He watched with big brown eyes the trees that were quickly passed and the scarlet sun that stayed seemingly immobile. This was certainly a beautiful countryside, littered with an abundance of emerald vegetation, sprinkled here and there with vibrantly pink, yellow, and crimson flowers. The soil, too, was a deep, rich color that seemed to be the source of all that verdancy. Even the buildings were painted, as if purposely, in rich colors that matched superbly with the mesmerizing vegetation. Barns were as fiery as the setting sun. Houses were as starkly white as the plentiful lilies that grew in perfect gardens. But in the distance Billy saw something that seemed so out of place that it hardly seemed real.
Cut from the yellow sky was on obtrusive and angular castle, simply a gloomy shadow of sharp, stretching towers. He watched it in awe; its high battlements, its pointed towers, and the overall fairy tale-like appearance that seemed to surge from it hauntingly. It was a stunning building, just so contrastingly unnatural and archaic. As the carriage drew closer so did the castle’s grandeur and dreariness.
In the cool courtyard the carriage stopped suddenly, producing an abrupt and unsettling silence. Billy sat feeling both relief and apprehension as he waited. The driver swiftly jumped down, his feet hitting the stone in a loud thud that echoed against the gray castle walls. He ran to the side of the carriage and looked blankly at Billy.
He was old but kind-looking as he stared on imploringly. Billy handed him his luggage as he stepped out. He felt weak but glad to be walking after such a long journey. He took his bags back from the driver politely.
He trudged up the steep steps to the front door as the old man returned to his seat and drove around the castle, probably to some horse stable, Billy assumed. He knocked gently on a tall wooden door but as he did so he saw that it had already begin to ease open. A thin ray of light fell blindingly on his eyes as a warm, sweet rush of air blew through his brown hair and over his face. He looked with a smile at the man who held the door open before him.
“Mr. Spencer?” Billy asked in a resonant voice.
“Yes,” said the man with a wide smile. He was handsome but age had ravaged his appearance somewhat. His black hair had a silvery glow about it that was very dignified. He had a husky voice that had an incredible amount of regality. “And you must, of course, be Billy. Your mother has talked of no one else since she arrived.”
“Oh, how awful,” Billy said genuinely.
Mr. Spencer laughed softly and showed him in.
Billy looked at the long hall in which he now stood, impressively decorated but distractingly bright. There were paintings upon the walls that attempted to capture the beauty of the countryside. He looked at these with the utmost interest. They were mostly landscapes of ordinary caliber but there was one painting that stood out. It was the portrait of a young girl with long waves of shining blonde hair that hung thickly over bare shoulders, which were deathly pale; actually, she was very wan all over, except in her vibrantly flushed cheeks. Her eyes were cast down demurely but her revealing red dress, that quite exposed her breasts, contrasted with that coyness. A mysterious and rebellious smile on her scarlet lips made Billy think she was trying to deceive her artist of her true nature.
Mr. Spencer led him into a big room, which was also decorated with many paintings; these, too, were mostly landscapes and mostly uninteresting. Also in this huge room sat a big black piano that reflected everything in a marvelously distorted way. Billy looked at himself as they quickly passed it.
“So,” he slowly asked, “where is my mother?”
Mr. Spencer sat down abruptly, inspecting Billy’s handsome face intently. He saw the big round eyes of bright bronze and the long black lashes that bordered them. His jaw was masculinely square but he appeared to be immature, though on the verge of achieving adulthood. He was tall and thick but still he exuded childishness. Embarrassed, Billy looked down and waited for his answer. His thin pink lips spread into a nervous grin that only the floor could see.
“Your mother…” he finally responded, “is in the garden with my daughter. I believe she is walking her through the rose bushes. You see, she has been ill for sometime—since returning from Moscow a few days ago. Helena thinks it will do her good to have some fresh air. She’s very sweet, your mother.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Please sit,” he said warmly, getting up. Billy complied and watched Mr. Spencer move to a small table covered with bottles of liquor and small glasses. He grabbed one half-empty bottle and filled a glass with it. Billy flared his nostrils repugnantly as the smell of the strong drink drifted toward him. He offered it to him but he politely refused; Mr. Spencer drank it without hesitation.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a familiar and affectionate laugh and a metallic, girlish giggle. Billy stood up automatically as his mother entered with a young woman at her heels. He was overjoyed to see his mother and immediately hugged her.
“Mother,” he said softly.
Mr. Spencer meanwhile went to his daughter, a sickly, thin girl who smiled radiantly. He looked at her concernedly rubbing his hand across the girl’s pale forehead. He seemed somewhat satisfied though still worried. After the two hugged and said the predictable greetings, Mr. Spencer began to speak in his imperially smooth voice.
“This, Billy, is my daughter, Julia,” he said, slightly thrusting his daughter forward.
She curtsied shyly but with a familiar flirting smirk. Her blonde waves of hair fell forward accordingly which pleased Billy, for it was a very beautiful and graceful movement. Her beauty was great, though sickness wreaked havoc on her appearance. Billy could recognize this splendor through the pallor and emaciation. Her eyes seemed to burn with some mystery that enthralled him. She spoke with the same silvery voice of her father.
“It’s nice to meet you, Billy,” she said sweetly. He loved the sound of his name as it slithered out of her mouth. “I hope…I hope you find our castle a welcoming place, just as your mother has. We have been blessed with her presence and generosity for so long that I should think any son of hers should be just as agreeable. Am I incorrect in my assumption?”
“I hope not,” he responded after a silent few seconds.
She seemed satisfied with his answer and took a seat. Billy watched as she gathered her abundance of black skirts and put them beneath her, trying to acquire comfort while maintaining dignity. Billy thought she succeeded most delightfully; she sat all alone, absorbing the orange light of the shifting sky. The others sat down as well, feeling the warmth of dusk as it poured
through the enormous window.
“Billy,” his mother announced suddenly, “wasn’t the scenery most exquisite? I told Mr. Spencer here, when I arrived, that I had never seen such a beautiful landscape. Isn’t that right? All the lush plants and such—it aggravated my hay fever but it was a treat for my eyes.”
Billy glanced at Julia who was smiling pleasantly at him.
“Well, uh—yes it was gorgeous scenery. A landscape I hope never to forget,” Billy said in his soft, deep voice. He looked out the window nervously and watched the sun take its descent into the hills. It disappeared quickly as if eager to end the long day and to bring on the new night. The sky was now a bright purple, scratched here and there with bright orange clouds that still contained some remnants of the lost day.
“Oh,” Julia moaned abruptly. She clutched her throat in agony, sealing her eyes shut. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her father went to her. He combed her hair with his fingers and caringly ordered her to her room.
“Sleep shall do you good. Tomorrow will be a better day,” he said leading her to the doorway which led into that iridescent hall.
Julia seemed eager to comply but she suddenly stopped in her tracks as the despairing howl of a wolf came ringing out from dangerously near the house. She twisted her blonde head up and turned around slowly. Her eyes were glassy and dull and her cheeks still had streaks of anguish that shimmered upon them. She seemed to have forgotten her pain as another more painful cry rang out. She stepped to the window eagerly, pressing her hands up against it, trying her hardest to see outside.
“Julia!” her father cried.
“Hush! Listen to him. He sings to me. Oh, how wondrous,” Julia said with an unnatural gaiety. She seemed to be thriving on that intense mystery that was burning in her turquoise eyes. She reached for the latch and wrested it open vehemently. A cold wind rushed in, blowing her hair behind her and forcing her gown revealingly against her thin frame which leaned out over the sill perilously. She began to tear violently at a bandage that was wrapped carefully around her slender neck behind the high collar of her gown. Her metallic laugh was unsettling.
Helena let out a scream as Julia’s father grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in. She fought feebly, never taking her eyes from the window. Billy looked out it and saw two yellow eyes in the dark distance that seemed to burn with a fierce, sinister passion; they disappeared quickly and with no trace of viable reality. They had simply left without movement, just fading into the blackness of night.
Billy looked at Julia’s tear-stained face which was now painfully flushed. That sudden zeal had vanished as quickly as the blazing eyes of the wolf had. She seemed to have regained some of that loveliness she had only a few minutes before possessed. Mr. Spencer held her in his thick arms like an infant and carried her up the stairs and into what Billy guessed was her bedroom.
He came out after a minute, closing the door behind him as he left. Her sobs were muffled by the heavy wooden door but then they gradually ceased as he slowly descended down the staircase. He was solemn as he took a drink from Helena’s offering hands. Her face was calmed but her red cheeks were moist with tears. She was distraught but not as utterly taken aback as Billy was; Mr. Spencer was rather accepting of the strange occurrence as well. Billy looked at them waiting for them to speak but as the minutes unhurriedly passed without a word, he became increasingly anxious for an explanation.
Finally he cleared his throat and began to speak.
“What on earth—” he began but a swift movement of his mother’s hand silenced him.
“I think we would all benefit from an early bedtime this evening,” Helena offered with a commanding air. She stood and took
Mr. Spencer’s arm, leading him from the drink table and up the stairs. They passed Julia’s room, triggering a fresh eruption of tormented sobs. They ignored it and disappeared around a corner.
Billy, left alone in the room, allowed himself to replay the frightening image of Julia laughing crazily amid the wails of that ghostly wolf. He was disturbed by the very thought yet he could think of nothing else. That beautiful although ailing girl captivated him with all her mysteriousness.
Unable to resist it, he poured himself a glass of brandy. It burned his throat painfully but he felt comforted by it. He drank slowly and heavily, absorbing every ounce of the drink with every ounce of his being. His mind seemed to slow and the horrifying image gradually abated. He continued to stand and drink, letting his fingers walk across the smooth ivory keys of the piano; the noise of it sounded to Billy like Julia’s moans, which had already ceased completely. Looking out through the translucent curtains, Billy noticed the churning mist that had suddenly befallen this strange castle. It swirled unrelentingly, and pressed up against the window as if trying to enter.
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