The lost castle
Posted: Sun Sep 28, 2008 4:07 pm
The Lost Castle
I sat at my desk, glancing at the breakfast laid out on a tray by my wife. I was not hungry. Scanning the papers scattered across my desk, I decided that it was almost complete. Almost. I wanted to get a first hand view of the Cathedral, and eagerly awaited the letter of permission from the Romanian government.
There was a tap at the door, and the maid entered, to my utter delight, handing me a telegram bearing the Romanian mark.
I tore it open eagerly, almost immediately jumping up and asking the maid to inform my wife that I was leaving on the next train to Romania. I crammed clothes in to a battered leather suitcase, slammed it shut then hauled it out of the room. I almost felt that I was being too hasty, but I stepped in to the busy streets of London and hailed a cab, clutching the letter in my hands.
“Dear Sir,” it read,
“We would be happy for you to view the Carstein Cathedral, and have arranged a room for your arrival.
As you will see, we have enclosed a ticket for this evening, hoping that this will be convenient.
A carriage will be waiting for you at the train station in Romania,
Yours sincerely,
The Romanian Government.”
In case you have not realised, I was an architect, devoting my time to studying precious artefacts. I had often received complaints from tribes and villagers for disturbing these precious symbols, even once receiving a curse, but no ill had fallen upon me until now, and I was disinclined to believe such nonsense.
To the present.
The driver announced that we had arrived at the station, and I thanked him, paid the fare, and clambered out on to the pavement.
I stood for a minute, leaning against the strong, sudden breeze pushing me away from the station, then, making my decision, strode forwards to find an available space on the carriage in front of me, leaving the familiar, comforting bustle of London streets behind.
The jolt of the train woke me from my slumbers, and I stretched, standing to pull my case from the luggage rack. As I stepped out of the carriage on to the stone cobbles, a cold wind whispered, and I shuddered, drawing my coat closer around me.
A coach and four strikingly black horses were waiting outside the station and the driver signalled for me to get on. I questioned whether this was the coach to the Carstein Cathedral, but there was no reply, and feeling slightly uncomfortable, I climbed in. Instantly, the driver cracked the whip and the horses screamed, rearing up and plunging in to the mist.
We travelled through a deep forest, and every now and again I glimpsed tall mountain peaks capped with snow. As the sun dipped and vanished behind the horizon, howls rang out through the trees, and I thought I saw shapes shifting through the forest, weaving, darting in and out of the trees and trotting beside the coach, making the horses jitter and pull harder against the harness.
Suddenly, the silhouettes fell back, and an hour later the horses were pulled to a halt snorting and foaming at the mouth.
I stepped out cautiously, on to a winding path that twisted and turned in to the trees, and the coach moved on immediately, the horses’ eyes a demonic red as they were forced to gallop at the side of a sickening drop. My case was still in the carriage, but I had been told on the back of my train ticket that it would be taken to the hotel.
I started to walk.
Crunching up an old stone pathway, I ducked to avoid the low swinging branch of a tree.
Glancing around me, I saw what must have once been a beautiful garden, withered, and dead.
Nature, with her long, tenacious fingers, had clamped an iron grip on this lonely place, and the woods had triumphed, crowding dark and uncontrollable; guarding the beeches, with white, naked, shrivelled limbs, like crucified men, left to die in the cold.
The trees were making a peculiar tomblike archway over my head, and I was constantly stumbling over roots and fallen branches.
Any flowers that had once grown here had deformed, and reared to monstrous sizes, black, ugly, and as twisted as the weeds growing next to them, without a bloom to be seen.
Howls rose and fell, swelling over me and echoing all around, seeming to be in front of me rather than behind, and causing the ravens roosting in the trees to flutter and squawk in alarm.
I ploughed onwards, glimpsing every now and again the high imposing arch of the Cathedral, bathed in an eerie glow.
Stumbling over the gnarled roots, I fell, grazing my shins and feeling buried as moist, loamy soil flew over me.
I clambered shakily up, feeling blood trickle down my cheek.
Something shrieked, and I glanced up sharply, then cowering in shock and alarm as a huge shape shadowed overhead.
The impossible was that it looked almost human, but with gargantuan, bat like wings on it’s back. The impossible seemed to have become reality. Vampyre!
I pressed on towards the Cathedral, hoping to find a place to stay in this nightmare I had come so naively in to.
As I rounded the last bend, I realised I was standing directly underneath the Cathedral, and I stood in shock and disbelief as my neck craned up at the awe-inspiring sight.
Tall spires reached up and plunged in to the swirling clouds above, illuminated by a moon bone white and pocketed with silver.
Further in front and to the side of me, the ground dropped steeply in to a canyon below, where I could glimpse snaking silver ribbons of streams between the rips in the forbidding cloak of the forest
The arches of the great stone building towered over me; casting shadows like spells all around, and making every hair on my neck stand up and scream in my ears to run away.
But I was rooted to the spot, my senses sparking off warning signs that this was not a place built for worshipping God.
There were no graceful angels with gentle faces and high sloping wings. In their place were the grotesque faces of gargoyles, perched on curved blocks of stone, grinning and leering at me from every angle.
I shook myself in to action and stepped forward to knock at the door, only to recoil in fear as chains clanked and rattled, and a huge iron bolt drew back, allowing the huge oak doors to swing inwards, groaning and squealing in protest on the intricate metal hinges that supported them.
In my trance I had not noticed the danger I was in, and I turned too late, to face the snarling pack of wolves that had been dogging my steps since my arrival in Romania.
I stepped backwards as hackles rose, and I saw moonlight glinting off their pointed teeth. My foot suddenly caught on a paving stone, and I fell heavily.
I lay there, waiting for the pack to pounce and tear me to shreds.
“Enough,” a cold voice spoke from the blackness of the doorway, and a clawed hand grasped me by the shoulder with astonishing strength. I felt that hand could have ripped my arm from my body if it had wished to.
I stood gingerly, and as I gazed up past the floor, I was astonished to find my rescuer standing in the doorway, appearing to have run back in to the shadows after assisting me.
I turned, fearing the wolves, and as I did so, I thought I saw two red glints where his eyes should have been, but I must have been mistaken, for the next time I saw him, the eyes were perfectly clear.
Spinning around to face the wolves, I was astonished to find them sitting patiently, as docile as any pet, tongues lolling as they panted softly.
“Go,” the man commanded, and they rose instantly and padded in to the forest.
I turned yet again to see the face of my rescuer, but he shied back, withdrawing deeper in to the shadows, the blackness engulfing him.
“Forgive me,” he said, “But I detest moonlight. You will see my face at sunrise, for now, I will find a room where you can rest; you may stay for as long for as long as you wish...” He stopped talking abruptly.
A candle flickered in to life, though I heard no sound of a match being struck. I grasped it gratefully, basking in the feeble light it gave. We travelled through a damp hallway, while I felt confused at where a bedroom might be in a Cathedral.
As though he had read my mind, the peculiar man spoke again, saying, “Of course this is not the Carstein Cathedral. These forests are misleading; they can take you in all sorts of directions, and not always the right ones. The Cathedral is on the other side of the canyon.”
“What is this place then? I saw no sign of a castle on the map,” I replied.
The stranger gave a small chuckle. “Ah, of course not. The villagers refer to this place as the Lost Castle.”
“How strange. But why lost? How can you lose a castle?”
“It is only a name. Do not concern yourself with trivial matters.”
“But I really am very interested...”
“Enough!” His voice was like a whip in the darkness. “You will stay here for as long as you wish to... but without questions. Now let us find you a room…”
Bemused at my companions strange manner, I followed his shadow, that danced and fluttered weakly, as though desperate to get away from its solid human form.
We reached one of a series of doorways, and the figure in front of me paused beside it. Misunderstanding his actions, I grasped the brass door handle, twisting the ancient thing inwards.
All of a sudden, the man seemed to be in a great rage. His eyes glinted with unnatural light, and he lunged forward, grasping my wrist, sharp fingernails clawing at my hand.
I tried indignantly to pull away, but he possessed a manic strength and would not release me until he had spoken.
“Forgive me,” he said coldly. “But there are items in this room of…personal value. I cannot allow you to enter.”
He then released my arm and glided silently to a room a few doors away, showing me wordlessly inside and then leaving me to my own company.
Three hundred and sixty five days later and I am still in this God forsaken place, doomed, to an eternity in the Lost Castle. You see, you must cast any thoughts of vampyres out of your mind. The haunts of this castle are worse, much worse, and I will repeat what that lonely man told me.
“This castle was cursed long ago, and disappeared to most eyes. The villagers named it the Lost Castle, because that is what it seemed to them, lost. They could not see it. It vanished to their eyes, and will remain so for ever. The only ones that see it are the ones that enter and never return.”
These were his words, and so I end my sorry tale, my only companion being the cry of the wolves, not behind you, but in front, leading foolhardy men to their doom.
“You will stay here for as long as you wish to” he said.
And he was right. For as long as you wish to leave. This of course being eternity. For who could wish to stay in hell?
I sat at my desk, glancing at the breakfast laid out on a tray by my wife. I was not hungry. Scanning the papers scattered across my desk, I decided that it was almost complete. Almost. I wanted to get a first hand view of the Cathedral, and eagerly awaited the letter of permission from the Romanian government.
There was a tap at the door, and the maid entered, to my utter delight, handing me a telegram bearing the Romanian mark.
I tore it open eagerly, almost immediately jumping up and asking the maid to inform my wife that I was leaving on the next train to Romania. I crammed clothes in to a battered leather suitcase, slammed it shut then hauled it out of the room. I almost felt that I was being too hasty, but I stepped in to the busy streets of London and hailed a cab, clutching the letter in my hands.
“Dear Sir,” it read,
“We would be happy for you to view the Carstein Cathedral, and have arranged a room for your arrival.
As you will see, we have enclosed a ticket for this evening, hoping that this will be convenient.
A carriage will be waiting for you at the train station in Romania,
Yours sincerely,
The Romanian Government.”
In case you have not realised, I was an architect, devoting my time to studying precious artefacts. I had often received complaints from tribes and villagers for disturbing these precious symbols, even once receiving a curse, but no ill had fallen upon me until now, and I was disinclined to believe such nonsense.
To the present.
The driver announced that we had arrived at the station, and I thanked him, paid the fare, and clambered out on to the pavement.
I stood for a minute, leaning against the strong, sudden breeze pushing me away from the station, then, making my decision, strode forwards to find an available space on the carriage in front of me, leaving the familiar, comforting bustle of London streets behind.
The jolt of the train woke me from my slumbers, and I stretched, standing to pull my case from the luggage rack. As I stepped out of the carriage on to the stone cobbles, a cold wind whispered, and I shuddered, drawing my coat closer around me.
A coach and four strikingly black horses were waiting outside the station and the driver signalled for me to get on. I questioned whether this was the coach to the Carstein Cathedral, but there was no reply, and feeling slightly uncomfortable, I climbed in. Instantly, the driver cracked the whip and the horses screamed, rearing up and plunging in to the mist.
We travelled through a deep forest, and every now and again I glimpsed tall mountain peaks capped with snow. As the sun dipped and vanished behind the horizon, howls rang out through the trees, and I thought I saw shapes shifting through the forest, weaving, darting in and out of the trees and trotting beside the coach, making the horses jitter and pull harder against the harness.
Suddenly, the silhouettes fell back, and an hour later the horses were pulled to a halt snorting and foaming at the mouth.
I stepped out cautiously, on to a winding path that twisted and turned in to the trees, and the coach moved on immediately, the horses’ eyes a demonic red as they were forced to gallop at the side of a sickening drop. My case was still in the carriage, but I had been told on the back of my train ticket that it would be taken to the hotel.
I started to walk.
Crunching up an old stone pathway, I ducked to avoid the low swinging branch of a tree.
Glancing around me, I saw what must have once been a beautiful garden, withered, and dead.
Nature, with her long, tenacious fingers, had clamped an iron grip on this lonely place, and the woods had triumphed, crowding dark and uncontrollable; guarding the beeches, with white, naked, shrivelled limbs, like crucified men, left to die in the cold.
The trees were making a peculiar tomblike archway over my head, and I was constantly stumbling over roots and fallen branches.
Any flowers that had once grown here had deformed, and reared to monstrous sizes, black, ugly, and as twisted as the weeds growing next to them, without a bloom to be seen.
Howls rose and fell, swelling over me and echoing all around, seeming to be in front of me rather than behind, and causing the ravens roosting in the trees to flutter and squawk in alarm.
I ploughed onwards, glimpsing every now and again the high imposing arch of the Cathedral, bathed in an eerie glow.
Stumbling over the gnarled roots, I fell, grazing my shins and feeling buried as moist, loamy soil flew over me.
I clambered shakily up, feeling blood trickle down my cheek.
Something shrieked, and I glanced up sharply, then cowering in shock and alarm as a huge shape shadowed overhead.
The impossible was that it looked almost human, but with gargantuan, bat like wings on it’s back. The impossible seemed to have become reality. Vampyre!
I pressed on towards the Cathedral, hoping to find a place to stay in this nightmare I had come so naively in to.
As I rounded the last bend, I realised I was standing directly underneath the Cathedral, and I stood in shock and disbelief as my neck craned up at the awe-inspiring sight.
Tall spires reached up and plunged in to the swirling clouds above, illuminated by a moon bone white and pocketed with silver.
Further in front and to the side of me, the ground dropped steeply in to a canyon below, where I could glimpse snaking silver ribbons of streams between the rips in the forbidding cloak of the forest
The arches of the great stone building towered over me; casting shadows like spells all around, and making every hair on my neck stand up and scream in my ears to run away.
But I was rooted to the spot, my senses sparking off warning signs that this was not a place built for worshipping God.
There were no graceful angels with gentle faces and high sloping wings. In their place were the grotesque faces of gargoyles, perched on curved blocks of stone, grinning and leering at me from every angle.
I shook myself in to action and stepped forward to knock at the door, only to recoil in fear as chains clanked and rattled, and a huge iron bolt drew back, allowing the huge oak doors to swing inwards, groaning and squealing in protest on the intricate metal hinges that supported them.
In my trance I had not noticed the danger I was in, and I turned too late, to face the snarling pack of wolves that had been dogging my steps since my arrival in Romania.
I stepped backwards as hackles rose, and I saw moonlight glinting off their pointed teeth. My foot suddenly caught on a paving stone, and I fell heavily.
I lay there, waiting for the pack to pounce and tear me to shreds.
“Enough,” a cold voice spoke from the blackness of the doorway, and a clawed hand grasped me by the shoulder with astonishing strength. I felt that hand could have ripped my arm from my body if it had wished to.
I stood gingerly, and as I gazed up past the floor, I was astonished to find my rescuer standing in the doorway, appearing to have run back in to the shadows after assisting me.
I turned, fearing the wolves, and as I did so, I thought I saw two red glints where his eyes should have been, but I must have been mistaken, for the next time I saw him, the eyes were perfectly clear.
Spinning around to face the wolves, I was astonished to find them sitting patiently, as docile as any pet, tongues lolling as they panted softly.
“Go,” the man commanded, and they rose instantly and padded in to the forest.
I turned yet again to see the face of my rescuer, but he shied back, withdrawing deeper in to the shadows, the blackness engulfing him.
“Forgive me,” he said, “But I detest moonlight. You will see my face at sunrise, for now, I will find a room where you can rest; you may stay for as long for as long as you wish...” He stopped talking abruptly.
A candle flickered in to life, though I heard no sound of a match being struck. I grasped it gratefully, basking in the feeble light it gave. We travelled through a damp hallway, while I felt confused at where a bedroom might be in a Cathedral.
As though he had read my mind, the peculiar man spoke again, saying, “Of course this is not the Carstein Cathedral. These forests are misleading; they can take you in all sorts of directions, and not always the right ones. The Cathedral is on the other side of the canyon.”
“What is this place then? I saw no sign of a castle on the map,” I replied.
The stranger gave a small chuckle. “Ah, of course not. The villagers refer to this place as the Lost Castle.”
“How strange. But why lost? How can you lose a castle?”
“It is only a name. Do not concern yourself with trivial matters.”
“But I really am very interested...”
“Enough!” His voice was like a whip in the darkness. “You will stay here for as long as you wish to... but without questions. Now let us find you a room…”
Bemused at my companions strange manner, I followed his shadow, that danced and fluttered weakly, as though desperate to get away from its solid human form.
We reached one of a series of doorways, and the figure in front of me paused beside it. Misunderstanding his actions, I grasped the brass door handle, twisting the ancient thing inwards.
All of a sudden, the man seemed to be in a great rage. His eyes glinted with unnatural light, and he lunged forward, grasping my wrist, sharp fingernails clawing at my hand.
I tried indignantly to pull away, but he possessed a manic strength and would not release me until he had spoken.
“Forgive me,” he said coldly. “But there are items in this room of…personal value. I cannot allow you to enter.”
He then released my arm and glided silently to a room a few doors away, showing me wordlessly inside and then leaving me to my own company.
Three hundred and sixty five days later and I am still in this God forsaken place, doomed, to an eternity in the Lost Castle. You see, you must cast any thoughts of vampyres out of your mind. The haunts of this castle are worse, much worse, and I will repeat what that lonely man told me.
“This castle was cursed long ago, and disappeared to most eyes. The villagers named it the Lost Castle, because that is what it seemed to them, lost. They could not see it. It vanished to their eyes, and will remain so for ever. The only ones that see it are the ones that enter and never return.”
These were his words, and so I end my sorry tale, my only companion being the cry of the wolves, not behind you, but in front, leading foolhardy men to their doom.
“You will stay here for as long as you wish to” he said.
And he was right. For as long as you wish to leave. This of course being eternity. For who could wish to stay in hell?
