The first time my pointless journal will be opened is for a horror story, now bear with me, im not very good at horror stories.
It was a dark and stormy night, the likes of which are hardly ever seen. On the cliffs of lightning with the swirling sea below was where the famed Spaniards Manor rested. It was twenty years ago when it occured, the old manor had nae a guest in many weeks, the old curator being ever secluded. A fact easily remedied. Thunder flashed and the sole manor on the cliff was illuminated for a breif moment. The manor was blood red with many windows lining the sides. There was a thin road that led from the door away from the manor but it was near to never used. A wary traveler began to walk up the path, drenched in rain. Soon to be followed by a group of foreigners who needed a place to stay in this stormy night. Five people came knocking on the manor door.
The old curator, surprised, gave them each one of his unused rooms. One offered to cook up some food so the old curator, who usually only baked basic food, like bread and pasta, gratefully accepted. Now, although the curator was poor, and hardly ever left his manor, the inside was covered with plunders of wars and civilizations long past. Armor, weapons and tools of questionable origin sat lined against the walls, along with rare works of art. A world of culture inside the large manor secluded on a cliff. It was around nine o clock when the traveler called for dinner. All at the same time each other traveler left their rooms to the great banquet hall. The travelers, weary and hungry from their journy, soon forgot their company and ate, despite how late he was. At the end of the feast they had left out a portion for the curator but he was nowhere to be seen. The travelers thought nothing of it and went back to their rooms.
The next day after the storm had quelled, they tried to find the curator to thank him for his kindness. They opened the door to his room and fell back aghast. Inside, the curator had a exotic weapon from the hall driven through his chest. One of the travelers walked over to the corpse and slowly extracted the blade. Now, the time that this story occurred. Telephoning was becoming popular but a telephone had yet to reach the western part of Spain in this partucular manor.
One of the five people offered to go get the police, but since nobody was sure who the murderer was and they didnt want to let him get away they all walked out of the manor to some sort of government enforcement agency, I.E. the police. At the station, there was nobody. They waited for about an hour for a member of the police to adress them but nobody came. They all walked back the manor sitting on the cliff. It had begun to storm, as it occaisonly did there. When the travelers woke up, several of the exotic weapons had been rearranged. None of the travelers said they had anything to do with it, and they began to doubt eachother. They also went back to the police station but, like yesterday there was nobody there. This may be an unimportant event, but now, the corpse was gone, there was no trace of it left, even after it had been left there rotting, there was no smell, the room was just, colder than usual. Nobody usually went up there before, nobody went there now. Some of the travelers wondered if it just wasnt time to leave the manor behind, and forget all about these events.
A little past midnight, one of the travelers woke up to a odd clicking sound. He walked upstairs onto the cold third floor. Thunder crashed and the long dark hallway was illuminated, horrific soldiers standing drenched in the blood of their enemies stood waiting, just waiting. The next morning, that traveler was nowhere to be found. And thus ends Part 1
Read again next time for part two, enjoy it all you can!
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Rokke's Pointless Narratives
What happens in my pointless journal, stays in my pointless journal.
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Kudos to SpacemanSpiff
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