Been awhile, gonna try to get back in the habit of posting. Here's a short (short) story I wrote when I was 17
The Castle
It stood upon a hill, in a valley beneath the mountains, above the lake. The
fortress rose towards the sky, parapets reaching like the arms of God towards a
beautiful sky of sun blasted clouds. The grass was green, and rolled on for leagues,
lapping the edges of great snowcapped mountains that cradled the valley.
Villages inhabited by happy, peaceful folk dotted these grassy
plains, farms cleared of the last fresh crop, in preparation for winter.
The forest near the solitary pass into valley was thick with the goliath trunks
of majestic trees, whose leaves translated with the autumnal winds that gently
flowed through the pass. The lake, serviced with lively harbors, was clear
and calm, an azure mirror to the sky. And among all the glory of the valley,
the Castle radiated light from glowing walls of silver.
The home reflected its owner. The bear of a man was strong and athletic, a
proud warrior-king who had risen from the dark throes of tainted wilderness to
purge the valley and erect his monument of virtue and gratitude to his Lord.
They had set out, seven of them, to find the valley, that they might find the
cure to the Devil's ever growing shade. He alone by the grace and mercy of God
had emerged from the dark forest in the pass. He had brought Heavenly light to
sanctify this valley, and ever since his emergence, the evil had receded from
the world. It was this place, this bastion erected for the glory of God. It was
this man, this hope driven man, who had defeated the darkness.
Yes, the valley was full of light, and peace, and wonder. It was a happy
place, a heavenly place, watched over by a man who wanted nothing more than to
live happy with his subjects. The sun shone and Heaven smiled.
But that was then, when all was good in the valley. Time had marched on, and
with it, the dark had returned to the valley. The grass now crinkled and turned
to dust at the touch. The lake, dark and murky, raged with frothing waves. The
mountains were but obsidian sentinels of a no man's land. The forest had
returned to its dark origins, teeming with all manner of dark denizens from
fire and brimstone. The sun had not pierced clouds of black in a period of time
too long to remember. The only light came from the dying torches of the
fungus enwrapped walls of the Castle.
The walls had dulled to grey, covered with foul vegetation reeking of decay.
Every corner of the castle not touched by torch now harbored shadow.
Evil dwelt in every passage and stairwell. There was still movement
in the Castle, but not by men.
One by one, the villagers had disappeared in the night. Before long, the
farms had simply faded into shadow. Every last man, woman and
child in the Castle had been taken. Evil reigned.
The Devil's demons had returned.
In these days, all that remained untainted by evil was the watch
room, which sat at the very top of the highest tower of the
Castle. A massive ironwood door, etched with designs of goodness upon
it, stood barred at the front of the round room. A single, wide window of
stained glass spread from the eastern most point of the room to the western
portion, so it spread over the entire back wall of the room. Pictures of angels
and Heaven and light were splayed across its surface. The entire window could
be opened by a simple latch, swinging the window outward and to the side. This
used to be done a great many times, the King opening the window at sunrise and
sunset, showing the children the glory of God's work as the sun's first and
last rays played across their cherubic faces. Now, the window stayed closed, its
beautiful artwork keeping out the darkness, keeping the evil at bay. A single
tall candle stood near the window. The candle was waning now, but tonight its
light still shone on the time worn face of the last man of the valley.
Time had marched on, and had infected the King. He was worn and tired from
this long fight. He had fought the demons back again and again, until all his
men had fallen. Every muscle in his body felt stretched and thinned. He sat in
a simple wooden chair on the eastern side of the window, where the latch was
within reach. He doubted, however, if he even had the strength left to lift his
fingers to undo the latch. The dark had taken its root in him, and he had known
this fight was lost years ago. Seven of them. Now, there was one. Yet he held
on to the smallest hope that before the end, God would allow the sun to
penetrate the clouds one last time, for that was all it would take. All it
would take to defeat the Devil once again. And the end was near, yes, very
near.
He could feel them. Every movement they made pulled at his heart. He could
feel them climbing the stairs. They were coming. All of them this time. The
door would not stand this time. They were coming. His sword would not save him
this time. The candle would not last this time. They were coming. He felt a
glare in his eye. The movements stopped. They had come. He heard
the trumpets of Angels at the window. Warmth behind him. The door
burst into splinters. The demons rushed in. The latch popped open. The Last of
the Seven opened the window.
And smiled.
