Chapter 1

He shivered and shuddered in a dark corner of the room as he waited for the man in the black coat to appear again. His vision was blurred and his eyes were infected with God knows how many diseases. The palm of his hands was now pale and his nails were unkempt and dirty. Despite the yellowing of the eyes and the partial blindness, the man had now learnt to recognize the man who came into that basement every day. Harold did not know who that man was or why he was keeping him there, but these repeated visitations were very painful for him.

Harold hated the fact that he never remembered the last session. The only thing he would remember would be the dread of the heavy metallic door opening and the creaking of its rusty hinges. The sequence would then follow a loud thud of the same door which clearly indicated that the man was not afraid of anyone hearing him. This led Harold to believe that they were some place far away from human civilization. Were they perhaps in the desert? Was he captured at the top of the hills or in the middle of the forest? Was any of it even real?

Harold would sometimes hear other people around him too but he could never see their faces. Maybe they were captured and kept in such a position that they were not visible to Harold, or maybe they did not have faces at all. Harold scratched his lice infested hair with his broken nails as he tried to figure out why he hadn’t seen proper sunlight in about the last few months.

Harold was still trying to open the rope around his wrists, trying to peep at the other prisoners when the door opened again. At this point, it was not even what happened after the door opened that truly terrified Harold, rather it was the anticipation that gave him panic attacks. Harold peed himself in the clothes he had been wearing for weeks. The man was back again.

Although the same routine happened every day, Harold could never remember the face of the man. He would remember his long black coat and the golden cuff-links on his sleeves, he could remember his crisp and aged voice but he did not remember his face. Maybe the experience was so traumatic that his mind had blocked all the horrible stuff behind shut doors.

Fortunately for Harold, it was not his turn to be tortured today. Ah yes, he was beginning to remember everything that happened to him day after day. Now that he knew, he wished he hadn’t thought so much about it. Forgetfulness was such bliss but only till you knew what you were forgetting. He tried to cover his ears with his tied hands but only ear could be covered.

It was a small inconvenience, however, as no amount of covering could have prevented the painful and agonizing screams of Harold’s neighbor as they echoed against the walls of the empty building. The man was not hesitating so even the screams were not heard by the people outside. Were there any people outside the building?

All these thoughts made Harold pull his hair and claw his eyes. There was no hope left. There was nothing left. His body started to shut down again to block the trauma that was beginning to start. On the one hand, he wanted to endure it to find the answers to his questions. On the other hand, he just wanted to die and wanted to never feel again.

Before his brain could shut completely, another person came down the stairs. Harold blinked hard to see who this man was. His brain was hurting from lack of sleep and nutrition, but he wanted to know who this man was. He had never seen this man in the basement before. The routine of his torturer was changing which meant there was some disturbance outside the house.

Instantly, all the hopelessness turned into a series of hopeful thoughts. He tried to hear what they were saying but the torturer soon started shouting so loudly that all the strain became unimportant.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING?!” asked the man grabbing the collar of the newbie, “I SPECIFICALLY ASKED YOU TO KEEP HIM AWAY!”

“I had no choice... I sent five of them!” said the man who was now shivering.

In horror, Harold saw the torturer grabbing the man by his collar and throwing him on the ground. The man kept begging and screaming for mercy but the torturer was deaf to his pleas. He fumbled his pockets and started opening Harold’s cell. Harold was both shocked and scared at this turn of events. What was happening?

“Please, I beg you not to lock me here! There is no demon inside me!” said the man as he resisted being thrown in the same cell as Harold.

“You brought this on yourself,” said the man outside the cell as he locked the door again, “You will suffer for what you have done!”

“They would know that I am telling the truth,” said Harold’s cell partner, “They would know that you framed me! I am neither mad nor possessed.”

Harold’s heart started racing all of a sudden. What did he mean by the fact that he was neither possessed nor mad? Was Harold possessed or mad? Is that what this place was? A place where they kept the insane people?

The man was now terribly close to the new prisoner. His face was so close to the cell that his nose was inside the cell. He talked in a clear carrying whisper and his eyes were dead still.

“Oh, honey,” he said staring right in the prisoner’s eyes, “even if you are not mad now, you will after a few weeks. That is the beauty of this place.”

And then the man left the basement, leaving in his wake two very scared people in the same cell.

Chapter 2

Randy Drummond got out of the train to feel the fresh mist of the countryside hit him in the face. Although Randy felt a little chilled, he pleasantly welcomed the cold. His pale face stood out in the healthy faces and plump figures running about at the train station. Their clothes were much warmer than his and their cheeks were glowing differently.

The small village of Bluecastle was a beautiful place to look at. Although the place did not have a great infrastructure, there was still a lot to do at this village. The mist abated a little as beautiful golden rays of sun fell on the meadows. The train station was close to the general market where people in heavy fur coats were selling various food items. Randy walked up to a counter and bought a pack of peanuts.

His health had been deteriorating ever since the incident at the Graveside. Randy should have never over-used his powers the way he did but he had no choice. Randall had experienced many downfalls in his life but the last one had left him for dead. He looked around the place to look for directions to a motel or some cheap place to stay but the people were skeptic of talking to a stranger.

Randall walked past a coffee shop- maybe the only one in town and saw his own reflection. His face was paler than the snow fallen on the mountains in the background and there was a permanent black mark under his nose. As was his habit, Randal tried to prick that mark with his nail one more time but it only resulted in making his nose bleed.

He dabbed his nose with his sleeve in order to stem the flow of blood. The doctor, if he could be called that, had warned him about touching the wound again and again but Randall was getting conscious about his appearance in the new town. While he had been looking for someone to guide him before, now, he just walked really fast to one corner so that no one would notice him bleeding.

Randy got the impression that this village was a strange one. No one was looking at the other person and even in the market place, people were avoiding eye contact. Superstitious as Randy was, he started imagining this place to be as bad for him as the last one was. He was still thinking of taking the first train out of the place when someone called him out from behind.

Randy jumped and backed off a few paces as a homeless man came closer to him.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Randall as he raised his fists in order to fight.

“Relax, man!” said the other fellow, “Your nose is bleeding!”

“I know, got in a fight,” Randy lied.

The stranger observed the stuff Randy was carrying and offered his help.

“New to the town?” asked the homeless man, “My name is Brad.”

Randy took the proffered hand but he still kept his distance.

“My name is Randall; I am new to this town.”

“Ah!” said Brad, “I could tell.”

“So, where can I find a place to live around here?” asked Randall as he looked around the alley.

“Certainly not in this rundown alley,” said Brad pointing to the other slums that people had set up in that narrow alley.”

“Ha-ha!” said Randy, “Can you help me?”

“Of course,” said the man as he led him outside the alley and out in the open.

Now that Randy was walking along with Brad, everyone was looking at him. Randall did not want to associate himself with the homeless kind on the streets of Bluecastle but he was the only person Randy had talked to yet.

Brad took Randy to the top of the hill and after a good ten minutes’ walk in the light snow; they reached a beautiful built mansion. The antiquity of the castle made it beautiful but melancholic at the same time.

“What is this place?” asked Randy from his new made companion.

“This is the best hotel you are going to find in this region,” he explained, “The village is not very rich in the materialistic sense of the word.”

“That is okay,” said Randall, “I have come here to get away from all the city life.”

“Come on,” said Brad, “Let me introduce you to everyone inside.

They went inside and Randall took a deep breath. The place was stunning to say the least. The entire structure and the furniture were gothic in style. The carpet was a dull shade of red and green reminding Randall of an impressionist painting. There were huge pillars on each corner of the main hall and various murals were drawn on the walls.

Brad looked at his new made friend and smiled.

“Ah, my friend,” he said, “This is just one of the beautiful heirlooms around here! There is so much more to see!”

Randall nodded at his partner as they approached the counter. The man behind the counter was gaunt to say the least. He had heavy dark circles around his puffed up eyes and his hair were thinning on one side. Randall observed the hands of the man and was reminded of something from his childhood; he just couldn’t recall what it was that he was reminded of.

Brad cleared his throat loudly and Randall was back from his reverie.

“This is Mr. Bishop, Randy,” said Brad, “He is the manager for this hotel.”

Randall shook Mr. Bishop’s hand briefly and felt a chill run down his spine.

“The little boy will show you your room,” he said curtly and a pale teenager appeared from behind the counter to Randall’s side.

Randall helped the boy carry the luggage up to his room after which he came downstairs again to bid Brad goodbye. There was a certain air of disappointment in Brad’s eyes but Randal could not figure out why. He hurried back to his room, locked the door and jumped straight into the bed.

He lay there with his shoes on as the light turned into darkness outside the windows and the depression replaced the cheerful mood of the village called the Bluecastle.

Chapter 3

When Randy woke up again, his body felt stiff and numb. He had forgotten to ask the boy to light the fireplace in his room and he had been so tired that he had gone to sleep straight away. The entire bed was damp and soggy and even the sweat inside his socks was freezing.

With much effort, Randall got up from the bed and started opening the door of his room with his numb hands. It was hard to even flex his fingers and although Randy had not thought it to be possible, his hand was paler than before. At least now, he could blame it on the cold unlike his days in the desert where people would be suspicious of his pale color.

At long last, the door opened and Randall hurried to the counter. As Randall saw the time on the center piece of the lobby, he realized that it was still very early for anyone else to be awake. The boy, who had helped him the day before, however, was loitering in one corner freezing to death.

“Hey, you!” said Randall but the boy was trying to avoid interaction.

“Excuse me,” said Randy as he walked towards him and touched his shoulder, “I need your help.”

“Can you please come after a while?” asked the boy, “My leg is frozen and I cannot move.”

“How about I carry you upstairs and you can tell me how to light up my fireplace?” asked Randy.

“Sir, I would come in a few minutes, please,” he said, “Please, don’t tell Mr. Bishop.”

“I will not,” but you need to tell me where the food is at least, so that I can make a cup of coffee.”

“Right down this corridor, take a left and that is the kitchen,” said the boy, “The old lady will take your order and give you something to eat.”

“What is your name?” asked Randall, taking pity on the boy.

“Will you tell Mr. Bishop?” asked the boy in horror.

“No, I will not tell your boss anything.”

“My name is Sergei.”

Randall nodded and made his way to the kitchen. The hotel was not centrally heated and because of that it was very hard to stand in the main lounge for more than a few minutes. Randy wondered how the boy worked in such circumstances but before he could reach a conclusion, the kitchen had arrived.

Unlike the main lounge, the kitchen was very warm and cozy. An old lady was stewing something in a pot as she wore many layers of clothing to protect herself from the cold. It was a spacious kitchen and the cutlery was also Victorian in style. There were huge windows on the sides of the kitchen but they were hidden by equally huge and thick curtains which were red in color. The heavy covering along with the lack of sunlight made the place look very dim and dull; maybe it looked better when the sun was up and shining.

Randall ordered his breakfast of two eggs and bacons with a big strong cup of coffee. Randall asked the lady if she knew how to light the fireplace but instead of answering his question, the lady put on yet another coat and left the kitchen. This worried Randy as he did not want to put Sergei in trouble but his hands were a little tied.

When Randy went out to go look for the woman, he saw Sergei still stuck to the same spot. By this time, his lips were going purple and he was beginning to have hypothermia. Randall grabbed his own cup of coffee and the bacons and gave it to Sergei who readily accepted the gift and drank the coffee in one go. The bacons he saved for later and instantly, his pale cheeks starting showing some color. He grabbed the dishes from his and went to keep them back in the kitchen.

He was still in the process when the lady came back again and informed him that she had lit the fireplace for him.

“Thank you, very much,” said Randall, “What is your good name?”

“You can call me Lady Agatha. Please don’t tell Mr. Bishop that I was the one who lit the fire and not Sergei.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Randall, “And by the way, can I get another place of eggs and bacon and coffee on the side?”

“Of course, sir,” said the lady as she prepared the breakfast.

Randall grabbed his tray and carried it outside until he had spotted Sergei. He wanted to ask him to come to his room but now Mr. Bishop was up. Sergei was standing with his hands together in front of his boss as the boss shouted insults at him in his own language.

“Um, excuse me,” said Randy to interrupt them, “Can I have Sergei for a moment because I can’t carry this tray full of breakfast up my room.”

“Of course, sir,” said Mr. Bishop, then he turned to the boy and said, “I want you back in less than one minute!”

“Actually,” said Randall, “I have some other work for him too.”

Randy could see that Mr. Bishop was rattled but since Randy was a paying guest, he could not argue with him. He simply nodded and Sergei took the tray up to his place.

Once they were inside the room, Randy locked the door and turned to Sergei.

“The breakfast is for you,” he said, “Eat up by the fire.”

“This is too much, sir,” said Sergei in embarrassment.

“Oh don’t worry,” said Randy, “I want something in exchange.”

The boy got scared and began saying something but Randy cut him before he could utter a word, “Don’t worry, I just need information.”

“Information about what?” asked Sergei as he bit his nails nervously.

“Sit.”

Sergei did as he was told. The warmth from the fireplace felt like heaven and the coffee helped the boy get more confidence.

“What are you interested in?” asked Sergei again.

“I want you to tell me everything about the people in this village,” said Randall, “Anything and everything out of the ordinary.”

Chapter 4

Ever since the man had come to his cell, Harold had not been sleeping well. It was one thing, to not know what was happening, but to be constantly alert of the man who lived in the same cell was exhausting. There was not even enough space in the cell that he could comfortably distance himself from the other man. If Harold was to believe his memory, this man was an accomplice of the torturer in question. This meant that Harold was not safe from this man.

It was that time of the day again. Harold’s brain was itching and his eyes felt as if they were going to fall down. Harold wanted to have a big glass of water but ever since the man had gone a day ago, there was no sign of him. The other prisoners were screaming and yelling their own grieves. Harold knew that most of the people were mad in the prison but not all of them.

Whoever was responsible for the creation of this place must have been misusing it for his gain. Harold could not think straight anymore. His throat felt like a thousand needles were attacking it and his nose was producing brownish mucus. Scared of his companion, Harold asked for help in a shaky voice.

His voice did not carry above the racket that the other prisoners were producing. It was on his third time that the man heard him. He instantly jumped to one side and started finding something in his coat. Harold lay there in a corner, unable to speak or to act anymore; he just wanted a glass of water. Now that his sight was slightly better, Harold looked closely at the man who was holding a cross in front of him.

“What?!” asked Harold, “Are you crazy?”

“By the will of God…” he started chanting.

“Hey! Wait!” said Harold, “I am not possessed!”

“Nice try! This is a place for possessed people!” said the man, “How do I know you are not one!”

“I just want a glass of water,” said Harold, “Why don’t you give me some holy water so you can be sure about me?”

The man hesitated a little but then went close to the bars of the cell. He then extended one hand out of the bars and grabbed a bottle of water lying in a pile near their cell.

“I am going to be in a lot of trouble if my boss saw me do this,” said the man as he tossed the bottle to Harold. “Maybe I should convert this into holy water.”

“Just give me one sip and after that you can do what you like.”

The man kicked the bottle once more so that it stopped directly in front of Harold. He drank greedily from the bottle until there was nothing left.

The man was now looking at him in pity.

“My name is Harold,” said Harold as he closed his eyes; his head was bursting with pain.

“My name is Stan and I had no idea how Cullen had been misusing his power.”

“Where are we?” asked Harold, if his head could just stop pounding so hard.

“We are in Bluecastle.”

“Where is that?” asked Harold in confusion, “How far away are we from the city?”

“That is not something you should be concerned about,” said Stan, “You must be in here for a reason.”

“Oh, yeah!” said Harold, “What reason are you here for?”

Stan thought long and hard about the situation and realized that it was a possibility that Cullen had been imprisoning other innocent people like him. He came close to Harold to see if he was really mad or possessed but Harold looked normal to him.

Of course, no one living in that basement for very long could be completely normal. There were bound to be some diseases owing to the lack of sunlight, food and a healthy environment. He wanted to help this guy named Harold but he was not sure about him.

“What do you want from me, aside from the water that we stole?” asked Stan.

“Now, you know that the man would return, right?” asked Harold.

“I don’t know that!”

“If you didn’t know that why were you so scared of giving me that water bottle?”

“Suppose, he comes back?”

“Yes, suppose he comes back, I would need your help with something.”

“What do you need my help with?” asked Stan, “I am imprisoned just like you.”

“You are the only one not sedated at the moment.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Stan.

“When that man comes again, I want you to help me fight him.”

“How the hell are we going to do that from in here?” asked Stan, taken aback at Harold’s idea.

“You leave that up to me,” said Harold, “I just want you to grab the keys from his coat when we are fighting.”

“YOU WOULD BE FIGHTING WITH CULLEN MENDOZA?!” shouted Stan, “Do you even know who he is?”

“Look, no one outside these walls would know you grabbed the keys,” said Harold, “Just do this one thing for us, for yourself even if you want to live any longer.”

“He will let me out if I behave right; I made a mistake letting a man in this town when I had been ordered not to.”

“Regardless of why you are here,” said Harold, “We need to get the hell out of here!”

Stan took a deep breath and eyed Harold for a long while. He paced the little space in the cell and thought about his proposal.

By the time they woke up the next day, Stan had made up his mind.

Chapter 5

It was almost two days since Cullen had left them locked in the basement. The prisoners of that gloomy basement were severely dehydrated and starving to death. Even with the water that Stan could have reached from behind the bars; they were still not hydrated.