The Second Macabre Megapack

by Various Writers

  With cheeks glowing with rage, she turned away to join her companions. Julius followed, whispering low.

  “Only a single kind word—must I go to Musterhorn?”

  “For my sake!” said Rosaura to herself, and then as the Count approached, as if speaking to him, “For my sake to death!”

  “From my heart, gladly,” he answered, with the deepest emotion, and now was fully resolved to go to hunt with the wonderful Count Halderbach, surnamed Merdbrand.

  The company parted sadly and silently, without Julius receiving a kind look or word from his mistress as farewell. As the open carriage turned a different way from the slow sad rider, she waved her handkerchief to him as farewell, and through her veil he thought he saw tears on her pale face.

  On the next evening Julius rode thoughtfully through the old-fashioned town gate and took the road that led to the mountain’s woody heights. Rosaura’s image, as she waved her white handkerchief in token of farewell, was before his eyes, but when he recollected her angry scorn, he thought she but meant to amuse herself and deceive him by that kind farewell, and raising his head he looked sadly round for the huntsman the Colonel had promised to send to meet him. From the gateway of the nearest inn, there looked forth an old man, in a worn and green mantle, leading a small, coal-black horse, with a stout thick neck, shaggy mane and ugly head, otherwise beautifully formed; he stamped on the ground, blew out his nostrils, snapped spitefully at the strange horse and then at its rider. The old man raised his long thin arm and at his command a strange shudder seemed to come over the horse and subdue him instantly.

  Julius asked, “Good friend, are you the messenger Col. Halderbach promised to send to meet me.”

  “At your pleasure, Captain,” said the huntsman, and respectfully took his dark cap from his snow-white head.

  The evening sun shone blood-red on his deeply scarred face, as he flung himself lightly on his rearing and stamping horse; he galloped so fast over the rough road, that Wildech’s noble Abdul, with all his speed, could scarcely keep pace with him, and his servant was left far behind. Many thoughts passed through his mind when he saw the inhabitants of the little village through which he passed shaking their heads, crossing themselves, and some even beckoning to him to stop. He rushed on, scarcely knowing whither, and almost as little knowing why. As the road to Musterhorn turned from the beated track, up rocky heights and down deep valleys, he thought the huntsman would have to ride slower, but his strange horse bore him with such wonderful ease and agility, that it required all Julius’ strength to keep pace with him; Julius, who was famed as the best and boldest rider in the regiment, now desired some way to stop the old man. It was quite dusk when, at a sudden turn in the road, an old stone castle stood right before the travellers.

  “Ho! true guide,” cried Julius, “is this the Castle of Musterhorn?”

  The old man looked at him, laid his finger on his lips and shook his head. He seemed as if his whole body trembled with fright. Very slowly now he crept on his way, for under the walls of the mossy castle there was a precipice. It seemed as if the sound of his own horse’s tread frightened the old man. From within sounded the low tones of a guitar accompanied by a lady’s voice, who sang the following words—

  Ye woful hours of gloom,

  Nor wounds whose fires consume,

  Avenging deeds of former date,

  So fearful is this doom,

  So firmly fixed by fate,

  Would you that those

  Should never, never close!

  Should never brighter be?

  Then, no new victim bring

  Add no new sorrow’s sting:

  Ah! wanderer, turn and flee!

  “Lord of my life!” cried Julius “I believe that is Rosaura’s voice.”

  A loud cry came from the castle. A lute was flung from a broken window, and, whistling near Julius’ head, fell over the precipice.

  The gray huntsman wildly spurred his horse, and despite the increasing darkness they rushed over cliffs and valleys.

  So brightly the lights shone in Castle Musterhorn, that as they ascended from the valley it almost blinded them. The hunting horns poured their sweet, and prolonged notes of welcome from the battlements.

  “God be praised!” said the old huntsman, quieting his horse and drawing a long breath.

  “This ride must indeed have been very fatiguing to you,” said Julius, kindly.

  The huntsman politely denied it, and said it seemed as if he were jesting, as no one here ever spoke of weariness; “but,” he added, “I am truly glad we are at our journey’s end, but for other reasons than fatigue.”

  “And you do right not to put your horse hot in the stable,” said Julius; “one may see you are not only a bold, but skilful rider, for in this way the hardest ride does not hurt a good horse.”

  As the light from the castle window fell right on Julius’ blooming face, the old man looked fully at him and asked with a strange softness in his voice,

  “Now, truly, Count Wildech! Captain Count Julius Wildech? are you the only, perhaps the last twig of your stem?”

  On Julius answering “Yes,” he cried out, “Now, the dear God order all for the best.”

  They soon passed over the thundering drawbridge and rode through the high arched gateway, into the court which, lighted by torches and the illuminated windows, was as bright as day. Count Halderbach was at the door, and came forward with kind welcome to meet his guest. Julius had expected, in his reception at Castle Musterhorn, something wonderful, but everything passed in the usual way. After a magnificent supper, the host drank a goblet of the best old wine to his young friend and invited him to rest, that he might be fresh for the boar hunt they were to take at early dawn. But as if every thing was not to pass in the usual way, as the Colonel bid Julius good night, with a solemnity that seemed between jest and earnest, he whispered in his ear,

  “Lock your door on the inside and also draw the bolts, one cannot always know what”—

  He went out. A high chamber, hung with old-fashioned tapestry, received the young man. He scarcely thought of his host’s warning, or if he did it was but as of a jest to try him—indeed he thought so little of it that he slept with his door unlocked until the light of morning roused him, and he sprang joyfully from his bed eager for the chase. In a few moments he stood ready in the courtyard. Very seriously stepped the Colonel to the door and asked,

  “Were you disturbed last night, and did you lock your door?”

  “I slept very well,” said Julius; “no lock turned, no bolt drawn.”

  The Colonel shook his head gravely, and with a strange appearance of satisfaction, invited the young man to step in and take an early drink before the hunt commenced.

  There was something uncommon and solemn in the look of the high vaulted chambers, but not more so than in many other castles of those days: but as Julius followed him in the antechamber, he stood before the pictures of two armed knights—one resembled himself, the other his host: he endeavoured to throw off this impression and regard it as a dream of his disturbed fancy; they were hanging amongst other portraits: the knight who resembled him was young pale, deadly pale—he stood in the midst of burning flames. The one who resembled the Colonel was gray, with a wild, dark face, and wrapped in black cloister robes. He wished to inquire about the portraits; but the old Halderbach interrupted him with a pleasant smile,

  “You please me well, young soldier, in these hunting clothes, and yet it pleased me better that you travelled in your uniform—not like the young officers of the present day, who cannot leave the garrison three steps without dressing themselves in elegant citizen’s clothes.”

  “I give little into this fashion,” said Julius, “because I dislike to go unarmed, though learned men say, amongst the Greek and Romans, in times of peace, arms were never seen. Sentry clothes, too, suit me well; they remind me of the good old times when no man was ever seen without his blade at his side.”

  “That is spoken out
of my heart, young captain, and now truly do you also at night take care to place your dagger at your bed side?”

  On Julius’ answering him “Yes,” he pressed him earnestly never, even amongst his best friends, to depart from that custom; and murmuring low, he added,

  “Truly it would have been better for many a one if they had drawn the inner bolt; yet brave young hero, I do not mean to dictate to you, and now quick to the chase.”

  In the castle yard stood Julius’ servant with the noble Abdul, waiting for his master: near him stood the old huntsman of yesterday, with a horse adorned with magnificent trappings, but as wonderful in appearance as the one he had taken the wild ride on the day before.

  “You have your choice,” said the colonel, “your horse is weary and Count Julius Wildech, far famed as a rider, will not fear to ride one of the spirited, unbroken, though ugly horses we raise in these wild mountains when I, an old invalid, ride one every day.”

  Julius sprang so lightly on the rearing animal and managed him so easily, that as they were galloping down the castle rock, the colonel called to him saying, “Your father should have called you Alexander, for truly the wild beast is a bit of Bucephalus, but Julius is also the name of a world conqueror and perhaps pleases the ladies better; now truly my Julius, to day, the boar must bleed.”

  And the boar bled, and they had a very knightly hunt—from which they returned in the deep shades of the evening to the castle: on the way the colonel became more and more silent, though in the early part of the day he had appeared well pleased and even confidential with the young man. As they ascended the steps, he said “he was too unwell and too much fatigued to appear at supper,” and, added he, “feared he should not be much better the next day;” with this he quietly went to his own room, which, to Julius’ surprise, he not only locked but bolted within, and also the ugly old huntsman fastened it without with three strong bolts. This strange servant shook it several times to see if it was secure and then sighing and shaking his head, went away.

  Warned by these precautions, Julius remembered his host’s prayer in the morning, yet it looked so cowardly, that he could not bring himself to draw the bolts; but after his servant left him, he locked his door and laid himself on his bed with far different thoughts than those of the evening before. “I must watch to night,” he said smiling to himself, but sleep soon overcame him. It might have been midnight when he was roused by a strange noise over his head; it seemed as if some door was broken open. His first thought was of a robber, but how could one get in so strongly fortified a castle, and then he heard the watch-men in the court yard, quietly blowing his horn; the moon was bright and the dogs let loose; then it seemed as if something was slowly creeping down the winding stairs, feeling its way in the darkness by the wall. Julius looked for his good dagger. Now it had reached the door; rattling a large bunch of keys it began to unlock the door, and then slowly and heavily to push it open.

  “Who’s there?” cried Julius, throwing his mantle around him and jumping from his bed, with his drawn sword in his hand.

  No answer.

  “Who’s there?” cried Julius again.

  Then sounded an angry sullen laugh. With creaking hinges the door opened slowly and by the uncertain light of the moonbeams through closed shutters, he saw a tall figure, wrapped in a dark mantle, with disordered grey hairs, brandishing a naked knife an ell long. The frightful man laughed angrily and stepped towards Julius.

  “What do you want with me? stop and answer if you do not wish to run on my drawn sword.”

  “What sword! what sword?” murmured the old man, as if it sounded from a deep and hollow sepulchre; “you must throw that sword away, I must kill you, you young blood, stand still I tell you—I must kill you—my instrument is sharp, it will not hurt you much.”

  And with this he bent himself, striving with sure aim to pass it under Julius’s sword straight to his heart.

  “Frightful creature!” cried Julius in strong emotion, “are you a dragon—one of the enchanted dragon-men of olden days? Forth in my Saviour’s name, or I will split thy cursed head.”

  “Ha, ha!” howled the madman, “Saint George and the Dragon! The dragon must forth;” and he flew yelling out of the door, which slammed behind him, and Julius heard him half falling, half springing up the winding staircase. Still and fearfully shone the moonlight over the lonely young man. Now, indeed, he locked his door and drew the three bolts—but he could not get rid of the frightful vision. He knelt low and prayed fervently to the dear God, and his soul was quieted, and he laid himself on his pillow and smiling like a child in its mother’s arms, sunk into a sweet slumber.

  His servant’s calls and knocks awakened him next morning; the sun was already high, the drawn bolts told him he had not dreamed. He opened the door and his servant stepped in, saying, “you too have been disturbed last night Captain. I was almost certain some one was in your chamber.”

  “Who, Christolph?”

  “Some madman; he howled through the whole castle, once he knocked at my chamber door as he withdrew. I looked through the keyhole, the whole passage was lighted by the moon, so that one could have seen to pick up a pin; there sat the frightful creature cowering closely down, with his snow white tangled hair, falling over his face; but I knew the worn out green mantle well, and would declare before any one, that it was no other than the old huntsman, who appeared in the hunt as if he was something supernatural; people in this house will not speak of it, but I know the mantle, and from the first he was hateful to me. Ah! dear Captain do not let us remain long here.”

  “I had three weeks leave,” said Julius, thoughtfully and slowly, “but we can go sooner. I hope though, Christolph,” he added in a quick voice, “you are not afraid!”

  The faithful boy who had been many years in his service, answered with a blush and a smile: “God forbid that I should fear.”

  Julius went out to look for and question his Host; he found his chamber unlocked, the bolts broken and lying on the ground, and the door wide open. While he was pondering on these strange occurrences, the Colonel came out, deadly pale, but with a pleasant smile on his face—

  “Now, indeed,” he said, “were you not last night most inhospitably disturbed?”

  Julius answered “yes.”

  “Now my dear Count, I had warned you of this; there is a mad old man in this castle and truly as you see here, the strongest bolts avail not against the power of his fury; you would do better to visit me another time, for you are not safe here, and I prefer your going away. Ride home, dear Count Wildech! ride home.”

  “If I am troublesome to you,” answered Julius, somewhat vexed; “otherwise it is not my disposition to shun danger, and for this reason if not disagreeable to you, I will pray to remain your guest for a few days.”

  “You brave, you gallant Wildech, I cannot refuse you, so remain.”

  He sunk into deep silence. Then came the ugly huntsman up the steps, and said with an angry countenance—

  “Ah! I must tell you, the whole household has been disturbed all night; be pleased my Lord to take this into consideration.”

  He said this with a frightfully cunning smile on his face. The Colonel seemed to remember himself, and kept silence until he was gone.

  Then he said, “this is fine, very fine; I owe him many thanks—dear Count do not speak of this matter.”

  With this, he blew his hunting horn which he held in his hand, and soon many hunters collected, the old scarred one with them, and as if nothing extraordinary had happened, the magnificent band resumed their hunting.

  Distant and alone, the pursuit of a wild beast had carried our friend over mountains and valleys; now having lost the track, he hung his rifle on an oak tree and sunk wearied under its shade. The lingering sunbeams shone through the red autumn leaves, the branches of the evergreen fir whispered mysteriously with the air, the birds soaring high amongst the variously coloured clouds that canopied the heavens, sang their favorite songs—all creat
ed a deep sadness in his soul, a feeling he had often felt in his early years, when in his happiest plays, without knowing why, hot tears would stream down the sprightly boy’s face and even now, thus his eyes overflowed.

  “This time my presentiment may be true, how much sadness a living heart experiences in this world;” he hid his burning face in his hands and sighed “Rosaura!”

  Not very distant he heard the sound of a guitar, accompanied by the following words, which though often interrupted by sobs, he heard very distinctly:

  Wildech, thou Hart so good,

  Wildech, thou friendly Roe,

  Why rovest though the wood,

  Does not thy heart feel woe?

  Ah! let thy father’s fate,

  Warn thee before too late,

  The flame, O Wildech! do not brave;

  Courage cannot always save!

  All was again still, Julius knew not whether he was waking or sleeping. He well knew the horrible story; how that long ago many of his ancestors were burnt in their own castle, and that his great great grandfather, then a small child, was alone preserved from the flames in a most wonderful manner; the sole surviving stem of his noble race. But who here knew of it? Who here could warn him with it? Perhaps it was a common song of the people and by chance had travelled here; but the voice was so sad, so broken by sobs; and ah! it sounded so kind, so trustful. Again it appeared to draw near him and sing thus—

  O, Wildech! beware,

  The murderer is near;

  And would’st thou ask where,

  It is I who am here.

  Julius sprung up angrily and seized his hunting knife. He thought of the frightful old huntsman. “Ah! fool,” he sighed, “it is a lady’s voice; can it be they have made a national song on the misfortunes of our family? If the voice was not so sweet, truly so well known; ah, Rosaura!”

  He sank back on the ground, covering his glowing face with his hands. The grass rustled near him and the branches of the oak creaked above him with a warning sound. He rose up. His rifle he had hung on the tree was gone. Surprised, he looked around, no one was to be seen.