The dilapidated castle looked deserted, so Sara pushed the front door…

It creaked and screeched as she did so, the rusty metal scratching along the sides. It sounded like a cat scratching its nails on a blackboard, hissing. Sara clasped her hands over her ears, it was so loud. After 5 minutes of torment from the heavy, metal gates, it finally opened to reveal a castle built entirely of grey stones. Each and every brick were shades and hues of grey, with tints of deject dotted here and there. There was a pond, which Sara could only assume had once been sparkly and clean, crystal clear blue, indigo, cobalt, and azule tinting the waters. She supposed the plants there had been emerald green, sage covering the banks of the pond. There was a title plastered “Blue Pond Castle”.  The same beautiful pond that it was before was now murky and dirty, menacing and hissing. Sara wouldn’t have known it was breathtaking before had she not wiped the grime off the stand on which the title was spelt, and it revealed it to be golden, each letter made with extreme care. She didn’t know why she did it, but she knew she had to. She had a feeling this place might be more than what meets the eye. 

Curious now in what secrets the castle held, Sara sneaked cautiously to the main gate, checking behind her each 5 seconds. She knew that if this castle was indeed special, there would be people after some of the secrets hidden. Of course, this was all an assumption, all her vivid imagination, but she knew it was true. 

“And how did this castle get in this state?” Sara wondered, feeling surer than ever that she was right. Something must have happened, even though she didn’t know it. She took each step with enormous care, her bluish-green eyes peeled in case of danger. She finally contrived to reach the main gates. They were even larger than the previous one. Great, more screeching. But this one opened with no sound at all. It seemed to be as smooth as an oiled machine.

“If this was easier, then why did they make it look so huge?” Sara questioned, “Why so intimidating?”

The answer hit her as fast as a lightning flash. “That’s it!” she exclaimed excitedly, forgetting all about her one scheme that she had been following until now: to be wary of danger. “They’re doing this because something intimidating would definitely scare people away! And I’m sure they didn’t expect anyone to even try to enter the castle in the first place!” She thought that, at the time this castle was built, it would be equipped with knights, horses, and cavalry, able to take down anyone. And this place had evidently lost in a battle, for it was broken down, ravens were perched on the pallid, failed towers, and the pond was grimy. It all made sense. It just did. 

Soon, a distraction in the disguise of a raven’s caw, arrived. 

CAW CAW! CAW CAW! Sara almost jumped out of her skin, and resolved that she wouldn’t get too far in her imagination. She roamed the castle, which, by all the evidence, used to be a palace. There were goblets made of royal purple gemstones, pure white moonstones, sage green emeralds, and red rubies. The plates were made with pure gold, priceless. She wondered why they were still here.

“What if this wasn’t real gold at all, and someone replaced them?” she knew that this castle definitely had an eventful past, for it looked dreary, exhausted, and tired out. It was yawning, as if sleepy with everything that took place here. Yes, this place had definitely seen a lot. It also contained evidence of a battle castle, which was unusual but not unheard of. There was, in fact, plenty of evidence that this was a battle castle: Armour, swords, shields resided in a room. The armour was made of steel – which suggested that this now remote castle in which people lived in had been rich and wealthy. Steel was ridiculously expensive back then, so there was no way the people here weren’t the best of the best fighters. The shields were created out of copper, also incredibly expensive as well, although not nearly as much as steel. The swords were made of diamonds (which were the hardest substance on Earth, so Sara was sure they could pierce anyone or anything).

There was one problem though: it was peaceful. And Sara was 99.99 % sure that something bad was coming. It was funny that she thought that at that very second, because, just then, a huge storm broke out. Lightning flashed across the sky, threatening to engulf anyone or anything that dared to cross its path, gnawing its razor-sharp teeth. Thunder boomed as loud as when you stood next to an aero plane while it was taking off, ascending into the sky. Everything turned black, and the castle groaned and grumbled. Sara gulped; she knew it couldn’t stand weather like this anymore. She darted to find a place in the erubescent darkness that had erupted there, and took shelter in the most sturdiest place she was able to find. 

“Will I make it out of here?” 

Sara muttered this over and over again, as if repeating it would help her get ideas faster. Her sense of panic grew by each passing second, causing her to almost bolt away from the haven. She had just compassed in stopping herself from the deluge of alarm that she had flown into, gasping heavily in order to do so. After puffing for about 5 minutes, she finally calmed herself down. She closed her eyes in hopes of receiving at least a decent idea from her brain, but none came. She speculated that if she just waited, the storm would pass and she would be able to leave. But for how long? 

She had waited and waited, biding her time in the morbid castle, indulging herself into thinking up ideas to escape. So far, only one idea had entered her mind. The rest of them were stepping back slowly, as if scared to offend her. That one idea had been brave enough to venture near her, and help her out. The problem was that it wasn’t working. She had tried over and over again, with the hopes that it would work, undeterred by the fact that it had failed multiple times already.

So what would she do now? The storm was going on as strong as ever, if not more. The wind had evolved into a furious gale, sweeping everything in its path – whether it be human or not – out of its way. Leaves were ripped apart from their respective trees and branches, torn away mercilessly. Twigs, sticks, and branches flew about in the air, dancing. Bushes and even trees weren’t left out, since they also got swept up in the chaos that was the wind. The thunderstorm seemed to progressively get worse too. The booms were as deafening as hordes of people cheering the performer singing, except they were screaming in their ears. Worst of all was the lightning. It was flashing, sheathing the sky in blinding white. Its main goal seemed to be to electrocute everything in its way. It had so far been able to inflict its pain and terror on the evergreen trees, bushes, twigs. It had even succeeded in infecting the castle once or twice. The ravens and the other birds that resided there flew away, screaming with shock as their nests were reduced to hay and twigs. The worms let out a cry of help when they realised the very surface they were on was disappearing in front of their very eyes. The trees, bushes, leaves and whatever else that was unfortunate enough to be outside were screaming in agony and anguish, horrified to witness it all. They screeched with terror present in their wails as the leaves were ripped apart from what they were attached to. The bushes were thrown into the menacing gale without another thought. Some of the twigs and trees were blown so far away that they couldn’t possibly be nearer than 200 miles away. Sara was surprised that the castle was even standing at all, and why the stones weren’t budging, leaving the castle to suffer the torture. Nevertheless, she was relieved to say the least. She had no wishes to be the next victim of the scowling storm.

But this also spelt bad news for her. She had no food with her except a water bottle and a few dollars. She had not anticipated to be stuck inside a mourning, rufescent castle with no way out. She had just discovered it that very day, just happened to stumble upon it. She neither wanted to nor expected that she would be trapped in this castle. She couldn’t roam the place, as it was far too dangerous. The storm outside gushing, cackling with glee, certainly proved that. She sighed; it was obvious she couldn’t leave when the whole area was struck with the probably most dangerous storm to ever take place in a century. She also couldn’t call for help because of many reasons: this was a remote area, so no one would be near. Even if, with a 1% chance of someone actually being there, they would’ve definitely been washed away by the fierce wind by now. At any rate, it was lucky that no one was indeed outside, since they would’ve met a terrible fate. So Sara was stranded all alone, no way out, no food, no way to call for help (it would’ve been pointless anyways because no one was outside) in a castle. A battle castle. 

The idea zapped into her mind as quick as the lightning outside, strucking her numb.  
“That’s it,” she spoke jauntily, her spirits trembling with fervour, “this is a perfect idea.” Well, it wasn’t perfect but it was the best she could do, and besides, this was the only idea that she had, so what would she be losing if she did? 

“A lot,” her instinct piped up. Sara knew this was true, but she was impatient. She had waited for hours and hours, most likely more, she couldn’t wait anymore. The storm showed no signs of stopping, and she would starve if she stayed there. Easing her guilt a little, Sara felt more confident to execute the strategy. She was a bit nervous, though, but she couldn’t just stay here and let it result to famine. So, gingerly, she sneaked to the room with the armour, swords, and shields. She picked one up, the steel brushing against the skin. The shields protection was to die for, it was so strong. Lastly, she scooped up the sword. It was incredibly sharp; it had cut her skin. She wore the yielding and protection. Concluding the scheme, she picked up the sword again and tried it on random objects. The blade lived up to its name, it actually could pierce through anything. Except from the shield.

This was precisely what she wanted, because she planned to stab the sword into the ground, deep enough so that it didn’t emerge from the ground as an accident. Just in case it did, though, she already had a back-up plan. If the sword ever was flung out of the solid ground (she doubted it) she would be able to defend herself from it. There was no one around, so she was sure that no other human would have to bear the devastating effects of the sharp-as-shark-teeth sword. After equipping herself with the necessary equipment, she ventured out into the cold, unwelcoming turmoil. She pierced the ground with the cutting blade, jamming it about halfway through the height of the sword. Her numb, icy hands gripped the leathery handle of the sword, curled around it. And it worked! She had been a bit doubtful that it would succeed, but it did. She stared at the silver, frosty cutlass, a serious expression overtaking the previous smile-and-shine one.

“How on Earth was she supposed to get the sword out?” a devastating feeling landed in her stomach, and worry was present in her thoughts. She knew she hadn’t thought this out properly. She had just assumed that, “How hard could taking the sword out of the ground possibly be?” 

Sara’s only choice left was to try. She couldn’t, by any means, leave. She had had to spear the ground just to be able to stand! If she wanted to go back to the castle, she would have to get the sword out of the ground. All would have been well had that not been the initial problem. The bitter wind swirled around her, dancing with glee at her hold as she stood there, silent, trying to find her way to a resolve. She was forced to conclude that she would have to try to get it unstuck from the rigid Earth, no matter how hard it seemed. With a sigh, she grasped the hilt tighter than ever, and tugged at it. No movement. She tentatively tried to do so again, this time with more force. Movement! The corners of her moth lifted, forming a cheery smile. Her eyes glittered the colour of a snowflake, the colour of ice on a skating rink. She hauled at the bayonet, eventually managing to get it out. She jabbed the sabre a bit further, its blade ripping the ground. Sara continued the process, repeating the steps over and over again. Stab, pull out, repeat. Stab, pull out, repeat. She followed the directions she had created, again and again and again. It was nightfall by the time she exited the heavy metal gates, the sky darkened down to a deep purple. It was diversed by navy, so it created a sort of a harmonious hybrid between them. 

She stood there, leaning on the barred gates, tired. It had taken a long time to reach the gateway and she wanted a rest. After a minute or so, she began to descend away from the entry to the castle, drained of energy but wish to leave the place overpowering it. She did not want to stay at a venue where a horrifying, life-threatening gale resided, and danger lurked just around the bend, hidden at every corner. She walked as fast as possible, her numbness in the crippling, weary cold considerably slowing down the process. She turned to look back at it just one last time, and said, “If there’s one thing I learned today, it’s that to be cautious of my decisions!” 

The old cottage looked deserted, so Mary pushed the door open…

The door creaked and groaned as she turned the rusty wooden door knob, squeaking as it twisted, dust floating off gently, as if saying goodbye to the place it had inhabited in. The door finally opened to reveal a murky and gloomy interior. The couch was cloaked in a cape of dust, coating it with misty speckles of sand. The cape would’ve flown in the air, showing off its marvellous spectacles of dust, smaller than a grain of rice, had the couch not been soaked with a bluish-green substance. It looked like someone had poured a bucket full of rainwater, except that the bucket was made out of seaweed and rotten eggs. Before the stubborn door had finally consented to disclose the happenings inside the house, a terrible stench had wafted her way first. She flailed her hand in hope the smell would just drift away, the thought that it had probably remained in the house for over a month not crossing her mind. At last, when she couldn’t bear it any longer, she plugged her nose and walked inside, hope that there were other rooms vacant surging through her veins. Finally finding the source of the hateful stench seemed to cleanse her mind of any thoughts about the smell. Turning to look at the right corner, she spotted a vase, glistening with dust as it stood there, only a single flower which happened to have wilted occupying it. The petals were pitch-black at the tips, as if it had been burned, and any colour the flower might have possessed had faded down to a placid grey. A shiver suddenly ran down her spine, which happened to jolt her thoughts back to the original reason she had found this place. Another cold shiver slid down, its icy cold aura riding along with it. She remembered she was soaking wet, drenched in water, head to toe. Somehow she had forgotten about it, no doubt that the strange and unwelcoming atmosphere was behind it. She gave out an enormous yawn and her hand instinctively shot up to stifle it. She lowered it again, only to find blood staining it. Of course. She remembered falling down as she was running, hitting the solid ground with a thud. She got up and started to run again, even though she had the choice to walk through the forest. But, somehow, she knew that wasn’t a good idea…

The memories flooded in, one by one, each one of them playing in her mind as if a disc was dancing on its player, twirling and spinning. She saw herself and her father just strolling in the woods, ambling to random spots which she found interesting, despite being the most ordinary. She was chatting happily about her plans for the one-month holiday break she had, excitedly listing up fun activities they could do together: have a picnic, bird watching, camping. That was when the tragedy struck. A horrendous storm approached the farmlands surrounding them. Her father suggested they go back home upon noticing the grey clouds huddled up in the sky like they were planning a huge surprise. But he was too late, for the storm noticed them. To them, they just saw it as a horrible and trouble-causing storm. Well, she used to. Now she saw it for what it really was; A terror-evoking, damaging gale, spinning faster and faster. She just hadn’t noticed it then, for it hadn’t divulged its intentions to her until it was too late. It raced towards them like it was racing against light, coming close and closer by the second. She remembered the sun being overshadowed by the stone clouds, the lightning whizzing past, wrecking everything in its way. The trees, bushes, shrubs, grass, name it and it was sucked into the twirling gale, spun round and round until blown off-course. She remembered rain hitting her like the droplets were rocks. It only took a few seconds for her to realise it. This was a hailstorm.

“But it was so sunny? How-” before she was able to finish her sentence, a scream pierced through, cutting it in half. She bolted towards the direction of her father, anxious to know what caused this. She saw a sight she knew she would never forget. It would always remain in the back of her mind, haunting her.

Her father was laying on the ground, coughing as pebbles the size of lemons bashed against his arm. His fit of coughs dissolved into choking, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She kneeled to help him, but he shook his head as he muttered one word.

“Go,” he croaked, blood dripping from his mouth now. The word had been so faintly said that she was surprised she was able to hear it, yet it had a big impact. She got up and bolted away, further and further away from where he lay. The sight flashed in her mind, clearer each time it displayed itself in her mind. The word ‘Go’ kept popping up in her mind frequently, and the more she heard it, the further she ran away from the place where she had once been endlessly babbling about her holiday plans. It seemed so far away now.

She blinked, wanting to go back to the cottage she had stumbled upon, in spite of it clearly stating she was unwelcome. She didn’t care, though; anywhere was better than her memories, even an abandoned cottage with dust and murk wrapping up every surface and item visible. She looked around wearily, exhausted from the wild night she’d had, and looked for a door. She shouldn’t have, though; a single door stood straight ahead, the wood peeling off slightly as the doorknob twisted. She had to yank at it five times for the door to open, resulting in it breaking loose. She held it, barely registering she was holding it, and the door knob was left to be dropped onto the floor, a thud echoing around. Mary seemed to have lost the ability to care ever since she witnessed what happened in the forest she thought was her ‘safe place’. Ha, so much for a safe place. Worn out and weary, she slumped onto the bed that lay in front of her, falling asleep the moment her head hit the hard wood of the bed frame. She mumbled only a few words before falling into the beautiful escape that was sleep.

“When will this end?” It turned out, not very quickly. After what seemed like a minute, she woke up groggily, though she knew hours had passed. She looked around, and noticed no change. Everything was the same: rock-hard bed, dust-filled room, items covered in murky moss, muddy, wet moss…

After a second, she noticed the obvious. How was the moss wet? Did someone break in? Alarmed, she got up. Alas though, she had just woken up so she could barely register what was happening. Somehow, however, she staggered to a shelf dripping with wet moss and touched it. Yes, it is wet, her weary and asleep mind thought. She peered at the roof, and stared at it. Finally, a droplet fell on her cheek and she realised it was raining. And what’s more, the bricks of the roof were trembling – though not in the way Mary thought. You see, those bricks were old, and they were shaking, but not enough to be alarming.

Poor Mary didn’t have the chance to read this, because then she’d know the slight quiver of the roof needn’t cause alarm. She came back into the house soaked through. Now, when she was really awake, she could do with some exploring, seeing that the rain wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. Mary knew this because rain had the tendency to come at the worst times and either: option A – rain frequently with little breaks or option B – a heavy downpour of rain would occur.