The Mill and The Cross

The next time, the elderly village doctor leaves Van Helsing's room with relatively positive news for Marianne: her persistent efforts resulted in the fever finally subsiding, but other consequences of nervous overexcitement need to be addressed differently. The renowned patient will gradually become a recluse and may not fully recover if he remains confined within four walls. "But doctor, he's so fixated on the idea that evil is still lurking nearby... He's eagerly awaiting the opportunity to return to his work, to go back to the accursed castle. I'm worried for him," the young lady laments, opening the dusty curtains to let in daylight into the dimly lit room. "My dear miss, the fever is no longer a danger, and it would be better for the gentleman to regain his former optimism. If his work contributes to that, then we have no right to intervene. After all, he's also a doctor himself and knows the limits of his own common sense," the old doctor cheerfully reassures her, leading her out of the room and leaving the key on the nightstand. Lawrence, who had been pretending to be fast asleep, finally breathes a sigh of relief. "There must be some kind of solution!" he thinks, quickly getting out of bed. "Baroness Meinster must have sought ways to rid her own son of evil... The castle's library seemed extensive to me. There must be something, surely, if it's not too late." Lawrence's hands, still trembling significantly, search for the stack of clothes on the nearby stool. Miss Danielle lovingly sewed the torn sleeve of his velvet jacket. Exhausted by the uncertainty of the future, the professor's face finally brightens again, accompanied by a gentle smile. He immediately feels genuine shame for his previous ugly, definitely not-so-polite words and gestures towards Marianne while he wasn't in his right mind. The image of Miss Marianne, sadly and reverently leaning over him, torn apart by terrible suffering, now frequently occupies his scattered thoughts. If angels do exist, then Miss Marianne is likely one of them. And why shouldn't angels be real? The materiality of evil has been indisputably proven through Van Helsing's efforts. So why can't the miracle of true holiness be recognized as equally real as its complete opposite?.. * The sadness of the young lady doesn't go unnoticed by the villagers. Now that Professor Van Helsing can stand on his own again, he hardly needs her assistance. The thought of potentially being separated from Lawrence once more becomes unbearable for Marianne. "Anka is right: men hardly appreciate the sacrifices we make for them..." Miss Danielle thinks, sitting alone on a bench beneath a large oak tree opposite the old hotel. Peasant children joyfully play simple games like hide and seek or tag in the courtyard. While this amuses the young lady, her attention is still drawn to the familiar figure moving behind closed curtains. Van Helsing's moves suggest that he's once again pacing his room in deep contemplation, oblivious to everything around him. "What is he searching for? What's troubling him so much again?" Marianne wonders, but the noise of the children's fuss unexpectedly distracts her from her swirling emotions. "Why are you fighting?" she asks, trying to separate the children beating each other in the fallen autumn leaves. "Can't you find a peaceful solution?" "Tell him, miss, that you can't search for someone until they are well hidden! It's not fair!" the eldest boy exclaims, pointing at his timid friend. "How do I know if you've hidden yet?" the other boy cries, hiding behind Miss Danielle's long blue skirt. "Didn't you agree that one of you should count to a certain number while the others hide, and only then start searching?" To Marianne's great disappointment, it turns out that the local children aren't familiar with the simple arithmetic of counting. In their conversation, Marianne also learns that the city council sent a young girl last year to teach the peasant children, but she, like Miss Daniel herself, met an unfortunate fate as a guest of the Meinster castle and was never seen again. The thought of another innocent soul suffering such a terrible fate sends chills down Marianne's spine. "Well, since you still don't have a teacher, I'll take care of your education while I'm here!" Miss Danielle responds cheerfully, seating the children on a bench beneath the large oak tree. The shadow behind the curtains, which had been observing her curiously, moves back weightlessly. If Van Helsing can find solace in his beloved yet dangerous work, why can't Miss Marianne find comfort in her yet-to-be-fulfilled role as a teacher? Dealing with the unruly children proves to be challenging, as does teaching them the basics of counting. Marianne tries to demonstrate that after three comes four, and counting to five is no more difficult that noticing how many times someone's tipsy father knocks on the door in the evening. "Here, listen: now I'm knocking on wood. One! Two! Three! Have you counted?" Marianne begins to say, but she stops when she sees the smallest girl, hugging her knees, starting to cry. "Oh Lord, what did I do wrong?" Marianne sits down next to the child in confusion, trying unsuccessfully to calm her. "God, I thought it would be easier..." "Don't do that, I'm scared!" "What are you afraid of?" "He knocks on our windows at night... Yesterday I heard his claws scraping our door! First, he whispers softly, 'Cosmina, come to the window, let me in,' and then he knocks, one, two, three!..." "Who are you talking about?" "I was so scared that I hid under the blanket! When the knocking stopped, I peeked out and saw... I saw... Oh no, miss, please! I'm too scared to remember!" Completely chilled, Marianne simply holds the trembling child close, assuring her that it is daytime and she is safe, especially under her protection. In the dead of night, Cosmina notices someone gently waving at her through the old, blurry glass, smiling and beckoning her with a finger. The paralyzing fear gripping the child's fragile body is slightly weaker than her curiosity. Carefully, she approaches the window, peering around to ensure the adults in the house are still asleep. "Open the door or window for me, let the freezing old man in to warm up," a familiar voice pleads with pity. "Grandfather Mircea, is that you?" the girl's words fade into silence. Pale moonlight casts a peculiar, shimmering veil on the angular furniture in the room. In front of little Cosmina's face, two gray, bony hands with long, dirty claws appear on the outside of the glass, followed by a horribly disfigured face, contorted into a carnivorous smile. "I'm still very hungry, child! My master left without feeding me!" Something dark and sticky drips from the monstrous miller's unkempt beard. The child's cry of horror gets stuck in her throat as she clumsily falls to the floor, overcome by fear. Marianne shudders at what she hears. Everything suddenly connects in her mind: the burning mill, the disappearance of the elderly sorcerer, the strange rumors, and the hauntingly vivid story told by the terrified child. Gathering her courage, she quickly ascends to the second floor and, out of breath and forgetting about proper etiquette, bursts into the neighboring room. "Lawrence!" But Lawrence Van Helsing's room is unusually empty. It's like if Miss Daniel hasn't recently spent all those sleepless nights beside his bed, holding a candle, selflessly looking after him. The professor's packed travel bag, usually placed in the corner, has vanished along with his other belongings. Everything has disappeared except for the books, which are now piled high on the table. Marianne's heart races as she runs her fingers across the familiar dusty tomes. However, she wonders how he could leave without bidding her farewell. Does a gentleman's integrity cease along with his desire for someone's comforting presence?.. "Miss, please don't worry, he'll return in time for dinner," Anka reassures her, pulling on her lengthy braid while standing at the entrance. "He left in the carriage to visit the castle. You were so engrossed with the children that he didn't want to interrupt you. He just set aside the books and took the empty bag with him. Believe me, I don't know what he needs all of it for..." * Throughout the morning, he covertly admires Marianne, captivated by the sight of her studying with the children on the lawn close to the ancient oak tree. Lawrence is pleased to witness her former cheerfulness gradually resurfacing. Once again, she resembles a delicate and exceptionally beautiful rose blossoming right before his eyes. Moreover, it seems as if she blooms solely for him. The warmth coursing through his body at this notion isn't due to illness. However, the thought of potentially sacrificing his profound feelings for Miss Marianne, abandoning her for her own well-being, cuts his sorrowful heart like a sharp gypsy knife, all the way to its core. "Even if it's our destiny, I still must try to strive for our own happiness, even in the face of death. Haven't I experienced something like this before?" The inn owner seems really curious when, at midday, Van Helsing borrows the carriage to drive him to the Meinster castle. It appears that the memory of a once vibrant and joyous life within the castle on the hill has faded from the minds of those in the surrounding areas. Now, there are only faint remnants of its former glory. Venturing into the neglected garden, enveloped in a dreary October mist, Van Helsing leisurely explores the ancient graves of the Meinster family, some dating back four centuries. The elegant tomb's floor is scattered with fragments of stained glass, once a beautiful adornment that now serves as a reminder of the castle's tragic past, when it still wasn't marked by the hand of Death. After the massacre of the baron, the peasants didn't miss their chance to take out their anger and hatred on what remained of the former greatness of the castle. Decay permeates every corner, extinguishing any trace of life. Something compels Lawrence to leave the small cemetery and enter the dilapidated house, where utter ruin reigns. "It seems unlikely that the villagers destroyed the library," he ponders, ascending the cluttered stairs to the baroness's former chambers. There, beneath a decaying Persian carpet, a treasure coveted by few, lies a stone slab concealing the entrance to a secret library. Access can only be gained by knowing the cleverly hidden lever that lifts this slab. However, Lawrence has already been privileged to witness this ancient mechanism in action. Unfortunately, that time he didn't have the opportunity to fully appreciate the magnificent collection of books within, which challenges both scientifically accepted theories and religious doctrines. And now it's nearly impossible to suppress a sigh of awe at the sight before him. Standing here, hidden behind other books, is a weighty volume of Lambertini's "XXXI. De servorum Dei beatificatione et sanctorum canonizatione", its pages faded with the passage of time. The future Pope Benedict XIV, in his earnestness, posed profound inquiries about the malevolent and bloodthirsty evil that lurks in the darkness of the night. The theological perspective on the origin and essence of evil proved to be remarkably sagacious and extraordinary. Lawrence's eyes ignite with fervent interest as he has long sought this book, yearning to possess it, and now it finally rests in his hands. On these yellowed pages of his treatise, Benedict XIV debates, "can a being who has forsaken God and embraced the blasphemous cult of blood truly deserve His forgiveness in the end?" "Lord, if there is no medical or scientific way to prevent me from becoming a bloodsucking creature, then I can only rely on your help", Van Helsing contemplates, with bitterness lodged in his throat. As Lawrence delves deeper into the clandestine library, he uncovers invaluable knowledge that is scattered across ancient shelves, housed within weighty and opulent tomes. Among them, classics like Augustin Calmet's "Treatise on the Apparitions of Spirits and on Vampires or Revenants: of Hungary, Moravia, et al" have become the professor's indispensable reference book and his most treasured ally in combating this godless cult. He also stumbles upon local records detailing outbreaks of vampirism in the Eastern European wilderness, such as Miron's "Burning of ghouls in the village of Naguevichi," which piques Lawrence's curiosity, prompting him to take the documents with him. However, he finds some of it to be merely the naive and ineffective consequences of the grief-stricken baroness's chaotic actions, likely purchasing everything from various "experts" in this sublunary desease. Works like Sir Richard R. Burton's "Vikram and The Vampire: Classic Hindu Tales of Adventure, Magic, and Romance" are difficult to take seriously, as they seem to only impress romantic-minded maidens. "Mortuus non mordet", the professor recites with deliberate precision, gently removing the dust from a book hidden deep amongst the others in a discreet secret compartment he stumbled upon by chance. "Here it is. These are his personal books, not the desperate collection of his grieving mother," Van Helsing's eyes are transfixed by the chilling and captivating images that come alive on the faded pages of Klaus Hamberger's scientific work. He becomes lost in the words, eagerly devouring each page, his gaze fixated on the grotesque illustrations that adorn the publication, feeling his blood rush faster through his veins. "An abomination, a true abomination! Only a deranged mind could write such filth to uplift his own kind!" he exclaims inwardly, barely catching his breath as he conceals the book in his bag. A blasphemous abomination... one that, to his shame and surprise, he cannot tear himself away from. Something is undeniably awakening within him, slowly but surely. Controlling it becomes unbearably challenging. Oh, if only he walked through these circles of hell alone... But now, by his side, stands an angel in human form - his Marianne. A gentle and innocent being, brimming with compassionate love for him. Her presence instantly amplifies all his long-dormant emotions. Yet, alongside Lawrence's tender hidden love for this extraordinary young lady, a monstrous thirst also sprouts, an insatiable carnal desire dictated by the creature that now resides within him. "The mark of a vampire is indelible. Those turned into the undead face a just death and liberation from the clutches of an evil spirit by severing the head and driving an aspen stake into the heart. Then, the body must be cremated," recounts Miron, an eyewitness to one of the ritualistic executions, and Lawrence's hands tremble incessantly. "Attempting to instantly seal the mark with the flame of our Lord or dousing it with holy water will merely impede the inevitable process. The afflicted might continue to appear human for no longer than a few weeks, unless they taste the essence of human blood." "So, I'm still doomed..." Lawrence's ice-blue eyes flicker with his newfound bestial desire, only to be replaced by composure and then sincere tearful remorse. "No, there must be something... Something that Baron Meinster concealed from his mother and kept for himself, a secret that would prevent anyone from reclaiming his human soul." However, the secret niche holds nothing else of significance, except for a large, weighty box secured by an impenetrable lock that eludes the professor's efforts. He simply places it in his bag. In his quest to uncover traces of the unholy rituals that have plagued the walls of this dreadful castle for years, Van Helsing once again descends into the dark, damp dungeon beneath the tower of the eastern wing. The scent of mildew is unavoidable, welcoming the decay and putrefaction that permeate every inch of these moist stone palaces. The candle in his hand flickers unevenly, threatening to extinguish at any moment. And alas, his gaze beholds the sorrowful sight he anticipated. The blood-stained slab of the desecrated stone tomb was undoubtedly the site of the baron's ritualistic feasts and diabolical sacrifices. Something peculiar catches his attention, protruding from a large chest in the corner. Upon closer inspection, it reveals itself to be the end of a long, golden braid belonging to a woman. And within... Lawrence, who has witnessed much in his life, momentarily loses himself, allowing his emotions to surge forth as he covers his face, contorted with disgust and bitterness, with his sleeve. The chest contains numerous trophies of the baron, remnants of those who refused to become his eternal brides. Inside lie only scalps of women, stained with dried, brown blood, dozens, if not hundreds. "It cannot be that only the deranged Greta aids this devil! She’s unlikely to be able to do this alone,” rage boils in the throat of the fearless vampire hunter. "Surely there was another accomplice of evil! But who is he? And how could I miss it?"