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Annette turned, heading back to the kitchen to refill her tray with more food to serve. It was when the sound of the door closing echoed in her mind for much longer than it should have that she paused. Then it was the footsteps of the servants rushing around her. She rubbed her head, trying to refocus her suddenly fuzzy thoughts, and took a breath. The next step was nowhere near the direction Annette had wished to be heading—forwards, not down towards the ground. The tray clattered, echoing. Everything faded to darkness.
That was the first.
Dark clouds loomed overhead, clouds so thick that it was not possible to know if it was night or day by looking up. Rain fell unremittingly, always either drizzling or streaming in buckets. The only natural light nowadays that could be seen was the occasional flash of lightning. The existence of stars was a legend; the darkness seemed to have persisted for an eternity. The air did not smell sweet and refreshing, as rain should, but it felt suffocating. Water poured from the heavens, inciting fear in those who raised crops, tended sheep, and had families, fear for all that they owned, fear of a flood that would wipe out humanity. Everyone was scared, and reasonably so. On top of the poor weather, which showed no signs of ceasing, the king’s eldest son, the heir to the throne, had passed only days ago for mysterious and unknown reasons. The people were anticipating more terrible events to come given their kingdom’s current condition.
In the midst of the storm was a castle on a hill. Every stone was weathered, yet each stood strong against the winds, unlike the trees that dotted hillside and valley below that shook and swayed. The surrounding manors and the farmlands that extended to the horizon were inferior to the fortress.
The interior of the castle was a different story. Strange things had been happening, things hidden from the public. With the rain came bad luck. The prince was not the only person to have died. Several young and previously healthy servants have also fallen. No one knew the cause of death. There had been no changes in behavior, no physical signs of harm, no known health conditions, nothing unusual that foreshadowed the victims’ death.
The queen was not taking these events well at all. She laid in her room, no longer able to function properly, especially after the loss of her son. Tension and unease rose throughout the castle as the king grew increasingly frustrated. The royal family was young, too young to understand what was happening—the eldest had only been nine years old. The servants tried their best to carry out their daily routines, it wasn’t easy. Whispers spread throughout the castle. Who would be next?
There was Brody. He was one of the princes of the royal family.
He was nearly two hundred years older than everyone else in the castle.
Brody had died in a conspiracy planned by his younger and only brother, who desperately wanted the throne. It was just an accident, they said. Anyone could have simply fallen out of a window, they said. It was such a shame it had to be a thirty-foot drop.
Was he bitter? Yes, at first, but he was a ghost. What was a ghost supposed to do? Float around invisibly. Watch his brother inherit the throne. Laugh coldly to himself when his brother was an unsuccessful and feel pity for those in his kingdom. It even made him a little bit happy when the king was assassinated. Only a little bit.
Brody had moved past his own death fairly quickly. His brother’s intentions were understandable, as horrible as they were. Ruling as the king was a very desirable position.
There were better things to do than to be resentful of Brody’s own passing. Well, at first, the only thing he could do was watch and think. He was only a wisp of air. After years of practice, Brody learned how to be less shapeless. How to make himself more humanoid. Not a transparent gust of wind, something nearer to a shade that had arms and legs. Nowhere close to fully visible, but able to change form to something that would have to stay in the shadows to avoid being seen.
It took a lot more time to learn how to appear as a solid, a tangible object. It made Brody feel alive again, something he hadn’t felt in ages.
Brody was lonely. Most people didn’t even end up as a ghost; they would die and that was the end. When they did, if they ever did, they left the castle and explored the worlds beyond. There was much to see, and as a mere gust of wind, unsusceptible to worldly harm, there was no reason not to fly away and adventure.
Brody chose to say in his castle because it was his home. He couldn’t dream of leaving it. He was too afraid of the unknown. Besides, what was out there for him? Nothing. He prefered to stay in the castle. Either way, it was aimless wandering. That was the sad part about being a ghost. Lasting until you wasted away to nothingness, until you were completely forgotten, alone. It was not a pleasant life after death. Those who made it to heaven or hell had it so much better. Even in hell, they had friends, companions, those with whom they could share their sufferings. Here it was just him.
So Brody arrived at a single question. What could he do to be less lonely? As similar as his physique was to that of a human, interacting with them, or any other living creature, was not something that would ever be possible.
Finding ghosts was not something that could be done, either. Even if Brody was to gather up the courage to leave his fortress and look for them, he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to track them down. There was no way to alert a fellow ghost, not that he could think of. Anything he did would also draw the attention of people.
There was still hope that a ghost would come to him. Though it was unlikely, there was always the small possibility. With hundreds of servants working within the castle, surely one of them would transform into a ghost. Most workers left before they died, retiring to a small farm in the country. But if they died right now, while they were still here in the castle… If Brody murdered them, he would be right there when they died, and Brody would be able to meet the ghost and stop it before it could leave.
The act of killing them was not the problem. Even though he could not kill human beings by physical means, it did not take him long to figure out how to get into their minds and destroy them from the inside. Possession was not difficult.
It was his conscious that held Brody back all these years. He was a gentleman, he cared about people. Murder was a crime, it was wrong, it was something he had been taught not to do long.
Ghosts could not be punished. Nor would anyone ever learn the truth. There were no limitations, nothing to stop Brody. Solitude had eroded his previously nice character to one filled with despair and an eroding conscience.
The longing for a companion finally overwhelmed him. Humans did not affect him positively in any way. Their very presence evoked pain and envy. There was so much more to life than what was in their realm on earth, more than their little brains could fathom. Nothing mattered. It was upon this realization that the dark clouds rolled in with Brody’s anger.
One night, Brody was lurking in the shadows, just outside the dining hall. The sound of laughter, happiness, love, coming from the room was too much for him to handle. It tipped him over the edge. He was going to do it.
He lunged for the first person to leave the hall, taking their life in only a few seconds. She looked pretty, gorgeous, really, and her voice sounded sweet from the few words Brody had heard her say as she walked by, but no more. She fell to the ground.
Brody stared, watching, yearning for wonderful to come next.
It never came.
Rain began to fall.
He had just killed someone. That wasn’t so bad. He could barely believe what he had done. He retreated back to the depths of the castle, meditating on his actions.
Brody was a driven ghost; once he set his mind to something, there was no stopping him. He was determined to find company in his realm. It was not long before he returned. He had started, and he would not cease until he received what he wanted.
Another person dropped dead.
And another.
And another.
The rain fell harder. The castle’s inhabitants eventually had no choice but to leave. The king abandoned his post. Rumors spread. The whole region was desolate. It is deserted to this day. The storm continued on, eventually flooding the entire land, replacing them with a sea of water.
Brody still had no one. He flew about the castle, moaning, longing for somebody, anybody. There was nobody left for him, dead or alive.