Wedding Reception at Castle Loopenstein

A Story by ChristianM

Putting this back on here. Only way I'll finish it Fantasy/Horror/Comedy Short Story

The day Maria Ren got married was the worst day of her life. The worst day of Charles James’ life happened to be on the same day. It was the worst day of the pair’s life for two reasons. They were in love, and Charles James was not the groom. The groom who was sadly not Charles had been chosen for Maria since all of his previous engagements had resulted in the untimely death of his brides. Charles James would have stepped aside but for one reason. The groom, Varon Loopenstein, was a leprechaun, or something similarly evil. Charles was no expert when it came to the supernaturally unexplainable, but he knew he could not stand idly by while this thing of a man whisked his love away to what he could only surmise was a terrifying castle with a draft that could freeze hell over.

Charles was not invited to the wedding so the Loopensteins could avoid the dramatic part of the wedding where Charles would come in on his white horse and shining armor. He was however invited to the wedding reception, a concession Varon had reluctantly agreed to so the wedding ceremony would proceed without incident. Varon would certainly be put out if he had to send his hounds after yet another bride. The Loopensteins had a few surprises waiting for Charles if he made it to the reception in one piece.

Charles had no roosters so he gave his cow a good talking to so he would be woken up in time for the reception. The wedding had taken place in the middle of the night, during the full moon. This disturbing news made Charles wonder if Varon Looptenstein was a werewolf. Morning came and Charles awoke screaming, his head throbbing in pain. The cow had munched a good bit of his hair out while waking him up.

A half bald Charles James left the cottage dressed with class. A horse and carriage was waiting at the end of the road. He stepped off of his bicycle and saw a note in the horse’s mouth. It bore his name in red ink.

Charles,

My love. This brave horse will bring you to me so we can escape from Varon’s wrath henceforth.

Yours for all time,

Maria

The handwriting was not that of his loves. It was aggressive, suggesting that a man had written it. A man hoping to send Charles in the wrong direction. Charles stepped away as the horse stomped its feet, preparing to charge. The horse took flight and came down upon Charles with a furious wind at its heels. He jumped out of the way, nearly getting his foot stomped into mashed potatoes by one of the horse's hooves. The thought of never seeing Maria again was too much to bear.

Charles picked up his bicycle, and tore down the road as if his two wheel transport had wings. He had overcome Varon’s first assault. Now well on his way to Castle Loopenstein, Charles would make the wedding reception in time to rescue his Maria and cripple Varon’s fortress in the process. The surrounding countryside was an endless supply of rolling hills, green pastures, and the occasional mad cat lady's home. These crazy women, with their scorched brown lawns, would hurl dead rats at Charles as he rode by. Sometimes they would even hurl cats. Charles was riding so fast he managed to dodge a flying back cat, however not before it crossed his path. He dismissed the idea of bad luck and thought of Maria Ren. Love had the power to sink mighty vessels and turn ordinary men like Charles James into heroes.

The Castle Loopenstein was deep in the forest beyond the rolling hills of green pastures. Riding a bicycle through the dark wooded trees was peaceful but frightening. After Charles had cleared the woods he could see Loopenstein's estate. Castle Loopenstein was just how Charles had not imagined. It was warm and beautiful, giving any passerby a feeling of welcome and joy. It lay on a cliff overlooking a remote and beautiful cove in the ocean. The joyfulness subsided as Charles smiled at the thought of placing his hands around Varon’s throat. A man approached wielding a battle axe.

“Name?” the menacing man asked.

Charles could think of nothing but the sharp edge of the battle axe.

“Sir Lancelot!” he shouted.

Charles immediately regretted it. The hero feeling was bringing back childhood stories.

The man with the battle axe peered at him with fiery green eyes.

The guests around Charles were laughing, and some were asking where King Arthur was.

The man with the battle axe did not laugh but remained motionless.

“I know who you are Mr. James. You may go in. Take this flask of water with you. There will be a use for it later.”

Charles placed the flask in his pocket and entered the Castle Loopenstein.

Charles could already hear dancing in the grand hall. The reception was in full swing. He entered the fray and waiting to greet him with a smirk that could kill a budding flower was none other than Varon Loopenstein himself. His towering presence was only matched by the tall ceilings and monstrous tapestries lining the walls.

“Welcome Charles James. I ask that you admire the ceiling mirrors before you find your way to the dance floor.”

Charles obliged, admiring the ornate ceiling mirrors. They had a mesmerizing effect. When Charles looked down the once vibrant grand hall was now empty aside from Varon Loopenstein.

Varon gave him a farewell nod and grabbed hold of a rope pulling him toward the ceiling mirrors. Charles looked at the mirrors and saw the reality. The monster of a thing that was his true love’s groom sent Charles hurtling into the twisted half life on the other side. The real world was clearly visible in the mirrors.

“Good luck escaping this wedding reception Charles,” Varon said as he disappeared into the mirrors. The men pulling Varon into the mirrors were oddly disfigured, though Charles did not remember them so hideous when he first entered the Castle. The mirrors must have shown people for their true nature. If that was the case Varon was now shown in his true form.

A monkey, no a Kangaroo, wait, an old hag. Varon Loopenstein was a shape shifter. Either that, or an old hag, a monkey, and a kangaroo were dancing together in the grand hall. Charles saw a waiter with no shoes or socks on coming over to him with a platter of food. A green haze followed the waiter as he drifted across the floor. When he got close to Charles a stench that could kill a Grizzly Bear and wipe out entire villages hit Charles James' nose.

"Hello Master James. I have a platter of the finest sirloin meat that the great nation of Egypt has to offer."

Charles could not bear the stench any longer. He grabbed the only two slabs of steak and placed them on the waiter's feet. The stench was gone, but now the food was also.

"You think my feet stink Sir Charles? I could have put some fine smelling powder on them. I keep the powder in my pocket at all times. Well that's that then."

The waiter exited the grand hall smelling of sour sirloin meat.

As the waiter departed the floor visibly cracked beneath his foul smelling feet. Charles James was glad to be rid of him. He needed something to get rid of the stench that had now found its way to his tongue receptacles. A bar stood along the east side of the grand hall. There was a bell to ring for the attending barkeep. There was something peculiar about the bell that gave Charles an unsettling feeling. The closer his hand came to ringing the bell, the more his instincts waged war against his mind which was now apparently doing things of it's own accord. Too late. The bell rang out like the Papal bells in Vatican city. Charles felt a stir in the air, as if something long dormant were awakening to the bells call. The earth under Charles James' feet began to tremble, and the floorboards of the grand hall peeled back as...people climbed out from the earth itself. Upon closer examination, Charles saw they were family members, long dead but were once nonetheless family. It looked as if only the crazy and psychotic members of the James clan had showed up for this hellish wedding reception nightmare.

An arm wrapped around Charles and he looked to see a long lost cousin. Lost to the bottle years ago and now long dead.

"Charles my good cousin! You remember old Bartholomew right!" his dead relative shouted into his ear.

"Of course Batholomew, if you don't mind I'm going to try and find a way out of the castle," Charles said trying to get released from his cousins cold dead hands.

"You're not going anywhere! Not until you dance with one of those lovely ladies on the ball room floor!" Batholomew spewed with dribbles of whiskey.

Charles remembered this game. His cousin would not let him be until he danced at least once with one of the women on the dance arena. He figured it was the only way to get rid of him so he looked to the dancing ladies and saw in horror that they were all engulfed in flames, dancing their heart away as if the flames emitting from their lifeless bodies were a hair style.

"Bartholomew, I can't dance with them, they're in flames!" Charles shouted in fear.

Bartholomew ignored his cousin's fear and hurled him towards the flaming dancers. On his out of control tailspin towards a fiery embrace, Charles felt the flask the man standing guard outside Varon's estate had given him. He managed to take it out of his pocket and read the label as death by dancing loomed in wait for him.

Dancing Flames Repellent.

Charles pulled the cap and doused himself in the liquid just as his long dead Aunt Rose grabbed hold of him. The Aunt Rose that was a martial arts master, who had her own style of dancing. While the flames were not harmful due to the magical flask, the body spins in the air and the headlocks were. Charles could feel his hands grow very cold. He looked at them as he received a flying twirl kick to the head, and saw that they were frozen solid. Charles parried his Aunt's next dance move and when his frozen claw made contact with her she shrieked in agony, and crawled back under the floorboards of the ballroom. Charles now took the offensive and went from dancer to dancer until all the ice melted from his hands.

Bartholomew was in the process of trying to peel up a floorboard when Charles got back to the bar. He threw himself at the mercy of Charles.

“Please, cousin! Don’t use the touch on me! I will tell you anything you want to know,” Bartholomew grunted.

Charles could think of only one he wanted the answer to.

“How do I get out of here Bartholomew? How do I get back to the other side?”

Bartholomew thought for a moment and then smiled in his drunken stupor.

“Somewhere ins the fastle, there is a piece of cedding wake…I mean wedding cake. Eat the cake and…”

Before Bartholomew could finish he fell off the barstool, and beneath the floorboards from whence he came. Charles now knew how to unravel a small part of the riddle of escape. Normally, the wedding cake would be on a centerpiece table, but Charles could see it nowhere in the grand hall. A cake had to be made before it was served so the next thought for Charles was to find the kitchen.

Charles was glad to be rid of his cousin but wished he could have told him more about the mysterious piece of wedding cake. The tablecloth of the nearest table caught the attention of Charles as he thought about Batholomew's last words. The cloth was shifting noticeably, as though a phantom wind was blowing about the grand hall. There was some manner of man or beast under the haunting table drapery. The faint sound of laughter reached the ear of Charles James and he knew there was indeed "someone" under the table. Charles grabbed hold of the tablecloth and, like a magician, pulled the cloth free of the table without knocking anything over. The phantom wind Charles thought he had imagined now kicked up and the tablecloth wrapped around him like a straight jacket. Charles could feel little hands all over him now, and suddenly his feet were pulled from under him. The laughter was much louder now. It sounded as a child's laugh would, but at the same time it didn't. The laugh was too maniacal, too insane, too...primal. Monkeys. Charles James was being Shanghaied by a band of wild monkeys.

From the escalated sound of monkey laughter Charles presumed he wasn’t being taken to a bed and breakfast. One of the primates had sharp claws that the dastardly creature felt were applied perfectly across Charles James’ face. The pain was reaching his eyes when the monkeys finally flopped him to the ground. The haunted tablecloth released Charles from its grasp and he was able to take his bearings. Charles was surrounded by a group of orangutans, sword and claw wielding orangutans. Samurai Monkeys.

“Where is the cake?” the nearest monkey asked.

Charles jumped back, surprised that noises an animal just uttered sounded strangely close to his own language. Apparently, in the mirror world, monkeys were trained as ancient Samurai would be, and were well versed in the English language.

“I’m sorry, but did you just verbalize understandable human words?” Charles asked the Samurai monkey.

The beast unsheathed its sword and raised it to Charles James’ throat.

“One last time, where is the wedding cake?”

Charles heard the question clearly this time around, and the sudden realization that he wasn’t the only one trying to escape the castle hit him.

“Listen monkey, I don’t know where the cake is. Why don’t we work together so we can all escape?” Charles asked, hoping he could avoid being mauled by monkey claws again.

“The human lies to us,” one of the older orangutans said, wobbling over with a cane carved of pure silver. The end of the cane hid a blade Charles could clearly see his reflection in.

The monkey nearest Charles spoke again.

“We have names human, as I’m sure you do. In the event that you fall by one of our swords, which will probably be the case, we avoid names. We care not for your name, only the cake. Our clan elder is astute at verbal torture human. It is his way of finding out where the cake is. He once spoke a man to death. It took him ten years, but the man finally broke. He was driven insane, climbed the highest tower of the castle, and threw himself to his death. This was before we arrived.”

The thought of an orangutan elder talking Charles into insanity, while the samurai monkeys kept him from escaping, was too much to bear.

The elderly primate leaped into the air like a flying demon and came down upon Charles James with the full force of his cane samurai sword. The blade was covered with a steel casing so his arm was still attached. The crushing impact shook Charles from head to toe, yet strangely he did not falter. The Orangutan Samurai clan members were surprised the lowly human did not crumple to the ground like the pathetic creature they thought him to be.

"Leave us," the Samurai elder said.

Some of the more crazed Orangutans, who looked ready to chop Charles James up for human stew, were unhappy about the order. They clawed at the walls as they were ushered out of the room.

Charles slumped to the floor, amazed his heart hadn't burst out of his chest during the encounter with the Samurai monkeys. His heartbeat finally started to find it's normal rhythm again, until he stood up and found himself facing the primate elder.

"Are you going to kill me monkey?" Charles asked.

The Orangutan smiled at the fact that the lowly human was scared, as he pulled an ancient tome out of his sleeve.

"There is a tradition in the clan I was born into. Before warriors were chosen to carry out the will of the clan, they were struck on the shoulder. If the warrior wavered even an inch, the clan killed the warrior on the spot."

Charles was receiving life lessons from a monkey wielding a Japanese Samurai sword.

"What's your point?" Charles asked.

The elder took Charles by the arm and led him to a black door, smeared in blood. It was slightly ajar. Charles dared a peek, and the Samurai elder shoved him in. He landed in a pile of human remains. Charles couldn't move or speak.

"You didn't waver, not even an inch, when I struck you. These unfortunate humans did, and I granted them a quick death, rather than enduring the horrors this castle holds in it's dark corridors."

The elder grabbed Charles and pulled him back into the secret monkey meeting hall. The room was black with red banners lining the walls, depicting Orangutans in black assassin robes. The ceiling was high, with support columns holding the great Gothic ceiling from falling. Orangutan gargoyles were carved into each column, each with a different weapon of choice. Charles could have sworn one of them was staring at him directly.

"My name is Ryoandi, and I was human once like you, before I happened upon Varon Loopenstein during one of his transformations. I told him I wouldn't tell anyone. I gave him my promise upon the honor of my clan".

Judging from Ryoandi's current predicament Charles assumed Varon gave the Samurai a one way ticket to the other side of...wherever it was where they were. If Varon chose to turn Charles into an animal he hoped it would be a tiger. Would Varon give him a choice?

"Why are you telling me this? My name is Charles James by the way."

Ryoandi unsheathed his sword and knelt before Charles.

"Something powerful drives you in this dark place Charles. I believe if we work together, we can escape this castle."

If Charles had to go insane to escape his prison to rescue his Maria, so be it. For surely only someone who was insane could believe he was talking to a monkey who also happened to be his only hope of escape. Despite the dire circumstances he was in, Charles found it quite comical. He laughed and patted Ryoandi on the head. It turned out to be a horrible mistake, seconds after Ryoandi had Charles pinned to the ground, while holding a throwing star to his throat.

"Honest mistake Ryoandi, I apologize," Charles whispered, afraid if he talked too loud the throwing star would pierce his neck.

Ryoandi came to his senses and backed away from Charles.

"I'm sorry, but years of mentoring those demon spawn monkeys changes a man."

Charles had a flashback of one of the wretched creatures clawing his face.

"Are you saying they aren't human, like you?" Charles asked.

Ryoandi looked around the room, and his gaze stopped on one of the columns, the one with the gargoyle Charles thought looked too real and sinister for a statue.

"Leave us!" Ryoandi screamed.

Charles saw the gargoyle come to life, it's eyes blood red. The lone Ornagutan assassin let out a loud cry and leaped down to the chandeliers. The primate was playing a devlish tune with the crystals of the chandelier. Drums sounded, and they continued at a slow pace. They were getting closer, and closer.

"No Charles, they are not human. Varon Loopenstein put them here in this place to destroy the human left inside of me. It appears they've heard our plan and seek to slaughter us mercilessly. It's time to leave."

A large regiment of orangutan assassins burst through a nearby entryway, the splintered wood flying in all directions. Ryoandi grabbed Charles and thrust him towards the oncoming surge of blood thirsty beasts. For a moment Charles cursed himself for ever trusting a talking orangutan, but then he saw the point of Ryoandi's action. The orangutan clan were thrown off, for it seemed to them that Charles James was flying like a demon towards them. Many scattered to the four corners of the room. One was left remaining, and Charles looked up to see it was the accursed monkey with the blood red eyes that sounded the alarm. The creature seemed as if it had missed lunch, for Charles felt drool dripping onto his half bald head. The orangutan started to chuckle a maniacal laugh, barely above a whisper. Charles thought for sure he would be Orangutan droppings later that night. He saw the blade raise and closed his eyes as he felt a rush of wind sweep across his face.

He felt a furry hand grab his wrist and pick him up from the ground.

"That was too close for my comfort," the voice of Ryoandi muttered.

Charles opened his eyes at last and nearly wept when he saw the headless body of the orangutan assassin on the floor, with Ryoandi holding it's head.

Without warning Ryoandi cut the brain and skull out of the assassin's head and thrust the orangutan head, now only loose flesh and fur, over Charles James' own head. Charles wanted to tear it off his head, and vomit for the next hour, but through the slits where the orangutan assassin's eyes had been, he could see he and Ryoandi were surrounded by at least a hundred orangutan ninjas.