Flash Fiction: Haunted

An imposing figure stood on the precipice of an ancient gargoyle, gazing into the misted wood so far below. The man was shrouded in mystery, garbed in an ashen cloak with a wide-brimmed fedora made of supple leather sitting upon his head. At his belt hung an array of curious items: a crucifix, a wooden stake, a flask of holy water, and a small pouch of garlic. All were tools of the trade.

The foreboding bastion was silent on Hallows Eve, and shafts of moonlight poured down onto the stone bridge like silver lances from the distant heavens; serving as a good omen on this grim night. To the east, blood red pennants whipped in the wind, threatening to rend free from the rusty spears that bound them. Parapets loomed above, and a pointed tower soared into the wispy clouds. The peace would not last.

It was then that a full, lycan moon finally rose above the craggy mountains of Darkenwald, illuminating the countryside in an eerie glow. Moments later, a cacophony of ear-splitting howls pierced the crisp air, echoing up the walls and to the hunter’s listening ears. So it begins… the man thought to himself. They have heard their master’s call.

He leapt from his perch, barreling through a shattered stained glass window and coming to a rolling stop inside a lofty cathedral. The pews were overturned and the pulpit was riddled with holes. He made the sign of the cross, warding evil from this site of unholy desecration. Wasting no time, he flew from the room, his coat billowing around him like the vestments of a priest. His lifelong mission would end tonight, one way or the other.

Cold, dusty sconces accompanied him down the corridor, engulfed in cobwebs and melted wax. The curious whispers of ghosts set the maroon window drapes a flutter, offering a glimpse into the tragic history of the castle. His anxious hands fingered the trigger of an heirloom musket, embossed with gold and tipped with a silver bayonet.

He approached the great hall, a magnificent room with a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a grand staircase on the far side. Pillars of light descended from a glass skylight, a reminder of the terrible creatures constantly hunting him. Cautiously, he entered the room, his boots echoing on the marble floor. 

“You were foolish to venture here, human…” a voice snarled from the dark. “You will be lucky to see the next sun rise!” 

The man turned to and fro, the barrel of his weapon dancing dangerously as he sought a glimpse of his foe. There! In his peripheral vision; the man could have sworn he saw the silhouette of a tall figure. He retreated within a ring of light in the center of the room. The seconds that followed were agony as he was forced to await the inevitable. A veil of darkness crossed his face, fitting for the lord of this domain. It was a shadow: a shadow of the bat. λ