The ruined castle was haunted on some level. There are no stories I might whisper to you over the campfire; while I was there, nothing extraordinary happened, so to speak, but that’s not what I mean. It felt haunted. There was a haunted-ness about it. Haunting? It was haunting? I don’t know. I felt something there.
There were certainly a lot of crows, or ravens, or whatever. I don’t know one from the other; I just know the guide was adamant about them being ravens. Pointed to their tails and their beaks and whatnot. I’ve never paid much heed to these things. Ravens, crows, it’s all the same to me.
Maybe it wasn’t the castle but the crows that unsettled me. They are an eerie bird, and they have evil eyes.
The guide told me that the castle had been destroyed in an explosion some 200 years ago; said it had been the seat of vampires before that, or leastways, that’s the old fable told about the place. He says some of the vampires, those higher up the food chain, so to speak, may have survived. They might have been hibernating deep in some cellar now hidden by the rubble.
It’s just the sort of thing you’re looking for, I suppose. You’ll have the devil of a time, though. The locals all believe in the legends, leastways, half-believe. None of them are going to be too anxious to go digging there or let you go digging either.
Anyway, the logistics are your concern if you pursue this. All I can tell you is that yes, there is something there, even if it’s just a bunch of crows—I mean, ravens.
Tale Told 
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