A Parish Darker: A Victorian Suspense Novella (3 page)

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, “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 the Baron with his hand resting on my upper back as he led me around. “He was of a great many interests, but it was only science that truly captivated for 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.”

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.

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.

In the night, I found myself in that haphazard state between existence and reverie. I had not been asleep for long when I felt a presence near me… over me… 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 dark 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 gleaning of the long, well-worn blade halted me into submission. Helpless and hopeless, I stared on in terrified disbelief.

After observing me in that pale darkness momentarily, it was then that a most unusual maneuver came to be: I was soon not alone, as I viewed from my peripheral vision the figure joining me by sitting on the edge of the bed. I remained lying on my side, watching carefully without making even the slightest movement.

An eternity of uncertainty followed. The axe found its way onto the bed, with the dull side pressing against my chest. Moonlight pierced through the windows, leading to a gleaning on 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 onto the bed, placing my back against the headboard in a defensive position.

“Oh, Edwin, I did not mean to startle you!”

“Baron!” I exclaimed, catching my breath. “What are you doing here? What’s going on? It’s the middle of the night!”

The Baron 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 found their way 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 first of all. From experience, when they see a weapon like my old firewood axe here they tend to take to their heels.”

Relieved, I sighed and waved concern from my host. “It is all well, Baron. I was just startled for a moment.”

“Dear boy, please do get some proper rest now,” said the Baron as he lifted himself onto his feet. “I’m sure it was only my imagination this time.”

Despite Baron von Savanberg’s reassurances, it was not until daybreak that I again closed my eyes for any sort of rest. My chest pulsed with anxiety for the rest of the night. When the sun finally rose, 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 reign of his illustrious castle in which he had taken great 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, 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 to me.

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.

The Castle Savanberg was filled with a great many rooms that had seen little use in recent years. 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, but my entrance was otherwise unheeded.

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. The natural sunlight entering from the three broad windows lessened any need for external lighting, but I still somehow felt a certain darkness that even the brightest torch would not have been able to illuminate.

Of note was the 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.

As I was on my out of the room, I took notice of something peculiar with the portrait of a matriarch in the family. Judging by her age compared to the others present, she appeared to be the last of her kind. What had caught my eye was the stately woman’s portrait having become victim to deep gashes from corner to corner. A rudimentary repair had been attempted with what appeared to be thread, though it was clearly not carried out by a trained hand.

Further 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 door forged from steel, it was held in place by three bolts several inches in strength. I approached with caution and examined the door with care but could make nothing more of it. I had rarely seen any construction exhibiting such craftsmanship—I even dare say it could have rivaled many of London’s finest vaults.