Constructed from cracked cobblestone bricks, the tall spires of the once majestic castle towered upwards into the sky. It was a derelict monolith from another, happier, time. Shrouded constantly in storm-ridden clouds the castle was forever darkened by neglect. Falling apart, it had been abandoned since the night when Sir Edward died. Rumours said it was haunted. Few townsfolk entered, only one had ever left - the blacksmith’s son. That’s if you count the dead. Shivering from the icy wind, I tightened my cloak and with a sigh began my investigation.
Upon forcing open the heavy ancient oak door, I immediately knew this place was amiss. Burning brightly along the walls, torches illuminated a peculiarly pristine corridor. Not a cobweb in sight. Nor a speck of dust. Unusually clean for an allegedly abandoned castle given my experience. But I barely noticed the cleanliness of the corridor at the time. Rather, I was more concerned about the rough granite gravestone in the centre of the room. After all, it is quite rare I come across a tombstone with my name carved upon it. Rarer still, the gravestone dated my death the twenty-ninth of December 1820, which was unnervingly today’s date.
Ignoring my rattle nerves and deteriorating confidence, I pressed onward. trudged out of the corridor and into the next room. Strangely, this room was shrouded in a deep darkness. It was so black that even with a lantern I could barely see my hand in front of my face. Despite the low visibility, I shuffled forwards - keeping one hand pressed against the icy cold stone wall of the room. Long after my fingers had numbed I reached a corner and was forced to turn. Given the duration of time it took me to reach the corner - and assuming the room was approximately symmetrical - the room was large enough to fit several houses adjacent to each other. Indeed, the chamber was great in size. However it seemed peculiarly empty; no unlit torches along the room’s glacial walls. But why? It was almost as if the chamber’s darkness was intentional, as if something was meant to remain unseen. The answer to my query only brought forth more questions - what was meant to remain unseen? Why must it remain unseen? Who-
A sudden barely-audible clatter of hardened steel loudly echoed throughout the frigid chamber. I was not alone. Immediately, my faithful Algerian flintlock appeared in my hands. Holding my arm out I aimed my well-worn flintlock towards the origin of the noise. While I was confident in my marksmanship abilities, it is impossible to fire with any precision in such a deep dominating darkness. I trained shooting targets, not sounds. Even then, if the person had any intelligence they would know to silently sneak away from their previous position. However, with luck I could potentially scare my stalker. Unfortunately, I am an unlucky man - although you must already know that by now. A single gunshot’s thundering boom resonated throughout the chamber, missing me by inches. How could my stalker see so well in the dark? Surely they would be near-blind as well, so how could they-
Foolish! I still had my lantern lit! Burning brightly, my lantern was a beacon that gave away my position. Such an amateur mistake that would prove fatal. Swiftly, in threw my lantern in the general direction of my stalker. Dropping on one knee, I expertly held my flintlock in a perfect shooter’s stance. But no amount of training could prepare me for what I saw. A man, yet not a man, rather once was a man.
Sir Edward had not aged well.
Wearing rusted steel armor pockmarked with gaping holes that revealed the papery skin and brittle bones behind, what remained of Sir Edward raised his ruined blade towards me. Slowly, the corpse limped closer. I tried firing my Algerian flintlock in rapid succession, using the lantern’s dying light to aim at the abomination before me. But it was no use. Whatever machinations that sustained the lich of Sir Edward were too powerful. My bullets may have cracked its armor, shattered its bones and shredded its skin but the effects were purely cosmetic. The cadaver remained unfazed - immune to my desperate attacks - and sluggishly hobbled closer. Other corpses like Sir Edward followed suite, one of which brandished a smoking revolver. The undead gunman slowly took aim once more as he approached my with malicious intent.
With my ammunition exhausted, I broke into a vain sprint for the corridor that led out of the castle. The deafening echoes punctuated my every step during my desperate dash. But the passageway was gone! Covered in thick ice, I could barely see the burning torches in the entry hall. Pounding my fist with all the strength I could muster, the steely ice held firm. I was tricked and trapped! I should have never agreed to this investigation. I should have-
My final thought was never finished; as one requires their head attached to their torso to think. Which, unfortunately due to Sir Edward had been removed from my shoulders. Strangely enough I survived. I awoke inside what I deduced to be a cell in the castle’s dungeon. Several days have passed since I ‘died’. From what the others have gathered the castle prevents true death. Regardless what injuries a man receives, he cannot perish within these frozen walls. Some have tried to escape and overpowered the living corpse of Sir Edward and his lackeys. However, as soon as their leader stepped outside the castle whatever sorcery holding his life force together dissipated. We are prisoners. We can never leave. If we leave, we will die.
With every passing day I grow weaker - feeling the effects of thirst and hunger with no food to eat or drink to drink. Eventually my existence will consist of only the pure primal pains of starvation and thirst. I can only hope another group manages to defeat our dead jailer. I can only hope they take pity upon my tired soul and carry me to the entry corridor. I can only hope to escape this immortal coil. Although, like the others who have spent decades here, I know I never will. Overwhelmed by despair, I collapsed into an exhaustive and restless sleep.