I’ve told you before about the Iulia Hasdeu Castle from my trip a few months back. Little did I know that I was going to revisit it fairly soon, and under waaaay stranger circumstances.

I have no idea how we got this idea, was it me, was it one of of my friends, was it an internet ad? All I know we got ourselves to visit the castle, “just the way it was about 150 years ago”. This was really nice, as the castle itself has an aura of mysticism and weirdness.

We passed through a side door and we find ourselves in a weird room. It’s big and it’s connected to two other rooms, which are empty. In the middle there is a big table. Old, chunky table with big old chunky chairs, carved out of solid walnut wood. Man, these guys were filthy as hell and they sure had the taste to match. I found it odd that the room was pretty dimly lit, especially because it didn’t have any windows, but I thought it’s this way to preserve the furniture colours. Such a shame, I thought, the pale green on the top half of the walls complemented so nice the bottom half walnut wainscot.

Slightly disappointed, but still with a lot of expectations we go to the next room and we find a nice kitchen with white wooden panels and a window that gives an oversight of the back yard. It’s a warm, sunny, summer day. It’s not particularly hot, but it’s very bright outside. Such contrasting rooms, I thought. Out the window, I see in the next yard, very close to us a different house. It has a big modern Victorian house with white walls and wooden decorations on the windows, the sun beautifully bathing it in a bright light. *[1]

“Hey! Isn’t that the house of Mister Smith?”, Vlad literally yells fully astonished. “Remember, we worked to repair its roof two years ago. So bad that it burned down to ashes last winter. Maybe it was used as guests house back in the day? Or maybe a servants’ house. We should check it out!”

I tell them that we could, but that we shouldn’t leave the yard, that’s what we’ve been told. Not to leave the yard, under any circumstances. Like that’s going to stop us anyway. Without further ado, we probably jump the fence, go to the other house and get in the first room. I say “probably” because I don’t remember how I got there. One second we were in the spacious kitchen of the castle, the next moment all four of us were crammed into a small room with many windows on one side, nicely staying in the shade of some grape vines. A long yet cramped room that looked more like a hallway. *[2] I see a modern fridge and I’d like to drink some milk. I love drinking cold milk straight from the bottle or the carton.

I pick it up, and check the expiration date. 12/11/77. “What the fuck is this, am I not reading it right?” I ask them, showing the printed expiration date. I take a pack of melted cheese, it says 12/04/2078. A strange feeling of panic overwhelms me. “Guys, I don’t know what the fuck this is, but we’re definitely not supposed to be here. We should leave like right now.” I got the strange feeling that the “just the way it was about 150 years ago” part of the advert wasn’t entirely truthful and some time-traveling shenanigans were in place at someone’s will whose intentions were unclear.

We go outside on a different door and find ourselves into what looks like a small community of houses, all with big windows at the ground floor facing us, like they share a big backyard with a thick lawn that’s been recently trimmed. It looks like all the houses deserted and that no one is there, apart of a teapot with condensation spots on it in one of the kitchens. Fuck. Someone IS there. We need to go fast. I feel like a rat in a maze, I feel watched, there’s a constant pressure to get out of there as soon as possible.

On our way back to the castle, Vlad says: “Bruh, let’s steal these, why the fuck not?” as he grabs two jackets from a hanger outside. One is a jeans jacket, with a lot of damage on it, classic 2010s-2020s. The other, which he passes to me, is a ‘70s women motorcycle leather jacket in a small size. “A great gift for Liza”, I think and decide to keep it rather than throw it away. We somehow get back in the dimly lit green-walled room and we go into a dimmer hallway. When we get to the door, Jean throws her arms around my arm and starts crying: “Don’t leave! Please don’t go! Stay here! We can have such a beautiful life here! Don’t go!”. I never knew a lot about her, but those words make me feel sad for her, whatever this weird place is, it’s somehow better than what she’s got waiting for her at home. “Please! Stay with me”, Jean keeps pleading, while she tries to pull me back. Vlad and Tina, holding hands grab me and Jean, they open the door and we get outside.

In front of us it’s a big yard, with almost no vegetation, apart of sunburnt grass that’s already yellow and it’s bordered by an iron fence, beautifully crafted, but rusty. I see two gates about 100 meters away and they both have a strange aura. Behind one of the gates I can see a road with some cars stopped at a railroad crossing. I suddenly remember that I was here before. Not sure when, or how, but I know that’s the way towards safety.

As I urge everyone to go towards the gate, I start to feel a weird tingling, like a pressure on my arms and then my entire body. It feels like heat coming from inside me. I think those jackets that we stole were meant to be a test and we failed it with flying colours. I try to throw the jacket I have in my hand, but it’s like stuck there, I can’t unclench my hand. The heat inside gets stronger and I feel I have no more air. I remembered that the last time I went there, people were suffering from spontaneous human combustion. The grasp gets stronger and the heat inside me grows.

Mike, Tina and Jean look horrified at me.

Is it my time?

This is how I meet my end?

I gasp loudly.

I wake up.

For a couple of seconds I can’t move, my entire body is numb, my hands are like set in concrete. “Don’t panic, it was just a dream. Don’t panic, you’re fine”. After a few moments, I shake off that strong tingling that grasped my entire body and I start moving. I jump off the bed and I look at the watch. 6:28AM. Fuck me, it was just a dream. I go downstairs with the thought to make a mug of coffee deciding to write my experience. I can hardly breathe while I’m focusing on remembering the dream and writing this post.

40 minutes later, I still feel that weight in my forearms and that burn still echoes faintly in my chest.

Note: The places marked with [1] and [2] are real places, which I haven’t visited in over 20 years. They felt odd and were somewhat hints that I was actually dreaming.
This post is part of the Agora Road’s Travelogue for the month of March, an effort to promote blogging.