Castle In The Woods

The castle in the woods, not much more than a folktale, the kids on the street jested that it was haunted, or an evil wizard’s castle, but the old man smiled; He knew better. He walked through the forest, breathing in the same air as he did a child. Watching the squirrels dancing in the trees, smelling the strong scent of wild garlic that was surrounding him, and listening to the small stream as it ran alongside him. His old bones felt young again walking through the woods, feeling the mud beneath his boots and cane. But the old man finally came to a stop, suddenly. He poked his cane into what seemed like a wall of ivy, that most people assumed was the edge of the little town woods; he knew better.  He heard the familiar squeak of the old iron gate, and it was like a new world had opened up. A green meadow, hidden behind the wall, and along the centre, was a castle. A ruin that has been there since before the town. From a time before that time. He smiled and felt like a young boy again. He trotted along as fast as his old bones would let him, eager to reminisce in his childhood palace. His hand traced the stone walls of the ruins. A large oak tree had grown through the centre, but apart from that, it looked like it hadn’t aged a day the stone still stood proud, and the windows of stained glass still shot rays of rainbows when the light hit it write. The earth was still as soft beneath his boots, and everything seemed at peace. Not even birdsong disturbed the atmosphere. With new life, he listened to the crunch of twigs and autumn leaves beneath his feet, smiling at a joyful memory and an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia taking over him. It had been what, 50- 60 years? He could still hear his childhood laughter filled the empty halls and sat along one of the old stone walls, his ageing body not as nimble he used to be. he could see the silhouette of childhood self-running through the castle grounds. in days gone, he was a prince, majestic and royal, commanding a city of toys and woodland creatures: other times he was a knight, noble and strong, defending the castle from an enemy legion. Here, he could be whoever he wanted to be. Here, he felt safe, at home. It was his private palace. hidden in the woods, it was only his. Only his... and...

Flashbacks came back. Flashes of lightning illuminated the woods on the night he decided to run away. In a fit of arrogance and immaturity, he packed his bag and ran away during the night. It snowed heavy that night, and there was electricity in the air. He laid shivering in the snow, with his bear in his arm and wrapped tightly in his coat, a bag full of sweets and chocolate for 'emergency rations'. By the time his brother had found him, he was shivering, cold and afraid, paler than the snow around him. pleading, begging, for him to come home, the brother only wished for him to be safe. sadly, the boy couldn't quite remember what he said to each his brother, but the man knew he wasn't very polite. CRACK. Thunder neared. The arguing got louder and the boy ran, and the old man tried to stop him. Tried to warn him would happen, but sadly you cannot change the past. The boy started to climb his way through the ruins, and his brother followed, apologising, begging for his brother to come home. A mix of rain and tears ran down his face as the boy screamed horrid things at the brother. Horrible things the man wished he could take back; he knew better now. The boy climbed higher and higher, his brother struggling to keep up. Cold, icy stones made it difficult to climb, and someone who wasn't used to climbing had no chance, yet the brother climbed anyway, to try and bring the boy home. Just as the boy reached the top of the tower, stones fell loose. The brother, whose fingers and face was as white as the boy's, didn't stop pursuing his brother, desperate for them to come home and apologise. He climbed and climbed until the boy couldn’t run away any more, and he screamed.

"I wish you were dead!"

And like some sick genie or some horrible god, a flash of lightning struck the tower, and the boy saw a look of horror and hurt on the brothers face; not from the fall, but from the boy's words. He clambered down the tower, his heart weighing a ton. slowly, he crept closer, he no longer shook because he was cold, but because of dread. He lied to himself, telling himself that his brother would be okay, he’d be alright but deep down; he knew better. As he shook his brother, screaming at him to wake up, a pool of blood slowly formed around him. Desperately, he begged to the heavens above for his brother to wake up, to apologise for the things he said, but it was to no avail. God wasn't listening that day, and he was dry out of miracles ever since.

The man felt his face wet with tears, he sighed a shaky breath. He had many years grieving and trying to redeem himself for his brother’s death, to make up for killing his brother, and it was his only regret. The old man sat there for what felt like hours, his breath drawing thinner and thinner, contemplating about his life, what he accomplished, did the good really outway the bad? And then asked himself,

Would he be proud?

But he didn't need to fret anymore. Smiling, his brother was in front of him, and he hadn't aged a day. Kindly, the brother offered the old man a hand, still soft and kind like the boy remembered. shakily reaching out, holding his hand. The boy and his brother wandered off together, to go on to their next adventure, together. And finally, the old man stopped shaking, simply at rest with a smile, at peace in his castle in the woods.