Disclaimer:
-This story is copyrighted 2000 by Mark Anthony. It may not be reproduced or posted anywhere else in any way, shape or form without express permission.
-This is a work of erotic fiction, involving explicit sexual acts between female adults. If it ain't your cup of tea, read something else. If you are under 18 years of age, ditto.
-Send comments and feedback to actium31@yahoo.com. All of it is welcome. Author's note: Though I have done some research for this story, Castle Streinhenburg & Brachendauch are not actual real-life locations. Any omissions/errors in the story are mine.
Synopsis: Strange incidents are occurring at Streinhen castle, a German Castle turned Inn on the banks of the Rhine; Emily is plagued by dreams where she is ravished by a ghost who bears a striking resemblance to her friend Liana...
9. Awakening
Curled up in a ball beneath the covers of the bed, Emily Bryden was afraid to get up.
She hugged one of the three pillows resting on the canopy bed, clutching it against her body like an anxious child would a teddy bear. In her mind, disturbing imagery flashed on and on incessantly. Closing her eyes as hard as she could, she tried thinking of something else. But the thoughts continued to taunt her, and the heat radiating from her sensitive box served as a cruel reminder of the very real hold they had on her. She felt tears of desperation rise up, but she somehow could not bring herself to let it all out.
She eventually roused from the bed, walking about aimlessly on the carpeted floor, her solitary sulking darkening her mood further. She spared a glance at Liana's undisturbed bed, and felt sudden pangs of worry and confusion squeeze her heart. Emily had the strangest feeling, like something had happened to her.
As much as she didn't want to confront the strange dreams that had haunted her throughout the night, she still very much wanted to make sure that the central figure in all of them was safe and sound. Surely there were no sexual implications in that, were there?
Emily left for the bathroom and showered very briefly, as if the mere fact of her nakedness might spur more of the strange urges and feelings she was attempting ignore. She made sure the water was cold, and fought to stay under the icy stream as if it could wash away all of her dark, sensuous thoughts. Much to her chagrin, she felt a brief rush of arousal as she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror, water dripping from her curvaceous body, nipples stiff from the frigid temperature of the shower.
She instantly chastised herself, wresting with that elusive part of her subconscious which had signaled her body to react with pleasure at the sight of her nudity.
I must be losing my mind, she thought.
Minutes later, Emily strode into the suite, and sat on her bed, wrapped in a silk, navy-blue kimono. She stared blankly at the window and the green hills beyond it. It was ten, perhaps eleven in the morning, and sounds from the busy medieval town in the valley below reached the top of the cliff where Streinhen castle rested. Emily carefully stepped into that dangerous part of her mind which contained her memories of last night, thinking hard of that last moment when she was fully aware and conscious.
Her eyes wandered to the desk beside the window where she remembered reading the diary. And there did the old book, with its brownish, musty cover, sit.
She shivered involuntarily, and fought the urge to panic. 'It's only a book', she repeated in her mind over and over. Yet the memory of how it had drawn her into the dreamtime was surfacing, and with it fear and incomprehension.
The white candle which had burned next to it had melted down to a fraction of an inch, a hardened puddle creamy wax now resting on the varnished surface. Emily's eyes shifted between it and the diary with mixture of dread and frustration. She felt thorn between getting to the bottom of the mystery which had so disrupted her life, and retreating to the safety of the castle lobby, filled with plenty of modern-day, real-life tourists who had nothing to do with ghosts and outrageously libidinous dreams.
Emily sighed heavily, trying to exorcise her fear in a single long breath, assembled her courage, stood up and walked over the desk. She reached for the diary hesitantly, opened it and began quickly flipping the pages. She punctuated her glimpses through the worn yellowing pages with long glances outside the window, hoping to shake any influence the book might have on her frail psyche by concentrating on something else every couple of seconds. But it quickly became evident that daylight chased away any such power the diary might have, and Emily found she could easily look away from the ancient scribbling whenever she wished. Furthermore, no strange apathy came over her. Moments later, she began flipping frantically though the personal journal, desperately searching for answers.
10. Kristin's Diary entries
Anna, oh sweet beautiful Anna, how I long for thee! Those few precious moments during the Barons' feast, where we managed to elude our respective sentries to share a blissful embrace! I kissed thee, kissed every part of thy lovely body, and still thirsted for more! How can I live without knowing such pleasure everyday and every night? I have no choice but to crave thee, crave thy soft touch in every waking moment of my loveless, unhappy existence! Why does Father pursue his vendetta against thy family? Why did my heart find such love, and deny me the right to live it freely, under the sky, the sun, the moon and the stars? Why must I suffer thus?
Father was wounded yesterday by vile retainers of Count Schtaffen who had cornered him while he hunted for sport with his usual entourage. He has professed vengeful oaths anew, to destroy the Count's whole family line, words which have only drowned my heart with further sorrow. Dear Father, how I love thee, but please do not pierce my heart with the sword that would fall upon my pretty Anna!
I feat Brother Hilmund has begun to suspect strange goings on between our house and Schtaffen's, and I fear that he might be onto the secret I share with Anna. Precautions must I now take that this record of my most secret thoughts be not discovered by prying eyes. I have kept this diary in a safe place, but prudence counsels that I remove it to another safe place as the seasons change. God forbid he summons my Father to voice concerns real or imagined!
Sweetest, most consuming of passions! A kiss from thine lips, Sweet Anna, is enough to rouse me from death's embrace and fill my heart with incandescent joy like the phoenix which rises from the ashes at the moment of rebirth! Though the master of the guards appointed by Father sought my person for a day, he will not speak of my momentary vanishing after I have instructed him so. Surely the threat of my Father's wrath at having lost his precious daughter in a street full of commoners is enough incentive to keep that secret to the grave. If only he knew what pleasures I partook in his absence, if only he suspected the joy his dereliction has bought for me, thought furtive and ephemeral it felt to my restless, loving heart! Anna, I would risk the entire world for an hour at thy beside!
I have tasted and kissed thee, Anna, but wish above all to hold thee in my arms, hold thee as man holds wife, with love and contentment! Rumors of an impending visit by questing knights in search of brides to marry fill my soul with dread, but a look in thine eyes chases all away, replacing it with hope for a future hat must be shared, if need be, in secret. I pray that none will come to my Father's door, claiming hospitality and the hand of maidens to carry off to their lands. I pray for a continuation of our love, eternal as the flow of the Styx, the rising of the sun, and the shining light of quixotic moon in the cloudless night sky.
Cruel Fate! Cruel Destiny, Chance and Circumstance! A fortnight ago, a man clad in armor and bearing the sword and standard of the Heimdall line shouted for servants to accommodate him after a night's ride from Boerhen. Seeking an audience with my Father, he forthwith demanded the right for my hand, in accordance to the Germanic tradition, providing proof of his line's ascendancy over numerous baronies and villages stretching from the banks of the Rhine to the Frankish lands. Father has agreed, on conditions that remain unknown to me, and I have since exiled myself in my chambers, refusing admittance to all but lowly servants.
Father is upset, and I can sense an ominous nervousness in those few servants who bring me food, and beg for me to acquiesce to his demands. I fear that my days may grow short indeed, but I cannot will my heart to cease loving Anna anymore than I can agree to marry this beastly man who seems to thrive of murder and blood, suffer his invasions upon my person or spawn his sons into this world.
Emily reached the last page of writing, all of the rest unadorned by the Germanic writing. She pondered the meaning of the few entries she had just read with apprehension, the unmistakable ominous tone of the final entries arousing worry. There was a fleeting impression as she gazed upon the pages once more, as if she were remembering elements of an old fairy tale she had heard as a child. Somehow, part of her mind told her she knew the details of this strange tale, though she could not readily summon a specific memory of it.
She blinked in a heartbeat, perplexed as she focused on the last line of writing in the diary. Suddenly, the awareness came that every word on the page was transcribed in medieval German.
In a quick motion, Emily snapped the old book shut. The heavy thump echoed in the large suite, and a dusty smell filled her nostrils. She threw it back violently upon her bed, and took deep breaths, trying not to hyperventilate. Strange dreams, weird tales of Gothic lesbian affairs, seemingly ancient diaries written in arcane tongues-yet easily readable by 21st century contemporaries... it was all too much.
She looked about, cursing inwardly for the hundredth time and wondering where Liana had gone!
She reached for her suitcase, pulling out fresh clothes with sudden and furious energy. Though shy of nature, Emily Bryden prided herself on being able to exert a surprising force of character when the situation called for it.
One way or another, she was going to get to the bottom of all of this.
11. Ghost Tales
Emily caught sight of the tour guide standing nonchalantly the Inn lobby, and signaled him at once with a gesture of the hand. He waited patiently while she joined him, next to a stone support column which rose and vanished up into the high stone ceiling above.
"What can I do for you miss...?" the guide asked, with a hint of recognition that Emily knew went back to their own visit of the battlements two days earlier. He paid attention to the fact that the woman wore a dark green wrap skirt and a snow-white shirt with supple cuffs, chastely buttoned up to the collar. He could not help but paused briefly to admire her beauty, her blond hair tied back in a simple but stylish knot, her shapely figure graceful and poised. But her delicate features were marred by a disarming look of worry that found its purest manifestation in the deep blue of her pretty eyes.
"Bryden" she stated simply, in guise of introduction. She stared at him resolutely, but her embarrassment was clear when she resorted to a hushed tone. "I was wondering if there's ever been reports of... strange events occurring in the castle?"
He looked at her mutely for a moment, scrutinizing her. "Uhh... define 'strange'" he whispered, his voice uncertain.
