The Mill and The Cross

Lawrence Van Helsing becomes completely engrossed in his search through the library, losing all track of time as he delves into its depths. It's only when nightfall descends that he sadly realizes Marianne, whom he had left behind, must have grown weary of waiting for his return. The carriage, abandoned at the castle gates, terrified by the darkness and eerie sounds of the night, had hurriedly retreated to the village, leaving Lawrence to embark on a perilous journey on foot, burdened by a heavy bag in his grasp. "With God's help," Lawrence whispers, his fingers tingling as he places an old crucifix into his nearby pocket. Upon his return, he stands frozen in the doorway of his room, unable to move or wipe the melancholic smile from his face. Marianne, his devoted companion, exhausted from anticipation, peacefully slumbers on his bed, her tear-stained face now reddened. She curls up, resembling a dear beloved child, to whom Lawrence's sad tired heart wholly belongs. Careful not to disturb her slumber, he resigns himself to spending the night in an old, uncomfortable chair tucked away in the corner. "Good morning, Miss Danielle, and my apologies for my disappearance yesterday. I became deeply engrossed in the books and had to make the journey back on foot," Lawrence greets Marianne politely, offering her a cup of hottea as if nothing had occurred. But before a mere second passes, she unleashes a gentle yet reproachful attack upon him. "Lawrence! I worried the whole night about you! Just recently, you were in a frenzied state, rushing about with a fever..." The mere fact that she finally addresses him by his name, and the way she utters it, fills him with genuine awe and pleasure, causing his eyelashes to flutter. However, his joy quickly dissipates as the conversation takes a turn towards Miss Danielle's dreadful discoveries. "I have something really important to tell you. I tried to tell you yesterday, but you had already left." Listening intently to every word she speaks, he's disheartened to realize that Marianne has accidentally unraveled the secret that has been tormenting him, before he could. The tale of the vanished owner of a burnt-down mill, who now appears as an undead being to the villagers at night, ignites his imagination. "I fear that little Cosmina's story is, regrettably, true. Within the castle, for the first time, I pondered who else could have aided the Baron in his heinous deeds... Now, everything aligns with the local rumors. And it's truly terrifying. This is precisely what I failed to see when I thought I finally got rid of these creatures," Van Helsing thoughtfully nibbles on his index finger, contemplating his next words. "Now, please allow me to read you an excerpt from Johann Weikhard von Valvasor's treatise, 'The Glory of the Duchy of Carniola,' dating back a couple of centuries... I found it in the castle." One of the two books, which found themselves securely locked away in a meticulously guarded box, rests on Lawrence's lap. The local blacksmith had to exert great effort to unlock the intricate mechanism of this object. However, it's within this box that the untouchable treasures of Baron Meinster lie - secrets about the creation of a different, more powerful, and insidious breed of vampire. Johann Weikhard von Valvasor vividly describes an incident from the distant land of Istria, where a local peasant named Jure Grando Alilović transformed into a štrigon - a sinister, unholy being, a hybrid between a vampire and a warlock. This creature terrorized his own village for sixteen long years. “Mircea the miller was probably chosen by the Baron for a reason. The seventh child in the family, a murderer, a sinner, a witch can turn into štrigon. However, the miller, endowed with otherworldly power during his lifetime, would become an even more terrible bearer of the Baron's will even after his death.” Marianne's heart, full of compassion for all living things, sanks to her feet. The thought of the little girl, frightened and clinging to her, seeking her protection, haunts her. "The poor child experienced such horror from this night encounter..." “This is a terrible creature of evil, my dear. Now, as a vampire, he has become one of the most dreadful beings I have ever encountered. Those like him are also called strigoi mort,” Van Helsing, who didn't sleep at all lastnight, tries to stay awake and gazes longingly at his beautiful assistant. "I would like you to leave here before something bad happens, but... I can't go with you. And if I don't protect you, you might get caught on the way and God knows what terrible consequences this will lead... Well, let's forget about it. Just stay here and be careful." However, Marianne always puts others before herself, showing her selflessness and compassion. "Those poor sweet children . . . How afraid they are to sleep now, when this monster knocks and scratches at their windows at night!" She touches nervously the folds of her dress, wrinkled in the night, and finally decides to ask the cautious but loyal Lawrence for an unusual favor. "Can we let poor Cosmina stay with us for a few nights? I'm concerned about how she's feeling." And as if in response to Marianne’s meek request, the majestic Church of St. Ignatius, located a little distance from the village itself, resounds throughout the entire area with the heavy mournful ringing of bells. “Von Valvasor wrote that the knock of a štrigon on someone’s window means the imminent death of one of those from who live in this house. However, death here is inevitable in any case, and the worst of all is one from his hands,” Professor Van Helsing responds gloomily, realizing the bitter truth of these words, chilling and grieving with all his heart for the terrible fate of a little innocent child whom he, alas, didn't even know. A day passed and the curse made itself felt. Today they both will have to take part in the local funeral. * The morning feels gloomy and lacking in warmth as tragic news overshadows it, with the cold October rain adding to the melancholy atmosphere. Marianne and Lawrence, dressed somberly in black, stand beside the priest in the Church of St. Ignatius, right next to a small coffin that was quickly assembled for a child. Nicolae, a thin and elderly carpenter, appears to be a shadow of himself, staring silently ahead as he barely holds onto his weeping wife who is hunched over in pain and sorrow. Not everyone can bear the sight of their own deceased child like Nicolae, who took it upon himself to construct the coffin for his own daughter. “The Lord gifted us our only child so late, when everyone already babysits their grandchildren!”, his poor wife, suddenly aged even more with her grief, desperately laments, expressing her anguish as she clings to the edge of the coffin with her pale fingers. "How dare the Lord to take her from us so early?" The villagers stand at the entrance, their faces filled with sadness and uncertainty, unsure of where to look. They gather together with a sense of unknown fear towards this familiar ritual of human existence. "Don't blaspheme, Constanza!" the local priest sharply retorts to the old woman, while reluctantly reading prayers over the girl’s body. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to have her funeral service here and bury her in the holy ground!” These words cause the permanently still muscles on Lawrence Van Helsing's detached, severe face to unexpectedly shake, and his hands unconsciously tighten into fists. How dare this priest to utter such words! The girl is merely an innocent victim, a young martyr lying peacefully among the late autumn blossoms, swathed up to her neck in them like with a comforting cover. It seemsas if she's just asleep. It's as though her petite, blond head isn't the sole remaining untainted fragment of her body, which has been greedily gutted by the monster... When Marianne sees the sorrow of the devastated parents, her heart tightens with anguish. The loss of a child, particularly when it's their only child, one they waited for eagerly and cherished deeply, is an unimaginable tragedy. Marianne can hardly fathom how the carpenter and his wife will manage to carry on. She wonders, if she were to experience the same tragedy of losing her child, would she lose her sanity? Would she contemplate ending her life? Or could she gather the resilience to carry on? Would her husband be there for her? These strange and unsettling thoughts consumed her mind, overwhelmed by anxiety. Then suddenly, Lawrence's cold fingers lightly grasp her hand, as if silently acknowledging her fears, liberating her from the grip of her dark thoughts. “Thank you, professor, that you were able to convince the stubborn priest to allow us to bury little Cosmina according to all Christian customs...” the tired carpenter murmurs to Van Helsing while they depart from the church and make their way to the ancient graveyard. "Could our little angel be guilty of something? Find the monster, I implore you. Punish him for this senseless evil..." The carpenter Nicolae doesn’t know that the power of conviction of Professor Lawrence Van Helsing, a true gentleman, this time showed itself in a purple trace of his hard fingers on the thick neck of the priest, warning that the stubborn vampire hunter would strangle him if he insisted on burying the girl like a stray dog in a nameless grave outside the church. “Don’t make me start to regret something I don’t want to do, Holy Father,” he hissed to the priest, his voice filled with rage. This hassle occurred a few hours ago, as he suddently showed an inhuman strength, gripping the priest's throat, forcing him against the wall while effortlessly lifting him from the ground. Perhaps he would even strangle him, but... His accidental gaze that fell upon the ancient crucifix positioned at the center of the altar instantly blinded Lawrence by an unfathomable anguish. The silver border of the crucifix seared Lawrence's gaze, causing tears to cascade down his cheeks. Cruel time, in its relentless manner, seemed to quicken its pace, opposing him with an unwavering force. "Professor, please hurry over here! It appears that Miss Marianne has become unconscious!" He is brought back to reality by loud voices calling out to him, which breaks him free from the confusing and disturbing hazy memories and visions. What was it again? An obsession? Or... a witchcraft? Marianne, unable to bear the weight of her delicate involvement in someone else's sorrow, now rests in his sturdy embrace, weakly clutching onto him. Her fragrance intoxicates his mind, rousing his suppressed emotions as he tenderly carries her back to her room, making a conscious effort to avert his gaze from her wearied, sorrowful countenance, which once again appears strikingly pallid, now even more, accentuated by her vibrant curls that cascade like a flame. Her partly opened lips, enticing him with a sensuality that transcends any words, seem to whisper his name once more in her half-slumber. "Lawrence..." With his entire body on the verge of trembling, he hesitates to gently lay her delicate form upon the bed. The allure of her moist lips beckoning him for a passionate and deep kiss threatens to overpower him, causing a sense of shame to wash over him. First, he longs to feel the taste of her lips, followed by the desire... to trace the pulsating vein on her neck with his tongue. "God, please help me," he repeats these words like a sacred chant, desperately attempting to maintain what little self-control he has left. "Lawrence, don't leave me," Marianne softly pleads, as she innocently buries her nose into his neck, affectionately embracing him while still being held in his arms. "I must go, my dear," Van Helsing mutters through clenched teeth, mentally crying like a wounded animal. Reluctantly, he places his precious burden upon the bed, but it feels as though he may not be able to uphold this promise for much longer. Any attempts to regulate his breathing and calming his frantic heartbeat prove to be an immense struggle. However, as his desperate gaze wanders around the dimly lit room, it unexpectedly lands upon a wall mirror. And even if for a tiny second, but his reflection on the smooth surface disappears, instantly alleviating the fervor within his racing heart... * During the next night, Marianne experiences vivid dreams where a mysterious voice calls out to her from a distance, accompanied by the sound of someone gently scratching at the wooden walls outside her room. "Marianne!... Marianne, your youthful beauty was gifted to me by my master for eternal protection," whispers the unknown figure, his voice barely audible as he continue to scratch at the shutters. "Marianne, the other one also desires to possess you, but don't trust him, don't believe him! From now on, I am the only master here. Marianne, I'm m utterly cold... Allow me to come in and warm myself... Open your window!" Suddenly, as if emerging from a long-forgotten nightmare, a persistent knocking on the fragile glass becomes audible: one, two, three! "Marianne, I'm waiting!" Two hands, earthly gray and with long ugly claws, press against the window from the other side, desperately trying to exert pressure. Miss Danielle abruptly awakens, jolting up from her bed in a cold sweat. She hurriedly lights a candle, but finds no one outside her window. The horrifying miller, described so vividly by the little deceased girl, doesn't await her with a sinister grin there. She is about to return to bed, relieved, when a chilling realization grips her. Bringing the candle closer to the frosty glass, she is horrified to discover faint imprints of someone's palms... "Lawrence! Lawrence, wake up! He was here!" She becomes hysterical, pounding mercilessly on the neighboring door, startling the few guests and causing them become worried. Finally, she finds solace in the comforting embrace of Van Helsing. "Hush, my dear, calm down! You may have roused the entire neighborhood, but there's no need to panic," he murmurs affectionately, his hand gently caressing her fiery locks that cascade in soft waves over her trembling shoulders. The warmth they share in this moment stirs a multitude of emotions within him, yet he manages to maintain a resolute rationality in his actions. "Did you catch a glimpse of someone or was it just a part of your dreams, Marianne?" Her intense stare, a blend of fear and indignation, swiftly puts him in his rightful place. "In my dream, the monstrous miller summoned me! He declared himself my master and asked me to let him entry through the window... When I awoke, I discovered his handprints upon the frozen glass! Come, they may still be visible!" Van Helsing, donning a robe to avoid causing further embarrassment to the already anxious onlookers in the corridor, dutifully follows Marianne into her chamber, armed with a candle and a magnifying glass. Yet, no trace of the enigmatic handprints remains. "But they were here just moments ago!" she nearly cries out in frustration upon realizing the glass is immaculately clean, but Lawrence gently squeezes her hand to reassure her. "Calm yourself. I wholeheartedly believe you. Though I cannot dismiss the possibility that it was merely his sorcery at play." "But he spoke to me! And he warned of another presence, not the deceased baron, but a third... If he's right, Lawrence, it will be doubly challenging for you to overcome. Who is this unknown entity?" Lawrence's hand instinctively reaches for his throat, the very spot where the vampire marked him, a secret that continues to haunt him. The sorcerer proves to be astute, for he managed to discern an exceedingly ambiguous adversary from afar. "Marianne, please retire to your bed and let go of what you witnessed. As long as you are here, no harm shall befall you. If you wish, I shall spend this night by your side to ease your worries. After all, I'm deeply indebted to you..." The last words escape his lips mechanically, unintentionally, and he's prepared to curse himself for eternity. His Marianne, lying before him in her cozy bed, no longer trembles from fear or cold, but from a resentment that has pierced her heart, instantly injuring her most tender, profound, and genuine feelings. "Oh now I see, my dear professor, you're just a fine gentleman, a common sight in our country. Courteous, polite, always ready to assist a lady in distress, to defend her honor... You're even a remarkable gentleman! There's nothing to criticize about you, except for your perpetual coldness, your lack of emotion towards others' feelings, your eternal blindness! You, Lawrence, are like ice or stone! And I, born of fire, had hoped to thaw you... It would have been better if the Baron had turned me into a creature of the night! Much better than enduring your presence!.." She unleashes this furious outburst without pausing for breath, while he listens in silence, captivated and astonished by her words. Her face, flushed with these bitter words, her passionate scolding for his unjustified coldness, attempting to somehow painfully pique him a little, just so he can finally feel something... She is truly the fiery flame raging within his chest, the most alluring and forbidden, overwhelming him completely, obliterating everything around them in that moment. She consumes his thoughts, his mind, she blows up his silent suffering and... No, she is mistaken: the ice within him has long since melted, and she is the cause. And even though the beast now gazes at Marianne through his eyes, this beast harbors the same emotions as Lawrence Van Helsing. "I strive to be a true gentleman, but sometimes I fail miserably," he exhales in response, concealing a flickering smile, and instantly pulls the fiery Marianne closer to him. And no matter how vigorously she initially struggles to break free from his unusually strong grip, her attempts gradually weaken, and she turns her flaming gaze towards him. Two dry male palms holding tenderly her face convinced her that everything she said was incorrect. Eyes the colour of cold steel, in which she had never witnessed genuine warmth before, gaze at her as if the long-awaited spring had blossomed within Lawrence's soul - right in the midst of rainy October. "Marianne, I should have told you about..." Before he can finish, he trembles for a moment, frozen in trance, utterly hypnotised, as he feels the tender girl's lips delicately kiss the very spot where the fatal bite feels like a phantom pain. But her kisses, initially hesitant and timid, then growing more persistent, accompanied by awkward yet caressing touches... Her kisses possess the power to heal this pain. "Please, say nothing now..." Her nightgown is so thin that his hands can feel the warmth of her skin through the weightless white fabric. If she were a blood drinker, he wouldn't hesitate to let her leave him the second mark, Van Helsing feverishly thinks, guiding Marianne's kisses higher and higher. So that he could finally meet her lips with his own, intercepting and absorbing her ragged breath, gently and deeply, until the thick darkness instantly swallows her room. To take her under his control and suddenly question why she doesn't possess snow-white angel wings behind her back. He never ceases to caress her mesmerizing red curls, in which one can drown, consumed by their softness. Her scent, permeating his every fiber, her taste, captured in tiny droplets of sweat which he gently licks from the enticing hollow between her collarbones... And when she, finally breaking their passionate endless kiss, finds herself pressed against the cold surface of the bed, fragile and small like a kitten, purring something into his neck, causing waves of goosebumps, Lawrence finds the strength to finally pull away, still wildly gazing at her, while she desperately reaches him with her pale thin hands once again. The beast within him never sleeps, but Lawrence possesses a strength that surpasses it, even as their desires intertwine on this occasion. "Let's not rush, Marianne. Playing with feelings might be... perilous," he murmurs, planting gentle kisses on her hands, tucking Miss Danielle back into bed, and wrapping her in a cozy blanket. If he were to release her hand from his grasp now, it feels as though he would lose her forever... Curse the miller! "When I truly got to know you, Lawrence, I... I lost myself in you. It's the first time I've ever experienced such love..." He remains silent, feeling the weight and sweetness of her words resonating deep within his chest. Yet, his eyes, so clear, so humid, once again losing glimpses of primeval wildness, being so unusually tender, still a little ablaze from the shared sensual confessions of this night... Lawrence's eyes sincerely tell Marianne that this feeling has long been mutual. * The beast residing within him grows stronger with each passing day. Although the month is drawing to a close, his incomplete transformation remains largely concealed, particularly in the daylight. However, the memories of last night with Marianne were such dangerous and risky gamble, albeit limited to feverish kisses and burning caresses. In his dreams, he yearned for her with an intensity and boundlessness that defied all known constraints of a gentleman's honor codex. Yet, as his lips slowly moved with kisses along the delicate curve of her neck, a primal desire almost consumed him, filled craving to feel her taste, her precious blood, as it coursed through a torn artery. The mere thought of Marianne's warm, fragrant blood flooding his throat sent waves of both exquisite pleasure and agonizing pain through Lawrence's body, nearly escaping as a groan before he recoiled in fear. "No, she won't suffer the same fate as that little girl. I would never allow it! The knock on her window was a warning, a reminder that the monster is merely toying with us... Her spell... How could I have risked her safety yesterday? What if the darkness that seeks to consume me would harmed her? I cannot, I simply cannot endanger her life for the sake of this love that swallowed us." Yet, Lawrence's thoughts remain a tumultuous and fervent storm, preventing his morning from commencing in any semblance of normalcy. The touch of her velvety skin and the warmth of her body through her delicate nightgown still linger on his palms. The taste of her lips, despite his efforts to suppress the memory, remains vividly imprinted in his mind, an intoxicating blend of innocence and selfless pleasure. The presence of Marianne in his life of an eternal loner, their passionate yet chaste secret from the previous night, and the anticipated revelations and confessions, rejuvenates Van Helsing, making him feel twenty years younger. Once upon a time, during his student days, he never experienced the enchantment of true reciprocal love. Instead, he devoted himself entirely to his studies and books, relinquishing the pursuit of unfulfilled happiness. He found solace in the realm of science and unwaveringly extended his help to those in need. Ironically, love unexpectedly stumbled upon him long after he had ceased to anticipate its arrival. "Good morning, my love", Miss Danielle, radiating beauty and freshness, quietly enters his room, holding a simple piece of sewing in her hands. His gaze momentarily flickers with admiration for her emerald brocade dress, which gracefully accentuated her extraordinary beauty. He is genuinely bewitched by her beauty, swallowing nervously and unsure of how to compliment her, holdings an old box from the castle tightly in his hands. "You... are enchanting today, my delicate rose," he finally says, gallantly kissing her hand. However, she playfully seizes the initiative, greeting him with a morning kiss as light as a spring breeze. Even blushing and embarrassed, she still refuses to let him pull away. She is truly a rare and precious rose from the garden of his cherished dreams. But how can he be with her not only in soul and heart, but also in body? Not now, when his eyes possess the night vision of a cat and his keen hearing can detect even the silent flight of a forest owl. This morning, even without pressing his ear against the wall, he was entranced by the sound of water pouring from a jug in Marianne's room as she washed and refreshed herself before breakfast. The elusive sound of water gently flowing over her soft skin, demolished all of Van Helsing's sacred beliefs, causing him to writhe in his crumpled bed as if in agony, his dry lips desperately grasping for air. Marianne, placing her embroidery on the table, looks at the ancient box with curiosity, wondering what lay inside. "There lies a slender tome, securely encased between two gleaming metal plates. Alas, my attempts to unveil its secrets were in vain," Lawrence laments, placing the enigmatic artifact into his bag and putting on his coat. "I want to explore the unhallowed grounds beyond the church cemetery. My intuition, rarely faltering, beckons me to start my search there." Marianne's interest is instantly piqued, as she swiftly reclaims her sewing and hastens towards her room, eager to change her attire. "Allow me to accompany you! I shall swiftly prepare myself." However, a sudden, forceful grip on her wrists abruptly halts the young lady's wish. "No, Marianne!" The voice that suppresses her enthusiasm with such unnatural rudeness does not seem to belong to her beloved Lawrence at all, and yet it is his voice. A glimmer of tears, born from this misunderstanding, immediately forms in Marianne's eyes, her complexion paling at the realization of such blatant unkindness towards her. The edge of the pristine white fabric, upon which she had meticulously embroidered the stern countenance of Christ from the local church during the morning hours, quickly stains scarlet. "Well, dear Lawrence, thanks to you, I have pricked my finger," she retorts irritably, without glancing at him, as she brings the bleeding wound to her lips. Suddenly, her attention is drawn to a peculiar movement in the far corner of the room. The way he freezes touching the wall behind him with his back, his eyes blackened by unknown torment, like a martyr on Calvary, presenting such an unreal, otherworldly sight that Marianne takes a step towards him, extending her hand in hopes of dispelling this bizarre obsession. "What happened? You are frightening me!" Only Lawrence's eyes possess such a deep darkness, resembling a sky devoid of stars: as if Marianne had a glimpse into the face of the abyss. But now, this abyss stares back at her through Lawrence Van Helsing's eyes, and from its depths, countless bloodthirsty demons extend their claws, eagerly yearning for even the tiniest drop of her blood to escape the realm of ancient nightmares and manifest in reality. Lawrence Van Helsing, baring his teeth like one of those damned creatures from the forbidden pages of his books, trembles uncontrollably, devouring her with his intense gaze. "Step away! Leave now, or I'm not responsible for myself!" he wheezes, his voice choked, desperately attempting to avert his hungry gaze from her, but in vain. A mere droplet of blood is all it takes for the abyss to open beneath him, forever trapping him within its depths. Marianne, paralyzed with horror, stands frozen near the door, instinctively reaching for the small cross on her chest and concealing her pricked hand behind her back. Why did he not have the courage to reveal everything to her at once? Does he truly enjoy tempting the fate that has been too kind to him, risking both of their lives? He could have confided in her alone. Neither the doctor, nor the innkeeper, nor the priest, nor any of the villagers should have been informed, for they would have immediately sought retribution against him. Such is the nature of humanity: self-preservation overrides rational thought until bitter and justified remorse comes after it. However, he chose to take a gamble, and now, if God forsakes him, a dreadful punishment awaits his audacious arrogance. "Lawrence!.. Lord, save us!.." They stand there for what feels like an eternity, silently pleading with one another to either surrender or fervently praying that the irreparable would not occur and their lives would be spared. Despite common sense warning her, Marianne adamantly refuses to flee from the room, her throat constricted with a scream of horror, abandoning Lawrence to confront his demons alone. The thought of leaving him behind fills her with the fear of never seeing him again. Does she value her own life? Undoubtedly, for it is a precious gift from God. But does she truly desire a life devoid of Lawrence's love? And can Lawrence survive without her love?... Finally, his eyes gradually regain their former clarity, and the erratic breaths of a trapped predator subside as he, crucified by his own torment, collapses wearily onto the floor, his hands clasping his head in a melancholic despair. "Take the Bible in your hands, Marianne, and keep your distance. Yet, I implore you, please listen to me..."