Fjallkonan #44 | 10 November 1900

I STARTED LOOKING AROUND. ACROSS FROM WHERE I crouched I saw a kind of altar—for lack of a better word—consisting of a large black stone with a pillar of black marble on top. Behind this pillar—which seemed to replace the cross normally standing on church altars—a mural displayed a disgusting, horrible face with coarse and lewd characteristics. Around it, on a black background, fiery flames were painted.

In front was a large marble staircase, where I saw that six brutes were sitting; they were even more ape-like than the rest. They were perched on their heels and were staring at the wall on the other side. I saw that the hateful characteristics, so evident in the faces of the others, were multiplied in these individuals. Their foreheads were receding, wrinkled, and barely an inch high; straw-like hair grew from their big heads; their necks were like that of a bull and they had very broad shoulders. All six were stark naked, revealing their tan—and very hairy—bodies.

I shuddered at the sight and immediately understood that it must have been one of these brutes who had overpowered me on the stairs when I was attacked in the dark.

The same chord I’d heard while coming down the stairs started up again. The whole vault resounded with the same tones of horror. If the trumpets used by the priests of Israel when they marched around Jericho were akin to these, it’s no surprise that the city walls collapsed.²²⁹ The rock began to tremble and I felt myself begin to pass out.

Then I noticed a tall, old man. He had whitish hair and a grey beard, and he wore a red cloak that went all the way down to his feet, though his arms and neck were bare.²³⁰

It was the Count.

When he rose before the congregation, they all bowed as low as wheat in the field bending in a gushing wind.²³¹

He went to stand before the altar.

After various ceremonial procedures, which were of such a nature that they cannot be described, I saw the six men—if one can call them such²³²—enter the room again two by two, each pair leading a young girl with her hands tied behind her back. The girls were all practically naked, of luscious build, and with most lovely looks. They probably would have appeared exceptionally alluring had they not been disfigured by terror.

Then came another group of men who looked like the rest. They carried archaic-looking drums that made a rare sound, which can best be described as resembling the rumble of thunder.

Next, four men came forward who were unlike the others. They carried shiny copper trumpets that were almost as tall as the men themselves. I realized they were the source of the trumpet sounds I’d heard.

Now the whole congregation approached the altar, whereupon the old man dressed in red—the Count, as far as I could see—stepped forward to read some kind of ceremonial invocation. The trumpet players sounded their instruments again, and in the same moment, one of the gorillas grabbed the fettered girl next to him and threw her lengthwise onto the altar. She struggled, as if fighting death itself.

A moment later the red-clad Count advanced towards the girl. He bent over her, staring hard into her eyes. I saw her face begin to change; little by little the fear seemed to fade and, after a while, her deathly pale cheeks were flushing normally again. It was as though she’d given up her resistance, her lips parting in a lascivious smile. She closed her eyes halfway, leaned her head back, and opened her arms.²³³ And then she seemed to swoon.

The old man gestured to one of the scoundrels²³⁴ kneeling by the altar, who promptly jumped onto the girl like a wild beast. I could hardly stop myself from crying out.

I saw how he bit her throat, seeming to suck her blood. She struggled for a moment, but all was over in a flash. She was dead.

The trumpets called again while the corpse lay on the altar.

The crowd went berserk upon seeing the blood flow from the wound. The Count went to the girl’s body, dipped his hands in the blood, and splattered it all over himself.

I had seen too much and couldn’t stay in my hiding place any longer. With great difficulty, I managed to stand up. My legs could hardly carry me, but with great effort I succeeded in getting up the stairs. When I reached the top of the staircase I lit my lantern again. I managed to open the door—and I closed it behind me with great care. On my way back to my room, I could still hear the grisly sounds from below.

I felt weak, as if I had been confined to bed for a long time and had just stood up. I threw myself onto my mattress, quivering with fear.

It isn’t mere fabrication by theologists that Hell exists, for it is right here on Earth. I have personally stood at its border and seen the devils carry out their work.²³⁵

Perhaps next time it will be my turn to be slaughtered on that stone slab …

______________________

Two days have now passed, but I haven’t had the courage to further investigate whether I can use this secret staircase to escape.

Everything still follows the same routine as before. The Count sits beside me in the evenings and is the epitome of benevolence itself—both in words and manners. On the table before me lies the latest home directory of London, and in this library one can find all kinds of books explaining the progress of the nineteenth century.

But down below—underneath this castle—the most gruesome human sacrifices, more horrifying than in any story, seem to be common practice.