Author's Note: Thanks to mrsbenson32605 for following this story, and to AliceMina for the review.
THE CASTLE IN THE SWAMP
Chapter 3
Michael was alone again and because he was more the man than the beast he felt the loneliness weighing on his mind. He felt sorry for himself. He hadn't deserved this. What had he done except take what was rightfully his? Why had that witch interfered with his life? Why couldn't he use his land and his people as he saw fit? Suddenly he heard the pleading voices of the people ring through his castle, asking for help, begging him to take pity on them, telling him their children died. He put his hands over his ears but still he could hear the voices. For the first time there was a glimmer of doubt whether it had been morally right to take what was rightfully his.
Eventually the voices stopped. The silence felt oppressive, heavy, nearly solid. Michael reflected on the hundred years of silence ahead of him. He knew he couldn't let the creature take over again. He feared that the part of him that was still human would be irretrievably lost. Again he felt that his punishment had been unduly severe.
He hadn't quite finished the thought when suddenly one of the mirrors in the room came to life. It showed the dining room, a dinner Michael had had with some rowdy friends. Servants were running back and forth, bringing full dishes and taking away empty plates. He laughed as he tripped up a girl who was carrying a large empty platter to the kitchen.
A boy was filling his glass from a jug. He moved his arm and he boy couldn't lift the pitcher fast enough. Red wine dripped on his sleeve. It was his own fault, he knew it was, but despite this he pushed the boy away, kicked him out of the room, and told him he could get his things and leave.
The boy begged him not to send him away. Told him he had his younger siblings to look after, he needed the work to care for them. He ignored the boy after giving him a last kick, and went back to his drinking, not caring what happened to the youngster or his family.
The mirror showed one example after the other of Michael shouting at someone for no apparent reason, or Michael punishing a servant severely for a small mistake. He couldn't get away from these images, however much he wanted, because all those years ago when he first had become the master, in his vanity the handsome Michael had ordered mirrors to be put in every room of his castle and now they all showed the same pictures. He tried to destroy them, but even the heaviest object bounced back without leaving a mark. Taking them down was impossible as well because they had become embedded in the walls.
Every time he started to feel sorry for himself he was confronted with his unjust and harsh behaviour. He could shut his eyes and cover his ears until all that was left was a muffled noise, but then the memories came, and even his mind didn't allow him peace until he accepted responsibility for his past actions.
Despite the fact that he felt more human since the arrival of Zinaïda, he still couldn't eat human food, but neither could Michael bring himself to eat the fungal growth, nor could he drink the muddy liquid that came out of the tap. This meant that hunger and thirst allowed the creature to take over to gorge itself on the filth of the swamp. Every time it was a fight for his mind and every time the beast became a little bit stronger. The internal battles lasted longer and longer, but Michael still managed to win in the end. When Zinaïda appeared again at the end of the century Michael, although weak, was still fighting to suppress the beast. He didn't run away to hide this time, and the fairy's presence helped him to get the upper hand with a last mighty effort.
Not realising how much time had passed, Michael asked, "Why are you here? To revel in my misery? Well, I am miserable. I hope you're happy."
"What I am happy about is seeing that you've nearly conquered the beast," she said. "But don't you know that your second chance to find a girl has come?"
Zinaïda took him to the surface again. The swamp looked still as desolate as the last time. The fairy remembered how much Michael's parents had loved the park. His mother had loved her roses, and his father had spent hours in his topiary garden. There were no roses or topiary anymore, just swampland as far as she could see. No mist or fog obscured her vision this time, and though there was still a smell of decay, the muddy pools no longer bubbled.
She smiled, satisfied with the change.
"Perhaps you will find a girl this time. I wish you all the best, Michael."
Michael didn't answer. He wondered if his chances of finding a girl might have been diminished. Wouldn't stories of some creature stop people from coming anywhere near his home? He was of course right, up to a point.
Although it had been hundred years ago that the creature had been seen, the legend of the beast in the swamp was still strong. Women would warn their children and grandchildren about the swamp because in their youth they had been scared by the stories of the vicious beast that lived there. Naturally this meant that young men dared each other to go in the swamp. They had to go home with trousers covered in swamp mud, some ankle high, some thigh high. The severe scolding their parents gave them didn't stop them, not until one of the group drowned in a muddy pool. For a few years at least the silly dares stopped.
The young girls knew a different story; the story of a creature that saved a girl and gave her magical flowers charmed them. They wanted to find the mysterious flowers. And wasn't there another story that told of a castle that had suddenly disappeared? It caused their romantic hearts to flutter.
The first time that Michael left his castle that year he saw a girl who didn't seem afraid when she saw him. She'd wandered further than anyone ever did and, by sheer luck, had not stepped off the solid ground.
"Are you the beast? I'm looking for the magic flowers," she said. "Do you know where they are?"
At first her question about magic flowers puzzled him. Then he remembered the flowers he had picked for the girl he had saved from drowning.
"Follow me, I'll give you the flowers," he said.
Without hesitation she followed. Less than an hour later he had given her what she wanted and had brought her back to safety. Michael had taken her to his underground home, had offered her coffee and cakes, had tried to talk to her, but the girl was just too dim. He was sure he could get a more intelligent response from some of the fungus in his kitchen.
A second girl, enticed because her friend had obtained the flowers, and wanting some herself, walked into the swamp. Michael came just in time to stop her from stepping onto a bright green patch of grass that really hid a mud-filled pool.
"This is the wrong way if you want the flowers," he said, as he pulled her to safety.
He never could ask her the vital question. She started crying as soon as she saw Michael. She howled so loudly that Michael dragged her back to safety and left her there. She never even asked for her flowers.
More girls wanted the beautiful flowers, and some were even brave enough to wait until Michael brought them, though they didn't want to follow him into the swamp. Some screamed as soon as they saw Michael then ran; others started running immediately and then began to scream. They had lost all interest in the flowers. Eventually one of the screaming girls confessed to her parents she'd been near the swamp and had seen the creature. They warned the villagers that the beast was on the prowl again and a hunt was started. This kept Michael underground so long that his year was nearly over when he finally surfaced again.
The last girl Michael met that year was determined to get not just some of the flowers but more of them than her friends had received. She'd started looking out for Michael as soon as the hunt was called off. Whenever she saw a movement among the shrubs she started calling.
"Are you there? Monster, I want some flowers. Give them to me."
When Michael heard her, he thought that she could be the girl who wouldn't mind staying with him.
He walked up to her from a distance so she could see him coming and wouldn't be startled by his sudden appearance.
As soon as she saw him she asked, "Did you bring me my flowers?"
He answered her, "Come with me. I'll give you as many flowers as you want."
"Will you? Great! Is it far to go? It's this way, is it? I'm looking forward to my flowers. They looked so beautiful when my friend showed them to me. She's not very clever, but really sweet. You know, you don't look very nice. Actually you look seriously ugly, but you give us pretty flowers, so you can't be all bad. You want me to stand here? Oh, it moves! We go down here, do we? Where do these flowers grow? It looks a bit icky here? It doesn't smell so good either. Actually it stinks in here. Do you live here on your own? I couldn't bear not having anyone to talk to. I just love people around me. They all love listening to my stories. I haven't lived here all my life you know. I used to live in the town, not the village. I loved it there but we had to move down here. We have family here and my father needed a job. That's why we came here. He's working now and really likes it. Are you going somewhere? Don't leave me here too long. I don't really like it very much."
Thank God for that, Michael thought. Eating fungus for all eternity is bad enough. Having her around would be a punishment too far. Even Zinaïda is not that vicious.
He came back with the flowers she'd wanted and motioned to her to follow him. He hadn't been able to say a word. The girl had started to talk as soon as she had seen him.
"What a great big bunch of flowers. Are they for me? Thank you so much. Some even have roots on them. I'll be able to grow them myself. I'm very good at growing things, you know. I even know the best spot to put them. You're really a very nice person, even if you look awful. I can't imagine why you have so many mirrors in your house. How can you bear to look at yourself all the time? It would drive me round the bend if I had to look at such an ugly face all the time. Is this the front door? Jeez, this place needs a clean. You want me to go into the cupboard? Ah, yes, this is where I got in, isn't it? We're there already, are we? That was quick. This way, is it? That was an interesting visit to your home. Glad I don't live there though. Oh, there's the road. Are you going already? Don't you want to talk a bit longer? It's been so interesting talking to you? Oh, you've gone already. Goodbye then!"
Michael heaved a sigh of relief when he was back in his silent home. His ears were buzzing from the incessant chatter. The next day Zinaïda came as the last seconds of the year ticked away.
"I'm sorry you didn't find a girl again. Although the first and last one were distinct chances at success."
"You don't believe that, do you?" Michael said. "You couldn't have a decent conversation with either of them. The first one didn't have anything to say; she was too silly for words. And the last one kept talking none stop; she gave me a headache. I don't think she even stopped to breathe."
"Either one of them might have stayed with you."
"No thank you. I'd rather be alone than have to live with that sort of woman."
Zinaïda laughed.
"You have learned something of importance at any rate. Goodbye, Michael. The next hundred years will be over sooner than you think."
Then she left and the castle in the swamp was silent and lonely again.
ooOOoo
The last few years of the previous hundred had changed something in Michael. Now he was determined to subdue the beast inside him. Of course he still had to let the creature take over occasionally. He couldn't bring himself to eat and drink the stuff that kept him alive – he shuddered at the thought – but eventually hunger and thirst became too acute, and the beast driven by the instinct to preserve life broke lose. After each feed there was a mental fight with the swamp-thing but this time Michael managed to beat it, even if sometimes it was rather a close call. He realised that to control the beast he had to do something to keep his mind busy, alert, and most of all human. But what can you do when you're stuck at the bottom of a swamp? Needlework?
The idea of holding a needle with his webbed fingers made Michael laugh. He couldn't remember when he had last laughed like that. He had guffawed and sniggered in mockery of some poor devil often enough, but a chuckle because of something funny was far too long ago. Not since he'd read that funny little book. It had been written like a dairy, and he had enjoyed it, but his friends had mocked him for liking it.
His friends? He hadn't thought of them in … well, centuries. Had they really been 'friends'? He couldn't imagine any one of them would have claimed him as a friend now. He had wanted so much to belong to that group, and had changed in order to become one of them. Quite quickly he'd become a core member of the group instead of just a hanger-on, only by altering some of his ways. It had been easy. All he'd had to do was put himself first, and look down on everyone else. To have pleasure had been the only goal of the group of friends, but their pleasure always came at the expense of those that were weaker, those he should have protected like his parents had done.
This time Michael didn't need the mirror to remind him of the way he had acted, or of the pain he'd caused his parents with his behaviour. They had talked to him endlessly, trying to make him see that being the Lord of Altena meant having responsibilities, and those he and his friends had avoided at all cost. Responsibilities? Surely not! Being rich was having fun, let others worry, take what you could from life, enjoy the power. They had certainly done the latter. Wait for a busy servant to pass by, ask for something trivial, and insist they do it immediately, then rage at them for not doing the job they were stopped from doing in the first place.
Michael shook his head. Such a mean use of power. Had he really enjoyed doing that? No surprise that his mother had looked at him as if she wondered what had happened to her boy, and who the stranger was pretending to be him. She had not been enchanted by the friends he had invited to his home.
Suddenly his anger flared up. Those friends had been just as bad as him, some even worse. Why was he the one who was punished, who suffered because of what the whole group had done? Was that fair? No! It wasn't! And nobody could disagree with that, not even Zinaïda. So why?
The answer came quickly, as if someone had whispered it in his ear. Because someone cared, because someone was saddened that so much promise had gone to waste.
And of course, he thought, because I angered a powerful fairy, a witch who could turn me into a beast.
That brought him back to his original thought: what to do to keep his mind occupied, and the beast subdued. Not needlework. Michael smiled. That was out, no doubt about that, even if he'd been able to hold a needle. But he could hold a book. Was reading the answer? At one time he used to read a lot. He used to enjoy it.
Michael tried to recall why he had stopped reading, and had to admit it was because he'd become an unbearably vain oaf more interested in looking at his reflection in the mirror than perusing the pages of a book. Reading might be the best if not only solution to his problem. He went to the library in his castle, wondering what kind of destruction he would find there. To his surprise it hadn't been touched. He wondered if Zinaïda had somehow kept the library safe from his destructive rampage. When he found some priceless statues, pottery, vases and paintings hidden around the room he knew for sure. Somehow the fairy had kept him out of the library. She had used it as a kind of Noah's Ark for the most prized possessions of Altena Castle.
Looking around the room Michael found some much-loved books. He took them down, read a passage here and there, and remembered the joy they had given him. It was like meeting some dear old friends again, real friends. He also found the funny little diary, the last book he had read. He sat down in one of the easy chairs and started from the beginning. Soon he was laughing out loud at the antics of the main character. He couldn't put the book down, not until he had read the last sentence on the last page. Then he closed the book and sat back. Yes, he had found exactly what he needed to keep his mind busy.
Reading became an escape from the swamp for Michael. He could be any place in the world – any world – in a book and could meet a wide variety of people. He could read thrilling adventures and feel the rush of the excitement course through his body but he also liked the kind of books where every word was carefully selected, just the right word in the right place. Reading could make him laugh or cry, could make him feel exhilarated or calm and peaceful. It made him think about his past actions and realise his punishment had not been undeserved.
Best of all, as he had hoped it kept the beast subdued. He was more man again. Because of this Michael had also changed his eating pattern. Instead of waiting until hunger and thirst drove his creature's instincts to act, he let it take over at mealtimes every day. His increased control meant he didn't have to fight the beast within so hard to suppress it. He likened it to an obedient dog that would come instantly when he called it to heel.
Michael read book after book from his library; not just novels, but also poetry and non-fiction. He learned new things, expanded his mind and managed to escape at least mentally from the castle in the swamp.
ooOOoo
