A storm had started brewing in the early afternoon. As the evening darkness set in, the sound of thunder crept closer to the abandoned fortress. No one could remember its name, just that it had become a ruined castle not long after it was built. Perhaps it was punishment for the desecration of a sacred place.

Remnants of a stone circle are all that remain as evidence that something much older once existed here. The town called it haunted. More than one person had seen fires flickering on Solstice nights or heard wails that were not caused by the wind.

Today of all days people stayed away. It was the day the barriers that separated the mortal and spirit realms became blurry. From all the old places, the whisper of something not of this world could be heard.

I climbed the hill that night, in search of something I could not name. Those whispers had called to me, and I had to answer. As I reached the top lightning crackled through the sky, but then all went silent and dark. The witching hour had come.