Fiendilkfjeld Castle

By Matthew Pungitore

Theodemir Fiendilkfjeld has been having strange dreams for many months. In his dreams, he sees a beautiful woman who is trapped in a castle. Theodemir learns that a missing heiress, Alison, who looks exactly like the woman he has been seeing in his dreams, was last seen at his family's Gothic castle, Fiendilkfjeld castle, in northern Italy. During this quest, Theodemir hears rumors about how this region is haunted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543976939

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Fiendilkfjeld Castle

Copyright © 2019 by Matthew Pungitore

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Content Warning: The material in this book is for mature audiences only, and it contains graphic content.

This book contains content that may be disturbing for some readers. This book is intended only for those who are aged 18 years or older.

Disclaimer: The opinions of the characters in this book do not represent the opinions of the author.

Fiendilkfjeld Castle

Written by Matthew Pungitore

Contact the author at: [e-mail]

Published by BookBaby

Cover and Interior Design by BookBaby

Printed in the United States of America

Published 2019

First Printing, 2019

(Print) ISBN 978-1-54397-692-2

(E-Book) ISBN 978-1-54397-693-9

BookBaby

7905 N. Crescent Blvd. Pennsauken, NJ

08110

With eternal love, I dedicate this book to my mother and my sister.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part 4

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

About The Author

Acknowledgments

I want to express sincere thanks to BookBaby. I believe that I have received great kindness, patience, and guidance from the entire BookBaby team. This book exists because of BookBaby and the entire BookBaby team.

I want to greatly thank my mother, my sister, and my father. My mother and my sister have always made me feel wonderful strength, love, and hope. I want to thank my father for the courage he helped me feel while I was creating this book.

Prologue

I am searching for power in a world that is absolutely and utterly dead. Anything that can be attained is a gray corpse of something that is not truly real. The gratifying pursuit of strength is the only ultimate form of communication I have left. The vulgar aches in my hands and mouth are reminding me that I should find a more violent type of expression.

My fingernails are scratching a very cold wall. I smell its dusty old wood as my teeth scrape against it. Vehemently, I claw against the wall. As I am biting it, my hot rank breath warms my lips. My claws inflict savage scratches into its rotting wood. I am marring it with my fangs. Snorting and growling, I continue attacking. The damage that I am doing to this wall is wicked and obscene. This outburst does not satisfy the barbaric desires of my body. My talons want to feel real quarries next time.

I stop attacking the wall and jump into a dark corner of this room. The darkness hides my entire body as I sit on the wood floor. My screams extinguish the dull silence. The silence slowly returns as I gradually stop screaming.

Moonlight slips through the window and pierces the darkness of this chamber. The Gothic arch and the bars on this window cause the falling moonlight to form into imposing shapes on the floor that are frightening and exciting. These shapes of the moonlight cast into my mind the images of looming tyrants, cemeteries and funerals, chevaliers and knights holding spears or swords, burning villages, trapped princesses, and haunted crypts.

I am now looking out through this window. I am in an uppermost room, within a high tower, that is resting high above the trees. The blue moonlight shimmers on the white skin of my hands. The full moon is hanging in the night sky. The dark world outside is a beautiful but dangerous moonlit landscape. The dark forest and distant valleys out yonder are haunting. My face presses against the cold iron bars of the window. I continue looking out the window and peer downward, and I am seeing how high up above the ground this room is. I see a small segment of the stone exterior of this tower in which I am located. Jagged ridges and peaks of mountains lean against the outside of the tower. Cold air, blowing through the holes and cracks in the glass, briefly glides across my eyes. Dizzy from the immense altitude, I flinch. If I were to drop out of this window, I would crash against the rocky ground below the tower or be impaled by the spikes and horns of the pinnacles and crags.

A gentle voice floats into this gloomy room. This delicate sound makes me forget my agonizing torment. It sounds like the voice of that beautiful woman who has been frequently visiting me in my dreams at night. Her voice is as ethereal and lovely as the moonlight gliding through the broken glass of the window. Like the view from the window and the moonlight pouring into the room, the voice I am hearing is implicitly sublime. My eyes are shut as I hold on to the bars of the window. The feminine voice is whispering my name.

She says, Theodemir.

Part 1

Chapter 1

I am Theodemir Fiendilkfjeld. A remnant of my soul forced me to write about my life. By writing about the things that I remember about my past, maybe I could rescue a part of myself that has some value or goodness. I did not know who I could trust with my secrets, but I wanted the spirit of my story to spread to those who needed to know the horrifying truth about what happened to me after I went to Fiendilkfjeld castle. I did not know who could believe my story. No one listened to me. They never did.

Anyone who does not want to be connected to the evil that surrounds me or my story should turn away now and forget me. I need to tell my secrets to someone, or I will implode.

I decided that I would begin my story by writing about the events that I experienced around the time that I decided to travel to that castle. I still find it hard to concentrate on the past, so I can only show what I understand about it all. First, there are some other things that I should explain about myself.

I was born in Italy. I lived in northern Italy with my family. I always loved Italy. Another side of my family, the more mysterious and reclusive side, lived in a castle there, too. The castle was called Fiendilkfjeld castle, and it was the home of the noble relatives of my family. My father took me to Fiendilkfjeld castle only once but then never again. He said that it was a bad influence. I did not remember anything about the castle or my noble relatives that lived within it, except that the castle was always dark and the people inside of it were always sad.

There was one thing, actually, I did remember. The beautiful Gothic architecture of the castle haunted me. Images and memories of its Gothic arches, flying buttresses, ribbed vaults, and stained glass windows had bewitched me. I was enchanted by the mystery and otherworldliness that exuded from all parts of the castle. Ever since I first went there, I knew that I wanted to surround myself with that kind of majesty.

After, my family and I moved to Austria. I lived with them for many years, but then I left. When I was twenty years old, I moved to England. I made sure that my estate in England was crafted with Gothic, Medieval, and Norman styles. I Gothicized my estate and had my manor built with elements of Decorated style, Gothic revival, and Victorian architecture, too. When I was twenty two years old, I ordered a theater and chapel to be constructed and attached to my Gothic manor. I had the best builders and architects working on it. I hired the fastest laborers and the greatest workers to help them complete my manor.

When the year was 2060 CE, I was twenty five years old and I was still living on my isolated private estate in England. My manor was complete, and I did not have to listen to the noise of the builders any more. I was a wealthy man and supported by the wealth of my family. I was an art collector and also making additional money by working as a private historian. My manor and estate was hidden in a dark forest. It was great for me when I needed to be alone. I rarely had guests, so it was a fabulous place to relax or work. I loved spending autumns here. I loved living in England, but I always thought of Italy.

Earlier that year, I had sent letters to my friends who were living in England. My letters explained how I would be traveling to Italy at the end of October to help a detective find a missing woman for a while. My letter expressed that I did not know when I would be returning back to England. The messages also expressed how I wanted to see all my friends and have a fun, quiet night with them at my estate in England before I left.

One night, at the beginning of October in that year, I was having guests at my estate. My friends and I were sitting in a parlor of my manor. With me was Dean, Boris, Mildred, and Greta. They were all very rich and they came from wealthy families, too. I first met them at a funeral. I had been friends with them for five years. I was not certain whether I actually could say that they were my friends. I did not know what I should call them.

That night, I was trying to talk to my friends, but they would not listen to me. Every time I had said something, they would ignore me like they could not hear me. I asked Dean how he had been doing recently, but he was silent. I asked Mildred if she had done anything new or exciting since the last time we spoke, and she turned her back towards me without saying anything. Boris and Greta also shunned me.

I looked at my reflection in a small mirror that I was holding. Light glistened on my white skin. My dark blue eyes held a glum expression. I was filled with boredom. My lips had moved into a form that reflected my disappointment. I put the mirror down beside me.

Boris approached me, and he cleared his throat in a way that subtly expressed to me that he wanted to privately speak away from the other guests. Boris appeared nervous and impatient as he briefly tilted his head and shot a sideways look at me. I followed Boris into an antechamber.

I need more money, said Boris.

Do you know how much money you already owe to me? I asked.

Boris lit a cigar.

Do not do that here, I said. Please, go outside for that. I would honestly appreciate that.

Boris said, I will go outside in a few seconds. You can help me again, right?

I said, Ask me again after you get rid of that cigar. I do not want the smoke in here.

Do not act tough with me, Theodemir.

Are you drunk?

Boris laughed. He continued smoking his cigar.

I asked, Are you still using those gross drugs Dean gave you?

Why can you not just help me? asked Boris.

I said, I have already given you, Dean, Mildred, and Greta far too much money. None of you have ever repaid me. I cannot do it anymore. What happened to you? Do you need to pay for more booze, cocaine, or barbiturates? You need to find someone else to ask for money. Enjoy the night with me. Let us return to our friends. They are waiting for us.

Forget it, said Boris. Enjoy Italy. You should stay there. Stay away from me. He puffed on his cigar, inhaled the smoke, and then blew smoke from his mouth into my eyes.

Outstanding, I said.

Boris cursed through clenched teeth as he was leaving the room. The loud impetuous sounds of his footsteps were fading away. The loud sound of the door when it was slammed shut reverberated throughout the manor.

I walked back into the parlor to be with the remaining guests.

Dean said, Greta, your gown is stunning. You need to tell me how much it is worth. I love it.

I never wear anything unless it is shockingly costly, said Greta. People need to see that I only buy the best things.

I agree, said Mildred. I think that Dean and I are the same way, but we do not have husbands who buy everything for us. Your husband gives you everything you want, Greta.

Which husband? asked Greta. She winked at Mildred as she put Dean’s arm around her shoulder.

They all chuckled dryly.

Mildred said, Everything I buy must be expensive, otherwise it stops being artful. Fashion has created new arenas of competition that can only truly be mastered by those who can afford the best things. Your clothes should always be tearing down the competition and setting new standards of liberation. That is the only way to live.

By eyeing their clothes, I discerned that Greta, Dean, and Mildred were wearing expensive but immodest garments. I had spent so many years around them that I had gained knowledge and learned skills that were useful for correctly judging and examining clothing. The clothes that they were wearing now were lewd and dull. I had seen funeral shrouds that were more attractive and decent than the coverings they were currently wearing.

For years I had been trying to appreciate their postmodernist obsession with lustful indecency, but now it seemed so empty and dangerous. My guests were like all the other irksome masses of modern society. They only cared about flaunting how much money they had, what the prices of their clothes were, and how relevant they still were. I had learned that each of them was always ready to replace the old clothes with new ones every day. They would boast about how unique and different they were, but it was only for attention because they were so obsessed with conforming to the latest modern styles.

I realized that Dean, Greta, and Mildred were the type of people who pretended to be rebellious, but even their faux defiance was a modern habit they had adopted to crush anyone they perceived to be their competition. I had known them for five years, so I thought I understood them well enough to say that they were, in my opinion, absolutely lifeless. If they were shallow and narcissistic, it was only because they believed that becoming those things was fashionable and good. They did not like to admit that they even knew what goodness was. They, like modern society, pretended to be above everything, above ethics, and even above morals. They wanted to subvert and deconstruct anything meaningful, and they replaced it with the only thing they understood. Repudiation. That was not how I wanted to live anymore. I wanted to reject the mediocrity and emptiness that was around me.

I did not want to be with these monotonous beautiful beings, but I did not want to lose them. I wanted now to enjoy this night. Even though I was with them, I thought I could turn the situation into a pleasant one. I still wanted to have fun. I wanted anyone to help me break my boredom. I hated how I desperately desired to receive validation and acceptance from these dangerous devastatingly attractive people.

How is your husband, Greta? I asked.

Greta was now whispering and flirting with Dean beside the fireplace. Mildred walked away to gaze at a painting on the wall. She did not respond to my question, and I did not think that she even heard me. I was not sure if anyone here knew I was even in the same parlor as they were. No one made any recognizable indication that they knew I was here. Their behavior is not new. They have treated me like this for years. They have continued to act as if I did not exist.

I hated feeling so bored. I walked to Mildred and noticed that the moonlight was shimmering around her petite thin body. She was wearing a gray satin camisole that exposed her lean midriff. Her skimpy brown shorts ended above her knees and exposed the white skin of her thighs and slender legs. Her brown leather sandals were the same color as the short hair on her head. She did not even turn her head toward me when I approached her. I thought her body was very attractive.

I said, I want to thank you again, Mildred, for coming here tonight. I was so bored. I have not seen you for months. When was the last time we saw each other?

Still looking at the paintings, she said, I saw you when we were in France. You got bit by a wild animal when we were looting a crypt. Your blood went everywhere; it was so astounding. You have such pretty blood. It is such a shame that you are so dull and normal, Theodemir. No, you are not attractive, but your blood is so nice. I should have taken a photograph. Did anyone ever find out what bit you?

I cannot help you with that stuff anymore, I said.

We need you for another job, said Mildred.

No. I have had enough of that, I said. I told you this before. I told all of you. I will not help any of you rob any more graves or tombs. I am done with it. I already helped you numerous times. We plundered tombs, mausoleums, and pyramids. We raided burial vaults, stole burial treasure, and we even pilfered many human corpses, too.

Mildred’s eyes really looked into mine for the first time this night. My heart started pounding faster in my chest. I smiled at her. She was frowning. Her head turned to face me. She walked closer to me.

I am leaving soon, I said. I am going to Italy. I do not know how long I will be gone for, so I will not be around or available for a while.

You are really going to leave, like a little coward, when we actually need your help? asked Mildred. She appeared so incredibly insolent and derisive. Her words were snide. She scornfully glowered at me as if she was too tired and disgusted with me to hear what I had to say. She made me feel as if she did not want to waste any of her precious time listening to my opinions that were so unimportant and meaningless compared to her needs.

I said, I am sorry, Mildred. What can I say? Can we not enjoy the night while we have it? We are together with our friends, we have wine, and the fireplace is warm. I know that we do not agree all the time and we really are very different, but I want to have fun. We have known each other for so long, we should find a way to make a bad situation into a happy one.

We have not known each other for long. Are you crazy? asked Mildred.

Is five years not a long time to know someone? I asked.

We barely see each other, said Mildred.

I try to make plans with you-all, but you never talk to me, I said. You guys never reply to my letters or messages. None of you do. You-all only see me when you want my money or you need me to help you sell more fake mummies. I do not want to do that anymore, Mildred. I helped you and Dean make disgusting drugs by combining alcohol and exotic medicines with flesh, blood, and bones of stolen mummies and desecrated human corpses. We used dead people to make drugs. We are all humans here in this room, right? Doing those things to corpses should disgust us. I do not know how I allowed myself to be convinced by you to do those horrible things.

You liked it, Mildred said. You loved it. It was fun. It was actually exciting. This is who we are. You cannot walk away from this. You and I spent a lot of time together with the dead.

Are you admitting that we have spent a lot of time together? I asked.

True art must be destructive and transient, said Mildred.

I said, I know what you want. You want me to rob more graves. I have to live with what I did, and I do not want to live that kind of life anymore. We destroy history every time we rob those tombs. We are erasing history.

History? asked Mildred. She laughs cynically. Who actually cares about human history? The past is an illusion, Theodemir. When you see it, you should destroy it. You are wasting your life by researching folklore. You are foolish for writing books about antiquated folkways and black magic. You are exactly like those fools who we sell those fake mummies to. You are the same as the people to whom we sell those ceremonial drugs that have human flesh and bones in them. You still want to believe in magic or traditional convictions. Magic is not real. People like you create systems and religions that only enslave people.

Are you hearing yourself? I asked.

Mildred said, Everything is meaningless, so we must reject traditional standards of beauty. By selling the dead and robbing graves, we have become the new artists and revolutionaries of the modern world. Art should not struggle with the past; it should destroy the past. Our actions and desires need to conform to the contemporary will of modern society. That is how we stay strong and resist tyranny. The weak ones must be eaten or manipulated so that modern society can survive.

I said, I reject modern society.

We should not be ashamed of what we do, said Mildred. We provide services to the idiots and lunatics who actually want to believe that magic spirits are living in the remains of the dead. You cannot blame me for exploiting the ridiculous delusions and superstitions of those freaks.

At least those freaks believe in something, I said. Those people take those ceremonial drugs because they believe it will bring them closer to the people that they loved who died. They have beliefs and traditions. They reach out to the people who love them. You have nothing. You believe in nothing and have no faith in anything but your own ambitions.

Mildred sneered at me. She said, You cannot stay away from this forever. Your hands are going to want to reach into the dead flesh. You want to smell the blood. You want to see the bones. You will be begging to join me. I know people. I am thirty years old. I might not live more than five or ten more years, but I am going to have so much fun. I need to keep living while I can. I will live dangerously, but I will always be a leader.

Mildred shoved me away as she walked past me. She was shorter than me, but her thin arms were strong. I turned around and watched her. She was leaving the parlor. I sat down. I looked out the window and saw that she had left the manor.

Greta and Dean approached me. Greta sat on my lap. I felt her soft posterior on my legs. Her skinny body was so light. I felt the soft white skin of her hands caress my neck. Greta was wearing a long brown silk dressing gown, a beige satin brassiere, and a brown silk skirt. Her silk slippers were gray. Greta’s lips were painted crimson. Her whitish blond hair was very long. I was six feet tall, but she and Dean were slightly taller than me. Dean was wearing a gray sweatshirt, gray sweatpants, and beige leather boots. His blond hair is very short.

Dean said, I think you said that you were going to Italy soon.

Yes, I said. I sent you a letter.

Why would you go there now? asked Dean.

I said, I have been having strange dreams.

That is what I am confused about, said Dean. In your letter, you said that you have been having dreams about a woman who was lost in your family’s castle. Do you actually believe that your dreams were real?

I said, The dreams feel real. I have been having these dreams for many months. I saw her trying to escape a castle. In my dreams, I saw a beautiful woman who was trapped in a castle. When I saw her walking around, it looked as if she was in a castle. After a few dreams, I started to realize that the castle that she was trapped in looked like my family’s castle. I saw her running around, trying to find a way out. She often appears lost and afraid in my dreams. Sometimes, she walks down the passageways and corridors. Sometimes I feel as if she actually sees me, like she is looking right into my eyes. Sometimes she is not so afraid and sometimes she seems happy to see me, but she is often terrified. She is always incredibly beautiful, even when she is sad. Then, one day, a detective says that he needs my help finding a missing woman. The woman looks like the woman I see in my dreams. The detective said that a woman named Alison went missing after she went to my family’s castle. He wants me to help him find her so that he can rescue her if she is in danger. I had to agree. Do you not think this is destiny or a prophecy?

I am twenty six years old, said Dean. I am too old to believe in magic.

I am twenty four years old, whispers Greta. Will you take me to your family’s castle so I can find a new husband? I never married a nobleman before.

Do you really want to go to Italy with me? I asked.

Greta pinched my cheek and cynically laughed. She slowly stood up. She rocked her ample posterior near my face as she sauntered away. She said, I do not like castles. I have been married twice. The next time I marry someone, I want him to be fun. Castles are not fun.

Why does the detective need your help? asked Dean.

I said, He wants someone from my family to help him; none of my relatives want to help. That other side of my family is very reclusive; they will not talk to the detective unless I am there with him.

Dean stared at me. His eyes were intimidating. The ghost of a suspicious smile lingered on his lips.

You really do not want to help us rob graves? asked Dean. You really do not like the money?

I cannot do it anymore, I said.

What about all the money we make from buying abandoned cemeteries and selling the corpses? asked Dean. Would you help us with that?

I said, I cannot do it.

We are going to leave, Dean said. Be careful in Italy.

Greta gave a delicate but curt wave and a short mischievous giggle.

Take care, I said.

Dean said, Theodemir, do not say anything idiotic to the detective.

Dean and Greta quickly walked out of the room. I waited for them to leave the manor. I felt so many strange emotions. I was glad when they left the manor, but I was also incredibly lonely. I could not understand why they were so rude. I had been trying to have a fun with them, but they only wanted to talk about what they wanted. I had always been loyal and generous towards them. I had been trying to become close with them. I wanted us to be good friends. I had wanted them to like me even though I could not tolerate them. I just did not want to be alone.

Now, I sat alone in the parlor. My servants were busy in other parts of the manor.

My guests were gone. I inferred that the real reason that any of them came here this night was to get things from me. I surmised that Greta, Dean, and Mildred only came here to find out if I was snitching on them about the grave robbing, the drug dealing, and the smuggling we had done together. I could understand if they might be suspicious about how I was suddenly speaking to a detective. If they were suspicious about me, they should have had more trust in me. They should have known that I would never do that to them, because I would never want to get in trouble either. This could also have meant that they would be watching and observing me to make certain that they would be safe. I felt like I was now in danger. I did not know whether they were going to attempt to destroy me or just ignore me. If they did think I was informing the police about them, they might want to make me suddenly disappear. I wondered if they were thinking that I was a liability now and if they would try to incriminate me. They might have decided that they would pin all of those crimes only on me to rid themselves of any guilt or culpability.

Greta, Mildred, Dean, and Boris were terrible people, but I still wanted to hold on to them. I liked how they made me feel like I was actually connected to something. I had hoped that I could still be their friend, but I did not want to help them rob any more graves. I hated the way they had been living, yet I still wanted to have their lives. I still wanted to be a part of their lives, but I did not want to join their dirty schemes. A part of me regretted pushing them away. I had thought that I could learn to live like them, but I now felt that they had never really accepted me. Another part of me was glad that I was pulling away from them and everything they represented. I did not belong with them. I needed to find people who would truly accept me. I wanted to be a part of something truly beautiful.

I remembered the feeling of Mildred’s sensual hands against my body when she pushed me. I recalled the sensation of Greta’s amazing skin against my neck. I thought about how great it felt to actually have physical contact with other human beings.

I shut my eyes and visualized Mildred’s eyes looking right into mine. The smell of the smoke from Boris’ mouth returned to my memory.

My whole body was trembling.

Chapter 2

As I walked into the antechamber, I saw the detective leaning against a black wall.

What are you doing here, Roman? I asked.

Roman was the detective who I had been talking to about Alison and the dreams. He was wearing a wide black leather trench coat that appeared slightly too big for him. He was somewhat taller than me, but not significantly. When he took off his coat, I discerned that his slender body also had a lean outline and a masculine shape. He appeared rather lanky and skinny, but his body had agile and nimble aspects. Roman was wearing a black leather doublet and a black leather shirt. His trousers, boots, and gloves were black leather, too. His short wavy red hair was lush and shiny, and it would glimmer with rich autumnal crimson colors when the lights shined on it. His hairline was low, and his brow appeared mellow but courageous. His eyebrows were long and thin, but they still had strong masculine characteristics. His irises were amber, and the lines of his eyes were elegant yet humble. The quiet