We were there early, me and Samantha. Mother was really happy to meet her, and dad was, as usual not impressed. Samantha was all smile, her pretty blue eyes lighting up while looking around my familly's house. We sat around the dinner table, with grandma and grandpa. They are from Romania. Our familly moved in america in 1945, after WWII. They are very nice and welcoming to everybody, warm and charming usually, but this time, each time i try to cheer them up, they just ignore me and look at Samantha with a strange glaze.

-So where do you come from, Samantha ? Finally ask my grandpa.

• Only from here, Philadelphia, we met at the museum while your son was guiding us through the exibitions.

-I mean, where do you come from, you Zblarta ! Spit out grandma. We are all shocked by her reaction, the violence in her tone. What's happening ? Samantha look unmoved. She put her hand on my knee, as to ask me to calm down.

-What is a Zblarta ? She asks charmingly.

-It is what you are, a creature of the devil, a monster who creeps at night to steal the masculine power of young virgins ! We know what you are demon, and what you want from our grandson.

She makes a cross sign and begins to speak in romanian, nearly shouting at my girlfriend s face. I start to stand up to protest, but the grip from samantha's hand on my knee get so strong that i feel her fingers nearly cutting trew my upper leg's flesh, it is so painful i start to wheep. At my left, Samantha's face is not looking human anymore. She has became some sort of nightmare. A monstruous, terrifying mass of deliquescent rotting flesh, with big teeth and a disgustingly long tongue, hugging my other leg under the table.

-The boy is mine ! It screams. My grand mother faints. My grandpa is nowhere to be seen. At the door of the dinning room, my parents look at us in shock, pale as ghosts. She slowly turns toward me. Slowly she says :

-It will only hurt for a few minutes, love...

I close my eyes. A loud BANG makes me open them again. There is no monster anymore. Only bits of rotting flesh everywhere. I turn around. Grandad has retrieved his shotgun from WWII. Did not know it was still functionning. I stutter :

-Thanks, grandpa... -No problem grandson, but not more Zblarta at home, grandma won't survive it.