A cold, almost wintry, blast of wind whistled around the stark, empty battlements and towers of the forgotten, crumbling castle. Athos watched from a bare, glass-less window as the wind picked up an old, stained, torn flag that was still resolutely attached to a flagpole in the grounds; it fluttered harshly in the breeze, the noise brash against the relative silence of the abandoned Château de Combourg.

The swordsman wrapped his scarf closer around his neck; winter was fast approaching, he feared. He always hated this time of year.

He turned back as he heard a deafening clunk of wood being dropped onto flagstones. Aramis and Porthos has returned with much needed firewood; they would warm themselves for a few hours before making the journey back to Paris.

'Where's the lad?' He asked, noticing that d'Artagnan was not with the two other men.

'We lost him, sadly…' Aramis lamented with a small shrug as he knelt to light the fire. 'He took a wrong turning down a path and disappeared, lost forevermore….'

'He means that he went off to find some food, if there is anything on this barren speck of land…' Porthos butted in, chuckling.

'So the sooner we get the fire going the sooner he can find his way back,' Aramis added with a smile, before leaning back with a flourish and triumphant crying a few minutes later as the wood burst into warm, crackling flames of orange and red.

Athos put his hands over the flames and sighed contentedly as the warmth started its work; the ride had been long and arduous and they were still over a day from home. He wanted a warm bed and some wine, but for tonight a simple fire and some food would be enough.

'These places freak me out…' Porthos, who was also warming his hands, suddenly spoke up, shuddering as he looked around.

'What, castles?' Aramis asked, blowing into his hands.

'Yeah- old, abandoned ones…they're like great hulking skeletons. The bare bones of a former life…' Porthos trailed off, looking around again.

'That was very poetic, my friend.' Aramis chuckled, earning a glare from the other man.

'I agree with him,' Athos nodded, voice low as he eyed the now darkened confines of what he supposed was once a vast great hall that they had made camp in. The room had long been sacked and looted, so the room was now bare and empty, void of any life. 'It doesn't feel right, for places like this to be left to rot…'

'Well, if it had been torn down when their owner had left we wouldn't have anywhere to stay tonight, now would we?' Aramis muttered, nodding, before he sat up, alert, as they all heard rustling in the castle grounds outside.

'It's just me, don't worry…' d'Artagnan called out as he pushed open the rotting door that led to the great hall. 'I managed to get two rabbits and a pigeon...' he added, before placing his catch on the cold stone floor.

'That's great going, lad!' Aramis smiled, clapping the Gascon on the back. 'And in the dark, too!' He teased, chuckling

'I was annoyed I couldn't get anything bigger, but this will have to do.' The younger man shrugged as he sat down, shivering, and began to warm himself by the fire. 'There's not a lot of life in the forest, to be honest…' he added.

As Aramis set about expertly preparing their evening meal the four men sat in companionable silence as they listened to the screeches and hoots of owls and the chirruping of crickets in the night; Athos walked back over to the window and peered across at the foggy, overgrown grounds that reached as far as his eyes could see. The moon was high and bright in the sky, casting a yellowish light that lit the dew attached to the long grasses like small torches.

'Beautiful night.' He muttered back to his friends, before he walked back over to the others, his boots echoing in the silence.

'We better hope our presence here doesn't get noticed…' Aramis whispered, giving d'Artagnan a wide eyed look.

'By who?' The Gascon muttered, a smile tugging at his lips. 'There's no one else here.'

'Well, if you believe the stories, we are not alone here…'

Athos and Porthos gave each other a knowing look as their youngest team member scoffed quietly, rolling his eyes. 'Really?' He asked, shaking his head. 'Who is supposed to be here?'

Aramis sat forwards, half his face shrouded in darkness as the flames crackled at his side. 'I once spent a winter in the local village, so I became well aquatinted with the folklore and legends… I also spent a few nights here myself, so I have experienced what I am about to tell you…' he trailed off, before looking into the middle distance behind d'Artagnan; as the younger man turned to also look behind him the medic caught Athos' eye, who shook his head at him with a rueful smile. Aramis winked in reply, before smoothing his face out as the Gascon turned back to face him.

'So? What's the scary story?' He asked, steeling himself for another of Aramis' tall tales.

'Oh, but it's not a story, lad…that's the mistake I made when I first heard the tale. I was full of bravado, as you are. I thought it was just a yarn, told to visitors to keep them from trespassing on the castle grounds-once I spent a night here I soon changed my tune and began to believe…' Aramis lowered his voice, looking around as wind whistles around them. Athos and Porthos busied themselves with cooking the food as Aramis settled down and cleared his throat to begin his tale.

'The legend goes that the Comte de Combourg was a large, fat man of hearty appetite and gargantuan temper- in his middle age he developed a sore on one of his legs that turned into a infection; in order to save his life the leg had to be amputated just above his knee. A wooden appendage was fashioned so he could continue his nightly rounds of his property; his servants and footmen came to fear the sound of the wooden leg clunking on the flagstone floors…'

Aramis stopped to accept his roasted rabbit, before he looked round again, 'one night, in the dead of a winter storm, the Comte fell down a steep set of stairs; he wasn't found until the day afterwards, his body frozen and his wooden leg a few meters from his body…legend has it that, on the dark winter nights when the castle is quiet- much like it is tonight- if you listen really carefully, you can hear the noise of the Comte and his wooden leg, still on his nightly rounds to ensure his property is secure…'

He looked up at the Gascon, who was looking round, eyes wide.

'Don't let him wind you up, lad!' Porthos laughed, slapping him on the back. 'You should write these down, Aramis. You'd make lots of money, I bet.'

'I swear to you it's true!' Aramis muttered, taking a bite of his rabbit. 'I was here about twenty years ago, in the winter, and I swear to you I heard the clacking of a wooden leg on the floor!'

'Yeah yeah…' Porthos snorted, chuckling.

Aramis scoffed but said no more; he knew what he had experienced all those years ago…

The four of them ate in silence for a few minutes, the only noise being their chewing and the crackle of the fire between them…. Athos was the first to look up as he heard a dull, faint noise up in the darkness ahead of them.

Clunk, clunk…

'You alright?' Aramis asked, wiping his face as he saw his friend's expression changed as he peered over his shoulder

'Of course,' The swordsman replied stoically, taking a bite of his pigeon.

'You heard it, didn't you? Aramis pressed, eyes wide as he too looked round, up into the darkness of the rest of the empty hall.

'Just my imagination,' Athos dismissed his question, shrugging. 'There's no such thing as ghosts.'

'That's what I thought, my friend.' Aramis replied darkly. 'I ended up leaving in the middle of the night when I heard him begin to walk around,'

'Stop with this talk, it's beginning to annoy me.' Athos muttered, shaking his head and throwing his pigeon bones into the fire, watching as it spat and crackled, the smoke filtering into the air.

Aramis opened his mouth to reply when they all looked behind him as they all heard the definite sounds of something wooden being walked across the floor towards them.

Clunk, clunk, clunk…

'Uh…lads…' Porthos whispered, eyes wide as they all sat up straighter, his teeth on edge as the clunking came closer and closer. A cold wind whipped at their faces, making their teeth chatter as they sat in a stunned silence as the noise got louder and closer.

Clunk, clunk…

'Aramis… how are you doing that?' D'Artagnan asked as they all stood up and began to back away.

'I'm not doing anything! I'm not that clever to plan any ingenious prank ahead of time!' He muttered, not tearing his eyes from the darkness. 'I told you there's something here!' He added in a whisper, his heart beating hard in his chest.

'Don't be stupid..' Athos growled, frowning at the darkness. 'If there is someone there make yourself known!' He called into the gloom. The noise stopped, as if whoever was there was considering their answer…seconds later it started again, but now it was as if whoever was there had started to run towards them.

'This is our sign to go, lads! Aramis urged the others, gathering his belongings and backing away quickly, eyes wide. 'I mean it!'

Clunk clunk clunk clunk….

'I think that's a good idea!' Porthos nodded- the other two men followed suit quickly as the noise got louder and louder- even Athos didn't want to know what was about to jump out at them from the shadows.

'If this is your idea of a joke I shall never forgive you!' He called to Aramis as they jumped on their horses.

'I swear on all that is holy I'm not doing this!' The medic replied, steadying his horse as they turned to canter out of the grounds… they would find somewhere else to rest tonight….

He chanced one last look into the window of the great hall, eyes straining to see whatever was haunting them…his mouth opened and his eyes widened as a black shadow passed over the window, filling the space with a human like figure, before it backed away into the shadows, the clunking noise echoing in the night as it retreated back into the darkened confines of the castle, content that the intruders to his estate were now leaving, leaving his castle empty once more….

The End

Thank you for reading!

Until next time….