most sinister thing about this unearthly picture was that the girl had a very piercing look for such a young person. I even shuddered a little. She looked so straight, firm, and held such a slightly cunning squint. Her eyes were swamp-green.
The portrait produced a strange impression as if she saw you and spoke to you, “Who are you? Get out of my house!”
And that white hair in the comb… God, I must have imagined something. If I were shooting a horror movie, this girl had such an unusual appearance she could play a ghost.
This whole room was weird. The presence of a sweet, young girl could really be felt here, but at the same time there was some kind of a paranormal mystery that Anton and I found very difficult to comprehend. Let’s say a young, innocent – but devilishly tense – atmosphere filled the room. It was a strange combination.
Being here was a little creepy. Why? I can’t answer this question; but because it was creepy, I wanted to explore the room a little more.
There was a chest in the wardrobe. I looked inside and saw scattered, medieval, leather shoes. Thanks to natural materials they still hadn’t been spoiled much.
Then I turned my head to the right: I saw another interesting detail! There was a pair of shoes lying under the bed as if they had recently been taken off and thrown there.
“Look at the armory! Even here you can see that this is a girl’s room! Everything is covered with beautiful tapestries,” my husband shouted.
I decided to take a look. Indeed, the armory had been turned into a cozy room. There were tapestries with fragments of Greek mythology hanging there and a bench in the Gothic style made of dark wood. I sat down on it. The bench was very comfortable. The furniture had been made almost 500 years ago and was still so nice!
I got up and pushed aside a tapestry. Something prompted me to look at what was under it. I started moving along under the carpet.
“Well, what are you doing? Dear, there’s a century-old layer of dust ….”
Anton did not give up trying to call me to common sense. However, I really enjoyed exploring this castle, walking around in it. It produced a special feeling in me; I’ve never felt like this anywhere else. Suddenly I saw inscriptions and numbers carved in stone.
“Anton! Look! Give me a flashlight… or better yet, hold the tapestry,” I insisted.
My husband pushed aside the tapestry, and we saw inscriptions chiseled in stone: “Adelaida,” “Anna puella.” It revealed dates, 1425 and 1427, marked in Roman numerals.
“Anton, look ….”
I pointed to a date, 1764, followed by 1859.
“I don’t understand. Someone came and added the dates later?” I asked him.
“If the dates are authentic, it could not be the owners.
Maybe a family tradition?”
Anton held the tapestry with his left hand and leaned against the wall with it. Suddenly a wrapped paper fell out from behind it.
“Come on; let’s see! Wow!”
I was excited; our investigation was making sense. Everything was written again in old French… but on modern paper!
“What the hell?”
I was surprised. The paper was ordinary A4, but everything on it was written in ancient handwriting. “I wonder whose jokes are these?” my husband tossed out.
In the notes we managed to read the following: “I’ll be back… no one can kick me out of my house… I’ve always lived here… I will come back from as far as I can… it has been like this for all centuries, and today is 2015.”
“God! Anton, I’m scared. Maybe this is a joke.” I was nervous. “It’s nonsense! The year, 2015? Maybe there is a madman living in this castle who wrote this.”
My husband suggested, since he liked all this even less than I did, “Probably it’s the count; he has such a shifty look.”
“Let’s see; there’s something else behind the tapestry! That’s probably why the girl sat here: she wrote notes and left them in the wall,” I proposed.
We tore off the tapestry and saw a recess with a niche. There was a trunk in it. Fortunately, it opened easily; and, indeed, there were some papers in it… but not much.
There was an ordinary diary with some entries. In one of the strangest was written, “I’m scared and lonely… We can be torn out by force… Mom is practicing witchcraft rituals because of which we are all in danger… The sounds of water resound above me like devilish music… Help me; help me… Love no longer comes into this house. Who will save us from the curses? … My mother is a black duchess; sometimes I’m afraid of her.”
“Very strange writings,” my husband observed.
“To be honest, after all I’ve seen, I have more questions than answers,” I told him.
“So do I,” he answered. “But what happened to the girl? Where did she go? She couldn’t be a little girl forever. Judging by the interior, it is as if she has always been here and then disappeared somewhere… and why was she afraid of her mother, Duchess Louise… the Black Duchess? The girl looks kind of ominous. I shiver in this room. I feel like someone is here, too. Let’s move on.”
Well, the trip was getting more interesting. I had a feeling of anxiety during this whole tour.
We decided to go higher although the steps were thinner and seemed a little dangerous. The third door opened easily, and on the right was also an old rosary hanging on a nail. There was a bed much smaller than the previous one. Apparently, a child who had not reached adolescence lived here, judging by the size of the bed.
Wooden horses and soldiers stood on a wooden table. It was clear from everything that this room belonged to a boy. It was very touching. An empty nursery always brings sadness, especially in such large, abandoned rooms. What happened to these children? The wardrobe also stood along the wall. In the same place as the other room was a huge fireplace. However, the doors were missing; and there was nothing but dust inside.
There were chests on the floor. I opened one of them; there were bad-smelling children’s clothes, nightgowns, small camisoles, and sheets with big holes. The smell was because the clothes were simply suffocating in this chest; they hadn’t been aired for many years. If only for the sake of respect for history, it would be necessary to put everything in order here. Judging by the size of the clothes, the boy was about 10 years old.
Tears welled up in my eyes. It’s so strange, because once these people lived here and were probably happy. My God! Wow! The Duprés have such huge, historical wealth and are so careless about it. I don’t understand them. Why lock up this tower? This is very strange. I sincerely did not understand. Questions spun in my head. After all, just the exposition of this room could bring good income given that the castle needs to be repaired regularly.
“Why was it necessary to close these towers tightly given the values that are here?” Anton questioned.
“Yes, there is something abnormal in this: locks on the tower doors, such unsanitary conditions. And the pentagram on the door… I confess I don’t understand, either. I think there’s some reason we don’t know about.”
“It was enough to lock the doors from tourists… well, of course, not counting you, dear,” Anton tried to joke; but it was obvious that he was uncomfortable.
“Besides, it is obvious that these rooms have not changed since ancient times, and no one lived here except the first owners. How is this possible?” I continued the thought.
“I don’t know. I don’t understand.” Neither of us did.
Ten