Dear Diary,

I have slept worse than ever before in my life. Whether it was the hiker's entry or the extremely strange visit to the café with my neighbor, I can't say. So forgive me if this entry contains only part of it today, I'll fill in the rest.

Perhaps I should first tell you about the extremely strange meeting in the coffee.  To be honest, I was feeling a bit queasy even before I left.  Not only because I would be meeting with my neighbor, which I considered at least suspicious per se, but also because I was supposed to bring the portrait and with it my familiar spirit. 

The painting, wrapped in sheets I was there twenty minutes ahead of time. The café was only a few minutes walk from my apartment. It was a small rather old-fashioned store that hosted mainly senior citizens for coffee gossip about deceased than one of those hip parts in which woke students met. 

The waitress didn't even bat an eye when she saw me with my oversized luggage, but assigned me a table at the end of the store.  If possible without knocking out one of the ladies present, I made it to the seat with the painting. I positioned the painting next to me as if it were my husband and, after ordering a hot cocoa, enjoyed the actually wonderful view through the window.  Light rain had started and one could observe how suddenly hectic movements arose in the small alley. It was almost like one of those French movies. Almost, because in most of the French movies I knew, which weren't many, there was no ghost facing you looking out. Every now and then his gaze slid to me and he smiled gently at me.  I sighed and returned the gesture. I had come to like my hallucination better than most people. 

He had read the transcript of the Wanderer and then he was in his portrait for hours. It was still not clear to me whether he went back to the screen voluntarily or he was "sucked into it" .  Since yesterday, the question of whether he was the lord of the castle had been driving me. Perhaps one of his many wives had destroyed his portrait that way.  I sighed over the question in my cocoa, when my neighbor abruptly sat down at the table. As if he knew that my house ghost had occupied the chair directly opposite, he took the one diagonally opposite me. 

Even after the waitress had brought his order, we remained silent.  It was clear that neither of us wanted to be here. He probably thought I was as weird as I thought he was.  My house ghost pointed to his picture and gestured towards the other man, I nodded imperceptibly that I understood. Well, you have to start somewhere, so why not ? 

"Why should I bring the portrait?"  My voice sounded raspy, which threw me for a moment, but not as much as his look. It was clear from his expression that he was incredibly uncomfortable. 

"My father is curator of the stolen treasures from the castle, he is missing exactly one piece then the collection will be complete again and I believe it is this painting."  My suspicious look must have spoken volumes because he hastily continued, " I grew up with all this stuff, I've heard and seen more of the castle and all that than I have of my own family, although technically that is my family. We are descendants of the von Saalensteins.  Maybe that explains it, the von Saalsteins had a very particular habit when it came to their portraits. For centuries they used only one particular kind of frame, which left strange star-shaped marks on the paintings. When I spied her painting, with a frame that looked exactly like the ones my family has used for generations and are probably unique, I had to check it out." While he drank his coffee , my heart felt as if a fist was around it and squeezed.  Involuntarily I did two things, I reached out and looked at the ghost who was looking at his seatmate with surprise and suspicion.  Something about this stank big time if even my hallucination was puzzled. 

"Which painting is missing?", I asked, trying to be unconcerned.

"The one of the first lady of the castle, she was christened Hyacinth." his answer came like a shot, either he had practiced the act or he was telling the truth. I didn't care, because I didn't have what he was looking for, so I smiled openly.

"Then I'll have to disappoint you as far as my portrait is concerned." relieved, I sipped my cocoa and looked to my house ghost who was glowering at the man next to him. What was I missing?