XV. Ordeal and Execution

von Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

As he spoke, one of the strangest men I had ever seen walked into the chapel through the same door where Carmilla had entered and exited. He was tall and narrow-chested, stooping slightly with high shoulders, and dressed entirely in black. His face was deeply lined and weathered, and he wore an oddly shaped hat with a wide brim. His long, grizzled hair fell over his shoulders, and he sported a pair of gold spectacles. He moved slowly, with a peculiar shuffling gait, sometimes tilting his face up toward the sky and other times bowing it down toward the ground, seemingly wearing a constant smile. His long, thin arms swung at his sides, and his bony hands, clad in oversized black gloves, waved around as if lost in thought.

“The very man!” exclaimed the General, stepping forward with evident joy. “My dear Baron, how wonderful it is to see you! I didn’t expect to meet you so soon.” He gestured for my father, who had just returned, and led the eccentric old gentleman, whom he called the Baron, over to him. They were introduced formally, and immediately fell into a serious conversation. The stranger pulled a roll of paper from his pocket and spread it out on the worn surface of a nearby tomb. With a pencil in hand, he traced imaginary lines from point to point on the paper, which I guessed was a plan of the chapel, based on how often he glanced at it and then at certain spots in the building. He accompanied his lecture with occasional readings from a small, tattered book, its yellowed pages densely filled with writing.

They strolled down the side aisle opposite where I stood, chatting as they went. Soon, they began measuring distances by pacing, and before long, they were all gathered around a section of the side wall, examining it closely. They pulled away the ivy that clung to it, tapped the plaster with the ends of their sticks, scraped here, and knocked there. Eventually, they uncovered a broad marble tablet, its surface engraved with letters in relief.

With the help of a woodman who had returned, they revealed a monumental inscription and a carved coat of arms. It turned out to be the long-lost memorial of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein.

Though the old General wasn’t one to pray often, he raised his hands and eyes to the heavens in silent gratitude for a few moments.

“Tomorrow,” I heard him say, “the commissioner will arrive, and the Inquisition will be held as per the law.”

He then turned to the old man with the gold spectacles, shaking his hands warmly. “Baron, how can I thank you? How can we all express our gratitude? You will have freed this region from a plague that has tormented its people for over a century. Thank God, the horrible enemy is finally tracked down.”

My father led the stranger aside, and the General followed. I knew he wanted to discuss my situation away from my ears, and I noticed them glancing at me frequently as their conversation continued.

When my father returned to me, he kissed me repeatedly and said, “It’s time to go back, but first, we need to invite the good priest who lives nearby to join us at the schloss.”

We were successful in our quest, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me, though I was utterly exhausted by the time we reached home. However, my relief turned to dread when I realized there was still no news of Carmilla. No explanation was offered regarding the events in the ruined chapel, and it was clear my father intended to keep that secret from me for the time being.

Carmilla’s unsettling absence made the memory of the scene even more horrifying. The arrangements for the night were unusual. Two servants and Madame were to stay awake in my room, while the priest and my father kept watch in the adjoining dressing room.

The priest performed certain solemn rites that night, the meaning of which I didn’t fully grasp, just as I couldn’t understand the extraordinary precautions taken for my safety while I slept.

I would come to understand everything clearly a few days later.

Carmilla’s disappearance was followed by the end of my nightly torments.

You may have heard of the terrifying superstition that exists in Upper and Lower Styria, Moravia, Silesia, Turkish Serbia, Poland, and even Russia—the superstition, as we must call it, of the Vampire.

If human testimony, gathered with utmost care and solemnity, presented before countless commissions made up of individuals chosen for their integrity and intelligence, and resulting in reports more extensive than any other class of cases, holds any weight, it becomes difficult to deny, or even to doubt, the existence of such a phenomenon as the Vampire.

I’ve never come across a theory that could explain what I’ve seen and experienced, except for the ancient beliefs that have long been part of this land.

The following day, the formal proceedings took place in the Chapel of Karnstein.

They opened the grave of Countess Mircalla, and both the General and my father recognized their treacherous yet beautiful guest as her face was revealed. Even after a hundred and fifty years since her burial, her features still held a hint of life. Her eyes were open, and there was no foul odor coming from the coffin. Two doctors were present—one officially and the other representing the inquiry—and they confirmed the astonishing fact that there was a faint but noticeable breath and a heartbeat. Her limbs were flexible, her flesh still elastic, and the leaden coffin was filled with blood, in which her body lay submerged to a depth of seven inches.

Here were all the recognized signs of vampirism. Following ancient customs, they lifted the body and drove a sharp stake through the heart of the vampire. She let out a piercing scream, one that could easily have come from a living person in their final moments. Then, they severed her head, and a torrent of blood gushed from the neck. They placed the body and head on a pile of wood and burned them to ashes, which were scattered into the river, never to return. Since that day, the territory has been free from the haunt of a vampire.

My father keeps a copy of the report from the Imperial Commission, complete with the signatures of everyone who witnessed these events. It’s from this official document that I’ve drawn my account of that shocking scene.