Here's **another very long, standalone story**—dark, atmospheric, full of detail and mounting dread.--# **14. "The Midnight Guest of Warwick Castle"—The Story of the One Who Returns When All Sounds Have Quiet**

Warwick Castle is a beautiful place by day, but at night…

At night, it feels as if its stone throat is constricting and it stops breathing.

The walls, majestic in the sunlight, become something else after dark.

Heavy.

Waiting.

Listening.

The most famous story, which waits in silence, is the legend of the **Midnight Guest**.

Some say it's the ghost of one of the former guardians.

Others say it's not the ghost of a human, but something that was never a guardian.

One thing is certain:

**He always comes at midnight.

And always in silence.**

### **I**

It began with a young guard, Arthur Belton, who took up employment at the castle in 1887.

Arthur was proud—he had been told that the castle never sleeps, and a guard must be vigilant.

He took these words seriously.

Too seriously.

On the very first night, he heard something strange.

It was winter, snow muffled his footsteps, and the wind carried the echo of his own wailing.

Arthur was standing by the north tower when he suddenly heard:

**tap… tap… tap…**

Regular footsteps.

Slow, steady.

Walking along the walls.

He thought it was another guard.

But when he looked out the tower window, he saw that the courtyard was empty.

And the footsteps still sounded.

Coming from the right.

Then from the left.

Then—**right behind him**.

Arthur spun around and saw only the empty stairs.

The footsteps faded away.

And the castle began to breathe its hollow silence again.

### **II**

The next night, Arthur decided not to ignore the noise.

When the clock tower struck midnight, the footsteps returned—just as slow, just as regular.

This time, he descended into the courtyard.

He passed through the archway and stopped at the well.

The footsteps seemed to circle him, as if someone were walking around, never stopping in front of him.

Arthur shouted,

“Who’s there?”

A voice answered.

Low.

Ragged.

Barely audible.

“You… see me?”

Arthur froze from head to toe.

“Who’s speaking?” he asked.

The voice didn’t respond.

Instead…the footsteps suddenly stopped right behind him.

Arthur felt an icy breath on the back of his neck.

And then he saw the shadow.

A shadow that wasn't his.

Tall.

Very tall.

Too tall.

### **III**

He would later say that the shadow was "broken"—as if it didn't have a single shape.

As if each step changed its length, proportions, the way it moved.

Sometimes it looked like a man in armor.

Sometimes like a hooded silhouette.

Sometimes like something that had nothing to do with the human body.

And yet… the footsteps always sounded the same.

**tap… tap… tap…**

Always at midnight.

Always silent.

Finally, Arthur gathered his courage and asked,

"What do you want?"

The shadow stopped.

For a moment, there was absolute silence—the kind that doesn't exist in the normal world.

A silence in which one hears only one's own heart, growing louder and more terrified.

And then the shadow answered.

— **You have eyes. I… don't.**

### **IV**

From that night on, Arthur knew he wasn't alone.

He wasn't the only one hearing it—other guards began to rumor that someone was walking the walls, though they never saw a silhouette.

In time, the shadow no longer shunned the light.

One night, under a full moon, Arthur finally saw it in its entirety.

It stood on the northern walls.

A slim, elongated figure, with what looked like shreds of ancient armor—deformed, as if melted.

The armor moved as if made of shadow, not metal.

But the most terrifying thing was the face.

Or rather, the lack thereof.

Where the eyes should have been, there was a *dark void*, black and engrossing, as if someone had cut out a fragment of reality.

The figure said:

"I look through your eyes... because I no longer have mine."

### **V**

Arthur stopped sleeping.

He began to fear his own reflection—because sometimes he noticed that his shadow **looked away** from himself.

That his eyes darkened for a moment.

That he saw something that didn't exist.

Other guards said that Arthur was talking to someone on the walls.

That he was laughing even though there was no one there.

That he was staring into the darkness for a long time, as if it were whispering back to him.

Until one night... he disappeared.

The only thing found of him was a lantern lying on the wall.

The flame was still warm.

Next to it—a footprint.

One.

Giant.

Inhuman.

And a shadow stretching out beside it, cast by no object.

### **VI**

After Arthur's departure, the north walls were closed.

Tourists were told they were fragile.

Guides claim it was for safety reasons.

But the residents of Warwick know the truth:

**The North Guest still walks the walls.**

Always in silence.

Always at midnight.

Some hear footsteps at night:

**tap… tap… tap…**

Others say they saw him briefly—a silhouette so tall it couldn't have been human.

And a few swear that when they looked into the shadows on the walls, they saw **someone's eyes**.

Whose?

Maybe their own.

Maybe someone's, who gave them up long ago.

Because the North Guest keeps repeating the same thing:

I look through you…

> because I can't look alone."

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