X. Bereaved

by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

It had been about ten months since we last saw him, but that time had changed him in ways that felt like years. He had lost weight, and the warmth that once lit up his face was replaced by a shadow of gloom and anxiety. His dark blue eyes, always sharp and observant, now shone with a harsher intensity beneath his unruly grey eyebrows. This transformation wasn’t just the result of grief; it seemed that anger had also played a role in shaping his new demeanor.

We had barely resumed our drive when the General, with his typical soldierly straightforwardness, began discussing the loss he had endured—the death of his beloved niece and ward. His voice, filled with bitterness and rage, erupted as he condemned the “hellish arts” that had ensnared her, expressing, with more frustration than reverence, his disbelief that Heaven would allow such monstrous indulgence in the wickedness of hell.

My father, sensing that something extraordinary had happened, asked him, if it wasn’t too painful, to share the details that had led him to speak so vehemently.

“I would gladly tell you everything,” the General replied, “but you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” my father countered.

“Because,” the General snapped, “you only believe what fits your own biases and illusions. I remember when I was like you, but I’ve learned better.”

“Try me,” my father said. “I’m not as dogmatic as you think. Besides, I know you usually require proof for your beliefs, so I’m inclined to respect your conclusions.”

“You’re right to think I haven’t arrived at my beliefs lightly—what I’ve experienced is extraordinary. I’ve been forced to accept evidence that contradicts everything I once believed. I’ve been the victim of a supernatural conspiracy.”

Despite his confidence in the General’s insight, I noticed my father glance at him, and I sensed a flicker of doubt about his sanity.

Fortunately, the General didn’t catch it. He was staring gloomily into the woods that stretched out before us.

“You’re headed to the Ruins of Karnstein?” he asked. “What a fortunate coincidence! I was just about to ask you to take me there. I have a specific reason for wanting to explore. There’s a ruined chapel, isn’t there? With many tombs of that long-gone family?”

“There are indeed—quite fascinating,” my father replied. “I hope you’re not thinking of claiming the title and estates?”

He said this playfully, but the General didn’t even acknowledge the joke. Instead, he looked serious and even fierce, lost in thoughts that stirred his anger and horror.

“Something very different,” he said gruffly. “I intend to unearth some of those fine people. With God’s blessing, I hope to commit a pious sacrilege that will rid our world of certain monsters, allowing honest folks to sleep peacefully without the threat of murderers. I have strange tales to share with you, my dear friend—tales I would have dismissed as unbelievable just a few months ago.”

My father regarded him again, this time not with suspicion but with a keen sense of intelligence and concern.

“The house of Karnstein has been extinct for a long time—at least a hundred years. My dear wife was a maternal descendant of the Karnsteins. But the name and title have long since vanished. The castle is a ruin; the village is deserted. It’s been fifty years since anyone saw smoke rising from a chimney—there’s not a roof left.”

“That’s true. I’ve heard a lot about that since I last saw you—much that will astonish you. But I’d better tell you everything in the order it happened,” the General said. “You knew my dear ward—my child, as I like to call her. No one could have been more beautiful, and just three months ago, she was blooming.”

“Yes, poor thing! When I last saw her, she was indeed lovely,” my father said. “I was deeply saddened and shocked; I can’t express how much I felt for you.”

He took the General’s hand, and they shared a firm grip. Tears welled in the old soldier’s eyes, and he didn’t try to hide them. He said:

"We've been friends for a long time, and I knew you would understand my feelings, especially since I have no children of my own. She had become incredibly important to me, and in return for my care, she filled my home with joy and made my life worthwhile. But now, that happiness is gone. The years I have left may not be many, but with God's grace, I hope to do something meaningful for humanity before I pass, and to seek justice against those who took my dear child from me in the bloom of her youth and beauty."

"You mentioned earlier that you would share everything as it happened," my father said. "Please do; I assure you, my interest is genuine and not just idle curiosity."

By this time, we had reached the point where the Drunstall road, which the General had taken, split from the road we were on toward Karnstein.

"How far are we from the ruins?" the General asked, looking ahead with concern.

"About half a league," my father replied. "Please, let us hear the story you promised to tell."