I am not sure if it ever really happened or whether my decaying and unreliable brain simply created a memory. But I’m convinced I once had a barbarous fight with someone who wasn’t alive, or at least wasn’t supposed to be …
I was fourteen and holidaying with my family – my parents had labelled the trip ‘History 101’. Days had been filled to the brim with endless museum visits, heritage building tours and history lessons, where information seemed to be repeated over and over. It had all begun to bore me. My head spun like a Ferris wheel at an amusement park as information went in one ear and out the other.
This particular day was marked by yet another tour, this time of an ancient castle. Unlike the previous days, which had been sunny and pleasantly warm, today was overcast and sombre. Dark clouds marched across the early morning sky like troops in an army battalion, rain was falling rapidly to the ground, and the wind howled like hyenas around the squat, grey castle. We entered through a large wooden door, paid for our tickets, and were ushered into the main hall to begin a guided tour.
It didn’t take long for me to lose interest. The air was still and stuffy and I couldn’t see much over the heads of the many other people on the tour. Row upon row of famous paintings with gilt frames and enormous, bright chandeliers that shone like stars in the sky were starting to give me a headache. I needed to get out. I began to take slower, shorter steps until I fell some way behind the group. Once I was out of sight of the beady eyes of the adults in front, I rotated around slowly, looking for a way out. Spying a small door with a wide silver keyhole, I cautiously crept towards it, like an animal approaching its prey. I gently pushing the door ajar and the hinge whined quietly; I held my breath, but no one had seemed to notice. I quickly stepped inside.
The room in which I found myself felt cold. Goosebumps appeared on my skin, which was barely protected by the thin and baggy old t-shirt I was wearing. I took a slight step forward, then suddenly, without warning, fell prone, my face slamming into the hard stone floor. I gasped and felt like a deflating balloon as the air was sucked out of my chest. Pulling myself up slowly, wincing in pain, I glanced down at my knees which were turning a glorious shade of blue and starting to throb. I wasn’t sure what had caused me to trip. My shoelaces were double knotted well, and even though the loops were tangled like vines in a forest, they remained safely in their place. I tried to shake off any feelings of anxiousness; I must have just been clumsy.
Getting to my feet, I looked around and found myself in a small but well-lit antechamber. An enormous bookcase was filled to the brim with coloured spines in different shapes and sizes; royal, rich reds and bold, brilliant blues with tiny golden lettering. Layers upon layers of grey dust gathered in between the gaps of the books. To the left of the bookcase was a square card table, its top lined with glorious green velvet and topped with several documents. The table sat in front of what I presumed was a generous window, although I couldn’t easily tell as it was hidden behind long, heavy, red curtains that crumped in a pool on the floor. In the corner stood a large wooden broom and a suit of amour, its chest plate, helmet and sword gleaming in the light.
With a growing sense of unease, I wondered what this room would have been used for. The card table and suit of armour seemed unlikely inhabitants and the cold, damp air made the place feel eerie. Without warning, there was a loud bang and the door slammed shut. A sharp breeze swept across the room causing the documents on the table to flap and the dust to rise. Now I really didn’t like what was happening and I quickly started to walk towards the door. As I was taking my last few steps, I sensed a movement out of the corner of my eye and heard a shuffling sound behind me. I spun around and found myself facing the curtains, which, to my absolute horror, were moving. I was terrified; I wanted to run but my legs wouldn’t let me. I stared, transfixed, waiting for whatever was behind the curtains to reveal itself. My world felt frosty. My limbs went numb. My hair stood on end. And then something emerged.
A man glided towards me. He seemed to be from the past, wearing a long, red velvet coat and tan breeches. On the top of his head was a large black fedora with a feather. His eyes were cold and menacing; his nose was slightly crooked. Suddenly, he changed his path, turning towards the corner of the room. Picking up the broom that was positioned there, he advanced back towards me, a menacing look painted across his face. He wielded the tool like a weapon, waiting for his moment to strike. I frantically looked for anything that I could use to defend myself. I turned this way and that until my eyes settled on the sword by the armour. With the feeling returning to my legs, I lunged towards it, grabbing it with two hands. I lifted the sword to my face and when the man finally reached me, used it to fend off the likely attack. I managed to block his first few strikes, but quickly tired. He was strong and his blows were mighty. Defending myself against his rapid hand movement was exhausting and I was ready to give up. Closing my eyes, I summoned my last ounce of energy, lifted the sword high above my head and brought it down swiftly, a whooshing noise trailing in the air. And I waited. Waited for the inevitable blow that would surely come. But it didn’t. Cautiously, I opened my eyes, but was astonished to find that the man had gone. Disappeared. Vanished!
My heart was beating like a horse on its final lap. I shivered and my whole body jerked. A sick feeling rose in my throat and flowed through my veins. I leapt for the door, forcefully pulled it open and sprinted down the hall, putting as much distance between the room and myself as possible. I quickly found myself back with my family; the tour was still in full flow. Luckily, they hadn’t seemed to notice my extend absence and were absorbed in yet another portrait, this one much larger than the rest. The guide was in the middle of his explanation, his warm, kind and generous voice clearly excited by the knowledge he was sharing.
“Legend has it that the sixty-fourth lord, Lord Tavernier, was a gambler!”
Still catching my breath, I looked up and examined the painting. The man staring back at me looked familiar. Menacing eyes, a long, red velvet coat, tan breeches, and a black fedora with a feather.
“To keep anyone from finding out about the gambling, a page boy was assigned to sit by the door and trip people up if they entered the room. The loud clatter would alert Lord Tavernier and give him time to stop,” the guide explained.
I was petrified. Surely this had to be a coincidence. I tried to think of happy thoughts and waited for the guide to continue.
“One day, a young visitor to the castle did disturb Lord Tavernier. Apparently, the pair got into a fight and the visitor was lucky to escape alive. The Lord wasn’t so lucky, however, and lost not only a finger but the family signet ring in the process. You can see this in the painting,” he added, pointing to the clearly four-fingered right hand above him.
The world started to close in around me. Everything seemed to go dark. I felt myself swaying slightly and was worried I would collapse. My head was throbbing, and my face felt hot and clammy. My parents asked if I was ok; I must have been creating quite a scene. I replied that I was fine but inside, I wasn’t. Everything the guide was explaining to the tour group had happened to me. Tripping over, getting into a fight with a man that looked exactly like the Lord, escaping alive. I was waiting for someone to wake me up; someone to tell me it was a bad dream. Someone to tell me everything was well. But no one did. In fact, no one spoke again until the guide advanced in his story.
“Obviously, we don’t know if any of this is true. It is just a story that has been passed down from generation to generation. In my view, it is complete codswallop, just an entertaining story to tell.”
I felt reassured. Coolness spread across my face, balance was restored to my body and light seemed to return to the world around me. I felt happy and relieved. Relived that it all wasn’t true and none of it had happened.
I managed to get through the rest of the tour unharmed, this time staying close to my family and not wandering off. After a delicious ice cream from the castle café, we returned to our accommodation. When we arrived, I relaxed, thinking back about the events of the day. What happened in the chamber was my imagination – none of it was true. The guide had even said that himself. I couldn’t wait for a fresh start tomorrow. Whilst I would have to last through more history, there would be no more scary stories, a thought that delighted me. I walked into the bathroom and undressed myself, ready for bed. I was just pulling off my t-shirt when I felt something fall out of my shorts’ pocket. I looked down at the white marble floor and saw something small glinting. An aged signet ring attached to a bloody finger. I screamed!
