a prince. No one knows how he became a vampire, he may even have been born that way. He lived for hundreds of years in a big castle, ruling over his kingdom. But one day—”
“What?” Kevin asked, his eyes wide in fascination. “What happened?”
“Let her tell the story, stupe!” Becky complained again.
“It was hundreds of years later, in the late 1800’s. By then the people in The Count’s kingom realized that he was a vampire. So they all banded together and revolted against him. Unfortunately, many of them died in the fight, but eventually they were able to drive The Count out of his kingdom. And can you guess what happened then?”
“He changed into a bat and flew away?” Jimmy suggested.
“No, but you’re close,” Aunt Carolyn informed him. “The Count still had many servants under his vampire’s spell, and he was also very rich. He collected all the gold in the kingdom and had it melted down into gold bricks, then he had his servants build him a big sailing ship—”
“The Scrimm,” Kevin said, more under his breath than to anyone, remembering the bizarre paintings he’d seen in the foyer and the back hallway. “The name of his ship was The Scrimm.”
Aunt Carolyn looked amazed. “Why, that’s quite correct
Kevin. How… how did you know that?”
Kevin then explained about the paintings he’d seen in the lodge, the blank-faced servants, the crate full of gold bricks, and, of course, the coffin.
Aunt Carolyn continued, impressed by Kevin’s sense of observation. “And anyway, Count Volkov, now banished from his kingdom, loaded up his gold and his servants onto The Scrimm, and then he set sail… for America.”
“And when he got to America,” Kevin concluded, “his servants brought him ashore in his coffin, along with his gold. And they burned the Scrimm…”
“Exactly,” Aunt Carolyn verified. “The Count ordered that The Scrimm be burned in the water so that none of his servants could sail back to Europe and tell anyone where The Count was. He didn’t want any of his enemies coming after him to try to kill him.”
Kevin was astonished. He’d been right! The paintings he’d seen were depictions of the very story Aunt Carolyn was telling right now, the local legend. But when Kevin fully realized that, another question came immediately to mind.
“Who painted the paintings, Aunt Carolyn?” he asked.
“Do you
“Yes!”
Aunt Carolyn smiled that creepy smile of hers again. From the shadows in which she sat, she pointed across to the room into the foyer, at the first painting Kevin had seen this morning.
“Go look,” she instructed him. “Look for the artist’s name on the canvas. It’s written in the lower right corner, in very small letters.”
Confused, Kevin got up from the couch and walked over to the painting.
It was so dark he could barely see at all; he had to squint as hard as he could, and even then, it took a momentary flash of lightning for him to actually be able to read the artist’s signature.
The signature, in fine, curvy letters, was this:
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kevin rushed back to the hearth room, and, nearly stuttering, said, “You mean
“He certainly did, Kevin,” Aunt Carolyn replied. “There’s no way you could have seen them all yet, but Count Volkov painted a lot of the paintings in the lodge. There are actually several dozen of them, hanging in various places.”
Kevin felt intrigued by this information, that The Count himself had painted the very pictures Kevin had looked at and even touched. But then, Kevin’s thoughts came to a screeching halt.
It didn’t make sense!
“And let me guess your next question, Kevin,” Aunt Carolyn said, still cloaked by the shadows. “You want to know why The Count’s paintings are here, in my lodge, right?”
“Well, yes,” Kevin admitted. “I was just thinking that, just this second.”
Aunt Carolyn’s voice lowered to a strange whisper. “So I’ll tell you why,” she said. “Because this lodge, this very same building that you’re sitting in right this moment, used to be owned by Count Volkov.”
“No!” Kevin exclaimed.
“Wow!” Jimmy said, his mouth still stuffed with popcorn.
“Kevin’s getting scared,” Becky rudely interrupted.
“I am not!” Kevin retorted.
“Watch out for the big bad vampire…
“Shut up! And don’t call me Kevvie!”
“That’s enough of that, kids,” Aunt Carolyn went on. “But what I just told you is true. When The Count arrived in America, it was the beach right off my bluffs where he landed. And since he had the equivalent of many millions of dollars in gold bricks, the first thing he needed was a home. So he paid the local villagers to build the lodge. According to the legend, the lodge was built over a hundred years ago for the price of one single gold brick that weighed over twenty pounds.”
“That’s a lot of gold,” Jimmy said, munching more popcorn.
“It certainly is,” Aunt Carolyn responded. “Today, a standard gold brick is worth almost $200,000. And it was worth a lot more back in those days.”
Kevin’s mind reeled; he was fascinated, but his fascination had nothing to do with the amount of money it cost to build the lodge. What fascinated him was this:
“About twenty years ago,” Aunt Carolyn went on, “I found out that the lodge was for sale. It had been vacant for years and years, and it was in very bad condition at the time. So I was able to buy it for a small amount of money, then I had it refurbished, and opened it up to campers and fishermen.”
“If it was vacant for all those years,” Jimmy asked, grabbing yet another fistful of popcorn, “how come nobody else bought it?”
“No one wanted it,” Aunt Carolyn told him.
“But it’s a great place,” Kevin said. “How come no one wanted to buy it?”
“Well, because of it’s history. Who would want to buy a lodge that was once owned by a man rumored to be a vampire? The lodge was considered bad luck, like a haunted house, so it sat for all those years without any buyers. Fortunately, I was able to fix it up pretty well, and until very recently, the lodge and the surrounding fishing dells and campgrounds attracted quite a lot of people.”
Kevin’s astonishment held him fast into his seat. There was still one more question burning in his mind…
“What is it, Kevin?” Aunt Carolyn asked. “You look like you have another question. Am I right?”
“Well, uh, yes, Aunt Carolyn,” Kevin admitted. “I do have another question.”
Aunt Carolyn smiled again, as though she already knew what Kevin wanted to ask. “Go ahead.”
“Well, uh, whatever happened to Count Volkov?”
“Nobody knows,” Aunt Carolyn said. “He disappeared, was never seen again. But of course, there
