Flash fiction feature: The Case of Bathory Mansion

Drawn tight, the curtains warded off the dying sun’s piercing rays. Shadows churned around Eugenia as the carriage clattered to a halt. She stepped out and faced the forbidding mansion. A nervous whinny came from the horses as their hooves scraped the cobblestones. With a crack, the driver’s whip split the air and the carriage hurtled away. She watched as the forest swallowed up the vehicle, dense woods spreading for miles in all directions.

Ivy choked the sprawling manor house. Steep slate roofs pierced the sky and the light had long since gone out of the eyes of most of the windows. All but one. One single room in the West Wing, just as Eugenia had been informed. She pulled on a pair of gloves and adjusted the wide brim of her hat to shield her face.

A series of complaints surrounded the estate for years now, ranging from distaste for the architecture to reports of phantasmic disturbances.

While the agency Eugenia worked for had little care for locals criticising dated aesthetics, their interest was piqued by an…entity roaming the grounds.

That morning, a woman with greying hair strode into Eugenia’s office while Arthur, Eugenia’s secretary, followed close behind.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I tried to stop her—”

“That’s alright, Arthur,” Eugenia said, gesturing for the woman to sit.

Without a word of introduction, the client began, “Something evil is in that house.” Eugenia knew she spoke of Bathory Mansion. The lady continued. “It’s rotten, like biting an apple and finding it swarming with maggots inside. My son tried to clear the briars that had grown into our garden last month. He never returned. I know whatever creature is in that house took him. He is—was nineteen.”

Eugenia assured her she would look into it personally

“Do not go alone,” the mother said forcefully, “Or it will be your family grieving over an empty coffin.”

“I have no family alive left to grieve,” was Eugenia’s only response.

Silence permeated the mansion’s hall. Furniture lay buried under dust sheets.       Confined in a painting, an ethereal woman peered at Eugenia with sharp, yellow eyes. White hair cascaded over her shoulders, strange for such a young woman. She was dressed in a fashion long dead, with a face not dissimilar to Eugenia’s.

A tremor reverberated through the walls as a clock in the depths of the mansion struck midnight. Eugenia froze. A shriek cleaved the silence and floorboards groaned in protest from the floor above. Upstairs, someone wandered the halls.

The case of Bathory Mansion was grim. The agency had tried to neutralise the rumours, but Camilla wasn’t helping. She argued that the inhabitants before her caused far more trouble than she ever could, but Camilla was deranged half the time and asleep the rest. Now she was awake.

The mansion fell silent once more.

Eugenia rushed upstairs, grabbing onto the banister for support. Then she registered the blood drenching it and quickly let go. Reaching the similarly covered door of the West Wing, Eugenia Bathory turned the handle and crept into her sister’s bedroom.

A slash of moonlight lit the room. The beam fell on, revealing a crumpled pile of limbs in the corner.

Yellow eyes watched her from the window. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Camilla said, wiping blood from her mouth.

“If you wanted me to visit, a letter would have been sufficient. A string of murders is over dramatic.”

Camilla sniffed in distaste, offended Eugenia did not appreciate her efforts.

“You’re supposed to notify me—us if you’re in need of…”

“Blood?” Camilla asked.

Eugenia nodded.

“I am in no need of that.” Camilla said, gesturing to the broken heap of a man. “What I need…is you.”

“And I need to get back to work.”

With a sigh, Camilla sat down next to the corpse, unaware blood seeped into her skirts. “Your agency is the problem, Genie.” Her eyes were full of unusual clarity. “I sent you letters but I heard no response. I thought you had forgotten about me. I almost starved. Then I received a message instructing me not to contact the address in future. It had the agency’s watermark. Here it is,” she said, pulling out a piece of paper from her blood-soaked dress. “Do you recognise the handwriting?”

Arthur’s.

“It wasn’t just me. They’re neglecting others, too. Trying to get rid of us. I took things into my own hands. And you came.” Camilla smiled tentatively, as if still worried her sister had indeed abandoned her.

Eugenia hurried across the room and buried her head in Camilla’s hair. “Of course I came,” she said gently.

“Good,” Camilla whispered, gripping Eugenia tightly. “I can’t have any loose ends,” she said as she plunged her fangs into her sister’s throat.