Page 14 of Bittersweet & Strange

A castle rises from the mountainside directly ahead.

Massive stone walls climb toward the sky, their weathered surfaces darkened by centuries of snow and rain. Towering spires pierce the clouds. Narrow windows reflect the fading afternoon light like polished glass. Gargoyles perch along the roofline, their grotesque expressions frozen in place as they stare down at the landscape below.

For several seconds, I’m convinced I’ve lost my mind. The villagers tell stories. Everyone knows them.

The castle in the mountains.

The Beast who lives alone in the woods.

The warnings have been passed from one generation to the next. Children should behave or the Beast will come for them.

I’d always assumed they were exaggerations. A fairy tale, even.

I was wrong.

My gaze drifts downward.

A garden stretches across the front of the property, buried under several feet of snow. Stone pathways disappear under white drifts. Skeletal vines climb trellises that will undoubtedly explode with flowers once warmer weather finally arrives.

There, crossing the garden, are fresh footprints.

My pulse begins racing.

“Dad?”

The word leaves my mouth as little more than a whisper. I slide from the saddle. Bramble lowers his head immediately, his sides still rising and falling too quickly from the climb. I remove the saddlebags, drape the reins over a snow-covered branch, then follow the footprints.

Each step carries me farther across the frozen garden and closer to the enormous front doors towering above me. Snow slips into my boots. Cold air burns my cheeks. I barely notice either.

My entire world has narrowed to a single thought.

Please let him be here.

I climb the stone steps two at a time, my fingers still wrapped tightly around my father’s glove while my eyes dart across the entrance. The steps are almost completely clear of snow, recently swept by someone who took the time to keep them that way.

I slow.

Someone lives here.

Someone maintains this place.

The thought should be comforting. But standing at the entrance of a castle I’ve only ever heard about in stories leaves me feeling anything but reassured.

The doors towering above me are enormous, constructed from dark, weathered wood, reinforced with heavy iron that surrendered its shine to age long ago. Everything about them feels imposing. They were built to keep people out, not welcome them inside.

I lift my hand and knock. The sound reverberates through the wood before disappearing somewhere inside the castle.

I wait.

Nothing.

I knock again, harder this time.

“Dad?”

Only silence answers.

The wind shifts behind me, carrying the sharp scent of pine and snow through the garden. Cold air slips under my coat. I glance over my shoulder and immediately wish I hadn’t. The forest stretches endlessly behind me, dark trees crowding together until the road I followed completely disappears from sight. Bramble waits near the edge of the garden, his reddish-brown coat standing out against the snow, but even he suddenly seems impossibly far away.