The Shadows Of The Gargoyles

Amongst the sundry tales of horror that are told and assumed as legends, there are ineffable ones that are disturbing enough to cause heightened episodes of sheer dread. Our imaginations are full of mysterious chapters of the subconscious realm that exceed our fanciful chimeras interspersed. They haunt us like wraiths, with an unrelenting passion that knows no surcease, except the intervals of madness.

Death is always an unwelcomed guest, for it appears like the unannounced reaper of souls. There are reapers of death that pose as wrought statues, but are really the keepers of the abyss of sable shadows. They dwell in the nocturnal darkness, and their beady eyes of a scarlet shade watch over fiercely, through the pervasive mist that hovers above the solitary castle, beyond the edge of the forest. It is a castle, where the silence is interrupted by the flight of the gargoyles. Across the numerous tracts of land, there is a castle that was once a Roman fortification and now, is a Gothic semblance of a hidden past.

In the year of 1900, I had arrived by carriage in the evening to the home of Count Felip Balaguer, a nobleman from Catalonia. I had come to see the count on matters of a personal nature of which, I was not aware of its importance. I had been chosen to inherit a fortune from the count.

As a young child, I had been orphaned and was groomed by him, but sadly due to the spread of tuberculosis I had been sent away. I had not seen him, since that last day of my departure from the castle that I had grown up seeing. My memories of the castle were very vague and few to be remembered, with enthusiasm.

The descriptive nature of the castle was vividly demonstrative to me. Its Gothic essence was impossible to not descry, amidst the nubilous sky. Its tower parapet with crenellation was impressive as its cloister, but there was something that had overshadowed all its architecture and that was, the image of sculpted gargoyles of marble upon the façade of the castle, along the walls and the antiquity of the traces of the old design.

I had been christened as Josep Muntaner, but it was the surname of Balaguer of which, I would earn my appellation. I never knew the veracity of the lives of my parents in my bereavement. I was told they had died a sudden death. Thus, I had never met them or any of their living kindred, except the sister of my father who had taken me in afterwards. The count had sent me to her in another far away place in Spain.

I had spent most of my adolescence and early manhood, at Barcelona or Madrid. It had been decades, since I had last visited not only the count, but the castle as well. Despite the passage of time, the castle had not been altered much from outside. I had suspected it was due to the fact that the count was an admirer of Gothic architecture.

To an outsider, the castle would seem to be unusual and creepy in appearance. To the count, it was his home located in Canet de Mar, on the coast between Arenys de Mar and Sant Pol de Mar. I had been cordially greeted in front of the courtyard, by the count himself. He was an older gentleman of average stature, and his hair was tinged with hoar, but his demeanour and parlance were impeccable. His nobility was verily meritorious. He was dressed in a fine, dapper, black suit, black trousers, and his black shoes were polished in a luculent sparkle.

'Josep, I am glad that you were able to come to the castle to see me. It has been decades, since I last saw you. You were but a child then. Now, you are a full-grown man I see. You don't know, how proud I am of you'.

'I can't believe that after all these years, you have remembered me. If I can impose upon you a mere question. Why do you want to bestow your inheritance on me? I am afraid, I don't quite understand that, Count Balaguer'.

'For me it is not a question of why, but of when? You see Josep, ever since I had lost my beloved wife and have been a widower all these years, I have failed to find someone that I could really trust and earn my trust at the same time'.

'Why me? You hardly know me count? It puzzles me'.

'That could appear to be the case, but I have a fond esteem for you, and the years that you did spent here at the castle were indeed memorable to me'.

'I hope I can meet your expectations. I cannot guarantee you that I shall'.

We stepped inside the castle, where he had introduced me to the servants that he had. I had seen only the lackey that had accompanied me off the carriage.

Inside, I was able to see the panorama of the magnificent gallery and the great hall with its refulgent fireplace. The chandeliers, the furniture, the tapestries, the sculptures, the paintings, the colourful glass, the ample interior decorations, the fine mahogany wood of the chairs, the craftsmanship and the mosaic floors.

All of these wonders were priceless in worth and essence. I have seldom seen, such remarkable things inside a home displayed so properly. Despite all of this, he had wanted to give me the castle from his own volition. Even though, he was in his mid seventies, he had not appeared to be languishing in some hideous disease, or illness that I could detect so palpably.

We were nigh the fireplace in the great hall, when he offered me some wine of which I had accepted. He had told me that wine was his predilection and that Catalonian wine had the best taste. As a Catalonian myself, I did not disagree. He then began to talk to me about the history of the castle, and how important it meant not only to him, but to his noble lineage as well. I was under the general impression that he did not want to hand over the castle to anyone, nor that he wanted to leave it.

I thought it was strange that the fact that he was attached to the castle, he would see it inhabited by someone that was practically a stranger to me. When I say a stranger, I am referring to myself. I did not know the full extent of the tragedies he had endured, but he was genuinely candid in expressing his will for me to inherit the castle. There was something that I had wanted to enquire, and it had to do with the creepy marble figures of the gargoyles that were attached to the castle. Thus, I had asked him.

'Count Balaguer, if I can ask you, why are there gargoyles outside in the castle?'

He was surprised by my question, but he did not avoid answering, 'They were a special gift offered centuries ago to my kindred, to protect us from the evil that wanders this area. My wife had grown to hate them. They were never designed to spook anyone. I must admit that I sleep better, knowing that they watch over the castle'.

'Watch over the castle? What do you mean count?'

'If you look outside, you will see how observant they are'.

'Do you mean with their eyes, because I don't comprehend?'

'Yes!' He had replied.

I had looked outside through one of the mullioned windows, and staring at the sight of the gargoyles with a vislumination was enough to bring subitaneous chills down my spine. The whole gothic presence gave one an eerie impression, but the marble statues of the gargoyles made the castle seem more gothic and aesthetic. I had heard of a castle in Scotland that had gargoyles figures also. Although I had never seen those gargoyles, the ones that the count had at this castle were definitely imposing.

When I had mentioned the gargoyles of the castle in Scotland, he had mentioned the fact that there were no other like his in Catalonia. According to him, his gargoyles were inimitably unique and faithful. I did not know exactly what he was alluding to, except that he was probably speaking in terms that were figurative.

'I cannot imagine what they would be, if they were alive, count,' I said.

'They are alive to me, Josep'.

'Forgive me, but surely you can't be serious?'

'Why would I lie to you? I have no need to hide the truth from you.'

'In what way are they alive? Are you insinuating they can move, like humans or animals do?'

'If I tell you now that they can, would you believe me then?'

'I can't say that I can.'

He had decided to change the subject and discuss the inheritance with me, which we did in privacy. I was still uncomfortable with the previous subject on the gargoyles that it had taken me a few minutes to regain my composure and continue the conversation.

Once I was able to, we had spoken about the inheritance. He had stated to me that I would inherit not only the castle, but the whole estate too, which was a considerable size. The tall trees of the encompassing forest had covered a great amount of the estate. Its propinquity was several kilometres, from the nearest village that was Canet de Mar. The coast was not that far away. At night, you could hear the wind blowing, and hear the stir of the waves from the sea below. It was not uncommon to see castles, nearby a coastal area.

I had seen the coast beneath the castle, and it was beautiful to see its bluish colour sparkle. It had embodied the notion of the coastal landscape of this region. Its description was as imposing, as the castle was essentially. I could imagine myself staring off into the waters of the sea, as the ships passed by. It had given me a certain memory that I had recalled as a child, when I had been living with the count.

My memories of this time period were somewhat vague and confusing. I had remembered that I used to make paper boats and place them into the waters ahead, where they would float for a minute before sinking, with the turbulence of the waves. Little by little, I was regaining to some capacity, some of the old memories of my time spent with the count and the castle. I don't know why my mind had truncated the vast majority of those memories.

Once we had finished discussing the details to the inheritance, he had one of his servants escort me to my room on the second storey postcibally. There were only two stories in the castle, but they were embellished in elegance. It was obvious that the castle was being taken care of. The question that had kept lingering in my mind was, why was he inventing tales about gargoyles being alive? I had only been inside the castle and in the presence of the count for a few hours and I had begun to question his state of mind.

Perhaps, it was not a physical ailment that he was suffering, instead, the maddening isolation of the castle and the manifestation of apparent delusions exhibited that were pernicious to him. This, I had intuited in his careworn expression. That night, I did not want to ponder that eventuality, and I slept until the next morning.

I woke up that morning, with the bracing sound of ruffling branches of the trees outside. The wind had caused the branches to stir and roar abruptly. The count was downstairs, waiting for me to have breakfast with him. From the position of my window and view, I could see the sea and an old church that was standing from a distance.

The trees had impeded to some degree my eyes, from being able to see much of the village from afar. The countryside was always a different way of life in comparison to the active cities of Catalonia. It was a pleasant distraction, from the quotidian bustles of Barcelona.

This was actually a visit to this village that I had not taken in many years, and I had not planned on visiting, if it was not for the fact that the count had requested my presence. It was indeed a change of scenery. At the breakfast table, we had continued the prior conversation about the inheritance. The count had explained to me that his solicitor was handling the deed and shortly would transfer it to me, but he had one stipulation which was a condition for me to be able to inherit.

He had requested that I move into the castle. When I had asked him, where was he going to live at, he had responded by telling me that he was going to move to Perpignan in France. I did not ask him why there. I had respected his privacy. It was odd to me that after living in the castle for so many years that he would suddenly grow weary of its Gothic presence. There was something hidden about the reason for his desire to depart the castle.

I also perceived that there was something peculiar, about the castle that was not merely the gargoyles, but my intuition was wondering, if this eeriness was related to them? I had told him in my response that I would need time to think about it. He gave me a week—no more, no less.

The rest of the morning was spent observing his fine collection of portraits that were in the gallery. They were the veritable representation of his distinctive lineage, including his beloved parents. He spoke of all of them in a reverential manner, not with an overweening arrogance. I had noticed that his kindred, they were very similar in appearance and in refinement.

The Balaguer surname had been deeply embedded, in the history of Catalonia for over eight centuries, at least. The count was not the first nor the last Balaguer to exist, but he was the only one with a castle of this unique composition and history. I was curious to know more about his lineage and how many of his direct kinship had lived in the castle erstwhile. Thus, I asked him these questions, and he had replied with candour.

'All of the people that you see in the gallery had lived in this castle before. My ancestors had built this castle upon the ruins of an ancient Roman fortification that was erect. All of them were of a venerable age and had died in this castle. I have chosen to not be the next one to perish, at the hands of the curse'.

The count had inadvertently confessed, the real reason that he was leaving the castle.

'What do you mean, count? What curse?'

'Nothing, it is best that you do not know, or ask me any more questions'.

'Know what?' I had interjected.

'I would have hoped that you would have never known the secret of the castle and the family, but I cannot be disingenuous any longer with you. I owe you the truth Josep'.

'What truth, count?'

He began to inform me about the truth, 'It all began six centuries ago Josep, with the first Balaguer, Count Robert Balaguer. He had discovered an evil in the castle, a spirit that was roaming the forest outside of the estate. The spirit had transformed into a woman that had attempted to seduce him, with her charm and pulchritude. He was a young man in his twenties and was susceptible to her feminine persuasion. She had wanted to enter the castle at will. Under her spell, he had allowed her to make entrance. It would be the precursor to the interminable curse that would ultimately take his life. Not knowing that she was a demonic spirit, he had committed the abominable act of permitting her to take his soul'.

Every night, the malevolent spirit attempts to enter the castle to take the life of the count. The gargoyles were his protection, for they watched over the castle.

'Without the gargoyles Josep, the evil one would enter the castle with ease'.

I was incredulous to belief his tale, 'With all due respect count, do you expect me to believe your story, about an evil spirit from the forest and gargoyles that are alive?'

'I understand that at this moment, what I have revealed to you is confusing and unthinkable, but you must believe me, Josep. There is no other way. If you do not help me, she will come for me in the end'.

'But, I thought you told me that the gargoyles protect you?'

'And they do faithfully'.

'Then why do you fear this evil spirit? You seem to contradict yourself'.

'Because she wants this castle too. There will come a time, when she will be too strong for the gargoyles to stop her, or they will simply stop protecting me and fly away.'

'I don't know what else to say. I cannot stay here, knowing that you are not in your right mental faculties count. You should seek the guidance of a psychiatrist'.

'You still do not believe me. The wind that you felt blowing, it was her. You see, with the wind she tries to scare us. She knows that the gargoyles are dormant in the day, but she cannot manifest in the day. Thus, she uses the wind to taunt me'.

It was evident to me that he was on the verge of a mental breakdown or paranoia. There were troubling signs to indicate this to me. I had to calm his unnerving behaviour. I had requested one of the servants to escort him to his room to repose for the nonce. I was uncertain of what to do next. I could not believe his irrational stories of the supernatural, but I could not let him escape into his paranoia.

After all, he did adopt me and raise me as a child for some time, when my parents had died. I had owed him, a debt of gratitude. I could not think anymore about his inheritance. I had to seek help for him in whatever capacity I could demonstrate.

It was not mere pity, but respect. It had saddened me to see him waning in such irrational thoughts. I could not sleep that night, for the horror was about to awaken. That night as I was sleeping in my bed, I had heard the screams of a young woman. I rose from my bed to investigate the noise. I had looked out of my window and saw the image of a beautiful woman, with flowing, ebony hair and pale skin.

She had worn a long white gown. She seemed to be signalling me to come outside to the edge of the forest. I had no idea who she was, nor what she wanted. Her dark eyes had drawn me into her seduction. Apparently, no one else in the castle had reacted except me. I had walked down the stairway and stepped outside to meet her. As I got closer, I could feel her ghostly breath, and the wind began to howl abruptly. She reached out her hand to touch me, but her eyes that were once a beautiful colour had become colourless. There was crimson blood coming from them. I had stood speechless for a moment, unable to react.

Suddenly, the sound of flapping wings could be audible to my ears. When I had turned around to see, I saw the ghastly image of the marbled gargoyles swooping down from above. They had grabbed me from the clutch of the evil spirit. They were alive and had blown a breath of fire to thwart her from doing me any great harm.

Within minutes, the baleful spirit had disappeared into the forest. If what my eyes had seen was indeed real, then I was not dreaming. I had closed my eyes, hoping this was a terrible nightmare, but it was not. When I had opened them, I saw the inimitable guise of the imposing gargoyles of the castle staring into my eyes, with a fixation. They had saved my life and had prevented the evil spirit from entering the castle as well.

I was not the only one that had witnessed this harrowing event. The count was standing, at the entrance to the front door. He had witnessed what had transpired.

'Are you all right, Josep? Did the gargoyles startle you?'

'Good God. What just happened? I can't believe that what I saw with my own eyes has occurred'.

'Believe it. Whether you believe it or not, it does not change the fact that it did happen'.

'But how can this be? First, a wandering spirit that transforms into a beautiful maiden, then marble gargoyles that are awakened and come alive'.

'I too could not believe this myself, until it had happened to me. There are unusual things in this world that we shall never be able to explain, but they do exist. Ghosts and gargoyles are the proof of such a secretive realm of beings'.

'I am still amazed by all of this count. Now, I am beginning to understand what you had mentioned to me before'.

That morning, I could not dismiss the ineffaceable images of the daunted occurrence of the night before. How could anyone be so indifferent to the emotional episode that were experienced, with such raw intensity? There had to be a logical reason that could be elucidated, but there was none. I was haunted by the images that I could not focus on what had brought me here in the first place, the inheritance.

My mind was no longer concerned with the issue. I could have easily walked away and never returned to the castle, with the knowledge that I had, but that would not save the count or erase the wretched curse of the castle. How could I assist him more effectively? The pending question that I was forced to ask myself was, would I risk my life in order to help the count at whatever cost?

For some strange reason unbeknownst to me, I was compelled deep within me to not abandon him, or forsake him to a horrendous fate. The count was downstairs by the fireplace seated, when I had found him. Neither one of us was in the mood for any breakfast.

Thus, we did not eat until the midday had arrived. I could see the explicit concern in his expression and guise. It was not difficult to imagine what was on his mind. Even though, his story about the spirit and gargoyles were ultimately true, this did not quell one bit his apparent paranoia. I was worried that this would be contagious and infect me.

Our conversation would centre on my decision of accepting the inheritance. After knowing that I knew the whole truth, he still was interested in my decision, although his expectations had diminished considerably. At that moment, I was not thinking about the inheritance. My immediate thoughts were concentrated, on his mental health and life. How could I convince him of that? I had felt that if I had agreed to the inheritance, I too would be trapped in this isolated castle forever.

The count had asked me to accompany him to the village, but I was not receptive to that idea. That would imply having to go through the thickness of the forest, where the wandering spirit of bale had manifested as a maiden. He knew that in the day the spirit would not present herself, but she would be watching us, like the gargoyles that watch over the castle. He had to speak to the solicitor about the deed and the status of his procuration of the transactions. In the end, I had accompanied him on this trip.

When we arrived at the village, the people on the street had stared at us with a piercing look in their eyes. I had the vague impression that they were not grateful to see us in the village. I did not know the reason, for their callous attitude towards us. All I could see was what was reflected in their mien. I had suspected that the count was aware of their reason. When I had asked him, he simply explained that the Balaguer name was associated to death and witchcraft. This was something that I had not known.

Whilst the count was busy with the solicitor at his office, I was occupied with trying to comprehend the events that were unfolding and correlating them with the facts that I knew then. The charge or accusation of witchcraft was something that was not that unusual.

What was more disturbing to me was that at the beginning of the 20th century, there were still people that had clung on to their antiquated beliefs. Spain was a country that was synonymous, with a long history of witchcraft and brutal inquisitions under draconian doctrines. Catalonia was no exception.

As a Catalan, I was not orgulous of that fact. It was merely part of the history of Europe. After half an hour had elapsed, the count finally had finished his business with the solicitor, and we had departed the village. Upon the trip back to the castle, we would encounter the ominous presence of the female spirit. The wind began to stir, as we had entered into the depth of the forest.

The count was aware of what was transpiring. His intuition had alerted him. The horses of the carriage had sensed it too and were rattled. With immediacy, the count had ordered the driver to take another road that was quicker in reaching the castle.

Once we arrived back at the castle, we were able to have a good meal. The servants were not impervious to the events that were occurring in the castle, but they did not dare to express their thoughts nor concerns overtly. It did not mean that they were not superstitious in their character. I had even begun to doubt my beliefs. The marble gargoyles were dormant during the day, but they would soon awaken in the night.

Once more he had asked me, if I was going to accept the inheritance offered. I had never seen him more insistent and more racked, with heightened anxiety than at that specific moment. Verily, I had sensed that he was on the verge of succumbing to the madness that was consuming his mind constantly, in the form of the abominable curse. His sober eyes had expressed the serious nature of his predicament and the developing contrast of mine. He had placed all his effort and time in convincing me to inherit the castle that he had not fully prepared himself, for another solution.

I had told him then that upon reflection that I would help him abate the curse through my asseveration, but I would not accept the inheritance. He was not content with my rejection, yet he had expressed his resignation through his acquiescence. The immeasurable pressure imposed upon me by him would become then, a harrowing race with time. A race to unravel all of the truth, in particular, the part that he had been omitting to me, the origin of the wandering spirit that was haunting him.

I knew very little about her origin. The count was evasive about revealing manifold details about her, except that she was supposedly evil in nature and had wanted to take his soul. I was still uncertain of the reason why? If she was a witch that was roaming within the forest haunting others and him, then how did she die, and how was she condemned to the eternal torment that was her troubling soul?

There were innumerable details yet to be deciphered by me. I had no other source of actual information than what the count had disclosed to me on one occasion.

'Where did the wandering spirit in the forest come from count?'

'Legend says that she was a witch that was burnt to the stake by the members of the inquisition'.

'And what about the gargoyles? Where do they come from?'

'Legend says that they come from the bottomless pit of hell Josep'.

'If that is the case with both of them, then my question to you is, what is buried here underneath the castle?'

'I am afraid I don't understand', the count had replied.

'You once told me that the ground in which the castle stands, stood a former Roman fortification. It could not have been just that always'.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, there had to be something else here in the time period from it being a fortification, to it being the present castle'.

'That I do not know for a certainty'.

'Could it have been an unholy ground for the devil?'

'Perhaps!'

I had asked him, 'Did you know her name? The wandering spirit?'

He uttered, 'Genoveva'.

I had retired then to my room to ponder at length under the twilight, everything that I had known about what was betiding. There was something mysterious still unsolved by me that had pertained to the female ghost that was wandering the forest.

Whilst the count was occupied with the servants upstairs, I had quietly and stealthily climbed down the stairway and had gone outside, for a period of time. I had seen from the window in my room what had appeared to be a solitary tombstone of some sort. I made sure that no one including him had seen me leave the castle.

When I had reached the tombstone, I would be bemused and shocked with what I had discovered. I had seen the written name of Genoveva. Yes, the same name that the wandering spirit was called. At that exact moment, I had begun to sense that I had solved mostly the mystery, about the wandering spirit and the irrepressible curse.

What I did not know was, what was her direct relation with the count? I had a tenable suspicion that she was perhaps a late relative of his, or she was the true identity of the wandering spirit. The location was hidden behind a pair of tall trees. I was able to see it vaguely, from above in my room. Why was this tombstone there in the first place I had asked myself? Was she a Balaguer in the appellation?

That was a feasibility to contemplate in earnest. I would soon have my answer, and it would be a shocking revelation. When I had entered the castle again, the count was waiting for me. The darkness of the night had appeared, with the mist partially covering the moon. He had wanted to know where I had gone to.

'I did not know, you had stepped outside of the castle Josep. Where did you go?'

'I went to see a tombstone there at the entrance to the forest'.

'What were you doing there?'

'Genoveva. The woman buried in the grave. Who was she count? Because she has the same name, as the wandering spirit'.

'She was my wife'.

'And the wandering spirit?'

'She is her ancestor'.

'Why does she haunt you count?'

'She haunts me, because my ancestor had murdered her ancestor. My dearest wife took her own life Josep. She could not bear any longer the imprecation of the castle'.

At that moment in time, the wandering spirit had reappeared and came for the count. Her footfalls would be heard traipsing the broken branches, as the wind blew with an obstreperous howling. Her hideous countenance and eyes would reflect the horrible manner in which she had died, under the sanguiferous hands of the inquisition.

The marble gargoyles that were dormant had awakened on his command to attack the spirit. They opened their wings wide and then had flapped them. Immediately, they headed towards her. This time, they did not drive the spirit away, instead, they had allowed her to take the soul of the count. She had grabbed him instantly and took him into the mouth of the madness that was the labyrinthine forest.

It happened so rapidly, that the count did not have time to react. All that was heard uttered from him, was a final, gasping sound of terror. I stood there in complete awe of what had transpired before my eyes. Was I to be her next victim? For some unknown reason she did not take me into the forest, and the gargoyles had flown away to never return anon. The curse had ended with the death of the last recorded Balaguer.

Although I was to be the indicated one to inherit the castle and its estate, I was not an authentic Balaguer. I was merely an orphan that was raised as one. The gargoyles had protected the lineage of the Balaguers for centuries, but it had come to an end, with the death of Count Felip Balaguer.

The spirit of Genoveva had looked into my eyes, one last time, then she had returned to the sanctuary that was the forest, as the branches of the trees opened to allow her entrance. I would never see her again as well. I was left all alone, amidst the castle and forest to ponder the events that had taken place. The weeks and months would pass within their natural course, and I would become the new proprietor of the Balaguer castle.

All that was promised to me in the inheritance stipulated, I had received consequentially. The count's body would be found beneath a tree of the forest the next day. I had a particular tombstone made for him, beside his beloved wife Genoveva. Together, they would then be joined once more, within the realm of the celestial spirits. That was what I had originally hoped for in my dedication and elegy to them.

There are some from the village that continue hitherto to spread blasphemy, against the count and the rest of the Balaguers that had lived in the castle, but I who knew the count can honestly say that he was not a vile man or a rakehell at all. He was only the victim of the horrifying consequence of his predictable circumstance and presage. A man born of nobility, whose death was predestined from the beginning.

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