Many thanks to Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr for their photo prompt, THE UNICORN CHALLENGE.  01/03/2025). No more than 250 words in length.

The mansion looked fine from the outside, when the sun labored to reach every shadow and warm every corner of this most recent building that no one, living or not, could remember clearly. Tourists delighted in the brush of icy chill during daylight hours, the moan and rattle from towers firmly padlocked “For safety reasons, you understand.” An outdoor boarded-up well was a sitting place of a weeping woman in a lace gown, hair covering her ivory-white face. All part of the attraction.           

It kept visitors coming, as reputed relatives regaled them with tales of the previous castle, crumbling and sinking beneath the ground, ancient catacombs and waterways beneath, of severe monks serving Gods that no longer existed. “Or do they?” with a wink from the tour guide.

Townsfolk laughed about the rumors, fed a few themselves, because how else to keep the village alive and the graves of their ancestors tended? Newer places of entertainment in older buildings risked this chicanery: Bloody Monk pub; Wailing Woman Salon; The Hanging Man’s Bowling Club; Gothic Gastronomics/Fine Wines; the hopeful, yet horrific Cup of Stars Tea Shoppe. To name a few.

Yet it was also true that no villager would visit the grounds after nightfall. On rare occasion, the mansion had been rented to artists, anthropologists, and psychologists of questionable repute, but these rentals never lasted more than three days. Usually a tragedy was associated with the attempt.

“Never mind,” mumbled the villagers. Night visitors always paid the hefty deposit in advance.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2025)