Chapter Text
“So... since you ask me for a tale of my adventures in Styria, I suppose there are a few that come to mind. How I hunted the Snark in the forests of Lake Volchick; the revolution amongst the deermen of the great forest; my torrid affair with – ah, but no. Tonight, I shall tell you the story of a wild and snowy evening - a evening not unlike this one - when weary and travel-stained I trudged through the dark woods of the Lustig valley, utterly lost...”
Oh, it was a wild night! The blizzard howled around me, the snowdrifts piled higher and I began to despair. Yes, even I: Cornelius Hans Albrecht, Lugenbaron von Vordenberg, was at my wits' end. I had no shelter. My boots were soaked through. Even my trusty greatcoat, still with the remains of the piping I wore in my officer days, could not keep out the cold. Vainly I strained my vision as far as I could into the haze of snow searching for a light or perchance the silhouette of a dwelling. No such luck.
I had been in such high spirits that morning as I set out from Karnstad for the journey down to Kotex. A winter march through the Alps is never the easiest, true, but in those happy days I was young, strong and full of vim and vigour. So I had planned to spend the day descending the long valley, following the River Lustig as it flattened out from its headwaters and began to meander slightly. It was a sharp incised channel by Karnstad when I left at first light, and I had hoped that by early afternoon I would catch a glimpse of my destination as the river curled a wide U by Kotex. Such hopes had not lasted. The blizzard came in before midday and now – the light beginning to dim – I was unable to drive away the realisation that I had taken a wrong turn in the confusion of snowflakes.
But see! There between the trees – a shape! A dark, low, slinking shape. I could not see well, but for one wild moment it reminded me of the great jaguars that guarded the palace in the deep jungles of Queen Atlcoatl, most beguiling of... where was I? Yes, a black, powerful feline creature stalking between the trees. Or did the snow deceive me? For surely it was no panther, but a human figure that I saw, a young woman. I sprang forward, crying out to her. But she was gone. Nevertheless, where there is a fellow human creature, there will be aid.
I am no slouch at tracking, but the snow and the wind and the falling dusk got the better of me. Not a track did I find of woman or feline. And my dash from the path had not been the wisest of my moves in this great game of life, dear listener. With the diving through thickets and the jumping of hollows, and the slipping and tumbling in the snow, I could not say with any certainty which way was north and which south. But then again, between the trees, there was a hint of a woman-shape, a hint of a cat-shape. Well, I was not dreaming – but what manner of thing was I following that shifted shape between the curtains of snow?
But the woman, if woman she was, would be my only chance of survival. I summoned my energies, girded my loins (do not ask how) and strode forward, “Fraulein!” I cried out “fraulein!”. But not response. Still I staggered on. It may have been a mile, it may have been three. But then before me was a light. And then two, and then more. As I strove towards them they separated and became windows, windows set into a wall, the walls of a great castle.
What a place it was! Huddled against the walls of the mountain slopes with towers climbing until they disappeared into the night. A great stone bridge flew over invisible torrents below, and all was of dark rough stone. With both relief and trepidation I passed over the bridge – nobody leading my way – and hammered at a great wooden door whose iron knockers bore the forms of snarling leopards' heads. After a silence that seemed deafening, I heard iron bolts being drawn back and the portal creaked open.
“Dude!” cried the man revealed in the brightly lit hall. I was somewhat taken aback at this idiosyncratic form of greeting, and most rudely failed to reply.
“Bro, you look way too chilled - um, I mean – hey, strange traveller man! Are you lost?”
I recovered my wits and managed a none-too-fluid bow.
Good evening indeed, good sir. Yes, I am quite lost. I throw myself on your mercy”
“Oh, hey, cool, come in! Don't worry dude, we'll get you a place to stay - there's loads of space here. I'm Kirsch, and this -” he said, ushering me in and gesturing to the vast space behing the doorway, “- is Castle Hollstein”
I bowed again. “Cornelius Hans Albrecht, Lugenbaron von Vordenberg at your service.”
“No man, at your service”, he said. “I mean, I'm the servant here. This is Carm- I mean the Countess Karnstein's place. Can I take your bag?”
“Thank you – and please convey my regards to your good mistress,” I said, slipping off my pack and handing it to him.
“Will do. She's not the cheeriest lady but if I go ask her about you staying while Laura's in the room it'll be fine.” He slung my bag up onto his back and waved to a low couch on one side of the hall. “Have a sit down, I'll be back soon”.
But when he had gone I stood up at once, eager to inspect my unexpected good fortune. I stood in a large stone-flagged hall with dark wooden doors leading off left and right, and a vast stone staircase leading up to a balcony level occupied the centre of the room. The balcony too was lined with doors, and in the far corners I caught a glimpse of further, smaller staircases leading up to more floors. Between the many doors, the panelled walls were hung with heavy-framed portraits.
It was in all a good solid place, and not unlike my own family pile only a few valleys east. But as I waited for Kirsch to return, small oddities began to emerge. The carving of the bannisters and finials were strangely threatening. The theme of leopards and panthers that began with the outside doorknockers was repeated here too, and once I had started noticing them they snarled at me from every angle. So too were some of the borders and beams carved in ways that resembled bat wings more than I quite liked. And the portraits...
It is always charming to observe rows of family portraits and see the resemblances between the distant ancestors and their present descendants. But when I started on a circuit of the hall's paintings, the female figures – and they were all female figures – had a certain sameness to them. Long black hair and sharp eyebrows over piercing eyes and a disdainful mouth. I did not feel quite easy about seeing that same face in the living form of Countess Karnstein.
“Hey, Baron Vordenbro!” Kirsch had returned. “Countess said you could stay as long as you like – or at least she did after Laura made puppy eyes at her. Perry says the Shadow Room's the most recently dusted, and you don't question her on the dusting schedule. Come on!” He led me up the great staircase, then along the balcony and up a side staircase. As we emerged onto the next floor, I noted an alcove with a table upon which stood an empty mirror frame – another peculiarity to chalk up.
“Right, so this is your room,” Kirsch said, opening the door to a chamber hung with large, mostly grey tapestries, “there's a bell and everything for if you need anything. Dinner's in a couple of hours, but when I told Perry that you'd come in out of the blizzard she said she bring you up something to keep you going. Brownies if you're lucky.” And the curious-spoken manservant left.
The room was comfortable enough, but there were some curious aspects the more I came to look at it. The tapestries and hangings around the bed had seemed at first to be abstract, but as I looked at the they seemed almost to resolve themselves into hints of bones peeking out from behind foliage. There were long strikes in the wooden windowsill, the kind cats make – only far too large. More pressingly, there was a washstand and next to it a well-fitted out dressing table, but its mirrors had been removed and the frames stood empty. This was troubling - I couldn't see myself staying in a house without mirrors.
As I sat contemplating this mystery, there was a quavering 'hello?' at the door. I opened it to behold a fountain of red-gold hair flowing in curls down to two oven-glove encased hands. In the hands was a tray of brownies and looking brightly at me from above them was a thin, anxious face.
“I'm Perry, the housekeeper”, she introduced herself, “Glad you managed to escape that storm, Herr Baron. I'll arrange another place for you at dinner with the Countess, but that's not until seven, so I've brought you something to keep you going till then.”
“My dear!” I started effusively, “your hospitality is most generous. And you can call me Vordie.” She looked flustered.
“Do you have anything you need to dry out? I can take it down to the laundry room and have it pressed and ready for tomorrow?” I thanked her and handed over my greatcoat and spats.
“Tell me, Perry,” I asked as she bundled them up, “and I hope you don't think I'm being ungrateful, but why are there no mirrors in this room?” But Perry made the sign of the cross and said nothing.
“And on the stairs on the way up”, I continued, “I'm sure I saw an empty mirror frame in an alcove. Are there no mirrors in the castle at all?” But she made the sign of the very cross indeed and covered her discomfort by pushing the plate of brownies.
I was famished and bit into one eagerly. Even as an old man telling you this story, the memory brings tears to my eyes. Oh, the rapture. Not the finest concoctions of French chefs, not the rare delicacies of the Indies, not the enchanted banquets of the King of the Golden Wood could compare.
***
Dinner was already laid out as I entered the dining room. The table was large, but only three places were laid in front of a steaming tureen of stew surrounded by plates of bread, cheese, cold cuts. Two of the places were next to each other, facing across to the lonely third. One of the pair was already occupied by a young woman with brown hair casually pulling grapes from a bunch in front of her. She looked up as I came in.
“Hello!” she said, “you must be... Vordenberg. Right? Perry said you came in from the storm?”
“Indeed, your housekeeper found me at my wits end. I did not hope to be rescued into such a fine dinner with a tres charmant young lady, Countess.”
“Oh, I'm not the Countess. I'm Laura. Laura Hollis. That's you”, she added pointing at the unaccompanied place at table. “And that's the countess”, pointing at the empty seat next to her.
I sat at the place she indicated, facing her. Kirsch appeared from behind me and placed a bottle of wine beside me. I offered the bottle to Laura, but she waved me away.
“But I'll take some,” drawled a low woman's voice from behind me. Immediately Laura stood up and beamed. I arose also and turning, saw a slight woman with long dark hair and sharp eyes move languidly toward us.
“Hey!” Laura greeted her with enthusiasm, and received the same response in Carmilla's own register.
“Countess, good evening,” I bowed. She managed an offhand salute in my direction.
“So you're the latest of the lost creatures Laura's brought in?” she said with a raise of the eyebrow. Laura frowned at her.
“Be nice, Carm,” she chided. Carmilla sulked a little, but nonetheless came forward to shake my hand before sitting next to Laura. She scooted her own chair a little closer to Carmilla's – I thought I divined one of those close friendships the English call being 'gal pals' – such a charming custom.
“It is most kind of you to shelter me, Countess,” I said as we began eating. She shrugged but said nothing. I wondered whether she was entirely healthy. He skin was pale, her manner loose, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Nonetheless, she was very beautiful, and I saw the strong family resemblance to the many other women in the portraits of the hall.
“And what a beautiful castle!”, I exclaimed in an effort to keep the conversation going. “and yet so remote for a pair of young ladies. Do you not find yourself deprived of company?”
“Oh we find all sorts of things to do up here”, said Carmilla with a sidelong glance at Laura, who blushed. Carmilla yawned widely. Definitely fatigued, I thought. Perhaps a remote castle is a blessing in such a condition – a perfect rest cure.
“And are you a visitor here too, Fraulein Hollis?” I asked.
“Oh no, I live here”, she said.
“You're of the Karnstein family?” I asked, then realised I had made a mistake when I saw a flicker on her face. “Your pardon, I did not mean to intrude.” Carmilla raised an eyebrow,
“No, it's alright. My mother died when I was young. My father's health is poor, so he went to Italy for the climate... Carmilla offered me a place here”
“A most generous offer, Countess. But I would expect nothing less, given your kindness to me”
“Could hardly chuck you out in the blizzard, Vordie,” said Carmilla with an eye roll. Laura giggled, then to cover the lull asked me about my travels. I launched into an explanation of my nomadic existence, wandering from place to place in search of adventure. She was a bright, energetic girl: just the thing to lift the spirits of her ailing companion.
“... and then when I was sixteen, my father took me to London and there was a great glass palace that they built in one of the parks, and...” I allowed her to talk on, but my mind was beginning to slow down from the tiredness and the food and the wine. When I inadvertent yawned, Carmilla finally spoke up:
“I think the Baron might need to be let alone, cupcake. He marched through a blizzard today.”
“Oh gosh, I'm so sorry!” burst out Laura. “I'm all talking on, and you're tired and-”
“And if the weather doesn't improve, he will stay with us for a few more days, so don't tell him your whole life now. Leave some for tomorrow, cutie.” She yawned again.
I rose, bowed to them both, and took my leave. It seemed the Countess wished to go to bed also, to judge from her slumping.
***
I awoke with a start from a fitful dream in which I, as an old man, hobbled into a large house helped by the young lady Laura. She sat me down in a chair and began to question me about... a newspaper? A university? A board... but the dream faded as dreams do.
I could hear something outside. Not the blowing of wind that lulled me into my dreams, nor the distant cried of owls and night birds that were the ordinary accompaniment of nights in Styria, but something like footsteps. I rose slowly, carefully. How did I know not to make noise, I wonder? Perhaps the fabled Sixth Sense of the Van Tassels – my mother's family, you know. I used to hear the most fabulous stories about Aunt Gretchin, how she... but I am getting distracted. I arose silently as I said, and padded to the window. With a slow but very slow movement I pushed open the shutter just a little and looked out into the courtyard.
The night, it seemed, was almost over. No sunrise yet, but the faint green-blue glow that precedes the true dawn. The battlements of Castle Hollstein were taking on shape and form around me, and I could see from the gentle direction of the light that my window faced east. And with shutter open, I could hear the source of the footsteps.
There was someone down there, standing on the flags. She – I though it was a she – was tall, and pale with long slender limbs. There she stood, silent and almost white in the deepest of blues that surrounded her. For a while everything was still. And then she began to sway. She bent forward, and reached out to her front. Her arms withdrew, then reached up. And then again: forward, backward, upwards. And again.
Her movements grew more complex. She strode forward, turned, stepped, spun. And then this pale figure seemed to leap around the courtyard, twirling and flowing, her limbs outthrown. As she turned away from me, I could see her hair was long but tied back – there was maybe the faintest hint of red.
Those long white limbs dancing unseen with no partner; those quiet feet; the icy temperature that seemed hardly to affect her. That unearthly grace. It could mean but one thing: this was no living woman, but a spectre. A ghostly remnant of some lost lady, dancing still long years after her partner had ceased to take her in his arms. No doubt the courtyard had once been the scene of balls in the fine summer months. What had happened to her, and how long ago? Was this a happy memory to which she returned, or the scene of her unhappy end? I steeled myself: there was only one way to find out. If I were quick I could reach the courtyard before the light grew much stronger. Somehow I felt sure (the Sixth Sense of Aunt Gretchin again, who knows?) she would not linger as the light grew. Quickly but as quietly as I could I left the room.
Down the stairs to the main landing, my bare feet light on the carpet. I was about to step down the first stair to the ground floor when a cry met my ears. I froze. After a second of stillness, I cast my eyes around. Nobody presented themselves to my gaze. Then a murmur – no, two murmurs in two different voices. All thought of the pale woman suddenly out of my mind, I moved towards the source of the sound. Just of the left of the main staircase was a pair of great wooden doors. As I crept closer I could hear the whispering resolve itself into quiet voices: the voices, I began to realise, of the Countess Karnstein and Fraulein Hollis.
Was I right to listen closer? We Vordenbergs are no sneaks, we have our pride. And yet how glad I am that I did so.
“... it's alright, Carm. It was just a bad dream. I'm here, see?”
“I know, it's... she was there, standing right over me, closing the lid-” Carmilla seemed shaken, afraid. “And then I woke up, and you were right over me”
“It's fine, I understand.” Laura's voice was sad, full of concern. “But I'm real. And she's faded away”
“You're pretty unreal yourself, cupcake. Sometimes I think I just dreamt you.” There was a giggle.
“Then you dreamt up a very b-, ah b-” Suddenly Laura sneezed, “-ful lady, didn't you?” She managed to finish. They both laughed, Laura's high-pitched giggle mixing with Carmilla's lower and softer tone.
“There's a adjective I haven't heard before,” said Carmilla. “So what does one do, I wonder, when a 'bloofer' lady appears in one's room at night?” There was a rustling as of shifting bedcovers. “Oh, I see. She appears to be quite predatory...”
“She might,” whispered Laura, her voice more intense, less playful now, “eat you up!”
“Oh, you think you're the one with fangs and the whole creature-of-the-night thing, do you?”
“Like you don't have that spot on your neck where you like-”
There was more whispering out of my hearing range. Part of me felt I was overhearing something private, some girlish joke with which Laura comforted her friend. And yet what had brought her into Carmilla's room in the first place? Carmilla's nightmare had not woken her loudly. But the conversation had lost coherence and I could only catch fragments.
“Laura, please don't s-”
“Come over to me-”
“No you don't, you useless le-”
One of the two gave a strangled cry. And then there was a confusion of incoherent sound, almost like fighting and Carmilla hissed:
“-king get on with it! Oh, you suck at being a vampire...”
The word resounded in the chamber of my soul. It could not be, it could not be-
“I want to hear you beg me to eat you, Carmilla”, said Laura with unmistakeable relish.
It was.
Vampyren! The little grey cells were working at last. The Countess so weary and pale at dinner: the very symptoms of blood loss. Laura Hollis, apparently a young unmarried woman – but no family or governess to be seen. The strange position of equality she seemed to take with the Countess – oh, she had some hold over the poor woman, I should have seen!
But why did not Carmilla try an escape? Surely, during the daylight hours when vampires are less effective, she could make it to Karnstad. One of the servants – at least one would believe her tale.
Or perhaps when Carmilla awoke again, the dreamed horrors and the real would fade into each other, and she would not believe that any of it happened. And I had no doubt at all that the horrid dreams that plagued Carmilla at night were but another part of Laura's trickery – how convenient that the persecuting figure of the nightmare faded into the seemingly helpful little Laura, a turn of the screw that trapped her all the more closely.
Though it broke my heart to leave dear Carmilla to the mercy of Laura's vicious hungers, I would need a plan if I were not to become vampire food myself. Despite the horrors that would no doubt lie ahead, I knew I must keep myself calm. Fraulein Hollis was an undead fiend who entrapped innocent ladies for her nefarious ends, the castle was haunted by the ghosts of dancing past and I, Cornelius Hans Albrecht, Lugenbaron von Vordenberg was the only hope...
“A brandy, you say? I shall hardly refuse! And then when we have been fortified, I shall tell you how I set about hatching my plans for the rescue of Carmilla Karnstein, what I found in the highest tower, and how the mystery deepened yet further.”