I.
THE GLOAMING
~~~~~~~~~~
Edward awoke with a start. A piercing scream shook the fibre of his being. He threw off his covers, pushed aside the curtains and jumped out of his four-poster bed. At first he knelt down, afraid that whoever made this noise might seize him at any moment. His clammy hands hardly gripped the wood panel floor of his bedroom. A deathly silence followed. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. His hands seemed to bounce off the floor with the movement of his heart. He crawled under the high bed, bumping his head on the bottom in the process. Footsteps approached. The door knob of his room squeaked and the old wooden door creaked as it opened. Edward held his breath and remained motionless. Someone entered the room and stopped by the bed. In the darkness of night, he could not make out what kind of shoes the person wore, only that the feet belonged to an adult.
“Edward.” His mother’s voice calmed him. His body relaxed.
“I’m under the bed, mummy.”
“Come here dear. Are you all right?”
“Yes, mummy.”
“What are you doing under the bed, child?”
He crawled out and jumped out to meet his mother’s embrace. Tears ran down his cheeks as he rubbed them into mother’s dress.
“I heard a scream and was frightened.”
“It’s nothing, child.” Her voice was soothing, comforting. “I probably one of the village girls,
who has fallen in a ditch. I’m sure she’s all right, Edward. Go back to bed.”
His mother tucked him back in and caressed his long, red locks. As she left the room, he
covered his face in the blankets, hoping to forget the terrible sound he’d heard and sink into a
deep sleep ere morning’s light could chase away all fears. As he began to enter the world of
sleep, he felt a chill, as if a window had suddenly been opened. Peeping out from under his
blankets, he eyed each corner of the room. His window was shut firmly. There was no breeze
that could cause a sudden coldness. At length, he decided to get out of bed and slowly crept
towards the window. Peering out, he saw the thick forest which surrounds his family’s manor
house. A large oak tree stood in the front garden, its branches swaying with the midnight
breeze. Its spirally leaves shone in the dim moonlight. A black cat could be seen nimbly
prowling across the lawn. Nothing was unusual, nothing worrying.
Edward slowly walked back to his bed. Barely touching his hand to the blanket, he quickly
pulled it away. It felt unnaturally cold. He bent down and touched the floor boards, which
were also chilly. He grabbed his night grown and wrapt it round him. His breath was now
visible. Sitting now on the bed, he drew the curtains, lent back against the backboard and
covered himself in the blankets. He began to shiver and thought of calling for his mother to
bring him a bed warmer. He did not want to disturb her though, for she was with child and
needed her sleep.
When he looked again at the front bed-curtain, he froze. Something rubbed against it, forming a small bulge that quickly snaked from the right side to the left. It was gone in one moment, but Edward felt that the room was not unoccupied. Something was present, something cold, terrible. His skin was like ice, frozen with fear and cold. It felt like his hair stood on end. He was too afraid to shiver—too cold to move, goose bumps covering his body. He waited some minutes which seemed like hours, until he began to move again, reviving from a timid, death-like paralysis. He seized one end of the curtain and threw it aside. There was nothing. He threw aside the other curtains. The room was empty. He was alone.
Then turning the window, a white hand pressed itself against glass. He stared at it, hoping it would go away—hoping no dread face might appear. He closed his eyes and wished it away. Opening them, it was gone. He ran for the door, opened it and made his way to his parent’s bedroom. He leapt onto the bed, his parents jumped from sleep.
“What’s the meaning of this, son?” his father boomed.
“What is it Edward?” His mother’s voice was calmer, more understanding.
He threw himself into her arms, crying.
“It’s the devil, mummy! The devil’s in my bedroom!”
“Nonsense!” said his father. “Back to bed with you!”
“William,” his mother said disapprovingly. “He’s only a boy. I shall take him to his room and see what we can do about this devil.”
They walked hand in hand to the boy’s room. She opened the door slowly, peeked in and then began to look at every nook and cranny, finally bending down to check under the bed.
“The window,” Edward said. “I saw a white hand on the window.”
Mother looked out the window for a moment.
“There’s nothing there, Edward. I’m sure there are no evil creatures here. The scream startled you and now you’re imagining things. Think nothing of it and rest assured. Your mummy will keep you safe.”
“I know I saw it, mummy. Please don’t leave me.”
“Now, Edward. You’re a big boy. Make mummy proud and go back to sleep. Say your prayers and no devils or apparitions can ever harm you.”
She tucked him again and left. He brought his hands together and said his prayers. A few minutes passed. The thought of a white hand, coming for him while asleep, reaching for his arms, pulling him from the world of the living, consumed him. He could not fight his fearful curiosity. He needed to look out the window, one last time, to assure himself that no creature lay beyond, waiting for him. Prayers, so oft-recited but barely meaningful to a child of eight, offered only a little comfort. He took his black, leather-bound Bible from the bedside table, clutching it in his small, tremulous hands. Step by step, he approached the window sill, his heart thumping like a drum, drowning out the dreadful silence of the night.
At last, he peered out—looked at the oak tree, the cat searching for its prey—and then the forest. He caught sight of a figure hiding in the gloom. He could not see what or who it was, only that it looked like a person standing between the tree trunks, obscured by the dark and leaves and branches all round. It did not move, as a living thing moves, but stood like a statue—a being that was lifeless but present. It did not belong to this world. It was a white shadow, barely visible in the moonlight. The boy was afraid, but could not take his eyes away from it, for fear that it would vanish and perhaps appear close at hand. He must keep it in his vision, forced to remain in sight by his attention.
At last he flinched—his eyes blinked and he lost sight of the creature. Agitated and worried that the creature could sneak up on him, kill him in the night, or worse, drag him down to the land of the undead, forcing him to become a ghostly wraith, he ran to the cupboard, donned a cloak, put on his black leather boots and rushed out of his room. He quietly passed by his parents’ bedroom, not wishing to invite their attention, and tried to descend the old, winding wooden staircase, with as little noise as possible—a difficult task, for each footstep made an unnerving creak. Finally, reaching the front door, he paused. It was bolted shut and a great iron padlock hung from the bolt. The key lay on a table beside the door, next to which stood a large medieval suit of armour, worn by Sir Edward Grubb, his ancient forbear. Reaching for the key, he bumped his elbow into the armour’s gauntlet, dislodging the sword from its grasp. It clanged loudly as it hit the stone ground. Edward froze, fearing that his father would come down and deliver a much-deserved spanking. A few moments passed. His parents had evidently drifted into a deep slumber. Edward bent down to pick up the sword. It was surprising light, a sort of long dagger, rather than a longsword. He had often practiced swinging a switch to and fro and throwing rocks, so his arms were well able to bear the the dagger’s weight.
He took the key and opened the padlock. The heavy, oak door swung slowly open, groaning like a monstrous giant. Met with a cool breeze, he stepped out into the night and pulled the door closed behind him. He held up the dagger with both hands and paced forwards as he imagined the knights of old might have done. His head spun left and right as he tried to espy the ghostly creature that tormented him. ‘If he be living, he shall taste the steel of my blade,’ Edward thought, as courageously as he could bring himself to be. ‘If he be dead, I shall show him that fear is for the dead—hope is for the living.’ Such he had gleaned from his Sunday scripture lessons.
He reached the edge of the forest. Before him, countless tree trunks stood like guardians of the darkness. The farther into the forest he looked, the more faint their shapes appeared. Branches swayed slowly. Farther in, they appeared like menacing arms. In the end, beyond all distinct shapes, only utter blackness could be seen. There was no choice but to wait patiently for the being’s reappearance or to enter into the forest, pursuing it to its lair. He knew that to wait was vain and to pursue—a terrible necessity. He walked for ten or fifteen minutes. Soon he became anxious that he could no longer see the house behind him and there was no real indication of which direction was which. He wasn’t entirely certain that he had gone straight and was unsure of whether he would be able to return with ease. Suddenly, he heard a crackling sound. He jumped, spun round, but saw nothing. Now he was completely disoriented. He could barely see ten feet in front of him and no long knew which way to proceed. He swung the blade in front of him, cried out in rage and tried to appear as furious and mighty as he could.
There was no response but silence. He began to see shapes in the dark, but these were nothing more than his own imagination, and he knew it. It seemed as if the whole forest was rising up to take him. The faint sounds of creaking branching, moving leaves and wind seemed a thousand whispers from unfriendly mouths, plotting his demise. He regretted completely his fool-bravery in seeking the evil being. No doubt it was its plan to lure him into a place where no scream could be heard and no defender found.
He felt a tingling sensation, from head to toe, causing him to freeze with fear. Then a whispering sound in his ear, but he could make out no intelligible words. Strengthening his grasp on the dagger handle, he spun round extending his arm forward. His eyes met a terrifying spectacle. His blade extended into a white stomach and fell down, as though it had struck nothing but air. He looked up and saw a pure white, feminine face. Long, glowing tresses fell onto smooth shoulders. The whole body of the creature was translucent and glowing. Its eyes alone had colour—a deep red which bled from the iris into the sclera, or ‘white’ of the eye. Its stare was piercing, emotionless, cruel. Edward dropped his blade and wanted to flee, but he was mesmerised by the being’s unremitting gaze. Its hands moved with an unnatural slowness, yet seemed inescapable. As its hands seized his shoulders, he felt again that unnerving tingling sensation. He screamed a high pitched scream—the kind of scream that one makes in one’s last moment of life, when overcome by the unavoidable spectre of death.
“Edward!”
He turned his face, suddenly, looking in the direction from whence the voice seemed to come. It was his mother’s voice. Evidently she had noticed his absence and knew he had entered the forest. Turning back, he saw that the being was gone. He was overcome with a new dread, that this deadly apparition was now seeking his mother’s life, before it would take his own. He ran.
“Mummy—it’s coming for you! Mummy!” he screamed as much as breath would allow,
panting as he ran, fast as he could. Then he saw her, standing near the edge of the forest. Her white nightdress made her appear angelic in the moonlight. He rushed for her arms of salvation, but before he reached her, the ghostly being appeared between them. With inevitable, slow movements and an emotionless expression, it stretched out its hand in Edward’s direction, causing him to fall down without touching him, and wrapped its arms around his mother. Without moving its feet, the being glided into the darkness of the forest, taking the limp body of Edward’s mother with it. She was paralysed with fear and uttered no word. The wind had been knocked out of Edward’s lungs and it took a few minutes for him to recover and stand up. By that time, all trace of the creature had disappeared and he was alone at the edge of the forest.