Castle Beyond the Worlde

The Cigarette racing boat was idling along at around fifty knots with an inebriated skipper at the helm and ten guests, including two supermodels, staggering around in varying degrees of alcohol induced stupor, when they struck the giant crab. The racing boat rode up along the creature's back, nearly flipped, then righted itself to float helpless with its engines filled with sea water. One woman had fallen overboard. The crab seized her and disappeared beneath the oily surface of the water with its prey.

For hours the boat rocked upon the oily swells. No one's cell phone was working. The ship to shore radio was functional, but could reach only one private radio, whose operator laughed at their story of the giant crab and refused to contact the Coast Guard. The wounded crab had returned with several buddies. After firing eight rounds from his Smith and Wesson without noticeable effect, the models' beefy bodyguard was fending them off with the boat hook. The remaining guests were huddled as far away from the sides of the boat as they could get, praying for rescue, or swearing to never again drop acid, or both.

Then the Cigarette was lifted and swept onward by a tidal surge carrying them into a bay that was not on any map or navigational chart. They came to rest upon a pebbled beach strewn with the detritus of broken ships, the shells of crabs and an old whale boat with twin fifty-horsepower outboards.

Above them on three sides loomed steep cliffs of bluish rock. A narrow path wound up to an ancient and forbidding castle built into the rock face at the highest point. Lacking anything better to do, the entire party began the slow, treacherous climb toward the castle. Oily drops of rain were falling and several people fell on the slippery path, incurring injuries of varying severity. A fashion photographer slid half way off the path and popped his Achilles tendon. His cries of pain were pitiful to hear. Minus the photographer and two women who had sat down and broken out in tears, the group reached the castle gatehouse.

A voice spoke from within the gatehouse. “Accomplished labors are considered a delight.” The voice sounded like the crinkling of old parchment. “We were told to expect an even dozen of you.”

The skipper of the cigarette, now stone sober, replied, “One woman was taken by a giant crab and three of our party remain on the path to the castle, crying and with injuries.”

“Now that is good to hear,” the voice replied. “After dark the ones on the trail will become ours and we shall feast upon them.

“Leave your fire weapons in the locker here and I shall issue you a receipt. Take up whatever weapons and armor suit you. Axes, flails and swords will be of use to you. Not so the fire weapons you carry.”

Only the bodyguard was armed. He left his pistol in the locker and selected an axe with a hook upon the side of the head away from the axe blade. Slowly and apprehensively some of the others picked weapons, holding them as though they were afraid they might cut themselves. The skipper returned down the trail to help and encourage the stragglers to continue on.

“He will not make it in time,” the parchment voice remarked. “Now we shall have four to feast upon. You may proceed into the castle now. The young master is prepared to welcome you all to our Castle beyond the Worlde.”

They crossed a courtyard memorable only for heroic amounts of pigeon and sea gull crap staining the paving stones and entered the open front door of the castle. Inside they were menaced by four guns on swivels pointing directly to the front door.

A young man wearing a varsity jacket and carrying a sword strapped to his back greeted them. “The guns are called ‘Murderers'. They are really only extra large shot guns using black powder as a propellant.

“Welcome to my grandsire's castle. Come in peace. Enjoy your stay. If you manage to get out alive, at least leave some happy memories behind if we can not have your soul.”

The young man, who introduced himself only as Dave, showed them to guest rooms, apologizing for the antiquated toilet and shower facilities. The married couple were given rooms together, the men shown to a dormitory, and the two super models occupied an elegant suite next to the young master's own apartment. One amusing touch was the tiny vials to be filled with blood to tip the chamber maid.

Supper was a skimpy meal consisting of veggie burgers, yoghurts, and iced teas laid out buffet style. The guests had yet to see any of the servants. Later they all sat around watching well used video tapes on an old Magnavox T.V. Dave had four complete seasons of “Dallas,” along with “Smokey and the Bandit” and the miniseries “Salem's Lot”. Dave stated that he would kill to be able to get the T.V. working again so he could watch the entertainment channel's “Keeping up with the Kardishans,” his favorite program. “Their father must be a saint to put up with those three little bitches. As for the mother, if she came to visit, she would probably scare away the undead. I just love to watch their show!”

“You are just plain out of luck,” the husband and wife exclaimed together. “The federal government just changed the T.V. frequencies or something. You now need a special adaptor unless you have cable here.”

“Damn! That is the thanks I get for two tours in Viet Nam and a father dead at Anzio,” Dave exclaimed. He calmed down a little and offered everyone scotch and soda or ale. “Not to worry. ‘Don't shoot the messenger.'”

Dave put down his whiskey and soda unfinished. “My grandsire is a Scots chieftain with old fashioned values, or at least he was before the castle came here. He holds to the highland customs regarding guests. Four days and nights you may stay here and enjoy the hospitality of his castle. If you should decide to stay more than four nights, you become his retainers and subject to his rule.”

With a final warning to keep their doors bolted and not open up for any reason, especially if one of the boaters who had remained outside should come knocking, he wished them all a good night.

To be continued: