Drafty castles and stingy relatives
Someday, I would love to visit Romania and see Transylvania. Who wouldn’t, if you love Halloween? Bran Castle in that country, is supposedly where Dracula – more commonly referred to as Vlad the Impaler – lived. Just think of the architecture, the history, the culture, the photographic opportunities, the food! Ummm, the food.
Oh yeah, definitely on my travel wish list.
It could be because of all that, that one of my dreams lately, focused on a castle in Transylvania. Doesn’t sound too bad, right? Wait a minute, it’ll get there.
The premise of the incredibly oriented dream that lasted the entire night, was that I and my family had inherited a castle, which, surprise, surprise, looked like Bran Castle, from some long lost relatives, in Transylvania.
So, there were six of us who set off for the “old country.” I was the ring leader of our expedition, of course; Dad; Mom, under protest; my brother from Hayward; my sister from Hayward; and a guy who I’ve never seen, but instinctually knew was my husband.
Did I mention this was a nightmare? If not, well, me having a husband should tip you off. Anyway, we flew to Transylvania, which would never happen in real life. You’d have to knock Mom over the head, tie her up, throw her on the plane and keep her sedated the whole trip, before she’d get on a plane.
We arrived in Transylvania, and were met by this pale, shakylooking little creature, who I guess was a servant of the castle, because he called everyone mistress and master. Oooookaaaay. The guy loaded our bags onto a horse drawn carriage, which caused quite the range of reactions.
It delighted me and I took selfies with the horses, of course, but it made Dad look glum, while my brother made some wisecrack. My sister looked halfway amused, as she glanced furtively around her, like someone was going to steal her purse, and Mom rolled her eyes and muttered something unintelligible. My husband was a lump and said nothing, as he HELPED ME INTO THE CARRIAGE, like I was helpless. Told you. Nightmare.
We finally reached the castle, after traveling through the village, where locals stared at us and one woman made the sign of the cross. To guard against us or pray for our doomed souls? You decide.
We arrived at our potential new home just as darkness fell, so we didn’t have much of a chance to look around, but what we saw was amazing. The creepy little guy showed us to our rooms and said the occupants would greet us in the morning. (Occupants? What occupants? I thought we were the occupants!) He made us promise to lock our doors and although the request was an odd one, we did.
We settled in for the night as best we could, which apparently, did not include supper. Luckily, I never travel without my snack and water bag. The castle was everything I ever dreamed of and a lot more. The “lot more” was how drafty it was.
My whole life, Mom always said she’d never want to live in a castle, because it would be so hard to heat. She ain’t a kiddin.’ The roaring fireplaces appeared to be the only heat in the whole dang place, so we were like ice chunks the whole night.
Finally, morning and hypothermia rolled around, and we made our way down the multi-flights of stairs to the kitchen/ dining room space of the castle. Not having an elevator certainly keeps the authenticity of the stone castle, but is durned inconvenient on lazy people (me). I only got lost three times, which, considering I have gotten so hopelessly lost in a few schools, that custodians had to come find me, was a record.
Enter the “occupants.” Low and behold, we were not the only “living” heirs to the castle as we had been told by the estate’s attorney. Or were we?
The six relatives in question (two women, four men) were a tad pale (think Casper pale), wore all black (my Goth soul does not judge) and kind of “flitted” around, like they were weightless. Plus, they said the light hurt their eyes and that was why there were blackout curtains at all the windows.
It was at this point that five out of six of us in our party immediately pulled our collars, scarves, whatever we had, up to cover our necks. My lump husband just stood there, admiring the shades of color in the tapestries. Seriously, who set me up with this schmoe?
Back to breakfast. The one lady insisted she would get the meal, so we sat and tried to make conversation. The small talk was entirely one-sided on our part, even though the cousins spoke perfect, if somewhat accented English. Even Dad couldn’t get a laugh. The relatives simply sat and looked at us.
Ah, good, the food is ready. We were in for a bit of a shock, as the Elvira wannabe served us barely-there portions of burnt kielbasa sausage. That was it. That was the meal. Good thing I still have snacks, I thought as I dug in. And by dug in, I mean my share was one spoonful of the sausage.
Red flag right there. Who eats a length of uncut sausage with a spoon?! The relatives didn’t eat, they just eyed us hungrily out of their cold, hard, black eyes.
We held a powwow outside on the grounds and decided what to do. Dad wanted to head into the village to get something to eat. Mom wanted to go home. My brother wanted to see if we could get the relatives to buy out our share of the property. My sister wanted to go shopping. I wanted to stay and get what we had been told was rightfully ours. My husband was over admiring the shrubbery.
Lord, help me.
I convinced my family to stay and we toured the castle, all except the west wing, which was “forbidden.” Why is it, every castle’s west wing is off limits? Couldn’t the east wing get some time in the sun? Curious thing, there were also no mirrors in the whole place.
We rounded in to the darkened dining room for the midday meal, and Elvira insisted on cooking again. This time, we had unidentified blackened meat. Again, my share was a spoonful of uncut meat. The relatives pulled their staring act while we ate (which obviously didn’t take long).
Afterward, the Addams Family cast said they had some papers for us to sign, which would turn over the castle fully to them and then we could be back on our way home, “no harm done.” That’s reassuring. I gave them to understand, that the castle was half ours, half theirs and we meant to retain ownership of our said half.
If they could have turned red, they would have and they stomp-floated out of the room. We spent the afternoon going over paperwork and contacting the estate attorney, as well as our own. We were assured we had every right to live in the castle, keep it or sell our half.
By the time darkness fell again and we appeared for supper, I had again convinced my family that we needed to stand strong. This was our inheritance. A castle. How many times had we dreamed of owning a castle?
No, we weren’t giving in. They weren’t going to break us. No. Matter. What.
The dining room was empty, so we walked into the kitchen. Our long-lost cousins don’t care for electric lights, so the place was eerily lit by lanterns and candles. The relatives were all in the kitchen. Once more, Elvira was cooking something bubbling in a pot. They all cast us nasty looks as we stood awkwardly around the room.
Dad and my brother tried to crack some jokes, Mom hunched her shoulders and prepared for a fight, my sister was checking her makeup, I was in a stare-down with one of the shorter male cousins, and my dear husband was pondering aloud if the castle buys their wood or cuts it off the forested part of the property.
Elvira brushed by us and carried something into the dining room, calling ungraciously over her shoulder that supper was served. We sidled to the table and there on a trivet that was bigger than it was, sat a single, 4-inch diameter pot. Even with the six cousins probably not eating, that amount of food wouldn’t have been enough for a Smurf, let alone five, hardy people from Northern Wisconsin, and wherever my husband came from.
The cousins hovered around the perimeter of the room, licking their lips, with their eyes turning blood red.
“Do ya get the feeling they’re trying to get rid of us?” muttered Mom out of the corner of her mouth.
“If they are,” I muttered back, “it’s working, if that’s all the food we get!” Leave it to me, to worry about portions, instead of the bloodsucking undead about to feast on my family!
I’ll never know how that dream ended up, because at that moment, my alarm clock went off. In the grand scheme of things, I guess it doesn’t matter, but I would like to know if we bested the fiends or threw my dud of a husband to the bloodthirsty relatives, while we made our escape.
Either way, it will certainly go down as one of my weirdest dreams yet. Weird, but not the weirdest.
Need I remind you of the chili arms?
