The Castle Of The Bloodsuckers

'Life is a hideous thing, and from the background behind what we know of it peer daemoniacal hints of truth which make it sometimes a thousandfold more hideous.'—H. P. Lovecraft

There was a stirred tempest that night, when I had arrived by carriage at the castle of Count Belenguer upon one memorable evening, during the year of 1925. I was supposed to meet the count, for the purpose of obtaining a deed from him, for a vast property I was interested in purchasing on behalf of my family. My name is Remund Montaner, originally from Toledo—but I was of Aragonese descent.

Because of its remote location and lack of functional roads, I was forced to ride in a carriage instead of a vehicle, once I had reached the province of Aragon from Toledo. I was told by the lackey that the count would be awaiting my arrival. Along the way, I had seen the picturesque landscape of the rural area I was passing through, when it was not raining. It was like travelling through another period of time that remained isolated in the 19th century. I was also aware of the history of this remote region and had been to Aragon on several occasions.

Despite the unsteady weather, my trip was accompanied by the fascinating experience of observing the natural scenery of the countryside. I shall describe to the curious reader the following descriptive details about the castle and its impressive setting. The medieval castle was located near the town of Loarre, in the province of Aragon, on a rocky outcrop, surrounded by fir trees. It had eight massive towers and several sturdy walls of the ashlars of masonry, a keep in front of the ancient fortification, connected by a drawbridge.

Once I had passed through the iron-made door that creaked open, I could see the interior design of the castle. Inside, it had chandeliers, decorative floors, tapestries, rugs, dark magenta draperies, a gallery, arched windows, columns of entases and trapezoidal capitals, a lone chapel that was composed of a singular nave, with an eastern apse covered by a semicircular vault, and lastly, an abbey.

All of these historical places I would eventually see during my stay at the castle, but little did I know about the lurking horror that awaited me upon my arrival. Its spine-chilling episodes of sheer ghastliness were devilish in nature and perverse in their consequences.

There would be a mystery attached to the surreptitious lineage of the count and to the foul creatures that fed on the blood and flesh of the living. The count and his sister, the countess, were already waiting for me in the dining hall. He was tall and lanky in stature. She was of average height, but her contours revealed her attractive constitution. His sable hair was short and parted to the side, whilst her raven hair was long and flowing.

I had noticed that he was well dressed in a black suit and trousers, with black polished shoes that reflected a shining lustre. As for the countess, she wore as well the colour black. A black dress with ruffles at the seam and priceless jewellery that enhanced her natural beauty. Black, it seemed, was a sign of reverence and Gothic appeal for them. I was baffled by the selection of that colour, and there was something eccentric about them that I could not easily dismiss with my practicality.

It was their penetrating eyes that gazed at me, with a sinister concealment of their deliberate intentions. The count greeted me with a cordial salutation, then he introduced me to his beloved sister, of whom I had been enamoured since my first sight of her.

'Señor Montaner. We meet at last. I hope that the rain has not dampened your spirits'.

'Thankfully, I am here now, for I don't know what I would have done if the carriage had been stranded on the road. As for my spirits, I am eager to do business with you, Count'.

'I must confess that I have enjoyed our private correspondences, and so too has my dearest sister. Allow me to present to you, the Countess Valeria'.

I kissed her hand, and as was the Spanish custom, two kisses on each cheek. 'It is my pleasure to meet you, Countess, and I am certain that the count has said pleasant things about me'.

'Trust me, he has, señor. I know Andreu well. It is always good to have new guests visit us here at the castle. Regrettably, we have lacked recently fresh visitors who could enlighten us with their knowledge. For we are an ancient race of people'.

'I can believe that, Countess'.

'Señor Montaner, we are an old lineage with a proud history, and it is not often that we have new visitors who can entertain us from the outside world', the count interjected.

'The outside world? By that, you mean outside of the castle or area?'

'Yes, señor!' The countess replied.

'Do you not travel much abroad?' I asked.

'Not much of late!' The count answered.

'I am intrigued by the history of this castle, Count. What could you tell me about it?'

'It is one of the oldest castles in the country. Built during the 11th century, so long ago it would seem. Everything that you see in the castle is the product of the utmost devotion we have had to its restoration. For centuries, we have dwelt amidst its timeless architecture'.

'You mean your family, when you alluded to centuries?'

'Of course!'

I almost had the unique impression that he, as well as the countess, were speaking as if they had lived in the past themselves. An eerie omen prevailed over the interior of the castle, as I stood before them and the stone walls of secrecy that were yet to be discovered or revealed.

Thereafter, I was shown to my chamber, which was allocated to the guests who would stay on the first storey. Their chambers were upstairs, I had assumed. There were few servants in the castle who were tending to the needs of the count and countess.

The stairway was refurbished in gold, and it had an enclosing frame at the bottom and top that was made of solid glass. This was something I had never seen previously, and it simply astonished me. The coat of arms was what arrested my attention afterwards. It was of some unknown creature that I had thought resembled a medieval dragon of some sort. I stared at it, fascinated, in a momentary trance of its unnatural appeal.

In the privacy of my chamber, I began to ponder the sudden oddities of the castle and, above all, the personas of the count and countess. There was nothing so overtly conspicuous about them, except the ironic remarks and gestures expressed with their behaviour.

Perhaps, I was only overreacting, and it was the consequence of my weary trip. I conceded to that logical notion. The castle itself, despite its brilliant display of architectural magnificence, had a certain gloom of darkness that could be felt within the cold chambers and the recesses of the narrow corridors.

There were torches throughout the castle lit, and that was the only warmth I could feel at times, along with the oil lamps. It seemed queer to me that these highborn people of nobility would resort to such primitive usages, when there was the advent of gas lamps. There was a sparkling flame that burned in the fireplace of the dining hall.

Even in the comfort of my chamber, I could hear creepy noises and secret murmurs of people, it had sounded. That night, I began to hear peculiar noises coming from behind my chamber door that I was not accustomed to hearing.

At first, I was uncertain of what to do. Thus, I remained in my bed, until I began to hear irritating scratches on the door that I intuited were caused by sharp fingernails.

Slowly, I rose to my feet to investigate the disquieting occurrence. When I reached the door, I could hear the sound of heavy breathing. I was reluctant to open the door, and I waited for several minutes, but the breathing did not cease. It was then that I opened the door and stepped outside my chamber, to find no one standing there. All that I saw were the lit torches that barely covered the trammelled murk of the night's shadows in the castle. I was extremely puzzled by what had happened. Perhaps, it was a wild animal that had entered the castle unbeknown to me and the others? Was it a wolf? Whatever it was, it had left for the time being.

In the morning, I addressed this issue with the count and countess, expecting to have an answer. They were both in the gallery, observing illustrated paintings of the family lineage, when I found them. I was eager to know more about their personal history and repute. I could not help but be mystified by their presence, and at the same time horrified by the eeriness of the castle.

I had never witnessed a castle of this nature previously, and it brought sudden memories of my childhood, when I had read about dark tales of terror and suspense that were unnatural in their origin. I had the queer sensation, as I walked towards them, that they were already aware of my approaching footsteps.

Neither the countess nor the count turned around to detect my immediate presence. Somehow, they knew I was coming.

'Good morning, Señor Montaner. I hope that you slept well last night!'

'I tried, Count!'

'What do you mean, try, señor?'

'There is one thing that was troubling me, which caused me to interrupt my placidity'.

'What is that?' The countess interjected.

'It might sound very strange to you both, but I believe I heard scratching and breathing coming from behind my chamber door'.

'Are you certain of what you heard, señor?' The count enquired.

'I think so! What could it have been? Was it a wolf or wild dog?'

'Perhaps, it was!'

'But how did it get inside the castle?'

'The castle, señor, has secret passages and entrances that even we do not use much. It is possible that this animal had entered unbeknown to us'.

'Has it left?'

'You can rest assured, señor, that whatever you heard left with the night', the countess replied.

'But will it return?' I asked.

'Perhaps. Only the night will tell, but I shall inform the servants not to leave any unnecessary doors open so that it cannot enter again through an ingress'.

We had changed the subject and begun to discuss the deed I had come to obtain from the count. He informed me that the deed would be ready in a day or two, as his solicitor was away at the time and would not return for a few days.

I had not prepared myself for this contretemps, but I was willing to bide my time. The count had invited me to stay until then. Despite my initial reluctance, I acquiesced to his invitation. In the meantime, I was eager to ask him about his family’s history—especially the coat of arms. After revealing to me that his family had been in the province for countless centuries and were part of the Aragonese nobility, he proceeded to tell me that the coat of arms I was interested in was indeed a dragon. It was no ordinary dragon. It was the embodiment of a fierce creature.

For the rest of the morning and afternoon, I was entertained by the count and countess. They had invited me to a ball they were to host the following night. I was not prepared for such an unexpected event, but I had given my word that I would join the festivities. Even though I was not particularly in the mood for such revelry, I did not wish to offend them with my indifference.

The weather was intermittent, raining at intervals before pausing again. Our conversations turned to my impressions of the castle and what I had seen thus far. The countess, however, was more interested in my personal life.

‘Are you married, Señor Montaner?’

‘Presently, I am not, countess’.

‘But would you want to be married?’ She insisted.

‘I suppose I shall one day, if I find the right woman—especially one as beautiful as you!’

‘And you, countess?’

She paused, then answered, ‘I have waited centuries, it seems, for a good man to propose to me’.

‘I find it hard to believe that any sane man would not make a proposal to you’.

‘Beware of her deadly influence, señor, for flattery will bring you to a maddening obsession’, the count interjected.

‘What do you mean, count?’ I asked with intrigue.

‘Don’t pay attention to him. He loves to speak in riddles and amuse himself with these things’, the countess replied.

‘That is true, señor! It is better that we do not incommode your stay at the castle. After all, you are our bidden guest’, the count said.

I accompanied them to dinner in the dining hall, where we enjoyed a sumptuous meal. I was not certain what the dish was, but it was delicious. It reminded me of pork, but that was only my guess, for neither the count nor countess would reveal what kind of flesh it contained.

The drink I had imbibed tasted like wine that lingered on my tastebuds. I did not wish to appear inopportune by inquiring further about the meal. There was something I had not considered before—the peculiar way the count and countess shared everything. They ate and drank from each other’s plates and glasses, without any apparent regard for custom. It was, I thought, somewhat unconventional. Yet who was I to tell these noble figures how to eat and drink?

I attempted to enjoy myself in their company, but there was an unusual sense of the unknown that pervaded the castle, unsettling me. I was told I was a guest, yet I began to feel like a trapped prisoner. I could not understand why this lingering feeling within me was gradually manifesting.

After dinner, I was invited to a recital on the harp, played masterfully by the countess herself. Her fingers were angelic as they struck the strings. I had never seen anyone play with such grace and gentleness. It was as though I were witnessing a private concert. I was bewitched by her charm and skill.

Whilst the countess played, the count watched me closely, observing my every expression. It was almost as if, in some sadistic manner, he amused himself with my unexpected reactions. Later, I found myself alone with the countess. The count was occupied with the servants, discussing matters of which I knew nothing.

She invited me to take a walk with her to the abandoned abbey. Naturally, I agreed. It was dark and cold among the cloistered columns that sheltered the abbey, but her enchantment drew me closer. I could not resist the irrepressible pull of her influence.

Her ebony eyes were like no other eyes I had looked into before. As she spoke of the abbey’s history and moved her lips, I could not help but long to kiss them. They were an erotic magnet, pulling mine towards hers. The attraction intensified, though I tried to resist. Soon, she placed her delicate fingers on my lips to taste the wine I had sipped.

‘The taste of wine on your lips is like the taste of fresh blood’.

‘And your lips are begging me for a kiss’, I replied with yearning.

I was about to kiss her when she pulled away and said, ‘Be patient, Remund. Soon you will be a prisoner of my lust’.

‘Forgive me, countess. I don’t know what possessed me to want to kiss you. Perhaps it is the spell of your natural beauty—it is irresistible’.

‘There is no need to apologise, Remund. You are only expressing your inner thoughts and passion. Call me Valeria’.

‘I must admit, Valeria, you stir the deepest passions in me and stoke my desires’.

‘Be patient, Remund’.

That night, when I finally retired to my chamber, it was close to midnight when I was suddenly awakened by the sonorous peal of thunder and the whistling wind that had opened the shutters of my chamber, causing them to flap back and forth.

Once I realised what was happening, I rose to shut them. As I did, I perceived a strange sound creeping behind the chamber door. Once more, I experienced an inexplicable incident that I could not clearly identify. I began to hear the rattle of chains and the deep breathing of a stranger.

Outside the castle, I heard a blood-curdling howl. I could not tell whether it was a dog or a wolf. For a moment, I was undecided. I could sense the presence of someone behind the chamber door, but I had no idea whether it was a human being or a wild animal.

After a few minutes of sheer anxiety, I made the conscious decision to open the door and investigate. My hands trembled as I slowly turned the handle. Much to my amazement, there was no one to be seen in the near vicinity.

As before, I failed to witness what—or who—had been lurking there. My intuition insisted I was not imagining things. Thus, I walked into the corridor, determined to find the stranger who was haunting my soul. Despite the lit torches hanging along the corridor, it felt cold and damp from the moisture that had seeped through the stone walls.

What I was to discover remained a mystery, locked within the unrevealed secrets of the castle. I returned to my chamber, attempting to dismiss the unnatural occurrences, but it was difficult to ignore the strange events that were beginning to unnerve me.

When I returned, I pondered what I had truly experienced that night. Not long afterwards, I heard once more the heavy breathing and familiar scratching behind my door. This time I reacted promptly and opened it.

Standing before me was the count, his sarcastic grin immediately unsettling me. Apparently, he had come to check on my well-being. This struck me as odd—he had never done so before, and why wait until nearly midnight?

My hands began to sweat and my heart beat rapidly. I could not think clearly.

‘Count Belenguer, what are you doing at my chamber door so late at night?’

‘I came to see if you were troubled by any strange noises you might have heard in the castle’.

‘Such as?’ I asked.

‘Nothing in particular. I just wanted to know’.

I wanted to admit I had heard the breathing and scratching again, as well as the unexplainable noises in the dungeon below, but I resisted and remained silent.

‘I am tired, that is all, count. If you do not mind, I should like to return to sleep’.

‘Of course, señor’.

It was impossible to sleep for the remainder of the night. I could not efface the images, the sounds, the footfalls, the cold draughts, the flickering torches, the narrow corridors, the dungeon, and the uncanny behaviour of the count and countess. All these things haunted me. I began to question my sanity, wondering whether I was hallucinating—or worse, falling under the castle’s insidious influence. I wanted to scream, to release the tension, but my voice was silenced by the overwhelming eeriness that surrounded me.

I had never believed in the supernatural or the nocturnal wanderers of the night—creatures that lurked in the darkest hours—until then. There was now an urgency within me to survive the remaining days of my stay. Were it not for the deed I had come to procure, and the obligations of my profession, I would have left the morning after my arrival.

In the morning, I awoke to the rays of the sun piercing through the draperies I had left open. I was still shaken by the night’s events, particularly the count’s appearance outside my chamber. I pondered the oddities, yet could not find a plausible explanation for what was truly happening to me in the castle. I did not think I was going mad, but it seemed my mental faculties were being profoundly affected.

I had written a private correspondence to my brother Bernal in Teruel, about my trip and experiences at the castle. I had omitted the ghastly nature of the castle and the occurrences. Instead, I concentrated on explaining to him the antiquity of the castle and my encounters with the count and countess. I also explained what I was planning to do with the property I was going to purchase from the count on behalf of the family.

When I joined the count and countess for breakfast, they were discussing the event of the ball that was planned for the night. I could hear them speaking and laughing amongst themselves as I walked towards them in the dining hall. I tried to compose myself and assuage my anxiety. I did not want either of them to perceive any abnormal sign in my comportment.

Thus, I smiled and joined their conversation. It was unnatural for me to feign expressions and reactions and be so discreet in my character, but the count and countess were not normal persons of nobility. There were peculiarities about them that were evidently discernible.

As I sat there and listened to them speak about the ball, I thought only of leaving the dreadful castle. The count handed me a list of the names of the guests who would be attending the festive ball that night. The surnames were the following: Sanz, Soler, Mur, Moliner, Monreal, Grau, Muniesa, Castel, Brun, Arnal and Fuster. None of whom I knew in person. I assumed they were people of Aragonese prominence. The count sensed my concern and distraction.

‘What is troubling you, Señor Montaner?’

‘Forgive me, if I seem to be distracted’.

‘I hope that you are not sick, Remund’, the countess interjected.

‘No, I am fine. It must be the weariness of the castle or my lack of adjustment to its cold draughts’, I responded.

‘Perhaps you should sleep in one of the other chambers’, the count suggested.

‘There is no need to change my chamber. After all, I shall be leaving the castle once the deed is handed over to me. I expect that you shall have the deed ready’.

‘In the morning, señor. In the meantime, let us rejoice in the preparations for the ball’.

‘Are you much of a dancer, Remund?’ The countess asked.

‘I must confess that I am not, Valeria’.

That afternoon, I spent in contemplation, whilst they were busy with the planning of the ball. I observed them even more as time gradually passed. There was a sense of confidence and serenity in their eyes when they were together, as if they fed off each other’s strength and wits.

There was a pressing urge in me to discover more about their past and who they truly were. I headed back to the abbey to clear my thoughts, amidst the statuminated pillars. There, I saw that the door to the chapel was closed. What intimate secrets were to be uncovered within the chapel?

Something within me insisted that I had to get inside somehow to uncover the truth. I assumed the servants had a key to its entrance. I would have to choose precisely the right time to search for that special key. There was something mysterious about the abbey that I could not yet resolve.

When I left the abbey, I went to the gallery to see the paintings hanging on the walls. I stared intently, drawn to the vivid images of the persons who supposedly reflected the count and countess back in the 13th century. The similarity with these supposed ancestors was too coincidental. They were the striking images of the count and countess—but that could not be, for it was impossible.

They could not be over six centuries old. The details of the paintings were so precise and even the expressions were similar to them in every aspect. My intrigue only intensified the enigma surrounding the veritable identity of the count and countess. How could I prove my suspicion? That would not be an easy task.

I returned to my chamber to meditate, when I discovered an old, dusty diary inside a chest of drawers. It was dated 1620—lost and forgotten. It had been written by a certain Frederic Ponz, who had also stayed in the castle.

His narration of his experience was shockingly similar to mine. He had come to help restore the castle. What was more shocking was that he had met the same count and countess as I had. I could not believe what I was reading.

Simply—it could not be real! He discovered documents written in the 14th century, stating that both the count and countess were born in that century long ago. If these were the same people he encountered in the 17th century, then how could that be? That would imply they were both immortals. My immediate question was — were they even human in their genuine essence?

I could not afford to stray into the madness of the castle. I had to concentrate on keeping my sanity intact. Although I found some evidence depicting the abnormal aspects of the count and countess, I was still apprehensive about what to believe. Was I falling under the superstitious effects of peasant folklore? Was I allowing my nerves and uncertainty to overcome my rationality?

One thing was apparent in their idiosyncrasies: both the count and the countess were never at odds with each other, at least in front of me. Their behaviour was typical of nobility, but their confidence in manner was extraordinary.

I was particularly intrigued by the idea that if they were indeed immortal, then in what capacity was that immortality conceivable? How were they capable of such an implausibility? Was it connected to the mystery of the castle? What sustained their youthful appearance and health?

There had to be a genuine explanation, something that would amount to a reasonable assumption. Could the source be the castle itself? During my stay, I never saw them venture far beyond the castle or its grounds. They were content to enjoy the company of visitors rather than seek it elsewhere.

My mind immediately turned to the unknown sounds that had manifested within the castle—the heavy breathing and the scratching at my chamber door. Was it truly a wild animal, or some other creature linked to the castle?

Before the arrival of the guests and the ball, I pondered the events that were to unfold. There was something else of urgent concern—discovering the whole truth about the count and countess. The thought of entering the chapel remained fresh in my mind, and, fortunately, I discovered a secret passage from my chamber leading directly to the chapel.

When I explored the passage and reached the chapel, I was astounded by how desolate and drear it appeared. It seemed as if it had been abandoned for centuries. There was a bronze crucifix hanging upside down, and a lone statue of Christ—also inverted. I found a fountain full of blood where baptisms were once performed, along with tattered holy books scattered into small fragments. There, I found further evidence about the count and countess.

I discovered that they had inherited the castle from another nobleman of their family branch, by the name of Raimund Belenguer, whose family had built the original structure in the year 1108. The castle was handed over to his descendants in 1338. Since then, the castle had remained in the direct line of the count and countess’s family.

This explained, to some extent, the origin and lineage, but it did not account for how the count and countess could be immortal. I heard a noise coming in my direction and quickly slipped back into the corridor, returning to my chamber. Soon after, I heard a knock at my door. It was the count himself. When I opened it, he stood before me with a conniving stare. He had come to inform me that the guests would be arriving shortly.

‘I hope I was not intruding, nor imposing upon you, Señor Montaner’.

‘No, you weren’t, Count’, I answered.

‘The guests will be arriving soon, and I wanted to inform you in person’.

‘Thank you. I shall be looking forward to meeting the other guests'.

‘I hope that you are willing to participate in the festivities I have planned?’

‘Festivities? Oh yes, of course!’

‘Are you well, señor? You seem somewhat distracted’.

‘It must be the cold affecting me again’, I replied.

‘I shall leave you to prepare. I must go now—there is much to do’.

Did he suspect that I had found the secret passage and entered the closed chapel? I had the intense feeling that he was aware of my discovery. I could feel the tension gnawing at the core of my stomach. My expectations for the night and the festive ball were as ambiguous as the castle itself. I had no inkling of the immense terror that would transpire that night. My thoughts were confused, and so was my innermost soul.

On the one hand, I wanted to believe that this was nothing more than a vivid nightmare, and on the other, I knew it could be all too real. How would I confront the count and countess with these disturbing revelations? I was willing to confront them if necessary—but with great caution and discretion. I was not going to be unhinged in my approach.

The night was progressing with an opaque shadow of uncertainty. The guests arrived one by one and were cordially greeted by the count and countess, who were eager to begin the festivities. I could see from the window of my chamber the arrival of their carriages. Everyone on the list had arrived promptly on time. Not one of them was absent. Their presence was an expected elation for the welcoming hosts, who had prepared a night of sheer entertainment and gore. I did not want to appear suspicious with my noticeable behaviour.

Thus, I attempted to act in accordance with the festivities presented. The servitude had kindly prepared the drinks and food to be given to the guests. The food would be accompanied by a pantagruelian feast, and the wines were imported from Barcelona.

I was struck with amazement at the sheer size of the food and drink. A hundred guests could have been easily fed. The music had begun to play in the background. It was an orchestra of musicians hired by the count. The guests were mingling with one another, as I observed with a punctilious eye. I wondered what the count and countess had planned to be the final act of their festivities. They did not reveal to me what the finality was, but I assumed that it would be grandiose in nature.

Little would I know at the time how macabre the festivities would become in the end, as a symphony of horror. Within an hour, the guests would be eating in the dining hall, along with their hosts. I desisted for some unknown reason. I was not hungry. I suppose I was more nervous than starving.

I remained in the gallery, observing the paintings of the count and countess. I could not erase the thought that they could eventually be immortals. What I did not know was what they were in their authentic composition. I would discover then that they were conceived from the most hideous form of monstrosity. The count and countess were occupied with the guests, and I seized the moment to investigate more of the passages of the castle, in particular, the dungeon.

As I was touching the walls past the gallery, I inadvertently found another passage linked to the dungeon. I grabbed a torch and slowly crept down the corridor of the passage. I could hear the terrible echoes of cries and anguish. Of whom, I did not know, but they sounded like tortured souls.

It was not until I reached the dungeon that I would be horrified by the unbelievable discovery. I witnessed with my own eyes the sight of putrid flesh and bodies that were half dead. They were chained to the manacles of the adamantine walls. Someone or something had been feeding on them. I was aghast at the sanguineous colour of death that was pervasive. I was so stunned by what I saw that I froze for a minute, until I heard heavy breathing coming directly from behind me. My hands were clammy from the shock.

Slowly, I turned to see who it was standing, and I came face to face with the presence of a foul creature. It was inhuman and unsightly in appearance. It stood six feet tall and was vampiric in nature. Its eyes were of a ghoulish white pallor, and it was hirsute. It was its long, razor teeth that decomposed me with a prolonging horror.

At first, its breathing muffled mine, as I could see its parched mouth salivating for more human blood. There was something about the creature that I noticed then—it was blinded by the flame of the torch. What I did not know was that it had been isolated in that wretched dungeon feeding on the flesh of humans and drinking their blood.

I gradually began to walk backwards along the passage that led away from the dungeon. The creature began to sniff, trying to locate me. I was able to escape its grasp of pointed nails and return to the gallery, unnoticed by any of the guests. My heart pounded, and I had to regain my composure. I made certain to close the entrance to the passage so that the creature could not get out and find me. Was this the horrid thing that had been lurking behind my chamber door?

I wanted to run past the guests and servants to the front door and leave at once, but I could not. The count had spotted me in the gallery and asked where I had been all this time. I had to invent a lie quickly, and I did. I told him that I was writing a correspondence to my brother in my chamber. I did not know if he would believe me or not. Judging from his reaction, he was not convinced.

He grabbed me by the shoulder and escorted me to the dining hall, where the others were gathered. I was clearly nervous, and I knew he had felt that anxiety of mine. The countess, seeing me anew, came to converse with me. I could not permit her to see me distracted or unsettled. Therefore, I smiled and acted as if nothing was wrong.

‘Are you all right, Remund? You seem very pale?’

‘Pale? It is the cold draught. That is all, Valeria’.

‘Why weren’t you with us dining?’

‘Forgive me if I was not there. I was not hungry, and I had to write a correspondence to my brother’.

‘About what, if I may enquire?’

‘Nothing relevant, except the property that I was interested in’.

‘Would you like to dance with me?’ She kindly asked.

‘Of course!’ I answered.

As we danced, I was completely enthralled by her, and I forgot for an instant the horrendous experience I had back at the dungeon. Her radiant smile and beautiful onyx eyes captivated me once more. Then, there was a terrifying shriek. The music stopped abruptly, and what I saw was a menacing, monster-like creature feeding on the guests. It was the awful monster from the dungeon—but there was another hideous creature, the same in appearance, feeding on the guests with it.

When I turned to face the countess, I discovered that she was an ungodly creature too. Her virginal beauty transformed into the unfathomable guise of a vampiric being. Her onyx eyes became absolute white in colour. It began to rain outside, and thunder could be heard from within the castle. The beast lunged at me. I tussled on the ground with her until I was freed from her clutch of long fingernails.

Quickly, I tried to run to escape them, but I would not get far. She trapped me. Then, I was in the dungeon with the others in manacles—food for the swarthy creatures that roamed the castle as its faithful guardians. There was nothing I could do to save the lives of the others. They were doomed to their horrible fate, but something incredible would save my life and ultimately destroy them.

The countess, the count, and the foul thing I encountered first in the dungeon were slurping the blood from the others. I was still conscious as I witnessed their macabre delights. They were drinking blood from a golden chalice. For some reason, they did not drink my blood. Unbeknownst to me, I was suffering from the initial effects of anaemia, which resulted in my pallor and fatigue. They had sensed this. All I can attest to is what occurred afterwards.

They left me alive because they did not want contaminated blood due to its bad taste and potential danger to their health. They were not going to let me escape. They unshackled me and threw me to the ground, until they decided what to do with me.

As they continued to feed on the others, I saw an axe on the ground. Despite my fragile state, I grabbed it and chopped off the head of the first vampiric creature, killing it. I then grabbed a torch and began to burn the countess as she fed. I managed to kill the count as well, with the flame that engulfed both him and the countess.

Their burning guises became humanlike again, and I struck their hearts with the sharp axe. One by one they fell to the ground and transformed into the hideosity that was their final act of desperation. Their hair turned to alabaster, and their skin began to wrinkle. It was as if the time they had deceived had caught up with them in ferocity.

In the end, they were nothing more than hoary ashes of centuries past. I was freed of their influential control and fled the dungeon alive. Fortunately for me, I survived the distressing nightmare that was the castle. Its unique secrets would be constantly relived in my mind. I left the castle, never to return.

As for its inhabitants, they would haunt me forever. Verily, I never told anyone about what happened in that castle, for fear that I would be seen as a madman or a foolish follower of local superstitions. There was one thing that still perplexed me—how they managed to keep their ancestral secret of being immortal from the outside world.

I awoke, or thought I did, in the dark.

The bed beneath me had dissolved into stone. Cold. Wet. My skin clung to it as though I had lain there for centuries.

I sat up.

The room was not mine. The architecture was vast, impossible—curved and fluid, with archways that opened into more archways, forming a labyrinth of repeating shadows. The air pulsed faintly, like breath. Or heartbeat. Every surface throbbed with a colour I could not name.

I tried to speak, but no sound came from my mouth—only dust.

Then the whispers began.

Not words. Not voices. More like the memory of someone breathing behind me. A sensation rather than a sound. Each breath pulling at my spine, inching towards some final phrase I wasn’t ready to hear.

I rose. My feet found the floor, though I could not feel them.

Ahead, an open hallway shimmered as if underwater. A door waited at the end—too tall, too thin, carved with spirals and the mark I had seen in the library: the unblinking eye.

I knew, even within the dream, that I should turn back. That nothing good waited there. But the dream had its own gravity.

I passed through the hallway.

The door opened of its own accord.

Inside was a chamber like the nave of a forgotten temple. In its centre stood a well—not of stone, but of smooth black glass. It reflected nothing. Not even the dim golden light that floated without source from above. It was a well of negation.

A voice behind me spoke:

‘You have come’.

I turned.

It was the countess.

But not as I remembered. Her face bore the wounds of her death. The broken jaw, the slack cheek, the dried blood down her neck. And yet, her eyes glowed faintly alive not with spirit, but with something borrowed.

‘You are dead', I said. But my voice did not carry beyond my lips. It was a thought he heard.

‘There is no death here', she replied. ‘Only eternal life’.

She stepped closer. Her movements were wrong—smooth but weightless, like a marionette in water. ‘You brought the key’.

‘I lost it’.

She shook her head. ‘You always bring the key. That is the dream’.

I looked down.

It was in my hand.

The old iron key. But now it burnt cold. And where its teeth should be were letters, twisting and shifting: Blood.

‘What is this place?’ I asked.

The countess gestured to the well.

‘It is the dreaming chamber. It remembers all who sleep within it. Even you’.

I approached.

When I peered into the glass, I expected to see my reflection.

I saw the count, not as a man, but as a child—terrified, crawling through a crypt. I saw the countess, alone in the dark, writing letters to no one. I saw the soldiers with empty faces, marching through blood-soaked mud. I saw every guest of the castle—laughing, screaming, dancing, dying—looping through their final moments like a wax reel.

And then I saw myself.

Not the self I knew, but one fractured across time: me as a boy, burying something in the garden and forgetting it; me in the library, burning pages, I hadn’t yet read; me standing at a cliff’s edge, waiting for the sea to rise.

Then—me as I am now, gazing into a well that was no well.

It was an eye.

And it blinked.

The chamber shook.

I fell backwards. The key dropped. I saw it melt into ash.

The countess—what wore her shape—knelt beside me.

‘The dream ends when you awaken’, she said.

‘Then let me wake’, I whispered.

She touched my chest with two cold fingers of eroticism with her red beady eyes. ‘But it is not your dream’.

The chamber fractured like glass.

Darkness flooded through the cracks.

I screamed myself awake.

For real this time. The sunlight was pouring through the window in orange bands. The fire had long gone out. My bedsheets were soaked in sweat, or worse. My hand stung.

When I opened it, I found a welt in the shape of a spiral burned into my palm.

There was no key.

No countess.

Only the echo of the dream.

And a certainty I could not explain—that something had watched me from beyond the veil of sleep. That I still dreamt, and had merely brushed against the corner of that slumber.

Somewhere, far below, beneath stone and memory and blood—

—She waits.

Perhaps it is better to think that the real count and countess had died long ago in the 14th century, and that the horrific beast which gave them immortality was sent by the Devil himself.

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