THE CASTLE
A massive castle, with sharp towers intrusively piercing the sky, stood solemnly in the night. The structure was built from large blocks of dark stone, yet it appeared like one boulder detached from an ancient bedrock, high-rising walls decorated with elaborately carved statues. In the glinting moonlight, shadows seemed to move along the walls, disappearing into black corners and crevices like spiders fleeing the light. The giant moon drew its faint outlines across the cloudy sky, casting its borrowed light upon the alien scene. Unlike its daytime competitor, the moon made everything appear soft and dreamlike, as if the world had been shaped in candlelight.
My face illuminated by this mystical light, I stood before the castle and against the breath of the night. The wind howled as it forced its way through the grass fields that, in the daylight, sparkled like gold but, in the dark of the moon, appeared like an ocean of black stalks, moving unnervingly in the night like one enormous wave. In the castle’s backdrop, a dense, dark green forest presented itself as immutable and motionless in the strong wind. The castle stood uncompromising as a gate between dimensions.
Two giant feline statues rested on both sides of the broad steps leading to the main entrance. Their terrifying mouths gaping open, revealing sharp canines, presented an unwelcoming sight. Someone must have placed them there to guard the entrance and ward off any unwanted visitors; I was sure of it.
The castle, with its decorative details and statues, did not match the simplistic and stark designs of the north. It was as if an invisible hand had uprooted the structure from some exotic southern location and carried it to the north and its motionless cold. I would not be surprised if the castle had one day mysteriously appeared where it now stood, the dense forest with it, nor would I be surprised if it all were to one day disappear.
Despite the dreadfully gothic exterior of the castle, I felt a cautious excitement, the kind one might feel just before a long voyage to some distant place. I knew it was a heavily guarded castle despite its sleepy appearance, and I knew I was being watched.
My black wool coat fluttered in the wind as I stood there like some winged creature. A creature of no particular beauty except that of my long, bright blonde hair that was bound in a low bun under my hat. A few unruly strands had yanked themselves free and now flew around my face like golden kites, flickering brightly in the moonlight. The wind blew harder, but I pushed against it.
I tightened my grip on the two dark bags in my hands. Although the leather surface was worn and the dye faded in some parts, the bags were made of thick leather, which would most likely serve many more years. They had been a Christmas present from my parents, the last Christmas I spent at home before leaving for university. It had been a melancholic time, and even though the quality bags were a thoughtful gift, I couldn’t help but feel it was my parents’ way of saying they were glad to see me go. For wanting me to leave.
I couldn’t fault them because even though they raised me as a common girl and a homely one, they must have always sensed I was different, that somehow, I didn’t belong. From an early age, I convinced myself that I would travel to faraway lands and smile at faces that speak foreign tongues. As a child, I believed myself, at every turn of life, to be merely one step away from adventure. Even though each step I have ever taken in my brief life on earth has been nothing but struggle, accompanied by occasional intervals of utter plainness, I have not, surprisingly enough, lost my hope.
I found my way to the servants’ entrance on the side of the castle and hit the wooden door a few times with a heavy metal knocker.
The door flew open, and I took a step back. The comforting warmth of the indoor air cascaded over my face.
‘Clara?’ An older woman blocking the entrance squinted.
I nodded in response.
‘Come on in, then.’
I stepped inside a narrow corridor and followed the old woman as the stone floor thudded under us, sending echoes bouncing off the bare walls.
‘My name’s Madame Morasco,’ the old woman said. ’Not Morasco, butMadameMorasco or simply Madame.′
I tried to keep up with her brisk pace.
‘You’ve any electronic devices with you?’
‘No.’
‘If you have, you leave them in the office now.’
‘I don’t have any.’ I tightened my grip on the bags.
‘In the morning, come downstairs to the kitchens, and we’ll take it from there.’
‘And when do I begin work?’
‘I just told you.’ The woman sighed. ‘Tomorrow. And you won’t be seeing me again until you leave. I’m only here when they come and when they leave, so in case of any trouble, turn to Elvira.’
‘Elvira?’
‘Yes,’ the woman replied as if I had any idea who this Elvira character was or how to find her.
We ascended a spiral staircase so steep and narrow that even though I was only some steps behind Madame Morasco, I only saw glimpses of her white petticoat peeking under her thick dark dress. The staircase, not made into steps but rather excavated from the same ancient bedrock as the rest of the castle, made the hair on the back of my neck stand. The damp stone seeped cold from its pores like some living thing, and the air was so heavy with the smell of earth that it felt like we were descending into the deepest layers of soil rather than climbing up.
‘Will I meet...Mr and Mrs Arco tomorrow?’ I said between pants, out of breath.
‘She lives here alone.’
‘Alone?’ I repeated with more curiosity than I had intended.
‘Yes, Clara.’ Madame Morasco had a disdainful tone to her voice. ‘All on her own.’
My breathing was becoming laboured, and I felt the weight of my bags. I was suddenly exhausted, even though I was a relatively fit person, although I admit I hadn’t done any sports since graduation. I preferred spending most of my free time buried in books.
‘You understand there aren’t many of us needed for this work, even if it is an enormous castle.’ The old woman didn’t seem the slightest bit weary. ‘Isn’t physically hard work, but it’s precise work.’
Madame Morasco came to a halt at the top landing and turned to look down at me. ‘Extremely precise,’ she repeated. Her tight lips were downturned, and her face bony and pale, resembling that of a corpse in the flickering light of the candle she held.
We walked down a straight hallway, with closed doors along it. It must have been busy with servants one time in history, but now everything looked lifeless and abandoned.
‘I’d be scared to live in a big castle like this all by myself,’ I mumbled.
‘Here we are.’
We stopped in front of an ajar door with a dim, soft light glowing from inside. No words were exchanged as the old woman shoved the candlestick into my full, awkward hands. She disappeared into the pitch-black hallway with no apparent light source, like a ghost that knew its way in the dark.
I shrugged a shiver off my shoulders and hurried inside the room. In the corner, a small fireplace with a smouldering glow of embers draped the room in a thin orange veil. I bent down to examine the lock on the door, but to my disappointment, I couldn’t locate its key.
The walls of the room were bare, no visible signs of holes or lighter spots where a painting or tapestry might have once hung. The simple stone had an uneven surface that perhaps had once been washed with white but now held the room together in a dull grey. Nothing in here was welcoming, save the beautiful furniture that seemed severely misplaced in a room that, without them, could have passed for a medieval dungeon. A tall mahogany wardrobe with ornate carvings and a small writing desk in front of the window looked to have been made by the same hands. Next to the narrow bed stood a rounded baroque-styled bureau, an impregnated fine thing of French origins, no doubt. On top of its marble surface, a simple standing mirror and an oil lamp.
The plain stone floor was covered with a single large Arabian rug. I bent down to examine it under candlelight. From what I could tell in the dim light, the intricate weaving was done in the colours of vivid burgundy, Prussian blue, and gold. I ran my hand along its soft surface. A wool and silk mix, I was sure of it. Such rugs were very expensive.
I tried to look for a light switch on the wall next to the door, but couldn’t find any, nor was there a place for a light fixture in the ceiling. I let out a long sigh. The job description had made it very clear that no phones, laptops or any other electronics were allowed in the castle, but no one had said anything about missing electric lights. My heart beat faster at the possibility of no running water. Surely, they had running water.
Without having even settled in, and despite the warmth of the fireplace and the softness of the Arabian carpet, I felt I didn’t belong. I missed my small one-bedroom apartment in the city, its cream wallpaper, warm oak floors and a giant bed that was made with velvet and silver studs. I had left the apartment unbothered, with a half-read book by the bedside table and a water glass in the kitchen sink. Of course, I had turned off the water and unplugged appliances, knowing I wouldn’t return for a full year, if at all, but the rental company knew nothing of my departure. I had not even cut off electricity and had arranged all my bills to be paid in my absence.
It would have been more sensible to sublet the apartment or, better yet, haul my belongings to storage and end the lease, but I could afford to keep the apartment empty. I had come into quite a bit of money on my eighteenth birthday, a sizeable sum of cash and gold tucked away in a safe deposit box. I had told no one about it, not even my parents, who thought I had taken a job alongside my studies to support myself. When they asked me where I worked, I wanted to say a charming, small coffee shop with bookshelves and cats for visitors to pet, but I thought they might one day want to visit my workplace. I settled for a sensible story about an office job as a part-time secretary.
It turned out I wouldn’t have had to lie since they never once visited me in the city.
I turned to examine a black uniform dress laid out for me on the bed. The long-sleeved cotton thing resembled that of Madame Morasco’s, only this one had a lower neckline. Not indecent but lower, as well as a white apron and a bonnet. I picked up the bonnet and threw it back on the bed, smiling.
After a search through my bags, I settled on the bed in a cross-legged position with a green leather journal. I caressed its surface like it was the skin of a lover and pressed it against my chest. The notebook opened in the middle, with one side still void of words. I began to write.
Day 1, The Northern Arco Castle
I arrived to the smell of night and fading embers.
Heartthrob, I know that you don’t know about the shape of my thoughts, the consistency of my devotion, or love, and how deeply interlocked once became fears.
Each morning comes with a lingering lie, waiting to weave us into its web, and it is in those moments I often forget, it is in those moments when fate becomes flesh, when we believe that we can see each other, that we truly can feel, that it is a savage, a torment, and a beautiful pain.
I can never quite get past the redolent lilacs at the end of the dirt road, the one that is pebbled and skewed. It is a hue and commitment, and the passion to die, that sets us apart from any ordinary lie.
P.S. It’s taken me many years to find Antonia. I hope I’m successful in gaining her trust.
I closed the journal and slipped it into the pillowcase, reaching for a sewing kit in my bag. Whip stitch three times, running stitch six times, catch stitch nine times. I repeated this pattern until the pillowcase’s opening was sewn tightly closed.
Late that night, I turned in my bed restlessly. The howling wind had died down, and soft rain was gently pattering against the window. Distant thunder rumbled somewhere far away as if giants were walking the earth. I opened my heavy eyelids and closed them again. The embers of the fireplace had turned to black coal, and the room was coated in night, that time just before dusk transitioned to dawn.
A bang came from the far end of the hallway.
My eyes shot wide open, and I scrambled to a seated position, pulling the covers up to my chin. My ears tuned in to detect the smallest of sounds as I held my breath.
Another loud bang. This time, I was certain the sound came from a door being slammed shut. Distinct footsteps ambled toward me.
My shallow breathing matched my fluttering heartbeat. Could it be Madame Morasco? Something terrible might have happened. An emergency? If so, why was she moving so slowly?
The footsteps reached what sounded like halfway down the long hallway when I felt a frigid chill that jolted through my body like ice against naked skin. The breath escaping between my parted lips was vapour, and my skin prickled. Whatever was coming was not human.
‘This is a safe room,’ I whispered, my eyes peering at the door handle. ‘I am safe from all harm.’
The pacing steps grew louder as they closed in on me.
‘This is a safe room; I am safe from all harm.’
The footsteps reached my door and came to an abrupt halt. My eyes widened as I stared at the brass door handle in the dark room, still whispering my chant.
‘This is a safe room; I am safe from all harm. This is a safe room; I am safe from all harm.’
A heaviness filled the atmosphere as I gasped for air between the words of my chant. The strong smell of hot rubber and electricity burned my eyes. Blackness seeped into the room from under the door, a shapeless shadow that had a mind of its own. I let the blanket drop to my lap as I inhaled, allowing tears to roll out of my eyes. I pushed an imaginary light out of my chest, along with a gentle exhale.
The blackness retreated to the hallway as if my breath had been a repellent for its kind. A sharp turn of the heels followed by receding footsteps that ceased halfway down the long hall.
Utter silence. I sat still, listening for sounds, but there were none. Only the gentle droplets of rain were becoming more and more sparse.
I jumped up from the bed and carried the writing desk chair to the door, placing its back under the door handle. How silly of me. I knew the blackness could reach me if it wanted to, and no amount of locks or chairs could stop it. Fully aware of the irrationality of my actions, I fastened the chair firmly and immediately felt better.
The light of the oil lamp sped through the room, and everything became uncomfortably bright. The outdoors, still wrapped in night, made me feel exposed in my room. Avoiding the window, I climbed back to bed and shoved an extra pillow between my legs. I lay in my bed, eyes closed but awake for what seemed like hours until I drifted into a deep sleep.
