Chapter 1: The banks of the Rhine
One day in November 18XX, I received an invitation from an old friend to visit the castle where he lives. It was a pleasant surprise for me, as I had not seen him for many years. Although I was staying until the end of the month, my old friend asked me to stay somewhere else on November 19th. He did not tell me the reason, but his cryptic request piqued my curiosity while we rode through the dense forest surrounding the castle.
The chilly autumn air filled my lungs, and I marveled at the beauty of the landscape before me. The castle, a medieval marvel, stood tall on the banks of the Rhine. Its towering spires reached for the heavens, shrouded in a veil of mist. The stone walls, weathered by the hands of time, stood as silent sentinels to the churning river below.
As I was riding my horse and enjoying the late autumn scenery along the Rhine, a gust of wind made me shiver. It seemed to foreshadow the strange events I was about to experience.
As we approached the entrance of the castle, I couldn't help but notice a chill in the air. It was as if the very walls held a secret that they refused to let go. My old friend, the Lord of the castle, greeted me warmly and took me on a tour of the castle.
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience on November 19th," he said, his voice full of anxiety, "but this is a family tradition that has been passed down for generations."
The owner of the castle, who was also my friend, was named Georg and was the head of an old and distinguished clan that ruled over this area. Besides managing his domain, he was interested in old culture and collected local legends.
"Legends?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, I've been collecting them for years. I have a whole library dedicated to them. It's a hobby of mine," he said, as we passed by a large wooden door that bore an ornate carving of a griffin.
"But what does that have to do with November 19th?" I asked, intrigued.
"According to local legend, the castle is haunted by a vengeful spirit that only appears on that day. Every year, on November 19th, someone in the castle dies mysteriously.
It's a curse that's been around for centuries, and no one knows how to break it. The Lord of the castle, Georg, told me about it as we sat in his study, surrounded by ancient books and dusty relics.
The study was a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on two sides. The walls were lined with books on history, literature, and local legends. A large mahogany desk stood in the middle of the room, cluttered with papers and maps. A fireplace crackled on the opposite wall, casting dancing shadows on the ceiling.
Georg poured us a glass of brandy and began to tell me the story. "It all started in the 12th century, with the first Lord of the castle, Otto. He was a powerful man who ruled over this land with an iron fist.
His subjects respected him, but they didn't necessarily like him. He was known to be ruthless and cunning. He rose to nobility through his own efforts, but it was said that he did "filthy things" to get there. Many people disliked him, and he had many enemies.
As Georg spoke, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of "filthy things" he had done. I asked Georg about it, but he shook his head and said, "No one knows for sure. All we know is that he was a man of great ambition and even greater cunning."
As we continued to talk, I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something more to this legend than just a vengeful spirit. I decided to do some research of my own and look into the castle's history.
I spent the next few days exploring the castle and its surrounding area.
I was intrigued by the legend of the vengeful spirit and the strange tradition of leaving the castle on November 19th. I decided to visit the local church, where the family of Georg was buried.
As I entered the church, I couldn't help but notice the cold and eerie atmosphere. The graveyard was located just outside the church, and it was surrounded by a tall, wrought-iron fence. I walked through the gates and saw the gravestones of Georg's ancestors, all lined up in neat rows.
At the far end of the graveyard, I found the grave of the first head of the family, Otto. The inscription on the gravestone was faded and worn, but part of it had been unnaturally scraped off. I wondered what could have caused such damage.
I approached the parish priest, who was sitting on a bench nearby, and asked him about it.
Revealing that I was a friend of Georg, he opened up and shared some interesting information.
"It is said that on November 19th of one year, Otto did something shameful," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "However, I must admit that I do not know specifically what that 'shameful act' was."
The priest's cryptic words only added to the intrigue and mystery surrounding the castle. I made a mental note to ask Georg about it when I returned.
As the day progressed, I continued to explore the castle, taking in its rich history and the many stories it held within its walls. But the question of what Otto had done on that fateful November 19th remained at the forefront of my mind.
When I finally returned to the castle, I asked Georg about the shameful act that Otto had committed.
Georg sighed and took a deep breath before speaking.
"It's a long story," he said, "but I'll try to keep it short. On November 19th of one year, Otto invited the Lord of a neighboring land to the castle to propose reconciliation. The two had been feuding for years over a piece of land that bordered their respective territories.
"The meeting was initially productive, and the two lords seemed to have put their differences aside. But then, something strange happened. Otto did something unforgivable, something that pushed the other lord over the edge.
"To this day, no one knows what exactly Otto did. All we know is that the Lord of the neighboring land went mad and committed suicide a few days later.
And ever since that day, November 19th has been a day of ill-omen for our family.
The dead seem to be coming from among the servants and guests. Georg and the previous heads of the family are concerned about the reason, but they just can't figure it out.
I suggested that it might be the vengeful spirit of a neighboring feudal lord who had "done something" to Otto, but Georg quickly dismissed that notion.
"It doesn't make sense," he said, his voice grave. "If that was the case, then there would be something wrong with Otto's descendants, and that's not true. We are all perfectly healthy, both physically and mentally."
I couldn't argue with him. Georg and his family were some of the most well-adjusted and happy people I had ever met.
"But then, what could it be?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.
Georg shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he said.