The Night That Screamed

You've changed the course of history
And didn't even try

- Ghost

N/A: I had a go at writing (somewhat of) an intro to a Gothic short story... I tried. ;___;

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“It had been several months since I’d been contacted by Mr Falden, and I was beginning to feel anxious. I knew his work as foreman kept his busy, but he was always able to find the time to write, and a letter would be arriving at my door within weeks. I eventually succumbed to the decision of paying him a visit. Was it that he simply forgot of my existence? Or is the matter much more estranged than that? I’ve gathered necessary provisions for my journey to Aldwater Keep, and should be there in 5 days.”

I looked up from re-reading the letter I had written some days earlier; I’d been able to make it to Fogswick, the village surrounding the inclination which the castle stands upon, in just 3 days – though it was becoming dark and I knew I must make my way to the keep soon, unless I wished to freeze to death. It seemed that luck resided within me for the time being, but not upon the vacant village; the cold, eerie silence was enough to tell me that. The centre of the establishment looked to be an old marketplace, but it was obvious that it hadn’t been used for a number of generations, as the wooden stalls and boxes were crumbling at the touch, and materialised on the earth was a layer of white; at first glance it appeared to be snow, but was fine and supple – my carriage-driver assured me that it was the ash from a fire burned a great many years ago, though I’m not sure I completely believe him. The houses, apart from the burst of white staining their exteriors, were mostly greys made of smoothed, weathered stone, with strokes of black grazing the walls in unfamiliar patches where the paint refused to be dislodged. I made my way from the village centre and into a cluster of houses and, I noticed, as I peered through the grubby windows, a small candlelight shining in each of the houses, consisting of various sizes and luminosity. Curiosity overcoming me, I turn to my driver:

“How are the candles still aglow if the village is deserted?”