The following interview was recorded by the famed weird journalist, Arthur W. Hague, in Norwich, Britain, 1964. Mr. Hague had tracked down and found an individual claiming to have information regarding the strange rumors surrounding the Elvicsteins—a reclusive German family surrounded by rumors of mysticism and forbidden scientific experimentation, especially as it pertains to their activities during the Second World War. The individual whose testimony you will read below requested that Mr. Hague not divulge his identity, and so his name was never tendered in his report:
“I’m not a looney, y’know? I’ve a sound mind despite my love for the drink. Besides, I was sober as a judge the night it happened; ya’ gotta be when you’re on a job– theivin’ ain’t something you can do when you’re three sheets to the wind. I guess what I’m trying to say is that it takes a meticulous sort to be robbin’ folks the way I do, so there ain’t no way what I saw wasn’t real– it was as real as you, me, and this bloody shot of whiskey right here.
Now, as you know, the Elvicsteins have always been a curious bunch. Sure, Germany’s got their fair share of weirdos (especially with all of those ex-Nazis peekin’ about), but none of them hold a candle to the rumors floatin’ ’round about those Elvicstein blokes. Rumor is that the patriarch, Heinrich, worked on some pretty shady stuff during WWII; while others say that the family ain’t even human, and that they cavort, among other things (if you catch my meaning), with the dead. But regardless of what tall tale you want to believe, every single one of them claims those Elvicstein fellas are sitting on a pile of money. That’s why I went up there, y’see– I was hired to rob them.
Now, I usually don’t like to travel too much for a job, but this bloke I was working for was offering up a pretty penny, plus 20% of what I managed to find. So of course I went, despite having to travel all the way out to Quedlinburg. Bloody Quedlinburg! And on the outskirts no less! I can’t say that it wasn’t scenic, but these people were recluses, and I wasn’t too fond of the idea of being out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of people rumored to be ‘cavorting with the dead.’ Y’know what I’m saying?
Anyway, I parked my car in a thick patch of trees about half a mile out and, when night fell, made my way to the Elvicstein estate. Now I’ve got to admit, the place was pretty posh, but there was just something about it that caused my blood to curdle. It was like the place gave off a coldness, a kind of emotional deadness that slips in and stows itself away in the darker parts of your brain. That’s really the only way I can describe it.
Anyway, a quick inspection of the place told me that it was sealed up good and tight. So, like any good burglar, I snuck around the back to find another way in. That’s when things took a turn towards Strangeville. Y’see, I’d never really been the superstitious sort, so I thought all of them stories about the Elvicsteins was just bunch of bollocks. But I’ll admit it– when I saw that the back end of the property was nothing less than a massive cemetery, headstones and all…well, I started to feel a little unnerved to say the least. The worst part about it? I had to walk through it in order to get to the back gates. But a deal’s a deal, right? And in my line of work you don’t walk away from a job just ‘cos your score is a bunch of eccentric bumpkins. So, I decided to move forward.
While I kept my calm for a good bit of time, I slowly began to feel it trickle away once I reached the graveyard entrance which read, ‘Elvicstein Cemetery.’ Like I said before, I’m not one to hold my breath around graveyards, but as I walked past the tombstones I felt that same coldness I mentioned before. It was like emotional rigor mortis, really–a stiffening of the heart strings if you can understand what I’m sayin’. Quite frankly, it was hard to muster even the will to go on, like I’d been caught in emotional quicksand. But I managed to trudge through, and that’s when weird turned into just downright terrifying.
The ground started to shake, y’see, and there was this huge, terrible thumping noise coming from the west side of the cemetery, and it was coming fast. Well, o’course, I hurried my arse behind the largest gravestone I could find. I thought it might of been some weird machine or something, since that ol’ bloke Heinrich had supposedly been tinkering with some weird stuff back in WWII. But what I saw wasn’t no machine, and it sure as hell weren’t no man either: standing out there in the dark, with strange wisps of glowing fog coiling around it, was this behemoth…monster. The thing couldn’t have been less than 12 feet tall, and all over its body were bones, human ones, snaking all around its pale, dead flesh. And those bones weren’t just wrapped around it, oh no! They were coming out of it, like they was part of its body or something! But that weren’t it; remember that coldness I keep talking about? Well wouldn’t you know it– when that thing showed up it felt like bloody winter had arrived! And not just physically either. For a few moments I felt absolutely nothing; hell, I didn’t care whether I lived or died! It sounds strange, but all I wanted to do was slip away– it was like death was singing me a lullaby and all I wanted, more than anything, was to drift into the music of it all. But then another loud thud jolted me out of it, and I ran as fast as I could out of that godforsaken place and towards the forest line. When I built up the courage to look back, which was long after I had escaped the company of all those graves, I could see that the entirety of that accursed cemetery was covered in that strange frosty blue mist. I swear on my pop’s grave that not only could I still see the shape of that lumbering undead thing, but also a collection of floating shadows–each one with a pair of beaming cobalt eyes! And to top it all off, I could have sworn I’d seen another pair of those horrible glowing eyes peering out from one of the estate’s top floor windows! Suffice to say to say, once I got in my car I just kept driving, and I didn’t stop until the sun started to peek overtop of the hills.
Now o’course you’re wondering, ‘Well what happened with the guy that hired this theivin’ bloke? He must’ve been infuriated, right?’
Well, that’s the curious twist to this freakish little tale. When I got back to report the bad news, one of the middlemen I was working through said that my most recent employer, and apparently his men, had gone missing. And get this: the only thing that was found at their headquarters was a large, unearthed headstone; it was just lying there right in the middle of the bloody living room! And what’s more, the tombstone had a single word etched into its surface: ‘Elvicstein.’
Since then, I’ve never stepped foot across the German border, nor do I ever intend to. No sir, when I’m dead I prefer to be buried at the foot of my own grave, not someone else’s.”