Carmilla The Lost Girl

By Catherine Rose

Before Dracula, before Twilight....there was only one: CARMILLA
Le Fanu’s novella Carmilla originally published as a novella in 1872 is the very first vampire thriller and is acknowledged as a major influence on Bram Stoker's Dracula. Le Fanu, often compared to Poe, was a Victorian writer whose tales of the occult have inspired horror writers for more than a century. In this updated version Ms. Rose has taken the original short work and seamlessly blended new characters, darker plot lines and hinted at erotic scenes that approach the heights of gothic romance literature. Seemingly by happenstance, the mysterious and beautiful Carmilla comes to stay with the young and virtuous Laura. Laura, who has been living a lonely existence with her father in an isolated castle, finds herself enchanted with her exotic visitor. As the two become close friends, however, Laura dreams of nocturnal visitations and begins to lose her physical strength. Through much investigation, the gruesome truth about Carmilla and her family is revealed. Though the basic premise of the story of evil targeting pure innocence is familiar to anyone who is vampire savvy, this haunting tale is surprisingly fresh, avoids clichés and builds well to its heart stopping climax. Gothic horror at its best!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catherine Rose
• Release date: Jan 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310232572

Catherine Rose

Catherine Rose is the pen name for a perverted old lady that likes to write stories inspired by her earlier days which she very much misses. Granted anything involving monsters, aliens, and horror stories are pure fiction...the rest? Not so much..

Book preview

Carmilla The Lost Girl

Catherine Rose

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Catherine Rose

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Please note this is a work of fiction any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Please note this is a work of fiction any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This work was inspired by the original novella ‘Carmilla’ by J.S. LeFanu (1871). All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in reviews, newspapers, or other media no part of this book may be reproduced by any means without permission of the publisher. Thank you.

Chapter 1

Not far from Vienna, we, though by no means a magnificent family, inhabit a castle. A small income, in this part of the world, goes a great way. Eight or nine hundred a year does wonders for the properly modest family. Across the sea this small income would scarcely cover the expenses of a carriage and four but here we are considered quite wealthy. My father is English, and though I bear an English name, I have never seen England. But here, in this lonely and primitive place, where everything is so marvelously cheap, I really don't see how ever so much more money would at all materially add to our comforts, or even luxuries.

My father had been in the Austrian service until three years ago whereupon he retired with a small pension and his patrimony. He purchased this feudal residence, and the small estate on which it stands, at a great bargain which pleased him immensely. Nothing could have been more picturesque or solitary. It stands on a slight eminence deep in the forest. The road, very old and narrow, passes in front of its drawbridge, never raised in my time. The surrounding moat is stocked with perch and sailed over by many black swans among soft white fleets of water lilies. Over all this the castle shows its many-windowed front; its towers, and its brooding Gothic chapel.

The forest opens into an irregular and very sunny glade before its gate, and at the right a steep Gothic bridge carries the road over a stream that winds in deep shadow through the ancient trees. I have said that this is a very lonely place. Judge whether or not I speak the truth. Looking from the hall door towards the road, the forest in which our castle stands extends fifteen miles to the right, and twelve to the left. The nearest inhabited village is about seven miles to the left and on a nice summer day is a good stretch of the legs. The nearest inhabited estate of any historic associations, is that of old Ravenswood Hall nearly twenty miles away to the right.

I have said "the nearest inhabited village," because there is, only three miles westward, that is to say in the direction of Ravenswood Hall, a ruined village, with its quaint little church, now roofless, in the aisle of which are the moldering tombs of the proud family of Karnstein, now extinct, who once owned the equally desolate chateau which, in the thick of the forest, overlooks the silent ruins of the town. Respecting the cause of the desertion of this striking and melancholy spot, there is a legend which I shall relate to you another time.

I must tell you now, how very small is the party who constitute the inhabitants of our castle. I don't include servants, or those dependents who occupy rooms in the buildings attached to the estate. My father, who is the kindest man on earth, but growing old; and I, at the date of my story, only nineteen comprise our tiny family. My mother died before I learned to walk, but I had a good-natured governess, who had been with me from, I might almost say, my infancy. I could not remember the time when her round gentle face was not a familiar picture in my memory.

This was Madame Perrodon, a native of Berne, whose care and good nature brought a mothers comfort to me after the loss of my own, whom I do not even remember, so early she in my life she went to God.  Madame made a third at our little dinner party. There was a fourth, Mademoiselle De Lafontaine, a lady such as you term, I believe, a finishing governess. She spoke French and German, Madame Perrodon French and broken Italian, to which my father and I added English, which, partly to prevent its becoming a lost language among us, and partly from patriotic motives, we spoke used it daily. The consequence was a verbal mishmash, at which strangers used to laugh, and which I shall make no attempt to reproduce in this narrative. And there were two or three young lady friends besides, pretty nearly of my own age, who were occasional visitors, for longer or shorter terms; and these visits I sometimes returned.

These were our regular social resources; but of course there were chance visits from neighbors of only five or six leagues distance. My life was, notwithstanding, rather a solitary one, I can assure you.

My governesses had just so much control over me as you might conjecture such sage persons would have in the case of a rather spoiled girl, whose only parent allowed her pretty nearly her own way in everything.

The first occurrence in my existence, which produced a terrible impression upon my mind, which, in fact, never has been effaced, was one of the very earliest incidents of my life which I can recollect. Some people will think it so trifling that it should not be recorded here. You shall see however, by-and-by, why I mention it.

The nursery, as it was called, though I had it all to myself, was a large room in the upper story of the castle, with a steep oak roof.  I can't have been much more than six years old, when one night I awoke, and looking round the room from my bed, failed to see the nursery maid. Neither was my nurse there; and I thought myself alone. I was not frightened, for I was one of those happy children who are studiously kept in ignorance of ghost stories, fairy tales, and of all such lore as makes us cover up our heads when the door cracks suddenly, or the flicker of an expiring candle makes the shadow of a bedpost dance upon the wall, nearer to our faces.

I was vexed and insulted at finding myself, alone and neglected.  I began to whimper, preparatory to a hearty bout of roaring; when to my surprise, I saw a solemn, but very elegant face looking at me from the side of the bed. It was that of a young lady who was kneeling, with her hands under the coverlet. I looked at her with a kind of pleased wonder, and ceased whimpering. She caressed me with her hands, so warm and soft and lay down beside me on the bed, then drew me towards her, smiling; I felt immediately delightfully soothed, and fell asleep again.

Sometime after I was awakened by a sensation most painful as if two needles ran deeply into my breast at the same moment, and I cried out in shock. The lady started back, with her eyes fixed on me, luminous and cat like in the dark.  Then without a sound she slipped down upon the floor, and, as I wondered what she would do next, hid herself under the bed.

I was now for the first time frightened, and I yelled with all my might. Nurse, nursery maid, housekeeper, all came running in, and hearing my story, they made light of it, soothing me all they could meanwhile. Child that I was, I could still perceive that their faces were pale and tight with an unwanted look of anxiety. I saw them look under the bed, and about the room, and peep under tables and pluck open cupboards only to find what was expected.

Then the housekeeper whispered to the nurse: "Lay your hand along that hollow in the bed; someone did lie there, as sure as you did not; the place is still warm to the touch."

I remember the nursery maid petting me, and all three examining my chest, where I told them I felt the puncture, and pronouncing that there was no sign visible that any such thing had happened to me.

The morning after I saw this apparition I was in a state of terror. Trembling and fearful I could not bear to be left alone, daylight though it was, for even a single moment. I remember my father coming up and standing at the bedside, and talking cheerfully, and asking the nurse a number of questions, and laughing very heartily at one of the answers; and patting me on the shoulder, and kissing me, and telling me not to be frightened, that it was nothing but a dream and could not hurt me.

The housekeeper and the two other servants who were in charge of the nursery, remained sitting up all night; and from that time a servant always sat up in the nursery until I was nearing the age of sixteen.

But in truth I was not comforted, for I knew the visit of the strange woman was not a dream; and I was awfully frightened. I was slightly consoled by the nursery maid's assuring me that it was she who had come and looked at me, and lain down beside me in the bed, and that I must have been half-dreaming not to have known her face. But this assurance, though supported by the nurse, did not quite satisfy me.

The skin just above my heart still felt tender and warm to the touch. Even as a small child I wondered how that could be? Did not the sensations of a dream fade with the morning light? For I remembered with startling detail my night visitors face and it was nothing like the rounded, freckled face of my nurse maid with her warm amber eyes.

I remembered, in the course of that day, a venerable old man, in a black cassock, coming into the room with the nurse and housekeeper. Talking a little to them, and very kindly to me; his face sweet and gentle, he said they were going to pray for me. 

Then he joined my hands together, and desired me to say, softly, while they were praying, Lord hear all good prayers for us, for Jesus' sake.

I think these were the very words, for I often repeated them to myself, and my nurse cautioned me for years to say them in my prayers. I remember so well the thoughtful sweet face of that white-haired old man. His black cassock draped about him, as he stood in that rude, lofty, brown room, with the clumsy furniture of a fashion three hundred years old. 

The scanty light entering its shadowy atmosphere, dancing with motes of dust in the breeze through the small lattice as his soft words calmed me. He kneeled, and the three women with him, and he prayed aloud with an earnest quavering voice for, what appeared to me, a long time.

I forget all my life preceding that event, and for some time after my memories remained also obscured, but the scenes I have just described stand out vivid as the isolated pictures of the phantasmagoria surrounded by endless darkness.

Chapter 2

During my eighteenth summer, father deemed it no longer necessary for me to have a night watch in the form of nurse or servant. Yet it was only at the start of the next cool spring as I neared my nineteenth birthday that the dreams began anew. I could not imagine speaking of them to father as the subject matter would have alarmed him unnecessarily. He was growing frail with age and I feared my overly active nocturnal imagination would hasten his decline. Then there was also the consideration of my impending women-hood; should father feel I was not in the best of health he may decide to delay seeking a suitable companion as husband for me.

So I kept my secret close to my heart just under the warm spot on my skin where I had felt that phantom bite so many years ago.

Even so, there were times when the staff would comment to father about the periodic mornings when they would find me in such a disheveled state; nearly naked and in a stupor that father expressed his concern about my situation and bemoaned the loss of my mother for he was sure she would have known what to do. He grew convinced that the source of my night terrors; for that is what he called them had to do with the nursery. He directed me to choose any room in the castle for my new bedroom and gave me a generous allowance with which to decorate it.

I spent weeks pouring over ideas for my new chamber. First I toured all the unused rooms on the upper most floors in the castle seeking furniture that I might like and also to please my father by not over-extending my funds.  Each day I emerged dusty and tousled for lunch where the ladies would bemoan my state and father would chuckle at his intrepid daughter’s excursions.

By late afternoon I had selected a massive dark oak bedstead found in a corner room which appeared not to have been entered in a generation the rest of my choices followed in less than a fortnight.  I quickly located chests, cabinets and trunks to house my belongings. Everything was placed in the center hall until it could be properly cleaned.

Just before dinner I approached father in the study; he was deeply engrossed in the estate accounts and took no notice of me at first. I wandered around wondering if I should intrude since I had a question for him that required permission for me to act. After much sighing, he finally laughed and pushed down his glasses.

What now my daughter, have you found some other relic that you must have but it’s in a shop window?

Well speak girl and tell me what’s on your mind that has you in such high spirits.

I stood before his desk and blurted out in a most un-lady-like fashion, Tapestries, I have found two in my travels amongst the dust and wish to have them cleaned and I tried a pout as if I’d been insulted but he saw through my charade and laughed all the hung in my room. I’ve not seen them before but they are beautiful and would do much to warm the room during the winter.

I waited rocking on my toes for I knew the cost of cleaning and repairing them could be far more than my allowance would cover.

Father looked again at the papers spread across his blotter, and then his eyes slowly searched my face.

Dearest to my heart, let us go together and  have a look at these necessary tapestries and see if they are worthy enough to justify the lightening of my purse.

I clapped my hands in delight for I knew that once he saw them he would be unable to leave them rotting in the dark. As he came around the desk I reached for his hand and squeezed it in familial happiness. How lucky a daughter was I, to have such a father, patient, wise and indulgent; he was ever one to encourage my learning and supported my restless mind.  I knew he would be as thrilled with my discovery as I.

We took an eternity to arrive on the fourth floor; endless stairs took their toll on father’s stamina and I had not the heart to hurry him further despite my excitement. Finally we arrived and paused to slow our breathing at the landing. Father peered into the gloom and asked, What on earth possessed you to come all the way up here? This lonesome place has not seen the passage of servants in decades. I don’t even know if this part of the house is safe for habitation.

I shrugged off his concerns and with the utmost assurance stated, I have been in this hall and its rooms for the past three days Papa. I have not seen anything untoward nor felt myself fearful for my safety.

Grinning at him I pointed to the door half way down the hall where my precious tapestries awaited his examination. Come dear Father and you shall see why I beg your indulgence.

The window at the end was totally obscured with dirt and it cast the hall in grubby twilight. Sounds were hushed here and it felt as if we were alone in the world for this brief moment in time. We walked together as he told me that many years before when the castle was full of servants; this had been the floor where they resided. Long ago this castle supported a large family and the number of servants needed to care for them and their guests had filled the halls. Sadly such was not our situation. Fifty servants were no longer required for we were a family of two and father did not host hunts or balls; most of our servants had taken up residence in the larger guest rooms in the third floor hall. Outside of my old nursery none of the rooms on the upper most floors had heard a maids giggle in a century or more.

Father was a most considerate person and saw no reason to house the servants in small wind-blown rooms when so many others went begging for an occupant. It was a tidy arrangement; Cook and her husband had rooms off the kitchen, while the rest slept in chambers located opposite of the central hall.

Periodically he drew to a halt testing a latch to see if it would yield to his hand. Poking his head through a few doors and finding himself beset with sneezing he remarked How very odd this all is. I had no idea we had such a surplus of furniture

It seemed many of the rooms had been converted to storage so long ago he had no idea what was in them. He had received an inventory upon the purchase of the estate and its holdings but had not troubled himself or the servants to tackle this area. His only concern had been that the supports and roof were sound. Prior to my parents’ arrival he had sent some of the footmen to ensure that there were no leaks or crumbling supports but had issued no orders beyond that. He laughing confessed that after all the years we had lived here this was his first trip to the abandoned uppermost floor of the castle.

Midway along the hall we came to a giant set of double oak doors; black with age and the latches nearly rusted shut with disuse.

Here it is, I declared with a ringing tone of excitement. This room is filled with remnants of what the former owners treasured enough to keep but for some reason abandoned. Furniture, tapestries and boxes filled with ladies dresses; although so out of fashion I would hesitate to bother having them cleaned.

I shoved open the heavy doors and proudly turned to him, there is even more to discover in here that I have not been able to reach.

He followed me in looking around him at the piles of unknown shapes hidden under massive dusty clothes. It's amazing Papa, yesterday I even discovered a packet of letters but they were so brittle I could not make out the writing. When I attempted to discern their contents they crumbled into ash.

I wondered aloud who the author had been and why her letters were left here. He looked surprised that so many personal items had been left without care.

Have you any idea of the author my dear?

No all I could make out was the year; 1670, it must have been some type of tragedy befalling the family to have shut away letters and clothes like that. One would think that the lady author would have despaired of their loss.

Ah and how have you come to the conclusion that the author was a lady?

The letters were tied up in aged ribbons and all the clothing I have found suggest a young woman wore them. I surmised that the items were related by ownership.

My eyes dropped down and I realized I was fingering one of the fine brocade sleeves dropping from the edge of an open chest. Sighing with the potential romance of it all I found myself lost in the possibility of some epic Shakespearean tragedy that driven the family to seal off their beloved’s effects over two hundred years ago. I was pulled back from my wool-gathering as father piped up.

My brilliant girl you are most likely right, now show me these tapestries that have so enflamed you.

I turned and picked my way along the near wall until I reached a large wardrobe. Propped along the floor next to it were the rolled tapestries. They were too heavy for me to drag to where father stood gazing about him with an air of bemused contemplation. In my haste I did not wait for him to join me but simply unrolled part of the nearest one to show him the brilliant colors now muted with age.

As he walked over he was taking note of the size of the room and how it was nearly packed with shrouded images.

I imagine we should have some of the stronger footmen go through these rooms. I am quite sure there are items we could donate to some of the estate households for their benefit.

I crouched down and pointed out the leaves and trees that were visible. Golden threads picked out rays of light and the remainder we could see was just as detailed. Father reached down and began to tug; after a bit of exertion on both our parts we had managed to unroll more than half it.

It was a forest scene in which a young girl was petting a unicorn while hunters hid in the foliage. I tore my eyes from the image before me and sought out his reaction. Would he approve? Would he allow the expense needed in restoring the old threads that might have come undone? I could feel my tense shallow breathing and wished he would say something; anything to let me know if he approved or not.

His eyes smiled and he said, My child this piece is centuries old, perhaps even medieval but no doubt it is well worth the cost of possible repairs. The myth depicted here is beyond ancient. Only a virgin pure of heart, body and soul could call the elusive unicorn to her aid but even then neither is safe from evil. One must always be vigilant and never feel any sympathy for the devil.

I was nodding in agreement when I felt the oddest sensation. Not frightening, just a queer skip of my heart as if for the briefest of moments it had stuttered of its own accord. Thankfully father had turned back to gazing around him as he made his pronouncement and had not noticed my odd behavior. Tossing my head like a nervous colt I shook myself free of the disquiet I felt and rushed to stand with Papa.

He kissed my forehead and petted my hand then told me not to concern myself the tapestries would be cared for at once. Father agreed to have two footmen bring the tapestries down onto main floor. They would be brought outside to the bricked area off the kitchen for a preliminary cleaning. Then we would be able to determine if further restoration was needed.

That night I wondered what we would find the next day once the tapestries were moved. I had only been able to see a corner of the bottom tapestry and had no true notion of what image was woven through it. Father had suggested the servants not be dispatched to move them until morning when he hoped the rain would cease.

As he said, "It would not be prudent to allow rain to damage them further. They have waited