Book: 'Carmilla', a vampire love story between two girls by author by J. Sheridan Le Fanu. Mature story telling. Photography, web adaptation and minor writing by Mike Koontz.




Suitable for a mature audience. 17+ and up. Adult storytelling and events.
UHD book reading video TBA
Long read Book (Days)
A sensual love story between two girls. One born again as a creature of the night. And the other a sun loving human female. Carmilla also happens to be the same sex relationship story that inspired Bram Stoker to go on and unleash one of the more important contemporary work of fictions there is with his own book "Dracula"

Enjoy!.

Author: J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Photography, web adaptation and additional writing by Mike Koontz
2017, a Norse View Imaging and Publishing



Music of the day
Faithless by default by Dark Tranquillity



To the daisy that is my sun and inspiration








Chapters and pages, library and language menu to the left of the screen








Watch & listen to this book, or continue reading at your leisure

4k UHD video, watch and listen to this book in beautiful UHD once it is made available.














Prologue

Every story starts long before the first kiss came to be. And every story exists long before the moment someone made it real. And as such, this story too have something crudely called a prologue. But is that really not nothing more than another incomplete beginning of something that was always there, existing far outside our peripheral view.
Fully fleshed out, breathing, living, solemn growing, long before we ever noticed it, and still lingering on, long after we have all forgotten about it.




Upon a paper attached to the Narrative which follows, Doctor Hesselius has written a rather elaborate note, which he accompanies with a reference to his Essay on the strange subject which the MS. illuminates. This mysterious subject he treats, in that Essay, with his usual learning and acumen, and with remarkable directness and condensation. It will form but one volume of the series of that extraordinary man’s collected papers. As I publish the case, in this volume, simply to interest the “laity,”.

I shall forestall the intelligent lady, who relates it, in nothing; and after due consideration, I have determined, therefore, to abstain from presenting any precis of the learned Doctor’s reasoning, or extract from his statement on a subject which he describes as “involving, not improbably, some of the profoundest arcana of our dual existence, and its intermediates.”


I was anxious on discovering this paper, to reopen the correspondence commenced by Doctor Hesselius, so many years before, with a person so clever and careful as his informant seems to have been. Much to my regret, however, I found that she had vanished into the wind in the interval. She, probably, could have added little to the Narrative which she communicates in the following pages, with, so far as I can pronounce, such conscientious particularity.












An Early Fright





[ is that you

that holds

a shadow

in

the silence,

of this night ]














In Styria, we are considered by no means magnificent people, nor do people usually inhabit a castle, or as you might call it, a château.

A small income, in this part of the world, goes a great way. Eight or nine hundred a year does wonders for any family. Scantily enough ours would have answered among wealthy people at home. My father is English, and I bear an English name, although I never saw England. But here, in this lonely and primitive place, where everything is so marvelously cheap, I really don’t see how more money would at all materially add to our comforts, nor our actual luxuries.





You see, here in this country we are fortunate and considered well off. My father whom served in the Austrian service, until he retired upon a pension and full patrimony, purchased this feudal residence, and the small estate on which it stands, a bargain really.

And now, as we stand here, nothing could be more picturesque or solitary to me. Our home stands on a slight eminence in a forest. The road, while very old and narrow, passes in front of our very own drawbridge, and the rumours say it has never been raised in my time, and down in its moat, the waters and walls are stocked with perch, and sailed over by many swans.

And floating on its surface, amongst the birds, white fleets of water lilies paints the shadows as the slow current rattles them beneath.




Over all this our country manor shows its big and plentiful windowed front; its lurching towers, and majestic Gothic chapel that towers all surroundings, demanding the gaze and full attention of your mind and eye.





The forest opens in what can only be desribed as an irregular and very picturesque glade before its gate, and at the right a steep Gothic bridge carries the road over a stream that winds in deep shadow through the wood.



I have to say that this is a very lonely place. Beautiful, but solemnly asleep in its own solitude.

Judge whether I speak the truth.





Looking from the hall door towards the road, the forest in which our castle stands extends fifteen miles to the right, and another twelve to the left.
The nearest village that is still bursting with life is about seven of your English miles to the left.
The nearest inhabited castle of any historic associations, is that of old General Spielsdorf, nearly twenty miles away to the right. Yes indeed, we are alone now, out here in the wilderness.




I have said “the nearest inhabited village,” because there is, only three miles westward, in the direction of General Spielsdorf’s palace, a ruined village, with a quaint little church, roofless and worn it still stands, like something from another world.
In the aisle you will find nothing but moldering tombs of the proud family of Karnstein, now dead and forgotten, who once owned the equally desolate chateau which, in the thick of the forest, overlooks the silent ruins of this ghostly town.



Respecting the cause of the desertion of this striking and melancholy spot, there is a legend which I shall relate to you another time. But for now, let us continue by rewinding time even further.


And in doing so, I think that I must tell you, how small our party who constitute the inhabitants of our castle really is.
I don’t include servants, or those dependants who occupy rooms in the buildings attached to the schloss as they say here in Austria. Listen, and wonder now as I tell you my own story!

There is my father, who surely is the kindest man on earth, but growing old; and I, which you can think of as no more than nineteen as I recall the actual moments behind these words.


Many years have passed since my story first began and perhaps we should start from the beginning in my childhood.

I and my father constituted the family at our castle like home. My mother, a Styrian lady, died in my infancy, but I had a good-natured governess, who had been with me from, I might almost say, my infancy. I could not remember the time when her fat, benignant face was not a familiar picture in my memory.




This was Madame Perrodon, a native of Berne, whose care and good nature now in part supplied to me the earlier loss of my mother, whom I do not even remember anymore. She made a third at our little dinner party.

But there was a fourth, Mademoiselle De Lafontaine, a lady such as you term, I believe, a “finishing governess.” She spoke French and German, Madame Perrodon French and broken English, to which my father and I added English, which, partly to prevent its becoming a lost language among us, and partly from patriotic motives, we spoke every day.





The consequence was a Babel of sorts, at which strangers used to laugh, and which I shall make no attempt to reproduce in this narrative. And there were two or three young lady friends besides, pretty nearly of my own age, who were occasional visitors, for longer or shorter terms; and these visits I sometimes returned.

These were our regular social resources; but of course there were chance visits from “neighbors” of only five or six leagues distance. My life was, notwithstanding, rather a solitary one, I can assure you. My gouvernantes had just so much control over me as you might conjecture such sage persons would have in the case of a rather spoiled girl, whose only parent allowed her pretty nearly her own way in everything.

The first occurrence in my existence, which produced a terrible impression upon my mind, which, in fact, never has been effaced, was one of the very earliest incidents of my life which I can recollect. Some people will think it so trifling that it should not be recorded here. You will see, however, by-and-by, why I mention it. The nursery, as it was called, though I had it all to myself, was a large room in the upper story of the castle, with a steep oak roof. I can’t have been more than six years old at the time, when one night I awoke, and looking round the room from my bed, failed to see the nursery maid. Neither was my nurse there; and I thought myself alone. I was not frightened, for I was one of those happy children who studiously kept ignoring the potential reality of ghost stories, such things was after all no more than fairy tales to entertain.

That much I already knew.





And all such lore solely exist to make us cover up our heads when the door cracks suddenly, or the flicker of an expiring candle makes the shadow of a bedpost dance upon the wall, bringing the mares of the night nearer to our faces. So, I was vexed and insulted at finding myself, as I conceived, neglected, and I began to whimper, preparatory to a hearty bout of roaring; when to my surprise, I saw a solemn, but very pretty face looking at me from the side of the bed.


It was that of a young lady who was kneeling, with her hands already under the coverlet.





I looked at her with a kind of pleased wonder, startled beating and ceased whimpering.

Wordless the girl caressed me with her hands, as she could feel the conflicted roar of emotions inside me, and without a sound she lay down beside me on the bed, and drew me towards her, smiling;


Strangely I felt immediately delightfully soothed, and fell asleep again in the comfort of her safe and caring arms.





I was wakened from my slumber, by a sudden sensation of prickling pain, as if two needles ran into my breast very deep at the same moment, and I cried out loudly. 'That hurt!.' I said.



The lady started back, with her eyes fixed on me, and still, without a single word slipped down upon the floor, and, as I thought to myself, in the strangest of strangest and surreal moments, she hid herself under my bed.



I was now for the first time frightened for real, and I yelled out loud with all my might and main.


Nurse, nursery maid, housekeeper, all came running in, and hearing my story, they made light and fun of it, soothing me all they could meanwhile.

But, child as I was, I could perceive that their faces were pale with an unwonted look of anxiety, and I saw them look under the bed, and about the room, and peep under tables and pluck open cupboards; and the housekeeper whispered to the nurse: “Lay your hand along that hollow in the bed; someone did lie there, so sure as you did not; the place is still warm.”






I still remember clearly so how the nursery maid was petting me, and all three examining my chest, where I told them I felt the puncture, and pronouncing that there was no sign visible that any such thing had happened to me. The housekeeper and the two other servants who were in charge of the nursery, remained sitting up all night; and from that time a servant always sat up in the nursery until I was about fourteen.



I was very nervous for a long time after this.

A doctor was called in, he was pallid and elderly.
How well I remember his long saturnine face, slightly pitted with smallpox, and his chestnut wig. For a good while, every second day, he came and gave me medicine, which of course I hated, it tasted horrendous.


The morning after I saw this apparition I was in a state of terror, and could not bear to be left alone, daylight though it was, for a moment. I remember my father coming up and standing at the bedside, and talking cheerfully, and asking the nurse a number of questions, and laughing very heartily at one of the answers; and patting me on the shoulder, and kissing me, and telling me not to be frightened, that it was nothing but a dream and could not hurt me.

But I was not comforted, for inside of me, I knew the visit of that strange woman had not been a dream at all; and I was in truth a little startled and perhaps even frightened by it all, because on some new and deeper primal level, I think I now knew that lore and fantasies might not always be just stories to entertain and frighten.






I was a little consoled by the nursery maid’s assuring me that it was actually she who had come and looked at me, and lain down beside me in the bed, and that I must have been half-dreaming not to have known her face.
But this, though supported by the nurse, did not quite satisfy me. Their explanations just never felt real and I was absolute certain of what I had experienced. It simply had not been a strange dream.

I remembered, in the course of that day, a venerable old man, in a black cassock, coming into the room with the nurse and housekeeper, and talking a little to them, and very kindly to me; his face was very sweet and gentle, and he told me they were going to pray, and joined my hands together, and desired me to say, softly, while they were praying, “Lord hear all good prayers for us, for Jesus’ sake.” I think these were the very words, for I often repeated them to myself, and my nurse used for years to make me say them in my prayers.



I remembered so well the thoughtful sweet face of that white-haired old man, in his black cassock, as he stood in that rude, lofty, brown room, with the clumsy furniture of a fashion three hundred years old about him, and the scanty light entering its shadowy atmosphere through the small lattice. He kneeled, and the three women with him, and he prayed aloud with an earnest quavering voice for, what appeared to me, a long time. I actually forget all my life preceding that event, and for some time after, everything else is all a little obscure also, but the scenes which I have just described stand out vivid and clear as day, as the isolated pictures against a vast phantasmagoria surrounded by playful darkness and shapes of light from years ago.


























But prepare now my reader, for I am now going to tell you something so strange that it will require all your faith in my veracity to believe my story.
I assure, however that it is not only true, but it is the truth of which I have been an eyewitness myself.





This part of my story requires us to leave my childhood behind and jump in time to what was a sweet summer evening in my 18 year, and my father asked me, as he sometimes did, to take a little ramble with him along that beautiful forest vista which I have mentioned as lying in front of our home.

“General Spielsdorf cannot come to us so soon as I had hoped,” said my father, as we pursued our walk. He was to have paid us a visit of some weeks, and we had expected his arrival next day. He was to have brought with him a young lady, his niece and ward, Mademoiselle Rheinfeldt, whom I had never seen, but whom I had heard described as a very charming girl in her twenties, and in whose society I had promised myself many happy days. I was more disappointed than a young lady living in a town, or a bustling neighborhood can possibly imagine. This visit, and the new acquaintance it promised, had furnished my day dream for many weeks.



“And how soon does he come?” I asked.
“Not till autumn. Not for two months, I dare say,” he answered. “And I am very glad now, dear, that you never knew Mademoiselle Rheinfeldt.”

“And why?” I asked, both mortified and curious.
“Because the poor young lady is dead,” he replied. “I quite forgot I had not told you, but you were not in the room when I received the General’s letter this evening.”







I was very much shocked. General Spielsdorf had mentioned in his first letter, six or seven weeks before, that she was not so well as he would wish her, but there was nothing to suggest the remotest suspicion of danger.

“Here is the General’s letter,” he said, handing it to me.

“I am afraid he is in great affliction; the letter appears to me to have been written very nearly in distraction.”
We sat down on a rude bench, under a group of magnificent lime trees. The sun was setting with all its melancholy splendor behind the sylvan horizon, and the stream that flows beside our home, and passes under the steep old bridge I have mentioned, wound through many a group of noble trees, almost at our feet, reflecting in its current the fading crimson of the sky. General Spielsdorf’s letter was so extraordinary, so vehement, and in some places so self-contradictory, that I read it twice over — the second time aloud to my father — and was still unable to account for it, except by supposing that grief had simply unsettled his mind.



It said “I have lost my darling daughter, for as such I loved her. During the last days of dear Bertha’s illness I was not able to write to you.

“Before then I had no idea of her danger. I have lost her, and now learn all, too late.
She died in the peace of innocence, and in the glorious hope of a blessed futurity. The fiend who betrayed our infatuated hospitality has done it all. I thought I was receiving into my house innocence, gaiety, a charming companion for my lost Bertha.



Heavens! what a fool have I been!

“I thank God my child died without a suspicion of the cause of her sufferings. She is gone without so much as conjecturing the nature of her illness, and the accursed passion of the agent of all this misery. I devote my remaining days to tracking and extinguishing a monster. I am told I may hope to accomplish my righteous and merciful purpose. At present there is scarcely a gleam of light to guide me. I curse my conceited incredulity, my despicable affectation of superiority, my blindness, my obstinacy — all — too late.



I cannot write or talk collectedly now.
I am distracted. So soon as I shall have a little recovered, I mean to devote myself for a time to enquiry, which may possibly lead me as far as Vienna. Some time in the autumn, two months hence, or earlier if I live, I will see you — that is, if you permit me; I will then tell you all that I scarce dare put upon paper now.



Farewell. Pray for me, dear friend.”







In these terms ended this strange letter. Though I had never seen Bertha Rheinfeldt my eyes filled with tears at the sudden intelligence; I was startled, as well as profoundly disappointed.
The sun had now set, and it was twilight by the time I had returned the General’s letter to my father.



It was a soft clear evening, and we loitered, speculating upon the possible meanings of the violent and incoherent sentences which I had just been reading. We had nearly a mile to walk before reaching the road that passes the castle walls in front, and by that time the moon was shining brilliantly. At the drawbridge we met Madame Perrodon and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine, who had come out, without their bonnets, to enjoy the exquisite moonlight.

We heard their voices gabbling in animated dialogue as we approached. We joined them at the drawbridge, and turned about to admire with them the beautiful scene.





The glade through which we had just walked lay before us. At our left the narrow road wound away under clumps of lordly trees, and was soon lost to sight amid the thickening forest. At the right the same road crosses the steep and picturesque bridge, near which stands a gloriously ruined tower which once guarded that pass, but now holds nothing but memories of its past glory; and beyond the bridge an abrupt eminence rises, covered with trees, and showing in the shadows some grey ivy-clustered rocks that protrude like shapes of ghouls and trolls.







Over the sward and low grounds a thin film of mist was stealing like smoke, marking the distances with a transparent veil; and here and there we could see the river faintly flashing in the moonlight.

No softer, sweeter scene could be imagined. The news I had just heard made it melancholy; but nothing could disturb its character of profound serenity, and the enchanted glory and vagueness of the prospect. In ways, this place was truly a fairy tale that had come to life.





My father, who enjoyed the picturesque, and I, stood looking in silence over the expanse beneath us. The two good governesses, standing a little way behind us, discoursed upon the scene, and were eloquent upon the moon. Madame Perrodon was fat, middle-aged, and romantic, and talked and sighed poetically. Mademoiselle De Lafontaine — in right of her father who was a German, assumed to be psychological, metaphysical, and something of a mystic — now declared that when the moon shone with a light so intense it was well known that it indicated a special spiritual activity.

The effect of the full moon in such a state of brilliancy was manifold. It acted on dreams, it acted on lunacy, it acted on nervous people, it had marvelous physical influences connected with life according to her.



Mademoiselle related that her cousin, who was mate of a merchant ship, having taken a nap on deck on such a night, lying on his back, with his face full in the light on the moon, had wakened, after a dream of an old woman clawing him by the cheek, with his features horribly drawn to one side; and his countenance had never quite recovered its equilibrium.







“The moon, this night,” she said, “is full of idyllic and magnetic influence — and see, when you look behind you at the front of the schloss how all its windows flash and twinkle with that silvery splendor that dances across its glass and metal, as if unseen hands had lighted up the rooms to receive fairy guests.”

There are indolent styles of the spirits in which, indisposed to talk ourselves, the talk of others is pleasant to our listless ears; and I gazed on, pleased with the tinkle of the ladies’ conversation.







“I have got into one of my moping moods tonight,” said my father, after a silence, and quoting Shakespeare, whom, by way of keeping up our English, he used to read aloud, he said:

“‘In truth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me: you say it wearies you; But how I got it — came by it.’
“I forget the rest. But I feel as if some great misfortune were hanging over us. I suppose the poor General’s afflicted letter has had something to do with it.”







At this moment the fast approaching sound of carriage wheels and many hoofs smattering against the road, arrested our attention.








They seemed to be coming from the high ground overlooking the bridge, and very soon the equipage emerged from that point.

Two horsemen first crossed the bridge, then came a carriage drawn by four horses, and two more men rode behind.
It seemed to be the traveling carriage of a person of rank; and we were all immediately absorbed in watching that very unusual spectacle. It became, in a few moments, greatly more interesting, for just as the carriage had passed the summit of the steep bridge, one of the leaders, taking fright, communicated his panic to the rest, and after a plunge or two, the whole team broke into a wild gallop together, and dashing between the horsemen who rode in front, came thundering along the road towards us with the speed of a hurricane.


The excitement of the scene was made more painful by the clear, long-drawn screams of a female voice from the carriage window.
We all advanced in curiosity and horror; me rather in silence, the rest with various ejaculations of terror.


Our suspense did not last long however. Just before you reach the castle drawbridge, on the route they were coming, there stands by the roadside a magnificent lime tree hundreds of years old, on the other stands an ancient stone cross, quite possibly even older than even the tree itself, at sight of which the horses, now going at a breakneck pace that was perfectly frightful, swerved so as to bring the wheel over the projecting roots of the tree.



I knew what was coming. I covered my eyes in suspense, unable to see it out, and turned my head away from the sound of turmoil; at the same moment of the carriage tumbling over I heard a cry from my lady friends, who had gone on further a little.

Curiosity opened my eyes, and I saw a scene of utter confusion. Two of the horses were on the ground, twisted and kicking in the dust, the carriage lay upon its side with two wheels spinning in the air; the men were already busy removing the traces, and a lady, with a commanding air and figure had got out, and stood with clasped hands, raising the handkerchief that was in them every now and then to her eyes.





Through the carriage door was now lifted a young lady, who appeared to be lumped and lifeless. My dear old father was already beside the elder lady, with his hat in his hand, evidently tendering his aid and the resources of his home. The lady did not appear to hear him, or to have eyes for anything but the slender girl who was being placed against the slope of the bank.
I approached with caution and a startled heart; but I soon realized that the young lady was apparently only stunned, but thankfully not dead.
My father, who piqued himself on being something of a physician, had his fingers on her wrist and assured the lady, who declared herself her mother, that her pulse, though faint and irregular, was undoubtedly still distinguishable.





The lady clasped her hands and looked upward, as if in a momentary transport of gratitude; but immediately she broke out again in that theatrical way which is, I believe, awkwardly natural to some people.

She was what is called by most a fine looking woman no matter her time of life, and must have been considered handsome by most; she was tall, and petite, but not too thin, and dressed in black velvet her skin looked rather pale against it all, pale but with a proud and commanding countenance, though now understandably, I thought, agitated.




“Who was ever being so born to calamity?” I heard her say, with clasped hands, as I came up. “Here am I, on a journey of life and death, in prosecuting which to lose an hour is possibly to lose all. My child will not have recovered sufficiently to resume her route for who can say how long. I must leave her: I cannot, dare not, delay. How far on, sir, can you tell, is the nearest village? I must leave her there; and shall not see my darling, or even hear of her till my return, three months hence.”







I plucked my father by the coat, and whispered earnestly in his ear:
“Oh! papa, pray ask her to let her stay with us — it would be so delightful. Do, pray.”
“If Madame will entrust her child to the care of my daughter, and of her good gouvernante, Madame Perrodon, and permit her to remain as our guest, under my charge, until her return, it will confer a distinction and an obligation upon us, and we shall treat her with all the care and devotion which so sacred a trust deserves.”





“I cannot do that, sir, it would be to task your kindness and chivalry too cruelly,” said the lady, distractedly.
“It would, on the contrary, be to confer on us a very great kindness at the moment when we most need it. My daughter has just been disappointed by a cruel misfortune, in a visit from which she had long anticipated a great deal of happiness. If you confide this young lady to our care it will be her best consolation. The nearest village on your route is distant, and affords no such inn as you could think of placing your daughter at; you cannot allow her to continue her journey for any considerable distance without danger. If, as you say, you cannot suspend your journey, you must part with her tonight, and nowhere could you do so with more honest assurances of care and tenderness than here.”





There was something in this lady’s air and appearance so distinguished and even imposing, and in her manner so engaging, as to impress one, quite apart from the dignity of her equipage, with a conviction that she was a person of intent and consequence.

By this time the carriage was replaced in its upright position, and the horses, quite tractable, in the traces again.





The lady threw on her daughter a glance which I fancied was not quite so affectionate as one might have anticipated from the beginning of the scene; then she beckoned slightly to my father, and withdrew two or three steps with him out of hearing; and talked to him with a fixed and stern countenance, not at all like that with which she had hitherto spoken.







I was filled with immediate wonder that my father did not seem to perceive the change, and also unspeakably curious to learn what it could be that she was speaking, almost in his ear, with so much earnestness and rapidity.

Two or three minutes at most I think she remained thus employed, then she turned, and a few steps brought her to where her daughter lay, supported by Madame Perrodon. She kneeled beside her for a moment and whispered, as Madame supposed, a little benediction in her ear; then baving hastily kissed her on the forehead she stepped into her carriage, the door was closed, the footmen in stately liveries jumped up behind, the outriders spurred on, the postilions cracked their whips, the horses plunged and broke suddenly into a furious canter that threatened soon again to become a gallop, and the carriage whirled away, followed again at the same rapid pace by the two horsemen in the rear.




































We followed the cortege with our eyes until it was swiftly lost to sight in the misty wood; and the faintest of sound from the hoofs and the wheels had died away in the silent wrapping of cooler night air.





Soon, nothing remained to assure us that the adventure had not just been an illusion of a moment lapsed, but the young lady, who just at that moment opened her eyes. I could not see her eyes myself, since her face was turned from me, but I could see how she raised her head and hand, evidently looking about her, and I heard a very sweet voice ask complainingly,

“Where is mamma?”

Our good Madame Perrodon answered tenderly, and added some comfortable assurances.
I then heard her ask:

“Where am I? What is this place?” and after that she said, “I don’t see the carriage; and Matska, where is she?”






Madame answered all her questions in so far as she understood them; and gradually the young lady remembered how the misadventure came about, and was glad to hear that no one in, or in attendance on, the carriage was hurt; and on learning that her mamma had left her here, till her return in about three months, she understandably wept.

I was going to add my consolations to those of Madame Perrodon when Mademoiselle De Lafontaine placed her hand upon my arm, saying:
“Don’t approach, one at a time is as much as she can at present converse with; a very little excitement would possibly overpower her now.”

As soon as she is comfortably in bed, I thought, I will run up to her room and see her.

My father in the meantime had sent a servant on horseback for the physician, who lived about two leagues away; and a bedroom was being prepared for the young lady’s reception. The stranger now rose, and leaning on Madame’s arm, walked slowly over the drawbridge and into the castle gate.



In the hall, our servants already waited to receive her, and she was conducted forthwith to her room. The room we usually sat in as our drawing room is long, having four windows, that looked over the moat and drawbridge, and the forest scene I have earlier described for you.








It is furnished in old carved oak, with large carved cabinets, and the chairs are cushioned with crimson Utrecht velvet. The walls are covered with tapestry, and surrounded with great gold frames, the figures being as large as life, in ancient and very curious costume, and the subjects represented are hunting, hawking, and generally festive. It is not too stately to be extremely comfortable; and here we had our tea, for with his usual patriotic leanings he insisted that the national beverage should make its appearance regularly with our coffee and chocolate.



We sat here this night too, and with candles flickering their warmth and light upon us, we found ourselves talking over the adventure of the evening. Madame Perrodon and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine soon found their way back to our party. The young girl had hardly lain down in her bed before she sank into a deep sleep; and the ladies left her in the care of a servant.


“How do you like our guest?” I asked, as soon as Madame entered. “Tell me all about her?”
“I like her extremely,” answered Madame, “she is, I almost think, the prettiest creature I ever saw; about your age, and so gentle and nice.”
“She is absolutely beautiful,” threw in Mademoiselle, who had peeped for a moment into the stranger’s room.
“And such a sweet voice!” added Madame Perrodon.
“But I have to ask, did anyone else remark a woman in the carriage, after it was set up again, who did not get out,” inquired Mademoiselle, “but you could see her in the shadows of the carriage, looking out from the window?”
“No, we had not seen her.”





Then she described a hideous black dressed woman, with a sort of dark turban on her head, and who was gazing all the time from the carriage window, nodding and grinning derisively towards the ladies, with gleaming eyes and large white eyeballs, and her teeth set as if in fury.

“Did you remark what an ill-looking pack of men the servants were?” asked Madame.
“Yes,” said my father, who had just come in, “ugly, hang-dog looking fellows as ever I beheld in my life. I hope they mayn’t rob the poor lady in the forest. They are clever rogues, however; they got everything to rights in a minute.”



I dare

say

they are worn

out

with too

long travelling.









“Besides looking wicked, their faces were so strangely lean, and dark brooded, sullen too. I am very curious, but I dare say the young lady will tell you all about it tomorrow, if she is sufficiently recovered.”





“I don’t think she will,” said my father, with a mysterious smile, and a little nod of his head, as if he knew more about it than he cared to tell us.

This made us all the more inquisitive as to what had passed between him and the lady in the black velvet, in the brief but earnest interview that had immediately preceded her departure.
We were scarcely alone, when I entreated him to tell me. He did not need much pressing.



“There is no particular reason why I should not tell you. She expressed a reluctance to trouble us with the care of her daughter, saying she was in delicate health, and nervous, but not subject to any kind of seizure — she volunteered that — nor to any illusion; being, in fact, perfectly sane.”

“How very odd to say all that!” I interpolated. “It was so unnecessary.”
“At all events it was said,” he laughed, “and as you wish to know all that passed, which was indeed very little, I tell you.
She then said, ‘I am making a long journey of vital importance — she emphasized the word — rapid and secret; I shall return for my child in three months; in the meantime, she will be silent as to who we are, whence we come, and whither we are traveling.’ That is all she said. She spoke very pure French. When she said the word ‘secret,’ she paused for a few seconds, looking sternly, her eyes fixed on mine. I fancy she makes a great point of that. You saw how quickly she was gone. I hope I have not done a very foolish thing, in taking charge of the young lady.”









For my part, I was delighted. I was longing to see and talk to her; and only waiting till the doctor should give me leave. You, who live in towns, can have no idea how great an event the introduction of a new friend is, in such a solitude as surrounded us.

The doctor did not arrive till nearly one o’clock; but I could no more have gone to my bed and slept, than I could have overtaken, on foot, the carriage in which the princess in black velvet had driven away.

When the physician came down to the drawing room, it was to report very favorably upon his patient. She was now sitting up, her pulse quite regular, apparently perfectly well. She had sustained no injury, and the little shock to her nerves had passed away quite harmlessly. There could be no harm certainly in my seeing her, if we both wished it; and, with this permission I sent, forthwith, to know whether she would allow me to visit her for a few minutes in her room.



The servant returned immediately to say that she desired nothing more.
You may be sure I was not long in availing myself of this permission.
Our visitor lay in one of the handsomest rooms in the schloss. It was, perhaps, a little stately.
There was a somber piece of tapestry opposite the foot of the bed, representing Cleopatra with the asps to her bosom; and other solemn classic scenes were displayed, a little faded, upon the other walls. But there was gold carving, and rich and varied color enough in the other decorations of the room, to more than redeem the gloom of the old tapestry.

There were candles at the bedside. She was sitting up; her slender pretty, almost sculpted figure and face enveloped in the soft silk dressing gown, embroidered with flowers, and lined with thick quilted silk, which her mother had thrown over her feet as she lay upon the ground.




What was it that, as I reached the bedside and had just begun my little greeting, struck me absolutely dumb in a moment, and made me recoil in silence a full step or two from her? I will tell you. And this is, I think you will find when things are starting to take a turn into the unknown.




I realized that I was in fact looking at the very face which had visited me in my childhood that night, which remained so fixed yet distant in my memory, and on which I had for so many years so often ruminated with equal parts horror and longing for what laid beyond that strange mystery, with no one suspected of what I was thinking about it all.




It was a pretty face, even beautiful in a striking way; and when I first beheld it, wore a solemn, but melancholy expression.
But this almost instantly lighted into a strange fixed smile of recognition.
There was a silence of fully a minute when we looked at each other, not a word or breath uttered, yet clear familiarity in both our eyes, and then at length she spoke; I could not.




“How wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Twelve years ago, I saw your face in a dream, and it has haunted me ever since.”
“Wonderful indeed!” I repeated, overcoming with an effort the horror that had for a time suspended my utterances. “Twelve years ago, in vision or reality, I certainly saw you. I could not forget your face. It has remained before my eyes ever since.”





Her smile had already softened and warmed. Whatever I had fancied strange in it, was completely gone, and it and her dimpling, sculpt like cheeks were now delightfully pretty and intelligent.


I felt reassured, and continued more in the vein which hospitality indicated, to bid her welcome, and to tell her how much pleasure her accidental arrival had given us all, and especially what a happiness it was to me.

I took her hand as I spoke. I was a little shy, as lonely people are, but the situation made me eloquent, and even bold.
She pressed my hand, she laid hers upon it, and her eyes glowed, as, looking hastily into mine, she smiled again, and blushed.
She answered my welcome very prettily. I sat down beside her, still wondering; and she said:



“I must tell you my vision about you; it is so very strange that you and I should have had, each of the other so vivid a dream, that each should have seen, I you and you me, looking as we do now, when of course we both were mere children. I was a child, about six years old, and I awoke from a deeply confused and troubled dream, and found myself in a room, unlike my nursery, wainscoted clumsily in some dark wood, and with cupboards and bedsteads, and chairs, and benches placed about it.


The beds were, I thought, all empty, and the room itself without anyone but myself in it; and I, after looking about me for some time, and admiring especially an iron candlestick with two branches, which I should certainly know again, crept under one of the beds to reach the window; but as I got from under the bed, I heard someone crying; and looking up, while I was still upon my knees, I saw you — most assuredly you — as I see you now; a beautiful young, yet mature and fully there lady, with golden hair and large blue eyes, and lips, oh my, your lips - it was you as full in flesh as you are now here.






“Your looks won me; I climbed on the bed and put my arms about you, and I think we both fell asleep.
I was aroused by a scream; you were sitting up screaming. I was frightened, and slipped down upon the ground, and, it seemed to me, lost consciousness for a moment; and when I came to myself, I was again in my nursery at home. Your face I have never forgotten since. I could not be misled by mere resemblance. You are the lady whom I saw then.”


It was now my turn to relate my corresponding vision, which I did, to the undisguised wonder of my new acquaintance.


“I don’t know which should be most afraid of the other,” she said, again smiling







—“If you were less pretty I think I should be very much afraid of you, but being as you are, and regardless that you and I are both so young, I feel only that I have already made your acquaintance twelve years ago, and so, I have already a right to your intimacy; at all events it does seem as if we were destined, from our earliest childhood, to be friends.

I wonder whether you feel as strangely drawn towards me as I do to you; I have never had a friend — shall I find one now?”

She sighed, and her fine dark eyes gazed passionately on me.






Now the simple truth is, I felt rather unaccountably towards the beautiful stranger. I did feel, as she said, “absolutely drawn towards her,” but there was also something of fearful trepidation for the unknown that lingered inside me.

In this ambiguous feeling, however, the sense of attraction immensely prevailed. She interested and won me completely; she was so beautiful and so indescribably engaging.




I perceived now something of languor and exhaustion stealing over her, and hastened to bid her good night.

“The doctor thinks,” I added, “that you ought to have a maid to sit up with you tonight; one of ours is waiting, and you will find her a very useful and quiet creature.”

“How kind of you, but I could not sleep, I never could with an attendant in the room. I shan’t require any assistance — and, shall I confess my weakness, I am haunted with a terror of robbers. Our house was robbed once, and two servants murdered, so I always lock my door. It has become a habit — and you look so kind I know you will forgive me. I see there is a key in the lock.”






She held me close in her pretty arms for a moment and whispered in my ear, “Good night, darling, it is very hard to part with you, but good night; tomorrow, but not early, I shall see you again.”

She sank back on the pillow with a sigh, and her fine eyes followed me with a fond and melancholy, almost aching gaze, and she murmured again
“Good night, dear friend.”


I am sure you too already know that people like, and love, on impulse. Those emotions live inside of us by their own wave and they come and go like the rain and the sun.

I was flattered by the evident, though yet undeserved, fondness she showed me.
I liked the confidence with which she at once received me. She was determined that we should be very near friends.
Next day came and we met again. I was delighted with my companion; that is to say, in many respects.






Her looks lost nothing in daylight — in fact, I now knew that she was without comparison the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, and the unpleasant remembrance of the face presented in my early dream, had lost the effect of the first unexpected recognition.

She confessed that she had experienced a similar shock on seeing me, and precisely the same faint antipathy that had mingled with my admiration of her. We now laughed together over our momentary childhood horrors.

















































I told you that I was charmed beyond belief with her in most particulars.

There were of course some aspects that did not please me equally well, I was charmed, not bewitched, and in truth, not even my new friend was completely free of imperfections of course.
She was slightly above the middle height of women for these days. But today, I guess that would make her slightly below average? But let me begin by describing her for you.




She was slender, and wonderfully graceful. A full and voluptuous woman in ways that defy description, yet she was, from top to toe perfectly petite and deliciously toned, with a feline grace. Except that her movements were peculiarly languid — strangely languid — indeed, there was nothing in her flawless and perky, healthy, even transfixing appearance to indicate something strange with her health or body. Her complexion was so rich and brilliant; her features were of the utmost sensual nature and beautifully formed; yet, her movements was almost otherworldly and floating in a way that you did pay notice too.







Her beautiful eyes large, and dark, with vibrant and perfect white, and lustrous tone, as if they promised untold sensual thoughts and wonders of life; her hair was equally charmed and wonderful, I never saw hair in my entire life so magnificently thick and long when it was down her shoulders; and I confess to often having placed my hands under it, and laughed with wonder at it´s remarkable beauty.

It was exquisitely fine and soft, and in color a rich very dark brown and ginger, with splashes of gold. I loved to let it down, tumbling with its own weight, as, in her room, she lay back in her chair talking in her sweet low voice, I have folded and braided her hair, and spread it out and played with it countless of times.


To think, If I had but known all that would unfold!










I said there were particulars which did not please me. I have told you that her confidence won me the first night I saw her; but I found that she exercised with respect to herself, her mother, her history, everything in fact connected with her life, plans, and people, an ever wakeful reserve.


I dare say I was perhaps a little unreasonable, perhaps I was even wrong. Well, when I think back at it, I know I was wrong.
But curiosity is a restless and unscrupulous passion, and no one girl can endure that torture with much patience, especially at my young age, and so it was.




I felt so strongly that what harm could it do her or anyone to tell me what I so ardently desired to know?
Had she no trust in my good sense or honor? Why would she not believe me when I assured her, so solemnly, that I would not divulge one syllable of what she told me to any mortal breathing.

There was a coldness, it seemed to me, beyond her years, in her smiling melancholy persistent refusal to afford me the least ray of light.
I cannot say we quarreled upon this point, for in truth, we would not quarrel upon any.



It was, of course, very unfair of me to press her, very ill-bred, but I really could not help it; even though I knew I really should just as well have let it alone.
What she did tell me amounted, in my unconscionable estimation — to nothing.
It was all summed up in three very vague disclosures:
First — Her name was Carmilla.
Second — Her family was very ancient and noble.
Third — Her home lay in the direction of the west.







Step inside

see the light

of night, and day

in you








She would not tell me the name of her family, nor their armorial bearings, nor the name of their estate, nor even that of the country they lived in.




You are not to suppose that I worried her incessantly on these subjects. I did not.
But I watched my opportunities, and rather insinuated than urged my inquiries. Once or twice, indeed, I admit I did 'attack' her more directly.
But no matter what my tactics, utter failure was invariably the result. Reproaches and caresses were all lost upon her.


But I must add this, that her evasion was conducted with so pretty a melancholy and deprecation, with so many, and even passionate declarations of her liking for me, and trust in my honor, and with so many promises that I should at last know all, that I could not find it in my heart to be offended at all with her.






She used to place her pretty arms about my neck, draw me to her, and laying her cheek to mine, murmur with her lips near and often against my ear and bare skin,




She would say
“Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and you shall die — die, sweetly die — into mine. I cannot help it; as I draw near to you, you, in your turn, will at times draw near to others, and learn the rapture of that sweet, liberating life and death, which both is found in love; so, for a while, seek to know no more of me and mine, but trust me with all your loving spirit.”







And when she had spoken such a rhapsody, she would press me more closely in her trembling embrace, and her lips rewarded me with soft and slowly lingering kisses that gently made me glow upon my cheek.



Now I can safely say that these moments carried with them something so sensual and passionate that it made me wet with ache on many occasions.
Something which at the time made me plenty embarrased of course. You have to remind yourself that we lived in a time where female sexuality was quite looked down upon.



Her agitations and her language were like fire and the burning sun to me. And I do not mean in a scary way. Instead it pulled at me with such weight and desire, joy even. Joy like the sweetest cup of honey.
From these innocent, yet for the time quite daring and sexual embraces, which were not of frequent enough occurrence, I must allow, I used to wish to never extricate myself. Many times I wished to turn my head and to meet her lips with mine.






But my energies seemed to fail me, or if it was just my courage.
And soon her murmured words and moist lips worked like a lullaby at night, and soothed my inability to act out my own desires further into a trance, from which I only seemed to reluctantly recover myself when she withdrew her arms. I might not have dared to kiss her, but she could tell how much I enjoyed those moments, and my choice of never being the one to break away told her all she had to know.








In these moments I did not like my own hesitation, but an entire life of belief in how men and woman should behave, the Christian god, the teachings and all, it made me so meke and shameful of my own needs.

So, I experienced a strangely deep and tumultuous excitement that was so freeing to experience, exciting and pleasurable, ever and anon, mingled with a vague sense of fear of others opinions, and disgust towards myself.


I had no distinct thoughts against her while such scenes lasted, but I was conscious of a friendship clearly growing into passionate sexual desires, and also perhaps love and a great del of abhorrence towards myself.

This I know is perhaps considered a paradox now, I know today that there is nothing wrong with love and passion between any grown up, but I can make no other attempt to explain the conflicted emotions at the time. So just bear in mind the times in which we all lived. The shame of love and sexual pleasures the quite vile and evil church pushed us all to fear and viciously hate. Not to mention the lack of equality itself in the smallest of things. It was awfully hard and unjust times for any woman, queens and pesants alike, so please do not judge me for any shortcomings of mine.






I now write, after an interval of many, many years, with a trembling hand, with a clear recollection of certain occurrences and situations, in the ordeal through which I was somewhat merely passing; though with a vivid and very sharp remembrance of the main current of my story.








But, please hold no judgment, as I suspect, that in all lives there are certain emotional needs and scenes, and moments, in which our passions have been most wildly and incredibly roused, most true and clear, that are of all others the most vaguely and dimly remembered.



Let me continue.

Sometimes after my apathy of acting according to my own desires, my strange and beautiful companion would take my hand and hold it with a fond pressure, blushing softly, gazing in my face with languid and burning eyes, as she gently held me close, our breathing so fast that I think my dress rose and fell with the tumultuous respiration. It was nothing short of the ardor of a lover; it embarrassed me as much as it made my world come alive; it was such a beautiful and yet over-whelming thing.







At times, with glowing eyes she would actually drew me to her, and her burning, incredibly sensous lips traveled along my cheek in slow hungry kisses; and she would whisper, almost the way lovers sounds just before they tumble individually and together, over that final treshold of pure physical and emotional rapture,
“You are mine, you shall be mine, you and I are one for ever.”










Then she would break free from our intensely shared embrace and almost thrown herself back in her chair, with her small hands over her eyes, leaving me trembling for more, for much, much more.



“Are we related,” I used to ask like a dumb, embarrased tool; “what can you mean by all this? I remind you perhaps of someone whom you love; but you must not, We can not do this; We are both girls, and you know what the priest and people would say if they knew what we do, if they knew of this strange emotion between us — I don’t even know myself when you look at me like this, the way you touch me and talk.”


She used to sigh at my vehemence, then turn away and drop my hand. And who can blame her. I dont know why she put up with me, really, I dont know, I was such a coward and fool in some ways of the heart.











Respecting these very extraordinary manifestations I strove in vain to form any satisfactory theory — I could not refer them to anything else since I really lacked experience of my own and the times as they where provided no relief.

So, in the end I decided to blame it on what was unmistakably the momentary breaking out of suppressed instinct and emotion. Was the two of us, notwithstanding her mother’s volunteered denial, subject to brief visitations of insanity; or was there here a real and natural romance?


I had of course read in old storybooks of such forbidden things. But how could I even think of such a thing, how could I risk the wrath of god just to follow my own pulsating heart and groin.




Sometimes, I felt as if I was going mad, I even entertained the fantasy that this was a boyish and scheeming lover whom had found his way into the house, and sought to prosecute his suit in masquerade, with the assistance of a clever old adventuress.


I laugh at that thought now of course, but no matter the many things that stood against this hypothesis, it was still one of the many and highly interesting theories that spoke to my vanity and curious mind.











I could boast of no little attentions such as masculine gallantry delights to offer. Between these passionate moments there were long intervals of commonplace, of gaiety, of brooding melancholy, during which, except that I detected her eyes so full of melancholy fire, following me, at times I might have been as nothing to her. Except in these brief periods of mysterious excitement her ways were girlish; and there was always a languor about her, quite incompatible with a masculine system in a state of health.

In some ways her habits were odd.




Perhaps not so singular in the opinion of a town lady like you, as they appeared to us rustic people.
She used to come down very late, generally not till one o’clock, she would then take a cup of chocolate, but eat next to nothing; we then went out for a walk, which was a mere saunter, and she seemed, almost immediately, exhausted, and either returned to the schloss or sat on one of the benches that were placed, here and there, among the trees.



This was a bodily languor in which her mind did not sympathize. She was always an animated talker, and so very intelligent.

She sometimes alluded for a moment to her own home, or mentioned an adventure or situation, or an early recollection, which indicated a people of strange manners, and described customs of which we knew nothing. I gathered from these chance hints that her native country was much more remote than I had at first fancied.

As we sat thus one afternoon under the trees a funeral passed us by. It was that of a pretty young girl, whom I had often seen, the daughter of one of the rangers of the forest. The poor man was walking behind the coffin of his darling; she was his only child, and he looked quite heartbroken.







Peasants walking two-and-two came behind, they were singing a funeral hymn.
I rose to mark my respect as they passed, and joined in the hymn they were very sweetly singing.
My companion shook me a little roughly, and I turned surprised.
She said brusquely, “Don’t you perceive how discordant that is?”
“I think it very sweet, on the contrary,” I answered, vexed at the interruption, and very uncomfortable, lest the people who composed the little procession should observe and resent what was passing.

I resumed, therefore, instantly, and was again interrupted.
“You pierce my ears,” said Carmilla, almost angrily, and stopping her ears with her tiny fingers. “Besides, how can you tell that your religion and mine are the same; your forms wound me, and I hate funerals. What a fuss! Why you must die — why should anyone ever have to die; ”


“My father has gone on with the clergyman to the churchyard. I thought you knew she was to be buried today.”
“She? I don’t trouble my head about peasants. I don’t know who she is,” answered Carmilla, with a flash from her fine eyes.
“She is the poor girl who fancied she saw a ghost a fortnight ago, and has been dying ever since, till yesterday, when she expired.”
“Tell me nothing about ghosts. I shan’t sleep tonight if you do.”
“I hope there is no plague or fever coming; all this looks very like it,” I continued.
“The swineherd’s young wife died only a week ago, and she thought something seized her by the throat as she lay in her bed, and nearly strangled her. Papa says such horrible fancies do accompany some forms of fever. She was quite well the day before. She sank afterwards, and died before a week.”



“Well, her funeral is over, I hope, and her hymn sung; and our ears shan’t be tortured with that discord and jargon. It has made me nervous. Sit down here, beside me; sit close; hold my hand; press it hard-hard-harder.”


We had moved a little back, and had come to another seat.
She sat down.


Her face underwent a change that alarmed and even terrified me for a moment. It darkened, and became horribly livid; her teeth and hands were clenched, and she frowned and compressed her lips, while she stared down upon the ground at her feet, and now she trembled all over with a continued shudder as irrepressible as ague.




All her energies seemed strained to suppress a fit, with which she was then breathlessly tugging; and at length a low convulsive cry of suffering broke from her, and gradually the hysteria subsided.

“There! That is what comes of strangling people with hymns!” she said at last. “Hold me, hold me still. It is passing away.”

And so gradually it did; and perhaps to dissipate the somber impression which the spectacle had left upon me, she became unusually animated and chatty; and so we got home.






This was the first time I had seen her exhibit any definable symptoms of that delicacy of health which her mother had spoken of. It was the first time, also, I had seen her exhibit anything like temper. Both passed away like a summer cloud; and never but once afterwards did I witness on her part a momentary sign of anger.


I will of course tell you how it happened.



She and I were looking out of one of the long drawing room windows, when there entered the courtyard, over the drawbridge, a figure of a wanderer whom I knew very well. He used to visit the schloss generally twice a year.

It was the figure of a hunchback, with the sharp lean features that generally accompany deformity. He wore a pointed black beard, and he was smiling from ear to ear, showing his white fangs. He was dressed in buff, black, and scarlet, and crossed with more straps and belts than I could count, from which hung all manner of things. Behind, he carried a magic lantern, and two boxes, which I well knew, in one of which was a salamander, and in the other a mandrake.




These monsters of his used to make my father laugh. They were compounded of parts of monkeys, parrots squirrels, fish, and hedgehogs, dried and stitched together with great neatness and startling effect. He had a fiddle, a box of conjuring apparatus, a pair of foils and masks attached to his belt, several other mysterious cases dangling about him, and a black staff with copper ferrules in his hand.

His companion was a rough spare dog, that followed at his heels, but stopped short, suspiciously at the drawbridge, and in a little while began to howl dismally.
In the meantime, the mountebank, standing in the midst of the courtyard, raised his grotesque hat, and made us a very ceremonious bow, paying his compliments very volubly in execrable French, and German not much better.

Then, disengaging his fiddle, he began to scrape a lively air to which he sang with a merry discord, dancing with ludicrous airs and activity, that made me laugh, in spite of the dog’s howling.

Then he advanced to the window with many smiles and salutations, and his hat in his left hand, his fiddle under his arm, and with a fluency that never took breath, he gabbled a long advertisement of all his accomplishments, and the resources of the various arts which he placed at our service, and the curiosities and entertainments which it was in his power, at our bidding, to display.






“Will your ladyships be pleased to buy an amulet against the oupire, which is going like the wolf, I hear, through these woods, ” he said dropping his hat on the pavement. “They are dying of it right and left and here is a charm that never fails; only pinned to the pillow, and you may laugh in his face.”



These charms consisted of oblong slips of vellum, with cabalistic ciphers and diagrams upon them.
Carmilla instantly purchased one, and so did I.

He was looking up, and we were smiling down upon him, amused; at least, I can answer for myself. His piercing black eye, as he looked up in our faces, seemed to detect something that fixed for a moment his curiosity. In an instant he unrolled a leather case, full of all manner of odd little steel instruments.


“See here, my lady,” he said, displaying it, and addressing me,
“I profess, among other things less useful, the art of dentistry. Plague take the dog!” he interpolated.
“Silence, beast! He howls so that your ladyships can scarcely hear a word. Your noble friend, the young lady at your right, has the sharpest tooth — long, thin, pointed, like an awl, like a needle; ha, ha! With my sharp and long sight, as I look up, I have seen it distinctly; now if it happens to hurt the young lady, and I think it must, here am I, here are my file, my punch, my nippers; I will make it round and blunt, if her ladyship pleases; no longer the tooth of a fish, but of a beautiful young lady as she is. Hey? Is the young lady displeased? Have I been too bold? Have I offended her?”





The young lady, indeed, looked very angry as she drew back from the window.
“How dares that mountebank insult us so? Where is your father? I shall demand redress from him. My father would have had the wretch tied up to the pump, and flogged with a cart whip, and burnt to the bones with the castle brand!”

She retired from the window a step or two, and sat down, and had hardly lost sight of the offender, when her wrath subsided as suddenly as it had risen, and she gradually recovered her usual tone, and seemed to forget the little hunchback and his follies.


My father meanwhile was out of spirits that evening. On coming in he told us that there had been another case very similar to the two fatal ones which had lately occurred. The sister of a young peasant on his estate, only a mile away, was very ill, had been, as she described it, attacked very nearly in the same way, and was now slowly but steadily sinking.

“All this,” said my father, “is strictly referable to natural causes. These poor people infect one another with their superstitions, and so repeat in imagination the images of terror that have infested their neighbors.”
“But that very circumstance frightens one horribly,” said Carmilla.
“How so?” inquired my father.
“I am so afraid of fancying I see such things; I think it would be as bad as reality.”


“We are in God’s hands: nothing can happen without his permission, and all will end well for those who love him. He is our faithful creator; He has made us all, and will take care of us.”
“Creator! Nature!“ said the young lady in answer to my gentle father.

“And this disease that invades the country is natural.
Nature I say. All things proceed from Nature — don’t they? All things in the heaven, in the earth, and under the earth, act and live as Nature ordains? I think so most absolutely.”





“The doctor said he would come here today,” said my father, after a silence.
“I want to know what he thinks about it, and what he thinks we had better do.”

“Doctors never did me any good,” said Carmilla.
“Then you have been ill?” I asked.
“More ill than ever you were,” she answered.
“Long ago?”
“Yes, a long time. I suffered from this very illness; but I forget all but my pain and weakness, and they were not so bad as are suffered in other diseases.”
“You were very young then?”

“I dare say, let us talk no more of it. You would not wound a friend?”







She looked languidly in my eyes, and passed her arm round my waist lovingly, and led me out of the room. My father was busy over some papers near the window.

“Why does your papa like to frighten us?” said the pretty girl with a sigh and a little shudder.
“He doesn’t, dear Carmilla, it is the very furthest thing from his mind.”
“Are you afraid, dearest?”
“I should be very much if I fancied there was any real danger of my being attacked as those poor people were.”
“You are afraid to die?”
“Yes, every one is. Arent you?”
“But to die as lovers may — to die together, so that they may live together forever.



Carmilla simply answered
“Girls are caterpillars while they live in the world, to be finally butterflies when the summer comes; but in the meantime there are grubs and larvae, don’t you see — each with their peculiar propensities, necessities and structure. Each thing with its very own natural purpose, and beauty.”








Much later in the day the doctor came, and was closeted with papa for some time.
He was a skilful man, the doctor, of sixty and upwards albeit I was not entirely sure of his age, and he wore powder, and shaved his pale face as smooth as a pumpkin. I honestly found him as likeable as strange.
He and papa emerged from the room together, and I heard papa laugh, and say as they came out:




“Well, I do wonder at a wise man like you. What do you say to hippogriffs and dragons?”
The doctor was smiling, and made answer, shaking his head —

“Nevertheless life and death are mysterious states, and we know little of the resources of either.”
And so they walked on, and I heard no more.

I still do not know for certain what the doctor had been broaching, but I think I can guess it now.
















































This evening there arrived from Gratz the grave, dark-faced son of the picture cleaner, with a horse and cart laden with two large packing cases, having many pictures in each. It was a journey of ten leagues, and whenever a messenger arrived at the schloss from our little capital of Gratz, we used to crowd about him in the hall, to hear all the news.





This arrival created in our secluded quarters quite a sensation. The cases remained in the hall, and the messenger was taken charge of by the servants till he had eaten his supper. Then with assistants, and armed with hammer, ripping chisel, and turnscrew, he met us in the hall, where we had assembled to witness the unpacking of the cases.

Carmilla sat looking listlessly on, while one after the other the old pictures, nearly all portraits, which had undergone the process of renovation, were brought to light. My mother was of an old Hungarian family, and most of these pictures, which were about to be restored to their places, had come to us through her.




My father had a list in his hand, from which he read, as the artist rummaged out the corresponding numbers. I don’t know that the pictures were very good, but they were, undoubtedly, very old, and some of them very curious also. They had, for the most part, the merit of being now seen by me, I may say, for the first time; for the smoke and dust of time had all but obliterated them.

“There is a picture that I have not seen yet,” said my father.
“In one corner, at the top of it, is the name, as well as I could read, ‘Marcia Karnstein,’ and the date ‘1698’; and I am curious to see how it has turned out.”


I remembered it; it was a small picture, about a foot and a half high, and nearly square, without a frame; but it was so blackened by age that I could not make it out.
The artist now produced it, with evident pride. It was quite beautiful; it was startling; and it even seemed to live. But even more startling, It was the effigy of Carmilla!





This was

Her Effigy

It is you













“Carmilla, dear, here is an absolute miracle. Here you are, living, smiling, ready to speak, in this picture. Isn’t it beautiful, Papa? And see, even the little mole on her throat.”

My father laughed, and said “Certainly it is a wonderful likeness,” but he looked away, and to my surprise seemed but little struck by it, and went on talking to the picture cleaner, who was also something of an artist, and discoursed with intelligence about the portraits or other works, which his art had just brought into light and color, while I was more and more lost in wonder the more I looked at the picture.


“Will you let me hang this picture in my room, papa?” I asked.
“Certainly, dear,” said he, smiling, “I’m very glad you think it so like. It must be prettier even than I thought it, if it is.”


The young lady herself did not acknowledge this pretty speech, did not seem to hear it.
She was leaning back in her seat, her fine eyes under their long lashes gazing on me in contemplation, and she smiled in a kind of rapture.






“And now you can read quite plainly the name that is written in the corner. It is not Marcia; it looks as if it was done in gold.
The name is Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, and this is a little coronet over and underneath A.D. 1698. I am descended from the Karnsteins; that is, mamma was.”
“Ah!” said the lady, languidly, “so am I, I think, a very long descent, very ancient. Are there any Karnsteins living now?”
“None who bear the name, I believe. The family were ruined, I believe, in some civil wars, long ago, but the ruins of the castle are only about three miles away.”

“How interesting!” she said, languidly. “But see what beautiful moonlight!” She glanced through the hall door, which stood a little open.
“Suppose you take a little ramble round the court, and look down at the road and river.”
“It is so like the night you came to us,” I said.

She sighed; smiling.
And slowly rose, and each with her arm about the other’s waist, we walked out upon the pavement.
In silence, slowly we walked down to the drawbridge, where the beautiful landscape opened before us.

“And so you were thinking of the night I came here?” she almost whispered.
“Are you glad I came?”
“Delighted, dear Carmilla,” I answered.


“And you asked for the picture you think look like me, to hang in your room,” she murmured with a sigh, as she drew her arm closer about my waist, and let her pretty head sink upon my shoulder.
“How romantic you are, Carmilla,” I said.
“Whenever you tell me your story, it will be made up chiefly of some one great romance.”





She kissed me silently directly on my lips, not a word as our lips met in a light and slow, long kiss with such irresistible deep hunger.



















Kisses

and sultry wet

Our lips



touched

again

and again










When our lips finally parted ways at first, I could hardly speak, but despite my vicarious hunger for more I forced my will and softly spoke.

“I am sure, Carmilla, you have been in love; that there is, at this moment, an affair of the heart going on.”
My heart pounded so hard in my ears, and my groin and tummy felt like rain and weighted snow.




“I have been in love with no one, and never shall,” she whispered,
... “unless it should be with you.”








How beautiful she looked in the moonlight!

Shy and strange was the look with which she now quickly hid her face in my neck and hair, with tumultuous sighs, that seemed almost to sob, and pressed in mine a hand that trembled as much as I did.
Her soft cheek was glowing against mine.
“Darling, darling,” she murmured, “I live in you; and you would never die for me, I love you so.”



I started from her.










She was now gazing on me with eyes from which all fire, all meaning and luster had flown, eyes inside of a face all colorless and apathetic.
“Is there a chill in the air, dear?” she said drowsily.
“I almost shiver; have I been dreaming? Let us come in. Come; come; come in.”


“You look ill, Carmilla; a little faint. You certainly must take some wine,” I said.
“Yes. I will. I’m better now. I shall be quite well in a few minutes. Yes, do give me a little wine,” answered Carmilla, as we approached the door.
“Let us look again for a moment; it is the last time, perhaps, I shall see the moonlight with you.”
“How do you feel now, dear Carmilla? Are you really better?” I asked.







I was beginning to take alarm, lest she should have been stricken again with the strange epidemic that they said had now invaded the county that surrounded us. Had she not told me how she had been sick with the very same thing as a child?. I felt awashed with fear of loosing my friend.


“Papa would be grieved beyond measure.” I added, “if he thought you were ever so little ill, without immediately letting us know. We have a very skilful doctor near this, the physician who was with papa today.”
“I’m sure he is. I know how kind you all are; but, dear child, I am quite well again. There is nothing ever wrong with me, but a little weakness.
“People say I am languid; I am incapable of exertion; I can scarcely walk as far as a child of three years old: and every now and then the little strength I have falters, and I become as you have just seen me. But after all I am very easily set up again; in a moment I am perfectly myself. See how well I have already recovered.”






So, indeed, she had; and she and I talked a great deal, and very animated she was; and the remainder of that evening passed without any recurrence of what I called her infatuations. I longed for them, yet I could not make myself reach out and touch her the same way.


But there occurred that night another event which gave my thoughts quite another turn, and seemed to startle even Carmilla’s languid nature into momentary energy.
































When we got into the drawing room, and had sat down to our coffee and chocolate, although Carmilla did not take much, she seemed quite herself again, and Madame, and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine both joined us, and in the end, we all made a little card party.

In the course of which papa came in for what he called his “dish of tea.”
When the game was over he sat down beside Carmilla on the sofa, and asked her, a little anxiously, whether she had heard from her mother since her arrival.

She answered “No.”

He then asked whether she knew where a letter would reach her at present.
“I cannot tell,” she answered ambiguously, “but I have been thinking of leaving you; you have been already too hospitable and too kind to me. I have given you an infinity of trouble, and I should wish to take a carriage tomorrow, and post in pursuit of her; I know that I shall ultimately find her, although I dare not yet tell you.”






“But you must not dream of any such thing,” exclaimed my father, to my great relief. “We can’t afford to lose you so, and I won’t consent to your leaving us, except under the care of your mother, who was so good as to consent to your remaining with us till she should herself return. I should be quite happy if I knew that you heard from her: but this evening the accounts of the progress of the mysterious disease that has invaded our neighborhood, grow even more alarming; and my beautiful guest, I do feel the responsibility, unaided by advice from your mother, very much. But I shall do my best; and one thing is certain, that you must not think of leaving us without her distinct direction to that effect. We should suffer too much in parting from you to consent to it easily.”


“Thank you, sir, a thousand times for your hospitality,” she answered, smiling bashfully.
“You have all been too kind to me; I have seldom been so happy in all my life before, as in your beautiful chateau, under your care, and in the pleasant company of your dear daughter.”


So he gallantly, in his old-fashioned way, kissed her hand, smiling and pleased at her little speech.
I accompanied Carmilla as usual to her room, and sat and chatted with her while she was preparing for bed.

“Do you think,” I said at length, “that you will ever confide fully in me?”
She turned round smiling, "Yes, in time I will confide fully in you".
“Why not now?” I said.
“You were quite right to ask me that, or anything. You do not know how dear you are to me, or you could not think any confidence too great to look for. But I am under vows, more sacred than anything, and I dare not tell my story yet, even to you. The time however, is very near when you shall know everything. You perhaps think me cruel, and selfish, but real love is like truth itself never selfish; the more ardent and truthful, the less selfish it is. How jealous others are, you cannot know. You do not have to come with me, nor do you need to love me, or feel the embrace of death. You are likewise, free to hate me and still come with me, you can live freely with me, love or hate me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference or pety restraints in my true nature. There is truth and freedom and your own heart to follow.”











“Now, Carmilla, there you are, talking your wild nonsense again,” I said hastily.

“No, not I, silly little fool as I am, and full of whims and fancies; for your sake I’ll talk like a sage. Were you ever at a ball?”
“No; but please tell. What is it like? How charming it must be.”
“I almost forget, it is years ago.”





I laughed.

“You are not so old. Your first ball can hardly be forgotten yet.”
“I remember everything it — with an effort. I see it all, the pain, and betrayal. The crushing void of my heart. As divers see what is going on above them, through the obscured medium of light and sight and mudded water, dense, rippling, but still transparent. There occurred that night many events, what together has confused the picture, and made its colours faint. I was all but assassinated in my bed, wounded here.”

She touched her breast, “I never was the same since.”



“Were you near dying?”

“Yes, very — a cruel love — destrutive and strange. And in time it would have taken my life. Love should have no sacrifices. And you know, there are no sacrifices without blood and death.
Let us go to sleep now; I feel so lazy. To tired to even get up and lock my door.”



She was lying with her tiny hands buried in her rich wavy hair, under her cheek, her little head upon the pillow, and her glittering eyes followed me wherever I moved, with a kind of shy smile that I could not decipher.

I bid her good night, and crept from the room with an uncomfortable sensation, closing her door behind me.







I often wondered whether our pretty guest ever said her prayers. I certainly had never seen her upon her knees. In the morning she never came down until long after our family prayers were over, and at night she never left the drawing room to attend our brief evening prayers in the hall.

If it had not been that it had casually come out in one of our careless talks that she had been baptised, I should have doubted her being a Christian. Religion was a subject on which I had never heard her speak a word, not that I really talked about it either. And if I had known the world a little bit better, this particular neglect or antipathy would not have bothered me at all.






The precautions of nervous people are infectious, and persons of a like temperament are pretty sure, after a time, to imitate them. I had adopted Carmilla’s habit of locking her bedroom door, having taken into my head all her whimsical alarms about midnight invaders and prowling assassins. I had also adopted her precaution of making a brief search through her room, to satisfy herself that no lurking assassin or robber was “ensconced.”

These wise measures taken, I got into my bed and fell asleep.
A light was burning in my room. This was an old habit, of very early date, and which nothing could have tempted me to dispense with.

Thus fortified I might take my rest in peace. But dreams walk with ease through the thickest of stone walls, they light up the darkest rooms, or darken light ones, and their persons make their exits and their entrances as they please, and they laugh at the cunning of locksmiths.

Dreams walk as they please from stranger to stranger.


I had a dream that night that was the beginning of a very strange agony.
I cannot call it a nightmare.


But as soundly asleep as I was, I was equally conscious of actually being in my room, and lying in my own bed, precisely as I actually was.
I saw, or fancied I saw, the room and its furniture just as I had seen it last, except that it was darker, and I could see something slightly obscured moving round the foot of the bed. At first I could not accurately distinguish that something was even moving. But I soon saw that it started taking form, and as my sight adjusted I could see that it was a sooty-black animal that resembled what I think was a monstrous cat of sorts.


It appeared to me about four or five feet long for it measured fully the length of the hearthrug as it passed over it; and it continued to-ing and fro-ing with the lithe, sinister restlessness of a beast in a cage.

I could not cry out, although as you may suppose, I think I was terrified. Its pace was growing faster, and the room rapidly turned darker and darker, and at length it was so dark that I could no longer see anything of it but its eyes. I felt it spring lightly on the bed. The two broad eyes approached my face, and suddenly I felt a stinging pain as if two large needles darted, an inch or two apart, deep into my breast.




I waked with a scream. The room was lighted by the candle that burnt there all through the night, and I saw a female figure standing at the foot of the bed, a little at the right side. It was in a dark loose dress, and its hair was down and covered its shoulders.

I tell you now, that a block of stone could not have been more still. There was not the slightest stir of respiration.
As I stared at it, her eyes looking back at me, the figure appeared to suddenly have changed its place almost without moving, and was now nearer the door; then, close to it, the door opened, and it passed out.



I was now relieved, and able to breathe and move. And I realized that I had not taken a single breath since waking up.

My first thought was that Carmilla had been playing me a strange and not very funny trick, and that I had simply forgotten to secure my door.
I hastened to it, and found it locked as usual on the inside.
By now I was too afraid to open it..
So I sprang into my bed and covered my head up in the bedclothes, and lay there more dead than alive till morning.























It would be in vain by me, attempting to faithfully tell you the emotional horror with which, even now, I recall the occurrence of that night.



It was not the fleeting and transitory terror which a nightmare leaves behind it. It seemed to deepen by time, and communicated itself to the room and the very furniture itself that had encompassed the apparition.

I could not bear next day to be alone even for a moment. I should have told papa, but for two opposite reasons. At one time I thought he would laugh at my story, and I could not bear it being treated as a jest; and at another I thought he might fancy that I had been attacked by the mysterious complaint which had invaded our neighborhood. I had myself no misgiving of the kind, and as he had been rather fragile for some time already, I simply did not have the heart alarming him.





I was comfortable enough with my good-natured companions, Madame Perrodon, and the vivacious Mademoiselle Lafontaine.
They both perceived that I was out of spirits and nervous, and at length I told them what lay so heavy at my heart.
Mademoiselle laughed, but I fancied that Madame Perrodon looked anxious.




“By-the-by,” said Mademoiselle, laughing, “the long lime tree walk, behind Carmilla’s bedroom window, is haunted!”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Madame, who probably thought the theme rather inopportune, “and who tells that story, my dear?”
“Martin says that he came up twice, when the old yard gate was being repaired, before sunrise, and twice saw the same female figure walking down the lime tree avenue.”
“So he well might, as long as there are cows to milk in the river fields,” said Madame.
“I daresay; but Martin chooses to be frightened, and never did I see fool more frightened.”



“You must not say a word about it to Carmilla, because she can see down that walk from her room window,” I interposed, “and she is, if possible, a greater coward than I.”
Carmilla came down rather later than usual that day.

“I was so frightened last night,” she said, so soon as were together, “and I am sure I should have seen something dreadful if it had not been for that charm I bought from the poor little hunchback whom I called such hard names. I had a dream of something black coming round my bed, and I awoke in a perfect horror, and I really thought, for some seconds, I saw a dark figure near the chimney-piece, but I felt under my pillow for my charm, and the moment my fingers touched it, the figure disappeared, and I felt quite certain, only that I had it by me, that something frightful would have made its appearance, and, perhaps, throttled me, as it did those poor people we heard of.


“Well, listen to me,” I began, and recounted my adventure, at the recital of which she appeared horrified.
“And had you the charm near you?” she asked, earnestly.

“No, I had dropped it into a china vase in the drawing room, but I shall certainly take it with me tonight, as you have so much faith in it.”
At this distance of time I cannot tell you, or even understand, how I overcame my horror so effectually as to lie alone in my room that night. I remember distinctly that I pinned the charm to my pillow. I fell asleep almost immediately, and slept even more soundly than usual all night.




Next night I passed as well. My sleep was delightfully deep and dreamless.
But I wakened with a sense of lassitude and melancholy, which, however, did not exceed a degree that was almost luxurious.





“Well, I told you so,” said Carmilla, when I described my quiet sleep, “I had such delightful sleep myself last night; I pinned the charm to the breast of my nightdress. It was too far away the night before. I am quite sure it was all fancy, except the dreams. I used to think that evil spirits made dreams, but our doctor told me it is no such thing. Only a fever passing by, or some other malady, as they often do, he said, knocks at the door, and not being able to get in, passes on, with that alarm.”



"evil spirits"



a Tsunami

at the crossroads

of ...


delightful sleep

and mares




“And what do you think the charm is?” said I.

“It has been fumigated or immersed in some drug, and is as such, acting as an antidote against the malady,” she answered.
“Then it acts only on the body?”



“Certainly; you don’t suppose that evil spirits are frightened by bits of ribbon, or the perfumes of a druggist’s shop? No, these complaints, wandering in the air, begin by trying the nerves, and so infect the brain, but before they can seize upon you, the antidote repels them. That I am sure is what the charm has done for us. It is nothing magical, it is simply natural.”






I should have been happier if I could have quite agreed with Carmilla, but I did my best, and the impression was a little losing its force.
For some nights I slept profoundly; but still every morning I felt the same lassitude, and a languor weighed upon me all day. I felt myself a changed girl. A strange melancholy was stealing over me, a melancholy that I would not have interrupted. Dim thoughts of death began to open, and an idea that I was slowly sinking took gentle, and, somehow, not unwelcome, possession of me.
If it was sad in some ways, the tone of mind which this induced also carried with it something quite sweet.
Whatever it might be, my soul acquiesced in it.





I would not admit that I was ill, I would not consent to tell my papa, or to have the doctor sent for.
Carmilla became more devoted to me than ever, and her strange paroxysms of languid adoration more frequent. She used to gloat on me with increasing ardor the more my strength and spirits waned. This always shocked me like a momentary glare of insanity.


Without knowing it, I was now in a pretty advanced stage of the strangest illness under which mortal ever suffered. There was an unaccountable fascination in its earlier symptoms that more than reconciled me to the incapacitating effect of that stage of the malady. This fascination increased for a time, until it reached a certain point, when gradually a sense of the horrible mingled itself with it, deepening, as you shall hear, until it discolored and perverted the whole state of my life.


The first change I experienced was rather agreeable. It was very near the turning point from which began the descent of Avernus.





Certain vague and strange sensations visited me in my sleep. The prevailing one was of that pleasant, peculiar cold thrill which we feel in bathing, when we move against the current of a river. This was soon accompanied by dreams that seemed interminable, and were so vague that I could never recollect their scenery and persons, or any one connected portion of their action. But they left an awful impression, and a sense of exhaustion that lingered inside of me, as if I had passed through a long period of great mental exertion and danger.









After all these dreams there remained on waking a remembrance of having been in a place very nearly dark, and of having spoken to people whom I could not see; and especially of one clear voice, of a female’s, very deep, that spoke as if at a distance, slowly, and producing always the same sensation of indescribable solemnity and freedom, with a touch of primal fear. Sometime there came a sensation as if a hand was drawn softly along my cheek and neck. Sometimes it was as if warm lips and fingers kissed my lips and naked skin, each gentle touch more slow and prolonged, lasting longer and longer and more lovingly as they traversed across my skin and body, but once those lips and fingers reached my pounding heart and aching throat, the caress stilled itself.





My heart beat faster, my breathing rose and fell rapidly and full drawn; a sobbing, that rose into a sense of bursting eruption from deep inside me, supervened, it tumbled and turned into a longing convulsion, in which my senses left me and I became unconscious to the world and my own dream.

It was now three weeks since the commencement of this unaccountable state.





My lack of proper sleep had, during the last week, told upon my appearance.


I had grown pale, my eyes were dilated and darkened underneath, and the languor which I had long felt began to display itself in my countenance.
My father asked me often whether I was ill; but, with an obstinacy which now seems to me unaccountable, I persisted in assuring him that I was quite well. In a sense this was true. I had no pain, I could complain of no bodily derangement. My complaint seemed to be one of the imagination, or the nerves, and, strange as my nightly dreams were, I kept them, with a morbid reserve, very nearly to myself.



It could not be that terrible complaint which the peasants called the oupire, for I had now been suffering for three weeks, and they were seldom ill for much more than three days, when death put an end to their miseries.

Carmilla complained of dreams and feverish sensations, but by no means of so alarming a kind as mine.
I say that mine were probably extremely alarming. Had someone else been capable of comprehending my condition, I would have invoked aid and advice on my knees. The narcotic of an unsuspected influence was acting upon me, and my perceptions were benumbed.









I am going to tell you now of a dream that led immediately to an odd discovery.

One night, instead of the voice I was accustomed to hear in the dark, I heard one, sweeter still and even more loving tender, and at the same time it´s message seemed so terrible, as the voice said, “Your mother warns you to beware of the assassin.”

At the same time as the voice spoke, a light unexpectedly sprang up, and I saw Carmilla, standing, near the foot of my bed, in her white nightdress, bathed, from her chin to her feet, in one great stain of blood.



I wakened with a shriek, possessed with the one idea that Carmilla was being murdered.
I remember springing from my bed, and my next recollection is that of standing on the lobby, crying for help.

Madame and Mademoiselle came scurrying out of their rooms in alarm; a lamp burned always on the lobby, and seeing me, they soon learned the cause of my terror.
I insisted on our knocking at Carmilla’s door. Our knocking was unanswered.
It soon became a pounding and an uproar. We shrieked her name, but all was vain.


We all grew frightened, for the door was locked. We hurried back, in panic, to my room. There we rang the bell long and furiously. If my father’s room had been at that side of the house, we would have called him up at once to our aid.
But, alas! he was quite out of hearing, and to reach him involved an excursion for which we none of us had courage.
Servants, however, soon came running up the stairs; I had got on my dressing gown and slippers meanwhile, and my companions were already similarly furnished. Recognizing the voices of the servants on the lobby, we sallied out together; and having renewed, as fruitlessly, our summons at Carmilla’s door, I ordered the men to force the lock.

They did so, and we stood, holding our lights aloft, in the doorway, and so stared into the room.








We called her by name; but there was still no reply.
We looked round the room.
Everything was undisturbed.



It was exactly in the state in which I had left it on bidding her good night. But Carmilla was gone and the room was eerily empty.





























At sight sight of the room, perfectly undisturbed except for our violent entrance, we began to cool a little, and soon recovered our senses sufficiently to dismiss the men. It had struck Mademoiselle that possibly Carmilla had been wakened by the uproar at her door, and in her first panic had jumped from her bed, and hid herself in a press, or behind a curtain, from which she could not, of course, emerge until the majordomo and his myrmidons had withdrawn.

We now recommenced our search, and began to call her name again.
It was all to no purpose. Our perplexity and agitation increased.







We examined the windows, but they were secured. I implored of Carmilla, if she had concealed herself, to play this cruel trick no longer — to come out and to end our anxieties. It was all useless. I was by this time convinced that she was not in the room, nor in the dressing room, the door of which was still locked on this side. She could not have passed it.



I was utterly puzzled.
Had Carmilla discovered one of those secret passages which the old housekeeper said were known to exist in the schloss, although the tradition of their exact situation had been lost? A little time would, no doubt, explain all — utterly perplexed as, for the present, we were. It was past four o’clock, and I preferred passing the remaining hours of darkness in Madame’s room.
Daylight brought no solution of the difficulty.
The whole household, with my father at its head, was in a state of agitation next morning. Every part of the chateau was searched. The grounds were explored. No trace of the missing lady could be discovered. The stream was about to be dragged; my father was in distraction; what a tale to have to tell the poor girl’s mother on her return.
I, too, was almost beside myself, though my grief was quite of a different kind.
The morning was passed in alarm and excitement.











It was now one o’clock, and still no tidings. I ran up to Carmilla’s room, and found her standing at her dressing table. I was astounded. I could not believe my eyes. She beckoned me to her with her pretty finger, in silence. Her face expressed extreme fear. I ran to her in an ecstasy of joy; I kissed and embraced her again and again. I ran to the bell and rang it vehemently, to bring others to the spot who might at once relieve my father’s anxiety.



“Dear Carmilla, what has become of you all this time? We have been in agonies of anxiety about you,” I exclaimed. “Where have you been? How did you come back?”
“Last night has been a night of wonders,” she said.
“For mercy’s sake, explain all you can.”







“It was past two last night,” she said, “when I went to sleep as usual in my bed, with my doors locked, that of the dressing room, and that opening upon the gallery. My sleep was uninterrupted, and, so far as I know, dreamless; but I woke just now on the sofa in the dressing room there, and I found the door between the rooms open, and the other door forced. How could all this have happened without my being wakened? It must have been accompanied with a great deal of noise, and I am particularly easily wakened; and how could I have been carried out of my bed without my sleep having been interrupted, I whom the slightest stir startles?”







By this time, Madame, Mademoiselle, my father, and a number of the servants were in the room. Carmilla was, of course, overwhelmed with inquiries, congratulations, and welcomes. She had but one story to tell, and seemed the least able of all the party to suggest any way of accounting for what had happened.
My father took a turn up and down the room, thinking. I saw Carmilla’s eye follow him for a moment with a sly, dark glance.



When my father had sent the servants away, Mademoiselle having gone in search of a little bottle of valerian and salvolatile, and there being no one now in the room with Carmilla, except my father, Madame, and myself, he came to her thoughtfully, took her hand very kindly, led her to the sofa, and sat down beside her.
“Will you forgive me, my dear, if I risk a conjecture, and ask a question?”
“Who can have a better right?” she said. “Ask what you please, and I will tell you everything. But my story is simply one of bewilderment and darkness. I know absolutely nothing. Put any question you please, but you know, of course, the limitations mamma has placed me under.”
“Perfectly, my dear child. I need not approach the topics on which she desires our silence. Now, the marvel of last night consists in your having been removed from your bed and your room, without being wakened, and this removal having occurred apparently while the windows were still secured, and the two doors locked upon the inside. I will tell you my theory and ask you a question.”



Carmilla was leaning on her hand dejectedly; Madame and I were listening breathlessly.
“Now, my question is this. Have you ever been suspected of walking in your sleep?”
“Never, since I was very young indeed.”
“But you did walk in your sleep when you were young?”
“Yes; I know I did. I have been told so often by my old nurse.”








My father smiled and nodded.
“Well, what has happened is this. You got up in your sleep, unlocked the door, not leaving the key, as usual, in the lock, but taking it out and locking it on the outside; you again took the key out, and carried it away with you to someone of the five-and-twenty rooms on this floor, or perhaps upstairs or downstairs. There are so many rooms and closets, so much heavy furniture, and such accumulations of lumber, that it would require a week to search this old house thoroughly.



Do you see, now, what I mean?”
“I do I think, but not all of your explanation seem right,” she answered.
“And how, papa, do you account for her finding herself on the sofa in the dressing room, which we had already searched so carefully?”





“She came there after you had searched it, still in her sleep, and at last awoke spontaneously, and was as much surprised to find herself where she was as any one else. I wish all mysteries were as easily and innocently explained as yours, Carmilla,” he said, laughing. “And so we may congratulate ourselves on the certainty that the most natural explanation of the occurrence is one that involves no drugging, no tampering with locks, no burglars, or poisoners, or witches — nothing that need alarm Carmilla, or anyone else, for our safety.”







Carmilla was looking charmingly. Nothing could be more beautiful than her tints. Her beauty was, I think to be perfectly honest with you my far away friend, enhanced and made even richer by that graceful and unique languor that was peculiar to her and her alone.
I think my father was silently contrasting her looks with mine in that very moment, for he said:
“I wish my poor Laura was looking more like herself”; and he sighed.




So you see, our alarms that night were happily ended, and Carmilla was restored and safely back with her friends.
























As Carmilla would absolutely not hear of an attendant sleeping in her room, my father arranged that a servant should sleep outside her door, so that she would not attempt to make another such sleep walking excursion without being arrested at her own door.







That night passed quietly; and next morning early, the doctor, whom my father had sent for without telling me a word about it, arrived to see me.
Madame accompanied me to the library; and there the grave little doctor, with white hair and spectacles, whom I mentioned before, was waiting to receive me.
I told him my story as frank and honest as I could recollect it all, and as I proceeded he grew graver and graver.







We were standing, he and I, in the recess of one of the windows, facing one another. When my statement was over, he leaned with his shoulders against the wall, and with his eyes fixed on me earnestly, with an interest in them, which was without a dash of horror, I can not explain what I witnessed in his eyes in any other way.

After a minute’s reflection, he asked Madame if he could see my father.
He was sent for accordingly, and as he entered, smiling, he said:









“I dare say, doctor, you are going to tell me that I am an old fool for having brought you here; I hope I am.”
But his smile faded into shadow as the doctor, with a very grave face, beckoned him to him.
He and the doctor talked for some time in the same recess where I had just conferred with the physician. It seemed an earnest and argumentative conversation. The room is very large, and I and Madame stood together, burning with curiosity, at the farther end. Not a word could we hear, however, for they spoke in a very low tone, and the deep recess of the window quite concealed the doctor from view, and very nearly my father, whose foot, arm, and shoulder only could we see; and the voices were, I suppose, all the less audible for the sort of closet which the thick wall and window formed.







After a time my father’s face looked into the room; it was pale, thoughtful, and, I fancied, agitated.
“Laura, dear, come here for a moment. Madame, we shan’t trouble you, the doctor says, at present.”







Accordingly I approached, for the first time a little alarmed; for, although I felt very weak, I did not feel ill; and strength, one always fancies, is a thing that may be picked up when we please.
My father held out his hand to me, as I drew near, but he was looking at the doctor, and he said:

“It certainly is very odd; I don’t understand it quite. Laura, come here, dear; now attend to Doctor Spielsberg, and recollect yourself.”
“You mentioned a sensation like that of two needles piercing the skin, somewhere about your neck, on the night when you experienced your first horrible dream. Is there still any soreness?”
“None at all,” I answered.
“Can you indicate with your finger about the point at which you think this occurred?”
“Just below my throat — here I think,” I answered.
I wore a morning dress, which covered the place I pointed to.











“Now you can satisfy yourself,” said the doctor. “You won’t mind your papa’s lowering your dress a very little. It is necessary, to detect a symptom of the complaint under which you have been suffering.”

I acquiesced. It was only an inch or two below the edge of my collar.
“God bless me! — so it is,” exclaimed my father, growing pale.
“You see it now with your own eyes,” said the doctor, with a gloomy triumph.
“What is it?” I exclaimed, beginning to be frightened.







“Nothing, my dear young lady, but a small blue spot, about the size of the tip of your little finger; and now,” he continued, turning to papa, “the question is what is best to be done?”
“Is there any danger?” I urged, in great trepidation.







“I trust not, my dear,” answered the doctor. “I don’t see why you should not recover. I don’t see why you should not begin immediately to get better. That is the point at which the sense of strangulation begins?”
“Yes,” I answered.

“And — recollect as well as you can — the same point was a kind of center of that thrill which you described just now, like the current of a cold stream running against you?”

“It may have been; I think it was.”
“Ay, you see?” he added, turning to my father. “Shall I say a word to Madame?”
“Certainly,” said my father.



He called Madame to him, and said:



“I find my young friend here far from well. It won’t be of any great consequence, I hope; but it will be necessary that some steps be taken, which I will explain by-and-by; but in the meantime, Madame, you will be so good as not to let Miss Laura be alone for one moment. That is the only direction I need give for the present. It is indispensable.”

“We may rely upon your kindness, Madame, I know,” added my father.
Madame satisfied him eagerly.
“And you, dear Laura, I know you will observe the doctor’s direction.”







“I shall have to ask your opinion upon another patient, whose symptoms slightly resemble those of my daughter, that have just been detailed to you — very much milder in degree, but I believe quite of the same sort. She is a young lady — our guest; but as you say you will be passing this way again this evening, you can’t do better than take your supper here, and you can then see her. She does not come down till the afternoon.”
“I thank you,” said the doctor. “I shall be with you, then, at about seven this evening.”











And then they repeated their directions to me and to Madame, and with this parting charge my father left us, and walked out with the doctor; and I saw them pacing together up and down between the road and the moat, on the grassy platform in front of the castle, evidently absorbed in earnest conversation.



The doctor did not return. I saw him mount his horse there, take his leave, and ride away eastward through the forest.
Nearly at the same time I saw the man arrive from Dranfield with the letters, and dismount and hand the bag to my father.







In the meantime, Madame and I were both busy, lost in conjecture as to the reasons of the singular and earnest direction which the doctor and my father had concurred in imposing. Madame, as she afterwards told me, was afraid the doctor apprehended a sudden seizure, and that, without prompt assistance, I might either lose my life in a fit, or at least be seriously hurt. I of course did not fully share that fear, it alarmed me, but I did feel that it was a very overblown reaction to make.


So the interpretation did not strike me; and I fancied, perhaps luckily for my nerves, that the arrangement was prescribed simply to secure a companion, who would prevent my taking too much exercise, or eating unripe fruit, or doing any of the fifty foolish things to which we young people are supposed to be prone.







About half an hour after my father came in — he had a letter in his hand — and said:



“This letter had been delayed; it is from General Spielsdorf. He might have been here yesterday, he may not come till tomorrow or he may be here today.”











He put the open letter into my hand; but he did not look pleased, as he used when a guest, especially one so much loved as the General, was coming.
On the contrary, he looked as if he wished him at the bottom of the Red Sea. There was plainly something on his mind which he did not choose to divulge.
“Papa, darling, will you tell me this?” said I, suddenly laying my hand on his arm, and looking, I am sure, imploringly in his face.
“Perhaps,” he answered, smoothing my hair caressingly over my eyes.
“Does the doctor think me very ill?”







“No, dear; he thinks, if right steps are taken, you will be quite well again, at least, on the high road to a complete recovery, in a day or two,” he answered, a little dryly. “I wish our good friend, the General, had chosen any other time; that is, I wish you had been perfectly well to receive him.”
“But do tell me, papa” I insisted, “what does he think is the matter with me?”







“Nothing; you must not plague me with questions,” he answered, with more irritation than I ever remember him to have displayed before; and seeing that I looked wounded, I suppose, he kissed me, and added, “You shall know all about it in a day or two; that is, all that I know. In the meantime you are not to trouble your head about it.”











He turned and left the room, but came back before I had done wondering and puzzling over the oddity of all this; it was merely to say that he was going to Karnstein, and had ordered the carriage to be ready at twelve, and that I and Madame should accompany him; he was going to see priest who lived near those picturesque grounds, upon business, and as Carmilla had never seen them, she could follow, when she came down, with Mademoiselle, who would bring materials for what you call a picnic, which might be laid for us in the ruined castle.







At twelve o’clock, accordingly, I was ready, and not long after, my father, Madame and I set out upon our projected drive.
Passing the drawbridge we turn to the right, and follow the road over the steep Gothic bridge, westward, to reach the deserted village and ruined castle of Karnstein.

No sylvan drive can be fancied prettier. The ground breaks into gentle hills and hollows, all clothed with beautiful wood, totally destitute of the comparative formality which artificial planting and early culture and pruning impart.

The irregularities of the ground often lead the road out of its course, and cause it to wind beautifully round the sides of broken hollows and the steeper sides of the hills, among varieties of ground almost inexhaustible.







Turning one of these points, we suddenly encountered our old friend, the General, riding towards us, attended by a mounted servant. His portmanteaus were following in a hired wagon, such as we term a cart.



The General dismounted as we pulled up, and, after the usual greetings, was easily persuaded to accept the vacant seat in the carriage and send his horse on with his servant to the mansion.




















It was about ten months since we had last seen him: but that time had sufficed to make an alteration of years in his appearance.
He had grown thinner; something of gloom and anxiety had taken the place of that cordial serenity which used to characterize his features. His dark blue eyes, always penetrating, now gleamed with a sterner light from under his shaggy grey eyebrows. It was not such a change as grief alone usually induces, and angrier passions seemed to have had their share in bringing it about.







We had not long resumed our drive, when the General began to talk, with his usual soldierly directness, of the bereavement, as he termed it, which he had sustained in the death of his beloved niece and ward; and he then broke out in a tone of intense bitterness and fury, inveighing against the “hellish arts” to which she had fallen a victim, and expressing, with more exasperation than piety, his wonder that Heaven should tolerate so monstrous an indulgence of the lusts and malignity of hell.
My father, who saw at once that something very extraordinary had befallen, asked him, if not too painful to him, to detail the circumstances which he thought justified the strong terms in which he expressed himself.


“I should tell you all with pleasure,” said the General, “but you would not believe me.”
“Why should I not?” he asked.
“Because,” he answered testily, “you believe in nothing but what consists with your own prejudices and illusions. I remember when I was like you, but I have learned better.”
“Try me,” said my father; “I am not such a dogmatist as you suppose. Besides which, I very well know that you generally require proof for what you believe, and am, therefore, very strongly predisposed to respect your conclusions.”
“You are right in supposing that I have not been led lightly into a belief in the marvelous — for what I have experienced is marvelous — and I have been forced by extraordinary evidence to credit that which ran counter, diametrically, to all my theories. I have been made the dupe of a preternatural conspiracy.”











Notwithstanding his professions of confidence in the General’s penetration, I saw my father, at this point, glance at the General, with, as I thought, a marked suspicion of his sanity.

The General did not see it, luckily. He was looking gloomily and curiously into the glades and vistas of the woods that were opening before us.

“You are going to the Ruins of Karnstein?” he said. “Yes, it is a lucky coincidence; do you know I was going to ask you to bring me there to inspect them. I have a special object in exploring. There is a ruined chapel, ain’t there, with a great many tombs of that extinct family?”
“So there are — highly interesting,” said my father. “I hope you are thinking of claiming the title and estates?”



My father said this gaily, but the General did not recollect the laugh, or even the smile, which courtesy exacts for a friend’s joke; on the contrary, he looked grave and even fierce, ruminating on a matter that stirred his anger and horror.
“Something very different,” he said, gruffly. “I mean to unearth some of those fine people. I hope, by God’s blessing, to accomplish a pious sacrilege here, which will relieve our earth of certain monsters, and enable honest people to sleep in their beds without being assailed by murderers. I have strange things to tell you, my dear friend, such as I myself would have scouted as incredible a few months since.”







My father looked at him again, but this time not with a glance of suspicion — with an eye, rather, of keen intelligence and alarm.
“The house of Karnstein,” he said, “has been long extinct: a hundred years at least. My dear wife was maternally descended from the Karnsteins. But the name and title have long ceased to exist. The castle is a ruin; the very village is deserted; it is fifty years since the smoke of a chimney was seen there; not a roof left.”
“Quite true. I have heard a great deal about that since I last saw you; a great deal that will astonish you. But I had better relate everything in the order in which it occurred,” said the General.
“You saw my dear ward — my child, I may call her. No creature could have been more beautiful, and only three months ago none more blooming.”
“Yes, poor thing! when I saw her last she certainly was quite lovely,” said my father. “I was grieved and shocked more than I can tell you, my dear friend; I knew what a blow it was to you.”







He took the General’s hand, and they exchanged a kind pressure. Tears gathered in the old soldier’s eyes. He did not seek to conceal them. He said:
“We have been very old friends; I knew you would feel for me, childless as I am. She had become an object of very near interest to me, and repaid my care by an affection that cheered my home and made my life happy. That is all gone. The years that remain to me on earth may not be very long; but by God’s mercy I hope to accomplish a service to mankind before I die, and to subserve the vengeance of Heaven upon the fiends who have murdered my poor child in the spring of her hopes and beauty!”
“You said, just now, that you intended relating everything as it occurred,” said my father.
“Pray do; I assure you that it is not mere curiosity that prompts me.”







By this time we had reached the point at which the Drunstall road, by which the General had come, diverges from the road which we were traveling to Karnstein.



“How far is it to the ruins?” inquired the General, looking anxiously forward.
“About half a league,” answered my father. “Pray let us hear the story you were so good as to promise.”





























With all my heart,” said the General, with an effort; and after a short pause in which to arrange his subject, he commenced one of the strangest narratives I ever heard.







“My dear child was looking forward with great pleasure to the visit you had been so good as to arrange for her to your charming daughter.”
Here he made me a gallant but melancholy bow.
“In the meantime we had an invitation to my old friend the Count Carlsfeld, whose castle is about six leagues to the other side of Karnstein. It was to attend the series of fetes which, you remember, were given by him in honor of his illustrious visitor, the Grand Duke Charles.”
“Yes; and very splendid, I believe, they were,” said my father.
“Princely! But then his hospitalities are quite regal. He has Aladdin’s lamp.
The night from which my sorrow dates was devoted to a magnificent masquerade. The grounds were thrown open, the trees hung with colored lamps. There was such a display of fireworks as Paris itself had never witnessed. And such music — music, you know, is my weakness — such ravishing music! The finest instrumental band, perhaps, in the world, and the finest singers who could be collected from all the great operas in Europe. As you wandered through these fantastically illuminated grounds, the moon-lighted chateau throwing a rosy light from its long rows of windows, you would suddenly hear these ravishing voices stealing from the silence of some grove, or rising from boats upon the lake. I felt myself, as I looked and listened, carried back into the romance and poetry of my early youth.







“When the fireworks were ended, and the ball beginning, we returned to the noble suite of rooms that were thrown open to the dancers. A masked ball, you know, is a beautiful sight; but so brilliant a spectacle of the kind I never saw before.
“It was a very aristocratic assembly. I was myself almost the only ‘nobody’ present.
“My dear child was looking quite beautiful. She wore no mask. Her excitement and delight added an unspeakable charm to her features, always lovely. I remarked a young lady, dressed magnificently, but wearing a mask, who appeared to me to be observing my ward with extraordinary interest. I had seen her, earlier in the evening, in the great hall, and again, for a few minutes, walking near us, on the terrace under the castle windows, similarly employed. A lady, also masked, richly and gravely dressed, and with a stately air, like a person of rank, accompanied her as a chaperon.







“Had the young lady not worn a mask, I could, of course, have been much more certain upon the question whether she was really watching my poor darling.
“I am now well assured that she was.

“We were now in one of the salons. My poor dear child had been dancing, and was resting a little in one of the chairs near the door; I was standing near. The two ladies I have mentioned had approached and the younger took the chair next my ward; while her companion stood beside me, and for a little time addressed herself, in a low tone, to her charge.







“Availing herself of the privilege of her mask, she turned to me, and in the tone of an old friend, and calling me by my name, opened a conversation with me, which piqued my curiosity a good deal. She referred to many scenes where she had met me — at Court, and at distinguished houses. She alluded to little incidents which I had long ceased to think of, but which, I found, had only lain in abeyance in my memory, for they instantly started into life at her touch.







“I became more and more curious to ascertain who she was, every moment. She parried my attempts to discover very adroitly and pleasantly. The knowledge she showed of many passages in my life seemed to me all but unaccountable; and she appeared to take a not unnatural pleasure in foiling my curiosity, and in seeing me flounder in my eager perplexity, from one conjecture to another.











“In the meantime the young lady, whom her mother called by the odd name of Millarca, when she once or twice addressed her, had, with the same ease and grace, got into conversation with my ward.

“She introduced herself by saying that her mother was a very old acquaintance of mine. She spoke of the agreeable audacity which a mask rendered practicable; she talked like a friend; she admired her dress, and insinuated very prettily her admiration of her beauty. She amused her with laughing criticisms upon the people who crowded the ballroom, and laughed at my poor child’s fun. She was very witty and lively when she pleased, and after a time they had grown very good friends, and the young stranger lowered her mask, displaying a remarkably beautiful face. I had never seen it before, neither had my dear child. But though it was new to us, the features were so engaging, as well as lovely, that it was impossible not to feel the attraction powerfully. My poor girl did so. I never saw anyone more taken with another at first sight, unless, indeed, it was the stranger herself, who seemed quite to have lost her heart to her.







“In the meantime, availing myself of the license of a masquerade, I put not a few questions to the elder lady.
“‘You have puzzled me utterly,’ I said, laughing. ‘Is that not enough? Won’t you, now, consent to stand on equal terms, and do me the kindness to remove your mask?’
“‘Can any request be more unreasonable?’ she replied.
‘Ask a lady to yield an advantage! Beside, how do you know you should recognize me? Years make changes.’
“‘As you see,’ I said, with a bow, and, I suppose, a rather melancholy little laugh.
“‘As philosophers tell us,’ she said; ‘and how do you know that a sight of my face would help you?’
“‘I should take chance for that,’ I answered. ‘It is vain trying to make yourself out an old woman; your figure betrays you.’
“‘Years, nevertheless, have passed since I saw you, rather since you saw me, for that is what I am considering. Millarca, there, is my daughter; I cannot then be young, even in the opinion of people whom time has taught to be indulgent, and I may not like to be compared with what you remember me. You have no mask to remove. You can offer me nothing in exchange.’



“‘My petition is to your pity, to remove it.’
“‘And mine to yours, to let it stay where it is,’ she replied.
“‘Well, then, at least you will tell me whether you are French or German; you speak both languages so perfectly.’
“‘I don’t think I shall tell you that, General; you intend a surprise, and are meditating the particular point of attack.’
“‘At all events, you won’t deny this,’ I said, ‘that being honored by your permission to converse, I ought to know how to address you. Shall I say Madame la Comtesse?’



“She laughed, and she would, no doubt, have met me with another evasion — if, indeed, I can treat any occurrence in an interview every circumstance of which was prearranged, as I now believe, with the profoundest cunning, as liable to be modified by accident.

“‘As to that,’ she began; but she was interrupted, almost as she opened her lips, by a gentleman, dressed in black, who looked particularly elegant and distinguished, with this drawback, that his face was the most deadly pale I ever saw, except in death.
He was in no masquerade — in the plain evening dress of a gentleman; and he said, without a smile, but with a courtly and unusually low bow:—



“‘Will Madame la Comtesse permit me to say a very few words which may interest her?’
“The lady turned quickly to him, and touched her lip in token of silence; she then said to me, ‘Keep my place for me, General; I shall return when I have said a few words.’
“And with this injunction, playfully given, she walked a little aside with the gentleman in black, and talked for some minutes, apparently very earnestly. They then walked away slowly together in the crowd, and I lost them for some minutes.
“I spent the interval in cudgeling my brains for a conjecture as to the identity of the lady who seemed to remember me so kindly, and I was thinking of turning about and joining in the conversation between my pretty ward and the Countess’s daughter, and trying whether, by the time she returned, I might not have a surprise in store for her, by having her name, title, chateau, and estates at my fingers’ ends. But at this moment she returned, accompanied by the pale man in black, who said:







“‘I shall return and inform Madame la Comtesse when her carriage is at the door.’
“He withdrew with a bow.”





























Then we are to lose Madame la Comtesse, but I hope only for a few hours,’ I said, with a low bow.
“‘It may be that only, or it may be a few weeks. It was very unlucky his speaking to me just now as he did. Do you now know me?’

“I assured her I did not.
“‘You shall know me,’ she said, ‘but not at present. We are older and better friends than, perhaps, you suspect. I cannot yet declare myself. I shall in three weeks pass your beautiful schloss, about which I have been making enquiries. I shall then look in upon you for an hour or two, and renew a friendship which I never think of without a thousand pleasant recollections. This moment a piece of news has reached me like a thunderbolt. I must set out now, and travel by a devious route, nearly a hundred miles, with all the dispatch I can possibly make. My perplexities multiply. I am only deterred by the compulsory reserve I practice as to my name from making a very singular request of you. My poor child has not quite recovered her strength. Her horse fell with her, at a hunt which she had ridden out to witness, her nerves have not yet recovered the shock, and our physician says that she must on no account exert herself for some time to come.



We came here, in consequence, by very easy stages — hardly six leagues a day. I must now travel day and night, on a mission of life and death — a mission the critical and momentous nature of which I shall be able to explain to you when we meet, as I hope we shall, in a few weeks, without the necessity of any concealment.’







“She went on to make her petition, and it was in the tone of a person from whom such a request amounted to conferring, rather than seeking a favor.
“This was only in manner, and, as it seemed, quite unconsciously. Than the terms in which it was expressed, nothing could be more deprecatory. It was simply that I would consent to take charge of her daughter during her absence.
“This was, all things considered, a strange, not to say, an audacious request. She in some sort disarmed me, by stating and admitting everything that could be urged against it, and throwing herself entirely upon my chivalry. At the same moment, by a fatality that seems to have predetermined all that happened, my poor child came to my side, and, in an undertone, besought me to invite her new friend, Millarca, to pay us a visit. She had just been sounding her, and thought, if her mamma would allow her, she would like it extremely.
“At another time I should have told her to wait a little, until, at least, we knew who they were. But I had not a moment to think in. The two ladies assailed me together, and I must confess the refined and beautiful face of the young lady, about which there was something extremely engaging, as well as the elegance and fire of high birth, determined me; and, quite overpowered, I submitted, and undertook, too easily, the care of the young lady, whom her mother called Millarca.
“The Countess beckoned to her daughter, who listened with grave attention while she told her, in general terms, how suddenly and peremptorily she had been summoned, and also of the arrangement she had made for her under my care, adding that I was one of her earliest and most valued friends.
“I made, of course, such speeches as the case seemed to call for, and found myself, on reflection, in a position which I did not half like.




“The gentleman in black returned, and very ceremoniously conducted the lady from the room.







“The demeanor of this gentleman was such as to impress me with the conviction that the Countess was a lady of very much more importance than her modest title alone might have led me to assume.
“Her last charge to me was that no attempt was to be made to learn more about her than I might have already guessed, until her return. Our distinguished host, whose guest she was, knew her reasons.
“‘But here,’ she said, ‘neither I nor my daughter could safely remain for more than a day. I removed my mask imprudently for a moment, about an hour ago, and, too late, I fancied you saw me. So I resolved to seek an opportunity of talking a little to you. Had I found that you had seen me, I would have thrown myself on your high sense of honor to keep my secret some weeks. As it is, I am satisfied that you did not see me; but if you now suspect, or, on reflection, should suspect, who I am, I commit myself, in like manner, entirely to your honor. My daughter will observe the same secrecy, and I well know that you will, from time to time, remind her, lest she should thoughtlessly disclose it.’
“She whispered a few words to her daughter, kissed her hurriedly twice, and went away, accompanied by the pale gentleman in black, and disappeared in the crowd.
“‘In the next room,’ said Millarca, ‘there is a window that looks upon the hall door. I should like to see the last of mamma, and to kiss my hand to her.’
“We assented, of course, and accompanied her to the window.
We looked out, and saw a handsome old-fashioned carriage, with a troop of couriers and footmen. We saw the slim figure of the pale gentleman in black, as he held a thick velvet cloak, and placed it about her shoulders and threw the hood over her head.
She nodded to him, and just touched his hand with hers. He bowed low repeatedly as the door closed, and the carriage began to move.



“‘She is gone,’ said Millarca, with a sigh.
“‘She is gone,’ I repeated to myself, for the first time — in the hurried moments that had elapsed since my consent — reflecting upon the folly of my act.
“‘She did not look up,’ said the young lady, plaintively.







“‘The Countess had taken off her mask, perhaps, and did not care to show her face,’ I said; ‘and she could not know that you were in the window.’
“She sighed, and looked in my face. She was so beautiful that I relented. I was sorry I had for a moment repented of my hospitality, and I determined to make her amends for the unavowed churlishness of my reception.







“The young lady, replacing her mask, joined my ward in persuading me to return to the grounds, where the concert was soon to be renewed. We did so, and walked up and down the terrace that lies under the castle windows.
“Millarca became very intimate with us, and amused us with lively descriptions and stories of most of the great people whom we saw upon the terrace. I liked her more and more every minute. Her gossip without being ill-natured, was extremely diverting to me, who had been so long out of the great world. I thought what life she would give to our sometimes lonely evenings at home.
“This ball was not over until the morning sun had almost reached the horizon. It pleased the Grand Duke to dance till then, so loyal people could not go away, or think of bed.
“We had just got through a crowded saloon, when my ward asked me what had become of Millarca. I thought she had been by her side, and she fancied she was by mine. The fact was, we had lost her.







“All my efforts to find her were vain. I feared that she had mistaken, in the confusion of a momentary separation from us, other people for her new friends, and had, possibly, pursued and lost them in the extensive grounds which were thrown open to us.
“Now, in its full force, I recognized a new folly in my having undertaken the charge of a young lady without so much as knowing her name; and fettered as I was by promises, of the reasons for imposing which I knew nothing, I could not even point my inquiries by saying that the missing young lady was the daughter of the Countess who had taken her departure a few hours before.







“Morning broke. It was clear daylight before I gave up my search. It was not till near two o’clock next day that we heard anything of my missing charge.
“At about that time a servant knocked at my niece’s door, to say that he had been earnestly requested by a young lady, who appeared to be in great distress, to make out where she could find the General Baron Spielsdorf and the young lady his daughter, in whose charge she had been left by her mother.
“There could be no doubt, notwithstanding the slight inaccuracy, that our young friend had turned up; and so she had. Would to heaven we had lost her!







“She told my poor child a story to account for her having failed to recover us for so long. Very late, she said, she had got to the housekeeper’s bedroom in despair of finding us, and had then fallen into a deep sleep which, long as it was, had hardly sufficed to recruit her strength after the fatigues of the ball.







“That day Millarca came home with us. I was only too happy, after all, to have secured so charming a companion for my dear girl.”




















There soon, as expected of course, appeared some drawbacks.
In the first place, Millarca complained of extreme languor — the weakness that remained after her late illness — and she never emerged from her room till the afternoon was pretty far advanced. In the next place, it was accidentally discovered, although she always locked her door on the inside, and never disturbed the key from its place till she admitted the maid to assist at her toilet, that she was undoubtedly sometimes absent from her room in the very early morning, and at various times later in the day, before she wished it to be understood that she was stirring. She was repeatedly seen from the windows of the schloss, in the first faint grey of the morning, walking through the trees, in an easterly direction, and looking like a person in a trance.



This convinced me that she walked in her sleep.
But this hypothesis did not solve the puzzle. How did she pass out from her room, leaving the door locked on the inside? How did she escape from the house without unbarring door or window?







“In the midst of my perplexities, an anxiety of a far more urgent kind presented itself.
“My dear child began to lose her looks and health, and that in a manner so mysterious, and even horrible, that I became thoroughly frightened.
“She was at first visited by appalling dreams; then, as she fancied, by a specter, sometimes resembling Millarca, sometimes in the shape of a beast, indistinctly seen, walking round the foot of her bed, from side to side.

“Lastly came sensations. One, not unpleasant, but very peculiar, she said, resembled the flow of an icy stream against her breast. At a later time, she felt something like a pair of large needles pierce her, a little below the throat, with a very sharp pain. A few nights after, followed a gradual and convulsive sense of strangulation; then came unconsciousness.”







I could hear distinctly every word the kind old General was saying, because by this time we were driving upon the short grass that spreads on either side of the road as you approach the roofless village which had not shown the smoke of a chimney for more than half a century.



You may guess how strangely I felt as I heard my own symptoms and recent acquaintance so exactly described in those which had been experienced by the poor girl who, but for the catastrophe which followed, would have been at that moment a visitor at my father’s chateau.

You may suppose, also, how I felt as I heard him detail habits and mysterious peculiarities which were, in fact, those of our beautiful guest, Carmilla!







A vista opened in the forest; we were on a sudden under the chimneys and gables of the ruined village, and the towers and battlements of the dismantled castle, round which gigantic trees are grouped, overhung us from a slight eminence.

In a frightened dream I got down from the carriage, and in silence, for we had each abundant matter for thinking; we soon mounted the ascent, and were among the spacious chambers, winding stairs, and dark corridors of the castle.







“And this was once the palatial residence of the Karnsteins!” said the old General at length, as from a great window he looked out across the village, and saw the wide, undulating expanse of forest.
“It was a bad family, and here its bloodstained annals were written,” he continued.
“It is hard that they should, after death, continue to plague the human race with their atrocious lusts. That is the chapel of the Karnsteins, down there.”







He pointed down to the grey walls of the Gothic building partly visible through the foliage, a little way down the steep.
“And I hear the axe of a woodman,” he added, “busy among the trees that surround it; he possibly may give us the information of which I am in search, and point out the grave of Mircalla, Countess of Karnstein. These rustics preserve the local traditions of great families, whose stories die out among the rich and titled so soon as the families themselves become extinct.”








“We have a portrait, at home, of Mircalla, the Countess Karnstein; should you like to see it?” asked my father.
“Time enough, dear friend,” replied the General.
“I believe that I have seen the original; and one motive which has led me to you earlier than I at first intended, was to explore the chapel which we are now approaching.”
“What! see the Countess Mircalla,” exclaimed my father; “why, she has been dead more than a century!”
“Not so dead as you fancy, I am told,” answered the General.
“I confess, General, you puzzle me utterly,” replied my father, looking at him, I fancied, for a moment with a return of the suspicion I detected before. But although there was anger and detestation, at times, in the old General’s manner, there was nothing flighty.
“There remains to me,” he said, as we passed under the heavy arch of the Gothic church — for its dimensions would have justified its being so styled —“but one object which can interest me during the few years that remain to me on earth, and that is to wreak on her the vengeance which, I thank God, may still be accomplished by a mortal arm.”



“What vengeance can you mean?” asked my father, in increasing amazement.
“I mean, to decapitate the monster,” he answered, with a fierce flush, and a stamp that echoed mournfully through the hollow ruin, and his clenched hand was at the same moment raised, as if it grasped the handle of an axe, while he shook it ferociously in the air.
“What?” exclaimed my father, more than ever bewildered.
“To strike her head off.”
“Cut her head off!”



“Aye, with a hatchet, with a spade, or with anything that can cleave through her murderous throat. You shall hear,” he answered, trembling with rage. And hurrying forward he said:

“That beam will answer for a seat; your dear child is fatigued; let her be seated, and I will, in a few sentences, close my dreadful story.”







The squared block of wood, which lay on the grass-grown pavement of the chapel, formed a bench on which I was very glad to seat myself, and in the meantime the General called to the woodman, who had been removing some boughs which leaned upon the old walls; and, axe in hand, the hardy old fellow stood before us.

He could not tell us anything of these monuments; but there was an old man, he said, a ranger of this forest, at present sojourning in the house of the priest, about two miles away, who could point out every monument of the old Karnstein family; and, for a trifle, he undertook to bring him back with him, if we would lend him one of our horses, in little more than half an hour.
“Have you been long employed about this forest?” asked my father of the old man.
“I have been a woodman here,” he answered in his patois, “under the forester, all my days; so has my rather before me, and so on, as many generations as I can count up. I could show You the very house in the village here, in which my ancestors lived.”
“How came the village to be deserted?” asked the General.







“It was troubled by revenants, sir; several were tracked to their graves, there detected by the usual tests, and extinguished in the usual way, by decapitation, by the stake, and by burning; but not until many of the villagers were killed.
“But after all these proceedings according to law,” he continued —“so many graves opened, and so many vampires deprived of their horrible animation — the village was not relieved. But a Moravian nobleman, who happened to be traveling this way, heard how matters were, and being skilled — as many people are in his country — in such affairs, he offered to deliver the village from its tormentor. He did so thus: There being a bright moon that night, he ascended, shortly after sunset, the towers of the chapel here, from whence he could distinctly see the churchyard beneath him; you can see it from that window. From this point he watched until he saw the vampire come out of his grave, and place near it the linen clothes in which he had been folded, and then glide away towards the village to plague its inhabitants.







“The stranger, having seen all this, came down from the steeple, took the linen wrappings of the vampire, and carried them up to the top of the tower, which he again mounted. When the vampire returned from his prowlings and missed his clothes, he cried furiously to the Moravian, whom he saw at the summit of the tower, and who, in reply, beckoned him to ascend and take them. Whereupon the vampire, accepting his invitation, began to climb the steeple, and so soon as he had reached the battlements, the Moravian, with a stroke of his sword, clove his skull in twain, hurling him down to the churchyard, whither, descending by the winding stairs, the stranger followed and cut his head off, and next day delivered it and the body to the villagers, who duly impaled and burnt them.







“This Moravian nobleman had authority from the then head of the family to remove the tomb of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, which he did effectually, so that in a little while its site was quite forgotten.”
“Can you point out where it stood?” asked the General, eagerly.

The forester shook his head, and smiled.
“Not a soul living could tell you that now,” he said; “besides, they say her body was removed; but no one is sure of that either.”
Having thus spoken, as time pressed, he dropped his axe and departed, leaving us to hear the remainder of the General’s strange story.





























My beloved child,” he resumed, “was now growing rapidly worse.

The physician who attended her had failed to produce the slightest impression on her disease, for such I then supposed it to be. He saw my alarm, and suggested a consultation. I called in an abler physician, from Gratz.



“Several days elapsed before he arrived. He was a good and pious, as well as a leaned man. Having seen my poor ward together, they withdrew to my library to confer and discuss. I, from the adjoining room, where I awaited their summons, heard these two gentlemen’s voices raised in something sharper than a strictly philosophical discussion. I knocked at the door and entered. I found the old physician from Gratz maintaining his theory. His rival was combating it with undisguised ridicule, accompanied with bursts of laughter. This unseemly manifestation subsided and the altercation ended on my entrance.
“‘Sir,’ said my first physician, ‘my learned brother seems to think that you want a conjuror, and not a doctor.’
“‘Pardon me,’ said the old physician from Gratz, looking displeased, ‘I shall state my own view of the case in my own way another time. I grieve, Monsieur le General, that by my skill and science I can be of no use. Before I go I shall do myself the honor to suggest something to you.’
“He seemed thoughtful, and sat down at a table and began to write.
“Profoundly disappointed, I made my bow, and as I turned to go, the other doctor pointed over his shoulder to his companion who was writing, and then, with a shrug, significantly touched his forehead.







“This consultation, then, left me precisely where I was. I walked out into the grounds, all but distracted. The doctor from Gratz, in ten or fifteen minutes, overtook me. He apologized for having followed me, but said that he could not conscientiously take his leave without a few words more. He told me that he could not be mistaken; no natural disease exhibited the same symptoms; and that death was already very near. There remained, however, a day, or possibly two, of life. If the fatal seizure were at once arrested, with great care and skill her strength might possibly return. But all hung now upon the confines of the irrevocable. One more assault might extinguish the last spark of vitality which is, every moment, ready to die.
“‘And what is the nature of the seizure you speak of?’ I entreated.
“‘I have stated all fully in this note, which I place in your hands upon the distinct condition that you send for the nearest clergyman, and open my letter in his presence, and on no account read it till he is with you; you would despise it else, and it is a matter of life and death. Should the priest fail you, then, indeed, you may read it.’
“He asked me, before taking his leave finally, whether I would wish to see a man curiously learned upon the very subject, which, after I had read his letter, would probably interest me above all others, and he urged me earnestly to invite him to visit him there; and so took his leave.
“The ecclesiastic was absent, and I read the letter by myself. At another time, or in another case, it might have excited my ridicule. But into what quackeries will not people rush for a last chance, where all accustomed means have failed, and the life of a beloved object is at stake?
“Nothing, you will say, could be more absurd than the learned man’s letter.







“It was monstrous enough to have consigned him to a madhouse. He said that the patient was suffering from the visits of a vampire! The punctures which she described as having occurred near the throat, were, he insisted, the insertion of those two long, thin, and sharp teeth which, it is well known, are peculiar to vampires; and there could be no doubt, he added, as to the well-defined presence of the small livid mark which all concurred in describing as that induced by the demon’s lips, and every symptom described by the sufferer was in exact conformity with those recorded in every case of a similar visitation.







“Being myself wholly skeptical as to the existence of any such portent as the vampire, the supernatural theory of the good doctor furnished, in my opinion, but another instance of learning and intelligence oddly associated with someone hallucination. I was so miserable, however, that, rather than try nothing, I acted upon the instructions of the letter.
“I concealed myself in the dark dressing room, that opened upon the poor patient’s room, in which a candle was burning, and watched there till she was fast asleep. I stood at the door, peeping through the small crevice, my sword laid on the table beside me, as my directions prescribed, until, a little after one, I saw a large black object, very ill-defined, crawl, as it seemed to me, over the foot of the bed, and swiftly spread itself up to the poor girl’s throat, where it swelled, in a moment, into a great, palpitating mass.







“For a few moments I had stood petrified. I now sprang forward, with my sword in my hand. The black creature suddenly contracted towards the foot of the bed, glided over it, and, standing on the floor about a yard below the foot of the bed, with a glare of skulking ferocity and horror fixed on me, I saw Millarca.

Speculating I know not what, I struck at her instantly with my sword; but I saw her standing near the door, unscathed.
Horrified, I pursued, and struck again. She was gone; and my sword flew to shivers against the door.







“I can’t describe to you all that passed on that horrible night. The whole house was up and stirring. The specter Millarca was gone. But her victim was sinking fast, and before the morning dawned, she died.”







The old General was by now clearly agitated. And as such, we decided to not continue the conversation with him for the time being.
My father walked to some little distance, and began reading the inscriptions on the tombstones; and thus occupied, he strolled into the door of a side chapel to prosecute his researches. The General leaned against the wall, dried his eyes, and sighed heavily.



I was relieved on hearing the voices of Carmilla and Madame, who were at that moment approaching. The voices died away.

Standing in this strange solitude, having just listened to such a strange and foreboding story, connected, as it was, with the great and titled dead, whose monuments were moldering among the dust and ivy round us, and every incident of which bore so remarkably similar upon my own mysterious case — in this haunted spot, darkened by the towering foliage that rose on every side, dense and high above its noiseless walls — a horror began to steal over me, and my heart sank as I thought that my friends were, after all, not about to enter and break up this triste and ominous scene.







The old General’s eyes were fixed on the ground, as he leaned with his hand upon the basement of a shattered monument.

Under a narrow, arched doorway, surmounted by one of those demoniacal grotesques in which the cynical and ghastly fancy of old Gothic carving delights, I saw very gladly the beautiful face and figure of Carmilla enter the shadowy chapel.


I was just about to rise and speak, and nodded smiling, in answer to her peculiarly engaging smile; when with a cry, the old man by my side caught up the woodman’s hatchet, and started forward. On seeing him a brutalized change came over her features. It was an instantaneous and remarkable, completely unreal transformation, as she made a crouching step backwards. Before I could utter a scream, he struck at her with all his force, but she dived under his blow, and unscathed, caught him in her tiny grasp by the wrist.


He struggled for a moment to release his arm, but his hand opened as she somehow managed to snap his wrist with the flick of her hand, the axe fell to the ground, and like that, the girl was gone, moving like the mist and the wind.







He staggered against the wall. His grey hair stood upon his head, and a moisture shone over his face, as if he were at the point of death.

The frightful scene had passed in a moment. The first thing I recollect after, is Madame standing before me, and impatiently repeating again and again, the question, “Where is Mademoiselle Carmilla?”



I answered at length, “I don’t know — I can’t tell — she went there,”
and I pointed to the door through which Madame had just entered; “only a minute or two since.”

“But I have been standing there, in the passage, ever since Mademoiselle Carmilla entered; and she did not return.”

She then began to call “Carmilla,” through every door and passage and from the windows, but no answer came.
“She called herself Carmilla?” asked the General, still agitated.
“Carmilla, yes,” I answered.







“Aye,” he said; “that is Millarca. That is the same person who long ago was called Mircalla, Countess Karnstein. Depart from this accursed ground, my poor child, as quickly as you can. Drive to the clergyman’s house, and stay there till we come. Begone! May you never behold Carmilla more; you will not find her here.”




















As he spoke one of the strangest looking men I ever beheld entered the chapel at the door through which Carmilla had made her entrance and her exit.







He was tall, narrow-chested, stooping, with high shoulders, and dressed in black. His face was brown and dried in with deep furrows; he wore an oddly-shaped hat with a broad leaf. His hair, long and grizzled, hung on his shoulders. He wore a pair of gold spectacles, and walked slowly, with an odd shambling gait, with his face sometimes turned up toward the sky, and sometimes bowed down towards the ground, seemed to wear a perpetual smile; his long thin arms were swinging, and his lank hands, in old black gloves ever so much too wide for them, waving and gesticulating in utter abstraction.







“The very man!” exclaimed the General, advancing with manifest delight.
“My dear Baron, how happy I am to see you, I had no hope of meeting you so soon.” He signed to my father, who had by this time returned, and leading the fantastic old gentleman, whom he called the Baron to meet him. He introduced him formally, and they at once entered into earnest conversation. The stranger took a roll of paper from his pocket, and spread it on the worn surface of a tomb that stood by.
He had a pencil case in his fingers, with which he traced imaginary lines from point to point on the paper, which from their often glancing from it, together, at certain points of the building, I concluded to be a plan of the chapel. He accompanied, what I may term, his lecture, with occasional readings from a dirty little book, whose yellow leaves were closely written over.



They sauntered together down the side aisle, opposite to the spot where I was standing, conversing as they went; then they began measuring distances by paces, and finally they all stood together, facing a piece of the sidewall, which they began to examine with great minuteness; pulling off the ivy that clung over it, and rapping the plaster with the ends of their sticks, scraping here, and knocking there.
At length they ascertained the existence of a broad marble tablet, with letters carved in relief upon it.
With the assistance of the woodman, who soon returned, a monumental inscription, and carved escutcheon, were disclosed. They proved to be those of the long lost monument of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein.







The old General, though not I fear given to the praying mood, raised his hands and eyes to heaven, in mute thanksgiving for some moments.
“Tomorrow,” I heard him say; “the commissioner will be here, and the Inquisition will be held according to law.”


Then turning to the old man with the gold spectacles, whom I have described, he shook him warmly by both hands and said:
“Baron, how can I thank you? How can we all thank you? You will have delivered this region from a plague that has scourged its inhabitants for more than a century. The horrible enemy, thank God, is at last tracked.”







My father led the stranger aside, and the General followed. I know that he had led them out of hearing, that he might relate my case, and I saw them glance often quickly at me, as the discussion proceeded.
My father came to me, kissed me again and again, and leading me from the chapel, said:

“It is time to return, but before we go home, we must add to our party the good priest, who lives but a little way from this; and persuade him to accompany us to our home.”
In this quest we were successful: and I was glad, being unspeakably fatigued when we reached home. But my satisfaction was changed to dismay, on discovering that there were no tidings of Carmilla. Of the scene that had occurred in the ruined chapel, no explanation was offered to me, and it was clear that it was a secret which my father for the present determined to keep from me.

The sinister absence of Carmilla made the remembrance of the scene more horrible to me.
The arrangements for the night were singular. Two servants, and Madame were to sit up in my room that night; and the ecclesiastic with my father kept watch in the adjoining dressing room.

The priest had performed certain solemn rites that night, the purport of which I did not understand any more than I comprehended the reason of this extraordinary precaution taken for my safety during sleep.
I saw all clearly a few days later.







The disappearance of Carmilla was followed by the discontinuance of my nightly sufferings.

You have heard, no doubt, of the appalling superstition that prevails in Upper and Lower Styria, in Moravia, Silesia, in Turkish Serbia, in Poland, even in Russia; the superstition, as we must call it, of the Vampire.




If human testimony, taken with every care and solemnity, judicially, before commissions innumerable, each consisting of many members, all chosen for integrity and intelligence, and constituting reports more voluminous perhaps than exist upon any one other class of cases, is worth anything, it is difficult to deny, or even to doubt the existence of such a phenomenon as the Vampire.



For my part I have heard no real and proper theory by which to explain what I myself have witnessed and experienced, other than that supplied by the ancient and well-attested belief of the country.




The next day the formal proceedings took place in the Chapel of Karnstein.
The grave of the Countess Mircalla was opened; and the General and my father recognized each his perfidious and beautiful guest, in the face now disclosed to view. The features, though a hundred and fifty years had passed since her funeral, were tinted with the warmth of life.







Her eyes were open; no cadaverous smell exhaled from the coffin.
The two medical men, one officially present, the other on the part of the promoter of the inquiry, attested the marvelous fact that there was a faint but appreciable respiration, and a corresponding action of the heart.



The limbs were perfectly flexible, the flesh elastic and full of life; and the leaden coffin almost completely floated with blood, to what appeared a depth of seven inches, and in that blood, the body lay immersed.







Here then, were all the admitted signs and proofs of vampirism, or at the very least something clearly supernatural laid out in bare before our eyes.
The body, therefore, in accordance with the ancient practice, was raised out on the floor, and a sharp stake was then supposed to be swiftly driven through the heart of the vampire, but as the men held her arms out and raised the stake, as I looked in horror at the immediate death of what looked exactly as my friend, she opened her eyes and uttered a piercing shriek at the moment of the strike. And just before the stake would have pierced her chest she flung the two men across the room, and like the wind she caught them in mid air, bouncing off the wall, and with a snap of their neck, they tumbled down onto the floor like broken dolls.







I screamed as she plunged her teeth into the throat of one of the men with such a force that the head was struck off, as a torrent of blood flowed from the severed neck she turned around to look at me.







My father who would always keep a copy of the report of the Imperial Commission, with the signatures of all who were present at these proceedings, to verify to himself that he just isnt imaginging that it happened, now screamed out loud as well

But Carmilla looked at me with a smile, and real love in her beautiful eyes, and with blood dripping down her lips, she did that instantaneous thing and quicker than I could see moved across the room and directly in front of me
My heart almost stopped at the fear and horror that now flooded my entire being, but instead, she gently kissed my lips and whispered "no need for fear my love, I will return the day you are ready to walk with me, and not a moment sooner". And like that Carmilla was gone, not for good, she did return one day, as promised. And now, all these years later, I do know what love eternal truly is. Love and freedom to walk the night and day, fully myself.







I understand that this can all be rather hard to comprehend, and attached, is those official papers my father kept with him for the rest of his life. I have tried to faithfully summarize my account of this last shocking scene. But please do not judge Carmilla, or myself. Is it really any different from the chicken you first love and one day pluck. It tis true, that we sometimes eat. But there is life in death, and death in all of life, just as nature intended all things to be.

Except of course, that I came freely of my own choosing, and I will now never know the embrace of final death, nor shall I ever lose this love and friendship. And how can that ever be considered bad.
Be well my stranger.




















I wrote you all this with composure, I am sure that is what you believe, or did you not assume that?.
But far from it; I cannot think of it without some agitation and swelling of my heart.
Nothing but your earnest desire so repeatedly expressed, could have induced me to sit down to a task that has unstrung my nerves for years to come, and reintroduced a shadow of the end and birth of my two lives, such strange events and days, which years after my deliverance continued to make my days and nights float like dreams at a cloudy day.
But solitude lives in my heart these days, of that you can be assured.







So, let me add a word or two about that quaint Baron Vordenburg, to whose curious lore we were indebted for the discovery of my hearts countess resting place.







He had taken up his abode in Gratz, where, living upon a mere pittance, which was all that remained to him of the once princely estates of his family, in Upper Styria, he devoted himself to the minute and laborious investigation of the marvellously authenticated tradition of Vampirism. He had at his fingers’ ends all the great and little works upon the subject.







“Magia Posthuma,” “Phlegon de Mirabilibus,” “Augustinus de cura pro Mortuis,” “Philosophicae et Christianae Cogitationes de Vampiris,” by John Christofer Herenberg; and a thousand others, among which I remember only a few of those which he lent to my father.
He had a voluminous digest of all the judicial cases, from which he had extracted a system of principles that appear to govern — some always, and others occasionally only — the condition of the vampire.







I may mention, in passing, that the deadly pallor attributed to my kinds revenants, is a mere melodramatic fiction.

They present, in the grave, and when they, we I mean, show themselves in human society, the appearance of healthy life just as you, never think otherwise. We are very much alive, in all the same ways as you are.
Of course, when disclosed to light in our resting place, they exhibit all the symptoms that are enumerated as those which proved the vampire-life of the long-dead Countess Karnstein.







How we move without a trace from those graves and return for certain hours every day, without displacing the clay or leaving any trace of disturbance in the state of the coffin or the cerements, has always been admitted to be utterly inexplicable.

And I will of course not disclose the true nature of these things.



The amphibious existence of the "vampire" as you call us, is sustained by frequent feeding, and renewed slumber in our resting place. But we do not have to feed on humans to sustain the vigor of our waking existence. That is merely our preffered choice of sustainance.







The vampire is prone to be fascinated with an engrossing vehemence, exactly the same as the strongest passion of love you can ever imagine, and like humans, we only fall in real love with particular persons.



In these cases, th vampire will husband and protract its human enjoyment with the refinement of an epicure, and heighten it by the gradual approaches of an artful courtship. In these cases we yearn for the same love and sympathy and consent as any human do.







The vampire is, as such subject, in certain situations, to special conditions. In the particular instance of which I have given you a relation, Mircalla seemed to be limited to a name which, if not her real one, should at least reproduce, without the omission or addition of a single letter, those, as we say, anagrammatically, which compose it.







Carmilla did this; so did Millarca.

My father related to the Baron Vordenburg, who remained with us for two or three weeks after the failed expulsion of Carmilla, the story about the Moravian nobleman and the vampire at Karnstein churchyard, and then he asked the Baron how he had discovered the exact position of the long-concealed tomb of the Countess Mircalla? The Baron’s grotesque features puckered up into a mysterious smile; he looked down, still smiling on his worn spectacle case and fumbled with it. Then looking up, he said:







“I have many journals, and other papers, written by that remarkable man; the most curious among them is one treating of the visit of which you speak, to Karnstein. The tradition, of course, discolors and distorts a little. He might have been termed a Moravian nobleman, for he had changed his abode to that territory, and was, beside, a noble.







But he was, in truth, a native of Upper Styria. It is enough to say that in very early youth he had been a passionate and favored lover of the beautiful Mircalla, Countess Karnstein. Her early death plunged him into inconsolable grief. It is the nature of vampires to increase and multiply, but according to an ascertained and ghostly law.







“Assume, at starting, a territory perfectly free from that pest. How does it begin, and how does it multiply itself?

I will tell you. A person, whom puts an end to himself. A suicide, under certain circumstances, becomes a vampire. That specter visits living people in their slumbers; they die, and almost invariably, in the grave, develop into vampires.



This happened in the case of the beautiful Mircalla, who was haunted by one of those demons. My ancestor, Vordenburg, whose title I still bear, soon discovered this, and in the course of the studies to which he devoted himself, learned a great deal more.

“Among other things, he concluded that suspicion of vampirism would probably fall, sooner or later, upon the dead Countess, who in life had been his idol. He conceived a horror, be she what she might, of her remains being profaned by the outrage of a posthumous execution. He has left a curious paper to prove that the vampire, on its expulsion from its amphibious existence, is projected into a far more horrible life; and he resolved to save his once beloved Mircalla from this.







“He adopted the stratagem of a journey here, a pretended removal of her remains, and a real obliteration of her monument. When age had stolen upon him, and from the vale of years, he looked back on the scenes he was leaving, he considered, in a different spirit, what he had done, and a horror took possession of him. He made the tracings and notes which have guided me to the very spot, and drew up a confession of the deception that he had practiced. If he had intended any further action in this matter, death prevented him; and the hand of a remote descendant has, too late for many, directed the pursuit to the lair of the beast.”







We talked a little more, and among other things he said was this:

“One sign of the vampire is the power of the hand. The slender hand of Mircalla closed like a vice of steel on the General’s wrist when he raised the hatchet to strike. But its power is not confined to its grasp; it leaves a numbness in the limb it seizes, which is slowly, if ever, recovered from.”







The following Spring my father took me a tour through Italy. We remained away for more than a year. It was long before the remnants of recent events subsided; and the image of Carmilla always remained in my heart and memory with ambiguous alternations — sometimes the playful, languid, beautiful girl; sometimes the writhing fiend I saw in the ruined church; and often from a reverie I have started, fancying I heard the light step of Carmilla at the drawing room door.







Until one day she returned to me at her lovers beckon. And now, years later I write these words for you, to let you know that life is so much more, and love is a joyous thing, for us vampires too.















a Norse View Imaging and Publishing


established 2013








Copyright 2017
a Norse View, Mike Koontz

Carmilla is based on the original story by J. Sheridan Le Fanu and in part rewritten by Nordic writer and photographer Mike Koontz.

Thank you for reading.



Author
J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Additional writer and photography
Mike Koontz

To the daisy that is my sun and inspiration

   Google+
   Medium
   My livingroom art
   Author page, Mike Koontz
   





Last Few Published Books and Articles

  • May 22 mark the crucial 'day of biological diversity'. But it is also so much more than that, #Connect2Earth.

    Quality time needed: 9 minutes


    At the crossroads of the Anthropocene.
    May 22 is 'The International Day of Biological Diversity'.
    A day which, is by now, our essential every day reality.



    May 22 is both a perfectly ordinary Tuesday in your life and the global 'International Day for Biological Diversity'.
    But that is not all this week is all about. We also have the endangered wildlife day, which happened on May 18, and birthday number 70 for IUCN. And, as such this entire week represents an opportunity for each of us to make it a healthy fit day for the entire planet and our individual self.


    Also, if you are present in the incredibly lush and beautiful high coast area of Scandinavia, Sweden next Tuesday you are more than welcome to join me and my coworker from Scandinavian.Fitness for a sweaty fit workout at the gym, lifting weights and grunting at Friskis, Örnsköldsvik at 0730. Once we are done at the gym, we will head outside for a walk at 0830 and hopefully enjoy beautiful weather together with the pristine nature of Scandinavia.

  • Fitness School, Question 33, Let us talk about that mighty beast called the Quadriceps.

    Quality time needed: 4 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 33 in our School of Fitness.
    Legs and ass and back. That is the holy trinity ( together with the fourth pillar, our abs ) of building a strong and capable and athletic body.
    But what about the makeup of our upper legs?
    We have the backside of our legs, which we call the hamstrings, and on the front, there´s the thing most people simply call the quads.
    But let us dig deeper down into those mighty looking quadriceps and the rest of the anterior side of our legs.
    Here is my question:
    Can you specify which muscles make up the bulk of what we call our quadriceps and anterior leg muscles?.

  • We are standing at the crossroads of the Anthropocene. Earth hour and the essential stuff that lies beyond.

    Quality time needed: 5 minutes


    At the crossroads of the Anthropocene.
    Earth Hour.
    Is by now, our essential every day reality.



    On one hand, we are now living in the day and age of butterflies and endangered white rhinos hopefully being multiplied and preserved through soon to be commercial cloning facilities. finally making sure we will never have to lose another species to extinction.
    Putting an end to the way we lost the last surviving male Great Northern Rhino just the other day.


    And that lingering, hopeful road is walking hand in hand with this growing worldwide awareness that eating healthy, and being healthy is not just good for that one person, but transformative and good for everybody else too.
    Be it from a financial perspective or healthwise speaking.

  • Fitness School, Question 32, Can fitness reduce dementia risk with as much as 90% for a 50 year old female?

    Quality time needed: 5 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 32 in our School of Fitness.
    We all know that physical activity and healthy food is just that, life and body improving yum for muscles and mind alike.
    Some might claim they hate it, and others truly love keeping fit and healthy, enriching their daily life in endless supply.
    And you know it greatly reduces the risk of getting a long range of cancer forms, it helps arthritis patients, lower back pain, keeps you lean and hearty healthy.
    It fights off bad sleep and osteoporosis. Slow the roll of biological aging and on and on, and all this is proven over and over by science.
    And so, my simple question this time around is as follows:
    Do you also know if healthy fit women in their 50s have been shown to greatly reduce the risk of getting dementia compared to less fit women?.

  • Fitness School, Do you know the right answer?. Question 31, What´s up with that biceps, give us the lowdown.

    Quality time needed: 4 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 31 in our School of Fitness.
    When we are talking and thinking about muscles and keeping fit, Biceps is not just one of the more iconic names in the world of fitness and the human anatomy, it is also a very visible muscle that truly pops on people that keep healthy fit. But where on your body can you actually locate your biceps muscle and more importantly is the name biceps only referring to one muscle or do we have more than one biceps on our body?
    And so, my question for you is as follows:
    Can you tell us if the human anatomy have one or more muscles with the name biceps, and where are they/it located?.

  • A life of health & fitness. Life is a wondrous journey and this is a rough view of this years fitness journey ( the way I do it ).

    Quality time needed: 14 minutes


    Complete the circle of health & fitness.
    Every single day.
    Fitness, Food & Health is nothing but the science of a healthy, fun life :).



    The following is a rudimentary overview of my health & fitness life from Jan 1, 2018, to Jan 1, 2019. Some fitness folks think the world of planning ahead, and some absolutely do need a firm plan for the months and even year ahead.
    Short term goals firmly lined up and long-term goal posts holding their own further out make a world of difference for some. And your own goals can be about certain PB´s, they can involve reaching a certain body fat % or strength goal. Other common goals have to do with cardiovascular performance and might be focused on improving your lactate levels, running speed, zone levels or maximum heart rate. And for competitive pro athletes, those goals usually involve specific competitions and championships.

    So yes, setting up a rough schedule in advance of your fitness year can make a lot of sense.
    Just as how a lot of people count daily steps and calories.

  • Fitness School. Question 30, Let us talk about biological aging and our T cells and that beautiful little Thymus.

    Quality time needed: 6 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 30 in our School of Fitness.
    You all know that I have been a vocal proponent of how we do not simply grow old like some archaic fairy tale myth where people are doomed to live fat and unhealthy and frail once they leave their 20´s behind them.
    No instead, my science-backed message has for years been that we simply create and manage our own aging process according to our own choices in food, life, and fitness.
    Be it lean muscle mass, body fat, bone health, even our brain and plenty of natural hormones. Our daily choices carry such incredible weight when it comes down to all these aspects of our own wellbeing and health, much more so than the number of years we have lived or the genes we inherit. And Science proves me right on all these things, over and over, and over again.

    But, how about our immune system? In sedentary people, our thymus slowly becomes less capable as we mature beyond our 20´s. That is a simple fact.
    And so, my question for you:
    Will regular fitness stomp aging in the face or is the thymus and the stuff it does for us destined to go wry as we age no matter our fitness and food choices?.

  • Fitness School, Do you know the right answer?. Question 29, How prevalent is plastic litter amongst deep sea fish.

    Quality time needed: 6 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 29 in our School of Fitness.
    We have previously talked about getting enough natural amounts of omega 3 in our food. So let us cast our net a bit wider and deeper as we go hunting for natural Omega 3 sources in the deep sea.
    Yes, we are what we eat kiddos.
    And so, the time has come to talk about one of the better Omega 3 sources out there, which is fish ( like cows, fish love munching away on plant-based food such as Algae and so they end up with a ton of Omega 3, and so can you. ), and outside of Omega 3 fish also used to be a sustainable source of proteins and omega 3 amongst other things.
    The key word is used to be. But like us, and the cows, fish are what they eat.
    And today, outside of depleted fish stocks, fish swim in bodies of waters, polluted, and depleted of oxygen and ruined by us, the human species. And as health & fitness loving professionals and human beings, we always have to consider the world we live in, because we are all what we eat and the way we live becomes the state of our body & mind, life, and health. And if the fish you eat is full of toxins, plastic, and other unhealthy things, that is what you too will consume and thus, become.
    So, here is my question:
    How prevalent is plastic pollution in deep sea fish right now?.

  • Fitness School, Do you know the right answer?. Question 28, Let us get healthy and dirty with Omega 3 and milk.

    Quality time needed: 6 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 28 in our School of Fitness.
    As far as health & fitness goes, eating healthy food on a daily basis is the ever-present and perfectly fitted glove that wraps the fit hand that is regular and challenging workouts in the gym.
    And one of those nutritious, and essential for our health, nutrient staples are Omega 3´s. We get it in all sorts of seafood. And we can get it from omega 3 fortified foods such as eggs.
    Another wonderful omega 3 source are plant-based foods such as chia seeds. But, meat and dairy products from grass-fed cattle can also contain natural amounts of omega 3.
    So, here is my question:
    How much Omega 3 do you actually get from one L ( 1L ) of milk produced from grass fed cattle?.

  • Fitness School, Do you know the right answer?. Question 27, How big do you need your daily calorie deficit to be, in order to roughly drop 250g of bodyfat per week.

    Quality time needed: 7 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 27 in our School of Fitness.
    From a healthy fit perspective, both short & long term, what we need to sculpt is a life of daily physical activity in the right amount and the right intensity coupled with healthy food choices and the proper amount of nutrients.
    And those healthy choices include making sure that we get enough of those healthy nutrients in order to perform, in the gym and daily life, and we need enough of them in order for our body and mind to stay healthy, happy, capable and fit.
    Eat too little protein and you will start losing lean muscle mass, and your health will start to decline too since proteins are not just the major building blocks of our muscles, they are in fact the mud and water, wood and concrete that builds our entire body, be it your internal organs, your skin, hair, muscles, cells, or our brain.
    And the total amount of daily calories we consume is, of course, pretty much the same thing, eat too little in total, and you will start noticing how your health and fitness level slowly deteriorate. And if you do the opposite and stuff your tummy full with too many daily calories you will start gaining pure body fat in excessive amounts and it will continue to build unless you change your daily choices.
    So, here is my question:
    How big do you need to make your daily calorie deficit in order to lose 250g of body fat per week ( roughly ) while eating enough protein to preserve your lean muscle mass?.

  • Fitness School, Do you know the right answer?. Question 26, Black coffee, is it a natural diuretic that causes dehydration or a health improving rehydrating drink?

    Quality time needed: 4 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 26 in our School of Fitness.
    Black coffee, the mere words are capable of sending hundreds of millions of people into a state of Nirvana filled with transcending bliss and harmony :).
    But black coffee is also a cup of rejuvenating health for our entire system. It calms the mind with its slowly rising aroma, helps us keep cancer and diabetes at bay, harnesses our creative focus like an arrow in flight, and in enough quantities, it can even boost peoples gym going efforts.
    But is there all there is to it?. Well, here is my question:
    Is the old saying true that your daily coffee drives so much fluid out of your body that you need to supplement your coffee intake with equal measures water too in order to stay hydrated?.

  • Fitness School, Do you know the right answer?. Question 25, Tell us the major muscles in your back.

    Quality time needed: 3 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 25 in our School of Fitness.
    Outside of our legs and ass, there is no other muscle group that comes close to sheer size, strength, health impact and lean muscle mass potential than our back. So as exhausting as a proper back workout is, this is one big and essential muscle group you should never skimp out on, no matter if your own goals are all in on health and wellness, sports or just sheer looks, or all of the above.
    Here is my question:
    Tell me the major muscles that makes up our back. Straight and simple folks.

  • Fitness School, Do you know the right answer?. Question 24, Can Maintained Fitness prevent the negative health impact of chemotherapy?.

    Quality time needed: 4 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 24 in our School of Fitness.
    Chemotherapy is one of those crucial things that no one ever hoped to one day experience. But when the going gets real tough in life, its a life saver.
    However, undergoing Chemotherapy is no walk in the park and while it can save your life and defeat cancer, it will also take its toll on your body. So much so that a recent study from Australia revealed that just 13 weeks of chemotherapy caused the heart to age by an equivalent of six years.
    Here is my question:
    Can maintained fitness exercise during chemotherapy prevent the now established cardiovascular aging associated with chemotherapy?.

  • Fitness School, Do you know the right answer?. Question 23, How much will my daily fitness activity reduce the risk of dying from cardiovascular disease?.

    Quality time needed: 4 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 23 in our School of Fitness.
    How are you enjoying 2018 so far?. I am having a blast, in the gym and outside it, workouts are wondrously good and that is because I stay at it, week in and week out. Stay persistent with food and fitness people and reap the benefits in body & mind. Keeping to a daily fitness schedule is just a choice, after all, and a very healthy choice at that.

    And, for the next fitness school question, let us dig deep down on that word "persistent" and uncover just how much weekly fitness will scientifically aid your health on low, moderate and intense fitness levels.
    And as such, here is my question for you:
    Can as little as 30 minutes of daily low-level physical fitness activity reduce the risk of dying from cardiovascular disease by as much as 24% compared to not doing that daily activity?.

  • Fitness School, Do you know the right answer?. Question 22, is there any difference at all in recovery capacity after a hard leg workout in the gym depending on your biological age?.

    Quality time needed: 9 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 22 in our School of Fitness.
    2017 came and went in a glorious display of Northern lights. But now that we are all one year older. Let us take a look at that age-old saying that we recover worse and slower after a hard workout in the gym as we grow beyond our 30´s.
    Is there any truth to this at all? Or is this just one more thing that people got wrong in the name of lacking insight, age-related fears, and youth-obsessed peer pressure?.
    To put it simply.
    Will the 22-year-old you recover better after a kick-ass weight lifting workout in the gym doing intense deadlifts than the 50 year old you will be able to do, or can you safely go at it just as hard knowing that you will recover and improve just as good?.

  • Fitness & Health: Going plant-based with your food choices is one of the better food choices you can do.

    Quality time needed: 2 minutes


    Complete the circle.
    Every single day.
    Fitness, Food & Health, its just science baby, smiles, sweat and science :).



    Eating healthy is an essential part of every human beings healthy fit lifestyle.
    And like keeping active and healthy at the gym and in daily life it's a daily choice.
    Going plant-based with your food choices is one of the better food choices you can do. As long as you keep on top of your protein, your fat ( Omega 3 mainly ), iron, B12, Iodine and creatine going plant-based is very easy to do and super beneficial for health & fitness ( and the planet ).

  • The first day of 2018. A tiny micro-short story and the best fitness & health advice you will ever get in life. Let us kickstart 2018 and lay nothing but healthy fit days on the road ahead.

    Quality time needed: 6 minutes


    The arrival of 2018
    And the best health & fitness advice you will ever get.
    Life in the Anthropocene, its just science baby, smiles, sweat and science :).



    Enjoy a healthy fit, and happy 2018 people, but before I start our shiny new year by giving you the single best health & fitness advice you´ll ever get in life, a tiny little micro-short story to welcome you to the rest of your life.
    "the dragon that climbed the world of ice"
    'I watched it climb
    the world of ice that towered us both
    its mighty tail stung the icy cavern beneath us, like a spear it was thrust into the chest of the icy mountain, sending splatter of man-sized ice blocks and snow that bled into the bottomless pit, while it drove its left and right limbs into the frosty mountain above us

    and slowly
    over the endless void of time

    the dragon climbed its way upward
    through a world of ice that tried to hold us captive

    we climbed
    endless step by endless step towards the moon and the stars to hunt them one by one'.

  • Life in the Anthropocene & saving the endangered Rhino. Kenyan ultra marathon providing the adventure of a lifetime and a world improving good cause.

    Quality time needed: 5 minutes


    Health & Fitness
    And the ultra marathon to save the Rhino.
    Life in the Anthropocene is all about our global and individual responsibility.



    And in some ways, I can not think about a much better and more current way to emphasize our individual and globally shared responsibility than the Kenyan Ultra Marathon taking place in 2018.
    It's like all the other sports competitions ever done about the individual responsibility to shape and form your ongoing life and fitness journey so that you can endure and conquer that particular challenge.
    But it is equally much a team effort, to better our planet and to save the Rhino.
    As such it serves as a proxy for our own health, and our modern day pollution, the local and global poverty, the gender and class-based inequality, the competition itself, and the endangered wildlife and all the species rapidly going extinct across the entire world.
    We are all responsible. Individually and globally.
    And in that spirit, this ultramarathon is not just about bringing together runners from all around the world, it is also a marathon to save the endangered Rhino from going extinct, and to better the entire world.

  • Naughty xmas poetry "There are secrets hiding, in the xmas tree" and a merry winter solstice to you guys.

    Quality time needed: 4 minutes


    Winter solstice poetry
    a quality xmas
    and happy new year.



    Enjoy the rest of December people and make sure to allow yourselves and others the only gift truly worth something this xmas. And that is to breathe and exhale, relax and enjoy each and every moment.
    Do not suffocate each other or stress yourself out as you try in vain to achieve the perfect holiday, there is no such thing when it comes to the way we celebrate new years eve, winter solstice, xmas or whatever you call it.
    Chasing perfection and meaningless details are what kills that perfect day even before it starts. So just enjoy your day, yourself and each other the way you are.
    Have a good one and now, here is my perfect xmas in the shape of a naughty winter solstice poem ( and moment ) I am calling "There are secrets hiding, in the xmas tree", enjoy the read and the days ahead :).

  • Fitness School, Do you know the right answer?. Question 18, will obesity increase my risk of developing Alzheimer?.

    Quality time needed: 3 minutes


    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.



    Question number 18 in our School of Fitness.
    Obesity is no friend of any individuals longterm health. We all know that.
    But is cheering each other into obesity and being overweight also scientifically speaking, causing an increase in the risk of developing Alzheimer?.

  • Anthropocene: We have real global progress but also life diminishing quality for hundreds of million of people. Official UNICEF study.

    Quality time needed: 4 minutes


    Global progress.
    And diminishing lives.
    Life in the Anthropocene.



    In a world of global progress in a lot of important aspects, we can never close our eyes to the simple fact that hundreds of millions of people around this beautiful world are witnessing how their lives are becoming increasingly worse.
    quote:
    “In a time of rapid technological change leading to huge gains in living standards, it is perverse that hundreds of millions are seeing living standards actually decline, creating a sense of injustice among them and failure among those entrusted with their care,” “No wonder they feel their voices are unheard and their futures uncertain.”
    - Laurence Chandy, UNICEF Director of Data, Research, and Policy.

  • Black Friday 20% off: fine art for the living room walls by yours truly.

    Quality time needed: 3 minutes


    The art of living.
    Fine art for the living room walls by yours truly.
    Black Friday discount.



    You pick the size, the framing and whether you prefer the white margin or zero margins on your print and there you go, parcel on the way.
    Printing & shipping is handled by the Swedish fine art gallery Printler and they ship to all of Europe.
    And for Black Friday you´ll even get a 20% discount, valid until Monday 27 Nov.

  • 'At the bridge to Asgard, sprouts and roots grow the ever tree'. Here we live in the age of the Anthropocene.

    Quality time needed: 6 minutes


    sprouts and roots
    A healthy you, is a healthy world.
    Life in the Anthropocene.



    'At the bridge to Asgard, sprouts and roots grow the ever tree' through the gates of life and death, and the turning of the Midgard snake.
    We walk beneath a starry sky, weaved by light and dark and obscured shades our eyes can not see.

    We melt and turn the tides of time, as we spill the soil between our fingers.
    It drips back down to where it came from, all while the ants and worms grow unseen layers of brand new soil.

  • Fitness & Health: 'Health at a Glance' is a European health report covering obesity around Europe in 2017.

    Quality time needed: 7 minutes


    Health at a Glance
    A European health report 2017
    Fitness & Health.



    Health at a Glance is a European health report for 2017. And in it the United Kingdom is revealed to be Western Europes most obese nation.
    So, perhaps, fish and chips and beer just isnt the best of national food obsessions.
    Another important highlight that bounces right back at you is how obesity in the UK has increased by 92% since the 1990s ( it´s been increasing in every nation btw, but good ol England is leading the pack ).

    And since we also know by now that obesity & overweight is not just about a individual increase in body fat %, which would have been perfectly fine and all down to personal preferences in body composition and aesthetics, but instead is directly tied to a huge increase in several health issues, such as diabetes & cancer and severely decreased quality of life and longevity.

  • Anthropocene & the annual 'good country index' is back for its worldwide summary with the year 2017. And Scandinavia once again dominates.

    Quality time needed: 3 minutes


    Anthropocene
    the good country index 2017
    Life beyond 2028.



    Sweden once again dominates the good country index, sort of making it an annual business as usual reveal in other words.
    Sweden is followed closely by another Scandinavian country, namely Denmark, which, is no real surprise, the Nordic nations can be found at the top of the world, year after year, after year in a long range of beneficial, quality of life metrics and studies.

  • 9 million annual deaths due to worldwide pollution in air, soil, water. Life in the Anthropocene.

    Quality time needed: 4 minutes


    9 million
    annual deaths due to worldwide pollution
    The art of living.



    Every year the number of people that die prematurely due to worldwide pollution keep on increasing. And right now that pollution in water, soil, air, chemical or work-related pollution is already taking the life of 9 million people around the world.

    Let us think about that for one more second, every single year 9 million people end up dying prematurely due to the modern day pollution we all contribute to.

Go to top