Carpathian Retreat

Image by Reinhold Silbermann from Pixabay



For the third night in a row, Robert woke to the sound of a
woman crying.

When he won the opportunity to write for a month in a medieval
European castle, it seemed kismet. His novel took place in a Romanian village. Now
he spent his mornings walking through the nearby village, soaking in the true
Carpathian atmosphere, and his afternoons and evenings writing.

But if he couldn’t sleep at night, he couldn’t keep his
schedule up. His writing was suffering.

This morning, he’d broached the subject at the breakfast
table, but none of the other writers claim to have heard it, and if the staff
knew about it, they weren’t talking.

Tonight, he was determined to find the source.

Robert stepped out of his room with his fuzzy slippers and
flashlight. He paused, waiting for the sound again. Sure enough, it came; a
sobbing, wracking moan.

He turned left and crept down the stone hallway, with portraits
whose eyes seemed to follow him, and display armor that seemed so much creepier
than this morning. At the end of the hall was a locked door. The sobbing was
clearly on the other side.

Robert recognized the lock from his research. He jiggled the
handle and bumped the door at just the right time, and it clicked open. Stone
stairs led up and out of sight.

At the top of the stairs, another door stood unlocked, and beyond
it, a circular room with a window open to the storm. The only object was a
large oval under a white sheet. A speaker, perhaps? The crying came from
beneath.

Robert pulled the sheet off.

He jumped when he saw a figure before realizing it was his
own reflection. Then he saw the ghostly figure hovering behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~
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