by Maynard Sims
No doubt you wonder why I have left you such a colossal fortune? You were the only one to treat me as a person and not an old fool. That is why I have left you my money. I have left you the house because I think you are strong in both mind and body. If I am right you will enjoy living there.
May God's blessings be with you.
There the letter ended with an illegible signature. I was none the wiser after I had read it a second time. I did not like to admit it but I could only come to the conclusion that the lonely existence she had led had affected her mind. The letter was a jumble, which made no sense at all so far as I could see. I drifted off into a series of thoughts regarding the life I had known and the life before me.
Eventually the slowing of the train interrupted my thoughts. We were nearing our destination.
The train pulled slowly into Middleham station, and stopped amidst a rush of hissing steam. I noticed with curiosity, as I stepped out onto the platform, that only one carriage door was slammed shut, and that was mine. Here I was then. The ticket collector wished me good day and I walked out of the station.
From the outside the quaint old station looked a haven of peace. Painted in green and cream, it melted into the fields surrounding it, as though it had itself grown out of the ground. Even the column of steam from the shunting engine seemed to blend in with the sun-drenched countryside. The blue smoke wafted upwards to soak into the clear blue sky above, while in the distance a flight of birds flew across the horizon in perfect formation. I removed my jacket and loosened my tie.
I had no idea where Benjamin's Shadow was, as the solicitors had only told me the name of the village. The main street ran up a slight hill, and was bordered on either side by shops. I decided to ask in one of them.
By luck the first shop I passed was the Post Office. They surely would be able to tell me where my house was, especially if it was as large as I had been led to believe. I went into the Post office, which was empty of customers, and after a while a woman appeared and apologised for keeping me waiting. I murmured the usual pleasantries about it being quite all right, and then asked her for directions. She gave them to me, in some detail, and with both suitcases in hand, the bulk of my belongings were being transported separately, I set off as directed, "through the wood, past the church, and then left over the bridge."
The sheer contrast between life in the city and that of the country is never more vividly illustrated than when one enters a wood. In the city you look up and see the sky threatened by concrete offices, blocks of flats. You walk on paved floors, on asphalt roads. The natural life is restricted to the parks, and even there it is fenced in, cut off from every day life, and policed by forbidding notices. In the country the true feeling of life is born anew. The grass is soft and springy to walk upon, with fields and meadows free to spread themselves over the earth.
As I walked through the wood I looked up as the sun glinted through a large poplar tree, sending speckled refractions of itself colliding and spinning into my eyes. My existence at my new home promised to be a lonely one, and I felt more than a twinge of regret at having left my comfortable life in London for the unknown qualities of a country estate.
Very soon I had left the wood behind, and saw before me the church the woman had mentioned. I walked past the church and very soon came to a bridge. Over that bridge lay my new home.
There was a curious detachment in my breast as I trod carefully across the rickety wooden structure. In London it had seemed a bold adventure when I, at forty years of age, resigned from my job, sold my house, and left for an unknown life in Cornwall. As I stood on the firm earth on the other side of the bridge I realised that it was not such a drastic change after all. I had never married, my job had become routine, and my social life held no excitement. As I walked along the roughly beaten path that skirted a random clump of trees, I decided that my move had been the right one. I walked on through the peaceful fields until I saw the tip of a black chimney peep out over a line of larches. I hurried forward as my excitement mounted.
I cannot remember my first thoughts upon seeing the house. I think I was disappointed because it looked so gloomy. Its brickwork was black and grimy, so that it contrasted with the green of the fields under the bright sun. It was a strange house, I could not help but feel how lonely it looked, and wondered how my aunt had endured the isolation, or indeed how I would.
The house was built symmetrically as a simple square, although the roof was a maze of turrets, gabled windows, and chimneys. The windows were latticed and, I noticed, curtained. I hoped that all the furniture had been left, as I had not made any plans in that direction. I walked towards the house in more sombre mood than I had been in before. Somehow that black house depressed me, or was I perhaps tired after the long journey? I decided that was the real reason for my lack of spirit, and resolved to retire at a reasonable hour that night.
As a man of simple habits I made a scant inspection of the interior that first night, ensuring only that each room was furnished. The house on first impression appeared comfortable, and I felt instantly at ease within its walls. My black mood lifted as I made myself some tea from a packet I had had the foresight to bring with me. Isolated though the house was, the necessary energy supplies were sufficient to maintain a civilised level of living.
I seated myself in a large armchair by the fireside, and reflected upon the change that had come about my life. The light outside gradually began to fade. I must have fallen asleep.
I slept for several hours, until some sound from outside the house served to wake me from my slumber. I listened, still half asleep, for the sound to be repeated. I strained my ears but heard only the silence. Then, in the distance, I heard it again, a low moaning cry that seemed to float on the wind. It seemed to be the cry of a young animal, perhaps one in pain. Whatever it was it was getting louder. It was approaching the house.
I sat upright in my chair and listened, as the sounds grew more frequent. They had almost the sound of sobbing. I got up from my chair and walked slowly to the window. As I looked out into the dark night air I could at first see nothing. However much I tried to focus my eyes I could still see only the shadowed outlines of the trees. I noticed that as I looked out of the window the noise had ceased, so with a mental shrug of my shoulders I resumed my previous position, with the intention of sleeping again. Before I closed my eyes I glanced back at the window. I started back, for on the window ledge outside was a hand. It was a tiny, almost unformed, hand of pink flesh, and as I stared it clasped and unclasped several times as though uncertain of what to do.
As noiselessly as possible I climbed from my chair and made my way to the window. Yet, even as I stood, the hand seemed to move away. When I reached the window I flung it open to inspect the night outside. The hand had gone.
I did not close the window immediately, although there was a definite chill in the air. I had to reassure myself that everything was normal again before I could return to the security of my armchair. My mind rebelled at the mere thought of an inspection of the outside of the house, and so when I had convinced myself that there were no more abnormal things out in the darkness, I shut the window, tightly.
I confess my hands shook as I stood down from the alcove. I could not explain what I had seen. I had never experienced anything like it in my life, and although not unintelligent, I was baffled. I quickly found my aunt's small store of alcohol, and, after I had drunk two glasses of brandy, my nerves were considerably calmed. In an attempt to be rational I told myself I was tired. I had after all awoken from a very deep sleep. My exhaustion was not helped by the occurrence, and no sooner had I again sat in the armchair than I closed my eyes to sleep until morning.
Upon waking I found I was in a surprisingly cheerful mood, not at all depressed about the happening in the night. I could offer no explanation and so I let the matter rest until events explained themselves. I spent the morning unpacking both my suitcases, after I had decided which bedroom to make my own. By the fresh
light of day the inside of the house was cosy, and in every way welcoming. I felt a certain contentment as I roamed through the massive hallways, crossed the balconies, and descended the majestic main staircase. I had visited grand old houses such as these on conducted tours, and now I owned one. I decided to visit the village in the afternoon and make arrangements to have provisions brought to the house on a weekly basis.
The walk to the village took me about thirty five minutes, as I was in no mood to hurry. I decided the best place to seek advice was from the woman in the Post Office. As I entered the shop the bell rang on the door, and I heard movement from behind the counter. The small woman appeared, and her face showed that she remembered who I was. I smiled politely and explained my needs. She gave me the name of the village grocer and directions to find him. I paid a visit to the grocer and came to excellent terms with him. He was to bring my goods every Tuesday to the house, and I would pay for them on delivery. I bought sufficient to last until his first visit, and with these returned home.
The day was even warmer than before as I made my way through the shade of the wood. My heart was light, and I think I hummed softly to myself, something I had not done for a long while. Without doubt country life suited me. The house did not seem so dark or forbidding as it had on the previous day, and as I approached from the side I felt none of the mystery of the night before.
Suddenly I stopped and looked with amazement into the upstairs window, which had a view over the church. In that room there was a young couple standing facing each other, and they were arguing fiercely. The man was aged about thirty, dressed in a black frock coat, matching trousers, and a frilled white shirt with black lace tie. His entire outfit was not of this century. He had brown shoulder length hair and wore gold-rimmed spectacles. The girl was slightly younger, shorter, with long dark hair parted simply in the middle, but collected in fussy ringlets at the back. Her full-length dress was also of another century. Obviously from such a distance I could not hear their words, but the girl appeared to be in a violent temper with the man. With a sudden movement she slapped him around the face, whereupon he faded into the air. The girl rocked back and forth, caught in spasms of laughter.
The spell broken, I rushed forward. At the door I fumbled for my key. I did not even take the care to shut the door behind me, but threw down my shopping and ran up the stairs to find the intruders. I soon found the room, but when I looked inside there was no sign of any disturbance, or of any young couple. I sat down on the bed and sighed. I am no lover of mystery. If I had seen two people in that room, then they had to be in the house somewhere. I took great pains to search every room, but still I found nothing to reveal their method of entry, or their reason for being in the house.
After a hearty meal I felt somewhat less depressed, but I was still puzzled, and more than a little disturbed at the events so far. It seemed that there was something malignant about the house. I settled into reading a book of short stories for the evening, before I retired for the night. I was tired.
Mornings in the house seemed always to be fresh, new and alive. Birds sang in the trees outside, and I felt vibrant, alert to the world. One morning, after I had been in the house almost a week, I took an early walk around the gardens, before I returned to wash and shave.
Nearly half my face had been dealt with when my attention was diverted by some movement behind me. I stared into the mirror, and then glanced behind, but the bathroom was empty, and still. I concentrated on my task once more, only to be distracted again by a disturbance reflected in the shaving mirror. I stared aghast as I realised what the cause of the movement had been. Behind me the very wall of the room was rippling. It was bulging outwards, as though some great force was pressing against it. To see the wall of the house, part of the very structure of the building, move, as though it was alive, had a most horrible effect upon my senses. The wall moved for barely a minute but that was long enough. There was an obscene breath like quality about its movement. Even when it ceased my hands shook so fiercely that I dropped my razor. I held onto the side of the bath for support in the fear that I might faint following this fresh disturbance.
I decided to investigate the construction of the wall. I searched the cellar for some tools, as I intended to remove the plaster if necessary. I soon found what I needed, a hammer and chisel, and returned to the bathroom. My initial inspection of the surface of the wall showed nothing out of the ordinary. It appeared normal in every way. Reluctant though I was, I set to work with my tools. Before long I had made a grisly discovery. Within the wall I found a hollow chamber measuring about a foot square, and within the chamber I found the bones of a human skeleton. They were undoubtedly human, but so tiny they must have been the bones of a very young child. I had no idea why anyone would wish to wall up such small bones when surely they deserved a decent burial. That was exactly what I did with them, after I had poured myself a much-needed scotch.
As the days passed I grew progressively more depressed in the house. My time was spent moping about, as I idled away in the gardens, or merely sat reading. Often I played with the idea of returning to London, though I knew that would mean I would have to surrender my inheritance. Something kept me in the house. I seemed to be expecting something to happen, and even though I guessed it would be unpleasant, I had a morbid curiosity to find out what it was.
One evening I decided to have a bath. I left the water running while I went to fetch fresh towels. When I returned I stared into the bath, sick with fright. The water had turned into thick red blood, which still gushed from the taps. Overcome with nausea I turned off the immediate flow, while I tried to reason out an answer. The room was silent save for the occasional drop of blood that still dripped from the taps. The obvious answer was that there was something in the supply tank in the loft. Whatever it was I did not care to think, but I knew I had to find out.
After a frantic search for a ladder I entered the loft armed only with a powerful battery torch. With care to tread only on the rafters, I made my way hesitantly towards the large water tank. I pulled aside the covering on the tank and immediately shone my torch inside, fearful lest some creature should leap out onto me. I was unashamedly relieved to find nothing out of the ordinary. The mystery of the blood still remained, but for the moment I was happy to be faced with a mystery rather than a more solid adversary. I replaced the lid on the tank and descended the ladder. After restoring the ladder to its previous position I proceeded to empty the bath of its contents. The blood was thick and slow to drain away, and I did not relish the task of washing the enamel sides clean of all traces of the obnoxious liquid. I spent the rest of the day quietly, sunning myself in front of the house.
It was perhaps two weeks before the next strange occurrence took place, and that proved to be the final one. I had spent a long tiring day in the fields, digging a vegetable patch that I intended to cultivate. The grocer had delivered my regular supply of foodstuffs, and after a full dinner I prepared for an early night. I read until my eyes would not stay open any longer, then I turned out the light and tried to sleep.
I must have dozed off, though I tossed and turned, unable to sleep peacefully. Eventually I awoke, thoroughly unrefreshed, my mind in turmoil. I was in a void between conscious waking and the unconsciousness of sleep. Outside my window the trees creaked and moaned as if they strained to reach the house, or to get away. I listened, and as I did so the wind became a curious ripple of laughter, rushing through the leaves. I sat up in bed, my mind active. Branches scratched against the windowpane. I got out of bed, put on my dressing gown and slippers, and went across to the window. It was black outside, though I could see the shadows of the trees, dancing in the laughing wind. Only half aware of my actions I ran downstairs, and out into the cold night air.
It was as though I had entered a nightmare world of unreality. Unseen creatures laughed in my ears. I found myself running around in circles on the wet grass, my eyes blurred by the blinding rain. My thoughts were in chaos. The trees wer
e alive, swaying above my head with monstrous intent. An icy blast swirled around me, sweeping my hair over my face, clutching and pulling at my garments. I found myself being pulled along by the rushing wind, while my arms flapped helplessly against my side. Round and round I was pulled until finally I slumped to the ground, exhausted. My mind entered the realms of unconsciousness, and as I fell asleep I heard the wind, with a satisfied murmur, enter the house.
I woke with the dampness of the early morning dew covering my body. I felt cold and stiff as I stood up. I looked around and saw that I had travelled a long way from the house. Looking down at my feet I found that I had slept upon a concealed concrete slab embedded in the earth. I bent down to inspect it, because I saw that there was writing carved into the surface. With disgust I realised that I had spent the night upon a grave, for the words read: `Here lay the bodies of Michael and Jennifer Young. May their tormented souls rest in peace'.
My thoughts were less confused as I walked towards the house. I had been meant to see that grave. I began to realise what had happened. As I entered the house that morning I felt the presence of something near. Something was within me. I began to feel weak, incredibly tired. I went to the mirror to look at my face, and as I did so I realised.
I realise now as I look into the gilt edged mirror that hangs on my sitting room wall. I look into the mirror and see the years peeling away from my features. Once forty, I am now thirty-five, thirty-four. As I stand here I grow younger. Wrinkles fade and hair grows darker, thicker, back into the style I wore when I was twenty-two. Soon that face is gone and I see my adolescence return. It is obvious I cannot stand here watching myself become young again, and so I climb the stairs to my bedroom. My clothes hang loosely from my immature body, but soon I will be in bed, and once there I can dream.
As I lay beneath the sheets I curl my legs against my chest and grip them with my arms. It seems the natural thing to do. As I close my eyes I feel at peace. I will sleep easily, for now I know. I am the darkness that lurks in the corner of each room. I am the soft wind that ghosts through the silent house. I am Benjamin's Shadow.
