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The dressing table by the window was in good condition. It was wooden and had a large, carved mirror. There were boxes and bottles on it. I rushed to the table and grabbed one of the bottles.
“Stop! They may have already turned into poison!” Anton cried out.
“I think it’s just perfume,” I answered.
I opened the bottle, inhaled, and immediately winced. Oh, what a smell… disgusting! Then I opened the boxes, one by one. The largest one contained wooden combs decorated with stones – very authentic.
“You’re not going to do your hair with this, are you?” Anton cautioned.
“I would like to,” I answered.
I looked at all the objects, fascinated.
“God!” I exclaimed. I threw a large, wooden comb from me in surprise.
“What is it?”
My cry startled my husband, and he jumped up to me. “There’s hair here. Look… white.” I was a little shocked.
“Are they also from the 15th century? It’s disgusting if that’s the case,” Anton insisted. “Put it down!”
My husband was scared for me, and I put the comb back in the box.
This seemed very strange. How could the hair have been preserved for so many centuries? Of course, I am not a scientist.
We went on exploring the room: to the left along the wall were wardrobes – larger than in the previous room – and massive chests. Women in any era remain women. I went to the cupboards to see what was there.
“Watch out! Rats!” my husband decided to joke, but I didn’t appreciate it. I was already a little scared.
Belts and collars were decorated with stones which, of course, had lost their former chic. Spectacular! The princess probably attended receptions and dinner parties in these dresses. However, two dresses hung unevenly. They fell off the hangers as if someone wanted to try them on. I picked them up to hang them back in place.
“My God, Anton! This is the best trip of my life. Thank you. These are princess dresses… just lovely. I want to take one home.”
I really wanted it because it was a living monument of history and a memento that would remind me I had actually been here.
“Crazy,” Anton said as he smiled.
“That’s it; let’s move on,” I suggested. “God, look! We almost missed it!” I suddenly exclaimed.
I was shocked again as I pointed my finger at the wall behind the closet. There was a painting on the wall. No wonder we didn’t notice it. It was terribly faded, small in size, and displayed in a worn, white marble frame. A young, blonde girl was clearly visible in it. It had been painted by a talented artist.
“Charming! This is the duchess’ daughter… so young… looks like a doll,” I said.
Her portrait reflected the Burgundian fashion of the 14th and 15th centuries. At that time women tried to shave their eyebrows or powder them, raise the forehead line high with all sorts of hairstyles and tricks, and make their faces white. It was believed that this way they became closer to angelic, pure beauty.
In this case, however, the effect was exactly the opposite. The girl’s long and lush hair was blond and curly and fell loose. On top she wore a silver tiara which tightened the hair at the temples. The girl had a pale face. Her eyebrows were powdered so that they were practically invisible, but her cheeks and upper eyelids were highlighted with a scarlet shade. Her lips were covered in a vulgar manner with maroon lipstick. Her white dress looked like a nightgown because of the color.
The girl’s face was very unusual: the eyes were set far apart; the lips were small as if she was a doll; the cheekbones were wide; and, in general, the face looked like a heart pointed downwards.
The 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 minutes later we climbed higher. This was supposed to be the last bedroom in the tower. Again, I noticed a rosary on the door. I took it off its hook to get a better look. It was an ordinary church rosary, but why hang them at every door? Maybe it’s a French tradition? Anton pushed the door.
I couldn’t help but exclaim loudly, “My God, Anton! This is Disneyland!” There was no limit to my joy. It was a nursery of stunning beauty… in Gothic style. The interior was a light shade which was unusual for the premises of that time. The ceilings were wooden; the chandelier was iron, as always. However, the wood was a light shade; and, unlike other rooms, the walls here were wood upon which all sorts of medieval subjects were carved. The lancet windows were decorated with mosaics arranged in images from the Holy Scriptures. However, this lovely room was not without its eerie strangeness: there was a thin, barely noticeable mist on the floor… in the room… in a residential building! I lost count when I tried to figure out how many times I had experienced shock that day.
“Do you see it, too?” I asked my husband who was standing on the threshold.
“Fog! What the hell?”
All this began to strain Anton very much.
“Look… it seeps from the ceiling,” my husband said.
He pointed to a hole above the window. Barely visible, a trickle of fog really flowed from there.
“I hope there are no traps on the floor… like snakes!” “Come on, be careful here,” I cautioned.
To say that I was scared is not to say anything.
“Let’s see what kind of strange closet this is in here,” I suggested. “By the way, where is the bed for the child here?”
In place of a bed, there was some kind of huge closet with shutters… a strange structure! I came closer and, opening the doors, I was very surprised to find a high bed hidden in the closet! It had a magnificent feather mattress… of course, dilapidated. In addition, colorful, corduroy pillows brightened the area.
The inside of the room was painted with all sorts of knights and buffoons… very colorful. Opposite, as always, there was a large fireplace at the other end of the room.
“Amazing,” I started. “I think this bed was made to make the baby warmer in the winter.” My maternal instinct suddenly woke up in me.
“Yes, it’s interesting,” Anton responded.
For the first time my husband called antiques “interesting.” This was a sure sign that even he stopped getting bored here… albeit it was creepy.
To the left and right of the fireplace were cute, painted, wooden wardrobes. A bunch of toys lay in them… some made of wood, others of fabric. There was a wooden horse on the floor. A small cradle rested next to it, in which there was a doll made of cloth stuffed with something. “My Anna” was stamped on the crib. I must say the room was very nice, but it felt like no one really lived here… just once a pompous renovation was done here.
While we were looking around the fabulous nursery, I constantly heard some strange sounds from above.
“Do you hear that?” I decided to ask my husband. “Yes, the sound of a drip upstairs.” Anton listened more intently.
“Where would the water come from?” I asked.
“The sounds are from the roof. I wonder if there’s something weirder than that laughing gas from the ceiling?” my husband tried to joke.
“Devil’s music,” I said as I remembered the notes of the blonde girl.
We listened and distinctly heard streams and drops pouring from somewhere.
“She dripped so loudly in this ancient nursery, as if she wanted to say something.” Now it’s clear why the girl described these sounds like that.
It’s strange what kind of plumbing is on the roof, considering that we haven’t seen anything like civilization in this tower. I shivered.
“Come on!” I commanded.
We tried to climb onto the roof, but these were wooden floors and in terrible condition.
“Nora, you see it’s dangerous here.” Anton always protected me.
“Okay, go first.” There was no way to stop me.
“Very funny,” he smirked.
We went to the roof, slowly jumped over the beams in the floor, and suddenly came across an iron door. It was a bit open. I went in first.
“My God!” I blurted out.
It couldn’t be seen from the street, but there was a statue of an angel with a jug in her hands from which a trickle of water really flowed out. Steam concentrated in the pool as fog, which evidently was what scared us in the girl’s room. It came from this water.
