Day 2. Midnight. I do not know if I will survive this experience, but perhaps my journal will be able to be smuggled out, to warn an unsuspecting world.
It began beautifully enough, as our coach came out of the mountain pass, and Castle Fielding was seen in the dying, but exquisite orange of the setting sun. In the distance, the peasants could be seen picturesquely crossing themselves and running for their houses as the shadow line of the encroaching night fell along the ancient Carpathian fields. Our coach rattled up to the vast entrance, and as I looked out, I was surprised to see that there was no coachman -- he had somehow mysteriously disappeared -- and that there were only two bats flitting about, flying back and forth over the now exhausted horses. They flew in front of the horses, who reared up and halted.

Then there was silence. I got out, and in the empty castle forecourt, I put my luggage down. I knocked on the great iron door, and then noticed a bell pull. I pulled the bell, which immediately began to play "Dem Bones Gon' Arise Again". The door flung open, and Count Fielding (I presumed) rushed out. " Goot evening!! Did you know that Riley Puckett did a vonderful wersion of that on the vindchimes in 1934?"

He was a striking figure in his Rumanian white-tie and tails, topped off with a "Ban Impalers" baseball cap. I looked bewildered.

He bowed. "Forgif me, I am somevhat of -- vat is it you call it in America? -- an enthusiast. Vere are my manners?" He clapped his hands, and two blacksuited servants appeared out of nowhere, and whisked my suitcases away.

"Velcome to Castle Fielding, a.k.a. Fielding's House of Mystery Instruments." He ushered me in, somewhat like Roderick Ussher.

It was a strange, and magnificent sight. Cobwebs were everywhere, draped and entangled over wall upon wall of ancient instruments, themselves hung upon the wall like captives in a dungeon. Along one wall one could see a whole progression of instruments, from Arabic lutes captured no doubt during the Crusades, all the way to Gibsons, and Martins, and Takamines. Along another, strange Ovidian serpentine wind instruments writhed in various extraordinary shapes. We moved past them, and it must have been my imagination or a gust of wind, but it seemed as if some of them reached out to grab me. The Count, with an imperious gesture, swatted them down, saying: "No, no, no, zis one is mine!" Which made no sense to me. At the time.

Over dinner, the Count and I were serenaded by an extraordinary group of women, whom he called the Vixie Chicks, that appeared to my tired eyes to be playing their long flowing hair with violin bows. He suggested that if I was really eager I could learn to play my hair as well, but I would have to grow it out. He apologised for the absence of Countess Fielding, who he said was having a night out with the girls -- though he did actually say "on the girls", but his prepositions are not always the best part of his English.

At the end of the dinner, as we were finishing a second bottle of bloodred wine, and I was feeling very fatigued from the journey, the Count said something very odd. He picked up his wine glass, and held it up to the light. Its red colour flickered across his face. "Ever played the vine glasses, Mr. Renfield? A very powerful ghostly sound, like the harmonics on a D-18. But, to business. I appreciate that you have come here to study the vamplified theorbo vith me, thanks to my cousin in Canada. It provides me -- you provide me -- vith an opportunity. I vish to travel to that part of the world, and you can prepare my way. "

I happily assented to this, eager to be of assistance. "When would you like to travel?" I said.

"Oh," he smiled, revealing an extraordinary set of teeth, " as soon as possible. I have some arrangements to make -- many in the key of Eb -- but then I would go."

I suggested that in today's world, he could hop on a plane very quickly and be there in no time.

He frowned. "I only travel by rail and sea. The reason is that I have many, many large guitar cases that must travel with me, and I do not trust airlines. But enough, enough for tonight. Let me show you to your room."

Lit by a flickering candle, we climbed innumerable staircases, which were crawling with cats that continually threatened to trip me underfoot. Curiously enough, as we climbed, my vast shadow flowed along the walls, but of the Count's shadow, some trick of the candlelight seemed to prevent its appearance.

The Count showed me to a vast bedroom, at the centre of which was a fourposter bed, and in the corner of which were piled enough musical instruments to satisfy a symphony orchestra. I thanked him profoundly for his hospitality, and he turned to go. Then he turned back around.

"Sleep vell, Mr. Renfield. You vill not be disturbed this evening. Our plans vill take a little time to marinate, so to speak." He smiled his gracious smile and left.

I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow. It was a restless sleep. At one point I had a strange dream that the musical instruments rose up and began playing themselves. At another point I dreamed that Count Fielding was chatting with a group of bony figures, attempting to teach them skeleton keys. At another, I dreamed that he was leaning over me with a blood red cajun accordion in his hands speaking to someone he called Lestat, and they were discussing hot sauces and condiments.

Morning, Day 2.

I awoke early to find that the instruments, so neatly piled in the corners last night were strewn all over the floor. I tripped over a shawm on the way downstairs, and nearly fell 5 stories down the stairshaft to my death. There was no sign of Count or Countess Fielding, who, like their Canadian cousins, were obviously not early risers.

I found that there was no one at all in the castle. I spoke out at the top of my lungs but only echoes replied. I was very hungry, in spite of the dinner the previous evening. I resolved to seek out the kitchen.

Eventually, I found a dark staircase at the back of the castle, that seemed to descend into what might turn out to be servant's quarters. With some trepidation, I stepped down. I was mistaken. The staircase seemed to descend and descend for many stories below the surface. Finally, it stopped at an iron door. I pushed against it, and it opened slowly.

Imagine my surprise when I saw what lay before me. As far as the eye could see, on what appeared to be a dank earthen floor, was row on row of gigantic guitar cases. Some were graced with intricate leatherwork, but most were a dismal, deadly black. I wandered through this storehouse of music, and my curiosity began to get the better of me. I decided that I would like to get a peek at some of these Mysterious Instruments that Count Fielding set so much store by, that he was prepared to cart them all the way to the New World with him, at extraordinary cost. I reached down to unclasp, and open, the nearest, and most ornate of the black guitar cases, and just before I did so, a rat rustled past me, and out of the room. I started back, and then took courage, and reached down again, unclasped the case, and opened it!!!!!!! Horror!!! What have I found!!??? I ---
[The manuscript unfortunately breaks off at this point.]