Weird Stories From A Weird Person

Knight's Honor (Horror)

     Sir Lancelot gingerly stepped on the creaky, moldy hardwood floors, his armor clanking in harmony with the wet dripping echoing from somewhere inside the dimly lit castle. His mind swam with possible ways his mission would end, none of them peaceful, his heart beating faster and faster with each growing step. Whatever resides inside this forbidden castle, nobody knew, and those who had the courage to try to find out never lived long enough to tell the tale. The king, fed up with this drain of his townspeople, but too obese and afraid to investigate himself, sent his most trusted knight, Sir Lancelot, against his will to find and kill the beast inside.

What if the remains of all the witches now reside in this castle, seeking revenge on those who wronged them? What if a twisted, mutilated corpse was reanimated long ago with the power of witchcraft and its bloodlust is too great to be contained? Will I ever live through this to see my family and my great king again? Or will the threads of my mortal life be cut short by the gruesome hand of death like those before me? Thoughts ran rampant inside Sir Lancelot's head, each making him sweat with fear more than the last. A peaceful ending now seemed farther and farther away from reach with each passing step into the castle, which, with each step he took, seemed more and more like the house of death. He could almost feel the cold, clammy hands of fate around his neck like a noose waiting to taste the metallic blood of humans once again.

Creak! Sir Lancelot swiveled, sweat pouring in torrents and splashing on the moist floors. Nobody there. Good. Relief passed through him, sending shivers down his back. Creak! He jolted awake from his trance of relief and bliss, his brain slowly rendering the noises coming from behind him. Walking faster now, he looked over his shoulder to see if he could indentify another living being. He saw none. He sped through the long hallway, stopping only to gaze at the pictures pasted to the walls. On some, the frames were decayed, looking as if they would crumble to dust at any given moment like a vampire stepping out into the sun. On all, the gentlemen and gentlewomen portrayed on the fading papers had their heads blotted out by a wet, inky substance.

Creak! The wet, creaking sound coming from the damp, unstable flooring was closer now, and more urgent. Whooshing winds carried the whispers of restless spirits directly to his ears. Sir Lancelot paused mid-footstep, his muscles refusing to move until the unknown threat was identified. More whispers followed the eerie stillness, the silence carrying more fear than words could.

Faint sounds came from the end of the hallway, which was so long the first half was so far into the distance a lantern could be lit and the light would still not illuminate the inky blackness. Sir Lancelot strained his ears to hear the sounds, so soft they were almost nonexistent. His hand slowly moved for his sword before he knew what was happening. He turned, breaking out into a run, his feet moving as fast as they could, being clad in iron armor and all. More sounds, closer this time. He stopped sharply, ears perking up, armor clacking together, an expression of utter terror crossing his face.

A single word, uttered from right in front of him. A greeting. Hello.

He didn't even have time to scream.