Short Story - 4/22/1992

									Castle De Saumur

Thunder claps as Michael, a tall lean black haired man, approaches the castle looking for refuge from the cold falling rain. The dark sky sheds little light upon the ground, yet the medieval stone castle glows dimly ahead of him. Its four towering corners rise slightly above three of its tall jagged walls. Rising very little from the ground, the fourth wall possesses a door.

After noticing the large wooden door, he quickens his pace. Lightening strikes an old tree several feet to the left of the castle, the wall illuminates for a split second. As thoughts of old ghost stories pass through his mind, he hesitates for a moment, but the bitter cold swiftly overcomes those thoughts, and he proceeds to the castle.

Now within arms reach of the solid oak door, his cold hand quickly uses the tarnished brass knocker on the door. There is no reply. He raps the knocker harder against the door. There is still no answer, but the large door slowly creaks open. Calling out into the darkness hoping that now he will receive an answer, he begins to enter the castle. Standing in the darkened vestibule, only silence is present to greet him.

With the harsh rain still pounding down behind him, he enters the darkness of the corridor. Closing the door to shut out the rain, he notices a dim light flickering under the door to his left. His chilled bones pull him towards what might be a fire. The thunder from the storm rumbles the floor of the castle as he softly knocks upon the door.

The voice of a weathered man replies, "Hello."

"I'm sorry if I have intruded, but my car got a flat tire up the road," Michael responds politely.

The voice states, "No, it is quite alright. Please come in."

Michael gently opens the door and looks around the warm room. The small room is decorated with golden candelabrums and sconces. Above the fireplace hangs a portrait of a lone white stallion in a meadow. In the far corner of the room, he can see the silhouette of a piano standing before an entrance to the courtyard. Beneath it all, the intricate design of the rug reflects the dancing light of the fire.

Quietly the old man speaks, "Please, come sit and have a cup of tea to warm yourself. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Phil. I care for the castle and its grounds."

Michael asks, "May I hang my coat by the fire."

Extending his hospitality, Phil replies, "By all means, please make yourself comfortable."

After Michael hangs his coat, he turns and walks to the other chair across from the old man and sits. Glancing down at the table, he notices the silver serving tray set for two.

While serving some tea, Phil states, "It has been a long time since I have had the pleasure of company. I know many old tales of this castle."

Thankful to be out of the rain, Michael responds, "Really?"

The old man says, "Yes. Would you like to hear of one while waiting for the storm to subside?"

Slightly interested, Michael replies, "Yeah, sure."

Phil begins, "Several hundred years ago, the lord who originally owned this castle was married to a young woman, who was the most exquisite maiden in all the land. But little did he know that his wife had only married him for his wealth. Since he was old, she and her lover hoped that he would soon pass away, and she would inherit the estate. But his health stayed with him. After several years had passed, they became impatient and began plotting his demise."

Losing interest in the story, Michael notices the storm worsening outside and asks, "Please tell me more."

"After several meetings, the lovers decided they would poison him on their third anniversary party. Near the end of the meal, he started to become ill and retired to his chambers. Later that evening his lovely wife came to check on their poison's progress. As she entered his room, to her disappointment she found him preparing to rejoin his guests. Much to her dismay, she and her husband rejoined their guests."

While Phil pauses for a second, Michael says to himself, "I'm glad that I ain't married."

With a long sigh, Phil continues, "A few days later, the lovers conspired for another plan to murder him, this time by dropping a large chandelier on him. They missed. That evening in a rage of anger from their failures she drove a dagger deep into his back, and coldly watched his life dwindle away. Her lover buried her husband in a far corner of the wine cellar. She planned to announce his disappearance the next morning, and after few months to remarry. Later that night while they were perfecting their story of her husbands disappearance, the ghost of her husband rose to destroy them. His ghost chased them out of the castle. The ghost frightened them to flee into a cave just past the meadow behind the castle. Then, he collapsed the only entrance, and let the two lovers die together."

Finishing his tea, Michael returns his cup to the serving tray and listens to the story.

The rain stops as Phil draws his story to a close, "Since that night, her husbands spirit
was unable to rest. He felt guilty for their murder and has roamed the halls of this castle incapable of confessing."

Now that the rain has passed, Michael speaks to the old man, "Huh. Well, the rain has stopped. I better go get my tire fixed. Thank you for letting me wait the storm out, but I better be going now."

With relief, the old man says, "Thank you for hearing out my story Michael. Goodnight."

Michael shakes the old mans hand and leaves the room. He exits the castle and heads back up the road.

While passing his car Michael sees that his tire is no longer flat. Michael thinks to himself, "The old man must have repaired it, but how?" Feeling obligated to thank Phil, Michael drives his car up to the castle.

With the light from his car shining on the door, Michael sees that the door he just left is boarded up. Completely bewildered, he quickly removes the crowbar from his trunk and pries the boards off the door.

Looking for the old man, Michael runs back into the room where he and Phil talked, but what he finds only confuses him. Except for a broken chair and portrait, the room is barren. Taking a better look at the painting, Michael notices that now, it also contains a man.

As Michael moves in front of the painting, he sees that the man sitting on the stallion is Phil. Disbelieving what he sees, Michael reads the inscription on the brass frame, "Lord Philip Frederic La Rue III, 1538"

As Michael turns away from the portrait and begins to leave, the voice of the old man speaks faintly to him, "Thank you, Michael. Now, I may rest."

										THE END

