The Castle

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.