Chateaux De St Sabine, Pouilly-En-Auxoise, France ( Castle of St. Sabine ) part 1
This article has been published on several ezine platforms.
It is a narration of events that took place back in the 80’s in France. We were driving from Paris on the Highway during the night, when I was overcome by tiredness.
As a result, I opted to find a place to sleep for the night. My family accompanied me with 2 Minors.
This is the story. I hereby confirm true ownership of the story you may read elsewhere ( ezinearticles, amazines, etc. )
Here is one link :
It was late, close to midnight when I felt overwhelmingly tired. We had been on the road from Lille in northern France en route to southern France’s Cote d’ Azur.
When I saw the next exit, I decided to go for it. It read: Dijon 42 km, Poully-En-Auxoise 8 km.
Driving through the dark summer night I passed several villages clad in total darkness. No one on the streets, no single soul. I was getting worried the more I drove on, the more villages I passed.
A faint signboard, I read it: “Chateaux de St. Sabine” 8 km. Desperately wanting to lay my head to rest, continuing the serpent road that finally led us to the Chateaux.
A dark silhouette by all standards with gigantic dimensions, no light except a faint fluorescent light.
The doorbell was lit. We entered the Castle’s arch doorway. Sonnez. (We rang the bell).
In an instance it was as if hell broke lose. We heard the heavy barking sounds of what we thought were hell hounds, eerie and powerful.
Frightened by the wild barking, we entered the main courtyard and stopped the car in front of what seemed the main entrance to the Chateaux.
We could not see anyone, nor hear, except the barking from somewhere in the dark.
Nobody made a move. We were unsure if we should stay or should continue our way. There was something evil, something scary about this place.
The curtain behind the main Entrance moved, we saw a shadow in white, staring at us in the car. In a sudden, the door flung open, the shadow appeared.
A tiny old dame, her age in the seventies, appeared and asked: ‘Que c’est que vouz voulez? Mancher, diner, coucher?’ It meant, what did we want, to eat, dine or sleep.
We could not answer at first, our thoughts lingering to the novel of Dumas, his Notre Dame character, Quasimodo.
So real was the resemblance, it made us hesitate to leave the car. Then, with a push I left the car, looking around as if I expected the wolfhounds to pounce on me anytime now.
END OF PART 1