Within The Castle Keep Are Mysteries

Angry colors appear shadowed dark in cobalt grays, dim in the flickering light, as sad images cast themselves in doubt as to what is really there coming in and out of sight, seen or unseen etched inside the castle walls. Steps go down and out but will the light now follow? These phantoms come from the torches ignited, once dipped in ancient oil, perhaps centuries ago, now here in the here and now to shed as much smokey light as they did back then but today perhaps with less enthusiasm.

Narrow granite steps lead down to depths deeper than the road to hell. Winding stairs go nowhere near to home and clearly nowhere close to heaven.

Some secrets are best kept between the wings of Cherubim and Seraphim in paradise. Are they not the conduits of God and man? Messengers must always remain completely neutral when it comes to the nature of invisibility, which is found in the divine and somewhere between tangible nature of mankind in what we surmise to be real life here below. Bent fire light skews our vision, alters our perception of the real and unreal. If only we were so inclined to touch it without the burn. What might that be like? Things out of our reach are simply mysteries, where spaces are empty, filled in by the insidious fluid of ink as fear, drawn from the well of ignorance before hell was born or came into being.

This tale which is about to unfold must be told outside the boundaries of reason, beyond all time and space, even if it means the conclusion to it all. We were not there at the beginning of the creation but certainly will be there when it ends. You might close your eyes but the darkness is vast. It will creep up from behind you out of the abyss. There is no reason for you to follow in these footsteps down, on these cold ancient stone steps, to chambers of horror going to nowhere but here we go. Do not dare to take one more step beyond this point or you will regret it.

Suffering is nothing new to the oppressed. In these ruins, noble men took what they wanted without thought to life or limb. Power through force fulfilled their every need. Laws were their play things, their playgrounds to perform perversions. Every death imaginable was savored by these lords of power while they severed heads with pleasure, tossing lifeless bodies to their savage hungry dogs as food. Rape and torture of the poor was done for fun and sport without reprisals. No sin or crime was too callus to be committed by better men than these. With fame and fortune comes the lust for blood.

Behind these walls, behind the castle keep, unholy alliances were forged and kept for centuries. Iron cells held captive mortal men, now long gone and dead but their tormented parts remain attached forever red to the bloodied walls. Now called ghosts but not holy spirits by any stretch of the imagination, linger between realities, hanging like dirty sheets on midnight winds at sea. Haunted creatures reside between the cracks, among the ruble, lurking with the slime and mold. The screaming rats will never satiate their appetites, craving after living pulsing flesh which passes through their grinding teeth, filling their insides with the delicious warm taste of men. There will always be a ravenous quest for haunted men to be digested by our fury friends.

Granite, sea pebbles, flint and chalk line the near by lands that feed the castle needs for raw materials to build and keep it strong as wood was hard to come by. Lord Santa was the master and nasty character of the fortress.

He was as mean as they come in his absolute abundant obesity and gender. He married his sister then threw her off a high cliff but first he slit her throat, rolled her pretty head off firstly. Then the body was tossed in an awkward, anything but lady like manner. No one was around to notice her tumbling head over foot with such indignation, such impropriety, with no consideration for her station in life or the cost of her lovely long gown just purchased in town that day.

Later he killed his mother and two brothers with an ax to limit access to the throne as he hated competition and preferred ruling alone. His friends were all bubonic when they died. He joined them shortly after with the tiny silent enemy thriving in the billions inside his majesty but someone always comes along to fill in the void for evil. That would be his other older sister, Melissa; not as pretty, (Lucky for her) but just as malicious as Lord Santa and equal to the task of being bad.

The castle within a castle is alive and well and just as vile with dungeons deep and creepy. It is fortified with souls that never sleep, damned to keep the walls intact and secrets kept alive that can’t expire. There-in lies the problem of the castle keep. No one there will ever rest in peace.

I fear I must drag you now down through these narrow winding stairs, to the dungeons dark recesses where evil lives, much closer to hell than you might think, where screams echo hollow on the walls of blood spent and yes, there will be more to spill before this ends.

Are not the cherubs with their fiery swords still stationed at the gates of Eden, restricting men and women from entering their ancient worldly home? Do the Seraphim still unfold six wings in praise of God in paradise while we grovel in the mud of impropriety in ignorance, wondering of loftier things and other kingdoms?

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