Mist

THE SLEEPING FOLK

Roof-haunting martins warm their eggs:
In these, in those the life is stay'd.
The mantles from the golden pegs
Droop sleepily: no sound is made,
Not even of a gnat that sings.
More like a picture seemeth all
Than those old portraits of old kings,
That watch the sleepers from the wall

                                                                               - The Daydream

                                    Alfred Lord Tennyson 

****

On the roof , lay the martin's nest. The bird was perched on the rim of it's nest, with its wings spread , as if it were caught mid- flight.

A carpet of dirt welcomed them in. The air glinted with dust, which shone like left over stars against the dark backdrop of the castle. Smoke hung in the air, from the embers of yesteryear. Tapestries of cob web decorated the walls, on which were hung portraits of proud looking, bearded men with crowns on their heads and skies in their eyes. Their pride had outlasted them and now they were shrouded in gloom. The marble of the fireplace was smeared with soot.

" This place is based on the poem." Hazel said.

" Or rather , the poem is based on the place." Cindy suggested.

" We need to go to the banquet room ."

" Let's go then !"  Amber said excitedly, marching ahead.

Ced gazed at her disapprovingly.  "I don't think she is right in the head, you know." he said, as he followed after Hazel.

The entrance to the banquet saw life at a pause. The butler sat outside the door, while a couple stood at a small distance. Hand in hand, the lovers stood; the man leaning to kiss the woman and a blush, as fresh as red roses, glowed on her face.

"Here sits the Butler with a flask
Between his knees, half-drain'd; and there
The wrinkled steward at his task,
The maid-of-honour blooming fair:
The page has caught her hand in his:
Her lips are sever'd as to speak:
His own are pouted to a kiss:
The blush is fix'd upon her cheek ." Ced whispered.

"How do you remember all the lines?" Hazel asked.

"I memorised most of them." Ced grinned sheepishly.

"He had nothing better to do, obviously." Amber remarked. Ced glared at her.

Cindy pushed the rusted handles of the huge doors.

Pot bellied men stuck their fat bottoms to chairs, sleeping with their mouths open. The air smelled horrid.

" I want to vomit." Amber said.

Ced moved away from her. 

"It won't make you more disgusting than you already are, don't you worry."  Amber said.

Hazel walked up to the foul smelling , fungi infested men with boiled egg heads.

"Each baron at the banquet sleeps
Grave faces gather'd in a ring." Hazel said.

There was a sudden noise of furniture moving against the floor. Hazel almost jumped.

At the door, greeting them with ghoulish smiles, stood the steward and the maid , hand in hand. They had had a makeover. Their skin was grey and rotting, their dresses in rags and hair in a disheveled state. Their eye sockets were a hollow, black chasm.