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The Ghosts of Brawnwyn's Castle

by J. Hyatt-Laws

96 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0168; ISBN 1-55212-503-3; US$14.50, C$18.95, EUR12.40, £8.60

A collection of short stories and poetry about the mystical and mysterious Brawnwyn's Castle.

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about the book      sample chapter      catalogue info

About the Book GHOSTS? When the children first came upon the spacious grounds of Brawnwyn's Castle, they knew nothing of the legendary figure which were said to appear when the mist moved the wrong way off the sea. No one cautioned them not to venture near the olde ruin whose fables had no beginning and myths which had no end. So, it was said. Or so, it was believed.

Sample Chapter CHAPTER 1 THE GHOSTS OF BRAWNWYN'S CASTLE There stood across the windswept moors, A dilapidated castle. The fortress was so out of sorts, Even the wind became its vassal. The structure had been empty, For three hundred years at most. And the many who tried to live there, Were removed by Brawnwyn Ghosts. It seemed the aging fortress, Could not tolerate those who sinned. And as the Ghosts made them move on, The castle stood there and just grinned. No one seemed to know just why, The Ghosts were so obliging. But the stories of their escapades, Were sometimes most surprising. And that, it seemed, was all most people knew of the olde ruin. So it was told. Or so it was believed. But as children, how was a body to know???     For many years, my brother and I would ponder on this perplexity. There was a castle right enough. True to the naked eye it stood alone and in fabled ruin. Whatever the reason, Brawnwyn had been built on a slow rise with her back to the thundering sea, thus the cliff itself became a base for the full north wall. Here one could witness the endless depth of the massive foundation where years of relentless pounding were forever scored along its rugged breadth. And it was here that, as curious children ... born with the flair ... of a fanciful nature ... we often laid flat out on our tummies, peering eagerly over cliff's-edge, in awe of the enormous formation which arose from perilous waters like one gigantic door forever closed to an open sea.     During those years, there was time for the sharing of thoughts and dreams and the idleness of chatter as to whether or not Brawnwyn and this vast body of water might have exchanged unpleasantries at one time or another. For it appeared, as we visited on, that no matter the mood of the brooding sea, it would, as an unwelcome guest, persist in calling upon the mammoth door at any time of the day or night, often in a harsh, cruel manner. Nonetheless, the stately door stood silent against the elements and its very presence remained shrouded in as much mystery as did the whole of Brawnwyn. For it had been known that when the wind took it upon itself to blow about in a most peculiar manner, an olde familiar whistle made tune. Then, far below where echoes go and birds of flock make flight, the heavy seas dropped to their knees, and to this dark wet wall, came light. Such, it was said, had taken place long before a body's time and one came to the understanding then that when such happenings occurred, they would go on as they had since the beginning, for that ... was the way of it.     As children, watching the thundering waves swelling to their capacity and lashing against the steadfast wall, my brother, in a moment of compassion, wondered if the sea was shouting and spouting profanities. Being more daring than I, he bellowed a few examples down the craggy terrain (never within earshot of one's elders of course, for that would be the death of him). How frustrating it must be, he went on, staring down at the foaming surf, to be this particular body of water and spend your entirety lapping against a solitary door, only to be denied. No wonder, he reasoned, the sea was given to fits of anger, flailing and flogging about in such utter despair. On other occasions, when the day arose dull and groggy, it seemed as though the sea spray sprinkled into our eyes with a touch of sadness. Often, wailing waters reached our faces in a sorrowful manner, and we wondered, whilst wiping away salty teardrops, why the ocean cried. Perhaps, we concluded, it simply wanted away from its own for a spell. 'Twas not unreasonable to set "... the troubles ..." by the wayside for a time. However, as one learned in life ... 'twas more simply said than done.     Now and then, before we came to know of Brawnwyn and the Ghosts which lived on about the castle grounds, we did, whilst lolling aimlessly about cliffs-edge, send a rock or three barrelling down its steep. Coming to believe, however, that these were actually pieces of Brawnwyn which we had sent plummeting helplessly to their peril, soon our then blissful lives were filled with a most awful sense of guilt. The hurling of bits and pieces of a structure whose foundation had stood its mortal ground for three hundred years at most was deserving of more humane consideration. And in the end, we were riddled with great fear that a mighty power would seek a day of reckoning with our deeds of undoing. Thus, when toll was taken, an angry storm came in the bright of night, covering a quiet moon, and as the rage raged and the rant ranted, we sought each other out, my brother and I, hiding shamefully in the long narrow passageway leading to Maid's quarters. Shaking, we huddled beneath the staircase, crossing our hearts, praying not to die, vowing to make amends at first light. And all the while, as the storm chipped away at our young cracks and hollows, the lightning clapped, a strong bough snapped and our new swing drowned in the pond. Its rope hung loose, without a noose, and by morning the warm sun yawned. With ghost-like speed then, we returned to cliff's-edge and for the first time, trembling visibly, we stood full-up, looking down from this horrendous height. Clutching each other's hand, stomachs squealing with fright, we offered Brawnwyn our most sincere apologies. Then, gasping for continued courage, my brother whispered from the side of his quivering lips, "What if one of us should falter?" 'Perish the thought' was all I could realize. Cautiously we backed away. Gratefully,we rode off at breakneck speed.     Still and all, we never wearied of gazing out at the wondrous sea, my brother and I. We came to realize that Mother Nature was privileged with an independence not always understood. Indeed, not always appreciated. It became clear, in the warmth of the sun, that the massive wall of the fortress, stone cold though she appeared, was kind of heart, sure of purpose and placid of mood. On these days, when wind abated for a time, there too was harmony at the doorsill of Brawnwyn. With tempered sea conducting itself in a more just and civilized manner, all seemed perfectly well with the world and one knew then, peace could flow abundantly upon all receptive shores.     Sometimes, coming to know storms of a particular nature, we stayed on at cliff's-edge whilst sea spray salted us entirely. Here we waited for the miracle of miracles to appear before our very eyes. Never did we see how its presence came into being. Never did we actually witness its banishment. Nonetheless, on such a particular day, a beauteous rainbow would arch high above the heavenly waters and our phantasies of a bridge to another land crossed back and forth in our minds. At that time, dreams with no boundaries were the joys of children ... born with the flair ... of a fanciful nature ... and most often, for my brother and I ... this was the way of it.     Topside however, storm and fury continued tormenting the stone structure of Brawnwyn, blistering her remaining sides until they split, leaving rib-like grooves deep into the solid rock. Some cuttings, we were to believe, appeared the length of many a twisted corpse which had very likely lived out their years in mortal pain and agony. To the south, looking down upon the brooding moat, lay the entrance to the spacious grounds whose hills and valleys were clustered in multitudes of green. And however it came to be, there stood near the foot of the long wooden drawbridge, an olde decaying Oake. Coming off sea, winds no longer appeared to blow upon the space belonging to this once splendid tree whose thick boughs had long since reached out over surrounding waters. Whether storm or fire splitting well into her trunk helped topple portions of the large dry timbers, one could only speculate. With no spreading oakes having survived over the decades, one might assume that time alone had taken its due. Now and then, a lonely sparrow came to rest upon the paled boughs and 'twas said that one day a single moan echoed out over adjacent meadows. Some believed the weight of the small bird was the final feather which brought down the aging friendly Oake, which was destined soon to fall.     Though the elements, through the natural course of time, gutted and left Brawnwyn in utter disrepair, there still remained a cast of dignity about the stately structure. From the beginning, my brother and I sensed more than an air of mystery about the olde ruin and her magnificent acreage. With her single back to the roaring sea, Brawnwyn stood across the windswept moors with a sense of belonging, of having contributed something of worth. Whether her grand setting be framed against an open sky or be one laden with impending doom, the picturesque castle seldom looked the same twice running. Changing, ever-changing she was, like a silhouette of freedom spirited on by fables without beginning and by myths which have no end. Indeed, this Brawnwyn had an aura unto herself, we decided. Or so we believed. Catalogue Information Canada • USA • UK • Europe Contact Us | Privacy Policy | Terms of use | Author Login URL http://www.trafford.com © 1995-2007 Trafford Publishing, a division of Trafford Holdings Ltd.