Highland Photographs

2. Unavenged souls

   The mystic, crumbling castle called to me
    I answered
   The darkness beckoned, and I followed.
  I reached the entrance, and laid a hand on the cold, unforgiving stone of the ruins. More of it stood than most of the towering remains around here. I looked back, and only fog met my vision. Level ground had disappeared. I turned around and stepped into the whispering shadows.
  Walking around, taking pictures, I marvelled at how this structure was almost more of a proper castle than ruins. It was falling apart and the ceiling didn't exist almost anywhere, but it had retained its corridors, rooms and stairs to no-where, although not many rooms had four whole walls.
  It was so picturesque, my camera roll was filling up too quickly. Rather than waste this beautiful opportunity, I deleted some of the pictures I had taken on the way here. I could always get them again. For some reason or the other, I knew once I left I wouldn't find this place once more.
  I trailed my hand on the roughly hewn walls and felt the echo of past lives, other children who had done the same thing. My arm instinctively recoiled from the feeling, like it was repulsed by it.
  I heard a wail and followed it without a thought.
  Coming to the wall that separated me and the faint screaming, almost muffled through the fog, I pressed up against it and readied my camera. Almost second-handedly, I realised I was oddly calm and without fear.
  I felt an odd presence, yearning for me to walk to the wailing woman. I obliged.
  I drifted round the thick wall and towards the bawling lady in the pouffy green dress, my camera long forgotten in my trance.
"Help us! You mustn't leave here without saving our eternal souls,"  she simultaneously whispered and screeched, " We require assistance from-" And this she seemed to go mildly crazy and then abruptly went quiet and stared blank-eyed and unknowingly into a dark corner.
  A man in a finely tailored suit with a little bow tie materialised in the flamboyant chair opposite the catatonic woman. He presently began wailing and weeping too.
  "We implore you! Help us, uncover our secrets, our dark, tragic story and avenge our souls so we may move on. Oh, PLEASE, oh wanderer, help us!! You must go and-"
"Avenge you how?!" I asked incredulously, my dreamlike trance terminated with the woman's screaming. "What secret, why don't you just tell me of your past?!" I reached out to shake the mans shoulders as he just blankly stared at me, but my hand closed on empty air.
They both faded away and I looked around in amazement and bewilderment. Somehow I knew I wasn't dreaming, or hallucinating. I also knew, with absolute clarity, that I would not, could not, leave these poor, restless souls here to rot and fester and bewitch passers-by for the rest of eternity. What I could possibly do to help them remained to be seen. But I knew I had to do something and everything in my power, to change their woeful fate.

I walked in to the crumbling halls, and followed where my soul tugged me. 

There was the pitter patter of water, or tears, and I naturally drifted towards it. The sound grew and I yearned to know it's origin. Eventually it became deafening, and all I could hear was the steady dripping. I rounded a corner and cane upon a strange sight.

  There was a pale grey, wraith-like boy in the corner, his off-colour blood slowly falling to the ground. He was obviously long-dead, but the blood kept dripping and dripping. He sunk to his knees and looked over his shoulder at me, a dangerous sparkle in his eyes. He rose again, surrounded in his own, pale, crimson blood, and turned fully around to face me.
I gasped. His hair was limp and dying, and his clothes were in tatters. His hands were scratched almost to the bone, his sharp nails continuing to do so. His knees were showing and read-raw. The dripping blood came from a cruel-looking sword-wound in his stomach. He didn't even try to staunch the steady trickle of blood. His eyes lost the twinkle and his face fell at the sight of me.
  "We can't stand it anymore,"  He whispered, " They come and go but they never stay. They always run. If you are going to run, flee quickly. The disappointment is worse than the waiting. My friends couldn't take it. They done the unspeakable-"  He started to hyperventilate, though he obviously didn't really need air. But his ranting was shaking lose even more of his already fleeting marbles, and he couldn't control himself. I stepped towards him, thinking to comfort him, or offer him assurances that I wouldn't leave, that I would help them.
  But I knew I had no way to know that, or to possibly help them. My hunt had been fruitless and futile, my quest too difficult to fully comprehend. The lack of coherent answers was giving me a headache.
  I backed up, shaking my head. " I will try. I won't just leave," I hit the wall, "but if you can give me some actual answers, I can help" I implored. My headache was pounding and I couldn't  think through the haze, only understanding that I need to find someone who would answer me properly.
  The little boy just stared, glass eyed, and his mouth dropped open. "You are the one. You will finish it. You will obtain what we seek. Revenge. Retribution. You will make them suffer.  You have the key."  He suddenly looked around, as though remembering where he was, "No one is your ally. Don't go asking questions, or you will never leave. Figure it out."  He looked beseeching, like he was begging me to understand his struggle, "I can't, they won't-" He went quiet, and I finally understood. The spirits here couldn't talk of what they needed me to do. It must have been hard for the little boy to even say as much as he did. The others had went silent, and faded away when they tried to give me something to go off. Their cryptic messages were all I had now.
  For some reason or the other, I decided to listen to the little child. He told me not to go asking questions, to be weary and not to trust anyone, as they weren't my allies. I decided to believe him. The anguish in his eyes that I might leave and take away their hope had been real. He wouldn't have lied. If he had, I wouldn't have solved this riddle as easily. The only problem was, I was now entirely alone in this.
  I pondered over his words. He had said I was the one, the key. But I wasn't special, or different. I was foreign, but most wanderers around here would have been. I had my camera, but I suspected, somehow, any pictures I took of this place would somehow eventually disappear.
  He had said his friends had done "the unspeakable" and that they couldn't take the crushing, desperate hope that was always taken away. I wondered what "the unspeakable" could be. He acted as though his friends hadn't made it, that they weren't here anymore. But surely, if that was the case, they would all have done it, so they could all move on?
  They had all talked about avenging them, and about revenge and retribution. Who could have hurt them so deeply? Or what? Was there some curse on them? One that meant they couldn't talk about what they needed?
  The unanswered questions were just worsening my relentless headache. I resolved to explore farther, and avoid temptations and strange soul-pulling. The spirits here seemed to have a knack for bending ones will.
  So on I ventured.
  With a start I remembered my father, and wondered if he had even noticed my lack of presence. More importantly I wondered at the time. I checked my phone and found it was well into the night, my lengthy walk and exploring taking longer than I had thought. I went to text my dad, to reassure him him of my continued existence, when I realised I had no signal. He probably didn't care anyway. The thought didn't sit well, and I continued in, partly in the hopes of forgetting my fathers indifference towards me.
  So many forces pulled me forward. It was an act of pure will to resist. But suddenly a stronger, darker force began to tug on me, and I fully understood the little wraith-boys order.
  But my will was sorely lacking, and after a minute or so of tug of war over my conscience with this black force, I yeilded.
  And so I drifted towards it.