A Night To Remember
by Paige Williams
Published by:
Silverland Press
Copyright © Paige Williams 2013
Visit my blog
A Night To Remember
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 1
I was lost. My brand new BMW decided to defy the dealer's promises of German reliability and break down after bringing me into the middle of nowhere. I was stranded on a dirt road that meandered drunkenly for 25 miles through trees before staggering into a dusty collection of sun bleached shacks. Apparently either folks in this part of the country didn't believe that having a phone was vital to life or they liked lying to desperate strangers. Either way I was SOL. I kept walking in a circle doing what I'm sure looked like a deranged version of the Jitterbug, holding my cell up trying to find a signal.
As I looked around the desolate countryside I realized it was like being stranded on the set of Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes, all that was missing was the gas station attended by a buck-toothed local bent on committing assisted homicide. As for the winding dirt track leading off to the edge of nowhere it seemed I was already on it. Although that thought alone made me want to huddle, whimpering, in my car while regretting my movie choices, my father's reaction when I didn't answer his summons scared me more.
The fact was, I had made a mess of things by woefully misjudging the potential for disaster inherent in booking a vegan convention and a NRA convention in adjoining wings of the Jones-Westly Convention Centre, my Dad's latest and greatest convention complex. It had taken the city's entire police force to get the city core back to some semblance of order. Dad let me know, in no uncertain terms, that more, much more, was expected of his only child and executive meeting room manager. That conversation had taken place on the phone, now he wanted to give me the speech in person.
To say that my father is not known for his understanding or compassion is an understatement of astronomic proportions. Which is not to say that he has never done anyone a favor, he has, it's just that he expects to get paid back for his favors--with interest. One might almost say that he's made a business out of it, one that has nothing to do with convention centers. As he said to me once: make a lot of money with no apparent means of income and people tend to get suspicious. Thus the convention centers.
Dad always harped on about the importance of family. "Rosaline," my father would say, "You need to meet a man, someone nice, someone who will take care of you." I would roll my eyes and say, "Papa, I can take care of myself," at which point Dad would pinch my cheeks and hug me as if to say, 'How cute, look at my daughter, so independent.' Since I was the only child of a very traditional Italian family I had known from my early teens that I would be expected to marry and have children to continue the family line. And, honestly, I kinda like the idea of meeting Mr. Right and doing the whole Mom thing. One day.
The problem is that, although I'm reasonably attractive–blond hair, smooth clear skin, an athletic yet curvy figure–as soon as a guy I like finds out who my Dad is, they head for the hills. Ordinary guys that is. Lots of people who work for Dad would love to be part of the family, but I am so not going down that road. It's unfair! Men either wouldn't touch me with the proverbial 10-foot pole or they were falling all over themselves to ask me out. I wanted someone to want me for me, not my family connections. So I had no husband and no kids. Perhaps that's why Dad was so grumpy these days.
Reluctantly, I left my 21st birthday present on the side of the road and started walking, hoping that the spot on the map I'd found indicated a town just ahead and not just that I was a sloppy eater.
As I walked, the dying rays of the sun played along my skin and a breeze tickled the fine hairs on my arms, bathing me in the warm scents of late summer. I inhaled deeply savoring the intoxicating scent of wild honeysuckle. After only a half-hour of walking the beauty of my surroundings faded as I was reminded one does not buy Manolo Blahnik boots for comfort.
It was when the sun finally sank behind the trees, turning the sky bronze, that I felt the first wave of panic. I loved horror stories but they were all coming back to me in vivid, gruesome, detail. I was a young woman, alone, at twilight, walking down a lonely twisting road in the middle of nowhere and--the pièce de résistance of horror movie don'ts--no one knew where I was.
Not good.
Perhaps worse, I was a cute blond sporting over 25,000 dollars worth of designer duds so it wasn't just possessed serial killers I had to worry about. The air turned chilly and, shivering, I pulled my thin Ferre jacket close around me--at the moment I would have gladly traded it for an oversized parka from Walmart.
I saw it then: A castle. I scrunched my eyes closed and shook my head, thinking that maybe, after the smog of the city, the fresh country air was making me hallucinate.
I slowly opened my eyes. Nope. It was a castle.
Weren't castles supposed to be nestled beside Scottish Locks, not scattered around the American Midwest? As I gazed at it, my eyes squinting against the setting sun, something about it reminded me of a movie-set reproduction of a haunted castle; perhaps it was the way the lichen artistically trailed off the trunks of willows standing sentry before its gates or the way masses of cobwebs gracefully stretched within their boughs.
I half expected to hear the theme of Ghostbusters.
One thing was sure: it wasn't the sort of place I was eager to visit in the daytime, let alone after dark, but by now I was cold, hungry and desperate to talk to another human being, and there was a light on in one of the windows.
* * * *
It was full dark by the time I approached the castles' entranceway, my footsteps echoing off the cobblestone path. I shivered, partly because of the cold, partly because I knew this was one of the stupidest things I'd ever done. That said, staying on the road didn't seem any brighter.
Huge doors, old and thick and imposing, loomed above me. Slowly, giving myself time to summon what little courage I could, I grabbed the antique knocker and swung it. Sound boomed around me, announcing my presence to the gathering darkness. A hush settled over the night; the animals stilled, even the wind in the grasses fell quiet.
The silence screamed a warning.
I closed my eyes, clenching my fists so hard my fingernails left bloody half-moons on my palms, and willed myself to be brave. After all, this was middle America, how bad could it be?
A few moments later I realized I was holding my breath and hesitantly let it out. Muffled sounds, as though of someone--something--descending stairs, came from behind the door. My pulse jumped and became a jackhammer in my throat. I was both wildly hopeful and wildly afraid and for basically the same reason: in all this bleakness, this desolation, I was not alone.
Chapter 2
When the footsteps reached the door I heard metal rasp on metal, as though a bolt were being forced back. Goose bumps prickled my arms as I thoroughly regretted the adventurous streak that had made me think a shortcut to my parents' home would be a good idea.
I held my Fendi bag before me like a holy shield as the door opened, apparently of its own accord.
"Hello?" I said--or tried to. My throat was dry and a rasping sound escaped. I cleared my throat and leant forward to peer into the lobby. Wooden torches burnt in sconces by the door casting trembling shadows along cobblestone lined walls. The room was made of chiseled stone slabs and completely empty. No tables, no paintings, no chairs. Most importantly, no telephone. On the right a steep spiral staircase ascended into darkness.
This was so like a ride at Disney World, the on
ly thing missing was the slow rising wail of maniacal laughter.
"Hello!" I overcompensated and my voice echoed off the walls.
My back was hurting from bending over, peeking into the lobby. I started to take a step inside to get a better view of the room--they had to have a phone somewhere. As soon as I called my parents I could retreat to the relative safety of the dirt road and take my chances with the snakes and hoot owls. At that moment, a man stepped forward. He seemed to magically materialize in front of me, though I realized he must have been hiding in the shadows. Still, taken unawares, I let out a girlish scream and jumped back.
The man before me--if indeed it was a man and not one of Lovecraft's twisted imaginings come to life--was stooped and clothed in what looked like sackcloth. And the smell! Let's just say it was on the far side of ripe. He kept nervously casting his gaze about the room, never letting it rest on the same spot for more than a moment. With furtive birdlike gestures he beckoned me to step further inside the gloom-shrouded room.
Um, not likely. Maybe I had broken all the horror movie "Dont's" but there was a limit.
I shook my head and tried to smile. "I can't come in but I am in trouble and in need of your help. My car broke down ...," I began, but at that moment there was an ear-splitting screech, as though wrung from one of the tormented denizens of hell, and the sound of beating wings filled the night. Whatever manner of abomination had just awoken, it was heading straight for me and the open door. The doorman's face blanched and he began to shake, staring out into the darkness at a spot directly behind me.
"It is coming, you stupid child. Come in! Come in!" As he shouted he grabbed my arm, knocked me off-balance, dragged me inside and slammed the door closed behind us. Although my contact with his body was mercifully brief I had the fleeting impression of something twisted and disarticulated shifting under his robes.
* * * *
In the eerie half light of the entryway I examined my new acquaintance. In his stooped state he stood only a little taller than my 5' 3''. His face was scarred and twisted, his body encased in robes of coarse burlap, the kind used to make sacks. Suppressing a shiver, I tried to smile at him and hold his shifting gaze, but he kept turning to look behind him as though expecting something large and deadly to creep up and devour us if he didn't give the space constant attention.
I never thought I would miss one of my Dad's lectures, but if that was the price of this nightmarish scene going poof I would gladly pay it. If I hadn't taken my stupid shortcut I'd be scarfing down some of Mom's awesome profiteroles--whipped cream and chocolate sauce--and listening to Dad grouse about how no one respected the Old Ways anymore; that's how he said it, always capitalized, like it was the name of an ancient God who must be venerated. Mom would scowl at him and give her head the tiniest of shakes with a meaningful glance my way, Not around the child, Dear. It used to bother me, what Dad did, but I've given up trying to reform him; like I had any chance of that. I work for him, but not that way; I'll never be one of the boys.
My host laughed, a fluttery inhuman sound that reminded me of the excited beating of bat wings. "Forgive my manners, we don't often get visitors. My name is Franklin. Pleased to meet you."
"Oh, er, no problem," I said, reluctantly extending my hand. "My name's Rosaline."
He reciprocated by extending something more claw than hand. I took it and shivered. It felt slimy and I tried to wipe mine off on my trousers without him noticing.
"Car trouble is it? Yes?" My host, excited, hiccupped and fixed me with what, I realized, was his only good eye. His other eye was swollen, rimmed in red, and reminded me of the ghouls and goblins I see every Halloween at my front door. And the smell! I tried not to choke. It was the too-sweet smell of sickness and corruption.
I managed a weak smile. "Yes, my car broke down miles back and my cell isn't getting a signal. I would appreciate it if you'd let me use your phone to call my folks and tell them where I am."
Franklin bent over wheezing with laughter. Somewhat stung I waited until he calmed down enough to continue. "It's always the same. City folk show up wanting to use a phone and I have to tell them we don't have one. We've never had a phone." He said the last like it was a mark of pride, as though it were something he would brag about to grandchildren, if he had any. Something which I seriously doubted.
I must have looked crestfallen because Morio quickly added, "But you're welcome to stay the night. This is a big place with many unused rooms. In the morning I'll take you over to the Anderson's on the hill, they have a satellite phone."
Stay the night. I stared around me at the lobby, at the twitchy shadows cast by the guttering candles. I would have to be mad to stay here one more second, let alone the entire night. Then, as though on cue, I heard the ghastly disembodied wail again, only this time it seemed to sweep around the castle. Whatever body that sound was being ripped from had taken flight and was circling us, hunting us. I swallowed. Perhaps given the choice of spending the night on the now darkened road or in the castle with all its shadows, the castle was the less insane of the two options, though barely.
Had I only known ....
Chapter 3
Several spiral staircases later Franklin led me to one of his spare bedrooms. The room was old, even ancient. Dominating the space was an ornate four-poster bed just like one I imagined Henry the VIII might have used; it looked ancient and enormous. I'd never slept in a four-poster bed, although I had always wanted to. In the present circumstances, though, I would have gladly traded the bed for one at Motel 8; anything in a nice well-populated non-spooky city.
"I hope you will be comfortable here, the castle is drafty." Franklin seemed much calmer now, his speech less excited, and I could hold his gaze for seconds at a time before he ducked his head to examine the floor.
As my host prepared to close my bedroom door behind him he stopped abruptly and turned back to me. "This is an old castle, at least 200 years old, and in a grave state of disrepair. A floorboard that appears sound can suddenly break under the slightest weight. I must ask you to promise you will not, for any reason, leave your room during the night. In the morning I will come and introduce you to my neighbors."
He paused and smiled at me, but there was something in his smile that gave me shivers.
"You mean the Anderson's, the ones with the satellite phone." I said.
Franklin laughed, but it was neither cheerful or good-natured. "Yes, certainly. Those neighbors."
I was dazed and numb and the only thing I knew for sure was that I wished I'd never entered this castle. Whatever creatures haunted the outside, it had to be better than this. But I nodded. Seemingly satisfied, Franklin shut the door.
* * * *
As I awoke the sun was just peeking over the horizon. My fears of the night before seemed silly, shadows of an overworked imagination. Eager to be on my way I decided to ignore my promise to Franklin and find my own way through the maze of halls. Giddy at the thought of leaving the castle I dressed and left my room to hurry down the spiral stairway toward the front lobby and freedom. Yesterday, Franklin had said the Anderson's lived on a hill, I shouldn't have any trouble finding them on my own.
Of course I became hopelessly lost. It was as though walls changed position. Whole staircases led to nowhere, their ends plastered over. After what felt like hours of tramping through the droughty castle I wandered into a new hallway, my footfalls echoing off the flagstones of a seemingly endless corridor. That was when I felt the presence of someone, or something, and knew I was not alone.
"Hello .... Franklin?" I asked, nerves making my voice tremble and break. Since speech was treacherous I edged ahead soundlessly looking for any sign of my host. A moment later I noticed the indistinct outlines of a man leaning up against the wall. I relaxed.
"Franklin!" I called out. "You scared me. I know you said to wait for you but ..." At the sound of my voice the figure stirred and stretched long shapely limbs.
Definitely not Franklin.
; "Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to ...," I said, but something in the man's posture froze the words on my lips. I turned and ran but the man effortlessly closed the distance between us. I hadn't gone 10 feet before I felt a rush of cold air against my skin and a hand grip my arm and spin me around in front of one of the torches. One moment I was running and the next he was in front me, holding me, his grip on my arm like tempered steel.
The man smelt of spices and the lingering bitterness of tobacco. His clothes fit him well, as though they had been tailor made from the finest materials.
"Who are you?" he asked, every syllable a threat.
I reeled back and tried to force my hand free of his grip, but he effortlessly kept his hold on my arm.
Yanking me off balance so brutally hard my head snapped backward, he drew me toward him. Under the spices he smelled musky, like leaves after a rain.
"Why are you helping him?" he asked, his voice like a growl of thunder.
My fear was a palpable thing swimming under my skin, stealing my breath away.
"Answer me!" he bellowed, shaking me.
Fearing what he would do if I remained silent I managed to whisper, "Helping? Helping whom?"
"Don't play with me," he said, pushing me away from him with such passion that my body slammed into the stone of the corridor. For a moment the room dimmed and I thought I might fall. I'm not sure what happened then, but the next instant I was beating at him with my fists.
Well, a lot of good that did. I might as well not have bothered, he just took my hands in his and said, as though to a petulant and rather dim-witted two year old, "He's lying to you. Perhaps you think you're doing some great deed, but you're not. Not only is he a liar, he's insane, he has no intention of keeping his word to you."
"Look, you beastly man, I have no idea what you're ...."
His eyes narrowed and I swear I saw flames spring to life in their depths.
"Do not mistake my forbearance for weakness," he said. "It is mine. I will keep it, whatever it takes."
A Night To Remember Page 1
