Word Prompt Nov. 23 to Dec. 10

Castle

Write whatever comes to mind. Keep it short, 750 words or less. Give attention to details. Since the word is a structure, endeavor to make your description of your surrounding full and meaningful.

Alright, here is a quick effort on my part. Not quite devoted to describing the castle, but it is central to the short. Also, this piece is dedicated to OGO, who showed me photos of the castle in question (of course, I took liberties).

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The Knight

My name is James and I'm a ghost hunter. It doesn't pay so I carry out my investigations on weekends, and holidays. I suppose you can say I'm obsessed.

I recently had two weeks break from my day job, and decided to investigate a story that had piqued my interest for several years - a regular appearance of a medieval knight wandering the grounds of Carreg Cennen Castle, near Swansea in Wales. The castle is very old, and it has lain derelict for over a century, atop a high, rocky hill. It is an historical site but belongs to a local landowner, who lives at the hill’s base.

I arrived at the ruins on a late Tuesday afternoon, early in spring. It was nippy and dark clouds rolled over the region every ten minutes or so, threatening to drop a deluge of cold, Welsh rain. I had met the landowner of Carreg Cennen, and I managed to convince him that I was a serious ghost hunter (or at least not someone completely insane!), and he allowed me to camp on the castle grounds overnight. He warned me of the ghost, and that he had no responsibility for what may happen to me. I asked him if anyone else had ever stayed overnight.

“No…,” he replied. “…oh, except about ten years ago when a medieval fighting festival took place on the grounds. You know, those funny people who dress up in armour and play sword fighting on weekends, and the like.”

“Did anything happen during that festival?” I queried.

“Of course! There was always rumour of ghosties and ghoulies associated with the castle, but on the last night of the festival there was the first notable sighting of the ghost that wanders the periphery… and, may I add, one of the revelers disappeared that night. Not found to this day.”

I thanked him for the information, and wandered with my camping pack and specialist camera equipment up the steep slope of the castle’s hill. It was an invigorating climb; invaders would have had a hard time of it.

It was a magnificent building, despite the damage that wars and neglect had imposed on her. Some of her grey stone walls were still solid and high, particularly around the twin towered gatehouse, with reinforcement protruding from every side, and the remains of a gully with a drawbridge at its front. I noticed when I got to the gates – which had shallow gullies and iron grating to allow for tourists to easily enter and inspect the ruins, would have been formidable to attack eight hundred years ago. A drawbridge would have been lifted, and murder holes would rain bow and spear attacks on a confined enemy.

My imagination transformed the jagged, gutted building into a magnificent, imposing edifice, and I could see the colourful flags waving in the chilly wind of nightfall. Nightfall! Before I knew it, darkness had already overtaken me.

I hurriedly set up my tent, and I was going to fetch my camera, when a dull white glow reflected off the medieval stonework of the secondary gate, a short distance beyond the gatehouse. Cursing under my breath, I crept carefully forward, avoiding the various trenches and hazardous grates that covered them.

In a small enclosure, within the walls of the castle, and where now only grass and lichen reigned supreme, I saw a transparent image of an armoured man dressed as a knight of the twelfth century. He held a spear in battle ready position, and seemed to be following a training regime. Ignoring me, who was riveted to the spot, he twirled around, as if startled by some sound. He then battled some person or people, who were not visible to me, and not a sound came from his lips or actions. It was as if I was deaf. Then, to my horror, I saw him cut down by an invisible blade, and then crumple to the ground, dead. He dissolved into the ground.

I followed the lead. I grabbed my lantern and compact shovel and dug exactly where the apparition had fell, and within a half hour I found, to my surprise, the body of the knight: the bones were intact, and much of his armour and clothing as well. The man’s wallet was easily found, with his drivers’ license still easily read. I smirked. I did not find, this time, an ancient spectre. I had uncovered, instead, evidence of the murder of a medieval re-enactor. Thanks to his ghost.

When I got to the part about the drivers license it threw me. Like the twist in the ending!