was true that she knew his name, that he was a doctor, that he had come from Italy. But it seemed absolutely suspicious to her, because a medical congress had recently taken place, where her husband had been, but the young doctor had not participated…
“It’s something unclean,” the teacher decided.
– Dear Elvira, look after yourself… her husband was telling her. There was an internal medicine congress… If the doctor who moved here is from a different specialty, what should he look for? Maybe he didn’t even know, he’s a foreigner… What a big deal?!
She was not satisfied..Not at all..But she had noticed that if until then, the pale gentleman rarely went out, now in the evening, as it got dark, he would get in the car and leave accompanied by the driver..Since mid-September, the postman came more often..he would leave the letters in the box and leave…Sometimes the driver would take them immediately, sometimes they would stay there until late in the evening, after it got dark and then Mr. Anton would pick them up personally..Always elegant, even if in summer, home clothes…He had a special elegance..he had…presentability…
– He’ll probably stay…since the correspondence is getting lively…
However, the apparent lack of interest in letters, magazines, newspapers or whatever she received…gave Mrs. Elvira an idea…She was not a fan of detective work or conspiracies, but given that a neighbor had disappeared, that the police were still roaming the area…she had read to them that they were running around…in plain clothes, in a car…that she had also been a convinced communist, she knew how things were…Despite the difficulties, she managed one evening, quite late, taking advantage of the rain and the beginning of fog characteristic of mid-October…to steal an envelope…She had read it secretly…away from her husband, hidden…It was short:
“We hope to be ready by January…please be discreet…no entourage..”
Although it was a simple note in an envelope, she didn’t understand… why was the address correct, but the name was different… She knew the former owner… His name wasn’t that… and she knew the servant’s name was Daniel… The envelope was addressed to a certain Eugen Surugiu… no connection… Mystery… November was expected to be damp, cold and dark… Nevertheless, for several days in a row, paint cans, brushes, floorboards, rolls of textiles had been delivered to the address…
– We’re rearranging… was the only explanation he got from the driver…
No no…she knew something was wrong…She would have to wait…She was sorry she had taped the envelope and put it back…She could have kept it…as proof…Too late…December 1st had arrived with a bang, there was a parade at the Arc de Triomphe…The world had gone to a circus…even though it had snowed a lot…difficult traffic…At around 8:30 p.m., she jumped out the window like someone had been hit by a string…she had heard the gate and then the car engine…Mr. Anton had climbed into the back, very dapper, carrying some colorful packages, tied with bows…and Daniel had put a square wrapped in canvas in the trunk…She stood motionless for an hour in front of the window..It was snowing rarely..Finally…she put on her boots, fur coat and went out, under the pretext that she was craving some sweets, the store was still open…and she was also getting some air…She had been in the car all day house, with meditations… His beard is smoking a pipe in the fireplace:
– Don’t be late, it’s getting cold…Elviro, do you hear?
Around the house…silence…A few lights on upstairs, but no movement..He had studied them…even though the two were gone…there was light…they had left them on specially…The front door was closed…the back windows the same…He stared with his hand over his eyes at each window, he couldn’t see much, then he saw the back door, the service door, ajar. It had probably gotten stuck in the corner by the rug…the doorknob hadn’t jammed…although it was clear that they had pulled it after them when they left the garage…To enter, not to enter…?! It was clearly a crime, but so was murder…And what if he was wrong..?! Whatever it was…the house practically called to him…the small hallway, with the marble checkered floor…a coat rack, a mirror, a small sofa…some amphorae with flowers…He went ahead, opened a few doors just enough to take a look..
– What a fool I am! If they have something to hide…then in the basement, or in the attic…
The cellar was closer. There was a door from the kitchen that went down to the basement. A large room, where several laboratory tables, with bottles, test tubes, dishes and boxes with all kinds of substances were placed neatly. Labeled in a foreign language. Clearly not Italian. Several cabinets with utensils. And between them, wrapped in a heavy curtain, placed on a high table, more like a pedestal, a long, wide box with a strange shape. Only when she pulled the material off it did she realize it was a coffin. She didn’t need anything else. She ran up the stairs. But she felt her ankle grabbed. She fell down the stairs, feeling the pain step by step. Above her stood Mr. Anton, smiling.
– Are you in a hurry?
– I know everything…I saw the lab…I’m reporting to you…you’re not even who you say you are…
– Indeed…although the correct answer is not who, but what….
A paralysis gripped her sweetly…looking into the man’s eyes…which turned a dull black, absorbing the surrounding light…then a draft…a fainting state…a sickly weakness…
It was well past midnight…
– Where the hell is this? He must have climbed in through the back… I don’t think he knows I’m waiting….
Another missing old woman… Was there already a pattern? The entire neighborhood was questioned… It seemed pointless…
……….
One of Mrs. Elvira Tomescu’s best students was the young Nicolae Vornici. A recent journalism student, he was avidly studying French, because he had planned to get a scholarship for foreign studies. He was good, hardworking, although many said that Nicolae saw things hidden and where they weren’t… But for a journalism student, two disappearances practically on the same alley… was a subject… Nicolae was thin, young, withdrawn… although inventive. He planned to start an investigation on his own… he studied and followed every move within a radius of 5-6 streets, as much as possible… He tried to learn their schedule, their habits… When the mail comes, when deliveries are made…
One late January evening…it was around 10:30 PM, maybe even later…he was returning from a meeting with his friends from college..He couldn’t believe it..he had bumped into the stranger from number 6..Anton Sangieri..Dressed in that impeccable suit, with that fur coat and hat, with elaborately crafted gloves, he looked like a Russian boyar from the Tsarist era..He hadn’t heard him..he was scared..He was already behind him when he turned around…
– I didn’t want to scare you, Anton apologized..Although I understood that it was a safe area…I think I saw you at the villa at 34…and occasionally at the former teacher’s…
– Safe zone you say? With two elderly women missing less than 2 months apart?! Very safe…
– Yes..and yet compared to other areas…I’ll drive you..if you don’t mind…
Nicolae sniffed with disdain..Anton gave off a good, expensive perfume..it seemed familiar to him but he couldn’t identify it…stylish…
– Journalism student?
– Yes..I still have..I want to leave..France…poor lady…
– Ah…Paris in April is splendid…and October at Versailles if you have access…A miracle…
They parted at the corner..Mr. Sangieri had a strong, and absolutely icy handshake..even though he had worn a glove, before taking it off..It was so cold that the stones were cracking…and he had followed him in those moments face to face..That strange look…almost provocative if it weren’t for the calmness in his attitude…It was only at home that he realized what had bothered him..it was something he hadn’t noticed then…something was missing…It was only at home, in his pajamas and with a cup of hot tea that he realized…
– Steam…there was no steam…in this cold…Oh my god!
The following week he resumed his search…he was determined to find out what was going on in that house…Moreover, all kinds of packages were being delivered, at impossible times…He had been living there for a while…what else could he have needed?…Then…when he least expected it…Mr. Sangieri was leaving for a few days…he even hinted that he was leaving, in case something happened…an accident, a theft…he had even spoken to the neighbor next door…in fact, he had sent Daniel.. Just in case…in the middle of February…Wednesday evening…busy people…He waited a day, waited two…Then Nicolae forced open the door from the garden, from the cellar…Friday night, almost noon, around 5.20..When sleep is sweetest..He managed with difficulty, and pulled the hatch after him…A large cellar…with all kinds of tools, tables, utensils…test tubes, substances…but also some tripods with frames covered, the easel was left on a table…glasses with brushes to soak…He hadn’t done much art, but he recognized some famous paintings…If they were fakes…and that’s what it looked like after the paint was still fresh…they were magnificent…if not…it was art trafficking…and that laboratory…probably drugs were also made. Bad moment..A doctor, if he was a doctor…creator of substances, art forger…Who knows what the two missing girls had discovered..They had hit the wall like a nut…and had become uncomfortable…
A loud noise…like a bang…The main entrance gate? But he hadn’t heard the car… He got in… stealthily… he risked being caught … but he had to find out… The kitchen was plunged into darkness… barely any light from the street… he stepped carefully into the entrance hall… no cars outside, the sconces were off… and yet it was warm… someone had made a fire… Then another creak… he saw a pale light, through a half-open door… It was incredible… unreal… this villa had a Roman bath… Through the dense steam, he managed to see Mr. Anton Sangieri… rising from the water… naked, magnificent, a god. He rose, rose and then walked on the surface of the water as if he had stepped on a solid, invisible carpet… He headed straight for it… he wanted to leave, but he was fascinated… steam, aromas… hypnosis… and Mr. Anton pressed against his face in a sad, perfect smile. A light press on throat, fast..and then a state of bliss…
He woke up late, in the afternoon, with a terrible hangover… with pain all over his body. His family was away in the mountains. He called a friend and a friend from the military academy. Then he called the police. In the basement they found remains characteristic of a laboratory, indeed a painting. And after much research… partially built into some cabinets… the two victims… Mrs. Dulitze and Mrs. Elvira… looking absolutely fresh, as if in a dream… and completely exsanguinated… the forensic doctors couldn’t find any marks on their heads, no trace of a struggle, no wound…
Nicolae froze..why was he alive??…Then he remembered that he had set the clock to ring at 5:00, specifically…how long he would stay in the cellar…The sunrise…
The fun was just beginning…the house was absolutely empty, as if no one and nothing had happened there..Mr. Anton Sangieri, according to the documents, was an old farmer from Sicily, who had died 16 years ago..Identity theft, art trafficking, drugs, two victims, and he was nowhere to be found..as well as the driver or any registration of the car..It was like an illusion..as if he had never existed…
………..
A splendid house on a winding alley, in a quiet, isolated, good area… A luxurious neighborhood… A villa left in disrepair, abandoned… especially after a legend was born, the house where the “unclean”, the “vampire”, the “ghostly” lived… The idea is that although abandoned, abandoned, left to decay, it exudes a special charm… It is said that it is still inhabited, livid silhouettes can be seen at the windows on some nights, illuminated by a faint beam like a lamp… or a candle. There have been attempts to explore it, more or less legally. As for the homeless, they never make the same mistake twice… Only the dead live in that house… It is a place that calls for death, it beckons. Don’t believe it, don’t let yourself be tempted..”

Credit: Louis Vigny

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Please note the author of this creepypasta does NOT give permission for it to be used in ANY other medium