Anderson Castle

By Connie Furnari

Archie is seventeen years old and lives in Jersey City, New Jersey, he loves reading horror books but, unlike his friends, he has a special power: he is a psychic, he can foresee the future and he can sense things that the human consciousness ignores.

One day he receives a letter, without the return address, that informs him about the mysterious death of a distant relative from England, Lord Archibald Anderson III. The Lord appointed Archie as his only successor, and bequeathed an ancient castle near London to him, on condition that the boy arrives at the manor house strictly before the 31st of October, without explaining the reason.

Archie arrives at Anderson Castle in company of three classmates: the funny and affable Penny, the cocky womanizer Rigger, and the snob and very rich Daphne.

The four friends are welcomed by a man named Frank, who introduced himself as Archie’s uncle, the deceased Lord’s brother. However, the uncle seems eager to throw them out before the Halloween’s night begins.

The four friends find out very soon that the castle is actually haunted by furious demonic ghosts that will try to kill them in every way, and that Lord Archibald’s death is linked to the mystery of Anderson Castle.

Anderson Castle is a fantasy horror for teenagers, intentionally ironic, and its theme is typical of the ‘Haunted’ series, the haunted house with ghosts, following the novel series ‘Goosebumps’ from R.L. Stine.

The whole novel is a tribute to the book The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde, since it follows its irony, the soft horror and the funny situations.

Hamlet by William Shakespeare is another book often cited: it’s not a coincidence that the title of every chapter sums up the happenings in Anderson Castle with a phrase from this famous tragedy.

The third important point is the exorcism of death. The four protagonists are threatened by supernatural beings that will bring each of them to reconsider their relationship with death, discovering new fears that they didn’t imagine.

The ghosts are not beings who live in peace, they mirror the flaws and weaknesses they had in life, and the demons are not an exception: their traits make them even more human than the protagonists.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Nov 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507126202

Book preview

To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.

Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost

Prolog

The skeleton was dangling, stirred by the cold wind that was seeping through the hundred year old walls of the castle. The oil lamps were emanating a weak yellow light and were diffusing amber-color reflections.

A pumpkin, placed near the huge fireplace, was smiling and pouring an unusual and gloomy orange light on the floor.

The hall was quiet and dark, only a few shadows dancing on the stone walls; streaks of water were running down the windows and were projecting big squares of grey light.

In front of the fireplace, five creatures were bustling about in front of a rusty cauldron. The infusion that it contained had a deep red color and, when stirred, it formed foamy bubbles that would stick to the sides, leaving it greasy.

I think we’re almost there. Laughed the vampire, baring his pointy teeth, still dripping some red liquid. He moved his pallid face to gaze at the mix and felt a clear satisfaction: they were almost done.

I hope that you won’t fail. Answered a high pitched voice. Your life depends on it. The slender feminine figure tilted her pointy witch hat and stroked a lock of blond hair with her fingers.

We have to do it at all costs. Mumbled the hunchback, crouching on all fours and wrapped in his worn-out cloak.

The voices were lost, rising to the ceiling where the candle light couldn’t reach.

A lightning bolt fell from the stormy sky and it seemed like it hit one of the towers. The four creatures jumped at the sudden light, taken aback; right after that they raised their eyes to the ceiling, waiting.

The deafening thunder that followed echoed in every last corner of the castle, causing the old armors to tremble in the hall.

Wonderful, this is the perfect night. Pass the blood. The vampire ordered.

The wrinkled hand of the mummy gave him a small bottle of red liquid, sealed with a cork.

Yum, I’m getting hungry. The vampire licked his ow lips.

The witch with blue hair handed him a crumpled piece of paper. Here is the spell, Joel. She softly whispered, and went back to sit beside the hunchback.

The ruby colored drops were mixed with everything else, while the ladle kept turning in a clockwise direction.

I don’t think it will work. The vampire shook his head and looked at the blond witch out of the corner of the eye.

Shut up and go on. She answered sharply. In a while, we’ll see who’s right.

The light turned on, waking up the whole castle. The five creatures started, frightened.

Joel, what are you doing? asked a masculine voice.

There were a man with bronze hair and a blond woman in front of the main door: they both were gazing curiously at the five of them.

Nothing, dad. The boy dressed as vampire answered.

The two adults inspected inside of the cauldron and held their breaths with a sneer.

Don’t tell me that this is my shampoo! laughed the man. Joel, you have strawberry syrup all over your teeth. I bet that you already finished all of your candies.

The lady put the pizzas on the table, together with the orange soda and various soft drinks, taking them out of the grocery bag. Then she said to her daughter:

Julia, how did you get the idea to mix these things? Me and your father go out for an hour to buy dinner and you try to make the castle explode?!

But it’s Halloween, mom. Answered the girl dressed as a witch. I found one of dad’s books upstairs. In one page, there was a spell to summon spirits, but we didn’t have human blood so we used shampoo. If it was the same color, we thought that it would work anyway, right?

The father laughed out loud, shaking his head. Who did you want to summon? he asked, taking off his coat.

Walt Disney. Little Julia said. Joel is certain that ghosts don’t exist so we’re trying to call out one of them to make him change his mind.

The expression of the man changed suddenly and he exchanged a worried look with his wife:

You shouldn’t take these games lightly. We cannot summon ghosts, it’s their decision to be seen. You have no idea of what could happen to you after seeing a ghost.

How do you know these things? asked the inquiring boy dressed as a mummy, one of the twins’ classmates.

Mr. Anderson knew all about ghosts, demons and such creatures. Unlike all the other parents, who would seem skeptical or even annoyed, Joel and Julia’s father was able to explain phenomena that no one else could understand: paranormal phenomena.

He always told ghost stories and his way of recounting made every character seem real, as if he really met them in person.

The host sat on the armchair near the fireplace and the five children understood that soon they would hear another of his wonderful horror stories.

After spending the afternoon in London, knocking on doors and asking Trick or Treat, they had a nice loot; they gathered their candies and sat down on the crimson carpet in front of the fireplace, each one with a slice of pizza in their hand.

The light was turned off. The only sources of light remaining were the oil lamps and the carved pumpkins.

You think that old castles are uninhabited. Mr. Anderson started telling the story while his wife took place in the armchair in front of him. But they are actually crawling with ghosts, from the high towers to the dark underground cellars. Many years ago, right in this castle, and in this same night, something incredible happened.

He shared a look with the woman, then continued: This is the Anderson family’s castle. It belonged to my family for hundreds of years. But only a few know that it hides an extraordinary secret. Once someone told me that the best way to spend Halloween night is telling ghost stories. Well, I’ll tell you one story that no one knows. A story that starts a long time ago.

He smiled, then he started telling the story:

Everything is possible at Halloween. The night belongs to the ghosts and midnight is the time when supernatural forces release the most power, fueled by humans’ fear. Halloween is the only night that makes possible the impossible.

––––––––

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy

In that cold morning in October, the lazy town of Jersey City, New Jersey, seemed even more lonely. The trees in the boulevards were swaying in the wind and the leaves were blown away through the streets, while grey clouds were starting to cover the sky.

That day was going to be more boring and monotone than ever, even more so for those teenagers who, being in the middle of their classes, were trying to make time go by as fast as possible.

In one of the high school classrooms, the American literature teacher was slowly walking between the rows of seats, reading the first chapter of Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer out loud.

In the last seat a boy with sunglasses and dark skin was throwing notes to the girl sitting in front of him: a very pretty girl with brown hair, who was wearing the yellow cheerleaders’ uniform with blue pleated skirt, the school colors. She didn’t turn around, annoyed, and he kept calling for her in a hushed tone.

On the other side of the classroom, a girl with strawberry pink overalls was twirling her ponytail around her fingers. In the meantime she was devouring with her eyes a boy with bronze hair who was stealthily reading something.

The ghost stood up with an angry growl the boy read Passed through them like a mist. He also blew out the candle, leaving them all in total darkness...

Mr. Anderson! the teacher shouted, taking sharply the book from the student’s hands.

Archie flinched. The whole class fell into silence, all the attention onto him.

Let’s see what we have today. Professor Jones laughed, browsing the pages of the illustrated book. "Well, well, The Canterville ghost. This is the third time that I find you reading on the sly during my class. First there was Dracula, then Frankenstein. Now we have ghosts. Everybody is gathered."

His classmates sniggered, but Archie didn’t let them condemn him and said that it was the best novel by Oscar Wilde. However, his efforts were null against the teacher’s patriotism: he confiscated the book and locked it in his desk drawer.

The last hour seemed never-ending. Archie had to listen to the lesson and get bored to death. However, just before the end of the classes, something peculiar happened and seized all of his attention.

While he was leaning his head on his arms, and was sloppily trying to follow the teacher reading Twain’s book, Archie felt something strange moving through the air.

A breath behind his neck caused goosebumps to run down his skin. It was like someone was gazing obsessively at him.

He looked around, confused: his classmates were all bent over their books, even the blond girl who had been spying on him until a few moments ago.

All of the sudden he heard undistinguishable mumbles. Another breath of icy air brushed his nape and he sensed some words.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

It was a nasal and deep voice, with a strong British accent. He had never heard it before. But he knew well those verses.

The Hamlet, by William Shakespeare.

Archie examined the people in the classroom, one by one. No one had talked and, most of all, no one had that nasal voice and foreign accent. The whole class was in absolute silence, but he was sure that he had clearly heard that phrase.

He didn’t notice anything amiss: the globe was on the closet, the posters