Vlad is a name that is very common where I live. To be called Vlad is not to suggest in any way that you may be blood thirsty or evil intending.  It’s possible that your parents just imagined that one day you would grow up to be strong, powerful, and above all, brave.

Say the name Vlad to someone outside Romania, on the other hand, and the image is of someone entirely of the wrong sort.

Which type of Vlad this is – the strong brave Vlad or the Vlad seeking the bad in everything – is for the reader to decide at the end of this tale.

This story was told me by a very reliable man, an English teacher no less, and a man who was there at the time. I see no reason to doubt the truth of this tale.

The year was 1938, the month was November. The winter chill had not yet fully settled. The leaves on the trees were still clinging on for the most part, as deep and brown as they were. Vlad was not troubled by the leaves as he walked down Strada Rosetti and was turning into Strada Boteanu to attend his evening class at the British Council.

Vlad had signed up for the proficiency classes. His English was already very good, but he sought perfection. He had heard that the classes at the Council were just the thing to help, and in particular the teacher, Mr S. Trict.

Unfortunately, for Vlad, while the teacher met all the standards expected of an expert in tuition, the same could not be said of the dedication to study that Vlad presented.

At the end of each class Professor S. Trict presented three pages of homework to be studied, and would assign a couple of pages of reading from The Times. Vlad would always have a million other things to do which would cause him to be sitting in class still trying to catch up as the professor entered. Meanwhile, during the lessons, Vlad would forever be distracted, either dreaming of the potato stew he was going to eat that evening or the pretty girl in the row behind him and how he was going to woo her.

Unfortunately, Vlad found it hard to see his own faults and was quite sure that he deserved better than the Cs and Ds he was receiving for his work. He had asked the professor about his marks, but had been treated poorly in his eyes, apparently the professor thought he was lucky to have not been kicked out of the class, so poor was his effort!

So Vlad decided that if he wasn’t going to receive the grades he should, then the only thing to do was to award the grades himself.

He had noticed that the records of student performance were kept in the basement cellar. While the door to the records room was to hard to budge, there was another way in – a small window that could be found at the back of the building. Once he had slid in through this window he could find his file and alter the records. Simple!

It was a particularly chilly night the one that Vlad chose to execute his plan. Luckily the chill wind kept the guard safely in his hut and away from the building. Vlad was able to pass unseen. He went immediately to the rear of the building and there he was able to easily prise open the window.

What Vlad had not accounted for was that the drop from the window was greater than he thought, rather than the couple of meters he imagined, it was more like ten.  As he tried to work out how he could safely close the window and then drop to the floor without injury, he lost his grip. He crashed violently on the stiff concrete surface, and was in great pain. Blood was flowing from his injured leg.

He wanted to cry out, but how could he? What was to be the explanation for having been in the cellar? He hoped that the bleeding would stop, and with it the pain. Then in the morning he would slip out the door when the cleaning lady came to tidy up. He had to concentrate and find his records and change the grades! That was what he was here for, he was this close, he mustn’t fail now.

However, each time he tried to stand, he felt fainter. When he tried to drag his body across the room, the pain was unbearable. After a couple of hours he had to give up, he would have to call for help no matter the humiliation. But it was a cold night and there was no one outside to hear him. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, there may be someone in the office. If he tapped along the metal pipes, the sound would echo into the office and someone would come to investigate.

However, he was mistaken, everyone had gone home early that day to escape the expected snow.

Vlad was in despair. His body was growing fainter and fainter. The blood wouldn’t stop. He had to lie down. If he would just sleep a few hours, his strength would return, he was sure. Yes, sleeping, that was what was to be done!

And sleep he did. Indeed Vlad is still sleeping, though occasionally he awakens just long enough to tap on a few pipes, to make a few distorted noises hoping that someone will come and find him. But no one has ever found him – alive.

From time to time a student will be brave and try and answer Vlad’s calls today, but we don’t recommend it.