It's not that violent but im giving it a 18 rating anyway. I checked for errors, but might have missed some. you can point those out but please focus on the story! Thanks!
~hiadel
Castle Gladeheart
I’m not exactly sure why I bought the castle. There’s nothing particularly spectacular about it when you look around. The greatest thing I can think to say about the place is that it gives Dracula’s place a run for its money when it comes to the creep factor. Dark hallways with torches and fading rugs give it that impersonation of not being one of the happiest of places to settle down.
I guess the decision about buying the castle didn’t rest all in my hands. I remember the day the real estate agent was guiding my wife Lissa and I across the grounds of the property. It took no time at all for her to fall in love with the place. Lissa ignored everything I had to say about the castle being a terrible place to live, and to think about how on earth our children would be able to bear living in such a miserable place, and about the horrible hallways and how I felt that one day I would turn the corner and run into Frankenstein’s long lost creation one day. She told me that she loved the portraits in the study and how all the gardens outside wrapped around the castle like a giant snake.
Her reasoning was enough for me. I’m a pretty unsure person and I generally just go with whatever she thinks is best anyway. It’s not like I care very much what my home looks like. All I care about is getting my work done downstairs in my new workroom. It’s a nice wide open space with a decent area for me to paint my masterpieces. I’m a professional painter that does that abstract stuff you see a lot of in the city. The stuff that sells for upwards of 10,000 dollars. I know its all crap though. Who on earth spends 10,000 dollars on a picture that anyone can paint? They say it’s all about compassion and feeling but I think otherwise. I truly can’t understand how that works. It’s alright with me though as long as I’m on the feeding end.
Now that I think about it, I kind of like the castle. It has its benefits. In our study we have this massive wall of portraits with famous people scattered around all over it. My personal favorite is the one of Winston Churchill. The artist had made his balding head shine in a way that can only be compared to a freshly harvested crop. Lissa’s favorite was the one of Sir Eric Williams. I’d catch her starring at that portrait a million times. Every time I caught her I’d ask her why she liked him so much. She’d always reply by saying that she loved to romanticize about him and how she always wanted to him. Ha! How I could only laugh at that every time I heard it. I liked that portrait as well though. Sir Williams was this dashing man from the 1700’s era. He had this massive breastplate on and in his left hand held a saber decked with a golden hilt up to his side. Black hair covered his head, and combined with a thin goatee made him stand out as a true knight in shining armor.
The other Thursday I was painting like I usually did during the afternoons in my workshop when I decided to take a break and read in the study for awhile. Laying on one of my favorite couches, I picked up gave the wall of portraits a quick glance before diving into my book. Before hitting the water though my mind tugged at me: something was missing. I ran my eyes across the wall to discover that Sir Williams was missing. His portrait was still there hanging, but the figure itself was not in the picture. All that was left in the picture was an empty chair he had been sitting in.
Immediately I stood and ran to go get Lissa. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen and needed someone to tell me I was wrong, to tell me that I was just seeing things. So I ran down the hall towards the sewing room where I could normally find Lissa at this time of day. When I reached the room I stopped before grabbing the door handle. I heard faint noises coming from within the sewing room. Normally I’d just barge in and see what it was, but with the disappearance of Sir Williams I was left to expect the unexpected today. Fortunately the door was already ajar and I could press it just a little to get a better view of the room without making noise and calling Lissa’s attention. Peering in I only had to press the door an inch to get enough of a view of what was happening. It shocked me out of my senses. It rattled me so much that I was halfway tempted to slam the door wide open and confront the problem head on but I knew that wouldn’t be the smartest idea. What I saw was this: Sir Williams in the flesh bent over a table with Lissa on her back. To say the very least from my view through the doorway they seemed to be enjoying each other beyond a reasonable doubt, and that was putting it lightly. Backing away from the door I went down the corridor, not sure as to what to do about it.
I felt betrayed, humiliated, and most of all frightened. My wife is having an affair with a picture? Part of me wanted as I said earlier to barge in there and fight that knight of her. I knew that wouldn’t work though. I’m not very strong, and I’m sure he would beat me to a pulp without even trying. The thing that really bothered me though was Lissa. If I had barged in and confronted them, what would she of said? She can’t call it rape. I saw that smile she had on her face, and when you smile like that it’s definitely not rape. Now I know that she always wanted to do more than just romanticize about him.
Walking back from the sewing room I discovered another oddity: Winston Churchill. He was in the kitchen drinking some tea. I didn’t say anything. I just stood at the doorway leading into the kitchen and realized that all of the portraits in this house might posses this power to come out of their frames. Leaving Churchill to his business, I left the kitchen to plan how to find out how the castle worked.
Every Thursday following that strange day the portraits came out of their walls. I would never actually see them come out, they would just magically appear. I’d pass by Lissa’s sewing room and hear the table pounding against the ground through the door. Winston Churchill was just down the corridor with Franklin D. Roosevelt sipping tea. I’d look outside from the terrace at the top of the castle’s highest tower to look down at the gardens snaking along the property to find circles of women dancing and singing songs that lit up the dark castle’s skies. Peacocks would march by them and parade around. Filing along the main hallways I’d see a circus of things ranging from wild lions to Jesus himself, baptizing people. There was a woman in the corner that was always in the state of giving birth. Stalin himself stood at the front doors of my castle and would give booming speeches about defending the homeland in front of a mob of Russians.
I’m not sure what triggered it, but I think I know how to solve my problem with Sir Williams. After all this happened to me I realized that the magic wasn’t in the portraits: it must be within the castle itself! That’s why tonight I’m sitting in front of my easel painting up a true masterpiece. It’s not anything that will come out and hurt me or Lissa, but will solve my problems. Tonight I finally find passion to paint! Forget all that abstract crap, this is where true art is born!
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The next morning Lissa walked into the study to fantasize about Sir William and the trips they would take in the sewing room that day. Walking into the study, she had feelings of fear, shock and sadness strike her as she looked at Sir William’s portrait. The knight was there, with his breastplate shining and his hilt gleaming in the light. The thing that was missing was his handsome face, which was instead replaced with a massive bloody hole. It ruined the entire portrait. The remains of his face leaked off of his chin and seemed to drip against his chest. Her husband walked in right then, a smile spread all the way across his face. “Lissa! I want to show you my latest masterpiece!” and pointed to the opposite end of the study where a new self-portrait of himself hung on the wall opposite to Sir William’s. Her husband had a rifle cradled in his arms, smoke coming out of the barrel as if the rifle had just been fired.
Feel free to PM me with any questions.
