Samson and I ventured into the menacing darkness, I with my blunderbuss and him with the empty potato sack. To our surprise, it didn't take much trouble to locate the bones. There they were, gleaming in the moonlight. We quickly threw them in the sack and left.

Once in the mansion, we went out the back door and into the garden. There, we approached a stone fire pit. Samson lit it up, and together we emptied the sack of bones. Samson dropped in the original portrait. We watched as the ancient paints slowly melted and dripped down the frame.

The warmth of the fire shielded us from the cold night. I looked up to see Samson staring at me. He smiled, the ends of his curly orange mustache pointed upwards. I smiled back, sharing a look of accomplishment.

Suddenly, we heard yelling in the direction of the mansion. We looked at each other for another brief moment, then went inside the mansion.

Samson motioned for me to go upstairs. I followed him to a formal parlor room up in the second story. He lit up another candelabra at the end of the room, this time a tall one. It lit the parlor up by just a smidge.

I stood next to him while he peeked through the velvety dark purple curtains. Immediately, he stepped away from the window.

"What's wrong?" I asked, readying my weapon.

Samson turned to me and gulped. "Take a look and see for yourself."

He moved aside, and I made my way to the curtain. I slowly lifted the edge, sliding my face closer to the window.

The voices outside got louder. My heart caught in my throat. A mass of people stood behind the gates of the mansion, carrying torches and pitchforks.
My heart pounded faster and faster against my chest. They seemed to be chanting something, but the glass made it inaudible.

"What could they be saying?" I thought aloud.

"I don't know, I don't know," Samson began to pace the room. "I don't know!" He threw his hands up in a pitiful action.

I looked back at the crowd, angry faces were all I saw. Suddenly, I caught glimpse of a familiar one and then another one. They were my mother and Juliet.

I slid back the curtain and threw open the windows.

"What are you doing?" Samson stared at me with bewilderment.

"My mother and sister are down there," I informed him.

"Mother! Juliet! What's going on?" I yelled out the second story window.

"Son!" My mother grabbed her face in mortification. "Look! Look! They stole my son!"

"Kenneth!" My sister grasped the gate and shook it. "You filthy bloodsuckers! Give me back my brother!"

The furious crowd began to throw insults at the Wakersfields.

Samson stepped in next to me and shouted, "We're not vampires! Leave us the hell alone! Get away from my gates, ya hear me? We are not those demons you accuse us of being!"

Just as I was about to defend Samson and tell my family I was safe from harm, I felt eyes on my back. I turned around to see a feminine figure standing in the doorway.

I gasped. The woman's sleeping gown flowed as she gracefully entered the room.

"Tara?" I uttered.

"Daughter?" Samson turned around. "Please go back to sleep. Your father will fix everything."

"Hush old man," she deadpanned.

"Tara! I did not raise you to speak to me-"

"Fool, thou did not raise me. Thou locked me away!"

"What?" I looked at Samson, Tara, and back at Samson.

"What in the world are you talking about?!" Samson sputtered.

"I am not thy daughter. I am the woman whose name thou shunned from this household."

"It's you," Samson and I said in unison.

Octavia.

"What did you do to my daughter?!" he bellowed.

"But we burned the portrait..." I murmured in disbelief.

"Whilst thou do me the favor of looking out the window there?"

Samson and I shared a look of uncertainty. Nevertheless, we complied and once again turned our attention to the scene outside.

The pale moonlight had suddenly disappeared. The starry sky was replaced with dark clouds. A drop of water appeared on the window ledge in front of me. The pitter patter of rain fell at a quicker rhythm until it was louder than the shouts of the crowd.

The torchlights went out, and all at once the aggressive voices fell silent. It was dark and loud. The heavy drops of rain dispelled any audible hint of speech.

"Blame the rain," Tara- Octavia shrugged.

"What do you want?" Samson glared at the imposter.

"I want to enlighten thy feeble minds with the truth," she responded.

"And what truth would that be?" I questioned.

She inhaled deeply, held it in, and finally exhaled.

"Ah, I'd forgotten how it felt to breath," she mused.

I watched silently, waiting.

"The truth is this. Neither Samson nor Tara nor anybody in this family is the culprit. Jeffrey died of... natural causes."

"What do you mean natural causes? He had two holes on his neck!" I spat out.

"He was an aging man, as I am certain you were aware of. Your friend died of a stroke, not because a vampire bit him."

"Bu-"

"Those two punctures were made by the pricks of a sewing needle. Men, I'm afraid the Paradox women framed Miss Tara Wakersfield."

"That's absurd," I protested, looking away from her cold eyes.

"Yet it is the truth. Why can't you leave us alone? Why?"

Tara- Octavia stepped closer to me.

"I have been long since dead. It is thy family who haunts mine, until when will you stop? Will thou not stop until thy family sees mine at the stake?"

"Don't blame me for the actions of my mother and sister," I said through gritted teeth, still looking away. "And let us not forget how you burned down my house!"

"How could I not? I discover that you propose to Tara and immediately discard her after you find a corpse who she did not even touch?!"

At this, I turned around to shout my remark, "If she's so innocent, then why'd she tell me she'd explain? She wouldn't have anything to explain if she had nothing to do with it!"

"Ask her yourself, and believe in her! You and your family are such hypocrites! Those two call themselves witch hunters when the ones they should be hunting are themselves!"

"Don't bring my mother and sister into this," I scowled.

"It matters not. You're still a hypocrite. You told her you loved her, you told her!" A tear slid down her cheek. "Yet you left her so easily, without waiting for an explanation."

Was it still Octavia speaking through Tara's body? A chill went down my spine. Perhaps it was both.

"I-" I looked down. It appeared I was a hypocrite.

Tara suddenly fell. She trembled, slowly looking up. Her eyes were red with tears. "Please... Tell me what to do. I'll do anything to prove to you that I'm innocent."

Tara! No, I must not let myself feel remorse or sympathy. She lied, she could very well be lying to me again.

"Anything, you say?" I crossed my arms.

"Anything," she repeated. She looked deep into my eyes before bowing her head.

What I will challenge her to do is something neither of us will be prepared for. Still, it must be done.