Arboria

by Anthony Stefano

  — I wonder who lives there? said Edward, hoping some idle chatter would help ease the last stage of their journey.

  — Let’s hope it’s not Joseph Merrick, said Spencer, darkly.

  — Who is Joseph Merrick? inquired George.

  — He’s the one they call the Elephant Man. A horrible, deformed monster, replied Spencer.

  — People really shouldn’t be judged on their appearance, remarked William.

  — Tell me about him, said George.

  — He’s just a man, like you or me. But because of the way he looks, he was treated like a freak, as a sideshow in a travelling fair.

  — And that was just where he belonged, said Spencer, looking straight at William with a scowl on his face.

  William was about to retort when Edward stopped him with a gesture.

  — Look! he said, at the top of the tower.

  Something shadowlike had just landed there but it immediately vanished.

  — It’s just a bird, said George, as if to reassure himself.

  — A bird that size? We could see it from far away, even in this darkness, replied Edward. That thing must have been at least two yards across, maybe more.

  — By any chance, could this Joseph Merrick fly?

  — No, George, answered William in a reassuring voice.

  They continued on their way, discussing what had just occurred.

  — This way, said Edward, Look! And he pointed towards a light a short distance away, which illuminated the silhouette of a group of houses.

  A small village lay before them. They made their way towards it down a winding path.

  — What town is this? asked Edward, who was out of breath.

  — It’s Godstone, replied George.

  — How do you know?’ inquired Edward.

  — It’s written on that sign, Spencer responded, irritated by Edward’s constant questioning.

  And indeed, there before them was an old wooden signpost, hanging askew. It had the same, dilapidated air as the village itself and appeared to be partially rotted away.

  — Delightful, said William, Really, quite a delightful village. To all appearances, the village was very old and possibly even largely uninhabited. There were around thirty houses but several of these were extremely run-down. Most of their roof tiles were missing, leaving their interiors at the mercy of the elements. The village was quiet, but strains of music could be heard from one of the street corners.

  — An inn! exclaimed Edward. Let’s go there for help and we can get ourselves a drink at the same time.

  — I wouldn’t say no to a stiff whisky, agreed George as they headed in the direction of the inn.

  — It’s a rather shabby-looking place, remarked Edward, glancing at the dilapidated houses around them.

  — And what on Earth is that ghastly smell? he added.

  — I think it’s the stink of those chimneys, replied Spencer, pointing.

  — Hurry up,’ implored George, blowing on his hands to warm them, it’s getting really cold now. They finally reached the inn and felt the warmth envelop them as they stepped through the door. All the customers looked their way as they entered.

  Evidently, the inn was a favourite haunt for the locals.

  Every table bore several half-empty glasses and a menu whilst a fug of cigarette smoke hung over the room.

  Our four friends approached the bar.

  On the wooden counter stood a number of empty glasses which appeared in dire need of a thorough cleaning.

  — Good evening, ventured William to the barman, who returned their gaze, meantime wiping a glass with a napkin.

  — My name is William Carson. My friends and I met with an accident to our coach, back there on the road through the woods.

  One of the customers, who had been listening openly to the conversation between the barman and William, almost choked on his drink. William continued, we’d like to spend the night here and head back to London tomorrow morning.

  — I am afraid we don’t have any rooms free at present, replied the barman expressionlessly, putting the glass he had been wiping back on a shelf behind the bar.

  — Is there any other place nearby where we could find lodgings? inquired William.

  — The nearest village is over thirty miles away, was the barman’s answer.

  — Really? said William, surprised, could you tell us where we can hire a vehicle to take us there?

  — There are plenty of carriages available, but all our horses have died. You’ll need to wait until some other travellers come through.

  — And I suppose you get lots of travellers passing through this village? put in Edward, in a sneering voice.

  — In summer, every now and then, we see occasional travellers who have lost their way, said the Barman speaking with an ironic tone.

  — I see, said Edward, somewhat perplexed.

  — I am sorry to press the point, put in Spencer, who had been silent up to this point, but there was another man with us on the coach and he seems to have disappeared in the woods.

  Just at that moment, another of the bar’s customers dropped his glass, shattering shards of glass all over the floor.

  — The woods are not safe, said the barman, especially at night. If I were you, I would spend the night in the village and wait until tomorrow to set out for the next village.

  — Does that mean we can stay here overnight, then? asked William.

  — There’s an abandoned house next door. I’m afraid that’s the best I can suggest, was the reply.

  — Better than nothing, remarked Edward.

  — How does it come about that you have no horses available? inquired Spencer.

  — They all died, drained dry, one after the other.’

  — How so? You mean you had a water shortage? asked Edward.

  — Not at all. You misunderstand me. We found them all dead, one after the other, without a drop of blood in their bodies.

  Edward gulped.

  — How long since any stranger last came through here? asked William.

  — It’s been a few months. There’s nothing to bring people to this village, answered the barman.

  Your Review and Word-of-Mouth Recommendations Will Make a Difference

  Reviews and word-of-mouth recommendations are crucial for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review, even if it is only a line or two, and tell your friends about it. It will help the author bring you new books and allow others to also enjoy the book.

  Your support is greatly appreciated!

  Are You Looking For Other Great Reads?

  Your Books, Your Language

  Babelcube Books helps readers find great reads. It plays matchmaker, bringing you and your next book together.

  Our collection is powered by books produced at Babelcube, a marketplace that brings independent book authors and translators together and distributes their books in multiple languages globally. The books you will find have been translated so that you can discover terrific reads in your language.

  We are proud to bring you the world’s books.

  If you want to learn more about our books, browse our catalog and join our newsletter to learn about our latest releases, visit us at our website:

  www.babelcubebooks.com