Who Wants to Live Forever?

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The mystery surrounding the gothic Houska Castle, perched on a steep, rocky cliff shrouded by deep forests less than fifty kilometers from my home town Prague, spun into fairy tales to scare naughty children, then adapted into a spooky legend making teenagers huddle close together at bonfires and sleepovers, was a tale I had heard hundreds of times.

However, for some reason, I had never tired of it, of hearing it told again and again in its infinite variations. It was strange, the feeling I got every time the story started to unfold one more time in the words of a new storyteller, my imagination supplying my mind promptly with images so clear... as though I had seen them at some point of my life, not this, but some life I had lived long ago, as if... I had taken a part in a version of that tale myself.

It was silly, and yet it wasn't, because... What if...?

I didn't realise I was grinning until Milan pulled at my ponytail teasingly, to wake me up from my daydream. He had been driving for nearly an hour now, navigating the car first through Prague's morning rush hour traffic, then along tranquil roads of small towns and villages, and finally into the deep, lush forests; the abandoned road finally dwindling into an unpaved, winding trail.

It was still hard to believe that I was about to visit the place at last, after years of sending letters to the town hall of the townlet responsible for the ancient, haunted ruin, left to decay out of superstition rather than anything else. Only I, an aspiring photographer, and my friend, the editor of the university newspaper and a future journalist, were allowed to spend twenty-four hours in the castle, or better, what was left of it. Milan would write an article about our experience, and I would supply him with pictures.

"Ready to meet the demons?" He smiled at me, making me roll my eyes.

He had done his research as a true journalist, and now he knew all the legends surrounding the castle as well as I did. This one was my favourite, the story of the castle having been built above a bottomless pit, one of the gateways to hell, to prevent the demons from reaching our world.

I wasn't convinced that it was true, but there was definitely something strange about this fortress built in the second half of the thirteenth century, in an area of forest and swamp, with no external fortifications and all the defenses facing inside, no source of water apart from a cistern to collect rainwater, no kitchen, no proper roads leading to it and no occupants at its time of completion...

I shuddered involuntarily, noticing how bad the road unfolding beyond the windscreen had become-- soon we would have to leave the car somewhere and walk the rest of the way. I patted Milan encouragingly and thankfully on the shoulder, well aware that he was doing this for me, as I let my mind stroll again.

There were other stories surrounding the mysterious ruin, even more spooky as they were confirmed by historical records. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, criminals would have their sentences reduced if they volunteered to be lowered into the pit under the chapel and describe what they saw. None reached the bottom, and all of the convicts were driven insane by the experience. Then, in the nineteen-thirties and during World War II, the Nazis conducted occult experiments in the castle. Years later, upon its renovation, skeletons of several Nazi officers were discovered.

But even long before these 'proved' events took place, people used to disappear from the closest villages, and ghosts used to be seen in the surrounding forests-- a giant bulldog, a headless black horse, a woman clad in an ancient dress... They appeared still, the last sighting had been reported only a few weeks ago, the short, unclear footage becoming viral on the social media.

I sighed as Milan pulled up by the edge of the road, my eyes darting into the thick undergrowth. The place was making me feel strange, as if... I belonged here... I shook my head to clear it, earning myself a grin from my companion.

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