Castle of the Damned | ✔

Chapter 7: Dangerous defects

As Erin walked around the castle to get to the shed behind it, dried grass crunching beneath her feet, she looked up at the ancient stones of the tower and the keep. When she'd first arrived, she'd found the castle pretty. Now, with the night's terrors fresh in her mind and that voice in the back of her brain, the building seemed ominous, even in the soft yellow light of the morning sun.

The three graves she passed on her way to Thomas' shed looked even more ominous. Up close, the crosses stood surprisingly tall, reaching up to Erin's waist. They were simple grave markers: plain and iron, rusted, weather-worn. No ornamentation, nothing elaborate. Either their maker had possessed no sense of style whatsoever or the people buried hadn't deserved a more impressive resting place.

Something about the crosses appalled her, Erin concluded as she swallowed the last remnants of fear still left in her. Like the castle, there was something off about them. She felt this whole place harboured secrets, each one darker and more terrifying than the last.

She'd have to do her utmost best to find some semblance of normalcy in Thomas' home. Hell, even the castle wall behind the crosses didn't look normal. Thomas' castle walls sported old, dark grey stones covered in moss for the most part, but certain spots on this wall were a lighter grey, little to no moss to be found.

Thomas was probably still working on cleaning those walls, just like he was still working in the… in the dungeon...

Erin spun around and moved on at a brisk pace, even though turning her back on the graves made her uncomfortable. She expected the voice to return to her with each step she took. What would it say? Would it feed her paranoia? 'Turn around, Miss Halloran, there's something behind you, something decaying, something DEAD–'

She heard no voice, but ran the rest of the way to the shed regardless.

The old shed looked tiny compared to the castle it stood behind. Tiny and lonely. Its brown walls were as worn as the crosses. Its terracotta roof tiles had probably been orange once, but mould stained it a dirty shade of grey. Erin considered it a miracle the small stone chimney hadn't fallen through the roof yet. But though Thomas hadn't fixed these obvious issues, he had installed a new door, its wood polished and sturdy, in stark contrast with the ramshackle state of the rest of the building. The single window next to the door sported new glass, too, clean and lacking cracks.

The door wasn't locked and Erin stepped inside. The smell wasn't anything to write home about: thick and musty, reminding her so much of the dungeon it made her sick. Junk lay scattered all over the place, challenging her in her search for Thomas' bike. The shed's previous rotting door, likely infested with termites, leaned against one of the walls; wooden planks, some painted, lay on a dirt-covered stone floor; and plastic bags filled with construction waste stood everywhere.

Erin managed to find her way through the mess, tripping over a rogue plank only once. She found Thomas' old bicycle next to a small, dirty chair she wouldn't even sit in if someone paid her to do it. The black paint on the bike's frame was a bit chipped, the leather hand grips were loose, and Erin was fairly certain neither the lights nor the hand brakes on the vehicle worked anymore, but she could live with that; she didn't need lights during the day and could always rely on the coaster brake. Still, she hoped the bike would survive her trip to Saint-Vincent and briefly entertained the idea of simply leaving on foot.

The bike would be faster, though, and in spite of its faults, she remembered Thomas had used this bike for years without any problems. He'd always come to the campsite she, Jason and their families stayed at every summer on that thing, and as far as she was aware, it had never let him down.

The bike squeaked as Erin manoeuvred it to the exit, careful not to run the tyres through sharp splinters or nails on the floor. The noise annoyed her and she made a mental note to tell Thomas he should use the vast amount of money he'd accumulated over the years to buy himself a new damn bike. Even if he took his shiny Ferrari everywhere and never used bicycles anymore, this rickety thing was almost embarassing for a young millionaire to have.