Image: Louise at The Storyteller’s Abode
My cousin John swore to me that this would be the last castle we would look. I was fed up with castles, steps, stone, dank and dark and most of all guides who bored the life out of me with their monotonous tales of days of yore.
I was at the stage of “Who Cares”. Reluctantly I mounted the steps and trudged upwards. John was in front of me but when I arrived at the top he was nowhere to be seen.
I searched left and right but no sign.
The guide soon had everyone searching. All was in vain.
The afternoon wore on and no John. By days end I was exhausted. I sat and tilted my head against the cold stone. There was movement, the stone moved, a door appeared and there was John looking frantic. He had apparently touched something that opened and when he investigated he was trapped.
For the first time on our trip he was in total agreement with me about this being the last castle.