Dear Diary, 

I am still perplexed. He can see him. They can both communicate with each other, not only that they both act like it's the most normal thing in the world.

Is this a mass hallucination or is the man next to me really a real ghost?   I am so confused that I need something my brain can latch onto, something that can be found in real logic.  My gaze falls on the portrait.

"That's not a woman!" I insist, earning surprised looks from two pairs of eyes as if they've already ticked off that point of the discussion. As my mind scowls again, my neighbor begins to grin.

"That's right Hyacinth is not a woman he is nevertheless the lady of the castle and the first wife of my great-great-great-grandfather." My neighbor looked provocatively in the direction of the ghost. The two of them fought an eye battle while I tried to make something out of this that made sense.

"But then how did he have a child?"  With each passing minute of this meeting, I felt dumber. My neighbor almost spit out his coffee again laughing at my question.

"Excuse me?"

"In the legend of the wanderer..." I had barely uttered the sentence when my ghost raised an eyebrow in annoyance and my neighbor began to laugh uproariously.  

"The Wanderer, with his horror story. All lies, although if you asked him, it would be high art. " He rolled his eyes. I, however, was now at a complete loss.

"The Wanderer none other than my great-grandfather's aunt. She wanted to be a writer a sort of Mary Shelly, if you will. She wrote one terrible horror story after another about the family and the castle. Malicious tongues claim that she only did it because she had something against Hyacinth. The two didn't get along very well ." The ghost puffed affirmatively, then my neighbor continued: "Her writing ambitions have led to the fact that until today most people believe we are cursed, everything that has to do with the castle anyway and everyone who comes into contact with us must die within a few days, but before that, of course, our victims fall into madness.  The art world is relatively small, I could tell the most absurd stories about people my father asked for expertise and was chased away with shame. People believe what they want to believe. 

The fact is none of us are cursed, well except Hyacinth, normally only people related to him can see him. However, I can assure you he is annoying but completely harmless. Nevertheless, my father was furious when he found out that his portrait was stolen.  That's another story, though.  What's much more interesting is that if they can see Hyacinth, they're probably related to the Saalesteins somehow."  He winked at me in amusement . 

"You still haven't explained to me how he was supposed to have been a damsel of the castle." I was starting to get pissed, everything here was getting on my nerves.

"He married my uncle." My face darkened at his answer, apparently that was enough for him to finally come out with the truth: "Our dear Hyacinth actually comes from a theatrical family. He was the star on stage, but unfortunately mostly in women's clothes. During one of his performances, the lord of the castle fell madly in love with him, or rather with the woman he thought he saw. Hyacinth tried to fight him off, but eventually gave up and accepted the gifts with which he was showered. No one wanted to risk telling the castle lord that he was a man. After all, one depended on being able to continue living on his land. It came as it had to come, shortly before the outbreak of war, my ancestor asked for Hyacinth's hand.  Of course, no one could avoid telling the nobleman that he was not a woman. He would have been exposed on the wedding night at the latest. To everyone's surprise, the lord of the castle did not care, nor did it prevent him from dragging Hyacinth in drag before a priest.   Hyacinth turned out to be a formidable businessman and helped the castle to become rich, from which we still live today. Unfortunately, quite young and quite drunk, he fell off his horse and broke his neck. My ancestor never got over it. In case they ask themselves the question: According to the internal family legend, all the heirs of the line came into being from nights when the two of them shared a lady.  That makes the portrait they have in their hands all the more precious; it's the only likeness of him without a costume." 

My head was on a roller coaster. 

"My apartment smells like decay, it's freezing cold and I keep hearing something knocking and my cell phone won't take pictures of the portrait...." I bubbled to myself, completely helpless.