Recently there have been hauntings in Braganza (a town in north Portugal) and its moorland countryside. Villagers whisper of a legend of a baron that lived in Braganza castle in the 1100s. According to legend, Aviz was the baron of Braganza. When the castle was under siege from the southern Moorish invaders, Aviz fought them off--until he got on his favorite horse and rode off into the forest...never to be seen or heard from again...
Ever since then, the moorland surrounding the town has had r
Moorland of Braganza, Portugal – End of September, 1897
There was a rustle across the tree-tops of the old oak and sycamore trees. The edges of the ashen leaves glinted in the pearly moonlight. They rustled in the stagnant cool wind of the Portuguese moorland. There was an ethereal suit covering the moorland. A pale fog hung over the land like a blanket of snow, conforming to every groove and curvature of the land. It crept along with a murderous slow pace. The night was silent and—at times—dead. But yet, strangely enough, it was full of life—dead life. Yet that simple fact was seemingly a contradiction in itself to the logical mind.
But not here. No, not here.
As the fog crept along so did the dark asymmetrical shapes overhead in the dark navy blue night sky. The floating asymmetrical shapes moved gently in the wind. The clouds occasionally interfered with the moonlight, sending the forested hills of the moorland into temporary relapses of darkness. There was almost a theatrical effect to that transition, an effect easily related to the highly-deceptive smoke and the endlessly mocking mirrors. Moonlight, all alone, was asked by the dark night to dance to an ethereal melody, with the northern Portuguese moorland as their dance floor.
The silver-lined leaves of the scores of the Lusitanian trees seemed to rustle and move by the illusion of the beams of light passing over it. The leaves glittered like the endless stars in the heavens, almost like they were a body of water, reflecting the light of the stars in a rippled atmosphere. As the moonlight taunted the haunted night, the forest, wary of the allusion, shuddered with a fear of secrets...Should it divulge it to the simplest of observers? No...it should not—it was an arboreal sanctuary, a place of false verisimilitude and two-faced peacefulness.
They say that it was not wise to venture into the forest alone and especially so while on this wicked night...