Every night you can hear the wailing. Long, and loud, and eerie. It almost sounds like the dead have risen in full celebration, or that a beloved child was being mourned.

Every night you can hear the clanging as though the noise was getting closer and closer...and closer. It sounds like someone, or something, drags a heavy ball and chain across a metal floor.

The castle's dungeon was known to be occupied. A lot of weird, ungodly, tales were rumored about who abided there. Most people claimed it was the spirit of the deposed king that rattled around.

Others said it was the souls of the poor creatures who had suffered horrible punishments on its rack, pendulum bench, and iron chair at his treacherous hands.

No brave soul dared venture near the castle, especially on moonless nights when the cold winds blew just right. They said let the dead rest in peace. Too many bone-chilling things happened in haunted castles. Best to leave not well enough alone.

Three strangers received an invitation to spend a night in the castle, and whichever one of them was still there in the morning would receive a large ransom.

One was a banker, who greedily accepted the invitation, for the lure of the money the ransom promised. One was a scribe after the biggest scoop he would ever discover, and the third was a thrill-seeking adventurer.

The banker arrived in his fancy horse-drawn carriage, trimmed in gold, that displayed his wealth. Adding five million Pounds worth of gold to his vast estate, he thought, would be an easy task.

Arriving unruffled at the castle he disembarked his stately carriage, picked up the black travel satchel he had brought along for the occasion, and hurriedly walked over the wooden bridge crossing the castle's moat and entered the structure.

The scribe arrived next. All he brought with him was a recording device, a small role of parchment paper, and his favorite writing utensil. This was a story he could not wait to capture.

The adventurer, cocksure of himself, brought nothing. These two also made their way into the castle.

Unbeknown to the three of them there was a fourth creature that arrived that night. And, he had but one thought on his mind.

Upon entering the castle each guest received their first unique surprise, harmless though it was. Because, once inside, the doors leading into the castle, they encountered a long narrow hallway that led them to a separate room that contained nothing, no chairs, no tables, no beds...nothing.

And, as each one of them entered they were led down a separate hallway as described. This also prevented them from knowing anyone else had arrived and made them believe they were the only one in the castle.

Creature Number Four's plans were just beginning to materialize and he had the three other guests separated. One by one they would have to survive the night in order to receive the promised ransom. He doubted that would happen.

Soon the wailing moans, and the clanging noises, began to pulsate throughout the castle, becoming almost unbearable. This caused the banker, a nervous sort of chap by nature, to start shaking slightly. Perhaps, he should not have accepted the invitation after all. He surveyed the darkened room he was in and saw four walls surrounding him. There was no door to make his retreat.

Becoming completely unnerved upon realizing his predicament the banker's face turned ashen when the spirit of the deceased, and deposed, King George Alexander Louis appeared to him.

In a sinister laugh the king told the banker "Pitchworth you remain the same coward you were when you financed the revolt that insured my demise. Now, I will insure yours in an equally sadistic manner!"

Not knowing how else to address the king the banker replied, "Your Majesty, it was not I, alone, who caused your demise."

"Silence Pitchworth!" the king commanded, informing him "Your cohorts are also prisoners of mine tonight. However, you will not see them. I will have your head on a platter you worthless swine!"

The banker fell to his knees in fear.

King George clapped his hands together twice and three of his bare-chested, largest henchmen appeared in the room.

"Off with his head!" he commanded them.

In final desperation the banker weakly begged the king for mercy.

The king commanded, "Silence!" Then he turned to his henchmen and said, "Chop off his head and bring it to me on a platter. I will have my revenge!"

The henchmen surrounded the banker, now pleading more desperately than before, and dragged him out of the room to the dungeon where the guillotine awaited. They placed the banker's head down on the chopping block and the biggest one dropped the blade with all his might. The banker's head rolled off his neck and blood squirted across the floor of the execution chamber.

Philip Stonewell, the adventurer, heard the banker's scream in the room he now found himself trapped in. He began searching the walls with his hands frantically looking for an escape.

The spirit of King George silently entered the adventurer's room, and for a moment, observed his feeble attempt at escaping.

"Stonewell!" the king finally spoke, saying, "the fearless adventurer himself. Did you really believe yourself worthy of assuming my throne?"

Startled by the unexpected sound of the king's voice the adventurer boastfully replied, "Surviving the night in this castle will prove to the peasants once and for all I am worthy to be their king."

"Such fallacy knave," the king retorted, assuring the adventurer of his impending doom, "you shall be boiled in oil!"

Clapping his hands together twice brought the king's henchmen to him. After a brief struggle with the adventurer they subdued him and locked him in chains.

"You put up a fair struggle Stonewell," the king said, "now lets see how long you can survive in boiling oil!" He turned to his henchmen and commanded, "Off to the dungeon with him!"

The king had one other guest to attend to and that was the scribe. He had special plans for him. Ones that included some of the most torturous agony he had ever put a prisoner through.

The scribe would be flayed alive. He would have his fingers cut off one at a time. He would spend, what for him, would feel like an eternity on the rack being excruciatingly pulled apart. Then, he would be chained to a tree, disemboweled, and fed to wild beasts.

The king's hatred of the scribe was the strongest towards any of his guests that night because the scribe had written all the slanderous, inflammatory, false reports that incited the revolt that deposed him.

King George would take special delight in observing the scribe's torture. He summoned his henchmen, and they entered the holding room containing the hapless, helpless, scribe.

Now the castle rings with laughter. They lived happy ever after knowing King George ruled the throne with his iron fist and all was well throughout the kingdom.

The loud and eerie wails of the prisoners being tortured still echo, and can be clearly heard. And the clanging noises to this day are sweet music to the peasants ears.

The end.