Chapter Two

Fuzzy sounds made their way into Arla’s ears. What seemed to be a man’s voice mumbled something about a baby. The vision of the rotting arm flashed through her thoughts, making her stomach ache. Suddenly she realized that she felt wet. Blinking and opening her eyes, she reach down her nightgown, finding the moist area at the end of it. Shock rushed through Arla’s body as she looked at her hand, it was red and blurry. Her breathing became erratic. The men in the room, which consisted of two middle-aged balding men and Ethan, noticed that she woke up and rushed to the bedside. Ethan started wiping her hand off with a towel, while the other two men laid her back down. They were talking, but Arla couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“The arm,” she muttered.

“It was just a dream,” Ethan’s voice broke into the distortion of her thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” Arla asked, holding back tears.

“We don’t know yet,” one of the other men broke in, “but the baby is fine and so are you.”

    After a few hours, Arla finally woke up on her own. Everyone was gone and the room was dark, so she assumed it was late night. She sat up and looked around the room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Everything seemed normal, and she was no longer wet. It must have been a dream. Groggily, Arla stood up and exited the room. She stopped and looked at the stairs to the North, and they were dark and still boarded up. Relief washed over her entire body, and she suddenly felt less sleepy.

    The hallway was dark, but a yellow light illuminated from the kitchen to the left of the bedroom. A few sounds of clanks could be heard ringing from the room. As Arla entered the room she gasped in complete shock. Ethan was cooking. She smiled as she walked toward him, he had yet to notice that she had entered the room. He was looking down at the cutting board, concentrating as if he was taking a test.

“When do you have to start working?” Ethan jumped to the sound of Arla’s voice breaking the stream of low curses he letting out as he chopped the carrots.

“I’ll start tomorrow,” he said, still looking down at the knife.

“I had a weird dream,” Arla ventured, “I can’t wait to unpack so that it will seem more like home.” Ethan ignored her conversation starter. “What are you making?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he smiled. With a patient sigh, Arla grabbed the knife and cutting board, pushing him out of the way with her hip.

“Can you grab me some slippers? The floor is cold,” she asked him and almost immediately he returned with her pair of cow slippers. “Thanks,” she smiled. “Go grab the bar stools and a pot for me too please?” These were also done just as fast.

    Dinner was done soon enough. The soup wasn’t amazing, but it would do considering that Arla wasn’t a great cook. No one complained though and the conversation livened up during dinner. They talked a lot about the reason why they had come to this town, and this castle. Ethan worked in the film industry, and the castle was going to be used in a film he was shooting soon. After the property was bought by the producers, he decided it would be easier to just live in it during the duration of the film. That way Arla wouldn’t be left alone through the last couple months of her pregnancy. And he wouldn’t have to fly back home for the birth. In turn for them being able to live in the castle for that time, it was Ethan’s job to clean up the spaces they would need to use for the movie.

    The next morning Arla was pleased to have woken up without having had any nightmares, however she wasn’t happy to be vomiting. Soon after she finished throwing up, she decided to take a shower. The water felt nice, since the home seemed grimy. Unfortunately, she found herself unable to look down the entire shower because of the drain, leaving her neck sore. Arla decided to go look around for a book before heading back to the bedroom. People read in castles didn’t they? She asked herself. After peering into three or four rooms, she finally stumbled across what looked to be a desk with one drawer.

    Pulling on the handle, it broke the wood and left the drawer closed. She tossed the metal handle and looked into the hole left by it. There was some paper sitting inside of it. There was a gust of dust, and instantly Arla regretted blowing into the hole that she made in the drawer. Now angry, she inserted her fingers into the hole and pulled as hard as she could. Instead of opening the drawer, it shattered more of the wood, which worked just the same. The papers were all written on. There were drawings accompanying the writing, which seemed to be adaptations of the descriptions she quickly read over. This’ll do. She thought, pleased with herself as she moseyed back to the bedroom. She situated herself into the bed, and opened the manuscript, dumping dust onto her lap and tearing the front page. She grunted unhappily and began to carefully read the story she had found.