When my great uncle Edgar Boone purchased the House of Gravehearts in 1947, he turned it into something of a museum. He was a man of adventure, and as such he had amassed a rather bizarre collection of artifacts and oddities from the far corners of the world. My uncle had what you could call a morbid curiosity. He was a man drawn to dark places.
One of his more prized possessions was a skull from Siberia which he claimed belonged to a vampire. When I was a young boy he would regale me with bed time tales of the Vampires, Werewolves and Monsters he had killed, always while holding the skull in his lap. He had a flair for the dramatic, and he was a brilliant story teller. For that reason, I believed his stories, and his lies, for much longer than I should have.
When the news began to pour in about my Uncle, and the man he really was came to light, I didn’t want to believe it. My childhood died the day I first read about the horrible crimes he had committed. It was then that I learned that only certain aspects of my Uncle Edgars stories, were true. For example, that skull was real, it just wasn’t a vampire.