Author: thewriteway709

With Halloween fast approaching the Whittlesey Wordsmiths offer you this timely story from Henry:

Emily’s Story by Henry Curry

I approached the house with some trepidation. In the distance, the Gothic arches and dark windows lent an air of gloom about the place that only made my depression worse. Shadows were already deepening as I reached the forbidding gates and a bell tolled in the distance, as if warning me away. But I knew I had to go forward, go into that place. I gripped the letter.

            Emily had been insistent; her words came to me again and again. She had sounded so firm and final the last time we had met. We were friends, no more than friends. She made that clear. As I kissed her on the cheek and turned to leave I saw her smile, but there was no happiness about her countenance. No, there was something else. I had wanted to say so much, reveal my feelings for her. My true feelings. But she had seemed so resolute, and my courage had left me. Now, an unhappy year had passed.

            I paused. A breeze shook the trees, dragging the last few leaves away to their autumnal rest. The letter seemed to weigh so heavily. I longed to stop and read it again, to ponder each word, looking behind each phrase for another meaning. But instead, I resolved to continue. My footsteps made the gravel crunch generously, a sound which had the effect of raising my spirits a little. I stepped forward, even strode, along that long drive; I even began to whistle a tune, one that Emily used to sing, my pace in time with the music, holding my emotions back, concentrating on walking, walking. Then the house was in front of me and I was at the great front door. I tugged sharply on the bell-pull, but heard no sound. A crow called mournfully as it rowed its way across the sky, its outstretched wing-tips like fingers against the  twilight. I was about to try again when there was the sound of a bolt being drawn, and the door slowly opened.

            ‘You are expected. Follow me, sir.’ The servant had a faded air about him, as if he had been too long in a dust-filled room. His skin was as pale as the stone of the building, and he shuffled with a peculiar gait suggestive of some illness.

            ‘Thank you.’ I followed him into the warm hallway and immediately began to cough, I assumed as a result of the stale, stagnant air. Light seemed to penetrate but feebly, as if an unwelcome guest, hiding from all but the middle of the floor. As my eyes became accustomed to the faint gleam from the candle borne by my guide I became aware of a number of doors and a large staircase disappearing into the reddening gloom.

            ‘The lady will see you in here sir.’ I was shown into a room which I thought was the study, or perhaps the library. It was hard to discern the  purpose of this room due to the darkness. I could see a grand desk commanding the middle, with a large high-backed chair of very old design, I fancied, given the detailed carving on its back.  In the wavering shadows I could just make out tapestries on my left, and to the right a wall of what appeared to be bookshelves. At this point the ageing servant turned to leave, and as he did so he lit candles in each of the sconces by a great mantelpiece. The light now picked out a fine long case clock to one side of the fireplace. I resolved to examine the timepiece as far as I could, but as I moved towards it, someone else entered the room.

            ‘Hello Jeremy.’  It was Emily, my Emily. But it was not her. The voice I heard  was harsh and broken, as if emanating from a dying volcano.  I turned in happy expectations, but  drew back sharply at the face before me. Her eyes! 

            ‘Emily.’ My voice came in a hoarse croaking sound. I held out the letter. My words failed me. She stared blankly and spoke mechanically, in a distant way.

            ‘I knew you’d come. But many things have changed. I… I am to be married.’  The red-rimmed eyes held my gaze. There was no pleasure in her voice, only a sense of resignation. ‘You should not have come here. Please go now.’ I was shocked, but tried to remain calm, measured.

            ‘You seem unhappy Emily. Can’t we talk further? As friends? I can’t leave you this way, having come so far.’ I hoped she understood that I meant so much more than just my journey.

            ‘Then stay at the Inn tonight if you wish. Come again tomorrow, in the morning, in the daylight.’ With these words she turned and walked away before I could speak.

I spent an unhappy night at the old Inn in the town. Restful sleep would not come to me. In my dreams I saw only vague shapes and a shadowy figure with glaring red eyes drifting through a vast library. The books were falling towards me, and there was a smell that made me choke – I was trying to speak but no sound would emanate from my throat, and the figure crackled with an eerie laughter. Another figure seemed to be present, but I couldn’t see who it was. I felt hot, fearful, in a wild panic, but I didn’t know why.

            I woke early but felt both disturbed and tired, being unrefreshed by my troubled sleep. Washing and dressing, I saw my face in the mirror – I was distressed at how old I appeared. I resolved to make light of the last night, to enjoy a good breakfast and a brisk walk back to the house. I didn’t want Emily to see me looking as haggard as I felt.

            There seemed to be a thick morning fog settled over the valley, so my view of the  house was temporarily obscured. As I turned onto the drive a vague outline of the old walls gradually materialised. But then my heart raced – something was wrong, very wrong! I quickened my pace, breaking into a trot, then a full blown run. Smoke was lazily drifting up from the broken walls and crumbling ruin – a great conflagration must have taken the house! There was no roof, only charred walls and beams. Without realising,  I had started shouting as I ran. I was shouting, shouting, calling Emily’s name over and over.

            ‘Terrible. A terrible tragedy.’ A bewhiskered man in a tweed jacket was looking up at the building and calling a cocker spaniel back to him. ‘Here, Jack, here boy!’ I roughly grabbed this chap by the coat lapels, shouting at him.

            ‘Where is she? What happened to Emily? Is she safe?’ He pulled back, placing his hands on my shoulders.

            ‘Now then, now then. Calm yourself. I’m sure all that could be done was done, young fellow.’ The dog returned with a piece of paper in its mouth. ‘The blaze just took hold very quickly, very quickly. Started in the library, by all accounts. It was burning for three days.’ These last words seemed bizarre, barely registering.

            ‘But what happened to the people – to the lady, Emily? Where are they?’ Blood was bursting up my neck and into my head, pounding into my ears. ‘Where are they?’

            ‘Ah, now, you obviously knew the incumbents; well’ he looked wearily at me,’sadly no-one survived. They found the three souls yesterday, but all had perished. The lady, her husband-to-be, and the servant. All gone.’ He gave a wistful look up at the ruins. ‘I am so very sorry.’

            ‘But… but I was here yesterday. Yesterday evening. I saw them. I spoke to them. I was here. There was no fire – they were all alive!’

He leaned closely towards me and returned a puzzled, old-fashioned look.

            ‘I can’t dispute what you say you saw or might have thought you saw my friend. The house and all its occupants, such a tragic business, were destroyed three days ago. If you were here, as you say you were, last night…’ He tailed off, frowning. Jack the spaniel, snuffled at my feet, dropping Emily’s letter.

If you would like to read more of Henry’s work find him on Amazon by clicking on the link:

Henry Curry