Page 12 of Castle of the Cursed
A person is screaming, and I see Mom framed in the doorway, her arms outstretched, horror splayed on her face. She looks like she’s desperate to reach something in the black flames—
Me.
Five-year-old me is being burned alive.
CHAPTER 5
I RELIVE THE FIRE IN the purple room all night in my dreams.
I need to learn what really happened there, without this supernatural filter my mind has thrown over it. Something tells me it’s got everything to do with why my parents left this country and never looked back.
In the bathroom, I wet my hair in the sink. It’s grown long, hanging lower than my breasts. I find some leave-in conditioner among the bathroom products and comb it through my brown curls with my fingers. I also discover a drawer full of makeup; most of it seems unused and possibly expired. My thick eyelashes always make me look like I’m wearing mascara, just like Mom. She never wore makeup, so I don’t, either.
I take my time getting dressed, not looking forward to another morose meal with Beatríz at that mockingly large table. I pull on jeans and a top, zip up my hoodie, and slip into the bulky black shoes I wear everywhere. Dad called them my combat boots.
Remembering that it’s cold outside, I loop on a scarf.
Thankfully, Beatríz isn’t in the dining hall, nor is the table set. I step through a door at the end of the space and find a spacious kitchen with clear windows that let in an abundance of light. The refrigerator is sleek and silver, its modernity at odds with everything else about this castle. A note has been pinned to it with a magnet, in my aunt’s tidy scrawl.
Estela,
I left you pan con tomate in the refrigerator.
I will see you at the clínica at 15:00 hours. Follow the path to the village.
In the morning, visit Libroscuro for Spanish tutoring.
—Beatríz
On the countertop is a large key that must fit the front door, next to a basket with half a loaf of wheat bread. I find a serrated knife beside it.
I approach the blade tentatively, like it’s some kind of test. Then I pick it up and bring it close to my face, waiting for someone to spring out and wrest it from my fingers.
I feel an eerie satisfaction imagining the doctors at the center’s looks of terror if they saw me right now. Then I think of Nurse Leticia’s disappointment, and I pull the knife away from my cheek.
I carefully slice two pieces of bread and place them in the toaster. Next, I open the fridge to find a glass jar with what looks like tomato jam, which I spoon onto the toasts once they pop. The relish smells so fresh that I’m almost hungry.
I tear off a sheet of paper towel and wrap the two slices face-to-face, like a tomato sandwich.
The castle feels different this morning. I thought it might intimidate me less in the daytime, but light casts new shadows, throwing into sharp relief the construction’s size and age.
Beyond the dining hall, I spy a windowless crimson corridor that leads into the depths of la Sombra. I study the darkness, and it studies me back.
This castle has eyes.
Venturing through this place on my own, without anyone to hear me scream, feels like a new level of dangerous. So I dart in the other direction, to the front doors, as la Sombra’s walls bear down on me like a physical weight. I only slow down once, to take in the grand hall with the ribbed roof and the Brálaga crest, which is even more spectacular in the daytime.
The morning has dawned grayish, and it’s much colder outside than I expected. Even with my hoodie and scarf, I’m freezing. But going back inside to get a jacket feels too risky now that I’ve made it out, so I charge ahead with what little armor I have.
I amble down the overgrown garden to reach the gargoyle-flanked gate, then I follow the cobblestone path to town. From here, it’s obvious how la Sombra got its name: the castle’s shadow falls over all of Oscuro.
Halfway down the hill, uneven rows of homes spring up around me, all of them on a tilt. Balconies bump against each other, as do sloping ceilings, and there are cars parked on only one side of the street. Some windows are cracked open, and as I whiff roasted coffee beans and oven-baked bread, my stomach rumbles.
I unwrap the paper towel and leave one toast flat in my hand while I bring the other one to my mouth. I didn’t know tomatoes could have an aroma, but I’m inhaling it now along with the olive oil—a sweet and grassy medley that compels me to take a crunchy bite. Warmth spreads through my body, and drool pools in the corners of my mouth as I tear into the toast again and again and again, feeling tomato juice drip down my chin.
Only crumbs of my breakfast remain by the time I’ve made it past the homes to Oscuro’s downtown, and I survey what is basically a town square. There’s a restaurant, market, convenience store, and secondhand clothing shop that offers tailoring and repairs, as well as a few smaller businesses.
The clínica is easily the most imposing structure, taking up nearly one whole side of the plaza. It looks like it was tacked on after the original construction. The second largest place is called Ayuntamiento de Oscuro. It looks somewhat abandoned, and I wonder if it’s the local seat of government.
