The Atlantis Keystone

by Caroline Väljemark

  As soon as they entered the house, Erik’s mother came towards them, wearing red high heels and a white trouser suit, smiling widely and smelling strongly of perfume, her blond hair tied back in a knot. She was still a good looking woman. Life had been kind to her, it seemed.

  “There you are, you two! What do you say about a nice three course dinner here tonight to celebrate that permission has been given to use cameras inside the wall?” she said looking only at Paul. When she finally turned to look at Emma it was with an obvious dislike of Emma’s fashion sense. Her facial expression seemed to ask: ‘What were you thinking?’ God knows why she would care about appearances out there, Emma thought.

  “Sounds lovely to me”, Paul said and Emma nodded in agreement.

  “Let’s hope Erik is back for seven.”

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  As it turned out, Erik arrived just as they were about to start eating. As he came in the room, Emma was amazed by the fact that they had already had two whole bottles of wine between them. She was starting to feel the effects, not used to drinking this much alcohol. They were all sitting down at the four meter long table in the grandiose dining room conversing. Erik took a seat at the end of the table, with his father and mother on either side. Emma was sitting next to his father and Paul next to his mother. Emma had no doubt that Erik’s mother was an experienced hostess and had carefully arranged their seating and the menu for the evening. She had already informed them that they could expect a genuine Swedish ensemble. According to Erik’s father the main course dish was their house keeper’s specialty and the only reason to why he agreed to stay in the house once in a while. Even so, Emma was feeling apprehensive about that one. Although Erik’s father was perfectly charming to sit next to, Emma was uncomfortable by what was going on at the other side of the table. Erik’s mother appeared to be almost flirting with Paul. Emma found this highly inappropriate, not only because her husband was sitting opposite her but also because Paul was merely a few years older than her son. She decided to ignore her manners towards Paul, concluding that this might be the way she normally approached people.

  Emma had made a special effort that evening to look smart, not wanting to repeat the earlier degrading stare from Erik’s mother. She was wearing a light blue summery dress, accentuating her figure, which she had got from a university friend who had wanted to get rid of it after having lost too much weight, together with a matching necklace she had bought in Camden market. Having brought the dress not expecting to wear it during her brief stay in Sweden, she was now glad she had. Not only did it seem to satisfy Erik’s mother, it had also attracted some approving glances from Paul. She felt herself almost blushing every time he looked her way. She couldn’t help thinking about their earlier kiss. This had to stop, she thought. She tried to focus on Erik and his father. She had to admit that she had a good time. They were both funny in a laid back sort of way, making her laugh repeatedly. This was somewhat at odds with her character; normally when she was out she would get stuck in a corner with some nerd talking politics. Her university friends had even remarked how boring she was and that she should let herself go more, have a drink and ‘stop being so uptight’. She had been insulted at the time but now she knew they were right.

  Their topic of conversation turned to superstition. Emma shared with them that Britt-Marie had almost panicked when Emma had put the back door key on the kitchen table earlier that day.

  “Yes, I would never put keys on the table, that’s for sure”, Erik’s father said. “But there are some stupid superstitions out there. The worst one I have heard was a man who refused to leave his house without wearing a specific hat. The funny thing was that the hat was actually more of a woman’s hat, with flowers and all. But even so, he refused to leave the house without it… I suppose that may have been more craziness than superstition” he added as an afterthought. “No actually I’m sure it was mainly superstition, he seemed like a normal guy…except for the hat.” They all laughed.

  “Dad, you make it sound like this place is full of mad people. That’s not true, although I suppose there is the odd exception, like in any other place in the world”. Erik seemed genuinely concerned not to give Emma the impression that Sweden was full of weird people.

  Emma chuckled: “Well, you should see Covent Garden at weekends, no actually every night. It’s crammed full of eccentrics, showing off their strange skills.

  Except for the fact that Mrs Stenbock had occupied Paul all evening, Emma had a lovely time. The food was excellent and the company outstanding. She thanked everyone before going upstairs to bed. She was surprised to see that it was nearly midnight. As she walked up the stairs she felt dizzy. She had had too much wine. She could hear footsteps behind her. It was Paul rushing to catch up with her. At the top of the stairs he grabbed her shoulder and turned her around, carefully pushing her a bit further away from the stairs. She could see in his eyes that he too had had a lot to drink and that he was probably not feeling his normal self.

  “I’m sorry for having ignored you all evening”, he said with a strange slurry voice which she didn’t recognise. “I knew that if I had kept looking at you in your pretty blue dress, I wouldn’t have been able to contain myself. As you know, I also had to do my duty and entertain Mrs Stenbock”.

  “But you are looking at me now”, Emma said as she moved towards him. Paul thrust his body against hers and kissed her much more deeply than he had earlier that day in the woods. After only a brief moment, Emma heard someone coming up the stairs and this brought her out of the daze. She gently pushed Paul away and started to walk in the direction of her room. He seemed a bit surprised and disappointed at first but when he saw Mrs Stenbock coming up the stairs he looked at Emma and winked. Not sure what he had meant by the wink, Emma went into her bedroom and locked the door. She wondered whether he would knock on the door later. Part of her almost hoped that he would but her sensible portion knew that him staying away would be preferable. Why complicate things unnecessarily.

  After half an hour she realised he wasn’t going to come. This was probably a good thing as lying on the bed she felt light headed. At one point she was almost afraid she would be sick. She walked over to the window and opened it to get some fresh air. Although the sun had gone down fully, it still left a smidgen of light. Her bedroom window on the second floor was on the side of old Torpa. In her precarious state she noted that the enormous old white stone building looked majestic in the pale light of the moon, still mirrored in the dark lake behind it. It came across almost magical with its grand entrance but also a bit frightening with three or four floors of rows of dark windows, potentially hiding something within its walls. As Emma stood there looking out over the eerie courtyard and old walls she noticed the moat which circled the building. She followed it around with her eyes until her heart froze and she stopped breathing.

  In the corner of her eye she had seen something. She wasn’t sure whether it was the moonlight reflecting in one of the windows or an actual light inside one of the rooms of the deserted house. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. No, the light was still there. She figured it could have been her eyes playing tricks on her. The wine might have made her start hallucinating. She decided it must be the latter. She looked again. The light was still there but she noticed with alarm that there was something else. Someone was standing in the lit up window. In the split second she had seen it she noticed it was a white apparition. The shock was overwhelming and fear gripped her. She had to walk away from the window and quickly close the curtain. Whatever it was had moved in the wind by the window. If she had to describe it she would have said it was a person, utterly ghostlike. This could not be, she thought. Her imagination and the impact of the wine clearly had a bad influence on her sanity.

  As she went back into bed she was still significantly shaken and frightened but more than anything she was ashamed that she had let herself drink so much wine to become this freak which right at that moment was hiding underneath the covers
of her bed, wishing that any ghosts lurking around would go away.

  FIVE

  It was the day of the grand opening; or rather the day of the drilling of a tiny hole in the wall which would let technicians insert a small camera into it and for them to have a first peak inside the ‘space in the wall’.

  Erik had woken up with a feeling of anticipation and excitement. He was also nervous. Although he didn’t have anything to lose, he felt obliged towards Paul and Emma and hoped that this day would be one of promise and discovery rather than disappointment and regret. It certainly was thrilling. In just a couple of hours they would start drilling and by the end of the day they would hopefully have a clear picture of what was hidden in there more than six hundred years ago. Whether it was the skeleton of a young girl, a treasure of valuables from the middle ages or the stone tablet, Erik knew that the local press would have a field day and have a lot to say either way. The only alternative which he seriously dreaded was if they found absolutely nothing. He started to doubt the whole venture but was immediately overwhelmed by a feeling that Anna was in the room with him, making him believe in a magnificent discovery. He could almost hear how she was trying to convince him. ‘Blocking up a door for no apparent reason just didn’t seem like a feasible thing to do. There simply must have been a reason for why a new wall had been raised.’ Just before she died, Anna had told him that she had been able to work out what was hidden in there. So he knew for definite that she knew something or at least had a theory. But how? Had she read something in the journals? He would never know, unless it became obvious when the contents of the mysterious space was revealed. He knew he couldn’t possibly be communicating with his deceased wife, not even subconsciously. She was dead. She would never come back. No, Erik decided, he was letting his imagination run riot. Even so, the Torpa owner in question simply must have wanted to hide something. He knew it.

  As he came down to the breakfast room, both Paul, Emma, his parents and Britt-Marie were already there, enjoying the fresh buns baked by the housekeeper that morning, with accompanying treats and hot chocolate.

  “Good morning Erik”, his father said. “You will know this better than me. Emma was asking whether anyone had ever seen the supposed ghost of the girl who was buried alive in the wall.”

  Erik responded with an amused smile: “Well, that is a matter of debate but the legend must have started somehow and several people over the years have claimed to have seen someone wandering the halls of the old house like a lost spirit and some say they have heard her cry.”

  Erik’s mother who had grown up in the house continued: “Folklore also tells of other ghosts. Apparently, just before the owner of Torpa dies, they will see four beautiful white horses pulling a magnificent carriage decorated in the family’s colours. This could of course never be proven as by the time they would see it they would be as good as dead. But there were reports of owners who had seen actual white horses and thought they had taken their last breath. The amount of misunderstandings this legend has caused over the years is amusing. There is also talk of a ghost referred to as the ‘grey lady’. You know, Torpa had a dungeon in its basement where prisoners used to be housed hundreds of years ago. Apparently, a daughter fell in love with one of the prisoners and when he was decapitated, she was overtaken by grief to such an extent that she fell ill and died. She is supposed to have been haunting the house ever since. I was sure I saw her once when I was a child. I refused to go near the house for at least a week.”

  For some reason Emma seemed less amused by the stories than the rest: “Has anyone else you know ever seen anything?” she asked.

  “Well, even if they had they probably wouldn’t admit it”, Erik’s mother said laughing, giving Emma a jokingly mysterious look. Emma smiled back but Erik detected an element of hesitation in her forced grin. She glanced up through the large windows of the breakfast room at the imposing building next door, as if she was looking for something. Could it be, Erik thought, that Emma could somehow have been affected by the mysterious ambiance and secluded setting of Torpa. He was amused at the thought, although surprised as he had rarely met a more down to earth person than her. As he looked at her that morning he had to admit that she had grown on him. His first impression of her was that she was rather boring; plain looks and dry manners. With new colour in her face she was pretty in a natural sort of way; her eyes clear and her lips redder than normal, her dark blond hair streaked by the sun and tied back in a pony tail. A few days away from the hustle and bustle and in the sun had done her good. She also had a good sense of humour; most of the time. Other times he just didn’t understand her.

  “Some people have claimed to see a young man walking the grounds”, Erik’s father added. He paused for effect. “I have reassured them that it is Erik sleepwalking again!” He laughed a thundery laugh at his own joke and they all joined in. Erik could tell Emma’s laugh was genuine and that it came from the heart. This pleased him.

  It had been agreed that the technicians would join them at around 11am. Therefore, following breakfast they all rushed to get ready and agreed to meet outside the entrance to the old house at half past ten. It was another sunny day with temperatures reaching twenty five degrees in the shade. When Erik stepped outside he was surprised at the number of people who had gathered in front of the house, including locals, tourists and members of the press. A group of four locals appeared to be conducting a small demonstration carrying homemade posters with messages such as ‘leave the Torpa ghost alone’. He noticed that the press-presence was wider than it had been previously, with at least two national newspapers there, evident from their marked cars. He was sure that this was his mother’s doing. She was already in the midst of a group of journalists answering questions in her fake Stockholm accent. Sometimes he really could not stand her. She was such a selfish person, only interested in raising her own and her business’ profile. Erik didn’t have any inclination to answer any questions and deliberately stayed in the background, waiting for Paul and Emma to appear. They did only minutes later, both surprised that the events of the day had been made public.

  “I will ensure that none other than us and the technicians will be allowed to enter the house. This is outrageous. Fruktansvärt,” Erik said with distain.

  “Yes, god help us if we don’t find anything and equally god help us if we do! The press will eat us alive.” Paul was concerned but Erik laughed at the thought of the local or even national press being bullish.

  “Luckily enough the press here is not as persistent as they are in England. Here they might slaughter us before they eat us!” Erik said jokingly and as they all glanced in the direction of the small group of local journalists questioning his mother they all laughed at the evident exaggeration. Only three now remained listening to what Mrs Stenbock had to say. One of them had wandered off in another direction taking pictures of the old house and another was busy on his mobile phone a few meters away. Very eager members of the press indeed…

  It was nearly 11.15 by the time a van arrived with the technicians and their equipment. Erik laughed to himself as they stepped out looking serious and self important, carrying aluminium boxes and meters of wire. For some reason he got the Mission Impossible tune in his head. Their behaviour would have suited a part in the TV series very well. He hoped that their mission wasn’t impossible.

  For the first time that morning, Erik’s mother went up to the Torpa entrance and unlocked the massive doors. Standing on the stairs looking out over the twenty or so people populating the drive-way, she said with a loud voice, again in her adopted Stockholm accent: “I’m afraid you will all have to stay out here whilst the work is being done. We would advise you to go home. I suspect it will take the best part of the day. We will announce any findings in due course. The house will be closed for visitors all day.”

  Erik was glad his mother had agreed with him in this matter. The two of them agreeing on anything was a rare event. She took the lead into the house, closely followe
d by Paul, Emma and the five technicians. Erik’s father would join them later in the afternoon. Erik went in last, locking the door behind them. Erik had always avoided the house as a child, feeling ill at ease inside it. He had the same feeling now, particularly bearing in mind his more recent nightmare. Its walls were bare and much of its former glory had been washed away by the hundreds of years which had gone by. It was still an impressive building but it didn’t invite modern habitation. The rooms were surprisingly dark in spite of the sunny day and the large number of windows all around the house. Erik was about to suggest that they light some of the gas lamps attached to the wall, when one of the technicians made a comment about powering the florescent lighting which they had brought. Due to its bare stone floors and walls, the rooms were colder than outside. One of the funny things with this house was that although it was completely rectangular in shape, except for the front tower, one could easily get lost in its maze of rooms. Its construction wasn’t very logical, probably as a consequence of the many additions to the original building over the years. There were also many secret passages of stairs which had been used by servants and as escape routes. Adding to the chilling experience, the prison in the basement was still intact and some of the passage ways led there.

  They all ventured upstairs to the first floor and then to the second, where the ‘wall’ was in full view just opposite the landing. The stairs were narrow and the landing was not large but not as cramped as they had been in his dream. Erik wondered how on earth the technicians would be able to fit all their equipment in the small space in front of where they would drill the hole.