Fjallkonan #7 | 21 February 1900

“A FEW MINUTES LATER, YES, I DID. FIVE, OR PERHAPSTEN minutes later—I don’t remember so precisely,”

I replied, surprised by his fervor.

“What the devil!” he said viciously, rising halfway from his chair. The thought flashed through my mind that he might dart at me and bite my throat, so I jumped up, ready to defend myself.⁹⁶ But the Count quickly calmed down, and then he said in his usual tone, “Forgive me, dear Harker—I tend to be a little irritable. But please understand this, my friend: There is a rule in this house that must never be disregarded—especially when we have guests. No window shall be left open after the close of day. There are harmful vapors—toxic gasses, or whatever they call them—that make the evening air here unhealthy for strangers. This you must always remember from now on. You may not wander these rooms and hallways once darkness closes in, and, for my sake, do not sleep in the unoccupied chambers, as this could have grave repercussions for the both of us. That aside—I hope nothing bad has happened to you. You are sure that you closed the window?”

“Yes, I did. The air was getting colder and was swarming with bats, the most disgusting creatures I know,” I said frankly. “And I must confess—one of these vile things managed to get in through the window. I haven’t been able to find it yet, but it must be here somewhere.”

The Count sat very still, rubbed his hands together, and looked at me with a peculiar, observant gaze.

“I was just searching for it when this woman came into the library.”

The Count seemed oddly baffled by this, and I expected him to flare up again, but instead he just asked me to explain.

“The woman who was in the room when you arrived. You must have seen her,” I said. “You came in just after her.”

“No, I did not see her,” he said, seeming distracted. “I should have expected this—there are indeed things in this house which few people know about. You have experienced one of them. What did the girl look like? Was she blonde?”

“Yes.”

“… and dressed in pale colors, but in somewhat unusual fashion?”

I nodded.

“She had sparkling diamonds on her breast, with a ruby in the center?”

“Yes.”

“… and she must have been, let’s say—rather pretty?”

“Very pretty!”

“Very pretty? Ha ha ha! Ravishing! Radiant, like Venus, like Helen of Troy! A wonder of nature one might say. Have you ever seen a neck like that? Such a bosom, such arms, such lips—not to speak of all the rest. My poor boy, my poor, virtuous Englishman, you have probably never seen a woman like that in your whole life.” There was something indecent in his voice and laughter. “Excuse me for making fun of you,” he said. “You modern young people take everything so seriously, but we laughed about such things when I was a lad. I was really just laughing at your innocent expression, but the truth is that there is nothing to laugh about here.⁹⁷ Did she speak to you by chance?”

“As I recall, she welcomed me. I thought that she was living here.”

“Yes, she lives here, and she is closely related to me—gorgeous as a goddess, but galloping mad.”⁹⁸

My heart skipped a beat.

“That, however, does not mean one has to fear her. She believes she is her own great-grandmother. This is why she always wears the same kind of clothes as seen in her great-grandmother’s portrait. Some other evening I will show you the paintings of my relatives, and I am sure you will find that the women are remarkably similar. It is, of course, nothing but innocent folly. Normally one keeps a close eye on her, but every now and then she sneaks out at dusk, wandering through the corridors of the castle. You see, she has been unlucky in matters of love—the poor girl—and thus she is always searching for her suitor.⁹⁹ I have now told you everything there is to know about her.”

He stared at me with a vacant look, as if thinking to himself. “Any more than that you will most certainly not find out.” I could have been mistaken, but I was quite certain he was not telling me the truth.

I’m not sure why, but the Count frightens me. It’s normal to feel uneasy about someone whom you don’t like, but I cannot help being afraid even though the Count is nothing but affable.

“The farmers here in the countryside tell many stories about the castle. One of them is about the white woman, who legend has it roams around the castle, appearing only to those who are in some kind of mortal danger. You must be familiar with tales of such white maidens in old European castles,¹⁰⁰ but here, to a certain degree, the story is rooted in facts. Of course, there’s no need to tell everyone about that.”¹⁰¹

I bowed to show him that I agreed.

“I trust that I do not have to tell you not to believe all the rumors you have probably heard about me or my home. Here in the mountains people tend to be superstitious, as they say, and often old houses are linked to a host of frightening stories. You may think you have experienced some unusual incidents here in this castle, but I assure you everything stems from natural causes and that you need not have any fear.”

“Yes, please be assured that I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Perfect. I had figured as much,” he said. “England is a land of culture and practical pursuits. Eyes that have cherished the light of modern civilization¹⁰² never see phantoms.”

“Of course not,” I replied. “Those kinds of beliefs are now regarded as pathological, and as far as I can tell, they are caused by hallucinations and overexcited nerves—nothing more. Could anything be more absurd than imagining the spirits of dead people ghosting around, even dressed in the same clothes as they wore when they were alive—clothes which have rotted and fallen apart by now?”

“That’s right,” he said with—what seemed to me—a scoffing look on his face. “I like that. That is how young people are supposed to think. We old diehards may cling to our dogmas, but the future belongs to the younger generation. That is why I long for the whirlpool of young life in London. There, people have other things to think about than believing in spectres. Yes, but we should look into business matters now. Will you please get the documents?”

I went to fetch them and came right back. The Count thoroughly examined all of the papers and bombarded me with questions. I was greatly surprised at how familiar he was with the habits and customs of people in London.

“Yes, but as I have already told you, I have spent years studying the heart of England, which I soon hope to enjoy in person. Unfortunately, though, I’ve had to learn everything from books—including the language. I think I might be able to learn from you now, while we converse.”

“You speak English pretty well, Sir Count.”

“I still have a lot to learn,” he said. “I am familiar with the grammar and can speak so that people understand me, but when I come to London, I know that everyone will hear that I am a foreigner. I want to learn to speak the language like the local people do.”

We started looking through the documents.¹⁰³ The house offered to the Count was located in the east side of the city;¹⁰⁴ it was a large, old mansion, which no one had lived in for a long time.

The Count said that he was pleased with the property in every way. He loved that it was old and worn out, much like his own house, and he also found the nearby chapel to be an additional benefit. “Here, in this country, people like me cannot forget that we will, one day, be buried¹⁰⁵ together with the crowd of common peasants—the worst earthworms, who have only lived a day’s life.”¹⁰⁶

After looking over the documents, my host invited me to dinner. He told me that he had already eaten on the way home, which is why he had been delayed. He took a seat by the oven¹⁰⁷ and we started chatting.

I told him about my travels and what had happened the previous night, on my way to the castle. He said that the driver had acted appropriately when he left the carriage, as the wolves might have attacked the horses but usually shy away from humans. When I asked him about the gleam of light that I had seen in the dark, he asked me whether I had ever heard of grave mound fires.¹⁰⁸ He said it was believed that such fires could be seen on St. George’s Night—burning in places where money had been buried.

“There is no doubt,” he said, “that there are countless coins hidden in the ground around here. The Turks, Vlachs, Szeklers and Saxons fought in this area for many centuries, and it was customary to bury one’s treasures to shelter them from the enemy.”

“But how could this money have stayed hidden for so long, when it’s possible to find the places where it’s buried?”

“Because peasants are, and always will be, cowards. They are parasites, and while they will badger us whenever they can, they lack guts. It is also no easy task to find the money where such flames have been seen. In fact, you may find that there is no money at all, as old tales are not often reliable, but yes, it would be lovely to find a chest of glowing gold; gold—the only thing this world will be ruled by.”

It was as if the Count had fallen into some kind of trance as he stared blankly into the distance, scratching the chair with his fingers, like an animal with its claws. I began to believe that he was not entirely sane—at least, not like other men—so I will have to try to keep him in good spirits and make sure that everything is very well handled, as would be expected from a lawyer.

By now dawn was already starting to break. The Count awoke from his trance and apologized for having kept me up for so long. He then wished me a good night and I went to my bedroom.

As before, once I was alone, sleep eluded me. I was overwhelmed by what had happened to me during the day and it made me restless. To ease my mind—and to lock as much as possible in my memory—I began to write. I wrote in shorthand so that my client wouldn’t be able to read it; even if he wanted to pry, shorthand strokes would be too difficult for the Count to crack, even with his wolf teeth.

Every time I think of the girl I found in the library, the memory is as fresh as ever. What the Count told me about her may be true, but it felt as if something didn’t add up. I am certain that here in this castle not everything is as it seems. But we lawyers tend to be skeptical—as mistrust is our shadow spirit.¹⁰⁹

I would like to see her again though, preferably in broad daylight.