The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

“Religion is the enemy,” the director of the Securitate
said, and that was the Communist Party line through and
through. “It distracts man from his social obligations and
diverts his loyalty from the state. Witchcraft is especially heinous.”
Now, here he was, on his way to see for himself
whether witches really met at midnight. And if they did, he
was to report back to headquarters. After that...
“We are close,” the driver said.
The road rounded a harrowing hairpin curve and
there, in the distance, Zela rose on its hill, a tight cluster
of ancient European buildings along a narrow cobblestone
street. In the flats lands leading up to it, lone cottages rotted
in the twilight. An old wooden bridge carried the road across
a lazily stagnate river; from there, the road began to rise.
On the right, an old woman in a headscarf forked hay into a
wooden carriage. She stopped to watch as they passed.
His official story was that he was a college student
from Targoviste touring the countryside. If pressed further,
he was to profess a love for the novel Dracula, which was
partially set in Transylvania. That would, the Securitate
hoped, allay suspicions, as Dracula was banned by the Communist
Party. If his favorite novel is one that is banned, they
reasoned, people will trust him not to be a government agent.
But people, even peasants, aren’t so easily fooled.
Not always. What was one small lie from a government that
told many, big lies? And would they accept him as a college
student? Though he was young and fresh by agency standards,
he was still close to thirty. It was true that he had a
boyish face, but could he pass as twenty-two?
Presently, the car entered the shadow of Zela. On
either side, brick and wood structures loomed, blocking out
the remaining light of day. A few people moved sluggishly
along the sidewalks, bags of groceries in their arms. Their
clothes were old and threadbare, their faces hard and weath-
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