Page 18 of My Carmilla
My father ignored me and fixed his gaze on the ornately carved oak door. With a deep breath, he summoned all his strength and shoulder-barged it. The sturdy wood splintered under the force, and the door swung open.
Darkness. The room was empty. Not a single trace of Carmilla remained. Only the lingering perfume of night-blooming jasmines.
Chapter 8:
Panic curdled in my stomach as we searched the drafty halls. Hours bled into one another as we combed the schloss, each door yielding a room of disappointment. My father, a usually composed man, ran a hand through his hair, muttering about the impossible situation he'd be in explaining Carmilla's disappearance to her mother. My own grief was a different kind. Finally, driven by a desperate hope, I burst through Carmilla's chambers once again.
And there she was. Standing by her dressing table, bathed in the soft glow of dawn, a vision in white. Relief slammed into me like a tidal wave. I raced towards her, a strangled cry escaping my lips. Tears streamed down my face as I crashed into her embrace. Her warmth, the familiar scent of jasmine, was a balm to my frayed nerves. I kissed her again and again, a desperate confirmation of her presence. I needed to know she wasn’t a mirage, that the feel of her body wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
"Carmilla," I said, my voice choked with relief. "What happened?"
A flicker of disorientation crossed her face. "I went to bed last night and had a dreamless sleep, my darling. You can imagine my surprise when I woke and found myself here."
She trailed off, her gaze falling on the frantic faces of my governesses and father who had followed me in.
Mademoiselle De Lafontaine, ever the picture of composure, seemed to age a decade in that moment. "Thank heavens, child. We have been in agony about you.”
Madame Perrodon collapsed in her seat. "Wherever have you been?"
"I’m not sure,” she said.
My father stepped forward. "For mercy's sake, Carmilla," he said, his voice laced with exasperation, "explain all you can."
"It was past two last night," she began, "when I went to sleep in my usual manner, with all the doors locked – the one to the dressing room, and the one leading to the gallery. My sleep was undisturbed, yet, I woke up on that very sofa in the dressing room.” She gestured towards the plush furniture, concern straining her features. “How could this have happened?
My father paced the room, mulling over her story. "May I offer a conjecture, Carmilla?"
"Please do."
"Have you ever been suspected of sleepwalking?"
"Never, since I was a child."
"But you did walk in your sleep as a young girl?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes, I have been told that."
"Why, then that is the explanation.” He proceeded to paint a picture. Carmilla, lost in the throes of a forgotten slumber, unlocking doors and wandering aimlessly through the labyrinthine schloss. "With so many rooms and hidden corners, it wouldn't be surprising for her to have remained undiscovered during our initial search."
Carmilla listened intently, her expression thoughtful. "I suppose I see your point.”
"But, papa," I began, "how do you explain her presence on the sofa? We searched that room thoroughly."
"Perhaps Carmilla wandered further after our search and, awakening spontaneously, found herself there. He clapped his hands together a little too forcefully. "And so, we can all congratulate ourselves on a simple case of sleepwalking. Nothing sinister, nothing to alarm anyone. All's well that ends well."
His explanation, a neat little bow tied around the strange occurrence, seemed to appease everyone else. But as I looked into Carmilla's eyes, a flicker of something unreadable passed through them. A disquiet settled in my gut, a whisper against the words of father's logic.
“What about what I saw?” I said quietly. “That monster, the blood.” I didn’t look at Carmilla.
“A dream,” said my father. “That’s all it was.” My father's gaze drifted from Carmilla to me. It lingered for a beat too long. I knew exactly what he was thinking. The contrast between us was stark. Carmilla, even after a night of supposed sleepwalking, radiated an otherworldly beauty. I could almost hear him compare the vibrant flush that had returned to Carmilla's cheeks with the pallor that had leeched from mine over the past few days.
My father searched my face and frowned. “Laura, are you feeling quite alright?”
"I'm perfectly fine, papa.” My voice lacked its usual conviction. Truth be told, I felt like a wilted flower, the exhaustion of the night clinging to me.
He studied me for a moment longer, his brow furrowed. "Perhaps a touch of nerves after this ordeal…Still, it wouldn't hurt to have Dr. Spielsberg take a look at you tomorrow."
"An excellent suggestion," said Carmilla. "A night of worry can take its toll even on the most robust constitution. Let the good doctor put your mind at ease, Laura."