27 - A Night in Terror Tower Read Free

very mature. My brother
doesn’t always bring out the best in me.
    “Follow me, please!” Mr. Starkes’ voice echoed off the stone walls. Eddie and
I moved closer as our tour group huddled around Mr. Starkes.
    “We’re going to climb the stairs to the north tower now,” the tour guide
announced. “As you will see, the stairs are quite narrow and steep. So we will
have to go single file. Please watch your step.”
    Mr. Starkes ducked his bald head as he led the way through a low, narrow
doorway. Eddie and I were at the end of the line.
    The stone stairs twisted up the Tower like a corkscrew. There was no
handrailing. And the stairs were so steep and so twisty, I had to hold on to the
wall to keep my balance as I climbed.
    The air grew warmer as we made our way higher. So many feet had climbed these
ancient stones, the stairs were worn smooth, the edges round.
    I tried to imagine prisoners being marched up these stairs to the Tower.
Their legs must have trembled with fear.
    Up ahead, Eddie made his way slowly, peering up at the soot-covered stone
walls. “It’s too dark,” he complained, turning back to me. “Hurry up, Sue. Don’t
get too far behind.”
    My coat brushed against the stone wall as I climbed. I’m pretty skinny, but
the stairway was so narrow, I kept bumping the sides.
    After climbing for what seemed like hours, we stopped on a landing. Straight
ahead of us was a small dark cell behind metal bars.
    “This is a cell in which political prisoners were held,” Mr. Starkes told us.
“Enemies of the king were brought here. You can see it was not the most
comfortable place in the world.”
    Moving closer, I saw that the cell contained only a small stone bench and a
wooden writing table.
    “What happened to these prisoners?” a white-haired woman asked Mr. Starkes.
“Did they stay in this cell for years and years?”
    “No,” Mr. Starkes replied, rubbing his chin. “Most of them were beheaded.”
    I felt a chill at the back of my neck. I stepped up to the bars and peered
into the small cell.
    Real people stood inside this cell, I thought. Real people held on to these
bars and stared out. Sat at that little writing table. Paced back and forth in
that narrow space. Waiting to meet their fate.
    Swallowing hard, I glanced at my brother. I could see that he was just as
horrified as I was.
    “We have not reached the top of the Tower yet,” Mr. Starkes announced. “Let
us continue our climb.”
    The stone steps became steeper as we made our way up the curving stairway. I
trailed my hand along the wall as I followed Eddie up to the top.
    And as I climbed, I suddenly had the strangest feeling—that I had been here before. That I had followed the twisting
stairs. That I had climbed to the top of this ancient tower before.
    Of course, that was impossible.
    Eddie and I had never been to England before in our lives.
    The feeling stayed with me as our tour group crowded into the tiny chamber at
the top. Had I seen this tower in a movie? Had I seen pictures of it in a
magazine?
    Why did it look so familiar to me?
    I shook my head hard, as if trying to shake away the strange, troubling
thoughts. Then I stepped up beside Eddie and gazed around the tiny room.
    A small round window high above our heads allowed a wash of gloomy gray light
to filter down over us. The rounded walls were bare, lined with cracks and dark
stains. The ceiling was low, so low that Mr. Starkes and some of the other
adults had to duck their heads.
    “Perhaps you can feel the sadness in this room,” Mr. Starkes said softly.
    We all huddled closer to hear him better. Eddie stared up at the window, his
expression solemn.
    “This is the tower room where a young prince and princess were brought,” Mr.
Starkes continued, speaking solemnly. “It was the early fifteenth century. The
prince and princess—Edward and Susannah of York—were locked in this tiny
tower cell.”
    He waved the red pennant in a circle. We all