Awaken, My Love

Chapter 1

I

The forest is as unexciting as it gets. Regular trees covered in leaves standing there doing nothing at all.

The sky is low and dim, dark clouds threatening to break out in tears above the green crowns.

The screaming of music from my headphones covers any sounds that nature might throw at me.

I don’t pay much attention to the path, either, since I have no plans of coming back down here anytime soon.

After all, this job requires me to stay on for at least six months.

Let’s see if I can even last that long before getting sacked.

I continue until a giant iron gate blocks my path.

A red brick wall covered in black spikes stretches into the distance.

Metal chains thicker than thighs wrap around the columns, shutting it securely.

With no bell or anything else to call someone to open these gates, I look around until I find a place I can cross.

In need of urgent repairs, the bricks crumble halfway down to the ground not far from the gate.

Thick vines push through overgrown bushes, conveniently forming a climbable path up the wall.

But the building on the other side is not what I expected at all.

This isn’t some country house, but a castle.

The faded walls reaching several stories high are almost impressive, and the castle grows out of the thicket, ancient and stubborn, defying history itself.

The agency hadn’t given me many details about the job, but I was under the impression this was just a weekender, the kind of place inhabited by a decrepit old man, leftover from a time when things were, according to him, simpler.

I imagined him desperately hanging on to life, while his descendants circle around him like vultures until they can sell the place and live off the profits.

I’m grimy and embarrassingly sweaty by the time I walk up the portico steps.

Just like the iron gates, there’s no way to ring for someone here either.

The oversized wooden gate confronts me with indifference.

I pause the tape I’m listening to, and pull my headphones down before knocking as loudly as I can.

When nothing happens, I knock again. I stand there for several minutes, wondering if I got the wrong place.

As a cold wind crawls over my raised hand, the sky breaks, and the clouds part.

A lonely ray of sun squeezes through the new opening, illuminating the marred wood in front of me.

I knock again, much louder this time. My fist freezes mid-air as the door violently swings open.

A large man fills the doorway, his angry eyes burning in the shadows.

“What?” he growls through gritted teeth.

I take a step back to put some distance between our bodies.

When I don’t answer immediately, he adds, “What do you want?”

“I’m Bloom,” I say, startled, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

“Why should it matter to me who you are?” he replies, eyes narrowing. His voice is quieter now, almost hoarse, but still seething with anger.

“I…I’m here for the custodian position.”

My heart is pounding so loudly, my eardrums pulsate. The man’s chest expands as he takes a deep breath, before abruptly turning around and storming back inside.

I feel smaller than a fly.

Barely visible in the gloom of the foyer, he stops at the centre and shouts, “How dare you trouble me with trifles like this?”

I don’t dare move or say anything, just try to keep as still as possible on the threshold of this castle. Maybe this way, he’ll forget I’m here.

“Bayard!” He screams the name like he’s done it countless times before.

I hold my breath, as the man’s anger leaches from his body.

“Bayard!” he screams once more.

Rushed footsteps echo through the room, and a new figure appears, an old man. “My sincerest apologies, please…” Bayard says, bowing profusely.

“Cease your snivelling, Bayard. This is unforgivable,” the man seethes.

Bayard’s head lowers nearly to the floor.

“Do not bother me with this again.” Then the man storms off into the building.

Bayard stands still until the footsteps of the angry man are no longer audible. Only then do I dare take another breath.

He straightens up, brushes his coat off, and walks over to the open door as if nothing unusual had just happened. “Who are you?” he asks in an unusually tight tone of voice.

I take a moment to collect myself before answering with my name.

“Ah, yes, Mister Bloom. Please follow me.” He moves to the side, and before I can process what I just saw, he’s already marching down the foyer, his words quiet with each step he takes. “We’ve been expecting you.”

I quickly gather myself and follow him through the dimly lit building.

Memorising the way to my room seems impossible as Bayard leads me through the castle’s labyrinthine corridors. I can only hope I don’t accidentally end up in an oubliette while trying to walk to the kitchen. What a horrible way to die: starving to death, forgotten in the dark.

I study Bayard as I trail behind him. He looks like he’s nearing his 70s.

Maybe even older. Thin grey hair is stuck tightly to his scalp in a greasy shell, as if it’s trying to keep his sagging skin from falling to the ground.

His uniform is so tightly tailored that it looks like he was sewn into it.

His walk is as starched as his clothes and so swift that I have a hard time keeping up.

Strangely, Bayard’s steps are soundless, while each of mine makes the ancient wood groan in despair.

He doesn’t utter a single word until we finally reach our destination.

“The instructions are on the bed,” he says, tone clipped. “I will return in 30 minutes.”

The door closes with a nearly inaudible click behind him, leaving me alone in a very small room.

The walls are made from bare rock, and they slant slightly as they reach the wooden ceiling.

The only furniture inside is a narrow bed, a tiny chest of drawers, and a basin with a water-filled jug.

I don’t mind the simplicity of the room.

This is much nicer than the studio I left in the city.

All I owned for the past several years were an old mattress and a carton filled with my things.

I never saw the point of furniture or even owning anything beyond the bare necessities.

I drop my backpack on the mattress, old rusted coils squeaking under its weight.

Sad sun rays squeeze through the small window, failing to push aside the gloom.

Outside, the forest is barely visible through the dirty glass.

From up here, it looks as ominous as an illustration from an old fairy tale. Like a warning.

I know I probably shouldn’t have entered this so-called house. I should’ve run far away when the large man started to scream until his voice went hoarse. But, I suppose I’m just, well—

I lean over to the bed to look for the instructions.

A piece of paper covered in small, neat handwriting is waiting on a stack of clothes.

I quickly glance over a tightly scheduled list of duties before putting on the uniform provided for me.

It looks similar to the one Bayard was wearing, with dark pleated trousers, a starched white shirt, and a black woollen coat, only that my uniform also includes a small cap.

The clothes are incredibly uncomfortable, rough fabric scrapes against my skin, and the too-tight yet unfitting cut constricts my movements.

But I appreciate the addition of the cap.

It isn’t particularly flattering, but I’ve never left the house without something covering my hair.

At least this way, I don’t have to start now.

I can’t help but chuckle at the thought, since for the foreseeable future, I probably won’t be leaving the house at all.

I don’t have a watch to check how much time I have before Bayard comes back to fetch me. But I decide to use what’s left of it to try memorising the crudely drawn map on the back of the paper. I pull my Walkman from my pocket, put on the music again, and lie back on the bed to wait.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I hear is a loud knock at the door. The light in the room has shifted, and my brain hums, slightly dazed. Before I can pull the headphones down, Bayard is already looming over me with a stern look.

I’ve always hated it when people do that. I’m aware that, with my short height, most people usually loom over me. But it still doesn’t change the fact that I loathe how it makes me feel even smaller.

I stuff the Walkman into my pocket and stand up straight, waiting for instructions.

“Follow me, and do not make a sound,” Bayard says sternly, holding a thick white candle in his right hand. “The young master Aba? does not like to be disturbed.”

“Understood,” I reply and follow him through the corridors again.

As we walk, Bayard quietly goes over every rule in great detail, putting extra emphasis on all of the many things the so-called young master doesn’t like, especially everything I should never do, under any circumstances.

It seems that life here is extremely regimented and every chore timed to the second.

According to Bayard, no deviation will be tolerated, and every single rule is to be obeyed.

“Follow the chore list exactly as instructed,” he warns. “And once you finish your duties, stay in your quarters for the evening.”