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- Herausgeber: Babelcube Inc.
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
After the divorce, Andrea hopes to start a new life in the fabulous castle he inherited, but he does not know that he will have to deal with an unexpected tenant ...
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
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Ghosts' stories
Salvatore Di Sante
––––––––
Translated by Arianna Raimondi
“Ghosts' stories”
Written By Salvatore Di Sante
Copyright © 2017 Salvatore Di Sante
All rights reserved
Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.
www.babelcube.com
Translated by Arianna Raimondi
Cover Design © 2017 Salvatore Di Sante
“Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Ghosts’ stories
Ghosts’ stories
The rain drumming on the glass gave a pleasant sense of intimacy. He closed his eyes and he was child again, when during the winter he put the duvet on his head, in the dark and in the silence that sound cradled his fantasy.
In that occasion, he put on the new dressing gown. He enjoyed that wake.
Those gigantic paintings covered the big living, and the shaking flames of the candelabrum appeared light happy smiles on the ancestors.
He was the king of the castle, a dream that had come true.
He mingled the sophisticated Pinot with water in a round glass.
The shadows waved and darted on the rock wall, over the moonlight.
He could not sleep because of the excitement.
His look darted wishful among the colorful tapestries and the ancient armies, frantic like a child that open the gifts during his first Christmas.
A flash scared him, and the majestic pendulum, covered of spiders’ webs, chimed. Scared by that sound he smiled.
In that room, he could have had big parties, and he could have received all his friends that he neglected for too long. The mahogany table from which he had pulled the sumptuous bench on which he sat, he would have shown the most opulent foods, a feast of delights whose tastes would have passed from mouth to mouth for months and months between a party and the other.
Anna could go to the hell!
He drunk a sip of wine. He thought of that night, during the dinner: the same bitter wine. His wife’s fingers scratched the napkin. He had the ring no more. He sliced the beef that she had ordered, even if he would have preferred the some slice of veal: with oil, garlic and parsley. More than anything, he would have preferred be anywhere else, or not be at all.
However, in that moment, there was that castle: an unexpected legacy, a rubber for the past misery.
The secular trees wiggled their shadows on the windows because of the storm. They were the guardians of the habitation that was totally enclosed by them.
The statues of waterlilies and the ones of the little angels danced on the fountain careless of the rain, continuing to oppose their sketched smiles and their vacuous orbits to the thunderous rumble of thunder and the erosion of centuries. The pendulum beat midnight, and the old officer in front of him seemed to Andrea that he was screaming. He drunk a sip of wine, he waited for a moment waving the glass and smiled: he promised himself that he would have documented on his ancestors, that he would have learned the names and deeds of those soldiers, how many and what wars they fought and how many had survived the adversities. A slight rustling scattered in small waves throughout the garden, it passed like a caress on the petrified and diminished creatures in an imperceptible rustling of leaves.
The silent of the night was interrupted by the sound of an owl, and soon someone knocked at the door. Instinctively Andrea put down his glass, turned on all the lights and headed strode toward the entrance.
Who was there? It was an intimate moment, and someone interrupted it. He stopped for a while.
