The Journal of Silas von Eltz
From the Writings of Silas Von Eltz
Entry #1, Date Unknown
In my search for the identity of the mysterious ‘Wilhelm’, a name that has been following me on my many adventures whithersoever I go, I have discovered something. I have acquired records scribed by my Grandfather, carried over from Germany. It seems my theory that my family tangled with the vestiges of the supernatural long before we came here to the Americas, might very well hold weight. I have discovered that my Grandfather's name was none other than Gottfried Wilhelm von Eltz, though whether that be the Wilhelm I seek, I know not.
In addition, all the records now in my possession are written in High German, translating them is a task not easily accomplished. I shirked the study of my Father's tongue in my youth, as I found the Teutonic dialect to be guttural and frightful to the ears. Likewise, my companion and translator Amos, does not count it among his many gifts.
Regardless, in my rough attempts to decipher the writings with my meager abilities, a particular passage by my Grandfather from his childhood captured my interest. I am certain to err in my transcription of the script, so my sincerest apologies are in order.
The writings of my Grandfather are thus:
“When I was a child, I asked my father where my mother had gone. I was told she had been taken away. I was told the scoundrel left sand in her place.”
“Our manor was cold and empty. Our servants were stern and cruel. My father had lost his claim to lost his claim to the family fortune, and therefore had lost his spirit. He wandered the halls like a wraith and spent all hours in the forbidden room.”
“I entered the forbidden room just twice, upon the first time I was given a scolding by the servants, but not before I conversed with my father. He took me on his knee, filled with joy as his eyes as he that there in that forbidden room. He showed unto me his prized possession, the reason behind his fixations and obsessions.” “Before him was a simple mirror. A frame of silver, a face of glass. He raved to me about this treasure. He told me that the mirror held many wisdoms and secrets, that it had witnessed many things. He spoke with much conviction, saying that it could grant him a record of our entire family history, from our beginnings to our every deal with the powerful entities of the cosmos. It had great power, he claimed, to even grant a wish if one had the courage to petition it.”
“Any wish? I questioned to my father, wondering to what extent I could request.”
“Any wish, he had replied with the light of unbreakable faith in his gaze.”
“I looked within my own heart, wondering what wish could bring love back into my father's touch, and cure him of his ailment and woes. I asked him why did he not ask to be granted his title, his riches, and all the was rightfully his?”
“His eyes returned to a far-off space, his ailment returned to replace his fervor, and he simply responded that the cost would be too great.”
“Soon, the servants found me, and I endured their scoldings and cuffing that turned my ears red. The second time I entered the forbidden room was many months later.”
“A lowly house belonging to an ally of my father had fallen, their servants had nowhere to go. With permission from her liege lord, a maid who served the house was accepted into my father's care. She was fair and kind and spoke to me softly. Her name was Hilde. In time, she put her efforts into caring for my father, and after a fortnight of frequenting his personal chambers, my father's new servant became his new mistress.”
“Her bearing was found to be contagious. Her warmth spread to all those who lived in the manor, and soon even the most sullen among us found themselves brightened in her company. Even my father began to smile once more. It was as if his ailment were cured, and Hilde was the tonic responsible. He bought for her beautiful gowns and jewelry. and dressed her up to be the lady of the house. She loved him greatly.”
“Then we were overcome with tragedies. Our crops dried up, our income dwindled, and the relations my father had maintained were severed. We debt had befallen, and surely soon ruin would follow. My father's ailments returned, despite the calming voice of Hilde beside him. Once more, a specter roamed the halls of our mansion, a phantom of a once-great man. I did not know how we would find our salvation, but for whatever reason, my mind returned to that silver mirror.”
“Not a week had passed before my dreams brought to pass the final tragedy. One dreadful night, when the might of the heavens brought thunderings and rains to our manor walls, I heard screaming. It was Hilde’s voice, so loud that I could distinguish it from the tempest outside. I rushed to my father's chambers to find it empty, and then cast my eyes to the open door of the forbidden room.”
“I entered that room for the last time. Within, my father sat on his chair before his precious mirror, clutching in his arms the dress he had purchased for Hilde. I implored him to tell me what had transpired, my voice weak. He turned to face me, and from the dress leaked grey powder, pouring endlessly onto the floor at his feet.”
“He told me he had done what I suggested. He told me that this was the price. He told me this was the only path towards salvation. I looked to the shimmering mirror, my mind in a haze of bewilderment. Then, lightning struck behind my father, and as it transformed him in that moment to a devilish phantom, I knew.” “Hilde, like my mother, had been taken away, and the scoundrel responsible left nothing but sand.”
This marks the end of the passage. I must say that upon writing it here in my journal in the English tongue, I feel a resurgence of thrills and excitements within me. I am truly convinced now that my ancestors were of the adventurous spirit like myself, experiencing all that is mystical and strange. Along with these records, of which I have endeavored to continue transcribing, I also acquired many items and treasures left behind by the von Eltz family line. Perhaps I will find this silver mirror among them? I cannot contain my restlessness to obtain it.
This letter is part of a contributor series unfolding here at The Letterbox Collective. → To be continued…
About the Writer: Aspiring Storyteller: Forever Fan of Edgar Allen Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, and Robert W. Chambers.
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