Would you Spend the Night in a Haunted Castle part 2

Introduction: This is based on a story I wrote long ago that you can find along with 31 others in my second published novel called “White Reindeer, Kudzu Monster, & Other Tales of Wonder” written under my pen name of DJ Lyons. As I prepare to perform this story at an October 15, 2011 function known as “Ghost Stories told around the Campfire,” I decided to transform it into poetic form for the enjoyment of my friends on Hubpages. Check the link at the bottom of the page should you like to view or purchase a copy of my book on Amazon. Or you can visit my website at http://askdjlyons.com in case you can get it for a cheaper price.

Naturally, when I perform it, I will tell it as a story rather than a poem. I just found it fun to solidify the story images in my mind that I soon will be performing along with several other ghostly tales.

Here is part 1 of the ghostly poem below.

Gwyn stared at Hugh

when his tale was done.

He finally said,

“Your tale was well-told.

However,

convinced me,

you did not do.

There is no such thing as a ghost!

So there!”

Hugh looked at Sion.

Sion looked at Hugh.

Hugh turned to Gwyn and challenged,

“Sion and I double-dog dare you

to spend the night

this very night

in a haunted castle

so you will see

the truth that lies

in me Gram’s ghostly tale.”

Gwyn challenged back,

“Why don’t you and Sion

spend the night

rather than I?’

Hugh said, “There is no need

for us brothers two

to spend the night

in this here castle

as no convincing

do either of us need.

We do believe in ghosts,

especially the Beaumaris ghost.

You are the one who needs convincing.”

Gwyn thought long.

He finally said,

“Me Mum is not expecting me home tonight

as she things I’m spending the night

at your house.

Since there still is food left

in our picnic lunch,

All right. I’ll do it.

I’ll spend the night.

Then in the morn,

I will convince you back,

there is no such thing as a ghost.”

Hugh only said, “You shall see.

We’ll see you in the morn.”

Close to four o’clock

Hugh and Sion exited the castle

through the gatehouse.

The gatekeeper seeing two walk out

had no memory that three had walked in.

Many, many people had toured

the castle that very day.

All he could think about

was how eager he was to have his tea

and warm delicious dinner

cooked just for him

by his loving, waiting wife.

As for Gwyn,

he carefully selected

one of the fifty guard rooms

to be his bedroom for that one night.

All he had for company

was the picnic lunch

and a watch that lit up

when you pushed

just the right button,

which he did, he did, he did,

as he watched the hours snail by

much slower than he would like.

5:00.

6:00.

7:00. He listened to the seagulls.

8:00. It’s dusk now.

9:00. It’s dark now.

10:00. My this night seems long.

11:00 I wish I was sleepy; however,

I must stay awake

until the witching hour of midnight.

After that, I can try to fall sleep

to make the rest of the night wing by.

My pillow and a blanket would be nice.

This stone bench lacks comfort

and warmth.

What did I get myself into?

As I’ve heard those American kids

say on American TV,

“Oh, Man!”

Finally, finally, it’s midnight.

Gwyn listens.

Gwyn looks.

Does he hear anything?

Does he see anything?

No, double no, triple no.

What a waste.

Now he must try to get by

until the morn.

At 12:15,

everything changes.

Gwyn hears, he hears, yes, he hears,

footsteps,

marching footsteps,

coming down the stone corridor

slowly, slowly, in his direction.

STEP – STEP – STEP – STEP.

PAUSE.

Gwyn recalls there are four steps

to get between

guard room one

and guard room two.

Three steps now he hears.

STEP – STEP – STEP.

PAUSE.

Gwyn realizes that whoever this is,

they are walking the three steps up

so they can use their eyes, their eyes

to peer around the wall for lurkers.

STEP- STEP – STEP.

PAUSE.

Gwyn knows that they must retrace

those same three steps

so they can reach the room’s exit.

Then on he’ll go

until he reaches the next guardroom

so he can repeat the same refrain.

Closer, and closer, these marching feet walk.

Gwyn’s heart beat double-time,

triple-time,

and faster yet than that

when the footsteps finally paused

right outside

the very guardroom

where Gwyn did indeed lurk.

STEP – STEP – STEP.

PAUSE.

That pause felt like it lasted

a hundred years.

Then in his panic,

young Gwyn thought,

“Ahhhh! I can’t see. I’m blind.”

Then he smiled a brief smile

at how silly he was being.

He had forgotten to open his eyes.

When he managed to pry

his eyes open wide,

what did young Gwyn see?

He saw a torch,

making his guard room

be much more than candle bright.

Holding the torch was a hand.

Attached to that hand,

was an arm.

Gwyn thought and then tried to deny,

“Could I see through that hand and arm?

That could not be.

Because if I could see

through a translucent hand and arm,

that must mean,

could it mean,

could it be true,

that there actually is such a thing

as a ghost, a ghost,

a really and truly ghost?”

Then the torch swung around

as the guard or archer

traversed the three steps back

to the guard room door.

Then he continued on his way,

to make a similar trek

in each of the remaining guard rooms

in the castle Beaumaris.

Gwyn determined that if this was a ghost,

he must know for sure.

He planned to wait the twenty minutes

until the archer returned to make his rounds

in this particular corridor.

This time, his eyes would be open wide

so he could see

everything there was to see

about this haunting intruder.

Sure enough,

when the archer returned,

Gwyn’s eyes were wide.

“Yes, indeed,” he thought,

“I have been wrong, wrong, wrong

all these years, years, years.

There is indeed the reality

that ghosts do exist.

For here stands a ghost

right in front of me.”

After the archer backed out of his room,

Gwyn made ready to follow.

He was almost out the guardroom door,

when a second set of footsteps

did he hear.

These footsteps did scurry,

They did not march.

These footsteps were furtive,

like the footsteps of a spy

or a kid playing hide and go seek.

Those footsteps scurried by Gwyn’s location.

After they had gone by,

Gwyn carefully peeked out.

He saw the archer enter the tower staircase.

How did he know it was an archer?

The crossbow and spear were his two clues.

Following behind him

was a man

dressed in dark clothes,

like he was perhaps

one of the many angry villagers.

He too entered the tower staircase.

Gwyn determined to follow as well.

He waited until he could not be heard or seen,

then he entered the tower staircase as well.

He had no torch.

He had no light.

He did his best

to not let his feet slip

on the overly narrow stone steps.

He held onto the rope,

tight, tight, tight,

as he wound round and round

up the tower staircase

to the top of this very tower itself.

When Gwyn reached the top,

what did he see?

He saw the torch

hanging on the wall.

He saw the archer peering over the edge

of the stone wall,

into the crashing waves

of the Irish Sea.

Where was the other man?

Gwyn trained his eyes around.

Lurking in a corner

was the man crouched down,

preparing himself to spring.

Suddenly, spring he did.

Gwyn did not know

if he could be heard.

Nevertheless,

he called loud and quick,

“Look out!”

The villager held a dagger.

The archer turned,

his spear held at the horizontal.

it happened so quick.

It was truly an accident.

But the villager accidentally gutted himself

on the horizontal spear held by the archer.

Gywn gasped, “No!”

The archer gasped, “No!”

The villager sputtered out the words, “No!

It should have been you!”

Then he closed his eyes

and spoke no more

as blood began to pool

around his body now lying

on the cold stone floor.

The archer moaned, “Tom!

Oh, Tom!

I am so sorry, Tom!

I did not mean for you to die.”

Gwyn was in shock.

Seeing a man die

in front of his very eyes

felt very different

from what you see

on TV or Videogames.

It was horrible, horrible,

more than horrible!

He wished he could un-see

what he just saw.

But he could not.

Then the archer looked up

and actually seemed to see Gwyn.

The archer looked shocked.

He looked scared.

He stuttered,

“Are y-y-you a ghost?”

Gwyn looked puzzled.

He said,

“No, you are the ghost.”

The archer did not seem to understand.

The archer said,

“I did not mean to kill Tom.

It was an accident.”

Gwyn said, “You’re right.

It was an accident.

It’s not your fault that Tom is dead.”

The archer pulled out the spear.

He wiped the bloody spear

on some cloth from Tom’s pants.

Then he picked up the body,

cradling it in his arms,

and then dropped it down

into the Irish Sea.

Then the archer moaned,

“How am I going to tell his Mary

that her Tom is gone?

How am I going to face his wife?

I cannot!

I cannot face his wife

or his friends

and tell them this news.

I cannot. I cannot. I cannot!”

Then before Gwyn could think of words

to convince him otherwise,

the archer turned.

He ran.

He bounded over the stone wall

of the stone tower.

Then splash.

The crashing waves

of the Irish Sea

had one more obstacle

to crash against.

The archer was gone as well.

Gwyn was horrified doubly.

To see one man die was bad enough.

To witness two deaths in one night

was more than he could handle.

He ran to the stone wall

and carefully peered down.

All he saw was the Irish Sea.

No Tom. No archer.

Just the crashing Irish Sea.

As he blinked his tears away,

the Irish Sea was gone.

As he blinked more tears away,

the bloody spear was gone.

As he blinked further tears away,

the torch was gone.

Now Gwyn stood atop

that lonely haunted tower

all by himself

with nothing but the moon and stars

for company.

The best he could,

he found the rope

attached to the stone wall.

He spiraled his way down

the narrow tower steps.

He entered the stone corridor

and stepped his way

until he was once again

sitting on the stone bench

that also held the picnic basket.

As Gwyn did his best

to capture sleep,

he made up his mind.

“I wasn’t old enough

or wise enough

to know the right words

to bring comfort to that archer’s heart.

He needs to know

that Tom’s death

was not his fault.

I will think long and hard

through the rest of the summer.

I’ll get Hugh and Sion to think as well.

Maybe their Gram will know

the magic convincing words to say,

then I will return.

I don’t know if it’s possible,

but I need to prevent his untimely death

or at least give his heart some ease,

so he can stop his haunting

and rest in peace.

I don’t know if it’s possible,

but at least,

I have to try.”

Then Gwyn did his best

to sleep his way through

the rest of that lonely night

until morning.