Beautiful winds!
Thump
The row-boat gently pushed against the pontile.
"It was a shaky boat ride, although I was trembling as well. Thank you, mister."
The young man softly put one of his feet from the boat's edge onto planks beside the arch of the bridge.
"Heh, I row my darling here in the mornings and evenings. If you were to see me, I'll give a ride anytime." The gondolier proclaimed, all visibly cheerful, possibly because he had found his passenger to be from his mother country.
The young man nodded slightly, smiling. "I'm glad to hear that. Thank you once more," he spoke before he began to walk onto the pavement.
The gondolier shook his head slightly, his lips upturned. The young man had great mannerisms, almost as if he shined with warmth.
Clop Clap
His boot tapped over the gravel. His gait matched the air flowing over the venetian. The boatman's merriness was reflecting on his own; his dark eyes wide and pink lips lightly parted as he looked around his surroundings. It was nothing like the streets of his home city. There wasn't any paralysing feel nor was there much noise hovering around the tender daylight. Perhaps this is why he fell in love with travelling abroad in the first place. Maybe this is why he wishes to capture so many memories in his camera.
The young man's view finally set on the castle which started to loom before him. Though it was built to the scale of a very large building, the castle - at least the last time that the young man had seen it, was torn down and broken; drained greenery covering all corners and the stench of mold passing in the air. The castle had since then slowly been reconditioned and worked over, now to support as a museum to showcase the remnants of the Byzantine era and further. The young man had become infatuated with the castle the last time he was in Italy, therefore he was glad to catch a lucky trip to come and visit the grand opening of the Museum of Viennuit.
There wasn't much gathering leading up to the castle, nor were there many tourists like him inside. As he walked through the large curling gates the scent of freshly coated paint wafted in the air.
"Salve, signor.
"Have you made a reservation to enter the museum? It isn't open to the general public until following week."
The young man reached into his waist bag and brought out a small printed parchment and handed it over to the teller behind the counter.
"Your name, sir?"
"Arthur." The man replied in earnest.
The teller's lips curled up slightly as she nodded.
"Very well sir, you may go in. Buona giornata."
Arthur tugged up the chain of his waist bag as he stepped into the giant common room of the castle. Usually, in such a place, the use of mobile phones and other recording devices was prohibited; but as it had been the opening day, journalists and news channels had come through the doors to capture the exhibitions, such as Arthur. Therefore, the use of electronics had been temporarily allowed inside.
Arthur glanced around the museum first, quite thoroughly at that. Although he wasn't very fond of history, he was generally quite pleased to find a comfortable place to read - which the environment of the museum was presenting. The walls were modest, of layered partition with little pattern on them. The interior was spread out; whispering of light sound made by other visitors rang inside. The floor was of polished wood, adorned with varied covering. There was little light enabled as of yet, though it added to the charm.
Absent-mindedly, Arthur clutched his camera, which in itself wasn't very noteworthy. It was a casual Blackmagic pocket camera, aged and bruised but still undoubtedly reliable. Arthur walked around, his gaze grazing over a tablet of context along with carvings on a piece of old mud displayed in a glass box..
Arthur held up the camera and knelt down before the text. He clicked the shutter button - taking a photo of the tablet and the display both together. Looking at the picture in the gallery of the camera,
"Could be better." He noted.
Arthur retook the shot. He moved to various angles while still trying to keep both of the subjects in one shot; later he checked the pictures. Arthur redid his actions multiple times until he was content with himself. He was pensive about blogging, as it was one of the only hobbies of his he cherished. Taking a great picture was a major part of the articles he created, therefore it needed to be tasteful.
The repetitiveness of his motions was all quite familiar for Arthur; which caused him to shift into his own cozy bubble.
After he had taken a satisfactory photograph, he moved onto another display which neighboured the former. The displayed item this time was of scratch marks on a piece of cloth - which is stated to be from the Ottoman Empire; so the tablet said.
As before, Arthur began to take pictures of the exhibit. In little time, he caught an ideal picture of the material in front of him. He reviewed his work, afterwards he moved onto the next chamber to carry on with his photoshooting.
For the next hour and fifteen minutes, he shot images of everything exhibited in the first two floors of the museum. Sometimes his pupils sharpened to contrast his concentration. His mouth hung slightly, a bad habit he never let go of. Other times, his pale cheeks reddened when he thought he outdid himself with his imagery. There weren't many people around, and Arthur was glad for that. He was very sentimental; the last thing he could've wanted was a crowd of people around him whenever he worked - especially on an impromptu trip such as this where he had limited time.
Arthur once again glanced over the pictures he had taken, appearing visibly satisfied. He paced slowly through the hallway. His hands were slightly sore from taking pictures, his camera hung from his forearm. Nevertheless, he traced his steps up the stairwell and set foot into the third floor, which seemed to be rather quite more peculiar from the first two segments. It didn't look like a museum at all!
The run-down walls of the past were filled in and the whole chamber laid on a sturdy foundation. The interior was completely hollow inside, with no internal furniture nor partitions to separate any individual rooms. There were large, open windows fixed on either side of the walls, draped over by curtains which blew along with the wind. The room was lit up by candles attached on either side and chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was no less than 20 feet above Arthur's vertex. The light of the candle wicks blended with the mellow daylight of noon; all of which fell on a maroon sparked carpet stretching across the middle of the stone tiles, surrounded by chunky pillars of concrete; holding substantial size.
Due to the shape of the museum, the main walls were in a rectangular grid. These attributes made the third floor seem like a genuine, prolonged hallway to a post-modern castle.
"Oh!" His voice let out abruptly without his consent, echoing around the hollow walls.
Arthur's breath hitched in his throat. The sudden change of scenery had made him focus back on his surroundings. He glanced backwards down the staircase. There wasn't the presence of any security agents stationed below it; nor were there any CCTV cameras present. He was alone on the third floor.
"Am I not supposed to be up here? I should go ask someone.." he contemplated.
At that very moment, a hand sought out from behind, gripping Arthur's shoulder.
"Scusi."
Arthur was caught off guard; he swerved around at once. His eyes opened wide. Before a sound left his mouth-
"May I help you sir?" A deep guttural voice boomed over his head.
There stood a man, at least a foot taller than him. Not at all stout. Rather, the man was quite thin. He wore a vest over a white shirt, sporting a tan, tailored trouser along with military boots. Curling hair like vines dripped over his face down to shoulders. The man's skin was pale, more so than Arthur's own unusually pale skin. His bony fingers gripped around Arthur's collarbone tightly. The lengthy, cleaverous nails digging into Arthur's skin.
"Y-Yes." Arthur flinched. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, until he continued.
"Are you perhaps a worker here, sir?"
The man's face warped upwards inhumanely. He took up a blood curling smile. The glow from the candles pour down over his locks casting down many shadows on his bare cheekbones.
"...
"Certainly, I am."
The man looked down at Arthur's camera. "Are you here to take pictures of the third floor?"
Arthur's gut sank, his chest thumping. The man gave off an eerie aura, he would do best to dismiss him.
"No, I'm sorry, I came up here by mistake-"
"Right this way sir, please follow me"
The man clenched Arthur's forearm tightly. He tugged him deeper along into the hallway.
Their feet shoved roughly against the fabric of the maroon pathway. Arthur was being pulled effortlessly, while the worker remained serene, almost whimsical. Before the man's stature, Arthur was nearly impotent. The earlier bony fingers seemed to have immense strength. Even as he tried to resist, the man wouldn't budge.
"Sir?" His breath started to quicken.
"Sir, let go." He could feel his heart thumping in his chest.
"Sir - let go of my hand!" In lieu of Arthur's panic, his free hand swung up to the man's face.
"LET G-
Before the collision occurred; the worker's thumb and index snapped together.
A sudden throb emerged in Arthur's temples. It hurt like a jab. Abruptly, Arthur's eyes hazed. His eyelids blanked; the rest of his senses jittered. His legs wobbled, while his body began to fail him.
Yet, Arthur did not let go of his footing. He strained his frontalis muscle. And as he did, he stretched his eyelids.
Paranoia
It was paranoia that he felt, only second to the pain.
He sensed nothing clenching his arm anymore. He shot his neck around the room, he couldn't find a presence anywhere near. However, that just added more to his fear. He couldn't see anything. All the candles had burnt out for him, no air which blew through the windows hit his skin. It was pitch dark, without a sense of touch, smell or sight.
Even so, Arthur ran. He turned behind his back and sprinted. If his feet had made any noise, he didn't know. He couldn't know. He felt as if he lost the ability to scream, he felt as if he lost the ability to respirate. He couldn't even feel the adverse winds from his hurry.
And then.
He heard the sound of fingers snapping once more.
His eyes blinked, his ears popped. He came to an immediate pause. All of his senses shot back through him. It was too much for Arthur. The light lit back itself in milliseconds, the covers of the windows pushed gale and shine indoors. It was all so immensely bright.
Between everything, before he could make sense of his surroundings, Arthur's perception was drawn only to directly above him.
Over in the air, there hovered a pair of glowing eyes. A pair of cynically broad, gleaming amber eyes that connected to the body below it. They brought him back to his senses.
With the last of his strength, Arthur tried shoving aside the thing that stood before him. He put one trembling leg in front of the other and kicked forward on the ground, to no avail. All his energy had been spent, and all he could do was try to stay awake.
Before he could fall to his knees.
Drip
A warmth rushed down from behind his head. First it was only a droplet trickling down. Then it became heavier. And then it splattered out. It covered him over his eyes, his cheeks, his chin and his neck. It dripped everywhere on the floor. Nonetheless, it wasn't blood.
Below the eyes, it stretched wide; it spanned deep. It leaked saliva, too much for a human.
Arthur shot his eyes closed. His legs gave out.
The nape burned. A sharp pain strung into it. In spite of that, it felt comforting. Blissful. And he felt himself falling asleep.
…
He dragged an unconscious man by the hair through the room. The outside light in the room was irritating. As much as a helpless prey had stimulated him, he couldn't feed properly because of the sunrays that peered through the slips of the curtains.
They reached a blank wall far down the room. It was ordinary, made of rough rubble packed tightly together. The outlines of the rocks which were used to make it gave it an intricate design.
He snapped his fingers. A part of the wall dissipated instantaneously.
Behind where the wall had stood prior, there rested an extensive, spiraling staircase. It stretched until darkness, where the bottom was no longer visible.
By then, he had mostly composed himself. Each snap of his fingers seemed to tire him greatly. Hunger pangs from earlier arose inside. He hadn't feasted in a very long time.
A deep groan left his mouth as he picked up the ample body behind him and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. Taking a breath, he started to descend downwards. One step at a time, his boots made noise on the cobble stairwell. The tiny hollow smelt awful and he was losing focus.
He no longer had the strength to cover the gap behind him. He thought he would do it later, after he recuperated.
His idea had failed him, however. As after he had reached the end of the steps; another pair of feet had begun their rapid descent.