A Parish Darker: A Victorian Suspense Novella (13 page)

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. If it had been safe and it had been anything but a last resort, I felt he and I would have retreated there earlier in the night instead. 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 that the lock was open more often than not. The Baron had used it for some purpose frequently, though to what end I was not 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 this side of the door left no time for contemplation. If I took long, it was possible—nay, inevitable—I would be followed into the shelter without having time to mount a defense.

Immediately upon entering the double doors to the shelter, I was greeted by a series of steps descending into unrelenting darkness. No hint of light existed 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 cells with no accommodations of any kind remaining. The first I had seen was empty, with nothing to be seen with the lamp’s light.

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. Others 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 in nightmares. I never expected to meet again so soon.

There, lying 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 only… wanted to leave.

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 endless corridor seeking any sign of an exit, a way out of this nightmare. 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 I was near the exit. Its volume increased, causing me to take to running with the gas lamp swinging alongside my broken arm. I could take the pain if it meant I would get away.

The storm had created the stream now flowing from whatever awaited at the exit—I felt it a cert and moved forward with any courage I had left to summon.

The gas lamp gave me my first look at it—the exit, the way out.

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 back out onto the 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.

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 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 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 1
^st
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 after having read the letter 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 in this world 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

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 that fear.

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 well, I presumed, we would arrive at the castle well before noon.