Last week’s challenge linked to my ‘ABC of short story ideas’ series which appears on a Monday. You had a choice of writing about an ‘ambulance’, ‘burglary’, ‘castle’ or all three! Castle proved to be the favourite choice by far. Your wonderful stories can be read below.
Last week it was the ‘ABC’ so this week’s challenge moves onto the ‘DEF’. To remind you, ‘D’ stood for darkness, ‘E’ emergency and ‘F’ freedom. So for your challenge, I’d like you to write a story or poem with a theme of Darkness, Emergency or Freedom. You’ll find some ideas for these themes if you click on the following link:
As promised, here are last week’s stories:
Keith Channing‘s story will make you smile:
I’m the king of the castle!
“This is my castle, and I’ll jolly well do what I want in it. And if anyone tries to stop me, I’ll… I’ll… I’ll jolly well stamp my feet and hold my breath and scream!” King Kannot, ruler of the land of O was clearly not in one of his better moods. It had just been pointed out to him that there was insufficient gold in the royal treasury to fund the massive fair he had wanted to hold in the castle grounds. It was to have been a splendid affair with jesters, minstrels and entertainers of all sorts, as well as jousts, archery contests and all kinds of competitions. But the royal chamberlain said there wasn’t enough money. Now he needed a new chamberlain, too.
“If I may be permitted to point out to His Majesty,” interjected Velcro, the king’s faithful retainer, “if Sire attempts to hold his royal breath and scream at the same time, Sire may explode.”
“Well, what can I do to make myself feel better about my lot, Velcro? The peasants are revolting, and the nobles aren’t much better.”
“Sire could call a special meeting of the Privy Council at a ridiculously early hour, with an agenda of the utmost gravity and import, then not turn up Himself.”
“What a jolly good wheeze. Would they all come?”
“Could they possibly ignore a royal command, Sire?” The king’s humour had changed as quickly as ever. Velcro had a particular knack of knowing exactly what to say to get the old king into a good mood. Unfortunately for many of the king’s loyal subjects, this often involved causing great inconvenience to some of them, usually either the most hapless of the peasantry or the most lofty of the nobility or, more frequently, both.
“We’ll say,” the king suggested, “that we need to discuss our response to the overtures received from the next kingdom, suggesting that our royal son, the Prince Mite, should marry their king’s ugly daughter.”
“And what should be our response, Sire?”
“Our response shall be … that we shall think about it. We shall consider our options. We shall have discussions with our advisors and, of course, with Prince Mite.”
“And then, Sire?”
“And then, Velcro, we shall tell them that we will approve the marriage at a later date.”
“That date being, Sire?”
“When hell freezes over, Velcro, when hell freezes over.” With that, the old king laughed so hard he fell off his chair and rolled around the floor.
Still laughing, still rolling, he blurted out, “But we won’t tell the Privy Councillors that, eh, Velcro?”
Some time later, after the king had recovered from his fit of royal mirth, he called Velcro to his kingly presence again, “Let’s have a feast tonight, Velcro. Summon the courtiers and the jesters, the Privy Councillors and the dancing wenches; have the hunters head out to find some meat. There will be jollity in my castle this night. It will go on until almost sunrise. As soon as the sun rises, the Privy Council will meet, and we will go to our royal bedchamber.”
And so the festivities took place. There was, indeed, jollity in the king’s castle that night, laughter and dancing, feasting and drinking, revelry and ribaldry and rambunctiousness, and goings on between jesters and wenches that we won’t go into here for reasons of modesty.
As the sun rose, the gathered company dispersed, each to his or her own home, with the exception of the Privy Councillors, who went through into the council room to await the king. The king collected his queen and went to bed.
Did I not mention that the king has a queen? Isn’t it obvious? Where do you suppose the Prince Mite came from? There’s no magic in this realm, you know.
The Privy Councillors waited patiently for the king.
For many hours they sat, chatting amongst themselves. They didn’t discuss the subject they were there to talk about, because it would be wrong to do so; just as it would have been wrong to leave the room before the king had graced them with his presence. They were rather afraid of the king.
Much as the king was rather afraid of the queen, although that, too, was never discussed.
Jason Moody‘s story will thoroughly entertain:
My life in ruins
Augustine was enjoying the sunshine and the company of his eager tourist group. Come rain or shine, he would bring those that were willing to the castle ruins to enjoy the scenery and the history. He had been doing this for nearly ten years now. It was fast becoming one of the most popular tourist attractions in the world, second only to the now infamous ‘sizzlers’ tandoori in Clacton on Sea.
Today’s group were a keen bunch. There was a family from Arkansas; two sisters from Okinawa; a married couple from Germany and a group of students from Paris.
The questions were flying, the answers were delivered with infectious enthusiasm and the scenery just added to the wonder.
Lush green hills and trees that pierced the sky watched over them as their path snaked this way and that through the leafy countryside.
Eventually, they reached the top of a hill. Standing here offered beautiful views of the land that seemed to stretch out forever. But, it was the view below that had the group clambering to get at their cameras; sat at the bottom of a basin was a ruined castle from centuries ago.
Trees lined the rim almost all the way around, as if hiding it from view.
Augustine gathered the group.
“Right. You have to be very careful here…” There was a commotion at the back.
“…I say. Thank you. As I was saying, the climb down must be taken at a leisurely pace, no pushing, no running and absolutely no tom foolery of any description.” This garnered a few strange looks. “I do not want a repeat of 2012. That said, take in the views, snap until you can snap no more and above all, have fun.”
They made their way down the path, carefully, and for the most part, quietly.
They had reached the basin. The sloping hills all around seemed to climb forever. This was a fact that Henrik, a fourth seven year old tax collector from Hamburg, attested to as he sat, breathless.
When he did catch his breath, and the rest of the group had parted so he could see, he was greeted by a most splendid sight.
The stone shone in the mid afternoon sun. The remnants of a once magnificent castle still stood, as imposing as if they were whole. Half-hewn minarets reached up, gargoyles, weathered by time sneered from above.
The group gasped, sighed and some even clapped as Augustine made his way to the front and bid them follow him.
The closer they got, the more beautiful it seemed. Yakumi, one of the sisters from Japan, noted the flying ambulance parked in a field nearby.Augustine simply explained that they would often park here on their lunch break. It was extremely implausible, but no one questioned it. Some even waved at the crew, who with sandwiches in hand duly waved back.
They were now inside the castle itself. They had passed through the kitchen, the great hall. They had seen the kings chamber and heard many a delightful tale along the way.
They now stood facing a remarkably complete and no less imposing archway which preceded a staircase that headed underground.
Augustine stood at the top. “Ladies and gentleman,” he announced theatrically. “Follow me for the grand finale.”
More sighing and gushing followed.
Augustine started the descent and the group followed. The stairs wound downwards, the further they went, the more pronounced the echo.
“Mind the last step, it’s a tricky one,” announced Augustine.
One by one the group filtered into a candle lit cavern. It seemed to go on forever.
“Ladies and gentleman, I give you Barnabus the mighty,” shouted Augustine.
A rustling sound like a hundred pairs of feet on gravel filled the cavern.
Then, without warning a jet of orange flame swooped over their heads.
One by one the silhouettes of huge iron candle holders could be seen as their summits danced with flame.
Eight were lit. Now the group could see what was behind. Its scaly golden brown skin shimmered in the gloom. Its eyes sparkled green like emeralds. It lit more candles about the cavern. Now the full extent of this mighty beast could be seen.
The group were gobsmacked. Henrik cried out in German, to which Barnabus, his tone commanding and gravelly, answered.
Barnabus stood at least ten feet talk. His tail snaked and curled in front of him. His wings, laden with thorny spines clung to his back.
“Good afternoon Barnabus,” Augustus greeted him, as if speaking with an old friend.
Barnabus slightly bowed his long, thin and thorny head. “And a good afternoon to you my dear Augustine.” Barnabus smiled. “And may I extend my greetings to you fine people.” His voice was delicious like a narrator’s and had a touch of Jeremy Irons about it. A fact that Barnabus secretly loved hearing from visitors.
“He sounds like that Jeremy, the acting man,” screamed an American.
Barnabus turned his way. The man stepped back.
“Do I detect an accent?” the dragon asked.
The group laughed. They had no idea why. It wasn’t that what he said was funny. It’s just that none of them had met a well spoken ten foot tall dragon before. Lugging seemed the correct response.
Once they had got over their shock, which took at least seven minutes, they were treated to many takes of days of old.
They found Barnabus to be thoroughly charming, and an excellent host. He even happily answered a young Parisienne girls question. “Err..why do you seet on a pile of, how you say, many colour skull?”
The group had a delightful time. The dragon posed for pictures. For an extra fee, he flew a few of them around the basin. They had a lovely time.
It was time to be going. The last of the group tried to hug the giant, which he found amusing, then they all made their way to the staircase, their heads full of wonder.
Augustine started to follow.
Barnabus cleared his throat.
“You’ve forgotten again, haven’t you?” asked the dragon.
They both laughed. Barnabus held his giant front foot over his face.
“I swear, if your head wasn’t screwed on,” he joked. “You always forget the arrangement.”
Augustine let the last laugh tickle his belly. “I know.” He looked at Barnabus, as if trying to work something out. “Which one would you like?”
“Hmmmm,” Barnabus pondered. “That Henrik and his wife were delightful.”
“Brilliant,” said Augustine. “I’ll bring them in.”
“Thank you old chap,” said Barnabus. ”
“No problem. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“Jolly good…oh, give my love to Wendy and the little ones,” said Barnabus.
With that, Augustine hopped up the stairs.
That night, Barnabus dined with Henrik and his wife Natascha and the pile of skulls grew by two.
Alexandra Ellul brings atmosphere and goose bumps with her story:
Through the Crack
Her body was sprawled on the floor, visible through the heavy door’s open crack. Her eyes were shut, but I knew that face, only, I couldn’t remember how. I couldn’t remember much of anything.
I wanted to see if she was alive; I felt that I needed to. My breathing was getting too fast and too loud, so I held it and stepped closer pushing the door open. But that widening inch sounded like thunder hitting the dark hallway and my hand withdrew from the wood like it had turned white hot.
Footsteps came from my right. The corridor was a long, narrow expanse of darkness, but a golden archway was now rippling forward, lighting the stone, approaching in time with the footfalls.
Fear rose inside me like an animal, pressing my stomach up against my heart. I bolted, every blind step hammering against my pounding, burning head.
The place was a maze, twisting and turning in the darkness. ‘Take left, always left.’ The whisper of a half-remembered voice led me out; a woman’s voice, but a stranger to me.
A door came at me and I flung myself at it.
Crisp air, wet grass, the sound of running water; weightlessness as my fear abated.
I stepped out and followed the sound of water, my feet sinking in mud. I looked back once and out of the darkness a castle jutted out, its stone reflecting white under an incomplete moon.
How long had I been there?
How did I get to be there?
A river emerged from the thickening woodland. I plunged into it and let it carry me to safety as my head cleared with each new smell, each tactile sensation of freedom.
When the castle was but a shining grey speck in the distance, I clung to a branch and pulled myself onto the bank.
There, a new scent embraced me; wet cedar, rich dark soil and something else.
Wild roses.
Her smell.
And it all came crashing on me; her face, her smile, her voice.
My guilt.
She was mine and I left her there.
Jasdeep Kaur‘s stories are always full of emotion. Through her words, you’ll feel this character’s sense of desolation and despair:
The Siren
The moon overlooked the dome of the city castle that was reflecting the light to Serra’s sombre room, as if trying to illuminate it. Serra was deep in her thoughts; her eyes had dried up. She gazed aimlessly into the dark corner near the bedroom door. The only thing that barged in on her thoughts was the siren of the ambulance.
She had heard that siren ever since the burglary took place in her house. It was Sunday night, exactly a week before. Aaron had heard the sound of the latch open and had tried to stop the robbers from taking their valuables. Every single second, she wished it had been her. She should have gone in place of Aaron. She should have tried to stop them. Then she would have got stabbed. She would have been taken in the ambulance. She would have been the one to be declared dead. She wouldn’t have been left alone in the misery.
She heard the siren again. She shouted and pressed her ears with her hands as hard as she could. She knew it would go; it was just an figment of her imagination. And so it did. She cleared her throat. Her doctor had said that she must sleep or this might become a severe psychological problem. She swallowed the fifth sleeping pill, but sleep wouldn’t engulf her even for a second.
She heard a sound, but it was not the siren this time. It was the latch of the door.
The burglars again? But what could they possibly want now? They had taken everything, even her love, she thought.
She heard the footsteps approaching. The door opened slowly. She saw a figure move in. She constricted herself to the edge of the window.
The anxieties had turned into hallucinations. This was what the doctor had warned about, she thought.
Then, there was a sudden pain in her ribs, the pain that blocked her voice. The pain was severe. She started sweating. She was losing her breath. She heard the siren again, but she couldn’t move her hands. She fell on the floor and her head hit hard on the ground. She was motionless.
A moment later, the moon light intensified, and two shadows were seen in the apse of the castle dancing with joy.
Esther Chilton 
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