Watching Castles

• Natalee Herwig, Grade 11, Fairvale High School
• Short Story
• 2016

Excellence Award in the 'Word Zone 2016' competition

Henry dashed towards the mighty silhouette of the blackened castle, leaping above strangled vines and threatening rocks, slipping between the gaps of neglected farm fences and thorned hedges. Smoke consumed the black sky above and stained the air with a rotting stench.

He slowed to a light jog as he reached the castle’s graveyard. Fog escaped his lips in quick pulses as he came to a stop before the towering, wrought iron fence; a formidable barrier from the rain washed tombstones, between life and death. Skulls and roses were formed with each twist of the oxidized metal; Henry forged his way up. Straddling each side of the fence, Henry stole a glance once again at the blazing fire. Eager to watch it firsthand, he scrambled the descent, jumping then rolling to subdue the impact of his fall. Oblivious to the dirt clinging to his clothes, Henry continued his race to the ruined castle, dodging every tombstone. Yet, with the moon cowering behind blackened clouds and only coughs of lights clearing the obstructive smoke, Henry’s blind trust in flat ground was betrayed as his toes connected with stone.

It sent him flying, landing Henry amongst the brambles. Trickles of blood formed from his hands, mixing with the dirt and rust. Anxious to get going, Henry smeared his worries across his pants, crawled out from the brambles and set off, without a second glance behind.

Breaking through the bushes and into the clearing of unkempt lawns, Henry’s mouth hung open as he soaked up the sights of the magnificent beast before him. Flickers of its tongue lapped dangerously, consuming its prey. It emanated heat and stole the moisture from Henry’s eyes. Its roar was deafening and its stench overwhelming. The smoke billowed from broken windows and charred doorways. Centuries of heritage and mystery fuelled the blaze.

Standing in the shadows of the surrounding forest’s edge, a figure watched the young boy, hands deep in his pockets. His eyes pierced through the orange glow, making out the small of the boys back. His jaw clenched and his teeth grated as he attempted to contain his irritation…his anger.

“Do you enjoy watching castles burn down?”

Henry failed to reply, terrified by the man who mysteriously materialised behind him. Henry’s eyebrows furrowed together and his bottom lip started to quiver. Sensing a bout of tears, the man’s irritation increased. He enforced a grip on the youthful shoulder and squeezed until Henry shrieked in pain. Henry felt his eyes and cheeks moisten, but only briefly before the hunger of the blaze stole them away.

The man stared at the young boy, a snarl lifting the corners of his lips, baring his yellowed canines. His eyes narrowed to slits, and his left hand wrapped around the leather handle of death, swiftly pushing into the small of Henry’s back. With a sharp stab of pain searing his supple flesh, Henry collapsed on a carpet of pine needles as a piercing scream echoed through the night.