 
A PARISH DARKER: A VICTORIAN SUSPENSE NOVELLA

By Rhys Ermire

Smashwords Edition

Copyright (C) 2016 Rhys Ermire

All rights reserved.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

EPILOGUE

# CHAPTER I

The lens through which I am to assess the world remains infinitely clouded even a score and some odd years following that incident of which I have scarcely spoken. All that I have seen and all that will be for you, me, and all else is now tainted. Questioning what is and what is not has become my most common of hobbies. Such a predominant pastime is it that it has conjured the urge to take to the drink more than would be considered remotely healthy. That therapeutic solace is what now serves as my sole motivation for finally gathering the mettle to put this pen to paper.

This story begins with an admitted familiarity—in a model scenario that will suggest it to be a work of fiction meant to tantalize and summon feelings of unease and discontent. The circumstances may suggest itself as conversant ones but I assure you there is much more of which you are to soon learn than you can presently imagine.

It is only now, two decades on, that I feel secure in recounting with precision all that occurred that evening in 1891 at the estate of the esteemed Lechner von Savanberg, heir to much fortune and goodwill in not only Austrian but even the most prestigious European circles. For reasons that will become clear, I have long questioned whether such a tale is one for which the world is ready. After considerable deliberation, I have left it only to my memoirs, enabling those entrusted with this account to decide if others are ready for what is inevitably soon to become an important and irreversible part of their history.

The series of events that introduced me to the incident I am to describe began with my choice of work. In my youth, upon returning from marine work on a fishing vessel, I took to working in resolving estates with my dear uncle Treymark. A man of great means but endless frugality, he instilled in me many traits with the chief amongst them being dedication to labor. His business carried out many deeds with relation to wills and testaments and it was through this practice that I was granted my first assignment onto the continent.

The nature of my task was executing an elderly gentleman's last testament, an undertaking for which we were unusually well compensated and given a bundled parcel that it was ordered we deliver and not open. The gentleman, who shall go nameless for the purposes of this record, had recently passed following a bout of heart trouble and had curiously left his possessions, including substantial property stakes in the very fiscally valuable London market sector, to a benefactor outside the country. In accordance with his wishes, we attempted to make contact with the named party but to no avail. Local agents in the same line of work refused on whatever grounds to aid us in any way. I was then swiftly dispatched from my London home to the south of Austria to meet with Baron Lechner von Savanberg in order to personally inform him of all that had been left to his name following the recent passing from which he stood to inherit much.

My departure came shortly thereafter on the 23rd of September, 1891, a Wednesday under a charred, moorish sky even at the peak of daylight. The travel over the channel and into France was uneventful if tiring, followed by my arrival in Paris early on the 25th. There I boarded the Orient Express for the journey into the Germanic territories, passing through Strasbourg and Munich prior to my disembarking at the station in Vienna. Some long nights and respectable efforts at travel dining later, I was on the cusp of arriving at my destination.

With regard to sharing what soon came of my journey, only once did I previously dare endeavor to speak candidly of this most extraordinary encounter. The audience for the tale was Morse Cottingley, of Devonshire. Those reading with familiarity to my person will recognize the name as one with which I have often been positively associated. A long-term confidant and colleague of inscrutable discern and conviction, it was with a troubled mind that I confided in him what had ailed me going on eight months following my return from abroad. My uncharacteristic reclusion had brought him to my door on an unseasonably cold eve at the first opportunity. It was early into the recounting of my journey that he stopped me abruptly with physical concern.

"My heavens, Edwin," he called out with one hand bracing his chair and the other my wrist, "I must urge you visit a doctor this instant! Surely you have contracted a fever on those travels of yours? What you say now are not words of any sane man. I have seen a good deal of people locked up and sent off to be studied for less than half of what I hear from you now!"

His frantic disposition after hearing only a small portion of my experience led to a prompt end of my story. The typically gentle Morse's grip tightened on both my person and the chair holding him in place as he continued to speak with increasing worry even after I went silent. Curious as he was at the onset, so alarmed and startled by even the beginnings of the account was he that we did not see one another again for nearly three years. It was only the occasion of his daughter's wedding that we were to again correspond, but I could not dismiss the notion that he believed me to be mad even then.

As the driver at the helm of the carriage steered down paths in all directions of beaten brush, I could sense the horses' fatigue in our slowing pace. The road was especially coarse in spots with healthy overgrowth on all sides. It was evident to me that few had occasion to travel there, and this suspicion was soon confirmed by the driver upon a break midway.

"I was surprised at you wanting to come out here," said he with a strong German accent but a surprising command of English. "Apart from the occasional groundskeepers and food couriers, I don't recall there being an invited guest around these parts."

"I come from London to deliver news of much benefit to the Baron," said I. "He has come into some fortune following the passing of a relative."

The driver's face grimaced as he heaved a spoiled apple from his pack into the brush. "I've lived here for the past twenty-eight years with my wife and now my son, a newborn. There are very few of us here, so it's no surprise the Baron keeps much to himself in that old castle. I mean not speak ill of the man for that as he has been generous in the past."

I knew little of the Baron save for his name. "Generous, you say? How so?"

My escort for the evening was a man of character and fortitude. Wrinkles on his sun-tested skin suggested a life full of activity and outdoor labor, but there was no weariness to be seen despite his old age and brittle, light-colored hair.

"There was an elderly man who had stumbled out onto these paths some eight months ago." The driver removed another apple from his sack and took a bite for himself prior to feeding the remainder to one of his two horses. "He appeared to be in a disturbed state and hadn't been nourished for days on end. Plenty of tourists lose their step out here, so it's never been uncommon to find the odd traveler on this road. But, you see, most are still in proper condition, merely a few hours from town, readily making their way back without much event. This old gentleman, though, was at death's door, or so it seemed to me.

"I was still some distance from home when I found him lying on the path near here. Save for the odd mumble, he said precious little. As I was deciding what to do with him, I was greeted by ruffles further down the path. To my amazement, out from the dark came none other than the Baron himself! The shock of that sight alone sent my heart for a leap. The Baron had served as a military man, a doctor, in his youth, so when he emerged from the dusk on horseback, I counted my blessings that the man may have few worries left about getting back on his way."

The tale of an unfamiliar visitor lost on these lonesome trails was enough to caution me against late night walks into the nether. "What happened to the poor gentleman?"

"After the Baron arrived and saw the dehydration and that worrisome look, a room at the castle was offered as lodging for the night," replied the driver. "I've seen many a kind act in my day, but few so good as that. The Baron took him in for the night and gave him good food and water, I'd heard later. The next morning, the Baron had said the guest left without so much as a shake of the hand. I didn't get a good look at him, but by his dress, I assumed him a foreigner. You don't expect a man to be so un-obliging."

Before long, we had set back out on the trail with only a half-hour remaining to the castle. The driver wished to be home before dark, but with dusk settling in as a blanket over the remaining parchment of sunlight, that became increasingly unlikely.

# CHAPTER II

Situated in the romantic crest of the Austrian countryside, the Castle Savanberg was among the most remarkable sights the eyes could behold. Save for the narrow path leading up the gradual incline to the gates that culminated in a strategic hilltop abode, the estate was surrounded on all sides by expansive, unending forest. The deep green of the leaves hanging from the trees served in stark contrast to the parched vanilla of the castle's stone exterior. Lit torches illuminated the gate through which we passed and hung to each side of the sturdy, ornamental entrance that appeared as if it could withstand the pressing of a hundred men.

Seeming at times a stronghold and others a summer home, the castle was one of modest size but immense value, as both a formative capital investment and an architectural milestone. To one side was an empty but proper stable for horses that did not appear to have seen recent use. The grounds, while not faultlessly well-kept, exhibited a sort of minimal overgrowth on the windows that nonetheless suggested a certain order or discipline to their upkeep. The accompanying silence greeting the ears would be one to rival deafness, with no other dwellings or indications of civilization within eye-or-earshot.

Disembarking from the carriage, I parted with a gratuity for the driver and waved him on. My sole possessions at the time were the clothes on my back and the briefcase containing my change of wardrobe and parcel for our client. My gray overcoat and hat of similar makeup had become a darker shade with the dust accumulated on the trip, though I hoped the Baron would not hold as much against me.

As I approached the door, I turned to see the carriage in which I had arrived steadily melding with the dark at the bottom of the hill. I confess I had an unsettling feeling even then. Be it the darkness or the lack of human presence, a foreboding began to entangle my mind with my stomach as I placed my bag next to the door and began to knock.

The stealthy flickers of embers sparking from the torches on either side of the entryway were the only sounds to be heard, until in one split moment the locks holding the door together had been undone with the incessant ringing of metal scarring. When the double doors split into two separate halves, emerging from between them was the host whose attention I had come to request.

"Welcome, my dear guest, to the Castle Savanberg!" Each word was accentuated with the tone and delivery one would expect only of nobility. Though punctuated with a studied mastery of the language, hints of a man who spoke primarily German were evident in the gaps between his words. "I confess I did not expect you until deeper into the night. You must forgive my tardiness in welcoming you inside. Please, do come here. A chill has set in. Hints of a dire winter to come, surely, would you not say?"

I would soon recognize this anecdotal manner of speech a steadfast characteristic of my host. His barbed cheekbones, pointed as daggers, dared not flinch at even the broadest expression.

"Baron von Savanberg, I presume? It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," I said as I offered my hand with my briefcase in tow. "My name is Edwin Ramsett. I've come to—"

No sooner had I started my introduction did the Baron take my hand and lead me further inside. "Never fear, I know all of which you are to say. I am indeed Baron Lechner von Savanberg, the resident of this castle and your host for the evening. We have all the world's time with which to share pleasantries, so please do me the honor of making yourself at home."

There was hastiness to everything the Baron did apart from his dress. Even the slightest wrinkle in his intricate suits seemed intentional. His broad shoulders upheld his dark waistcoat that I learned quickly was characteristic for him. Save for a maroon vest underneath and its fitted golden buttons, the Baron nearly exclusively donned the darkest of colors, most frequently those tinted charcoal.

As I removed my coat with his aid, the Baron took my arm and led me from the entrance to the stairwell just adjacent the door. "Come, my friend! There is time for everything in this world except for the waste of it. It is not often, you see, that I have a guest. We shall feast! We shall talk about everything over dinner. I have prepared a roast, one that is the very best in Europe—nay, the world. It is one whose recipe you shall wish to steal."

His enthusiasm was amusing, soliciting a laugh from me as he spoke so excitedly. "I assure you, Baron, I wouldn't dare—"

"No but I insist, you see! I insist that you will. It is the very best."

A man of the Baron's size—quite thin but more than average in height—would not be one from which to expect such a friendly disposition. Of his most remarkable traits was his whisky black hair that gave way to speckles of gray flakes that had no doubt come with age. This characteristic was likewise present on his thick brows that curved well along his considerable forehead and just to the sides of each eye.

Despite his strong vestige and capable and swift movements, I estimated the Baron to be in his late-forties. The rings under his eyes painted a picture all their own, of a man that seldom slept more than necessary and instead spent much time in dim light. The grayness in his thin eyes made it difficult to discern much, though they were well settled between the thick arches of his nose.

Soon we were upon the stairwell, ascending its dozen steps and entering the second floor of the castle. The structure had doubtlessly seen a number of residents in its age that numbered at least in the centuries.

"This castle is splendid," I said to the Baron as we entered the upper hallway. "I confess I have never visited such a place in my life."

"It is lovely, yes?" came my host, hand upon my shoulder as we moved along. "The age has no doubt occurred to you already. The base structure was constructed sometime in the twelfth century as a stronghold during the Investiture uprising. The high ground was deemed suitable for a strategic foothold and so it was. After serving many purposes, from getaways to dignitaries from all ends of Europe and even briefly as a prison for the criminally untenable, it has seen its share of human history. The castle came into my family three generations prior, having been restored and repurposed in all possible respects."

I admired the large paintings that provided scale to the pillars throughout the long hall outside of each room as we passed. "A place of this size, you surely do not tend to it alone?"

"There is help that I require occasionally, but for the most part it is only myself tasked with its upkeep," said Baron von Savanberg as he gently led me into what was meant to be a dining room but appeared in many ways to be a banquet hall.

The long table suitable for seating at least two dozen men and women was impeccably furnished—not one utensil was even a centimeter out of place with those to either of its sides. Though it could have served a dinner to a royal family without contest, the table was to only have two diners that night.

"This castle is so large that even I have not uncovered all of its many secrets," said the Baron, pulling out for me my seat and motioning for me to join him. "As a boy I found my way into what you may call a cave in this language. Just out there in the garden. It may well have been founded by those prisoners once incarcerated here in their attempts to escape."

The Baron's speech grew more elegant as I came to see adaptation as a particular skill of his. Should I speak in a certain manner that even in the slightest way came in a more naturalistic tone or inflection by comparison, he would swiftly take it on as his own.

It was not only his dress and speech that I found impressive. So, too, was his skill within the kitchen. As I seated myself and undid the tablecloth onto my lap, the Baron removed the cover on our main course for the evening: a roast of undeniable delicacy, one so appeasing in sight and smell that even the eyes watered for it alongside the mouth. The Baron seated himself at the head of the table, inviting me to sit just to his right.

As a host, I had no complaints with Baron von Savanberg and his penchant for limitless amenities and courtesy. When my drink would be the slightest bit empty, no sooner would his hand be reaching for the bottle. Even in the few occasions I had visited the highest class of restaurant in London, such service was a rarity.

"Baron, I must say that you are the most gracious host I have had the pleasure of meeting," I said while taking a drink of the exquisite champagne he had fashioned for the occasion. "I am surprised, with your sophistication and good manner, that there is not a Mrs. von Savanberg joining us."

The Baron titled his own glass, swirling its contents, as he paused and stared ahead. "There are things that you will no doubt understand with time, Edwin. Time is the great instructor, the great teacher. To an old man like myself, it is also a most relentless enemy." My host lifted his glass to meet mine, offering a toast. "May we both live long and healthy, my friend."

Baron Lechner von Savanberg's words came with genuine determination and enthusiasm. Though we had only known each other such a short while, I could not deny the unmistakable sense of camaraderie we shared even in those early hours.

#  CHAPTER III

The castle's long halls forged of stone were not crafted with acoustics in mind. Soon after finishing our meal, the Baron continued the tour of his vast home, all during which rain pattered against the candle-lit window panes with incessant frequency.

Following dinner was a very brief moment for assorting my things in the room set aside for my stay. The chief fixture inside that immediately caught the eye was a bed far too large for one occupant—one made from the finest oak and clothed in the most illustrious and ornate fabrics. A pair of windows faced away from the doorway, with the usual amenities of closet, chair, desk, and drawers that one may expect from a guestroom. A well-kept and soundly-equipped toiletry area was likewise included.

No sooner had I finished my unpacking and surveying of my quarters did the Baron return to continue familiarizing me with his home. We viewed several rooms, omitting some choice others that the Baron mentioned being under renovation. It was then that he suggested visiting his library, which he assured would not disappoint.

An avid reader since boyhood, I have seen many an archive with my own eyes, but none as enviable as that found downstairs in the west wing of Castle Savanberg. All was impeccably organized, with works in Spanish, English, German, Russian, Japanese, Chinese and other tongues occupying the wall with shelves split between two levels. A spiral staircase waited at the end of the room that led upward to the second level of the library, with a variety of furniture waiting on the bottom level near a paneled window that spanned the full vertical space of the large room. Couches waited opposite one another on a Persian rug, with three chairs of equal worth and comfort completing a semi-circle—all with complete view of the expansive garden outside the window.

As I scanned the vast collection, I said to the Baron as he followed behind me, hands crossed behind his back, "This is no doubt the most impressive private collection I have ever seen. You have here so many classic works in so many languages. Surely you are not well-spoken in all of them?"

"And never a translation!" said he with some degree of pride.

Admittedly skeptical, I scanned the many rows of the first wall to confirm. "It does appear you are right, Baron. You are not saying you learn a language before reading its translations?"

"Never mind a translation," said the Baron. "These books you see are for learning. No translation will ever convey all that is intended by a man's words as he and those of his ilk understand them. Approximating the meaning of a word or a phrase in a foreign language will always be merely that—an approximation."

I took a book in Russian from the shelf, which, judging by early illustrations inside, referred to abstract machinations and advanced engineering beyond my capability or comprehension. The Baron continued as I did, saying, "In places along the Orient, there exist a dozen greetings for what survives in two or three variants in English. Some depend on the time of day, others on to the recipient of your greeting. Minimizing such communication to a single word as we understand it does the very living, breathing entity that is human communication a grave disservice."

Learning more of the Baron put me at ease at the prospect of staying in such a beautiful yet ominous place for the night, so far from other civilization. "Do you have any interest in the sciences, Edwin?"

I shook my head, carefully replacing the book on the shelf. "I'm afraid I have never had the mind for it."

"My father was a man of science," said he with his hand resting on my upper back as he led me around. "He was of a great many interests, and languages one of them—often we spoke in English even when amongst our kin—but it was only science that truly captivated him. 'The world around us,' he once told me, 'is one of limited space yet infinite opportunity. You have only a short time with which to explore its recesses.' I was unsure what it was he meant in my youth, but with age comes wisdom, yes?"

The Baron led me along the walls of the multi-layered shelves, occasionally mentioning favorites that especially captured his attention. The variety was compelling in itself, with works of biology, botany, and medicine surrounded by works on industrial designs and mechanics in a multitude of languages. One entire shelf had been devoted to various disciplines of atmospheric science.

"It was my father that coerced me into the military in my youth, and though I mean not speak ill of the dead," said my host, "my heart was never in it. The wiles of the natural world hold more importance than the fledgling politics of man, do you not agree?"

Baron Lechner had asked of me a great many questions on that first night, many rhetorical as they were. Following my journey of many days without proper rest, the weariness of both my mind and body must have become readily apparent.

"Surely you will forgive me for being such an inconsiderate host. You have come all this way only to serve only as audience to my rambling!" Baron Lechner von Savanberg patted my shoulder and led me back toward the entrance of the library with haste.

The relief came through in my voice, though it was not my intention. "Thank you, Baron, for all your hospitality. This is a visit I shall not forget."

"Come, dear boy. Tomorrow, we shall finish our tour and conduct our business. Sleep and a good meal are most important—true requisites of fine health. While under my watch, you shall receive only the best of both."

# CHAPTER IV

My mind had seldom felt the fatigue of that first night at Castle Savanberg. The long travel had taken a physical and mental toll unlike any other, leaving me only the desire to sleep once the Baron escorted me back to my room. I gave no thought to drawing the curtains by the windows to shield from the moonlight, instead feeling some solace in its company as thunder ravaged the sky in brief but furious discharges. Flashes of lightning seemed inevitable given the circumstances.

Partial recollections are all I have of what then transpired that night. I recall quickly shuffling into my nightclothes and falling onto the bed in exhaustion. The quilt under which I slept was comfortable—made of thick, breathing wool—and the bed sizable and accommodating.

Some are known to confuse their dreams with reality, unable to separate that which occurs in sleep with the oft-chaotic happenings of waking hours. For one single moment that night, I feared I had become one of them, but soon realized my eyes and mind were not there to deceive but instead alert.

I had not been asleep for long when I felt a presence near me, over me, and with me. Paralyzed, I remained still. I remain unconvinced that even breathing took place in those early moments. The presence, taking the form of a silhouette, stared down onto the bed. As my eyes began to adjust to the black of night, the situation became direr in my mind's eye than initially thought.

It was the double-handed axe by the side of the figure that soon became the most apparent fixture in the dark room. The gleaming of the long, well-worn blade halted me into submission.

After observing me in that pale darkness momentarily, my peripheral vision revealed the figure to be joining me by resting against the edge of the bed. I remained on my side, lying only in wait.

An eternity of uncertainty followed. The axe, too, found its way onto the bedding with the dull side pressing against my chest. Moonlight pierced through the windows, leading to a gleaming of the blade.

As I waited to decide my next move, in the many minutes of silence, it was only when a hand was firmly placed on my shoulder that I took action. When the grip fastened and the figure leaned over me, I shot up to place my back against the headboard.

"Oh, Edwin! I did not mean to startle you."

"Baron!" I exclaimed, catching my breath. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night!"

He only patted my shoulder, saying, "I came to check on your well-being. You see, bands of gypsies occasionally find their way onto these grounds. On more than one occasion, they have intruded into the premises, likely in search of food and whatever they may sell. I thought I heard one of them rummaging in the house and felt it best to check on my dear guest most of all. From experience, when they see a weapon like my old firewood axe they tend to take to their heels."

Relieved, I sighed and waved concern from my host. "It is all well. I was just startled, that is all."

"Dear boy, please do get some proper rest now," said the Baron as he lifted himself onto his feet. "I fear it was only my imagination this once."

Despite Baron von Savanberg's reassurances, it was not until daybreak that I again closed my eyes for any sort of rest. When the sun finally rose, and the pulsing in my chest ceased, I slouched back into bed and drifted off to sleep for a number of hours, and many more than intended.

By the time I woke, the sun was in full glow. Unsure if the strange encounter in the night was the product of a tired mind or an uncomfortable reality, I pulled myself from bed and made my way to the exit. There, pinched into place by the door and frame, was a folded note prepared with utter neatness:

My dear friend,

Accept my apologies for last night's disturbance. Regrettably, I have pressing matters to which I must attend this morning. Please help yourself to the small breakfast I have prepared in the dining hall. I will return early in the evening so that we may properly dine together.

Baron Lechner von Savanberg

As expected of one with a royal upbringing, the Baron's penmanship was inscrutable and amongst the finest I had ever seen. His peculiar speech, likewise, was reflected in his written word. Most peculiar to me was my host leaving me full agency of his illustrious castle in which he took such pride. I admit even now to feeling some flattery at the prospect.

The small breakfast to which Baron von Savanberg had alluded in his note was not inconsequential. Tea, loose grains, fruit, and bread had all been arranged with eloquence. Meals at Castle Savanberg always offered the pretense one was dining as party to a royal supper.

While the food was exquisite by all indications, my appetite was not sufficiently up to task. I dabbled in the fruits with the occasional sip of tea but otherwise left the large, unoccupied dining room having consumed little. A foreboding feeling had settled in my stomach where one would normally expect their appetite.

It was when I stepped out of the upstairs corridor leading to the dining hall and into the main hallway that my boredom bred with curiosity and got the better of me. While the Baron was away, I decided to take his gesture of making myself at home to heart and explore the areas he had not yet introduced.

The door to the library on the lower floor had been closed. The door across the way, however, was left ajar—from the crevice, I saw only a corridor not dissimilar to others elsewhere in the castle. I decided, against all better judgment, to enter on my own recognizance without the Baron's eventual escort.

It is a decision that, even some twenty odd years later, I still consider to be my greatest regret—one without equal, and one whose price I continue to pay even as I write this to you now.

# CHAPTER V

The Castle Savanberg was filled with a great many rooms that had seen little recent use. The Baron, who professed to living alone, had no use for the majority of the vast estate. In that corridor I followed from the main hall, I found a number of doors, including a pair of them that opened inward. The corridor itself was designed such that it followed an L-shaped pattern, ultimately winding to the left.

The double doors had been the most prominent and, being close to the entry, were those I felt most comfortable exploring. The steel hinges at each end groaned with age and gave some resistance at the onset. Inside was what appeared to be the castle's waiting room. Expansive but not so much as the library, seats for guests and hosts alike had been arranged around a small table. On the walls were portraits of members of the von Savanberg lineage. The pedigree was clear and the resemblance no coincidence. While it was evident the room had been decorated with esteemed guests in mind, no doubt was left that it had seen little use under its most recent tenant. My suspicions were confirmed when I ran my finger over the central tea table only to find a coat of dust an inch thick.

A sizable fireplace waited on one side of the room, but as with much of the castle, offered no evidence of consistent use. Most curiously, above it was mounted a mirror. In spite of its own disuse, its capacity to reflect light remained relatively unimpeded.

Of note was a collection of family photographs that had been displayed on a mantle near the fireplace. None of these, however, appeared to have been added since the Baron had come to oversee the estate. This bolstered my perception that my esteemed host was not one to typically receive many guests, even amongst his family. This felt a sufficient explanation as to why he had welcomed me so warmly despite my mundane purpose.

Down the corridor, I turned to find several nondescript rooms, but that which was most intriguing was a studded door at the far end of the hall. A wide, sturdy one forged from steel, it was held in place by three bolts several inches in strength. I even dare say it could have rivaled many of London's finest vaults.

Some feeling of urgency compelled me to investigate further. I pulled on the handle with a fair amount of weight to test its strength. However, just as I was admiring the artisanship that no doubt went into the construction of such a door, a sound that appeared to resonate elsewhere in the castle gave me pause. Unwilling to wait to explain myself should I meet a returning Baron, I scampered back to the main hallway and was fortunate enough to not be greeted by him or anyone else for that matter.

The incident just the night before had rattled my nerves, if only slightly. While I had no inkling suggesting my host intended me harm, I nonetheless thought it strange enough to endeavor to familiarize myself with the castle while the opportunity was at hand.

Being such an old construct, the castle was not immune to the occasional creak or moan. As I stood by the entrance to the gallery hall, I heard another sound of some foreign origin. It was one akin to that of a boatyard, but magnified to an unfamiliar extent. The sound—itself only lasting a fraction of a second—resonated in such a way that I believed it to originate behind the staircase across from the main entrance.

I leered into the small storeroom on the far side, nearest the library, which had been outfitted with various packages of nonperishable ingredients for the Baron's meals. Just behind the staircase itself, I took note of a series of decorative windows. Their designs varied in an atypical fashion, some having aged worse than others. No direct exit to the outside appeared to be present at the rear of the home. Still, one prominent feature of the area was another reinforced. The entryway had been affixed to the rear of the staircase itself, apparently leading to a cellar of some sort or perhaps being just another storeroom. I was unable to confirm either way on account of it being protected three times over with a bolt, key, and chain. All had been of considerable strength; none of the three could possibly be circumvented with strength alone.

Prior to returning to my room, I decided to stop by the library with the aim of finding some material that could hold my interest in the remaining time I had at the castle. Contrary to the rest of the estate, the sprawling space was readied for lighting that rivaled that of daytime elsewhere. Gas lamps had been affixed around the room, with a sophisticated array by the door serving as a switch to light them all at once. It was evident to me that the Baron wished to keep the room accessible at all hours.

Without Baron von Savanberg to guide me, I was now free to browse the wide selection of works at my leisure. By the door, I saw the shelves lined with medical and biological studies I had glimpsed earlier; ones I can safely confess to you now were entirely beyond my comprehension.

A sliding ladder had been affixed to the row of bookshelves on the lower level. It had most recently been set just affront a bevy of medical texts. One tome of considerable size jotted from the row, suggesting it had only been recently replaced. Taking it in hand, I muttered the title aloud in a low whisper: Dissection and Amputation of the Feeble.

The macabre title piqued my interest. Inside the cover were immediate illustrations of the contents: humans, animals, insects, all dissected and opened from the center as if a book. The tome itself appeared to be part instruction manual and part academic study.

On one page would be a guide to the removal of the kidneys post-mortem from a recently deceased human subject, with a sketched diagram of a dissected mouse on the next. I had always imagined human autopsies as a gruesome prospect but never had I seen such detailed illustrations and graphs of a person's anatomy.

I recalled then the Baron's medical background in the armed services, but could not fathom a need for such literature at that stage of life.

Upon landing on a page demonstrating the "modest removal of flesh" accompanied by illustrations of skin being peeled from a forearm as if the coating of an apple, I replaced the book on the shelf as I'd found it and descended the ladder. I was lighter for wear, likely prone to fainting if I had spent any longer with those grotesqueries.

There were few works of general interest within the library, at least in languages I was familiar with. Copies of Shakespearean works had called for a dedicated shelf of their own, but apart from some fellow classics, it appeared Baron Lechner von Savanberg had little interest in fiction. In the end, I borrowed a volume of Dickens from the sparse modern offerings and took my leave.

As I quietly closed the door to the library behind me, leaving it just as I'd found it, I heard another strange sound. A ringing had echoed from somewhere on the premises—initially, I presumed it had come from the second floor, in the proximity of my own chambers.

There I found no evidence of anything amiss. Peering outside the window, just off to the right, I made out the column of a tower that was connected to the castle but inaccessible to me. Retreating from my room to the hallway, I made my way down to the end of the corridor.

Something drew me to a certain door. The handful of others lining the walls on each side did not appear extraordinary in any sense, but that which was before me was an exception. Unlike the metal door below, the door here was unlocked. Perhaps, I thought, the Baron had left in haste earlier in the morning. Nonetheless, despite not expecting anyone inside, I knocked before entering.

Inside was perhaps the best furnished room in the entire estate. As the door groaned open, I felt a sense of guilt that I had not known since childhood. Silk sheets lined a very wide bed surely crafted for a pair of regents. A dressing mirror and closet were on one side and the other, accompanied by a dresser for tending to cosmetics. Despite the wealthy trappings of the room, it did not appear to have been used in a considerable amount of time.

Feeling uncomfortable invading the private space of the master bedroom, I spent no consequential amount of time inside and returned to my quarters. For the next hour, I prepared the documents to present to the Baron with regard to the inheritance transaction from his late relative. With the remaining hours, I composed a lengthy letter to deliver to Emilia Robertson upon my return to London.

Those of you reading this account may recognize the name. She married Maximilian Parker, the son and, at the time, heir of the wealthy industrialists of the same namesake. They, as his father and mother before him, became fixtures in the social scene in London after the exchange of vows. Their two children, now entering adulthood, are adored by one and all.

The misfortune that I brought back upon my return was not something with which I wished to burden another, especially someone so lovely that could brighten this world in a way few others could. While one may find questionable actions in my decisions since, I do not feel this is one that could be considered regrettable. Miss her as I do and dream often of how what was might have been, the decision in this instance was one that required no decision at all.

Life, truly, may well have been different, for all involved, but perhaps all has turned out best—Emilia, dear girl as she always has been, has lived a lavish life free of worry. I have debated reproducing the unsent letter here. For my time at the castle, I kept it on my person out of privacy including in my departure. I have kept it with my papers for over two decades and had intended to destroy it sometime along the way but have never summoned the courage. A part of me regrets not telling her the reason for suddenly ending our communications and no longer showering her with the warmth I always had. Yet, I have always felt the truth in this instance would only amount to an infinitely greater encumbrance than that temporary regret.

Emilia, if you are to come to read this, I only ask that you cease here. There is a world for you where what transpires here is not to be known, and it is a better world than the one I have called home for these twenty years. All you must know is that nothing ever changed for me. Even today, I count the fortune of meeting you as life's great reward. There will never be another more delightful to be born, of that I am and always have been convinced.

Despite his assurance he would return by early evening, it was not until well into nightfall that I would see Baron Lechner von Savanberg again. All that transpired next is a series of moments I share with you now with absolute recall. No detail is embellished, for better or for worse, and I can only offer my sincerest apologies for the thoughts that may forever haunt your mind, just as they have mine all these years later.

# CHAPTER VI

Baron Lechner von Savanberg knocked once on the upper panel of the door to my room upon his return. Putting aside the book on my lap as I sat upright on the bed, I waved and rose to greet him.

Before I could offer my hand, however, he said only, "Edwin, dinner will be ready shortly. I do not wish for you to subsist on an empty stomach for too long. I will call upon you when all is ready. Do forgive my tardiness in the meantime."

I had not heard him return to the castle but assumed it was only my distance from the entrance to blame. Nonetheless, I thanked him and waited in the room some odd hour before he returned and quietly escorted me to the dining hall. It was well past eight o'clock when we finally settled in to dine.

I watched as the Baron did not attack his plate with his former vigor as he had the night before. On this occasion, he took a more solemn approach by portioning his bites of the roasted chicken almost to not eating at all. Soon enough, he gracefully placed his utensils back into place and abandoned the act in favor of silence, or perhaps contemplation.

On the contrary, my appetite had swelled after my poor luncheon and I consumed all there was to have. The aforementioned chicken was joined by a side of sirloin and complimented by potatoes and bread. My palate was normally quite discerning, but this meal was especially filling. As I ate, however, I became grew more uncomfortable by the moment due to the Baron's demeanor. I would look to him, he would smile and gesture with his glass—which he held as any royal would be conditioned to do—but he would not speak.

"Baron, you have again outdone yourself," I said, wine glass in hand, as the meal wound down and my plate had finally been cleaned. "Your cooking is truly exquisite. I am certain each of your guests must come to the same conclusion."

A seemly grin came over his features. "I am so very glad you have taken joy in whatever hospitality I have afforded. You have enjoyed the castle, then?"

"Why, of course! It is the most luxurious sight on which I have ever laid eyes."

The Baron took a drink from his glass. "What was it you thought of my quarters? Were they, too, of sufficient splendor?"

The silence said all I had to say. The Baron, though, found more to add.

"My mother and father were the previous tenants. As you may have seen elsewhere—perhaps in the gallery—she was a woman of great refinement. The act of decoration, she would say, was to tell a story. Each room was its own chapter that would need to stand on its own merit. As no one visitor could be guaranteed to see it all, no chances could be taken in allowing an improper impression.

"My mother was very dear to me," said my host. "She was dear to all, really. I do not recall witnessing a single moment of enmity that she shared with any other living being. Her passing was tragic to all but my father, who was always a stoic but personal man. Any grief he may have felt was instead channeled into anger and a sense of betrayal, some of which he took out on her belongings and portraitures. I had wrongly presumed he had readied himself after witnessing disease see her waste into a shell of her former self. Yet, she remained as graceful the day she passed as any other. Never were we allowed to see weakness in her. The world lost a true asset with her passing, I assure you of that."

I could only nod in empathy. It appeared to me that the Baron did not share this part of his past with great frequency.

"Oh, my friend, you shall forgive this foul mood of mine, surely?" asked the Baron. "My mind has been occupied with only distress today. A bout of thunder and storm as we saw last night has this most predictable and distressing effect on my temperament."

"Of course, we are all privileged to the occasional trying day," I replied, relieved that my exploration of the castle was not the source of the Baron's apparent ire. As I reflected on his tone and behavior, I recognized my initial concern as misplaced and once more felt at home with my host.

"Tell me, Edwin, what is it you intend to do with this life of yours? Would a family be desirable? Are children in your future?"

My cheerfulness at imagining such a future with Emilia must have been apparent as the Baron wasted not one moment continuing. "Oh, I see! A young lady is already in your future, is she? I imagine she is enchanting, the very ideal of beauty and grace, yes?"

"She is indeed very dear, my Emilia, and has been for some years," I admitted with little reticence and perhaps some red in my blush. "We met at the home of a mutual family friend where she would come with her mother on occasion to learn of tailoring. She enjoys fabrics and design very much and often jokes of creating all of her children's clothes in the future."

"A wonderful sentiment!" the Baron said with a cheerful spirit I had not seen to that point in the day. "I certainly envy you, my friend. I am but an old man now but such pride in one's youth is refreshing. Do not ever let it leave you."

The two of us spoke cordially, with Baron Lechner von Savanberg inquiring in great detail as to my past and present relations. I spoke to him of my parents, my close relatives, and my education with specificity. Few stones were left unturned by the end of the conversation. I attempted to change tact throughout, but to no avail. Finally, as we were speaking of my work, I took the opportunity.

"Baron, regarding work, since I will be leaving tomorrow, it seems we should convene our business regarding your uncle Alderman's estate."

"Forgive me, I forgot to mention," began the Baron in response, "there has been a change of plans. The weather has taken a turn for the worst—you can taste the coming storm, which will no doubt land early tomorrow. I sent word ahead to postpone your escort for a day. It is for your safety, Edwin. While my guest, I cannot allow any harm to befall you, yes?"

As he spoke, I had no words. The Baron smiled as he had informed me of the turn of events and placed his hand over my wrist. My host's grip was strong and seasoned; despite his advanced age by comparison, he would still be suited for any manner of physical labor.

I do not know if what I said next were merely sounds or some platitude in the form of a poor vocalization. My astonishment at the Baron's proactive move for my benefit somehow rang both genuine and yet still puzzling.

I had come to the dinner believing myself to be free of all worries or concerns come morning. This change in schedule at the Baron's hand resulted in me vacillating between uneasiness and gratitude.

What I did not know was that I was in for not only one of the longest nights of my life but also one that would forever change my every thought for the twenty years that have followed.

# CHAPTER VII

The estate and business the Baron was to inherit as part of the will settlement was a substantial one. What was becoming increasingly clear was that my host had no interest in the money and property he would gain, instead investing his attention in something otherwise unstated.

The exact chronology of what transpired that night is of great importance. What follows is my attempt to place all details in the order in which they became apparent to me. My hope is that this will allow insight into my decisions that followed thereafter. I do not expect sympathy. All I can ask is for some degree of understanding should I be worthy of such a consideration all this time later.

The Baron and I finished dinner that night by exchanging the usual pleasantries. Upon returning to my room, I wasted no time in contemplating the relative strangeness of the day. I did not expect to spend an additional day in the old castle, but here my host had saw it fit to delay my departure over a looming storm. Though I made no obvious protest in his presence, I nonetheless sensed an inkling of insincerity in his words.

It was almost the same instant that this thought crossed my mind that a cacophony of applauding thunder broached the peace outside the window. Trailing that roaring clap of the sky was a strike of lightning so near and so commanding that my eyes lost sight momentarily. Without hesitation, a volley of rain soon pelted the side of the castle with intensity far exceeding that of the day before.

Perhaps as a result of a lethargic day, sleep did not call to me with any sort of urgency. I sat at the desk admiring the nearly ink-like void outside the window. I could hear rain and witnessed dashes of lightning skirting the sky on occasion, but I was otherwise unprivileged to the state of the outside world.

It was within the hour that things took a turn for the unexpected. I was somewhere in the first quarter of my loaned Dickens tale when a scurry of footsteps on the stairs caused me to turn toward the door. The steps had been few, leading me to believe he who was making his way upstairs was doing so in a hurry, skipping two and three stairs at a time.

The visitor tested the doorknob—it had been locked, as I had taken the habit of doing since the night before. "Edwin," my host said from the other side, "please open the door."

I confess to some hesitance in leaving that desk at such a late hour. The storm persisted with violent fury outside, yet what waited on the other side brought an air of foreboding foreign even in such weather.

"My friend, you must do me one courtesy." Baron Lechner von Savanberg had started speaking as I turned the doorknob but before the door itself had rasped open. "You must stay in this room until I return."

Any opportunity to protest was preemptively answered by the Baron's closing of the door. I managed only a nod to acknowledge having heard his request. Locking the door behind him, I inspected the bolt only to find it delicate and unlikely to withstand any test of its integrity.

Whatever the temperature before, a noticeable chill had settled over my assigned chambers following the Baron's visit and request. Perhaps, I had thought, it was a demand. The change may well have ultimately been psychological but it was disconcerting all the same.

I returned to the desk across from the door and spoke to myself softly, repeating the Baron's words to myself in a manner that, to the casual observer, may have seemed mad. There was something in his voice and demeanor that had again left me questioning so much.

No matter my apprehension, it was the middle of the night. I resolved, calmly, that there was little to do but act as instructed. Waiting in my room seemed to be the most judicious course of action.

I cannot speak for my mindset at the time other than to say it was in an endlessly curious space. I had, without much consideration, turned the chair that once faced into the wall around so that it faced the door. I waited, seated and lurching forward, watching the still door by the lamp across the room.

It felt as if my body reacted first, and then my ears, upon hearing some occurrence of destructive force below. It came loud and with a shatter. Bursting glass, elsewhere on the property, was my immediate determination.

In such instances, we are compelled to listen quietly afterward. Adrenaline races, your heart whirs to compensate. I braced the wall, listening for any sound to confirm what I had heard. Nothing came.

The incident of the Baron in the night, the warnings, his asking me to stay within the confines of my room: all such thoughts swarmed with propinquity. I knew not what to do nor did I know the motivation for his placing me where he did that night.

Regardless as to his initial aim, I thought, if the Baron were in need of aid, it would be my obligation to support him in any manner possible.

The source and target of the destructive sound I had heard, both were equal mysteries still as I undid the lock as discreetly as one ever could. The rugs covering the ground made a silent approach in the quarters more possible. Still, nightfall had made navigating the castle difficult, as most corridors now meshed static darkness with dim candlelight. Numerous individual candles had been lit along core passageways, and thankfully so, as the candlestick I bore would have proven scarcely useful otherwise.

The chandelier in the main hall remained unlit as it had on my arrival. Candlewax had fossilized at the base of the large structure overhead, creating an unsettling sight that, to some, would evoke feelings of unrest. While my eyes continued to wander, my mind had been fixated on the disturbing sound from elsewhere on the grounds.

I initially found nothing amiss in the main hall. My first glances around the dimly lit doorways suggested no changes or dangers within the estate. The floor itself still remained blanketed in a thin darkness.

But within that absence of light, I sensed feint movement. It had been a single misplaced step in an otherwise silent approach but it was all that was needed to capture my attention.

With a wince, I extinguished the candle with my forefinger and thumb. I leaned over the railing and squinted, seeking any change in the dark below. What I expected to do upon discovering a disturbance I wasn't sure. I was unarmed save for an unlit candlestick that would do little in a confrontation.

Instead, caution suggested itself a sound defense as my breathing had been reduced to a minimum. I could nearly see the dispersed air as it left my lungs due to the inherent cold of such an old, stone structure.

I stared into the void from atop the staircase, confident only the faintest silhouette would be made out even should attention come my way. The perpetual darkness began to blur my vision without an object on which to focus when, at the most opportune moment, across the floor came a scamper.

The movement came quick, swift, and with no apprehension. My first thought was that this was the Baron, moving with no hesitance as one would expect in their own home. Yet, the muffled shattering of moments earlier heard warned against such an assumption.

The figure had emerged from the back of the castle, from perhaps one of the doors that led outside. No time was wasted in surveying the area as he or she found their way to the left-most hall that opened into the gallery and ancillary rooms I had visited earlier in the day.

Recalling creaks in my steps on the stairs from my few times ascending and descending them already, I kept my steps to a minimum and on the outer edges of the wood-reinforced stairwell. Try as I did, there was no silencing all auditory evidence of my trek.

Still, no one re-emerged from the doorway to the gallery—at least, from what I could tell peering into the dimly lit corridor that shed light only at each end. My survey of that passage revealed little other than many of the doors already being open, including to the gallery.

It was then I considered calling out to the Baron. Should it have been an intruder, I posited, we would be better prepared to scare them away with two bodies in place of one. Even now, I do not know if this would have been the prime course of action, but nonetheless it was one I did not take.

As I drew closer to the turn in the corridor, I began to see rays of light cast along the outer wall. Their brilliance far outshone that of the paltry candles at the bend. Along the way, I saw nothing from the open rooms as I stopped to peer inside each.

Past the corner, a room illuminated to the fullest extent was revealed at the hall's end. Numerous gas lamps must be in use, I thought, similar to the apparatus in the library.

Marching forward, I shielded my eyes with my forearm, waiting for them to adjust. As they did, I peered more and more into the room at the end of the hall—one that had, just hours earlier, been protected by a large, vault-like door made of ironed and impenetrable steel.

Now, that door was opened outward and facing the left-most wall. It was not so thick as to rival a warship but the concentration of its design and reliance on hinges that were protected inside the structure itself left little doubt as to its resilience. I had expected a treasure akin to those so commonly sought in adventure novels, but what I found was something no man should have ever happened upon.

The room itself was much larger than one would expect from the outside and housed two levels, the second being accessible via a spiral stairwell running along the outside of the rounded room. Gas-lit lamps had been affixed in such a way that no corner of the room went unseen by light. From the lower level, I could see only that the area atop the staircase appeared to be locked in place with a heavy overhead door that likely swung outward onto the next level.

As opposed to the rest of the estate, this area appeared to see a great deal of use: papers had been strewn about, well-read books were stacked in a haphazard fashion, and various objects of which I had no immediate point of comparison could be found throughout.

The shape of that place had me determine this had been the tower I had seen from outside the window earlier in the day. The actual purpose of the room bordered on a study yet featured ornaments not common to such a quarter. Just inside the entrance, on the bordering wall, was a display of what I could only determine was ancient weaponry. They appeared more ornamental than practical, though the wide variety was difficult to take in with only a glance. Some were bladed weapons, ranging from small to large, while others were of a blunt nature, but none seemed out of place.

I saw as I moved closer that one desk featured a strange tool, forged of metal and sharp to the touch. It resembled a protractor but featured an uncharacteristic hand of a scissor on one side. A dark color had settled over the sharpest point, but that was far from the most unsettling and puzzling sight.

Immediately to the right, likewise on the desk, were small cages, stacked three to a column and totaling six in all. Scurries could be heard as I leaned to them, observing the soft pattering of the fenced mesh that kept its inhabitants inside.

A family of mice struck the cages, either in excitement or fear. They were large, abnormally so—perhaps members of a species unknown to me. While the roughly half-dozen occupants rummaged about, some paired in a single space, I noticed the hinge on one door unlocked.

Inside had been what was left of one of the mice. A deadened look had settled over its facial features unlike any animal I had ever seen. I could only presume it was content to have gone in the end.

While the head and legs remained untouched, a nauseating spectacle awaited the rest. The body had been sliced open with no regard for repair. Small nails had been used to pin the coat of fur in place, ultimately leaving nothing to the imagination. What I could only imagine were kidneys or a spleen or a bladder was on bloody display. Unusually, the organs that appeared to have been harvested had been carefully sewn back inside with precision and mindfulness.

Another of the sizable vermin raised itself against the cage and exposed their under torso. Lacerations had been evident, leaving a large scar visible on its abdomen. His neighbor in the cage adjacent was none so lucky, wearing a pelt that had turned to near ash, having readily congealed to the rodent's thin corpse. The state and condition gave the appearance of having been burned alive. I could only assume its demise was the result of something sadistic and torturous.

As unsettling a sight as it was, I did not have long with which to ponder the rat's mortality. Instead, I was soon faced with the question of my own longevity.

A violent, unstable expulsion of air chilled the room at my back. Turning, I was confronted with a scene for which my mind had never been prepared. That rhythmic and determined breathing pattern continued audibly, drowning out even the storm outside.

I looked back, ahead, beyond in the darkness. A silhouette was emerging into the room, slowly but at a steady pace. The void began to fill with the sight of a human figure as it merged from dark to light.

I first took note of the long coat, leather in make and black in color, clinging to a sizable frame. It had been a male, his hair unkempt and long and down to his shoulders. Those long tangles obscured much of his face and eyes, but it was evident he had not taken to grooming in some time.

The more I saw in those early seconds, the more I assumed this to be a vagrant. His head had been bowed downward, only looking to me with a forward stare at an unusual angle. I soon noticed the whites of his eyes had been drowned by wide but dilated pupils. I saw nothing in them that indicated humanity.

His unusual appearance, from the leather coat that reached his knees to his uncharacteristically dark complexion had me questioning whether any communication was possible.

"Can I help you?" I gestured an open hand, moving toward him but halting in place as his posture tightened as if to take a defensive position.

I decided to speak more slowly in the event English was not his first language. "Do you understand me?" I was not sure of his age nor his ethnicity and not even his reason for standing in that doorway. What became evident, however, was that he had no intention of moving unassisted.

As I took a step closer, I cleared my throat to get his attention. He braced himself, hand behind his back, with his head still facing forward as it had been.

No matter the action on my part, he still uttered no sound save for his belted breaths escaping with full exertion. These were followed by deep inhalations, with the pattern shortly thereafter repeating itself.

Some utterances escaped me, asking for his name and reason for being in the castle. I began surveying my surroundings and quickly realized the only way out was through the doorway I had entered and he now occupied.

For the first time, his head raised, but not to make eye contact. His teeth came down on the bottom of his mouth, causing a noticeable impression in the skin. Elsewhere on the body, it may have drawn blood.

I backed away slowly, glancing to the table behind me. "What is it you want?" I asked the man as I rummaged lightly on the desk, searching for anything metallic to take up in defense. The wall of ornamental weapons was in his reach, not my own.

For just an instant, his incessant breathing turned to a groaning sound that bellowed into a growl by the time it finished. The conversation came to an end when he brought his hand forward, removing something attached to his belt and bringing it forward—its sharp end pointed in my direction.

The knife being wielded in his hand was one made for hunting, and likely large game at that. The serrated teeth on the blade had seen some sort of action—that much was clear. Rust had settled over the tip, with portions of teeth to the blade missing from lack of care—or perhaps constant use.

Without averting my eyes, I came across what seemed to be the protractor on the desk. Wrapping my hand around the device, I attempted to control my heart rate and adrenaline as I brought it to my back.

I did not wish for what happened. My only hope in writing this is that I have convinced you of as much already or soon will.

The guest stepped forward, his grip so tight and rage so apparent that the sum of his being began to quiver in anticipation—of what, I did not know, but I suspected a fate similar to that of the rodent outstretched on the table behind me.

I don't dare describe this incident for my own sake. It is only now that I relive it this many years on that I can hope to leave something behind for those who may come across this record and act accordingly.

The knife came closer, the man still not making eye contact. He bore his teeth amid a dead stare that reminded me of rabid animals I had seen on my travels. Saliva soon fell from his agape mouth onto the floor below.

I was left with no choice. I pulled that small tool at my disposal on the man. It was my only means of defense with his larger frame and superior weapon obstructing any path to a more suitable option. The sight of the sizable but ineffective blade made no impression on the man so determined in his march toward my position.

My hands began to quiver for reasons entirely opposite those of my adversary. He held the blade outward more, as if a viper priming a strike. If indeed a serpent, venom would have surely been seeping from his tusk-like teeth in that moment.

Many thoughts passed through my mind in those few brief moments—a lifetime worth in just the span of minutes. I thought of my future that would no longer be and of my dear Emilia who would go on without me. My relatives and friends would never hear from me again.

His arm was pulled back in one fluid motion by his head. I was certain it would be only one instant before he brought the knife to my flesh in one fell swoop and ended me.

As the blade was on its return trajectory, it changed paths without notice. Just as his arm came down, it was warped in the most grotesque fashion imaginable following a gnashing of the air around him.

What had once been the man's thick shoulder had changed form. The knife fell from his limp hand onto the stone surface below.

His face changed, twisting into something unlike anything I had ever seen to that time. He looked to his right arm, mounting terror apparent in his expression. His body jostled in confusion as if to beg why he had been reduced so instantly to something less than himself.

As his body began to visibly weaken, he was pulled to one side as a foreign object was removed forcibly from his body. Horrifying screams of utter terror escaped his once quiet lungs as he attempted to reach over with his remaining appendage.

It was not a moment later that he fell to his knees, blood pooling beneath him as he continued to scream in absolution.

All became apparent as I saw the two-handed axe, blood dripping from its blade as it was crudely removed from the man's shoulder. What had once been the connecting juncture in his upper right arm had been reduced to dangling meat. No utility remained—the arm was left hanging by the threading of a nearly severed bone and little else.

Those remaining fragments of bone, all now pointing in unnatural positions, were visible even from my position. Likewise in my line of sight was the one raising the large axe once again. This time, I saw how he did so with confidence and no hesitance in his demeanor.

The intruder on the ground grasped desperately at his nearly severed arm, pulling at its flesh in the sudden confusion as he attempted to put it back together. He shrilled in agony upon realizing the futility of such an endeavor, instead opting for further self-preservation.

His remaining good hand rummaged in the considerable amount of blood that had covered his clothing and the ground beneath him, pooling over the knife and making it slippery to the touch. In his condition, he was in no state to take it up in arms, but he was still not given the chance. When it appeared his hand had managed to scrounge the hilt, that familiar gnashing sound came once again, this time meeting the cold stone surface beneath us.

What remained was an even more ghastly sight than before. This time, there was no clothing with which to conceal the damage done. The man's hand had become two distinct halves, chopped between the middle and ring fingers.

His hand swung upward, the smaller half consisting of the two outer fingers slumping against the outside of his wrist that was no longer tethered to the rest. The open flesh made contact with his face as he observed the horror firsthand, gargling in his own blood and muttering increasingly stifled cries of pain and petulance.

The damaged man slacked to one side on his knees, his right shoulder no longer operable and his left hand now in separate portions. The bone beneath had been shattered in both instances, leaving skin detaching in all directions.

The misery of his new existence, it seemed, had dawned on him quickly. He looked at me for the first time, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He had been younger than I expected, an assessment made despite smears of his own blood occupying much of his face.

To this day, I still do not know what he wanted from me as he looked into my eyes for those brief, few seconds. Likely, we did not share a language or a single point of relation between us. Yet, I still felt empathy for what life he had left.

The feeling was short-lived and faded with haste as I watched my host raise his favored axe above his head once more. The stillness in his expression and his composure remained unchanged throughout.

Baron Lechner von Savanberg brandished his weapon against the impaired man for the third time. He met my eyes as I watched him, unlike my earlier assailant. There was no sense of regret, only purpose, as the blade came down with resolution. No pretense was made of sparing the man's life. The axe would split a portion of his skull in front of me and spill some portion of his remaining fluids onto my shoes and the floor beneath us.

There is no divorcing your mind from such a memory, try as you might. Taking to a drink can be an answer most temporary, but ultimately is one that magnifies the regret of moments so dark. All this time later, I have found that truth to be unyielding.

I had watched the Baron save me from a man wielding a knife, one so intent on ending me that he would have succeeded without my host's intervention. The subsequent mutilation of the man's hand prevented him from finishing the task. Yet, it was the Baron's calm demeanor in resting the axe in his head and ending that life that I found most disturbing of all.

As grotesque an event as I had just witnessed, it served as only the precipice of my nightmare at the Castle Savanberg.

# CHAPTER VIII

There are few incidents that could rival those I experienced in the company of Baron Lechner von Savanberg twenty years ago in 1891. After recounting for the first time in full the incident with the man who was struck down and nearly dismembered by my host, I took some time to collect my nerves over several drinks. I feel compelled to share with you the extent of my journey and can only hope I will be able to complete this record with the time I have left.

The Baron attempted to remove his trusted axe from the head of the man he had downed with only a tug in the opposite direction. Finding it insufficient, he wasted little time placing his foot to the man's upright back and using his weight to complete the task.

With the axe removed, nothing remained to keep the man on his knees, causing the body to topple and his head to settle with a crackle just affront my feet. Whether it was his fractured skull making such a sound or his spine snapping in some place, I was not sure, but I took some comfort in the thought I may never hear such a sound again.

After some moments staring in horror at the inside of a human skull for the first time, I returned my glare to the Baron himself. With as focused a disposition as ever, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping down the blade that had been soiled with blood, bone fragments, and likely brain fluid.

"Edwin, is something the matter?"

Whatever utterings were carried with my breathing at the time were not vocalizations but instead evidence of shock. My hands trembled, and the Baron noticed. My fingers tingled with a sensation entirely foreign to me, and somehow, I felt the Baron had also noticed.

"Edwin, Edwin, Edwin!" he exclaimed happily. "You have nothing to fear. It is over now. You are safe, as am I. This can be a dangerous world, but only if you are unprepared."

No matter his mood, the scene had become a macabre one. Blood had found its way onto my clothes and his, as well as onto the cages of the mice behind me. As I was surveying the damage, my open mouth no doubt signaling my ill-suited temperament, Baron von Savanberg tossed his bloodied handkerchief in my direction.

"My friend, you have some of it on you," said he, Germanic accent intact, with the practicality and mannerisms of the host that had greeted me upon my arrival. "Do hurry though, as I will require your assistance if we are to make the most of this night."

His reference to blood as a nondescript entity did not escape my notice. I could only guess as to his psyche, but it did not appear he had any sympathy for the man that now lie dead and ruined on the stone slab beneath our feet.

He no doubt sensed my apprehension at the thought of even speaking following what had occurred. "We will do things, and we will do them right. You shall see. For now, do make yourself presentable."

I had many questions for the Baron following what transpired, but I found myself unable to speak, as if paralyzed. The feeling was akin to that of a dream in which you cannot scream.

The Baron placed the two-handed axe against the wall by the door in a casual manner before crossing the room, stepping over the dead body with no alarm. In a curious move, he centered his attention on the mice in the cage, first taking nondescript food from a small container and tossing it into their cages.

A strange rapport was present between him and the rodents. Upon getting near the cage, they reacted much differently than they had with me. Their reaction was in fact that of grateful companions, not of a creature predisposed to fear and abuse.

As the Baron indulged in his routine as if nothing had occurred, I at last managed to utter something resembling a question. "This man—who?"

"No, no," said he with a whimsical pattern to his words, "I have never laid eyes on this man before."

My host removed one of his rats from their cages, allowing it to scamper along his arm. On instinct, as I looked down upon the carcass near our feet that faced down onto the stone slab, I brought my own arm over the lower portion of my face.

"Baron—we must contact the local constabulary," I said, weakly.

"Edwin," replied he, "if there is one thing you must do for me, you must not speak of this to any other, and most importantly, not utter one word to the police."

A knot entwined my throbbing heart and troubled stomach. "A man is dead here, Baron. You—" I caught myself. "We—were involved. It is our duty to report what has happened. His trespassing and our self-defense are evident. This man may have a family out there; people who will look for him. If we do not report this—"

My host feigned no interest in my plea, replacing the rat that favored him so dearly back into its cage and saying only, "Should someone come seeking him, it is to our greatest benefit that he never be found." His large hand rested on my shoulder from behind, squeezing my collar with gentle yet convincing grip. "Edwin, there are things you cannot trust to the hearts of men. They are feeble creatures, ones that do not know the difference between what should be done and what should not."

The pool of blood beneath us began pouring outward toward our feet. "What do we—" I stammered, unable to find the phrasing that would articulate the conflict swelling in my mind.

"'Do?'" the Baron asked, completing my thought. "We are to do nothing. Nothing more than is necessary, that is. This is not a complicated matter. A man intruded upon my home and nearly killed my guest! I say we owe him nothing, not even a burial. The only crime here is that his blood," he paused, using his boot to move the man's outstretched arm closer to his body, "has stained the floor of my study. That will not do. It will take considerable work to clean this."

Baron von Savanberg began humming an unfamiliar tune as he pranced about the room to make his way to the liquor cabinet. On his way, he again stepped over the dead body as if it were a mere lump in the rug. "You look as if you could use a drink," he said while preparing a concoction and pouring a glass without seeking my approval.

After filling one for himself with a heavier brand, he passed my glass and insisted I drink. "Baron, this is—"

"Tell me something," said he, downing the considerable contents of his glass in only one swig, "what is it you think is the difference between the right and the wrong? Both just words—words with history and perceived meanings, but words all the same. These words vary in their severity and applicability, no? Can we make such sweeping determinations of one's actions with the precious little information we have in a given moment? I would say not. What say you?"

The glass in my hand, while full, felt empty all the same. I had no thirst or appetite of any kind. The Baron guided the glass to my mouth, leaving me little choice but to drink.

"Baron," I said with a light air as I finished drinking, "I must ask you something."

With cheer in his demeanor, the Baron replied in turn, saying, "Yes, my friend? What is it?"

I looked down to the body, resolved to the inevitability of both my question and its answer.

The Baron again smiled.

My confused state lingered as I was unable to reconcile my previous impression of him with this reality. My host had no qualms of any kind, and the further distanced we were from the event itself, the more at peace he seemed.

My head began to ache with remorse, confusion, and a litany of related sensations I cannot put to words even now. Balance became secondary to merely keeping my eyes open. The details now are inexact in my memory, just as they were then, but I recall my weight wobbling beneath me and the Baron placing his hand on my back. He did so with absolute firmness and expectation. I knew in that moment that he had waited by me with that purpose in mind.

I turned and clutched at his shoulder, placing all my weight upon him.

"Come now, Edwin," he then said in comfort. "Rest yourself and leave this in my care."

# CHAPTER IX

Between these spurts of consciousness, I know not what occurred inside of Castle Savanberg. Within the recesses of my imagination exists some dark idea but I dare not speculate as to the Baron's movements to spare myself. In many ways, the exact means with which he carried out his business was and is best left unknown.

The scented fog of the gas lamps left no mystery as to my whereabouts, even before my eyes opened. With a bleary disposition, each of my senses began to return one at a time. The vaulted ceiling, bright lighting, and large gallery window overlooking the garden left no doubt I had awoken in the estate's vast library.

My accommodations at the time were modest but comfortable. The couch my back rested against was firm, though the pillow under which my head had settled was remarkably more welcoming. A dull ache began to settle in my head, one that made me feel weary and unstable.

"You will forgive me," said a voice behind me as a glass was placed atop the tea table to my side. "You were in such an agitated state that I felt compelled to calm your nerves in whatever manner I could. Surely the rest has done you some good?"

I turned as much as I could from my lax position on the sofa. There stood Baron Lechner von Savanberg, his demeanor as calm and collected as it had been for much of my stay. To the outside observer, he would have appeared little worse for wear than when the night began. His dining jacket had been neatly pressed and left atop one of the spare chairs nearby. His buttoned vest, dark in color, and outer sleeves of his white dress shirt showed few signs of what had transpired. Apart from some splatters of blood and bodily fluids on his pant leg, it was as if the night had, in reality, been uneventful.

After removing his antique watch and taking note of the time of just past one o'clock in the morning, he returned it and began to sort through the keys in his pocket.

"The night is indeed still young yet," mused my host. "We have just over one hour to relax. Time is ours now—these moments we can use to ensure that we know where we stand now and where we will when this is all over."

It was then he seated himself across from me, overlapped his legs, and placed his interlaced fingers upon the knee. Our eyes would be focused on one another for most of the lengthy and all-too-revealing conversation that ensued.

"Baron, what is it that's happened?" My hand rested on my forehead as I asked many questions of the what, who, and why variety. I asked all that had been troubling me to that point, sometimes in incoherent form. This rambling came to an end when the Baron laughed and kicked his foot outward in a display of gleeful emotion.

"These are all excellent questions, my friend," said my host whose royal candor was on exhibition even then. "I think a more pressing one has presented itself. Edwin, do you see me as a good man, or an evil one? Please do speak freely. We have time on our side, for now."

I straightened my posture, sitting up onto the couch with a bend in my back, and saying wearily, "I do not know, Baron. What is it I should think?"

"Well, dear boy, that depends on how you view my impetuses. Do you feel you are being kept here against your will?"

"Kept here, by either circumstance or your will," I replied. "I don't know which is true."

"The weather is not under my control, as convenient an idea as that is," said the Baron, smiling as he uttered the last of those words. "Control can be both good and it can be bad, no? If I were controlling your actions with your safety in mind, and your very survival at that, would it be bad? Whereas if I were doing so purely for my own benefit, you would say it was bad, would you not?"

"I only wish to know which it is," I said, sensing his words to be a confession of sorts.

"It is perhaps both, or neither. Maybe it is one or maybe it is the other. That is regretfully not for me to say. Tonight, in these moments that remain between us, I wish to hear more from you than myself. There are sanctions and confirmations we must address, you see."

The Baron, in all his elegance, showed no concern for my dirtied clothing soiling the upholstery of his no doubt expensive chair there in the library. I leaned forward, unable to free myself from his gaze. Just as I did, so, too, did my host.

"You spoke earlier of your future with Miss Robertson, did you not?" he asked, smiling. "For someone who has captivated you so, I am sure you do not leave home without a picture by your side."

Though he spoke in a casual and considerate fashion, it was then that I confirmed the Baron was not as upfront with me as I had been him. I could not bring myself to reply, not with any immediacy.

"Perhaps in your pocket watch? There, the one with gold trimming and the embossed face." As he spoke, he motioned toward my pocket where the watch was usually housed. To my recollection, I had not removed it in his presence. His only opportunity to have seen it would have been in my room at some point in my stay or whilst moving me.

With reluctance, I removed the watch but kept firm hold of it, extending my arm and it toward the Baron. "I will share the watch with you, but only if you are honest with me."

He held out his own hand over the table between us. "Oh! Of course! What is it you need of me?"

I opened the watch and placed it before him on the tabletop as I scanned my recollections to be certain. "How did you know her name?"

He soon laughed while clapping his hands. "Oh, your Emilia? You mentioned her at dinner. Your fainting spell must have done more to your memory than you know."

Even if he had somehow seen the letter in my room that had been safely stored away, there was still one detail he had availed himself that he should not have otherwise been privy. "Baron, you must tell me how you knew her family's name. I am certain I never mentioned it in your presence and it is on no document or piece of paper I would have brought with me. There is no reason you should know it."

My host took to tapping together the top and bottom canines of his well-kept teeth, soon adding his forefinger onto the arm of the chair to the mix, its nail producing a unifying sound amongst them. His teeth meeting in such a way showed a thoughtful look, one that I had not yet seen.

"You are perceptive, Edwin," said he, rolling his sleeves to his forearms and straightening his pant leg. "You are thoughtful all your own. Never let anyone insinuate otherwise. I did not expect all to be so easy, but such is how it should be. Life will always be surprising and, in these few choice matters, a little challenging. Before we embark for that avenue of conversation, there is another that I feel will enflame your knowledge a little more—something substantial, for the two of us, to share that we may both remember even as age catches up to us. Will you come on this journey with me, just for a moment?"

I nodded, no doubt suspiciously, while observing the Baron's static eyes over the bridge of my interlaced fingers.

"There are those out there, thinkers and some in the sciences, who believe that we are not responsible for deciding what becomes of us. They say it is not of our accord. Some believe these lives of ours to be the machinations of overly-concerned deities, but I have always roundly dismissed such a notion," said the Baron, waving his hand in demonstration. "There are only two things, two moments, in one's life that are actually of any great consequence or meaning. Do you follow?"

"Birth and death," I suggested, "but beyond that, I am at a loss."

"All that falls between these two moments is of no meaning. Some outcomes you view as preferable to others, but ultimately, they are all equal in the eyes of time and space. She is cruel, this overseer of ours. Do not take this to mean she is a benevolent goddess—no, certainly not. She is something that we have neither invented nor discovered. This dear lady—let us refer to her as 'Order' for the sake of this discussion—is both real and imaginary in equal portions. We have confined ourselves to her, this start and this end, and have rarely waged any contest to the contrary."

The Baron paused, staring his pointed eyes in my direction and not relinquishing his gaze even as I broke our line of sight, shaking my head and wiping the sweat from my brow and flustered cheeks. "None of this changes what you have done, Baron. What you've done, legal or not, will not be excused by anything short of alerting the proper authorities."

"I had hoped, Edwin, you would understand without being forced to bear further witness," said my host, upping from his chair and moving across the room to the window overlooking the garden. "I see now that this is not what was intended. For the sake of both of us, we must align ourselves further."

The concern in my face must have been apparent as I watched his posture and manner of speaking transform into what I can only refer to as disengaging. As he continued, he bridged the tips of his fingers in an apex in front of his lips.

"This Order is a fickle monster. We see it as cruel and we see it as unjust, but in reality, it is nothing more than what we do not yet know. It unfolds as it does, and a record is kept that may be read," said the Baron, his eyes dim, focused, and narrow. "What we see as Order unwinds with the same determinant structure it always has and always will. What we may do to control it, though, is better understand this record that it keeps. Do you follow?"

I shook my head. "I don't see how this is relevant to what just happened."

"What you may find compelling, then, is that when this matter is settled in its entirety, we will still be bound to only one perspective, you and I. We know not what another man sees at a given point in his life, in any given moment or instance."

To this end, he was right. "That much is true, Baron. After what I have seen, I don't know how I can trust in you or your judgment. I concede that it was self-defense, yet I can only—"

"Edwin!" he said with some exasperation. "You mustn't make this about just me or just you. That man was a victim of his own frailty, nothing more or less."

"It is the brutality that unsettles me most," I confided, unable to abstain from seeking some greater admission of him. "Even with regard to animals or fish at sea, I have not seen a creature disposed of with such calculation before tonight."

"If you wait for someone to do you harm without making clear your intention to defend, they will strike with a similar lack of regard for your well-being."

I cupped my hands and lowered my head into them. "I am grateful for you having saved my life. I just do not know if seeing a man killed, outright, is something I can bear for the rest of my years."

My host continued to make it clear in unrelenting abundance that his actions came with no remorse. He was justified in his actions, and I confess I began to agree to some end if only from pure exhaustion. Our eyes remained fixated on one another until the chimes of the clocks in the library began to make their presence known.

"The time is good," said he, looking into my pocket watch. "I will soon show you more. I will only do so with the assertion that you will do as I say and without any contest from this point forward. I have fielded your concerns as best I can, but from here, your answers and your questions will be exclusively your own."

A moment of silence passed between us.

"If you do not agree, you are free to leave now, of your own volition and at your discretion. If this is not what you want," said the Baron, "you should go now, before the storm."

# CHAPTER X

Baron Lechner von Savanberg and I exited the library together, but not before he extinguished the series of lamps behind us. The light fixtures illuminating other areas of the castle were to be next. This was a directive made clear to me by my host systematically traversing the hall seeking out any such light sources.

As we reached the window colonnade behind the stairwell, the Baron cautioned for me to watch my step. "Careful here," said he, nodding toward the ground with a lit candlestick in hand. Shards of colored glass littered the stone floor and ornamental rug beneath our feet. It was undoubtedly the result of an assault from outside, with the bulk of glass indoors but some remnants on the sill nearby.

The Baron hoisted the candlestick in his hand onto the hook nearest the heavyset door I had noticed in my earlier survey of the premises. "Edwin, beneath us, through this door, is a shelter. This is where one could weather out a storm if they were keen on such accommodations. I will unfasten these bolts and leave the final key with you," the Baron then paused, undoing two of the three locks and leaving the third and simplest in my care with a golden key, "as a show of kindness."

There remained no time for questions as he led me through the house, room to room, vanquishing the lamps in each and locking others. No moments of contemplation or hesitation passed as he made each move with utter confidence.

Before long, we were in the darkened entry way to the main hall. It was only the two of us—save for the budding thunder and rain quaking the house at its most vulnerable points. The storm outside indeed suggested a certain savagery. It felt animalistic in a sense, showing no regard for the nerves of man.

An indeterminate amount of time had passed since that incident in the study earlier in the night. I was not sure of the time, nor did I want to be. In one vain moment, I wished to distance my mind and sanity from that sight only to be again led down the darkened hall to the study. The lights, there, had been extinguished both inside and out.

I began to feel a shortness of breath, a skip of beats in the chest. I braced myself against the wall with my fists clenched in accordance. The Baron turned to face me, resting his hand upon my shoulder and giving me the slightest smile of reassurance.

"Surely you are not still concerned with earlier," said he. "There is much more to fear in this world than dead men. Come, let us not waste a second more. There is much for us to do and a finite amount of time with which to do it."

The Baron led the way, deeper into that fissure of man-made darkness. The candle flickers swung to and fro, sending the faintest beams outward with no regard for pattern or rhythm.

Cast only in shadow, the room resonated with the same mystery it had earlier that very night. In darkness, though, it was chilling in ways fear only knew. I could see nothing ahead, following only the Baron's silhouette highlighted by the glow before him. When the candle was placed upon his work station and he was reaching to turn on the light, I knew not where I stood relative to the earlier terror but expected the remnants of the intruder to be sticking to the soles of my shoes.

In one great flash, Baron von Savanberg lit the lamps throughout the study. My eyes adjusted and compensated for the darkness, and after the initial sting subsided, I looked with reluctance to the ground beneath my feet.

It had been where the man from before had died—where the attacker had been stopped by the Baron with an axe. Blood had spilled onto the floor along with a mesh of brain and flesh. The sight had been a ghastly one, one that I recall with such vivid detail even now.

Now, some hours later, I stood in a study free of any evidence of such an event. The dead man was nowhere to be found. No blood or other indications were present on the stone slab or rugs beneath my feet. I examined as intently as my mind would allow. To both my relief and horror, I found nothing.

I began to speak, recalling my earlier agreement to not question the Baron further. He continued to organize matters on his desk, checking on the small cages atop them, and only occasionally looking back to me near the doorway.

"Baron," I said, waiting for words that were in no hurry, "what should I think of this?"

He smiled, turning halfway in my direction. Though he spoke with exclamation, his tone was not that of scolding but instead excitement. "My dear Edwin, you're already breaking our agreement! We mustn't waste time on needless questions. What is and what may be and what has been are all questions you may solve with your own mind. You needn't my approval or appraisal to form your own thoughts."

My host whipped around, crossing the room. He patted my cheek in a manner that appeared sympathetic, saying, "You are remarkable, though you are naïve. I, for one, consider those enviable qualities in this world. In truth, I sense much of myself in you."

I found myself staring forward, glancing to him only via my periphery vision. Through it, I saw my host find his way to the antique weapon gallery near the doorway.

"I have long been a fan of armaments of this sort," said he, taking down a small and weathered knife with a golden hilt. "Each of these weapons has been proven in battle, or so I was told as a child. This collection was bequeathed by my father and before that by his father."

Baron von Savanberg raised the knife above his head, making a slow slashing motion some distance from my chest. "Edwin," he said, "I wish for you to have this. I see you are distraught by what you have seen here, but that will pass. Please keep this with you to ease your mind."

My reluctance in handling such a weapon was clear to the Baron, of that I have no doubt. Yet, he was insistent, even going so far as to take my hand in his and place the hilt against my palm. I had no doubt upon examining the blade that it had been used in battle as the Baron had claimed. It did exhibit the hallmarks of continued use, but it also had been restored to some degree. Before it was over, he handed me a scabbard to house the weapon and helped in strapping it around my waist.

"What are we to do now?" I asked. "If we will not call upon the police even now, what is it you intend to do?"

"My boy, with that, I will require your assistance and your assistance alone. Age and so much activity with it have done my body no good. Having an associate to aid in this endeavor will do us both well." He paused, running his hand over his face before patting my shoulder once more. "I am hesitant, in a great many ways, to continue upon this path. However, I feel I must, to ensure all is right and the full gravity of the situation is understood. Without that assurance, we may never be sure of what is to come."

Who the Baron's next victim would be was not clear, but I felt that if it were to be me, I would not go without resistance.

# CHAPTER XI

"Come, we must proceed," said the Baron as he took three long steps to the stairs on the other side of the study. The stairs led upward, in a circular pattern, along the outer wall. At the top was a formidable steel door whose weight likely rivaled that of an average man. It opened outward, onto the floor above, creating an additional barrier between what awaited and any outside observers.

The locks on the overhead hatch were various. The door itself was so heavy and the angle from the stairs so unusual that any attempt at forced entry would be, at best, protracted, and at worst, hazardous. The Baron took care in unlocking each bolt with the corresponding key, occasionally taking to special motions to undo the mechanisms.

With the final lock undone, the Baron hoisted—with a great deal of strength even in his older age—the door onto its hinges. The resulting sound was a steel ringing on par with the loudest sounds my ears have heard.

As the draw door was opened and the Baron disappeared into the dark crevice above, howling wind rushed into the room and causing glassware below to shiver.

My initial impression of what waited was one of abundant confusion. I was unsure of what to make of the instruments lining the walls and even the floor. The room expanded upward with numerous sliding ladders akin to those in the library. To this day, I find it difficult to describe what I saw that night. It is unlike anything I should have ever expected to see in my lifetime.

Numerous concoctions of the steel variety had been formed near the center wall, with lines of copper affixed nearby. The source and destination for each was impossible to ascertain at a glance with so many running concurrently in varying directions.

"Do watch your step," said my host with his hand outstretched in front of me. "This is not a place in which you should wish to test your luck."

What most caught my attention at the onset was a metal cask fastened to the wall. It had been split into halves, with buckles and braces affixed one quarter and three quarters high. The contraption was strange and otherworldly to my naïve mind.

"What is all of this?" I asked, no doubt with my confusion on full display.

He turned away, diverting his attention momentarily to an outstretched chart atop a desk nearby. Hundreds of notations had been made in various languages, no doubt in contexts only familiar to the author. The central fixtures of the documentation were magnetics, equations, question marks, underlines, and mentions of numerous disciplines outside my realm of expertise. A litany of each had been recorded on papers on the desk, floor, and walls.

Unable to stifle my curiosity, I took one such paper in hand that mentioned, among a great many other things, references to a Peltier and forms of conduction. Before I had the opportunity to delve any further, the Baron removed the scribbled document from my hand and replaced it exactly where it had been before.

"This may appear to be uneven to you, Edwin. It may even appear disorganized, but I can assure you I know even the smallest detail of this room by heart."

He was nonplussed with my interference, instead turning his attention toward something of greater importance. I refrained from touching anything more but did take the time to closely observe the rest of the room.

As I studied the area more intently, I noticed bunched metal threads running along the walls toward the ceiling. The leads originated at some point near the cask and stretched outward in every direction from there.

"Despite my earlier assurance, I have to ask again," I asserted, watching the Baron write many small numbers and symbols in succession on the outstretched chart. "Why do you want me to see all this if I'm not to know what it is about?"

"Edwin, Edwin!" said he, with more excitement than impatience. "There will be no doubt left by the time this has run its course. It is the most exciting endeavor of which either of us have ever been involved, I assure you."

He caught me again looking at the metal cask in front of us. "Do not worry, my friend! Such a thing is nothing at all to concern yourself with, certainly not right now."

The Baron pressed his hand firmly to the broad of my back to push me more toward the entrance and away from his work. He looked at his watch on occasion until finally bringing his hands together while drawing in a deep breath.

"If you wish to separate yourself from me," the Baron said as he began coupling ends of metal wirings and fixtures together along the floor, "there would be no better time than now. Should you wish to leave, you should do so with immediacy."

I confess to not entertaining the thought at the time, though in retrospect I regret staying as much as anything in life. I felt, then, that I had some duty to oversee whatever it was that was to come.

Most regrettably, I must admit that the Baron had succeeded in convincing me the dead man's life was not such a great loss. The more he spoke, the more he proceeded without mind for what had occurred, the more convinced I was that he was right—maybe this was not specifically a matter for the police. I did not still think him right for the way in which he handled the man's end, or think that an ending was necessary, but there are gray areas in life that do not always present ready answers.

I began to think some sort of madness had infected me while in that place. In fact, I am still not so sure it did not.

"If that is all," said Baron Lechner von Savanberg, acknowledging my silence as an affirmation to join him, "do join me in what is to come."

My host took his hand off his pen, off the chart he used it on, and placed it on a lever to his right. The rusted device had been forged for this one purpose.

He took his pocket watch out one last time and glanced inside. Even the rain pouring outside at that time could do nothing to impede on the silence of those few moments.

In one swift motion, he brought down the lever with intense urgency. If forged for any other purpose, it surely would have cracked at its seam.

In the first moments, nothing happened. There was neither sound nor sight to notice. Slowly, I began to feel the unmistakable sensation of a warming room. It was as if a sizable fireplace had been ignited and reignited in one instance.

The wires along the wall began to radiate with the fervor of magmatic embers. A crackling began to emanate as the glow intensified and sparks began to fire in various directions. While I instinctively braced myself on the desk, the Baron merely marveled at what was before him. He made no effort to move or conceal himself from any perceived dangers, instead standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

As quickly as it began, it came to an end. The flickers became less frequent until they dissipated altogether. Likewise, the reddened glow that had settled over the wiring faded, leaving them the same dull, listless gray they were before. Ultimately, it had appeared as if nothing had changed.

I turned to the Baron in confusion, awaiting a reaction. He remained keenly focused on his machination and did not turn away until he was satisfied all had run its course. When he did, he only smiled, nodding to me, and motioning to move back downstairs.

"Now, Edwin, we must leave here and attend to matters most important." By all indications, nothing had come of what we had witnessed—strange as it appeared—but Baron Lechner von Savanberg appeared content as we descended the steps to the study with haste. He wasted no time sealing the hatch behind us and ensuring the complex locking mechanisms were back in place. Back on the ground and by my side, he again took his axe that had since been cleaned of the man's remains.

As I admired the blade, a cluster of lightning strikes joined the rain that continued to fall outside the castle walls. The dark that waited us in the hallway leading from the study was temporarily illuminated by bursts of light. Though one would normally feel safer in a lit space, I still recall with vivid certainty the unease of peeling back the dark brought to me in that moment.

The Baron swung the axe in his hand in circles to his side. I had not seen it for myself until then, but his familiarity with the weapon was surely not inconsiderable. With the lighting dimmed to nothingness once again, he stepped forward toward the exit.

"Edwin," said he with as calm as demeanor as he ever had, "do ensure you bring with you everything there is that you do not care to lose, as there will be no further opportunities for mustering courage once you leave this room."

# CHAPTER XII

The Baron led the way, striding in the dark as if any danger lying in wait posed no threat to his welfare. The axe clasped tight in his right hand likewise did not appear to inhibit him in any manner perceivable to the eye. I followed some three paces behind, my hand gauchely clinging to the scabbard holstering the small blade he had gifted me.

The main hall ahead offered few reprieves to its colorless void, especially given the state of the raging storm presenting against all sides of the castle. Fissures of lightning came quick and often, providing enough light for the purposes of navigation but little else.

The remaining von Savanberg trotted ahead, exiting the comfort of the corridor and into the expanse of the entrance hall. There, we waited in silence some steps from doorway for what seemed an inescapable eternity.

"Baron, what are we doing out here in the dark?" I whispered. "Should we not light at least a candle?"

With no hesitation, he exhaled with what I can only imagine was his forefinger pressed against his lips. "While we still have lay of the land," said he, "we must make the most of it."

His attempt to quiet me was successful and left me waiting in the darkness with no means of forecasting what was to come next. The Baron had no qualms with the wait, and in fact did not do so much as survey the area. His acuity appeared impeccable, demonstrating a sort of foresight that could quell the fears of any man fortunate enough to possess such a gift.

Our holiday in silence came to an end with the crackle of steps on glass nearby—an unmistakable sound that leaves no ambiguity. It repeated, beginning with considerable decibels before being reduced to a whimper as it continued.

In that moment, the most extraordinary flash of lightning my eyes could fathom collided with the ground just outside the castle entrance. Its capacity for illumination was rivaled in effect only by the deafening caused to the ears.

The light lingered, revealing Baron Lechner von Savanberg studying what had emerged from behind the stairwell: two figures, each undoubtedly having twice the strength of myself. Their dress was that of vagabonds—ragged, discolored, soaked, and torn clothing that offered little protection from anything, least of all the storm outside.

The faces of both exhibited disfigurations of varying sorts—scars around the eyes of one, the other seemingly missing bone underneath the rugged, tight skin of his wide jaw.

Beyond the power suggested by their size was the length of the blades in their hands. The knives had been half the length of each man's arm and pointed outward, with no concern for shielding anyone from the pointed edge at the tip of each.

The two men moved not in unison but with an embrace for chaotic disregard. One approached the Baron from the left and the other the right as he stepped forward to meet their advance. I expected the armed men to pose a threat that would require my aid, but soon found I was greatly mistaken.

Before my hand could even grasp my knife inside its sheath, the broad side of the Baron's axe met the face of the intruder so unfortunate as to approach first. Undoubtedly discombobulated, his limbs tumbled to the floor before his torso.

My once unassuming host took up the blade of the man he had downed in his off-hand as the second intruder made his way forward at a quickened pace. The darkness veiled the finer and more discernible motions but the brief illumination of their silhouettes made no mystery of the eventual victor when the Baron swung the sword low with considerable strength, his momentum taking with it the lower portion of the assailant's leg. In one successive, experienced motion, the man fell in one direction while his severed limb went the other. The agony and despair of his condition was apparent but lasted only a moment as the Baron used the axe in his dominant hand to end the lives of both intruders.

A deep breath filled his lungs as he removed the blade from the jugular of the latter. "I apologize, my friend, for exposing you to such violence. I realize it is not for the fairest of hearts."

The patter of hasty footsteps soon met our attentive ears. Their source was undoubtedly from where the others had originated moments earlier. Without delay, the Baron deafened his steps and made his way to the column by the stairwell where the suspected intruder would emerge.

His bulk was highlighted by a faint glow as a growl emitted from his jowls. The Baron had left my sight, leaving only me to stare down the man nearly twice my own size in all apparent regards. I had little time to react as his weight brought him forward with great momentum toward my position. My mettle was tested, as were my reflexes, as I tightened my grip on the hilt of my only means of defense.

I found myself ready, for the first time in my years, to take the life of another being. The feeling was frightening and invigorating, if only momentarily, in equal measure. My body aches in all too familiar ways as I recount this for you now and reminisce of a state of mind in which I take no pride.

I watched in a dreamlike state as the man barreled toward me, blade moving above his head and readied to bring down on my person. No sooner did he fully raise the weapon did it fall limp along with the arm that held it. Both met the ground below as the Baron's blade severed his arm wholly.

There, before my eyes, the man fell with an unfamiliar sentiment in his demeanor. It had not been the rage from before but a certain call for mercy. This had not been the way he expected his life to end, and yet here he was, on his knees desperately using his remaining arm to feel for the one lost in the darkness.

As his head rose in some misguided eureka, an axe and sword came from opposite ends and left out the other side of his neck, leaving his head cleaved clean from the neck it had once found itself attached.

Any relief from being able to breathe once more found short life as the Baron turned to face the gala window by the main entrance. The moonlight made no secret of a man standing by it with a not inconsequential object held high in his hands. With one heave, the rock came through the window and created an entryway that would not be easily resealed.

"Edwin, stay back!" shouted the Baron, his words coming with some exasperation in a voice I once felt would never tire. "Do as I say! Do not come near!"

I heeded his words and retreated, fumbling my way into the dark, unsure of where I was to land. The footsteps increased in number, suggesting more than one intruder passing through the newfound opening.

The grunting and clinging of blades to one another suggested the fight had already begun anew as I found myself in the exit corridor at the rear of the house. As if traversing a dream with too few colors, my steps in the dark felt as if they came on the tops of the dark clouds outside the castle. Reaching and tapping on the surfaces beside me gave no hint as to my location in that darkest of corners.

With that, the battle seemingly ceased. All that could be heard were sparse footsteps on the decorative carpets covering much of the entrance hall.

"Baron?" I whispered, aware of the consequences. "Are you there?"

No response came, but the footsteps appeared to continue.

"Baron, is that you?" My whispers felt as if they echoed through every chamber and off every stone making up the castle's foundation.

Before my ears or my eyes could compensate for what soon thereafter happened so suddenly, I felt an intense pressure on my throat and chest. A force had enveloped my upper body as shards of a sharp surface pricked my skin and drew from it a familiar oozing that was already alarming all its own.

The muddied soil and grass lashing upon my shirt left no mystery as to what had happened. The prickling sensation had been glass embedded in my skin when an unseen assailant pushed through the thin window with only their bare hands as tools and grabbed onto my person. The speed of the occurrence and the exhilaration my heart had already undergone left no time to react as I was pulled outside and began tumbling downhill in the throes of a figure whose bulk out-measured my own considerably.

What was most telling was the lack of concern for the assailant's own well-being. We had been locked in a brawl, grabbing at one another in violent spurts between tumbles. It was only when our fall down the incline began to cease that I realized the true extent of my predicament.

Rain fell with incessant dedication, providing the only source of rhythm as haphazard bolts of lightning illuminated the back garden into which we had stumbled. The rear entrance to the house was still visible up the incline, but what stood in my way was the very exemplification of rage and malcontent.

Undoubtedly a man, comparable in size and brute strength to those the Baron had cut down just moments earlier, he gave no hint that he aimed for any retreat. While my host had been armed and possessed some familiarity with a weapon, I was left feeling around the grass for my sheath.

The man pressed his knee onto my chest as I heard and felt the simultaneous cracking of one rib or many. The anguish only grew in intensity as he applied more pressure and wrapped both his hands around my throat. My own hands instinctively reached for his neck, of which my reach was only barely enough.

Upon feeling my fingers squeezing there, the man growled and grunted in tongues too foreign for me. Despite his strength, I expected the air in my lungs to deplete at a slower rate than what occurred in that moment. The despair was immediate and my ability to fight back waning.

A bolt of lightning so close and so violent that it shook the ground beneath my back struck, revealing what my addled mind believed to be the full castle and its entire grounds. In that faintest of moments, I glimpsed my only grace just an arm's reach away in the meadow to my side.

To give myself an opportunity—a chance, even—to rid myself of the monstrosity over me, I gashed and gnawed with my nails at the man's throat and face with animal-like brutality. When his grip relented for that one second, I reached with my left arm into the brush. My hand slipped and slid off the leather surface while my vision had started to fade.

I began to see nothing and hear only the guttural utterings of a deranged voice greeting my ears between brief bouts of consciousness.

I dreamed for a moment of belonging to a different place and time. Whether it was a coping mechanism that my mind had conjured in a time of great suffering or just a hopeful reminder of what might have been, I could not know. There, I saw happiness and glimpses of a bright future, of Emilia.

My eyes opened as if compelled when the man leaned forward to me, treating my neck as a vice and roaring just inches from my face. A renewed vigor offered me one moment of retaliation, and I took it.

The effect was instantaneous. The man's grasp relented nearly entirely for that one second that the hilt still encased in the sheath connected with the side of his skull. Blunt a blow as it was, it was enough to unseat the assailant from my chest.

I quickly brought the sheathe over my me and wrapped my free hand around the hilt. I could not move from my back or even roll in another direction, but I was able to begin to pull the blade from its holster. As I did, the man regained his bearings and tightened his fist just within eyesight. With the blade only a moment shy of being free, he raised his fist high and came down with all his strength on the juncture between my bicep and forearm.

The sheer force led to the bones in my elbow giving way and the blade, with my hand still wrapped around the hilt, falling just out of the sheathe and onto the ground above my head. I felt I no longer had control over my limbs but was fortunate the weapon would not be easily freed from my grasp.

With the struggle coming to an apparent close, the man disengaged, reached immediately beside him, and showed in both hands a stone that outsized even his colossal grasp.

The attacker paused with the rock above his head, his wild eyes illuminated in the bright, rain-stained night. His momentum shifted forward, signaling the rock was coming down, inevitably to meet my skull and end me—but it did not.

My assailant was stuck upright, unable to move his large body in any direction lest the damage worsen. My hand shook and quaked as I did all things possible to keep the blade steady. It had gone through his stomach so easily, with so much less resistance than I had expected.

The stone in his hands tumbled backwards as he relinquished his hold on it and I brought my left hand onto the hilt to push the blade further inside. I knew not what organs would be gored as my knowledge of anatomy was limited. I felt squirming and squishing from inside as I twisted the blade and admired his will. The man wrapped his large hands over mine just as the blade had gone through and the hilt pressed against his ragged shirt. To my surprise, he began to pull the blade out, with only his own strength and despite my resistance.

He had been phased by the strike—I had no doubt of that much—but he was ever slow on showing it. The blade continued to be rescinded until, with all my remaining self, I angled it upward and tore through as much of him as was there. A vast chasm was created all the way to his sternum, at last causing the intensity in his eyes to fade only gradually as his innards began to spill onto my chest.

I rolled onto my back and began crawling in the muddy swamp of a garden toward the castle. My right arm felt broken, as did my ribcage. Pushing myself up from the ground was and remains the most vivid instance of pain my body has ever experienced. To this day, I suffer from complications sustained that night, and merely writing this for you now causes me to wince at the sharpness of the memory.

I yelled and groaned and snorted in agony, falling over whilst trying to raise myself. I continued to crawl all the while, with the rain-soaked soil seeping into my mouth, my eyes, my ears, my hair. The rain washed it all away as soon as it stuck only to stick again.

I at last made it to my feet only a few strides from the door. Limping and with my right arm being cradled by my left, I was in no condition to fight even should I have the element of surprise. It appeared I would have little choice in the matter, however, when another figure appeared in the doorway that I hoped would be my shelter from the storm.

The nightmare had become endless. I considered giving up and accepting my fate as I watched the silhouette in the doorway approach my position a few steps down the hill.

"Is this not enough?" I said, exasperated. "What do you want? What more do you want?"

No answer.

The glimmer of light revealed him to be a male. Roughly the size of the others yet more nimble, he moved without issue on the increasingly unreasonable terrain the storm was creating beneath our feet.

My foothold began to slip and I was convinced I would tumble backward, down over the man whose life I had no choice but to take and into some abyss below. I was ready to quit—to give up, to surrender to whatever fate that awaited me.

That was not to be the day I died, however, and my great fortunes continued in the most unexpected manner.

In a timely reminder of what had happened with the assailant I had myself killed, a pointed end ruptured through the live man then on the approach. He stopped, staggered, and fell forward as a boot was put into his back that sent him plummeting down the hillside and into the expanse of the forests below.

"Baron!" I yelled well beyond my physical means, ever-thankful to have been spared such a gruesome death.

The figure now standing in the doorway, however, was not the Baron. Upon hearing my words, my savior only shook his head and turned to retreat into the castle without acknowledging me further.

I knew not why I was spared other than assuming the man had some sympathy for my pitiful state. His attire and vestige seemed akin to the others in that ever-darkening night, but his demeanor was not at all the same.

Despite the inherent danger, I stumbled up the path and made my return trek back into the castle proper. All had fallen quiet in my absence—that is, save for my scrabbling against the walls as I tried with all my might to keep myself upright and moving forward.

In the main hall, I was immediately greeted by three and four more bodies than before. A sinking feeling preceded my concerns for the Baron's safety. In spite of his retaliations and the brutality of it all, it was still the two of us against whatever we may face going forward. I would not leave without giving him the aid he had given me.

In that first hall to the corridor, two bodies immediately caught my eye and nearly my stomach. Lamps at the entrance and in the distance had been lit unlike before. I wretched at the sight of the death affront me—one man young, his torso sliced at such an angle as to nearly be divorced from his body; the other nearly split down the middle. Such sights were becoming familiar in ways I hesitate to mention even now, in this writing.

As I turned the corner and squinted, I peered through the remaining darkness toward the open entrance to the study. The doorway offered a narrow view of the expansive interior. When my eyes had adjusted to the distance, I saw yet another victim of the night's violence slumped against the station that held the cages of rodents. The Baron stepped into view from the right, his axe in hand as he circled the room.

For the briefest moment, his eyes matched mine. I saw relief in the Baron's face then. Through that look, I knew his faint smile came as a result of seeing I was still alive. He kept his eyes on me and shook his head as he centered himself in the room.

Just as he did, a second inhabitant of the room came into view—this man equally alive. His back was to me at the onset, but he soon turned to face me as had the Baron himself.

The man standing in the doorway allowed his hand to bring the sizable metal door to him. Before the room was sealed, I glimpsed him in better light than before and recognized his attire and his appearance and demeanor—it had been the man who had saved me from certain death just moments earlier.

With the door closed, the seals around the entry made it nigh impossible to infiltrate without a key. The unmistakable sound of the latch on the other side of the door being fixed in place solidified my fears once more: I was alone, again.

The clamoring of the door and the commotion therein left no mystery as to the Baron's location. The tumult and footsteps that sounded from the entrance hall was the exact result I expected. I was left with no choice but to retread my path back into the corridor.

A torch lit the way and shone the way ahead of the intruders making their way toward my position. Without being permitted into the study, my only other familiar option was to duck into the gallery nearby and hope I went undetected.

Within only two or three of my quieted breaths and muted whimpers, three bodies rushed past the door. Before long, I heard them pounding and striking at the steel entrance to the study with both sharp and blunt weapons alike.

Gripping my ruptured elbow in my free hand to steady it dulled the pain of walking. Even if I wished to help the Baron, I reasoned there was little I could do in my current state. Perhaps it was merely an excuse born of desperation, but it was the one that informed my actions going forward.

Before I could make my way to the entry door and attempt to lift the considerable barriers keeping it in place from any outdoor siege, a pair of silhouettes made themselves known in the moonlight by the broken window by the entrance. Without hesitation, I hurried toward the back of the castle once more as I heard them land on the broken glass and hurry forward.

I feared they saw me and would give chase but was thankful when they opted for the study corridor instead. Fishing in my opposite pocket with my left hand, I freed the item the Baron had bequeathed to me earlier in the night. This "shelter" he spoke of was not somewhere I expected to feel safe. He wanted me to live, I was convinced of that much, but did not want to rely on this path unless there was no other option.

That was my thought process, and it was only moments later that I learned how very right I was.

The key turned in the last remaining lock with ease, as if it had been used so frequently as to be open more often than not. The Baron had used it for some purpose frequently, though to what end I was not yet privy.

Inside, I took a gas lamp left immediately inside the entrance and closed the door behind me. Holding anything but my broken arm was a frightening prospect, but the lack of a lock on that side of the door left no time for contemplation. I was immediately greeted inside by a series of steps from which no hint of light shone save for that from my lamp. I followed them with haste to the bottom for what must have been over one hundred steps.

The castle itself had been cold from the rain, but what I met there was a temperament akin to the tundra. It was cold, wet, damp—the stenches were equally unpleasant, but the lack of heat dulled my senses even more so than did the overwhelming pain of my injuries.

What I found could be described as a dungeon. It was decrepit, abandoned. On either side were cells, sizable ones with no accommodations of any kind remaining. The first I had seen was empty, with nothing to be noted by the lamp's light.

Only thereafter did my heart's beats decreased as my breathing stopped. They then resumed at a rate many times that of a calm being. I began to see, to witness, with my own eyes, this shelter for myself. This was witnessed with no filter, with no guide to obscure the experience.

Stacked high in a nearby cell was—more, and more, and more. So many. Innumerable. In one cell, and then another, and another, the sight was always the same as the last and the next.

It had been an unbelievable sight that far outmatched all I had seen at the castle. Gruesome and inhumane as the violence had been, this was of a horror unknown.

The corpses, stacked one on top of the other, had been exhibited in various forms of decomposition. Some had decayed down to their very bones. Others were now only tissue. Those remaining had skin that resembled leather.

Numerous cells had been filled in a haphazard fashion with the bodies tossed inside, one on the other. What most frightened me was a familiar sight—one that I knew, somehow, would greet me sooner or later, but I expected it first in nightmares.

There, at the front of the last cell to be occupied, was what remained of the man the Baron had downed just before me hours earlier. The man from the study, the man the Baron had struck down without a second thought. Here he was, amongst the rest.

I did not want to see more, or hear more, or smell more, or experience more. I only wanted to go back home to a place that wasn't like this. I did not want to see this ever again.

Running was all I knew how to do, but my body would not. I stumbled in a quickened walk, moving in the opposite direction of the stairs and hoping this shelter would protect me, somehow.

The masonry felt as if it had no end. I walloped through the passageway seeking any sign of an exit. I would walk for one minute, and then two, and stop to turn to ensure I had actually made progress. Each time, I would see the faint silhouette of the steps I had descended growing smaller in unbearable increments.

At last, a sign of life presented itself. It was not what I expected, but it had been the cornerstone of all life and was only suitable for guiding me away from that place. The water running along the stone flooring convinced me the rain was near. Its volume increased, causing me to take to running with the gas lamp swinging alongside my broken arm.

I had reached an aged and wooden-clad doorway; one of a make so thick and sturdy that even iron would not easily break. Unlike the other entrance, the door had been kept shut with a lock accessible from inside.

I took the key used in the other lock and wished and hoped that it was the one. If it were not, I would have no means of escape.

In went the key and, with just one turn—

I stepped outside, into the exit that had been erected in a small crevice in the side of a hill beyond the ravine. Vines and overgrowth obscured its existence in a manner that appeared deliberate.

It was then that, at last, I took my first step into the storm. Despite being nearly swallowed by its fury, I moved forward. I fell but continued back on my feet as I finally found my way out onto a path some distance from the castle.

Thunder clapped from behind and nearly in tandem with a strike of lightning so close it felt as if it had struck the ground just under my feet. The castle in the distance was fully illuminated for the first time, revealing its exterior that remained dark even in spite of nature's greatest light.

Much had been left unsaid, and much had been left unanswered, but I wished to be free above all else. It was not until later that the realization dawned that freedom can come at a cost—a cost I continue to bear even now, twenty years later.

# CHAPTER XIII

In the month that has passed since I penned those dreaded final words that recounted the entirety of my experience at Castle Savanberg, I have slept little. Partial blame falls on my ailing body and frail temperament, of that I have no doubt. What came as most troubling, however, was the correspondence that I received mere days afterward. The letter—the first of its kind in all the years since—came without prior notice and went exactly as such:

My dear Edwin,

How are the ages treating you? I trust you have been well. I likewise hope you will forgive my forthrightness in stating I have greatly missed your company since our parting. Your memory surely would not betray the goodness of your visit, yes? Our conversations were amongst the most engaging and fulfilling of all those I have had. I take no pride in hoping it was the same for you, dear friend!

I write to you now with news—oh, the joyous news I have for you! It is incredible. It is all your ears should ever wish to hear. But it is here you must learn this news is not suitable to share in mere writing. This is something that must be shared amongst us, amongst friends.

Thus I invite you to spend an evening here at the castle with me. You are of course welcome to spend the weekend, the week, or longer should you wish. This retreat is a holiday for both the mind and body. Please do indulge me this one final kindness. I know that you will agree that it is in both of our interests that we meet once more.

Should you wish to accept this invitation of mine, please see that you arrive no later than noon, the 1st of October. The door will be unlocked.

And do believe me to be, so very truly, yours,

L. von Savanberg

The letter's arrival came with an allowance of three weeks to the prescribed date. Between the words in his writing, I sensed a particular understanding between the two of us. He would have no difficulty ascertaining my answer. It was within the first minute of having read his words that I had resolved to return to Castle Savanberg and seek answers to the pressing questions of two decades. Neither of us would ever return to anything resembling normalcy until the matter was at long last settled, with finality.

I have collected and sealed this bundle of papers with diligence and will soon add this addendum you now read. The resulting package is to be left in the care of my dear friend Morse Cottingley. I do so under the strict directive to not make any piece of it available to any person's eyes, including his own, unless he should go six weeks without hearing from me. Should the days pass without word, all worst fears have been realized and all appropriate measures are to be taken.

To Morse, I say to you now that I regret the years we have lost as a result of what occurred at that wretched place. We may not hold the same bond that we once did, but my wish is that you shall remember me as I was, not for what I am now. Please do not think poorly of me after what you have read here. I do not consider myself someone with the strongest of wills, but I have tried to do what is right when the opportunity has presented itself.

To Emilia, my heart aches at the thought you may have read this sordid tale in its entirety. You must forgive me—my mistakes, my words, they are all no fault of yours and solely my own. Your life has been a good one without me; neither of us should have any regret in that regard. I confess now to ignoring all forty-six of your letters that came in friendship, and resisted all urges to reply. My mind and body were in agony each and every time you came to my home to visit, both alone and with your children, only to be turned away by the housekeeper at my order. I was home, here, writhing in my own self-pity. I could not have you see a man in such a state and acted only in your best interests. Please believe me, and do live your life as both a mother and wife without anything that may bring you pain of any sort.

To those I now leave behind, perhaps with more questions than answers, I ask for your forgiveness. These pages may suggest madness but I insist they are only a reflection of the reality I have endured all my own. While it may have appeared selfish, in time, I hoped it would become apparent that my actions and my isolation were only to protect you from a world for which you are not ready.

With regard to how I may be remembered, I ask only that you forgive, and forget, me. I assert here, one final time, in my writing, with my own pen, that all words you see before you are true. I have expressed them, undoubtedly, with infinite regret. Please let this be the end, for my sake and yours.

Edwin Ramsett

# EPILOGUE

My pen now reaches this paper with limited time. I shall relate to you all that has become clear to me in the order in which each fact became evident. I write this with no assurance it may reach the designated party. I have only Baron Lechner von Savanberg's promise to abate my fears.

The journey was to be a long one, just as it had been two decades prior. Advances in technology reduced the toll of such a long expedition, bringing the overall travel to lesser time, but my body had aged disproportionately against the flow of human ingenuity.

Harsh as the travel was on my older frame, my determination to meet with the Baron once again had not diminished by the time I reached Vienna on that early train. I arranged for transport to Castle Savanberg by horse and carriage, beating out the dead light by an hour. By sunrise, we were well on our way. If all went as planned, I presumed, we would arrive at the castle well before noon.

A great many thoughts clouded my mind as we trotted along that familiar path. My true aims and intentions were chief among them. The overgrowth that once extended on either side had retreated into the dusky marsh below. The once lush majesty of the countryside had been cast back, its bright greens more earthly, the branches limping, the leaves more sparse than my first visit.

My driver on this occasion was a young man, not a year over twenty by my estimation. He said little upon our departure from the local township—likely, I thought, due to unfamiliarity with English. During the trip, however, he spoke as he ushered the horses to a slow, quiet place for resting.

"We don't get many visitors wanting to come out here," said the local. "What brings a foreigner to this place?"

The pattering of the horses' hooves had become therapeutic to my tempered nerves, their faultless rhythm rivaling that of practiced musicians. I was hesitant to share a great deal of information with a stranger regarding my visit, saying only, "I have some business here with an old acquaintance."

"With the Baron, then? Few others out here, after all." Curiosity was evident in the young man's voice. Despite my silent response, he continued, saying, "My father speaks highly of him. He has often told anyone who'd listen that he singlehandedly witnessed the Baron saving a foreigner that got lost out here some years ago. Most talk of him is good, but it seems he keeps to his lonesome in that castle. No one in town has mentioned seeing him for several years now."

With those few choice words, I began to recognize the manner of speaking despite the twenty years that had passed. The delivery and dialect had clearly been passed from father to son, along with the profession itself.

The rest of our journey occurred in quiet until we were finally at our destination. Peering on from the carriage when it was finally within eyeshot, I saw and observed the castle for the first time in twenty years.

Its form was exactly as I had remembered it. While its dark exterior had not changed, it had aged considerably since my visit. Very little attention had been paid to sustaining the property, as overgrowth now stretched from top to bottom at various points of the stone exterior. The entrance, too, had seen little maintenance. Vines had started to wrap around the hinges to the large double doors through which I once entered.

Upon arrival, the young driver and I parted ways after giving him my gratitude and some gratuity for his assistance. He was not a young man I expected to ever see again—indeed, his acquaintance could have very well been the last I am to make. You see, knowing what I knew after those twenty years allowed me to return to Castle Savanberg with a new resolve. I was not afraid of the future; instead, I was embracing it. What would come would come.

As the Baron had promised, the door gave way without resistance. The interior was left in a natural dusk, illuminated only by the faint sunlight outside. Overcast clouds gave the impression inclement weather was imminent.

I had packed lightly for the journey, bringing along only one suitcase filled with items for the day. I did not intend nor expect to spend long at Castle Savanberg, and I suspected the Baron thought as much as well. Whatever business awaited us, it would be brief.

Though two decades had passed since my departure, I had retained an intimate familiarity with the layout there. The only notable deviation was a thin layer of dust that had settled over much of the interior. Ample cobwebs could likewise be eyed throughout the expansive hall and from the chandelier above. There had been doors that seemed as if they had gone unopened for extended periods of time, with only a beaten path running lateral from the study's corridor over to the library being especially prevalent.

A strange confidence had arisen in me by the time of our engagement. The mystery of what had occurred twenty years prior had haunted me a great deal, as you have no doubt ascertained from my writings. Yet, it was the correspondence from the Baron that at last put me at ease. Whether this self-assurance and poise would stand in the face of what was to greet me ahead, I could not say.

I stepped forward into the corridor where I had last seen the Baron. The horror of that night had vanished, whether that had been by cleaning or time I could not be sure. Neither blood nor bodies could be seen, though I had my suspicions as to their eventual resting place within the shelter below. No doubt, though, my steps had become heavier in my advanced age. I am no longer the young and naïve man I once confessed to being.

Upon turning the corner, I once more gazed upon the entrance to the study—the door fully abreast and open to its hinges. My entrance inside—that very first step—arrived with no fanfare as the Baron's back had been turned. His dress was more formal than in our last rendezvous. Now in a full dinner jacket, clean, pressed, and suitable for a man of his pedigree, he still preferred to dress dark. He stood just affront me, with his mind on the cages of rodents drawing his attention.

"Edwin, Edwin, Edwin," said the Baron, still without looking, "I cannot tell you how happy I am to see that you have come!"

Without remarking further, he pivoted and advanced on my position. I put my briefcase to the side and outstretched my hand. "I was surprised to receive your correspondence, Baron."

"Never! Never should you be surprised to hear from an old friend," said he, taking my hand with both of his and shaking as if nothing had ever occurred between us—certainly nothing as grotesque as what had. "Come, come, again make this place your home as it is mine."

The Baron in his older age had the widest of eyes, as if age had done nothing to slow his mind. In his older years, he had remained as sharp as I remembered and worn well beyond them. His dark hair had begun to show the mildest of grey speckles, though the few wrinkles on his face did little to undermine his natural vitality. What was most troubling was that his face, even in its advanced age, was familiar to me despite not having met prior to that moment.

"Age has treated you very well, my dear friend," said the nobleman to me as he turned his head and looked from side to side.

"You are too kind, Baron," I replied, "but I see time has decided to forget you. You look as if you have aged only weeks, not twenty years."

I did not take his words to heart and instead only looked around to see the room was now filled with a great many instruments—so many things existing in configurations far beyond my comprehension.

"Life can be a great adventure in that way. It is unpredictable for some, very unpredictable. I have always thought that one lifetime is not sufficient for seeing all I wish to see."

I nodded without clearly following his words. My eyes found themselves observing the advancement of that room as opposed to its previous form.

"A storm is coming this night," said the old Baron, catching my gaze. "These instruments you see here are barometers for measuring the state of atmospheric pressure. They are but one of many means to an end."

When I reached out to touch them, he placed his hand atop mine and led me away, saying, "Come, come, let us retreat to quarters more comfortable."

The older Baron had aged with grace and dignity, but time had still taken its toll to some degree. He did not move with the agility I had known. His movements seemed more calculated, more precise, and much less sprightly. I nonetheless felt him a formidable physical specimen, despite his age surely exceeding his sixtieth birthday.

The two of us made our way to the library across the main hall and ventured inside. As with the rest of the estate, it likewise had not changed in terms of furnishing since my previous visit. The Baron invited me into the same seat I had taken when we spoke after the first encounter that fated night.

"You must be tired, poor friend of mine," said he, taking an allotment of fruit and placing it to my side. He then poured an alcohol into the glass nearest and offered it to my hand. My suspicion was that the Baron had planted all of the items for this occasion. The fruit was fresh, the glasses had been readied, and nothing was out of reach or needed to be fetched.

Morse, and those he may allow to read these words, you may think me mad for this, but I never saw the Baron as a bad man. That was tried as we began the conversation I dictate to you now.

"Were you at all hesitant to rejoin me here, Edwin?"

I shook my head. "No, I knew in an instant I would come."

The Baron laughed and smiled as he crossed one leg over the other and rested his knitted fingers over his knee. "You never cease to surprise me, despite the circumstances."

I was unsure what he meant by that, but I had questions for him—ones that had fully informed my decision to return. I knew that if I did not seek out those assurances, I would see my grave with that psychosis begging at my mind until my final breath was drawn.

"Baron, you must have your suspicions as to why I have come?" I asked, without any qualifying statements to imply subtlety.

"Surely!" he exclaimed. "Surely you have come for answers to questions even you—traveled and bright as you are—have not yet found answers. Yet, the real question for you to ponder is not that; it's none of what you may have considered from twenty years ago. The question that should be on your mind is simply this: 'Why?' Why are you here now?"

"Who should go first?" I spoke with a determination I had not had years earlier, but I was thankful for the Baron giving me the opportunity even if his intentions were not altruistic in nature.

He smiled. "Let us share these moments and take turns, shall we? You may begin. I assure you I will be as honest as is possible given the state of things."

"Twenty years ago, you caught me off guard when, after that... initial incident, you knew Emilia's full name. Yet, I know I did not share it with you and I cannot recall it being written or recorded anywhere within my things."

My host once more brought his hands to his lips to form a bridge to his thoughts. "I was—let us say... I was informed."

"And, by whom?"

"No, no, dear boy," said the Baron, "that would be another question. Fear not, though, as we will get to that. I know a great many things, you see. You and I are forever intertwined, even in moments when it would seem we are not."

I gritted my teeth in frustration—something that did not go unnoticed by him. He pointed to my side and commented further: "I know, for example, that you have a sizable knife in your briefcase at your side. I also know that you did not bring it with, how do you say, the noblest of intentions?"

My eyes moved to it on instinct, but the Baron waved me away with a playful gesture.

"My, I did not mean to startle you. We are friends. It will always be so. I know you did not wish to use such a repugnant thing against me. You only brought it in the event I had such intentions against you, yes? 'Self-defense' is the legal axiom, I believe."

My breaths began to come and go at a heavier pace. The Baron took notice of this as well and clapped his hands in front of him, saying, "It is now my turn. Who do you believe were the men that intruded upon this place?"

"They were vagrants, or vandals—something of that sort."

"Edwin, you are sharp! Clever, even!" he said with a tinge of quelled excitement in his voice. "That is absolutely correct."

"What qualm did they have with you, Baron? Why would they be so ardent on killing you? Enough to risk their own lives, even."

"I see you are using your own questions to follow-up my own. Wonderful! The reason they came here was the same reason you are: they were sent here with a purpose." The Baron again pointed in my direction, as he had begun to do with each new question, and asked, "How many times have we met?"

Furrowing my brow, I responded with the only answer that could be correct: "If you count this encounter, we have met twice, on two occasions."

"But, no!" said he with a grin. "It is not twice. We have met a total of three times. Well, perhaps that is not entirely satisfactory, or exactly honest. That will all depend on your perspective."

"I don't know what to say, Baron. You have me at a loss."

"Yes, yes, it was meant to come to this. I took as many precautions as one could ever take in ensuring we would come to this point—to now, to here. This room, in these chairs, speaking as we are. Does that frighten you?"

I nodded my head on instinct alone. "Our first meeting took place in September of 1891, of that I am certain. I have revisited those moments and reflected on them a great deal."

My words appeared ignored as the Baron continued, saying only, "Those men, the ones who came here with such malice, came here with one single intent—you saw this for yourself."

"They came... to kill you?"

My host nodded. "That they did. That they did! And, I fear that they may well have succeeded if not for your help."

"Who sent them, Baron? What enemies have you earned that would call for such an onslaught on your own home?"

"It is not so simple as that. Or, perhaps it is," he answered. "I must confess to you that, in retaliation, I have reacted in similar form in the years since. I have arranged for a death that is out of my reach. Do you think less of me for that?"

I did, to some extent, but did not immediately profess as much. "If it is in the matter of self-defense, men will do whatever it takes to ensure their survival. I have seen them do as much—I have seen you do as much."

"You believe that a death can be justifiable, then? We can be just in taking another man's life?"

"If it is necessary," I said, with some hesitance. I did want the Baron to believe me, but even I did not do so. I have always aimed to invest sincerity and weight behind my words, but endorsing the loss of another's life is not so easily done even now.

"Twenty years ago, almost to this very day, those vagrants intruded upon this place. Vagabonds, all of them, drifters. I see confusion in your face as to how I am familiar with them. Never fear, all will become clear. Those men were sent here with that express goal of eliminating me and taking something from me.

"What's more," continued the Baron, "I must confess they did not catch me off-guard. I apologize if you felt you were in danger, my friend. I did not intend for that and would not have accepted your demise that night. There were moments I expected to be difficult, and others that were less trying than I imagined. I worked within the confines of my own foresight for our sake—surely you will forgive me for that?"

The older Baron's manner of speaking was not easily followed, but I nodded, adding, "You say those men came here to steal something, and that something is your work in the study, is it not?"

"You knew before you came here this day, surely. Such a revelation is not new to you."

I again affirmed as much. "I have not acknowledged it to anyone, I assure you. I left no word of my suspicions, in writing or otherwise, despite having suspected it since the night of my departure."

"That work has drawn to it many an enemy. While you may have your suspicions, you have no doubt allowed the finer details to escape you. Allow me to share some of the more pertinent particulars with you now, beginning with this: I am responsible. It is my fault that the two of us were in danger, even outside of the work that I have done."

"How do you mean, Baron?"

"Well, it is complicated, but may be summed up as such," he began, tapping his boot against the air as it hung over his opposite knee. "Back then, in 1891, I received a most threatening correspondence. It came not in the form you expect, but it ultimately served as the reason we are here today. I spoke of this to no one, as I felt the advantage to be gained from my newfound position was to await confirmation that would surely come in very due time.

"Eight months passed as I bided time here in this castle. Those men, those vagrants—they presented themselves here in the interim. Confronting their aggressive and unyielding nature became commonplace for me. You could say it was a somewhat common occurrence. I was able to use my advantageous position to take care of them; their mindlessness made them the easiest of targets, you see. I was able to force their paths, their entries, into areas more suitable for dispatching. It was tiring work, but it kept my mind and body able.

"By the time of your arrival, many men had already encroached upon this place. Their weaponry was rudimentary—they took not to firearms but to blades and weapons that could primarily be concealed on one's person. I would later learn the reason for this. Their appetite for destruction was insatiable, as you, yourself, saw near the end of your stay. They acted with no keen interest in self-preservation."

I shook my head in an apparent act of disbelief. "Baron, I don't understand. Who were those men exactly?"

"No doubt you observed their similar features. They appear quite similar because they are quite similar in that they do not speak this language and would not be missed. Imagine if such men—men the world would not miss and would not seek in their absence—were given a mission. This mission was a simple one that involved only killing a man. What do you think would come of it? Even if they were given the opportunity to flee, it would matter little as the consequences would be far from dire should they speak with others or even authorities. Already they had been ostracized by society and forgotten, you see.

"With the incentive of a prize or a reward, such men's hearts would be further corrupted into most anything. If they were to resist, surely they would not last long. In essence, they had quickly proven the perfect weapons—effective and yet still disposable."

"How did all of this come about?" I asked, reminding myself that this point remained one of the few to which I could never satisfactorily provide any answer.

"Ah, the question!" he exclaimed, bringing his hands together in an audible clap by his chest. "That is the question I have waited twenty years to answer, Edwin. My dear, dear friend, you have asked the only question that should matter. I confess to you now that it took some time to wade through the probabilities and deduce the true nature of what had all occurred, both now and then.

"As a young man—from the youngest of ages—I was hailed for my apparent intellect, but even if I possessed the mental prowess that had been attributed to me, I would not have been able to prevail without aid. Here, I speak frankly and candidly for the first time. Are you certain this is a path down which you wish to wander?"

I nodded without hesitation, our eyes not breaking contact.

"Foremost, I must thank you for your assistance," said my host of both now and all those years ago. "Without your aid, neither of us would be here now. You were instrumental, and remain so, my friend."

"I fear your commendation is undeserved, Baron. I did so little to help that I can only apologize for the cowardice when you needed me most," I said with a modicum of shame.

Baron Lechner von Savanberg smiled in the friendliest manner he ever had in my company. "Oh, you need not worry of such a thing. After all, without your empathy and bravery, I am certain you would have found me dead those years ago when you came upon this castle."

"What exactly was I able to do for you, Baron?"

"In 1891, when you came to my door and I greeted you for the first time, I did so with genuine joy. It was like meeting a dear friend, but our camaraderie was more solidified than that. I had not seen a man who was not wielding a blade or axe or sword of some sort in many months at that point.

"What I saw in that moment, when you appeared at my door," said the Baron, leaning forward from his chair toward mine, "was success—I knew how to combat failure."

My brows knitted in confusion, allowing me to only repeat myself: "I again ask you: What was I able to do for you, by doing so little?"

"That is a question for which the answer is not so easily shared," said he in reply. "I had already expected your meeting from some time before, after that information was shared with me some eight months earlier.

"On that day, something extraordinary happened, I had a visitor—one most unexpected. A foreigner, even! He spoke of many things and tried much to convince me of what I must do."

I sat forward. "Who told you I would be coming?"

The Baron curled his fingers on his right hand prior to raising his index finger and pointing in my direction. "It was... you, Edwin. You told me you would be coming—along with when, and by what method, and for what reason."

"Baron, you must be mistaken! I am certain we never met before that day."

"See, you are correct, Edwin. You and I did not meet before that day. Yet, we did. Do you not see?"

I shook my head with anxious abandon. I was not following the Baron's lead, which led to him introducing the whole truth to me in as direct a manner as possible.

"Eight months before you came to that door as a young man," said my host, placing his hand on my knee as assurance, "you came to it under very different circumstances. The face I saw then was not the one you wore then, in your young age, but instead the face that you wear today."

The Baron watched my reaction carefully, which could have only been the blankest of expressions. At best, his words had resulted in only confusion.

"The face that greeted me that day, eight months prior to your arrival, was this face that sits before me now. You were older—this very age—and wearing these very clothes. You spoke as you do now; your mannerisms and the way you accentuate your words in such an innocent manner, it is all intact. It was you, Edwin."

I shook my head ever so slightly, rocking to one side and the other.

He continued, admitting, "That is also how I knew so much of Emilia's familiars and her name. You told me yourself, my friend, to use as needed. Surely, you can imagine my surprise when you appeared at my door that first time. You were exasperated and presented the strangest demeanor I had ever seen. Your attire was disheveled. You came to the door and gave a startling introduction.

" 'My name is Edwin Ramsett. You do not know me, but you soon will,' you said. 'I need you to listen to me and listen closely. I will share with you information that I have not been permitted to share and will do so quickly. You must trust me as we have very little time.' You spoke with a heave in your voice between bouts of catching your breath.

"That meeting was one I was unable to forget in the days, weeks, and months that followed. It was only a matter of weeks from that day that vagrants began to infiltrate this property. Prior to that, I had no outside visitors in a long, long time—certainly none so violent as they. Even from what you told me then, it took some time to deduce what was happening, or should I say, to make the proper confirmations.

"Knowing all you do now, are you able to deduce what had happened, Edwin? Do you know yourself well enough for that?"

I shook my head as I firmly ran my palm over my face from which all the color had no doubt drained.

"I recall with utter certainty the words you shared with me, sitting in that chair, looking exactly as you do now. You began, 'Today, or yesterday, or tomorrow, you will realize your success. That success comes with a great cost. You must believe me and not waste a second more on doubting my words.' This was a tall order from a man who had come to my door with a great deal of sudden confidence in his demeanor—a man slightly older than my own self.

"I soon realized, Edwin, that there was another who sought to break free of Order. Even before you told me at that time, I knew. 'You must not be alarmed,' you said then, 'but I must tell you that I have come here to kill you.' I was distressed for a moment at such a forthright admission—yet I did not doubt your words. I knew it was possible and embraced the possibility out of a sense of pride.

" 'If you have not realized the truth in my words now, you soon will. I do not wish to kill you, so long as you will listen to what I have to say and will heed all of it.' This man spoke from a position of power, I confess to you now.

" 'Within a matter of weeks, you will begin to be visited by violent people. Vagrants, and not ones of any origin familiar to you. It won't take long for the remaining pieces to fall into place.'

" 'You have done this on your own accord?' I asked.

" 'I volunteered,' you said. 'I felt as if I had little choice but to pay you this visit. I fear he would have had it no other way.'

" 'Pray tell, Mr. Ramsett: Who is it you are referring to?'

" 'The one who arranged this visit,' you confided back then, 'was the one who sent me here, to carry out the murder. The very person who will soon be responsible for those vagrants appearing at your door. It was all done by the one who... sits in front of me now. It was you, Baron, who sent me here.'

"The confirmation came as an exhilarating validation of my life to that point. I needed no further convincing that it had all been true, as only someone in that position would be privy to the particulars of what would eventually be. All the same, you had been hesitant and repeated, 'I do not wish to kill you.' You continued, explaining your background and your purpose for originally visiting the castle in your younger form."

I took in this information with unrelenting incredulity. As I dictate the lengthy exchange and the many revelations into words for you here now, I do not know how to express the emotions that swirled in my mind then.

" 'Now, you have sent me here to kill you, in this day. You did not want me to share with you any of the information that I now tell you. What I need from you is assurance—assurance, absolute assurance—that you will set things right.'

"I brooded for a moment on that point and countered, asking, 'If that is your wish, Mr. Ramsett, why do you not simply kill me now? Clearly you know of my intent. There are many options at your disposal. You could simply go warn your younger self in London. You could, naturally, simply kill me and possibly prevent any of this from ever happening. Is that not so?'

" 'If it were so simple, I... confess it would be my course of action,' you said then. 'I do not have the background with which to speak with authority but can pass on the information given to me by the Baron. He spoke of Order and its ability to correct the course of history should it be tampered with. Two decades of daily experimentation had led to a profound understanding of its mechanisms. Unless the situation became desperate, the Baron told me to stick to the plan and change only this one eventuality.'

"In the years since, I have made the advances in my work predicted in your monologue. The core concept, time distension, suggests that it will never be possible to send someone forward into time. But with the right technology and the ability to harness energy in the atmosphere's electrostatic discharges, one can be sent back to the past so long as a conduit is available."

My breaths came heavily and without any means of control. "You are referring to the machine," I said. "The machine you showed me twenty years ago and the one I suspected was at the heart of this in the years since."

The Baron smiled in a manner reminiscent of a parent hearing unyielding praise for their child. "For twenty long years, I have proceeded with the excitement and dread of possibly engineering my own demise. I followed the path you described to me back then—only occasionally deviating, as a sort of experiment. It is powerful, peculiar, reassuring, and enthralling in equal measure to know that your life will result in something meaningful. There is no greater source of inspiration.

"To be honest, I am not sure who made this decision or that one or if I am capable of breaking free. In other words, I am only following the trajectory I have been given. I confess to not being entirely unique in my thoughts and actions, lest I upset the natural Order. Yes, I was responsible for trying to kill a man as I confided earlier this night. That man has caused me a great deal of trouble in my work. I labor for the benefit of mankind, and he has the gall to try to stop me?"

"The men that you sent back," I felt compelled to ask, "who were they, really? They indeed do appear to be vagrants, perhaps of local origin, but none spoke English and none seemed to have any objective other than to satiate violent urges."

The Baron laughed a little. "Those men were ones who had wandered into the area. Thieves, usually. studied a great deal of languages in my youth, so persuading them to come along was not as difficult as you may have presumed. And, even without you having prodded me to use them by mere mention of the existence of such a strategy, I am sure to have arrived at it in time. After all, I came to that idea before, did I not? I can apologize still for their most violent urges, including those targeting you."

"Part of that is certainly untrue," I said, "as one of them saved me that very night."

The Baron hunched forward, grabbing at flesh on his face. "Yes, yes—we will call that a... wayward visitor. There were three forces at play that night, and that remains the most unfortunate of them all."

"I don't understand. Why would he save me while the others meant me certain harm?"

I was unsure if the line of questioning was to blame or merely the occurrence itself, but something had agitated the Baron's calm demeanor—if only ever so slightly.

"You saw him," the Baron said. "He was older than the rest. A fool, desperate for reasons he could never explain even as an axe clung to him."

As I then looked upon the Baron in his chiseled, older state, I began to see the resemblance.

It had been Baron Lechner von Savanberg who was responsible for saving me that night—it just wasn't the one who sat in front of me in that moment. My savior of that time would be a man I—in this current lifetime—would never meet, at least in that incarnation. For a much older Baron to go back himself with no means of returning to his time, the situation must have grown immensely desperate.

"Wait, Baron," I said with my hand raised, "you did not finish your story."

My apparent interest piqued his own. "What have I omitted?"

"You claim I came to visit you then, in my older years. Yet you did not reveal what happened thereafter. I surely would have noticed my older self touring the castle if he had still been here eight months later."

"I feared you would ask as much," said the Baron with some hesitance. "You already know, do you not? You do not need me to speak in absolutes."

It took little time to determine the fate of the original visitor.

I recalled a story I had heard and only then linked it to my own self. The tale of the older, weakened man found collapsed on the path leading from the castle twenty years ago. The driver had told me of the Baron's grace and assistance for the man, but no one—including myself and the carriage's driver—had realized the Baron had not carried the man to offer him hospitality. He was not bringing the older man salvation—instead, he was merely ensuring his silence by returning him to a place from which he had just escaped.

The realization was horrific in one way but hopeful in another. I could only do better with the knowledge of what had transpired in a previous attempt.

The Baron that sat before me was the Baron I had met before—the very one I had greeted twenty years earlier when I first visited the castle as a young man. I do not believe, however, that everything is eventual. The Baron may or may well have not become the man before me, if I were to again volunteer as I did.

As he laid out his plan for me, I imagined the proposal came in much the same way as it did before, for some other version of myself. The Baron told me I would be entering the machine deep into the night and would be transported back over two decades earlier. It would be on the day the machine would become fully operational, but the younger Baron would not yet have realized its potential.

What most surprised me was that the Baron shared this plan with great wherewithal. After twenty years in planning, this was to be a correction of course—a means to an end that would satisfy his life's work without conceding to his enemy.

"Edwin, you must realize now the importance of following my every instruction without deviation," said the Baron as he circled the library and rested his hand on my shoulder from behind.

"But, Baron," I began in a hushed tone, "why has it come to this?"

"No other version of myself understands the importance of what I am doing here. I do not trust them—not in the past, and not in the future. Wielding this power in my time is not reason to leave them to their work. Undistracted, he may break free from Order, and cause consequences beyond our imagination. That is why we must do what is to come, to correct what I now see as a mistake."

"But why now, Baron?" I asked. "Why—wait all this time, when you could have acted any year between then and now?"

"When your older self visited," he clarified, "I was told of my waiting for the attacks to finally cease, as it would indicate my older self had, then, entered the machine, desperate to join the attack that night—the one we both have lived at least once for ourselves. That time has come again, Edwin. You must realize now that you cannot deviate from the plan. This is what must happen—you have to kill me. If you do not, neither of us will ever escape this."

I asked the Baron of the dangers involved. His response seemed both measured and rehearsed—designed to keep me at calm and focused on the task he had given me.

"When I sent the others back, I did so on those applicable days in which the conditions were right. I am sure some did not survive the journey due to some variant in my calculations. I would send them back at different points but their destinations would come on the same days. In this way, I felt I had devised a means with which my past self would not be able to overcome the odds. Alas, he was more cunning than I initially supposed."

There was only one question I had to ask of my host, and he knew it would come sooner rather than later.

"What should I use?" I asked. "To kill the man I am to kill."

He shook his head as if he had traced my thoughts. "I cannot risk sending you with a gun lest we possibly lose you or the machine in the process. It will need to be a blade, as it was with all the others in the past. All the same, my past self may sever the hand you use to hold the gun before you are able to raise it. You will simply need to wait for your chance to strike him—preferably through the heart, or the head."

The Baron turned and stood with his hands crossed behind his back as he gazed out the window that looked out onto the withered garden below.

"Please ensure you finish this. You may think him innocent, but do not let your good nature get the better of you. You have seen for yourself what he can become yet back in that time, you betrayed the trust of the Baron who sent you back to rid of me. You said to me, 'I do not want this to end how he wishes. I want to set all of this right, without having to kill anyone. You need to ensure that the machine is never used so that the cycle stops here.' "

I knew not what my past-future self thought, but I clapped my hands together in a tapping rhythm, stretching the remaining time as long as could be done. "Why can you not just destroy the machine and be done with this?"

"Even if I destroy the machine now, it will mean nothing in the past. My past self will continue to use it to his own ends—and I will be unable to make any further effort to stop him. I must ensure that my best self perseveres and emerges the victor. I know now this power is too great to ever be used for more good than bad."

Upon leaving my chair, the Baron made his way to my position and stretched out his hand.

"Edwin," he began, "you are one of the few friends I have made in this life—I only hope that we will not have to acquaint each other again in another."

I nodded and took his hand in mine. This would be one of the last times we would ever be in such a position—of that, I wanted to feel confident.

-:-

The two of us were soon on the move, making our way up the steps to the upper floor of Castle Savanberg. Before long, and with few words, we returned to the room I found most familiar.

"These shall again be your quarters, my friend. They have changed little—no, they have changed not at all, in your absence," the Baron spoke with an abundance of eagerness as he showed me around the room I had spent several nights in twenty years earlier. "I have preserved it all exactly as it had been, including your choice of book. I thought you may wish to finish it someday upon returning. Please, do make yourself at home. You will have several hours of time before we are to begin."

Shaking the nerves from my hands, I caught the Baron before he left the room. He promised with the utmost certainty that each and every word I would write on these pages—the words you now read—would immediately be delivered to Morse Cottingley at the address I have prescribed. I do not know if I believe he will go through with such assurances once I am gone. If he intends for his life to be complete with this maneuver, he may well allow it.

That is where I am now, as I hurriedly write my way through this manuscript in the hours I have left in this time.

-:-

The Baron has just visited my room. His demeanor was calm and familiar and his words were unusually brief, having said only:

"Come soon, dear friend. The machine is ready."

A chill serviced my spine. I know what must be done, for the sake of all involved.

I go now with the vain hope that these words will not be filed away in the library downstairs or become ash in the fireplace therein. What becomes of this from here I will likely never know.

The Baron has returned, reminding me that time has run its course. I do not wish to stop writing as I fear it may be the last time I ever hold a pen.

The Baron had been right: Time is a fickle, cruel monster. Any derivation from its concept of Order invites only its vengeance in the most unpleasant ways the mind could ever conjure or endure. I feel now, here at this end, that we are all being punished by her, by Order, for ever having taken part in what the Baron has done in this place. If I do not return and end this in its infancy, untold victims will be drawn into the void as the sequence repeats, expanding with each ripple and wave.

This storm has caught in it so many lives, willfully destroying so many in passing glances. Its torture is eternal and inescapable—one you cannot anticipate, nor recognize until its roots begin starving you of air.

I do not know if I subscribe to all of the Baron's theories. Lest he read this, I cannot go into detail what my plans will be. All I may say is that this is my only option, my only chance, to restore things to how they once were. For myself, for Emilia—this is our only chance.

My only remaining hope is that, as an unfortunate consequence of having read of my undoing, you won't soon suffer the same fate.

Edwin Ramsett
