Chapter Six: This Castle Is Alive...
Gustave had seen great buildings before, having lived the majority of his life in Paris, where tall, beautiful buildings dominated the skyline, but nothing he had ever seen in Paris could have ever prepared him for the castle that he saw now.
It almost seemed to defy gravity, with large turrets that reached high into the stormy sky, and its sides were made of gray stone, cut so that it seemed as though the castle had simply grown out of the ground.
The path that Gustave now walked on was actually a long bridge that spanned a frozen moat and ended in front of the castle's massive entryway.
To the right of the huge front doors was a large colonnade.
To Gustave's surprise, growing behind the colonnade, despite the strangely cold weather, were beautiful rosebushes.
White roses blossomed on all of them, so pure that they even stood out against the snow.
A small shiver of fear flashed over Gustave as he gazed up at a row of torches held by hands sculpted by iron.
The hands were so lifelike that Gustave couldn't help touching one just to be sure.
The hand remained still.
But the door did not.
It swung open in front of him.
"Hello?" Gustave called out uncertainly as he stepped inside, the faint strains of a harpsichord reaching his ears.
"Is anyone here?"
Almost immediately, the music stopped and everything was silent.
Noticing a coatrack, Gustave took off his hat and coat, hanging them up to dry.
With the cold layers gone, Gustave felt a bit better as he continued on his way, never noticing that the second his back was turned, the coatrack came to life, shaking the snow off Gustave's coat and hat like a dog shaking off the rain.
Gustave also failed to notice a golden candelabra and ornate mantel clock sitting on a nearby table.
As he passed them, the candelabra slowly turned, watching the man.
"What are you doing?" the clock hissed furiously under its breath as the candelabra craned its neck.
"Stop that!"
Instantly, the candelabra stopped.
But it was not because the clock had told it to.
It stopped because Gustave had heard the clock's barely hushed whisper and spun around.
For a tense moment, Gustave eyed the candelabra and the mantel clock.
He approached the table on which they were placed and picked up the candelabra.
He held it up to the dim light and inspected it.
He turned it upside down, then right side up.
He shifted it to the left and then to the right.
Finally he flicked it with his finger.
Ping, ping, ping.
Appearing satisfied by the candelabra's seemingly unassuming nature, he put it back down on the table and moved on.
Behind him, the candelabra rubbed its head gingerly, ignoring the "I told you so" look that the mantel clock was currently shooting at it.
Gustave continued his exploration of the castle.
A grand staircase rose from the middle of the massive foyer.
Almost tiptoeing, as the huge, empty space made Gustave feel even more like an intruder than he already had, he made his way behind the staircase.
His heart beat faster when he noticed an entire wall covered in weapons of all sorts, shapes and sizes.
Whoever lived there, or had lived there, obviously knew his armory.
Suddenly, Gustave again heard the faint sound of music being played.
He followed the soft, slow melody, passing several closed doors before coming to a pair of large gilded doors that hung open.
Inside, through the thick shadows, Gustave saw a ballroom of massive proportions.
The music seemed to be coming from a dusty harpsichord in the corner.
But as soon as Gustave took a step forward, the sound abruptly stopped.
"Hello?" Gustave called, peering into the now silent room.
Remnants of decorations, long since decayed, were strewn about, and when he squinted hard enough, Gustave could make out a hastily repaired window.
But there was no sign of anyone, no musician seated on the harpsichord's bench.
Gustave shook his head, wondering if he'd imagined the music.
Shivering, Gustave turned his back on the ballroom.
In addition to the phantom music, there was something infinitely sad about the space.
It was a room meant for joy and excitement, but instead exuded an aura of gloom and despair.
As he made his way back into the foyer, he couldn't help wondering what had happened there to give the ballroom such a depressing feeling.
Perhaps he had been hearing echoes of the past?
Gustave had only just shrugged off the melancholy that had descended upon him when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone lunging toward him.
Gustave recoiled in fear, his breath catching in his throat.
But a moment later, he exhaled in relief as he realized that what he had seen was simply his own reflection.
A broken mirror hung on the wall.
In the center was a large hole, with long shards of glass radiating from it, as though the mirror had been struck by a fist.
The hole had distorted Gustave's reflection.
He stared at his face, the lines around his eyes made deeper, his nose moved to the left instead of the center.
He raised a hand to his face as if to check that it was in fact just his reflection and not an actual change in his appearance.
As he did so, Gustave heard the sound of a fire crackling from somewhere close by.
Turning he saw an open door through which he could make out a welcoming light.
He looked down at his hands.
They were shaking with a chill that had returned upon his seeing the eerie mirror.
Cautiously, he made his way inside the room to find a huge, elaborately-carved oaken fireplace that took up almost an entire wall, the fire inside crackling merrily.
Gustave could feel the heat all the way from where he stood just inside the doorway and moved further inside with no further hesitance, gratefully collapsing into a large wingback chair that was positioned directly in front of the fireplace.
"Ah, that's better..." Gustave sighed in relief, gratefully moving in front of the flames and holding out his hands.
"So much better..."
When his front felt sufficiently warmed, he turned to heat his backside.
His eyes widened.
Just off the room he was currently in was yet another room.
And in that room was a long dining table covered in an elaborate and delicious-smelling feast.
Gustave's stomach growled.
Looking to see if he could possibly have missed any other guests and finding none, Gustave left the warmth of the fire to stand in front of the table.
His stomach growled again.
He knew he probably shouldn't...but he couldn't stop himself.
He tore a hunk of bread off a massive loaf and then cut a healthy hunk of cheese from an even healthier wheel.
"Do you mind? I'm just going to help myself..." he called out to his unseen host.
His eyes landed on a delicate china teacup full of an amber liquid.
He was lifting it to his lips when...
"Maman said I wasn't supposed to move because it might be scary."
Gustave nearly dropped the cup.
Had it just spoken to him?
"Sorry."
Gustave's face turned deathly pale and his eyes bulged, strangled choking sounds coming from his throat.
"Monsieur, are you alright?" the teacup asked worriedly.
Gustave nodded his head distractedly.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine, I just..."
Suddenly he leapt back, trembling, sending the chair crashing to the floor.
"D-d-did you...just...speak?" his voice shook fearfully.
"Oui!" the teacup chirped happily.
Gustave shook his head frantically.
"I must be losing my mind. I have to get out of here!"
And with that, he fled the castle, racing down the front steps as fast as his legs could carry him.
Suddenly, his eyes fell again on the rose-covered colonnade.
"Wait, Christine's rose..." he muttered dazedly.
He reached forward, unknowing of the demonic yellow eyes that watched his every move with suspicion and, pulling a small penknife out of his pocket, carefully cut off a single rose with silky petals of the purest white and sharp thorns as long as his fingernail hidden among the velvety forest-green leaves.
"You're not red, but you'll have to do!" he decided firmly.
Immediately, as the icy temperatures dropped even further and the wind picked up into a furious storm, Gustave knew that he had just made a grave mistake.
A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Seven...