Cuchullain's Castle - Cox's

‘What’s this?’
‘I don’t know.’

We were looking at the chipped and mouldy skullbone of a long dead animal, embedded in the sod, with grass emerging from where its eyes had been.

‘It’s a goat or something. That’s what it looks like.’
‘You think the Cox’s Hoods got to this one?’ I said.
‘Yeah, right? The local Satanists?’
‘I’m only joking with you.’
‘Haven’t thought about that in a long time. That was back when I was only eight. Nah, they haven’t been around for years. They’re all working at Xerox now.’
‘Ah, well, they’ll probably be out of their jobs soon, so I’m sure they’ll be back at the sacrificial table soon enough.’

She started walking slowly around the castle, looking up at the cracked husk that was its roof. She didn’t have to break her neck looking up at that thing. It was fucking tiny. Not the fearsome citadel you’d expect its distinguished owner to have holed up in. I trailed behind her, but soon got bored of the constant circling and sat down on the grass.

‘Oh, I’m hungry as a fucker’ I said. I paused after ‘hungry’ and ‘as a fucker’ followed shortly after in the hope of making the statement sound in some fucked up way profound.

It was so quiet up there at the castle. Not another soul heaving or hurting. Dead silence.

She stopped circling the castle and looked down at me. I got a feeling of unease whenever she was positioned above me and looking down. She certainly wouldn’t join me on the grass. That dress cost a shitload, it did.

I smiled at her.

‘You know, Emer, I don’t know if anyone even cares about the place anymore, seeing as we’re the only ones who ever seem to come here, so I’m declaring this our property by the powers vested. This is our castle. Me and yours.’

She smiled also.

‘No. It isn’t. It’s Cuchullain’s.’