The Tragedy of 1856

The Count's Castle

The afternoon of the next day is tiring. Heavy clouds and the smell of rain hanging in the air is only making Harry's head ache. The boy can't seem to get up and be productive. He just wishes Chanan would march through the door with the girl he grew to like over such a short time. His chest feels... oddly empty like something is missing. It's her, he's sure.

Wondering what the day would bring he walks down the stairs together with Hallewell. The usual guests sit at the tables. This time depressed but the pressure of uncertainty and worry mixed in the room. They all heard that at least something happened to Chanan's– their friend's– daughter. Becca is sweeping the floor and sends him a wink and smiles at his outfit. He's packed with Professor's bag in which all his important stuff is. It makes him uncomfortable that she tries to still seduce anyone when their mood is everything but good. Maybe though it's the perfect time for that to actually achieve something.

"What is the matter with them?" Hallewell's gaze travels across the room.

His brows furrow and his eyes slowly watching everyone's moves. "They are clearly depressed." Harry puffs his cheeks, grief settled deep in him.

"Huh." The scientist frowns like he still can't comprehend the situation.

Suddenly, the door opens with an icy wind whistling into the room and two lumberjacks carrying Chanan's frozen body into the inn. Harold is hit with shock as he doesn't know what to do and his mind replays this déjà-vu.

The boy stumbles upon the people gathering around the table. "Hot water. Bring hot water!" He barks to the kitchen.

His wife cries and presses her hands to her cheeks.

The inanimate body is placed on the table. Professor Hallewell wiggles through the crowd and bends over it, fingertips pressing to his neck, his chest and his wrists, trying to find a heartbeat.

He sighs. "Hot water won't help now. He is dead." Hallewell presses his lips together and ducks his head once in respect.

"Here, boy," he gestures for Harry to look, first at the body's throat and then at the ankles, bite marks, "Nice, little holes. They sucked every little drop out of him. And quickly!"

"No, no!" The wife sobs.

The people start whispering with wide eyes.

"I mean, the wolves are dangerous. ... At least in the winter," one of the lumberjacks shrugs.

The Professor chuckles arrogantly. "That, gentlemen, weren't wolves. What it was is clear to see! If you carry on lying, you will deceive yourselves. And even worse will happen!" He steps towards them, almost nose to nose, "Face the truth, you cowards! No one can irritate me! I'll only trust the accuracy, I seek the truth, and the truth will lead to clarity!"

"Harold!" He still stares into the lumberjack's eyes as Harry flinches, "Tell them."

Harry's mouth opens but nothing comes out at first, but he remembers the words that he learned by heart, "Uh, the body appears exhausted, then, uh, the victim is sucked empty, till no drop is left and–"

"As I have described a long time ago! My theory fits the truth!" The grey-haired man turns around, with a proud look, not only because he's right, but because he's proud of his progressing assistant.

The guests leave the lounge until the wife and the men are left. As the last person exits, Hallewell turns around with an overly exciting face, "There are still questions! How and what and who and where and when?" He claps his hands, "We have to hurry! If we lose him completely, he'll become," he stretches Chanan's frozen limbs, "one of the living dead who hunger for pints of blood." He crosses the arms across the body's chest.