The Sörenjorg waltz

Bastian Sörenjorg knew this day would come sooner or later.

He received the envelope that morning waiting for nothing more than the precise instructions that would lead him to be the next great Sörenjorg. As a child he used to listen to his grandfather’s stories of how that envelope changed his life forever. Bastian had been waiting for this his whole life.

What a curious way to accomplish tradition.

What a day!

What a day!

Bastian put the yellowish gift on the table next to his bed and stared at it for hours playing with a small knife as he waited, as he pondered.

He didn’t feel prepared to know the secret.

His forehead shinned in sweat; his hands trembled with anticipation; his feet danced the unknown dance of uncertainty.

And then…

Finally he opened it.

“First and last letter for the truthful heir of the Sörenjorg lineage” – it read.

“The earth surely shrinks in the presence of this majestic moment. It happens as it should, once every now and then and leaves the continuity untouched for us and our pretty little worlds.  My dear nephew…”

Bastian closed the large windows in front of him. Winter had come in a ruthless manner as always.

“Poetry has led men to believe that truth is hidden within words, within the sounds of each metric disposal but we know that isn’t true, don’t we Bastian? Don’t we know that the secret lies in the blank spaces between notes and not in the note itself?  Go down the stairs, young man. Face your uncle.”

Bastian walked towards the door and grabbed the door handle, his hands were white as snow, his sight blurry for the sweat had covered his face, his heartbeat rose like a fierce storm.

He went down stairs.

“You know what to do Bastian”

He then went past the entrance hall and went straight to the ball room’s door.

The tall man stopped.

Click, clack

He opened the door.

The ball room was a huge saloon made entirely of wood , there was a red carpet on the floor that led to a coffin and inside the coffin was a corpse and the corpse held dead roses.

“Come inside master Sörenjorg!” – A man in a tuxedo grabbed Bastian by the arm and took him half way into the room, halfway towards the coffin.

Bastian kept reading.

“You might be afraid now, boy. I get it. But you have to fulfill your destiny. It is your duty as a Sörenjog”

Bastian walked towards the coffin.

The corpse was beautifully arranged, it was elegant tall and thin man dressed up in a burgundy suit with golden buttons and a handkerchief hanging out of his chest pocket.  His eyesballs were no longer there, his nose was large and his mouth seemed to be full of blood waiting for the minimum move to fall and ruin the elegant scene.

It was Bastian’s uncle.

Ten maids came out of the pitch black far end of the room and stood at the other side of the coffin. They all looked at Bastian; they all waited for the cycle to be completed.

Bastian knew what was coming next.

He took a deep breath and the grabbed his uncle´s corpse.

He stood at the center of the room.

The maids took the coffin out of the way and the music started to sound.

It was the famous waltz that has accompanied the family for centuries.

“You must dance the waltz now, son. You have to make the circle even for us. You have to dance to the rhythm of death and see around you how all the maids and the slaves and the husbands and the wives look at you as if you were their king in yellow” – The letter stated.

Bastian started waltzing with his uncle.

The smell!

The smell!

“There is no way you can avoid this sacred ritual, you are a Sörenjorg!”

“Time has passed and now you are a man. You need to understand that carrying this last name will bring you pain and sorrow. Nothing in this world comes easy. Do not stop dancing”

The corpse dripped blood.  The eyeball sockets were filled with darkness.

Bastian danced.

The maids smiled.

The slaves smiled.

The husbands smiled.

The wives smiled.

“You want to become a true writer?”

“ I do!” – Bastian shouted without losing the pace.

“Do you want to enter the realm of the impossible and live with us forever?”

“I do” – He shouted once more.

“He who lost Lenore saw the raven up above his chamber door!”

“He who knew men wars met the old man and the sea”

“He who sacrificed two friends at the gallows saw it all in cold blood” 

“Now, nephew now is the time for you to make the ultimate sacrifice!”

“What should I do, uncle?” – He asked

“Name it, name the sacrifice!” – He asked again

“To become nothing but truth you ought to sacrifice the world”

The music stopped.

His uncle’s corpse fell to the ground breaking a couple of its back bones.

Bastian fell to his knees.

I am ready now.

Take the world away from me. Take it all!

A thick mist covered the room.

Bastian felt water beneath his feet.

Uncle Sörenjorg corpse stood up slowly.

“What horror is this? Is this the world of my curse?”  – Bastian asked in fear

The corpse made a signal with his long and spectral finger towards the floor.

They were both on a small boat sailing towards a shore of black sands and white rocks.

The monster made a sound like no other Bastian had ever heard before.

“Listen to the sung song” – It said.

“Cassilda lurks and crawls and cries” – it said

The boat reached the shore.

“Go to the land of silence and void, go as we all have into the darkness of the new world! Take off the pallid mask that covers your face; break the marble mold that holds your soul and create worlds of the unimaginable. Become a writer, become a writer!”

“Welcome to Carcosa.”