01/13/2024
6 December 1911—4: 44 pm
Hawthorne’s castle exceeds well beyond my wildest expectations. The mere scope of it is magnificent beyond anything I have ever seen. The way the stone walls tower above the horizon gives it the appearance of being the mightiest peak among the mountains of Appalachia. It’s steeples and turrets hold a watchful hungry glare over the shadows that creep within the sweeping misty air that slithers amongst the withered trees that encompass the edges of it’s surrounding cliffs. Empty windows cry out with vicious greedy vines that crawl across every cobble, corner, and stone. The sight of it is a travesty, a grieving shame, and the mere presence that clings to the air feels empty, dead, and in vain. It seems to stick to you—with you. I’m noticing that from the start and the birds. The God awful birds. Hawthorne’s castle is a stronghold for the crows.
They abound throughout the front courtyard and dip their beaks in the murky fountain of the Lady Katherine. Etched in marble Hawthorne’s dearest is forever immortalized. Transposed at the gates with a haunting smile and a hand across her heart. With an outstretched arm she beckons the weary traveler towards the darkened doors where secrets are bore. In her tender smile purses an innocent shade of joy, but in her blank eyes lie pain, and from looking into them, an invitation to grief.
“Finally, this is it,” Isles concurred.
His sturdy hands rested upon his hips as he looked onward at the grand, towering castle in wonder. Then his eyes landed on the fountain.
“Katherine Pine was quite beautiful wouldn’t you say, Benedict? I wonder what color her hair was? Blonde? A brunette perhaps?”
At the moment, I was choking on the words that I couldn’t find. The atmosphere itself seemed to swallow me within it’s throat and I was sliding down the beast’s dark gullet like a square of jello pudding. The maddening caw of the assembling crows pecked away and chiseled at my thoughts. I was lost in my own awe.
Isles elbowed me in the side to ward my attention.
“Benedict? Did you hear me?”
Startled, I shook, and nodded vehemently.
“Yes, yes, yes. It’s just—a lot to take in. Wouldn’t you say?”
Isles smiled, and his bright mischievous grin shown in the golden setting sun.
“Why of course it is,” he agreed, “it’s a castle. A fine one that could rival any of England’s might I add.”
“Indeed it is,” I affirmed once more, “I’m at a loss where exactly to start.”
“Why the front door, of course, lad,” Isles stated. Then his feet began to click across the cobblestones of the courtyard.
“Come! Let us enter and seize the gates!”
I gulped away half of my throat from the thought of it. If I had not climbed a giant rock wall to get here, I would’ve abandoned the quest altogether. There was something that I couldn’t shake. An otherworldly feeling that bit at the back of my neck and chewed on my guts. My conscience was completely against it, but still I followed.
As we approached nearer to the door my heartbeat steadily began to drum and pick up in intensity. By the time Isles hand was inches from the k**b I thought I was going to have a stroke.
Before grasping the handle, Isles stopped, and turned to me with a teasing grin.
“Shall we knock?”
My eyes jutted out of my sockets and I shivered. I merely shook my head and attempted to steady myself.
Isles waved my distance off with a laugh and a shrug. Then he turned the k**b. The hinges creaked from the push and the door fell open with utter welcoming ease. The jarring mouth revealed complete darkness. Isles shivered and shook his wrists; fiddling with his sleeves.
“Oooh, quite the chill,” Isles remarked, “I can barely make out a thing in there. Perhaps we should light the lanterns before proceeding. There is no telling what might await us within these stone walls.”
He was right about that. Isles was taking the whole endeavor so lightly and for the first time since our meeting I began to question his wisdom. He was acting so—foolish. Wandering was maddening, so I had to ask my companion the prime question.
“Isles? Do you believe in ghosts?”
