I didn’t know if it was the pain driving me or my clear mind, but by the time I came to my senses, I was already trying to open the door. Maybe my uncle thought his system was perfect, but the secrets of our family never stayed hidden for long—especially not from me. As a child, I always figured out where he hid his things, like a treasure hunter. Back then, it seemed like an exciting game. But now, I was afraid of finding something I never wanted to see.


    The hallway was silent except for the echo of my footsteps as I ventured deeper. Then, at some point, I smelled something. A scent. A sharp, metallic odor filled the air, and as if pulled by an invisible thread, I knew exactly where to go. As I moved forward, the lights flickered on one by one, guiding my path until I reached a door.


    It was open.


    I knew something was wrong even before I stepped inside.


    Yet, the sight still hit me like a punch to the gut.


    The room was filled with shelves. Shelves packed with boxes and transparent bags. Inside the bags, a thick, red liquid shimmered under the dim light.


    Blood.


    I had to take a deep breath before stepping closer. Maybe I was still hoping I was mistaken. But when I examined them more carefully, all hope vanished.


    One box was slightly out of place, as if someone had put it there recently. I reached for it and pulled out four bags.


    Four letters were printed on them: E. M. D. S.


    My heart skipped a beat.


    Ellie. Mary. David. Scott.


    My hands trembled, and my eyes filled with tears. The letters blurred before me.


    I nearly collapsed, but one thought shot through my mind: I had to stay calm. If I wanted to uncover the truth, I couldn’t let my emotions take over.


    I gripped the box tightly and stormed into the living room. My uncle was already there. He had been looking for me.


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    — Hilda, everyone out! — My voice was shaking, but firm. — Close the door!


    I hated myself for speaking to them like that, but I had no mercy left in me. The room fell silent as the heavy door shut behind them with a dull thud. Only the two of us remained.


    I slowly lifted my gaze to him, letting the silence stretch between us.


    — Where were you? — he asked quietly.


    — You know exactly where.


    My fists clenched.


    — What are you? A murderer? A lunatic? Answer me!


    I didn’t wait. With a sharp motion, I overturned the box, its contents scattering across the floor. The bags landed softly, their red liquid gleaming in the dim light. Blood. Labeled, neatly marked, as if we were in some twisted experimental lab.


    — You can be a gangster, a boss, a high-ranking man who earns his wealth illegally… but remember what Grandpa said! What your father said! — My voice shook, but not with fear.


    — The Scarlettes are not murderers! They don’t kill!


    I had never spoken to him like this before. I had always treated him with respect, given him everything he expected. But now? Now, he didn’t deserve it.


    For a moment, we just stood there, facing each other. His expression was unreadable, as if weighing his response.


    — Keep your cool, Lucy — he finally spoke. — Let me explain.


    I laughed. Bitterly. Cynically.


    — Explain what? That you store my friends’ blood like bagged drinks?


    I picked up a bag from the floor and held it up to his face.


    — Take a good look! Is it just a coincidence that there are exactly four? And that these are the initials? — My voice wavered more and more. — Read them! Don’t they look familiar? Or should I say the names out loud? Ellie…


    — Stop it! — he cut in, his voice suddenly tense.


    — Don’t let your emotions blind you! This situation… is misleading.


    I let out a hollow laugh.


    — Misleading? You really are something.


    Then I confronted him.


    — My shoes… the doctors took them off me, didn’t they?


    I looked up at him, letting the pain break through my anger.


    — My shoes. The ones Mary was wearing last night. I gave them to her because they suited her perfectly. And now…


    I felt my voice falter.


    He was silent. He looked at me with guilt, but his face remained emotionless.


    — I understand that it hurts — he stepped closer. — But you have to listen. I didn’t kill them.


    I just stared at him. Shattered.


    — I’m listening — I whispered. — Tell me something I can believe in…


    After a long, tense pause, he spoke.


    — It was the vampires.


    I froze.


    — What?


    I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.


    — Vampires? — I repeated, trying to process what he had just said.


    His gaze was steady. He truly believed it.


    — My God — I whispered. — You’re completely insane.


    I turned to leave, reaching for my phone, ready to call the police.


    That’s when I heard Hilda’s voice.


    — Sir… the police are here. At the lower gate.


    For a moment, relief washed over me. But before I could move toward the door, my uncle grabbed my wrist.


    He looked into my eyes, and in a low, firm voice, he said:


    — You have to believe me, Lucy. It was the vampires.