The Contessa's Vendetta Read Online Free PDF Page A

bells of midnight struck on the very day of my burial. I felt certain it could be no more than three days after contracting the illness, otherwise I would be in severe thirst.
    I trembled; a tense fear crept over me. Something dreadful resounded in the tolling of those midnight bells that echoed cruelly on my ears, the ears of a woman pent up alive in a crypt with the putrefying bodies of her ancestors. I tried to suppress my terror and summon my courage. I must escape this hell. With my hands before me, I slowly and carefully felt my way to the steps of the vault.
    A long piercing cry, intense and miserable, echoed through the hollow arches of my tomb. Blood curdled in my veins. I broke out in a cold sweat. My heart beat so stridently that I could hear it thump against my ribs. The shriek seemed to come from inside the vault, and this time a flurry and flutter of wings followed it. It is only an owl , I whispered aloud in an effort to still my rising panic, only a harmless companion to the dead. But how did it get in here? If it could enter, it could also depart.
    Hopeful, I moved cautiously onward. Suddenly, from out of the darkness, the owl sprung at me with wretched malice. I fought with the creature as it circled my head, pounced at my face, and beat me with massive wings I could feel, but could not see. I struck at it relentlessly. The repulsive confrontation seemed to last forever. Although ill and lightheaded, I battled the beast. Finally, the huge owl halted its assault. It emitted one last vicious screech then vanished into some black corner. Every nerve in my body shook as I tried to regain my breath.  
    Blindly groping with outstretched hands, I continued on my way to where I believed the stone staircase might be, but instead, I bumped into a hard and cold horizontal barrier. I ran my hands over it. Was this the first step of the stairs? It seemed too high. I stroked it cautiously and touched something soft and sodden to the touch like wet velvet. Beneath the cloth, my fingers traced the oblong form of a coffin. A realization shot through me and I withdrew my hand swiftly. Whose coffin was this? My father’s? Or was it my mother’s oak casket?
    A deep sense of despair swept through me. All my efforts to find my way through the vault were fruitless. Lost in the overwhelming blackness, I did not know in which direction I should turn. With shocking realization, the direness of my circumstances became clear. Thirst tormented me. I fell to my knees and wept.
    My sobs rang through the vault’s arches; the sound strange and horrific to my own ears. If I could not escape this agony soon, I would go mad, confined in this place of death and darkness, with decomposing cadavers as my sole companions. I buried my face in my hands, forcing myself to remain calm and keep my mind from surrendering to the madness that threatened to possess me. 
    Then , from somewhere in the distance, I heard a cheerful sound. I raised my head and listened to the trill of a nightingale. How it reassured me in this hour of despair! I praised God for its existence and sprang up laughing and weeping for joy at its shower of lustrous warbles. A rush of courage surged through me, invigorating me with hope and vitality.
    A new idea came to me. I could follow the nightingale’s voice. It sang harmoniously, optimistically, and I resumed my journey through the blackness. In my mind, I pictured the bird perched on one of the trees outside the vault, and believed that if I could move towards its voice, it would guide me to the staircase I so desperately sought.
    Stumbling along, I felt weak and my legs quavered beneath me. This time nothing impeded my progress. The nightingale ’s song drifted closer. Hope that had nearly faded, bounded once more into my heart. Barely aware of my own movements, the golden melody of the song drew me as if I were in a dream.
    M y foot tripped over a stone and I fell forward. I felt no pain; my limbs were too numb with