I have to say, that good plotted-films always bring inspiration. Just like when someone mentions something interesting about somewhere, or when passing a dirt road and dark trees on the way to someone's party, inspiration can come from any fleeting moment if one is willing to notice.
One evening, we were on our way back from visiting, and we were on a road with open fields and small wooded areas on both sides. I was in the back, and noticed that there weren't many cars on that road.
The sun was setting, and long shadows from the trees had begun to form to the right of us.
I was inspired to write this very short story...
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It sprang to its feet as it had done so many times before. The rain fell, accompanied by bellowing thunder and lightning like it did on most nights. Long shadows across the floor added to the sudden sense of urgency that befell it. The windows lay wide open, the torn strips of curtains flapping in the wind.
The trees across the way, and visible from the window, were swaying back and forth as they had done so the night the northerners had attacked.
It could remember a time when its body would ache unbearably, as it walking across a room, struggling from the pains of its many wounds. It remembered the battlefields that it had witnessed, and the battles that it had taken part in. It still heard the rain as it hit the cannons and the wooden barriers that had been hastily erected.
It’s orders were to protect the house. Its task was to keep the enemy from reaching the building and destroying it. It fought hard, loading and reloading, dodging and hiding.
It remembers the wounds that it received from torn iron and splinter flying about in every direction as cannonballs bashed at the iron plate that had been it’s station. It remembers being carried to this great house by it’s compatriots, some of them wounded as well.
Then the world changed.
It did not hurt anymore.
It noticed itself as it stood in a corner. It watched as the wounded were brought in and treated. It watched as the northerners attacked the house. The fires, the bullets embedding themselves in wooden walls, the cannonballs tearing and breaking, it’s own compatriots fighting to keep the enemy away.
It remembers the final ensuing confrontation that took place there so quickly. It was the confrontation that it could not assist in. Why?
It watched as the general and his men scrambled back and forth, trying in vain to protect the wounded and keep the enemy out. It heard the cannon and watched the fires engulfing the rooms, wounded compatriots attempting to escape.
It wanted to help, but not one would heed it. All the time the thunder and lightning almost engulfing the cannon fire and onrushing enemy.
It watched helplessly as the northerners eventually overran the house and defeated its compatriots, healthy and wounded alike.
When the fires died out everything went silent.
It watched as it’s surviving compatriots, both healthy and wounded alike, left the house without him. He would not follow without his own orders. His loyalty was paramount to his general and to his contingent.
From the windows it could see northerners walk back and forth in the rain and the fog and the snow, by day and night. It’s fear and anger unabated.
It wanted to attack the enemy, to assist it’s compatriots, but it waited for it’s orders.
In time the sounds of war faded.
It watched as the road directly ahead was repaired and homes were built there.
Days went on, and no longer did it see wagons and carriages from its place. It watched as machines not drawn by horse or mule or ox take their place. Time went on, and it noticed as the outer world kept changing.
The farms that it could see in the distance from the back and side windows, gave way to homes, and other homes that were built in their place were torn down or burned and replaced with larger buildings.
It noticed that when people would enter the house it would go to them to find out how his general was faring, and what orders were given. It wanted to talk to them, to make them listen, but it couldn’t. It wanted to know of it's regiment, and those who were taken away wounded, but it would get no answer.
It watched as they would run out of the building as fast as they could and it would not follow, because it had it’s orders: to protect the house from the northerners.
For a time, it watched as groups of people would enter and spend the night in the rooms where it’s compatriots lay as casualties, groaning and in pain.
It watched as they would hold strange goings on in the old parlor and in the long rooms at the far end of the building where cannonballs had torn the walls open, and floods of northerners had entered.
When it would go to one of them. Usually, they would run out and not return.
On this night, it heard the familiar sound of the old bugle.
It forgot about the visitors, and went to the window facing the street that had once been a road.
They had returned!
They had returned in formation and ready for battle!
His compatriots had returned!
It noticed the general, as he walked through the formation and towards the old house.
“Private Silas, Private Silas, its time for us to go. Soldier, get your equipment and fall in.”
Silas left the room. He walked across the parlor, ignoring the visitors who were sitting there, and into what was the makeshift hospital so long ago. He went to the place where he had been laid down with the other wounded. He picked up his rifle and pack where the general had left them, and walked down the old stairs.
With his belongings, he walked out the door.
He hadn’t been out of the house, away from his assignment since the men had brought him into it after he was wounded so long ago.
Silas quickly took his place and stood amongst his compatriots as the general turned to face his troops.
“Were all together now men, its time to go.”
As they began their march, Silas turned to the house where he had been for so long. He noticed that on a plaque that had been attached to the front door he made out the words:
One of Civil War’s most haunted places, enter if you dare-
Tours available at reasonable prices - Inquire in the next door office.
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