Page 52 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
And the smell…Sweet Jesú, the smell… it was all part of that musty, moldy smell Havilland had been experiencing, only now, it was magnified by a thousand. The stench was overwhelming and the sight of what it emanated from was ghastly beyond words.
Beyond words!
But the worst was yet to come. As Havilland stood there with her hand over her mouth, sickened and shocked, the raven suddenly flew onto the shoulder of the skeleton, picking at it and cackling.The bird was cackling!As Havilland watched in horror, the bird picked at something around the neck of the corpse and Havilland couldn’t help but see the object; the bird came away with a tarnished golden chain in its mouth and at the end of the chain was some kind of charm, also faded and tarnished with age and rot.
A charm in the shape of a harp.
I even bought her a necklace that had a golden harp charm.
The words of the host came back to her then and Havilland let out a scream as she realized she was looking at the remains of Lenore, the lovely and fair wife that the host had lamented over. But she was chained to the wall and stone had been bricked up around her. Tatters of her blond hair now lifted as the wind howled down the spiral staircase again, blowing into the small chamber and rattling the bones against the wall.
Tap, tap, tap….
It had been the bones blowing against the stone that had made that sound, the last taps of a long-dead woman, trying desperately to make her presence known. Havilland screamed again when she realized the overall horror of it, the horror of a woman who had been chained up and buried alive by mounds of stone, her cries of anguish forever silenced.
But who?
Who would do such a thing?
Was it the very husband who had so sorrowfully lamented her death, hoping she would return to him? Was he forced to walk the earth with a terrible secret, knowing that he had killed his beloved wife?
But why did he do it?
… why?
Nothing made any sense and the room began to spin. Terror such as she had never known filled Havilland’s chest. She scrambled back on the stones, trying to get away from the ghoulish sight, but she ended up tripping in her haste. She tumbled backwards, spilling through the smaller doorway with its dark abyss beyond, a dark abyss that was now barely lit by the light from the oil lamp through the opening.
Her feet came to rest on an uneven surface. In fact, she thought she was standing on rocks because it was difficult to keep her balance and she looked down to see what was under her feet.
It was an arm.
… Sweet Jesú, an arm!
In horror, Havilland began to look around her, seeing all manner of bodies thrown about. Some were just bones with tattered remains of clothing but others were in various stages of decomposition. Bodies everywhere, scavenged on by the raven that now flew in through the doorway and landed on a body, picking at the sunken eyes.
Havilland let out another scream at the sight, overwhelmed by the gruesome sight of it all, and she turned blindly for the door, laboring to leave the room, trying to gain a foothold even though she was standing on the dead.
Standing on the dead!
Just as she reached the doorway, a hand shot out and grabbed her, pulling her back into the room where the bones were chained against the wall. Another hand slapped over her mouth and she was grabbed by the hair, effectively stilling her. As she gasped and wept in terror, a foul-smelling mouth was by her ear.
“Quiet, m’lady.” It was the voice of the churlish servant. “Be quiet or he will come for ye. Ye must be utterly quiet.”
Havilland tried to fight against the servant but he was surprisingly strong. Moreover, he had her by the hair and it was difficult for her to move. As she struggled against him, the servant spoke.
“I didna want ye to stay the night,” he muttered. “Ye should never have come here. If ye dunna take yer husband and take him away from here, yer fate will be the fate of those ye see around ye. The master will slit yer throat and take yer possessions. Do ye want to end up like the others?”
Havilland was having a difficult time seeing past her fear but she somehow managed to shake her head. “N-Nay,” she said against his hand. “Let me go!”
The servant didn’t loosen his grip. “Not unless ye promise not to scream,” he said. “If ye do, the master will find ye. Will ye keep silent?”
Havilland struggled to force her fear down, to think clearly. The servant had her by the hair and she had little choice but to agree with him. In the hope he would let her go, she forced herself to nod.
“Aye,” she whispered.
The servant loosened his grip now, but not completely. He still had her by the hair, as if he didn’t quite trust her not to run off, howling.
“Then ye must leave right away,” he said. “I made sure to prepare yer horses. They are ready to go. Ye must go now if ye want to live.”
