A Parish Darker: A Victorian Suspense Novella

by Rhys Ermire

  Before long, I heard them pounding and striking the steel entrance to the study with both sharp and blunt weapons alike. Their ferocity made me question how long the door would last, but I did not dwell long as I felt it would only be a matter of time before they began to search the rooms of the corridor.

  Gripping my ruptured elbow in my free hand to steady it dulled the pain of walking. Otherwise, each swing of the arm gave way to unfathomable pain that no amount of adrenaline could silence. I held firmly onto that pain as I peeked into the hall to discover it empty, for the time being. The attack on the steel bearing of the door had let out incessant rings in the small hall, but they showed no sign of slowing—indeed, if anything, the intensity of their strikes only intensified with each blow.

  Even if I wished to help the Baron, I reasoned there was little I could do in my current state. Perhaps it was merely an excuse born of desperation, but it was the one that informed my actions going forward.

  The main hall showed no sign of life—a notion roundly reinforced by the dismembered bodies littering the once exquisite entrance to a gorgeous castle. My only means of escape with which I felt any familiarity was the long and winding road leading up the hill to the front gate. The storm seemed likely to wash me into the ravines on either side but my options were so limited that it seemed the soundest plan.

  Before I could make my way to the door and attempt to lift the considerable barriers keeping it in place from any outdoor siege, a pair of silhouettes made themselves known in the moonlight by the broken window by the entrance. Without hesitation, I hurried toward the back of the castle once more as I heard them land on the broken glass and hurry forward.

  I feared they saw me and would give chase but was thankful when they opted for the study corridor instead. The main entrance, though more familiar and leading more directly to civilization, appeared too dangerous at the time. I do not know if it bode well for my sanity in the years since, but I chose the only other option at my disposal.

  Fishing in my opposite pocket with my left hand, I freed the item the Baron had bequeathed to me earlier in the night. This “shelter” he spoke of was not somewhere I expected to feel safe. If it had been safe and it had been anything but a last resort, I felt he and I would have retreated there earlier in the night instead. He wanted me to live, I was convinced of that much, but did not want to rely on this path unless there was no other option.

  That was my thought process, and it was only moments later that I learned how very right I was.

  The key turned in the last remaining lock with ease, as if it had been used so frequently that the lock was open more often than not. The Baron had used it for some purpose frequently, though to what end I was not privy.

  Inside, I took a gas lamp left immediately inside the entrance and closed the door behind me. Holding anything but my broken arm was a frightening prospect, but the lack of a lock on this side of the door left no time for contemplation. If I took long, it was possible—nay, inevitable—I would be followed into the shelter without having time to mount a defense.

  Immediately upon entering the double doors to the shelter, I was greeted by a series of steps descending into unrelenting darkness. No hint of light existed save for that from my lamp. I followed them with haste to the bottom for what must have been over one hundred steps.

  The castle itself had been cold from the rain, but what I met there was a temperament akin to the tundra. It was cold, wet, damp—the stenches were equally unpleasant, but the lack of heat dulled my senses even more so than did the overwhelming pain of my injuries.

  What I found could be described as a… dungeon. It was decrepit, abandoned. On either side were cells, sizable cells with no accommodations of any kind remaining. The first I had seen was empty, with nothing to be seen with the lamp’s light.

  My heart’s beats decreased as my breathing stopped. They then resumed at a rate many times that of a calm being. I began to see, to witness, with my own eyes, this shelter for myself. This was witnessed with no filter, with no guide to obscure the experience.

  Stacked high in a nearby cell was—more, and more, and more. So many. Innumerable. In one cell, and then another, and another, the sight was always the same as the last and the next.

  It had been an unbelievable sight that far outmatched all I had seen at the castle. Gruesome and inhumane as the violence had been, this was of a horror unknown.

  The corpses, stacked one on top of the other, had been exhibited in various forms of decomposition. Some had decayed down to their very bones. Others were now only tissue. Others had skin that resembled leather.

  Numerous cells had been filled in a haphazard fashion with the bodies tossed inside, one on the other. What most frightened me was a familiar sight—one that I knew, somehow, would greet me sooner or later, but I expected it in nightmares. I never expected to meet again so soon.

  There, lying at the front of the last cell to be occupied, was what remained of the man the Baron had downed just before me hours earlier. The man from the study, the man the Baron had struck down without a second thought. Here he was, amongst the rest.

  I only… wanted to leave.

  I did not want to see more, or hear more, or smell more, or experience more. I only wanted to go back… home… to a place that wasn’t like this. I did not want to see this ever again.

  Running was all I knew how to do, but my body would not. I stumbled in a quickened walk, moving in the opposite direction of the stairs and hoping this shelter would protect me, somehow.

  The masonry felt as if it had no end. I walloped through the endless corridor seeking any sign of an exit, a way out of this nightmare. I would walk for one minute, and then two, and stop to turn to ensure I had actually made progress. Each time, I would see the faint silhouette of the steps I had descended growing smaller in unbearable increments.

  At last, a sign of life presented itself. It was not what I expected, but it had been the cornerstone of all life and was only suitable for guiding me away from that place. The water running along the stone flooring convinced me I was near the exit. Its volume increased, causing me to take to running with the gas lamp swinging alongside my broken arm. I could take the pain if it meant I would get away.

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

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

  I had reached an aged and wooden-clad doorway; one of a make so thick and sturdy that even iron would not easily break. Unlike the other entrance, the door had been kept shut with a lock accessible from inside.

  I took the key used in the other lock and wished and hoped that it was the one. If it were not, I would have no means of escape.

  In went the key and, with just one turn—

  I stepped outside, into the exit that had been erected in a small crevice in the side of a hill beyond the ravine. Vines and overgrowth obscured its existence in a manner that appeared deliberate.

  It was then that, at last, I took my first step into the storm. Despite being nearly swallowed by its fury, I moved forward. I fell but continued back on my feet as I finally found my way back out onto the path some distance from the castle.

  Thunder clapped from behind and nearly in tandem with a strike of lightning so close it felt as if it had struck the ground just under my feet. The castle in the distance was fully illuminated for the first time, revealing its exterior that remained dark even in spite of nature’s greatest light.

  Much had been left unsaid, and much had been left unanswered, but I wished to be free above all else. It was not until later that the realization dawned that freedom can come at a cost—a cost I continue to bear even now, twenty years later.

  CHAPTER XIII

  In the month that has passed since I penned those dreaded final words that recounted the entirety of my experience at Castle Savanberg, I have slept little. Partial blame fa
lls on my ailing body and frail temperament, of that I have no doubt. What came as most troubling, however, was the correspondence that I received mere days afterward. The letter—the first of its kind in all the years since—came without prior notice and went as such:

  My dear Edwin,

  How are the ages treating you? I trust you have been well. I likewise hope you will forgive my forthrightness in stating I have greatly missed your company since our parting. Your memory surely would not betray the goodness of your visit, yes? Our conversations were amongst the most engaging and fulfilling of all those I have had. I take no pride in hoping it was the same for you, dear friend!

  I write to you now with news—oh, the joyous news I have for you! It is incredible. It is all your ears should ever wish to hear. But it is here you must learn this news is not suitable to share in mere writing. This is something that must be shared amongst us, amongst friends.

  Thus I invite you to spend an evening here at the castle with me. You are of course welcome to spend the weekend, the week, or longer should you wish. This retreat is a holiday for both the mind and body. Please do indulge me this one final kindness. I know that you will agree that it is in both our interests that we meet once more.

  Should you wish to accept this invitation of mine, please see that you arrive no later than noon, the 1st of October. The door will be unlocked.

  And do believe me to be, so very truly, yours,

  L. von Savanberg

  The letter’s arrival came with an allowance of three weeks to the prescribed date. Between the words in his writing, I sensed a particular understanding between the two of us. He would have no difficulty ascertaining my answer. It was within the first minute after having read the letter that I had resolved to return to Castle Savanberg and seek answers to the pressing questions of two decades. Neither of us would ever return to anything resembling normalcy until the matter was at long last settled, with finality.

  I have collected and sealed this bundle of papers with diligence and will soon add this addendum you now read. The resulting package is to be left in the care of my dear friend Morse Cottingley. I do so under the strict directive to not make any piece of it available to any person’s eyes, including his own, unless he should go six weeks without hearing from me. Should the days pass without word, all worst fears have been realized and all appropriate measures are to be taken.

  To Morse, I say to you now that I regret the years we have lost as a result of what occurred at that wretched place. We may not hold the same bond that we once did, but my wish is that you shall remember me as I was, not for what I am now. Please do not think poorly of me after what you have read here. I do not consider myself someone with the strongest of wills, but I have tried to do what is right when the opportunity has presented itself.

  To Emilia, my heart aches at the thought you may have read this sordid tale in its entirety. You must forgive me—my mistakes, my words, they are all no fault of yours and solely my own. Your life has been a good one without me; neither of us should have any regret in that regard. I confess now to ignoring all forty-six of your letters that came in friendship, and resisted all urges to reply. My mind and body were in agony each and every time you came to my home to visit, both alone and with your children, only to be turned away by the housekeeper at my order. I was home, here, writhing in my own self-pity. I could not have you see a man in such a state and acted only in your best interests. Please believe me, and do live your life as both a mother and wife without anything in this world that may bring you pain of any sort.

  To those I now leave behind, perhaps with more questions than answers, I ask for your forgiveness. These pages may suggest madness but I insist they are only a reflection of the reality I have endured all my own. While it may have appeared selfish, in time, I hoped it would become apparent that my actions and my isolation were only to protect you from a world for which you are not ready.

  With regard to how I may be remembered, I ask only that you forgive, and forget, me. I assert here, one final time, in my writing, with my own pen, that all words you see before you are true. I have expressed them, undoubtedly, with infinite regret. Please let this be the end, for my sake and yours.

  Edwin Ramsett

  EPILOGUE

  My pen now reaches this paper with limited time. I shall relate to you all that has become clear to me in the order in which each fact became evident. I write this with no assurance it may reach the designated party. I have only Baron Lechner von Savanberg’s promise to abate that fear.

  The journey was to be a long one, just as it had been two decades prior. Advances in technology reduced the toll of such a long expedition, bringing the overall travel to lesser time, but my body had aged disproportionately against the flow of human ingenuity.

  Harsh as the travel was on my older frame, my determination to meet with the Baron once again had not diminished by the time I reached Vienna on that early train. I arranged for transport to Castle Savanberg by horse and carriage, beating out the dead light by an hour. By sunrise, we were well on our way. If all went well, I presumed, we would arrive at the castle well before noon.

  A great many thoughts clouded my mind as we trotted along that familiar path. My true aims and intentions were chief among them. The overgrowth that once extended on either side had retreated into the dusky marsh below. The once lush majesty of the countryside had been cast back. Its bright greens had become more earthly, with the branches of trees limping toward the ground, their leaves more sparse and less numerous than during my first visit.

  My driver on this occasion was a young man, not a year over twenty by early my estimation. He said little upon our departure from the local township—likely, I thought, due to unfamiliarity with English. During the trip, however, he spoke as he ushered the horses to a slow, quiet pace for resting.

  “We don’t get many visitors wanting to come out here,” said the local. “What brings you out to this place?”

  The pattering of the horses’ hooves became therapeutic to my tempered nerves, their faultless rhythm rivaling that of practiced musicians. I was hesitant to share a great deal of information with a stranger regarding my visit. I said only, “I have some business here, with an old acquaintance.”

  “With the Baron, then? There aren’t many others that live all the way out here, after all.” Curiosity was evident in the young man’s voice, but providing details did not seem beneficial to him, me, or anyone else.

  Despite my silent response, he continued, saying, “My father speaks highly of him. He has often told anyone who’d listen that he singlehandedly witnessed the Baron treating a foreigner that got lost out here some years ago. Most talk of him is good, but it seems he keeps to his lonesome in that castle. No one in town has mentioned seeing him for several years now.”

  With those few choice words, I began to recognize the manner of speaking despite the twenty years that had passed. The delivery and dialect had clearly been passed from father to son, along with the profession itself.

  The rest of our journey occurred in silence until we were finally at our destination. Peering on from the carriage when it was finally within eyeshot, I saw and observed the castle for the first time in twenty years.

  Its form was exactly as I had remembered it. While its dark exterior had not changed form, it had aged considerably in the years since my original visit. Very little attention had been paid to sustaining the property, as overgrowth now stretched from top to bottom at various points of the stone exterior.

  Even the entrance had seen little maintenance. Vines had started to wrap around the hinges to the large double doors. It was with some surprise that I saw the window to the right of the entrance had been repaired as if the events of twenty years ago had never taken place.

  Upon arrival, the young driver and I parted ways after giving him my gratitude and some gratuity for his assistance. He was not a young man I expected to ever meet again—indeed, his acquaintance could have very well been the
last I would ever make. Such a realization is one that many would have met with anxiety, surely, but I reacted with only calm.

  Knowing what I knew after those twenty years allowed me to return to Castle Savanberg with a new resolve. I was not afraid of the future; instead, I was embracing it. What would come would come.

  As the Baron had promised, the door gave way without resistance. The interior was left in a natural dusk, illuminated only by the faint sunlight outside. Overcast clouds gave the impression that inclement weather was imminent.

  I had packed lightly for the journey, bringing along only one suitcase filled with items for the day. I did not intend nor expect to spend long at Castle Savanberg, and I suspected the Baron thought as much as well. Whatever business awaited us, it would be brief.