by Saber Vale
As the sun set we walked back to the village to check into the hotel and find something to eat.
The inn was so quiet I wondered if it was even really open. The lobby was dusty and small, with chintzy furniture that looked a hundred years old, and a dozen brass skeleton keys hanging from a wooden peg-board over the desk.
Cormac rang a little brass bell that filled the whole space with a sudden, jarring ringing sound, and we stood waiting for a moment for a desk clerk that I wasn't convinced would materialized.
“Maybe this place is just as haunted as the castle,” Cormac said, right as an old woman, no younger than seventy five, walked in from the office.
She had blue-hued white hair, and wore a grey cashmere sweater that looked like it had seen better days.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a unique German dialect.
“Uh, yes, a room please…” I replied uneasily in my college-level German.
“A room?” she seemed surprised, “you don’t have any bags.”
“Oh, no we don’t,” I sighed, “we are living nearby… it’s a kind of… in-the-moment trip.”
The woman shrugged, and Cormac handed her a credit card, which she used an ancient machine to charge.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, gesturing at the restaurant attached to the inn.
“Yes,” I said, “we are famished.”
“I will tell my daughter you are here, then, she and her husband own the restaurant now, they’ll make you something nice…”
“You speak German really well,” he said, as we walked to our room upstairs,“I didn’t realize that. Did your mom?”
“No, not at all, but she encouraged me, wanted me to be more like the baroness she imagined I should be, so I studied it in school,” I said with a shrug.
“You’re full of surprises, Astrid,” Cormac said, “you may outsmart me yet.”
I laughed.
“I’m planning on just being the most stubborn,” I said with a sigh, “it has nothing to do with intelligence.”
“This place is so strange,” Cormac said, peeling off his jacket and tossing it onto the bed.
The room was small, but tidy and open, with a little window that looked out over snow-capped mountains far off in the distance.
“The bed’s not so bad,” I said, plopping down onto the mattress, which creaked slightly as I laid back onto it.
“Probably newer than the ones at the castle,” he reminded me, “anyway, I’m starving, let’s go get dinner.”
The restaurant, owned by the daughter in her forties, was only slightly more modern than the rest of the hotel. In the menu were typical comfort foods, schnitzel and potatoes, cabbage and tomato goulash.
“This looks great,” Cormac said to the plump Austrian woman who came over, hands on her hips, to take our order and bring us a jug of hearty, home-brewed German beer and two glasses.
“Ya, it’s good,” she said in English, “I’m a better cook than my mother, you wait and see!”
Cormac smiled at her in his flirty, friendly way. He was so charming it was hard not to like him, even when I remembered that he was threatening to take everything I held dear away from me.
We ordered and it wasn’t long before two piping hot platters of schnitzel and spaetzle, cabbage and potatoes, were dropped off at our table, along with another jug of beer. After we’d eaten our fill, she came back over, delighted at our appetites.
“Mother said you are from nearby, ya?”
“Oh, yeah, we live at the castle, Griffenburg,” Cormac said.
“The little town by the castle?” she said, “cute place!”
“No, like, in the castle,” he corrected her, though I’d wished he wouldn’t.
A strange looked passed over her face, and she looked at the both of us.
“You live in the castle? Where are the owners? The baron? I thought it still was in the family?”
“I am a Griffen,” I said, “my mother just died.”
The woman gave me a long, dark look, as though sizing me up, deciding if I was telling the truth.
“Your family… your family should have been run out of town,” she snapped, switching to German, “you should not even be here…”
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, “I am from the United States, I don’t have anything to do with them.”
“Your grandfather killed my great aunt, my grandmother’s sister!”
“Caroline?” I asked, confused about the relations, “your mother’s aunt was Caroline?”
My German was terrible, but I was managing. Nothing she was saying made any sense.
“Caroline?” she asked, her accent warping the American name into Kay-ru-lyne, “I don’t know such a name! I know Sophie Wagner, a sweet farm girl who was tied up and strangled to death for fun!”
“What’s going on,” asked Cormac, aware that there was a conflict but unable to understand.
“She says her great aunt is the girl who was killed,” I said in a whisper.
“Murdered, by your grandfather…” she said in english, which she apparently understood quite well.
“Great grandfather,” I corrected him, “I never knew him at all.”
“Well, it still haunts my mother, my family…”
“I… I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head.
Just then, the last thing I wanted to see, the old woman shuffled into the restaurant.
“What is the commotion?” she asked.
“This girl is the granddaughter of the man who killed your aunt,” she said in German, pointing at me like someone identifying a criminal.
“Great granddaughter,” I corrected her again.
I was so embarrassed and upset I felt like I was getting too hot in my clothes. I wanted to run from the restaurant. The old woman gave me a long look, and walked over to the table.
“You are back at Griffenburg?” she asked in a quiet, shaky voice.
“Yes, my mother just died,” I said.
The woman nodded.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” she said, “I wondered if the Griffens would ever return to their castle. I thought it would be sold after the last baron died.”
“No,” I said, “we hung on to it somehow.”
The woman, to my relief, didn’t seem to harbor the same rage that her daughter did.
“My aunt, my mother’s sister, she wanted to be at the castle,” the old woman said, “they don’t know what she did there, but she would run away, sneaking out if she had to. Nothing my grandfather could do would stop her. The Baron said he was very fond of her, he was sorry after she died, but that wouldn’t bring her back, would it?”
“No,” I said, quietly, “I’m sorry.”
“It happened so long ago, and I still do not understand what happened, everything was kept so secret, everyone was so embarrassed and nobody would talk about it,” she said, “but I hope that she is at peace.”
I thought of the voices, the laughter and the screaming, we’d heard at night in the castle and shuddered. If there was a ghost or something like it at the castle, it most certainly was not at peace.
“My daughter, she has different, more modern ideas about justice,” the old woman said, “life was harder then, different. The Baron helped many people in the town, he gave us a small fortune after the death, which my father was too proud to take but which my mother used to start this inn.”
I was trying to translate for Cormac, but she was talking over me. I still couldn’t get over the fact that the woman who lived in the castle, Caroline, wasn’t the one who was killed. The story we knew was wrong.
“She was, I understand, a sweet girl,” the old woman said with a sigh, “we were only a farming family then, and she was a Bavarian beauty like something from a travel brochure, blond braids, perfect figure…”
I translated for Cormac and we both looked at each other in recognition. She was the girl who the Baron had written about in his journals, the blond farm girl he and Caroline had shared.<
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We went back to our room, and were quiet for a minute, sitting on the bed next to each other.
“So the woman, Caroline, didn’t die in the castle…”
“She wasn’t the girl that was killed…”
“But Caroline’s stuff, her room, it was like she’d disappeared from it…”
“Yeah, it’s… weird…” I admitted.
“…and there were those missing journal pages…”
“Right,” I said, “but we don’t know when she left now, or when the girl died, we need to find records…”
“I thought you didn’t care about the mystery?” Cormac reminded me, smiling his mischievous smile.
“It’s my family history,” I said, “it’s interesting, I just don’t get excited about the idea of lurid mysteries the way other people do, I guess.”
“It is pretty lurid,” he said, pulling out the journal.
“Why did you bring that?” I asked.
“I take it everywhere now,” he said, “I keep re-reading it, thinking I’ll find something…”
“Have you?”
“No, not really,” he said, “there are a few mentions of the farm girl…”
“Sophie…”
“Yeah, Sophie…” he said, flipping through the ancient looking book, “so here’s one… Sophie is becoming more pliant and enthusiastic by the day, and B seems almost distracted by her… he taught her to pleasure me while he takes her from behind, lapping my cunt while he impales her over and over, her little voice like a mewing kitten as she sucks and gets fucked.”
“Whew,” I said, having to steady my breath, “they were really having fun, it sounds like…”
“…B fucks me from behind while the little farm girl lays beneath me, licking me, taking his wet cock into her open, pink mouth whenever he feels like being sucked clean. He comes inside of me, and she licks up his seed like a good, well trained slave. Where B learned such behavior is outside of my understanding, but we’re having a wonderful, debaucherous time…”
I glanced over and saw that Cormac’s cock was straining against his jeans. I bit my lip, willing myself not to reach over and touch it. The conversation was so… dark… death and sex intertwining in a way that felt strange and dangerous.
“We have some reading to do when we get back,” Cormac said, “all of the baron’s journals.”
“Yeah, his are even more wild,” I breathed, remembering the descriptions and illustrations.
“More wild than this…” Cormac said, continuing to read, “we tied up the little farm girl and tortured her one at a time, licking her, whipping her, pleasuring and punishing her in equal measure…”
“Ok,” I said, “you can’t keep reading…”
“Why?” Cormac said, “because it makes you want me to do this?”
Cormac pushed me onto my back and pinned my arms over my head, taking off his belt and using it to attach them firmly to the iron headboard.
“Cormac,” I breathed nervously, as he popped open my shirt and leaned in to suck my nipples one by one.
I sighed and arched my back, my pussy hot and tender, as he sat up, in a kneeling position, and slapped my tits hard, one at a time, until I gasped.
“Pleasure and pain in equal measure…” he said, and I bit my lip and stared up, wanting more.
He pulled down my jeans, then leaned down and bit me lightly on the stomach. I whimpered as he continued to bite me lightly down my quivering belly, making his way to where I was ready and hot for him, desperate for release. He kissed me through my panties, thin and wet, and teased me with his tongue, giving me glimpses of the pleasure he could give me if he wanted to.
“Please,” I begged, and he ignored me, sitting up in bed to slip out of his own jeans, tossing them to the floor.
He was beautiful as he knelt over me, his strong, golden body tense with need, and I ached to have his hands on me again. He reached down and pinched one of my nipples lightly, twisting it gently as he looked down at me.
“You like this a lot, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I murmured.
He slapped one of my tits, the sound like a pop.
“You’ve never gotten it this way, though, have you?”
“I was too afraid to ask,” I admitted.
“I know what you mean,” he said, before leaning down to kiss me hard on the mouth.
He slipped off my panties while we were kissing and filled me with himself, giving me sweet, perfect relief.
“Mmm,” I moaned, our mouths and bodies fused together.
I was still tied up tight, and he fucked me slowly, still teasing me, taking his time.
“I’m going to come inside of you,” he groaned.
“We shouldn’t be doing that,” I moaned.
“Do you want me to stop?” he groaned.
“No, no,” I pleaded, “please, come inside of me.”
His face was against my neck as we both came, our bodies seizing against the other’s, his hot breath in my ear as he groaned.
Chapter 10
“How did you know it was me, that first day?” I asked, pressed against Cormac in the bed later that night.
“I’m psychic,” he said.
“Come on,” I said, giving him a little shove.
“Seriously, Astrid? As smart as you are, you’re naive sometimes. I Googled you, I knew what you looked like before I showed up, it wasn’t rocket science,” he said.
“Oh. I guess it never occurred to me to do that.”
“I was impressed when I saw the list of journals you’d published in, but I knew you probably didn’t have any money. I figured at first it would be a piece of cake to buy you out, but when I read your writing I began to suspect you might put up a fight.”
“Cormac,” I said, snuggling up to him, “why won’t you just let me… I don’t know, have the castle? I know you can afford to let it go. What difference does it make to you? I’m not going to make any money off of it.”
“Astrid,” Cormac said with a sigh, “that’s just not who I am, and I’ve already made… plans…”
“Like, serious plans? You can’t even do anything without my consent!”
“You’re going to walk away a multi-millionaire,” he said quietly, “don’t be like your mom, with this… weight… around your neck. Sell me the castle, or be a silent partner with me, you’ll be a rich woman.”
“I don’t care about being rich,” I said.
“I know you don’t, but it’s easier not to care when you have money, trust me.”
“You would know, I guess,” I huffed.
“Astrid, come on,” he said, rubbing my back.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I insisted.
“Ok,” he said, kissing the back of my neck, “I’m sorry, I don’t like upsetting you. Goodnight.”
I lay awake for a long time, feeling like I was letting everything I thought I was slip away just because I liked sleeping with a man.
The next morning I had Cormac drive me to the clerk’s office where the town’s birth and death records were kept. The building was eerily modern, but the man working behind the desk was ancient, and wearing brown trousers and a yellow-white button up that looked a few sized too large.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
“Can I get the death certificate of Sophie Wagner?”
The man stared at me for a long moment.
“Are you related to Sophie Wagner?” he asked me shortly
“Uh, no, I’m just curious what year she died…” I said.
“She died in nineteen thirty five,” he replied, “is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Were you… alive when she died?”
The man laughed.
“I am old, but not that old,” he said, “I used to write for the newspaper, so I know about it.”
“How… how did she die? What happened?”
“She was strangled to death, tied up in ropes, but nobody re
ally knows if it was an accident or not,” he said.
“I knew that already,” I sighed, disappointed.
“The baron didn’t get in any trouble, but he maybe should have, she was a young girl after all, even if it was an accident he had no business with her.”
“Maybe not,” I agreed.
“Why are you interested?” he asked.
“I, uh, I just moved into the castle, my great grandfather was Baron Griffen,” I said, even though I’d been tempted to lie.
He laughed and nodded, like nothing surprised him anymore.
“Sometimes it’s best to let skeletons stay in the closets, you know?”
I smiled.
“You could go to the library, they keep copies of the newspaper going all the way back,” he said, “it was right before the war, people forgot about it after the war broke out, it became whispers and rumors…”
I nodded.
“I hear she was a beautiful girl,” he said, “until the war the people here knew so little of violence, it was a very shocking thing, what happened.”
“I can imagine,” I said.
“They say he was never the same either, for whatever it’s worth,” said the man, “the people who remembered it, they said the castle was never the same…”
We rode on the motorcycle back to the castle, my arms wrapped around Cormac, my head filled with thoughts about him, but also Sophie, Caroline, the baron, the castle. The mystery, in spite of my best efforts, was compelling me more every day.
Back at the castle, I was in a strange mood. I went up to the little bedroom in the West Wing and told Cormac I wanted to try to write for a little while, but I couldn’t focus there, and ended up taking my notebook to the Easy Wing, to the library where the Baron’s desk sat, overlooking the lake.
It was a quiet spot, tranquil, and I imagined anyone might spend a lot of time there writing, working, reading, answering letters. Imagining my great-grandfather doing that made me feel strangely connected to him, even though he wasn’t someone I ever met or cared about, and had been involved, apparently, in some pretty strange, dark matters. His writings called to me, and it wasn’t long before I relented, searching through them for entries from nineteen thirty five.