Link not working? Click Here

The earlier parts are included in the previous editions

Streaks of lightening stretch across the darkened sky like a glowing skeletal hand, smearing with its awe-inspiring aura through the heavy rain, blowing winds, and a castle that stood in defiance of it all. The darkness, only a small point dead center above the towering manifest, produced a string of white, graying clouds in a circular fashion. Swirling quickly into a formation that dared those nearby to stare with absolute fear induced wonder as to how such a feat of Mother Nature could possibly exist with such accuracy as to not disturb those only several miles away. The clouds thickened, swarming into a swollen mass of blackness; the winds increased in might, bashing against the castle’s sturdy walls; Flares of light flashed, exploding in brilliant illumination, casting perfect shadows behind everything as if to ignore the glaring, beating light of the sun.

     Rhonda grabbed the dirty knob and the smell of tobacco smacked her in the face when she pulled open the bathroom door. Orange, stale hues of light penetrated through the partially shut blinds and random imperfections in the wooden walls, exposing a lingering cloud of dust and dirt brought in by the wide-open doorway. A cluster of tired town folk blocked most of the establishment, preventing access to the tables, booths, and much of the bar unless she felt eager for another pinch on an ass cheek.

     She eyed the crowd with suspicion and hastily walked over to the bar. Leaning her weight against the counter, she tapped her blue nails against the granite surface. “Did you find anything yet,” asked Rhonda.

     “Not anything worth mentioning,” said Charles, rubbing his hands across his brown moustache. “Other, of course, that the people think we’re insane for wanting to check out the place.”

     “So,” asked Rhonda, slowly forgetting about the peeping eyes. “They don’t have any explanation for the fortress shattering like that?”

     “I’m afraid not,” said Charles, tasting the recent swig of beer.

     “Afraid,” asked Rhonda, confused. “Are you joking? It’ll make our trip worth it.” She glanced over Charles’ shoulder at the dirty, rugged men

     “I know, I know,” said Charles, heavily. “I just hope this doesn’t end up being one of those things. You know. One of those things that destroy one’s career.”

     “Really,” said Rhonda, sarcastically. “You think this now? Who knows what we may find, but it will do everything but destroy our careers. A fortress that survived the bombings during world war two crumbles to a thunderstorm, and you think it’ll ruin your career? It’s a dream come true.”

     Charles rubbed the back of his neck.

     “Are you scared or something,” asked Rhonda, concerned.

     He released a heavy sigh and popped his knuckles. “Not enough to prevent me from doing something stupid. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

     Rhonda placed her hand on his shoulder, offering a sense of warming comfort that reminded them both the ambiguity of their friendship and the teetering and unspoken desire to do something more.

     “Guys,” yelled Steven. Short and skinny, the man drove through the moving crowd with a questionable grin. “Luck is finally on our side.”

     “Did they tell you something about the shattered fortress,” asked Rhonda, slowly removing her hand from Charles’ shoulder in order to not draw attention.

     “No,” said Steven, giddily. “Even better. We have full access to the premises without police escort. We don’t have to worry at all about their interference.”

     “That’s it,” asked Charles.

     “You don’t like that,” asked Steven, taken aback. “I thought you would enjoy the sense of freedom. Excuse me.”

     “Anything else,” asked Charles.

     Steven folded his arms, looked down for a moment, staring at the grungy floorboard. He shook his head slightly. “No, not really. Unless you consider all that you better beware stuff to be something of a surprise. How many times do you have to tell them that we’re aware of the danger?”

     “Dangers of ghosts and I haven’t seen one yet,” muttered Charles. He moved from the barstool and repositioned his hat. “The only thing we should beware of is the people that want us so desperately to believe them.”

     “I don’t think that will be a problem. Everyone seems to seriously hate that place,” said Steven. He pocketed a hand and followed behind the others out of the rundown pub. Charles groaned, donning on his dark aviator shades before climbing into the driver seat of the jeep. The engine fired, roaring as if eager to hit grind its rubber against the road, while rumbling with a mechanized, beastly need for fuel. Rhonda took shotgun, clinching onto the overhanging bar with a gloved hand, whereas Steven took the backseat.

     Charles didn’t delay anymore than he felt necessary and drove into the strong gust of wind. Steven wanted to chat, sitting in the middle of the seat as if unable to keep information to himself, as if the silence ate at him, but his words were lost with only Rhonda partially concerned. Rhonda just gave a nod, supplementing Steven’s need for attention with a passive and plastic attempt. She distracted herself with the scenery, which grew more and more remote, but she would sneak a sly glance at Charles on the occasion. His broad, strong jaw line, his sun touched skin, and his high cheek bones produced an image of strength and dependability in her, mirroring that of the shattered fortress that emerged atop of a treacherous hill on the horizon. The paved road changed quickly from the years of neglect as if not a single person could muster the courage to be in the vicinity of the supposed haunted place.

     The tires churned into the dust, tossing gray and brown dirt into the air as the vehicle drove by a stretch of rocky terrain only to slow to the sight of a gate. Tall, heavy iron gates, corroded with rust, leaned against their supporting stone structures as if it was by some sort of miracle that they haven’t completely collapsed. Charles observed for a moment but the demolished fountain redirect his focus to a much more important specimen. He knew what to expect: a once solid structure brought down to demolished heap of stone and wood, but expectations and realizations rarely form in agreement. The iconic edifice didn’t lie in complete disarray as imagined, for the destruction piled neatly and internally.

     Charles slammed on the breaks, placed the jeep to neutral and jumped out of the vehicle. He walked towards the towering mass with his dark shades reflecting only a portion of its height. Jaw wide with bafflement, Charles turned around and freed his brown eyes from the shades. Rhonda turned off the engine, while Steven jumped out with a toolbox in hand.

     “An implosion,” asked Charles, as if searching for an ounce of security in the find. “There is no way a storm could have done this. The destruction, it’s so controlled.”

     “Suspecting foul play,” asked Rhonda, shading her eyes with her hand while glancing at the tip of a ruined tower. “I wouldn’t put it past them. Desperate people will do anything for attention.”

     “You two are such skeptics,” muttered Steven, walking in between the two. “The people might be down on their luck but they wouldn’t do this. You should be happy. For once it looks like we found something worthy of our time. Good too, I would hate for us to head back to the university empty handed again.”

     “I bet you ten dollars we find evidence of foul play,” said Charles, in a flat tone. He glanced into Steven’s gaze and poked a finger into his chest. “You better have ten dollars on you.”

     “Pssh. You’re the one that better have it.” Steven knocked Charles’ hand away with a playful grin and walked towards the crumbled entrance. The cobblestone pathway lead to set of steps that ran smack into a heap of collapsed stone. Walls, shattered into fragments, drove their staggering weight against their stronger counterparts, creating a lopsided ceiling that couldn’t convince even a Spartan of its safety. Steven climbed over a low wall and sat in a coat of gray dirt with the heavy toolbox at his side. He winced as he stared into the narrow opening, and then glanced over his shoulder at the hesitant two. “Not afraid, are you?”

     “From the looks of it, we should be able to get more room inside. We just hope the place doesn’t come crashing down on us before hand,” said Charles, unconvincingly.

     “If the standing walls aren’t deceiving,” said Rhonda, glancing at the carved windows that appear unharmed.

     “We should be fine,” said Steven. He opened his mouth but hesitated to say another word. He pried himself from the rough surface of the stone and ducked under the wreckage. The cool air, with its earthy musk, welcomed him with a familiar vibration. He crouched and progressed deeper into the shadow, pausing only to gesture for the other two to follow suit.

     The three squeezed their way deeper into the remains of the entry hall and found the opening changing in their favor. The narrow passage with its constricted air widened into a chamber that appeared as a dull shadow of its former glory. A sickening, corrosive layer of grit masked the contents of the room including the cold floor. Pieces of crumbled rock lay about in random placements, covering a frayed wool rug. A splintered banister, covered in dust, glisten with a faint bronzy tint that disappeared upon notice. Steven ran his hands along the irregular surface of the stone, and flooded his light into a small opening.

     “Fucking weird,” said Steven.

     Charles stepped towards the archeologist. “You found something?”

     “You won’t believe this. Something is moving in the crack,” said Steven, he toyed with the flashlight, searching for a better angle. “I’m telling you the fucking truth. I’m not going insane. Look for yourself.”

     Charles grabbed the flashlight and eyeballed the questionable opening. The shadows moved towards the nearest edge as if in fright of the light, which slowly expanded. “The wall! It’s recovering?”

     “Let me see that,” said Rhonda, trying to peer over the guys.

     Charles turned away with a long face, and cautiously handed the metallic flashlight over. Rhonda grabbed the light and shoved Steven to the side. She crouched low to the ground, cast the beam onto the wall and froze.

     “You see it,” asked Steven, impatiently.

     “Give her some space, please,” said Charles, watching her reaction.

     Rhonda stood, turned as if reluctant to cave into the possibility, and walked towards the man she looked up to. “You,” she said, heavily. “Little joker.” She pressed the flashlight into Charles’ chest.

     “What? You saw it right?” Steven couldn’t refrain from expressing his discovery.

     Charles cocked his head to the side and noticed the crack had sealed shut as if it never happened. “I’m telling you the truth. There was a crack there.”

     “Bullshit,” said Rhonda. She retreated back while bearing a suspecting smirk. “Sure it was. I feel foolish for being so easily led. I don’t know, maybe I just want it more than you, but I’ll get you back.”

     “Actually,” said Steven, thrown by the sudden change. “Look around you.” The shattered rocks diminished into a powder that gradually faded. The disfigured ceiling, with its massive gaping holes of jagged stone, began to recover as if supplied with an endless amount of molding intelligent enough to act to the manipulated of someone’s command.

     “You still think we were pulling your leg,” asked Charles, a grin stretched across his hairy mug.

     “Oh my god,” said Rhonda, bursting with laughter. “We finally found something.” Fuelled by excitement, Rhonda glommed Charles into a tight hug.

     “This is so incredible,” said Charles. “We gotta check other places.” Charles pulled away, carrying her by the arm for a moment before parting to give Steven a rub on his shoulder. “For the first time, we are either all insane or very lucky.”

     The group explored the vast open chamber, heading towards a wing that featured a gallery of windows that looked out onto the desolate landscape. Though the view contained little for fascination, a strange wooden door didn’t fail to captivate their curiosity. Charles opened the door, pulling on the iron ring, but it refused to give without a fight. The base of the door scrapped against the stone floor, grinding until a solid stop. 

     Wadding in the shallow pools of the castle’s depths, the observing trio found one particular spot more fascinating than the rest. A narrow strip of dried soil sealed from the water by decorative bricks stretched along the slime coated walls, acting as a lead in for a decaying brown mass. The stench of rotten meat, soiled from humidity, lingered in the air, dominating the crew.

     “Guys,” said Rhonda. “You need to see this.” A staggering pile of bloodstained articles of war, including battered shields, splintered staves, and sundered armor, all of which entangled by the boney hands of the dead. “Obviously, there haven’t been any looters.”

     “You have any idea what all this could be worth,” asked Charles, baffled. “If my eyes are not mistaking me, this could not only lead to a hefty check, but recognition.”

     Steven got closer, examining the hilt of a sword. “This is real alright.”

     “Not even looters come here,” said Rhonda. “But we could fill the role. I don’t know about you guys, but I could use the money.”

     “Steven I hope you’re noting all of this,” said Charles.

     “Noting? I’m taking some God Damn samples,” said Steven, as he pried the sword from the skeleton.

     Charles shot his light at a tunnel, an abandon drainage pipe of some sort. Charles glanced at Rhonda with puzzlement. “We could’ve come in through another way?”

     “Well,” said Rhonda. “Who would’ve thought?”

     “There are more of these tunnels. I don’t know where they go, but it looks like someone brave enough could’ve ventured in for a quick steal,” said Charles.

     “We should continue,” said Steven, taking the steps out of the water.

     Charles and Rhonda followed, wading in ankle high water. A glossy coat of dread engulfed Steven’s brilliant blue eyes, forcing the others to tap into a lurking doubt. A gust of wind, colder than death, crept across their backs, treading along their spines, and though they feared for their lives, it was the unexplainable that seized them. A single example of the undeniable laws of nature broken, robbing them of their sanity, but unlike the recovering edifice, this produced a dire and very real threat. The weapons, the mass of steel and wood, rose into the air and formed into a circle around a handsome shield as if guided by an invisible hand. The rusted swords, knives, and maces orbited around the centerpiece with a faint shadow trailing behind.

     “Jesus Christ,” said Steven. “A poltergeist?”

     “We need to get out of here,” barked Charles.

     The swords flew towards the group. Charles and Rhonda dove for the floor, but Steven failed to dodge and received a fatal gash in his chest. Steven’s blood gushed from his torn gut, spilling into the murky water as Charles and Rhonda continued to stay low while the blades spun around them. A thunderous explosion echoed above them, sending a fierce vibration down into their level. The weapons dropped, the cool air stopped, and the two rushed to Steven’s aid.

     “It’ll be okay,” said Charles, distracted by the amount of blood pumping out of the wound. “It’ll be all okay.”

     “We got to get some help,” said Rhonda, trying to speak over Steven’s cries. “Looks like we’re leaving a bit earlier than planned.”

     “Would you mind if I offer some assistance,” said a thin old man with confidence in his posture. A dark suit covered him from head to toe with the exception of a white dress shirt. Gray hair framed his balding scalp, and dark, soulless beads were placed where his eyes should’ve been. “I would ask what you are doing down here. It’s dangerous.”

     “We could use some help, old man,” said Charles, hastily. “You have any medical supplies.”

     “Far better, my friend. Follow me,” said the butler as he turned for the door.

     They took the request as favorably as they could, ignoring the strangeness to the Butler’s mannerisms; his humming and modest pacing. They carried their bleeding, crying companion between them as they followed through the spacious corridors into a banquet hall. A long oak table, rows of chairs with velvet padding, and iron lanterns, all of which crafted by a dedicated hand, provided the eyes an assortment to plunder.

     “Sit him there,” said the butler, pointing at the head of the table. He cupped an ivory bowl that was covered by a damp cloth in his left hand and moved it closer to his spot. He sat on a stool, rubbed his forehead. “We really don’t have all day.”

     Charles helped Steven to the chair, and the butler immediately tore into the blood stained shirt, exposing a deep gash that desperately needed stitches.

     “Are you sure you can fix this,” asked Charles, rubbing his small beard. Rhonda got closer to him and bit her thumbnail. “We should probably head back to town.”

     “He won’t make it. But don’t worry. We got just the stuff.” The butler shushed Steven, dampening his cries with a wad of cloth before dipping a white steaming towel into the bowl. A mesh of glistening powder clung to the rough felt of the cloth. “First we got to stop the bleeding. We don’t need him dying on us.”

     “I’m glad you understand, but do you have to be so blunt about it,” asked Rhonda.

     “I’m sorry,” said the butler, pausing from cleaning the wound brief enough to express an ounce of rusted sympathy. “We don’t get too many visitors. Not with the reputation and all.” He poured a clear liquid from a vile and it seethed into the gash, layering over the blood with white foam. Steven groaned, cursing louder than the roaring thunder.

     “We appreciate your help,” said Charles, relieved. “So you actually live here?”

     “More or less,” said the butler. He brushed away the foam, exposing the torn flesh, damaged tissue, and crust of blood. “My master is persistent that we stay here, regardless of the trials.”

     “But it’s so dangerous,” said Rhonda. “The storm for one, but there’s something evil about this place.”

     “The storm,” said the butler, puzzled. “Oh yes, the storm is a recent nuisance, but it should be over soon enough and then you and your friend can be off on you way.” The vague servant pressed the white cloth against the wound and Steven jolted to the sudden spike in pain. “Evil is only the first impression. Strange but not evil.”

     “What the fuck are you doing,” yelled Steven. He squirmed with his sweaty arms, but the butler’s grip was too powerful to fight. “Are you helping me or killing me?”

     “Why is he saying that,” asked Charles, suspiciously.

     “The ointment inflicts pain but that’s the discomfort of the process. He’ll be better, trust me.” The butler pressed deeper into the wound.

     “Wait a minute,” ordered Charles. “What is it that you’re applying to the wound?”

     “More importantly,” said Rhonda, emerging from under her breath. “You arrived at the scene pretty fast. Explain the floating swords, the healing walls, and most of all, yourself.”

     “For students of the paranormal you’re very skeptic. Odd, but I understand. The times, the trial, have all eroded your sense of trust. I am exactly as I seem and nothing more. The swords were as they were, and the walls did nothing unusual.” The butler glanced at his bloodstained hands and sighed heavily.

     “Who told you we were students,” asked Rhonda.

     “Isn’t it obvious?” The butler rose from the stool. He felt Steven’s forehead. The young explorer shivered as if chilled, groaned as if his body was ripped apart by an internal war, and his consciousness waned in and out. “I should fetch the wine. It’s rude to not prepare a drink for guests. If you will please excuse me.” The butler left the table and paced towards a door.

     “Do you believe this,” stressed Charles, maintaining control over the volume of his voice. “All this time and now, now we have it. Now we found something. This guy, I bet you ten dollars that this guy is.”

     Rhonda snapped. “Charles! Focus here.” Rhonda bolted from her chair and examined Steven’s condition. She removed the cloth and provoked by the glistening ground powder to stroke it with her finger.

     “What’s the matter,” asked Charles. “Some treatments hurt during the process. Try pouring straight alcohol on a wound.”

     “It’s glass.” Her voice cracked with disbelief, but rose with confidence, rendering her deliverance with determination. “The deranged butler pressed glass into his injury!”

     Charles jumped to the scene. “But he stopped the bleeding, didn’t he?”

     “Yes,” said Rhonda, trying to slap Steven awake. “We got to get him out of here. We got to get out of here, and fast.”

     “I can’t believe I left my guard down like that,” muttered Charles.

     “It’s fine. Let’s just get going,” replied Rhonda. She dragged the chair away from the table and Charles plopped the injured companion over his broad shoulder. “Come on! We might be able to reach the front door before he notices.”

     Charles ran behind Rhonda. Her dirty blond locks tossed to the frantic movement of her escape, bathed in the dim orange hue of the setting sun. They stormed through the wing. The crumbled entrance way no longer lied in ruins, it appeared as if nothing happened, exposing the extent of the radical, unexplainable phenomenon of the healing walls. Sturdy walls of solid stone built with unwavering defiance to all challenging elements framed the heavy oak doors. Rhonda pulled on the door with all her might but it failed to budge. Charles took his turn, but nothing changed.

     “There must be some explanation,” explained Charles.

     “Good luck with that,” replied Rhonda, searching for something to break the door with. She found an axe and went for it. Thunder rolled, vibrating into the chamber, bringing forth a skinny visitor wrapped tightly in dark plate armor reinforced by chainmesh. He stood before Rhonda, grabbing the axe from her hand. His baldhead glowed with a dim blue aura that faded like that of a struggling flame.

     “Don’t even try,” said the armored creature, in deep, soulful voice. “Your attempts will only amuse him, And though that alone may distract him, it wouldn’t grant me the upper hand that I so desperately need.”

     Rhonda backed away, running her back into Charles’ chest. He wrapped his arm around her, ready to flee on the spur of the moment. “You thinking about killing us,” asked Charles.

     “That would be against his will, and it would only make him stronger,” said the creature. An explosion of blue shadow erupted from his fist. The illuminating flare formed into a wicked blade, solidifying into a metal of a different realm. The creature raised the blade to have it tear through the air, rippling through with a fade of bluish flame. “But as long as he live, he feeds the one I’m ordered to destroy. I, Kerlaung, will put an end to his reign.”

     “Then let us leave,” yelled Rhonda.

     “I’m afraid it won’t be that easy. His power is stronger than mine at the moment. And he is only increasing the drive. You’ll need to kill him.”
    
     “No,” replied Charles. His surge of strength played fallible to the creatures taunting blow, which broke the clustered three away from one another, leaving them to crawl to their tormented friend.

     “You don’t understand,” said Kerlaung, casting the group under the glowing illumination of his blade. “You have no idea what it will mean in the end. I assure you He will forgive you for the murder.”

     “Moranet,” muttered Steven, his eyes batting to the lingering pain.

     “Yes, Moranet,” roared Kerlaung. “At this moment he is confident that I can’t defeat him, and I can’t. Not with him alive and suffering. End his torment, end his misery and it’ll at least give me a chance.”

     “It’s not going to happen,” said Charles.

     Thunder roared from the heavens, shaking the grounds of the castle, and Kerlaung was gone. 

     “Jesus Christ,” muttered Rhonda. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

     Charles directed them through another hall that winded and turned with different directions. Guided by his gut and equipped with a determination equal to that of a deranged prisoner that would fight through Alcatraz for another taste of freedom, Charles took flight up the stairs. He reached a low level balcony and attempted to jump from it, but the moment his body crossed the ledge the air formed into a barrier, blocking him from his wily attempt at escape.

     “Are you lost,” asked the butler. “I would be kind enough to give you a tour if you have the time.”

     “Get the fuck away from us,” demanded Charles. He reached for his back and removed a pistol from under his belt. “I don’t know who the fuck you are but you’re not getting near us again.”

     “What is the meaning of this,” asked the butler, backing away with palms open. “I only wanted to help.”

     “You done enough damage,” said Rhonda, testing Charles’ grip as she bolted towards the older gentleman. “Let me go, I wanna wring his neck.”

     “You won’t have to,” said Charles. He fired a round and the bullet phased through the butler’s body completely.

     “Well, I guess that changes everything,” said the butler. He stepped closer to the group, the wrinkles in his face folded with sinister intent. “So much for being nice to guests.”

     Charles fired another round but it produced not a single inclination of infliction. He tugged on Rhonda, digging his hand into her coat, and ushered her into his escape. The butler followed without any change in pace, walking slowly but with a smug smirk plastered across his ugly mug.

     “The tunnels,” said Rhonda. “It’ll be our best shot.”

     “We better hope it isn’t blocked,” replied Charles, out of breath from running. They turned a few corners and stepped down into the lower basement region of the castle. The strong stench of death and rot distracted them, constantly pulling on their focus, but their drive was strong.

     “I doubt it’ll be safe,” said Charles.

     The butler appeared in front of them with a hovering sword at both sides. He crossed his arms, gave a gentle nod, and the blades followed his unspoken command. Charles fired a few rounds, one slammed into a hilt, rocking one of the swords off its path. But the other grazed across his arm, digging into Steven’s chest.

     “Steven,” cried Rhonda.

     “Go, run!” Ordered Charles. He gestured for her to leave for the tunnel, and fired a few more rounds at the flying blades. “I’ll be right behind you.”

     Rhonda refused to leave, but Charles pushed her away and severed the emotional pull with a stern gaze that couldn’t be interpreted for anything less than a serious, numinous command that must be obeyed. She ran through the water, splashing as her boots broke through the murky surface, and though she made a loud commotion, Charles did his part in securing her escape.

     She lifted her body and climbed into the narrow tunnel, pressing her gloved palms against the rusty surface. The echo of gunfire haunted her, lingering close behind like an unwanted shadow, but it brought a sense of hope. With the gunfire it provided more credibility to the possibility of him alive and fighting. The sound got closer, approaching faster than her squeezed escape, but then there was silence. Her muscles burned as if coated in acidic waters that burned slowly through the surface, eating into the tender core, but she refused to plop her weight against the filthy surface.

     “Charles,” she cried, unable to get a look behind her. “Please. Don’t let me down.”

     A thud traveled up the tunnel. “What are you waiting for,” muttered Charles. He groaned in pain. The frantic beating of his sweaty palms against the walls of the tunnel offered assurance.

     “You’re alive,” said Rhonda, pleased but trying hard to disguise it. “I was only waiting for you. What’s the matter? Couldn’t suck in the weight for a tight squeeze?” She let out a pretentious laugh.

     “Come on, hurry up. We don’t got all day,” said Charles, exhausted.

     Rhonda pressed her flesh against the metal, pulled her weight, paused for air, and repeated the process. The light at the end of tunnel fueled her determination, injecting a new sense of power that coursed through her depleted muscles, but it wasn’t enough to prevent from collapsing once out from the constricting space. She eyeballed the tunnel and heard Charles’ approach with growing anticipation.

     “I thought you wanted to hurry up,” said Rhonda, lightly.

     The sound of flesh flapping against metal stopped, the sound of struggle ended, but the distinct sound of a body dragged perched faintly on her ear. Rhonda reached into the tunnel and grabbed only air.

     “Charles,” cried Rhonda. “Come on. Charles, you have to make it.” The return of silence encouraged her to repeat until a violent clash of lightning stuck against the base of the castle causing her to recoil away from the area in fright.

     She reached the jeep, started the engine and watched as the castle struggled to resist the might of the clashing deity. Kerlaung fought with his might, destined to slay his target with no regard for his property and anything around the vicinity. The walls of the castle crumbled, the ground shook into mild tremors, and the tower collapsed once again. She reversed just in time to dodge a crushing blow of the falling destruction.

     Tears streaked down her cheeks, as the memory followed her like a god-forsaken souvenir. Charles and Steven died with their bodies buried beneath the crumbling castle that tried like hell to counter the power of the otherworld deity, and with them lay the story. All the memories and recollections she could form and present would flap in the wind like a battered flag during the approach of a hurricane, meaning nothing to those that see it other than distressed and in need of assistance. A smart wit rendered flawed by the injection of a sudden and tragic loss, Rhonda spilled her story to those she could and the officers were quick to reward her with a taste of what insanity brings. Romanian officials pressed her to the floor, cuffed her hands, and hauled her with some concern for her treatment to a crowded jail where she received unforgettable dialog from an older, bearded gentleman with eyes robbed of any joy.

     “You can’t treat me this way,” barked Rhonda. She raised her cuffed hands to dab at her busted lower lip.

     “American,” spoke the older man, his words smooth. “We don’t mean you any harm. You can feel assured that we will let you go without any intent of restraining you, but first.” The man cocked his head back and the armed guards obeyed the gesture and cleared the room. The gray haired man pulled out a metallic chair and sat. “You said a lot of things,” said the man. “A lot of things that make our people very uneasy.”

     “I know what I saw,” said Rhonda. Her green eyes shining brilliantly, contrasting with her crusty, dirt covered face. “I arrived with others and they are in that place. How do you explain it? I want to hear you try.”

     “The castle you visited is a sacred monument and we will keep it that way,” said the older gentleman. “By the way, it was so rude of me, but my name. It’s Fredrick.”

     “I don’t give a damn, and for the record there is nothing you can say to me that will prevent me from informing the world of this awful place,” said Rhonda, each word puncturing through, but Fred pretended to not care.

     “That’s a noble trait. But I seriously doubt that anyone would listen,” said Fred. “You don’t have anything to work with. You storm into a bar screaming that the walls heal, that the swords fly, and that the butler is a ghost, but do you know what it looks like when you have no proof?”

     “Then prove me wrong,” said Rhonda, leaning forward, pressing her finger into the table. “Prove me the fuck wrong. Let’s go to the castle, watch it recover from the storm.”

     Fredrick raised his hand up to his nose and tapped lightly against his lips. “You want us to move our equipment to the site and prove you wrong? What is there to prove? The castle is standing as tall as ever, without so much as a crack to it.”

     “You see, but it crumbled once, did it not?”

     “You’ve heard way too many stories about this place. How I pray for the day that people see the beauty of this town instead of the curse,” said Fred, outstretching his arms, tapping his finger against the wooden table. “Tonight, you will take a plane back to America, and you know that they will not listen to a word you say.”

     “No. I want to stay,” said Rhonda, her voice rising with desperation as Fred beckoned for the guards to escort her from the premises. “I need to stay. I want to visit the country side, you can’t deny my right to that.”

     “Your rights as an American are for us to send you back alive in one piece,” said Fred, dismissing her retort with a slight hand gesture. “You’re lucky we haven’t banned you all together.”

     “No,” yelled Rhonda.

     The police officers loaded her into the car and they drove without hesitating one bit. “I hope you consider another stay,” whispered Fred, waving at her from the inside of the police department window.

Editor Notes:
Am I really making a comment on my own story? I believe so. There are elements in this story that aren’t really explained but or shown. From what you’ve read so far, you know that Moranet has been denied a proper passing into the afterlife and thus has directed his torment onto those around him. After doing this for a millennia, Moranet has received the attention of some very powerful forces. This story shows the incident from a human perspective, while the next will include Moranet’s. If you like epic tales of powerful spiritual forces battling one another than the follow-up will be just for you.