Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or associated characters. They remain in part the property of Mirage Studios and Nickelodeon (Viacom). I make no financial gain from this fiction.
Author's note: This is an old fan fiction that I started writing back in 2002. It is meant for entertainment purposes only. I have attempted to clean the story up, fatten the chapters out and hack back the more rambley bits. As ever please read and review. Enjoy.
Set in an Alternate Universe where not only are the turtles known about they are readily accepted in society. Michelangelo signs the guys up to spend the night in one of England's most haunted castles. But will they survive the night?
Chapter One
Leonardo stepped down from the small bus that had snaked them to their mystery destination through the winding roads. He looked up at the grey castle, which seemed to silently scream out a warning to the rolling English countryside. The tall bent and racked towers scratched up into the burnt orange sky, ink dark clouds of depression loomed overhead. Unseen hands clawed at your soul, tearing your will to live from your body. Evil hung thick in the air and oozed down the castle walls.
"Isn't this great?" Michelangelo came out of the bus with the usual bounce in his step. He walked over to his brother; enthusiastically he grasped onto Leo's shoulders and gave him an encouraging shake. "I can't wait!"
"Terrific!"
Donatello struggled through the inadequately small doors of the bus; he swung his old army backpack off his shoulder onto the hard unforgiving ground. "An Englishman's home is his castle." He sighed, as he examined the vast mournful structure before him a chill wind whipped up at his coat, forcing him to hold it tighter about himself.
"Depressive." Leo muttered; his gaze trapped by the castle strong unwavering pull. A small bonfire burning near the entrance threw eerie shadows across the wall. They danced and flitted, creating hideous shapes before dying back into the gloom.
"You mean inspirational." Michelangelo gasped. "Can you imagine what went on inside those walls?"
"I'd rather not." Donatello and Michelangelo turned in time to see a sombre figure depart from the bus. Raphael tipped his old worn hat back and glowered under the brim.
"Remind me, why we are here again?"
"You are here to seek the truth." All four of the travelling companions spun round to see a stooped thin haggard lady. Her witch like features hid her true age from the world. Her eyes glowed with the kind of knowledge you dare not ask for or invite. The jet-black raven adoring her shoulder weighed up the four strangers with its deep endless eyes and slightly shook its jewel like feathers, as if welcoming doom itself.
"Where did you park your broomstick?" Raphael leaned against the bus, folding his arms he stared at the husk of a woman before him.
The others were too shocked by her silent, soundless appearance to notice Raphael's harsh words. A smothering silence descended on the group, robbing every one of their ability to speak. In through greying haze a stout, bleakly dressed man started to walk across the murky grounds towards the small gathering; mist swirled around his feet with each step taken. The mask of confusion dropped from his face as soon as he drew near, he broke out into a rather haphazard jog in an endeavour to close the gap between them.
"Welcome to Chillingham castle! I trust you had a pleasant journey." He rushed out interjected with raspy breaths.
The man seized Leo's hand and shook it vigorously. "My name is Felsen, Derry Felsen and I am your guide to the horrors and dismay of this 12th century castle."
Leo had to forcibly prise his hand away from Mr Felsen's death grip if he had any hope of using it again. Mr Felsen stepped back and soaked in the spectacle of his extraordinary guests.
"Ah, I see you have met our dear old Maggie." Mr Felsen gesticulated towards the elderly lady, who had hardly moved since her manifestation. The raven destroyed the stillness with a hearty vocalization and with a fluster of wings and feathers it captured the stagnant night air and evaporated into the purpling distance.
Seemingly undisturbed by the raven's sudden departure Mr Felsen carried on. "Miss Lydon here is our resident medium, she has worked tirelessly with the spirits of this old castle."
"Medium? You mean like a physic?" It was now Michelangelo's turn to have his hand shaken to the point of numbness.
Raphael identified his disbelief to everyone by making a sound that mocked the old woman to her core.
"We have a sceptic in our midst's." Miss Lydon pulled at her rumpled clothes, straightening them as best she could against the wind that had escalated to a chilling bluster. "By the time the hours of darkness have elapsed, you will believe!" A cackle bubbled in her throat as she thrust a long pale, crooked finger at Raphael. A strange feeling enveloped him, not fear but something much more compelling.
Mr Felsen was now giving Donatello the over zealous welcome he had inflicted on his brothers.
"So is there any evidence that the castle is indeed, haunted?" Donatello juttered out as the jolts shook his body.
"Many people have tried to gather evidence, but I am afraid our spirits are a little camera shy." Mr Felsen released Donatello's hand and stood once more absorbing the four brothers stood before him. "Shall we begin?"
The siblings gave each other a look of uncertainty, before following Mr Felsen and Miss Lydon down the misty path to the castle's formidable gates.
Mr Felsen heaved open the immense iron hinged doors, the petulant groan ran through the courtyard and ebbed into the sinister corners. The courtyard was small and dreadfully grey, the overwhelming sensation of being trapped began to slither towards the unsuspecting group. Mr Felsen strode into the centre of the walled courtyard as best his frame would permit; he spun round with such momentum that the brothers were caught by surprise.
"Welcome to Chillingham Castle!" He bellowed; the castle seemed to shy away from his raucous outburst as he theatrically flung his arms into the air. "Place of torture, of murder and intrigue. A place, of the dead! Many people have endeavoured to stay in the castle."
Miss Lydon dissolved into the scene from apparently nowhere. "But few have succeeded." She twirled her long impenetrable cloak around her feeble frame. "Shall we enter?"
There was a bit of apprehension before everyone followed Miss Lydon to the inner recesses of the structure.
Another large door was urged to move from its strong surround, the door complained vociferously as it relented to the guide's force. Somehow they had been catapulted back through the centuries, halting in Medieval England. From the robustly beamed ceiling swayed enormous chandeliers festooned with simple candles that guttered with every oscillation.
Tapestries clung to the otherwise bare stonewalls. Walls that seemed to glisten in the dull light of the candle flames. The flagstone floor was worn smooth by thousands of unseen footsteps, small puddles of damp collected in the most travelled spots. Large items of furniture stood guard like frozen sentinels. The room did not welcome its guests, but in some way despised their presence.
"Kind of makes you home sick." Raphael pushed past the frozen group and made his way further into the room.
The only evidence that they were still, in some small way connected to the 21st century lay on the far end of the grand wood table. Equipment ranging from digital cameras to infrasound detectors huddled together in a tangled mass of plastic facades and matted wiring. Donatello scanned the table of electronic delights like a staving child in a sweet shop.
"I hope you don't mind, but I have brought along some of my own equipment." Donatello stated as he heaved his dog-eared army pack onto the table.
"Of course not." Mr Felsen answered mopping his brow with a small yellowing handkerchief. "Now, we must advance with the tour. If you are all ready." Mr Felsen motioned towards the centre of the room. After setting down their packs in the few dry spots about the room, everyone accumulated near to Mr Felsen. "A chill will run down your spine, you start to sweat, your heart begins to pound. That is when you know, you are no longer alone." Mr Felsen was certainly creative when it came to setting the mood. Leo could already feel a sense of dread at the impending events. "In Medieval Britain, around 1100BC this was a place of great fear for the inhabitants of this county." Mr Felsen continued. "In that time torture was common place, castles became killing machines that squeezed the life, soul and blood out of anyone who dared cross the Barren." The silence in the room was deafening, not even the soft breathing of the captured audience could break it. "Now if you will follow me, we will proceed to the many dungeons."