For The Night Is Dark

by Mynhardt, Joe

  At some point in the night, and for lack of a time piece I cannot be accurate, I registered an odd noise from the other side of the room. In the sensible light of day, one could easily dismiss this as the scraping of a tree branch against the window, but lying in the darkness, the horrid sound filled my head with giant rats scratching and gnawing within the very walls! I do not admit to a phobia of the vermin, though I will abide them not, for they are carriers of pestilence and rodents by the Thames can grow to the size of cats.

  Being careful with my actions, I reached from the warm sanctuary of the bed sheets and lit the lamp beside me. At once, the dry, abrasive noise came to an abrupt end, leaving me feeling foolish; an educated yet terrified man fearing noises in the dark, as a child would cower in a storm!

  It surprised me little that the source of the commotion had been the thin fissure in the wall, which had grown in size over the last few weeks. Even as I watched, another chunk of plaster fell from the crack, revealing more of the darkness within. Surely, some activity would have disturbed this plasterwork? Damning my fright and even more so my languor in repairing the blasted wall, I turned down the lamp and tried to sleep, vowing to seek a tradesmen at the soonest opportunity.

  December 6th 1906.

  I write these words with a shaking hand, a numbing combination of brandy (of which I do not usually partake) and anger that boils through my veins like lava. I shall start at the beginning of this cursed day.

  With the festive season fast approaching, my wife has seen her bookings almost double. While her singing voice is far from the most eloquent, her buxom personality and rosy way are a much sought after commodity in this time of good cheer. This increase in fortune has snatched what time I would ordinarily spend with my wife, leaving me with little more than tending to the lodgers and my work at the Institute.

  Just this morning, I found myself staring at my wearisome reflection in the bathroom glass. A serious man stared back through the tiny lenses of his spectacles, fine moustache hiding the straight line of his mouth. I pitied this poor soul. I wondered, what visage would stare back at me should this man find his situation changed? For a moment, in which God would have looked away and the Devil clapped his hands with delight, I considered a life with my dear Ethel. A quiet girl as opposed to a wife who is both loquacious and promiscuous! Would such a life bring a smile to this serious man’s lips, or a sparkle to these lacklustre eyes?

  Nonsense, I told my reflection. Ethel is but a girl and would have no interest beyond that of friendship.

  I finished my preparations for the day and departed for the Institute, wherein my duties proceeded as usual. It was upon my return home that my troubles began.

  One of our more recent lodgers, an older gentleman by the name of Hodges, was often to be found loitering about the house before he ventured out to attend business of his own come evening. I know not his career, but allow that he is an early riser and his lodgings are paid in full. A private man, something of which I can relate to, Hodges has never been a cause for concern.

  Upon my return home, I noted that Hodges’ door, which led directly from the hall, was ajar and on my approach, was knocked closed. This was no surprise to me, as I say Hodges is a reserved fellow. Allowing him his solitude, I passed by his room and on to the kitchen, wherein I prepared a pot of tea. To give the drink time to cool, I headed to the master bedroom with a mind to examine the fissure in the wall further. The prices demanded by some of the tradesmen I had spoken to were a little too steep for our meagre income, and I aimed to attend the job myself, another for the list of chores supplied to me by Cora.

  The enigma around this strange feature continues! Opening the curtains to allow the maximum of light into the room, I saw with some dread that the crack had widened further still, as if a seismic force had shaken the wall during my hours at the Institute. The jagged edges of plaster lay a good inch apart, wide enough for my probing fingers. I found nothing inside, and even holding a lamp up to the wall and peering inside the gap revealed nil. The darkness held, resolute against the pressing light. I considered the layout of the house and anticipated that the wound in the structure would pass into the bathroom.

  It was at that moment that I heard hushed voices from below, followed by a feminine laugh like the call of a tropical bird. At least one mystery was solved. It is without question that Hodges would demand his privacy; he had the company of a lady within his chamber!

  I judge not lest I be judged. In my consideration, business within his room, signed for and paid in full, shall be his own concerns and not my own. While acting before wedlock is indeed a sin, I have seen much worse atrocities committed following the bond of marriage. I believed Hodges to be a mature man of level head and good intentions, and I left him to his devices, but remembering the tea and bitterness over the ever increasing fissure in the wall, I returned downstairs.

  It was here that I discovered a puffed Cora, red of face, slipping forth from Hodges’ room. While my heart denied what so blatantly stood before me, my reasoning I could not ignore. To perform such deceitful and lusted sin beneath our roof pushed the boundary of my own tolerance. I have been too long impotent in the face of her cavorting.

  Hodges, that coward and scoundrel, remained locked in his room while we argued. Cora, as stubborn and dramatic as is her way, challenged my sobriety and routines and despite the hours and finance invested in her career, she accused me of becoming obstructive to her ambitions.

  Stung by her words and actions, I left that cursed house in a temper. My dear Ethel would listen, for what she lacks in age and experience, she makes up for in a listening ear and kind heart. Oh dear Lord, how cruel you must be to allow my marriage to this tyrant while such a fragrance goes unsavoured!

  December 7th 1906.

  My pen causes long shadows across this page, thrown by the morning sun that creeps over the rooftops. My curtains are drawn to allow that welcoming light inside.

  I have slept scarcely a wink since the early hours. After my long talk with Ethel, I visited a local tavern for what is known as Dutch courage before returning home. My wife can be such an intimidating woman.

  Worse for wear, I stumbled back to 39 Hilldrop Crescent, expecting to find Hodges and Cora once more in relations, however, Hodges had since made his leave, his rented room open and stripped of any effects. At least the man had the sense to move on to pastures new. As for Cora, she too had vanished. With Hodges? I knew not at the time, nor cared. Unsteady on my feet, I lurched up the rickety stairs and into our bedroom, collapsing upon the bed.

  It began with that damned scratching sound.

  Rousing me from my ragged slumbers, the rats I imagined clawed and gnawed from behind the wall, no doubt adding to the width of the ever widening crack.

  I sat up, reached for the lamp on my bedside table and lit it for its meagre glow.

  The damage had indeed worsened. A crack now ran vertically through the middle, like the plaster was mere skin that had been sliced with a scalpel and peeled back, revealing a dark pit at the centre. From within came the sound of vermin burrowing, ever burrowing. It echoed out of the hole as if from the depths of a well.

  Still in my day clothing, for the alcohol had taken the effort to undress, I swept my legs from the bed. The moment my shoes touched the carpet, the noise ceased.

  At first relieved that the rats had taken their leave, the sudden silence seemed to snatch the air from the room, leaving me to stand in a vacuum, hairs standing up along my arms, the flame of the gaslight flickering.

  I slowly approached the wall, my light held aloft, each step bringing a surge in trepidation, a magnet whose repulsion increased with proximity.

  In hindsight, I believe it was the remnants of whiskey still floating in my system that leant me the bravery to gaze inside the dark depths of that hole, yet my efforts proved fruitless. Despite the extra width, the contents of the fissure remained in secret.

  My education lies in the field of medicine and alas I am
no expert in the area of physics, though surely the knowledge of any man of sound mind will report that darkness is to be gone on the presence of light!

  What lay beyond my wall did not obey any laws set down by man or God.

  The darkness held thick as oil.

  Filled with such unbridled horror, I retreated from the wall and fell back onto the bed, holding up the lamp like it had been blessed by the Lord himself and would keep any evil at bay.

  I pray that this diary falls not into the hands of another, for they will surely brand me a lunatic for the following. Even now, sitting in the brightening morning, the image is at the forefront of my thoughts and cannot be burned away. I know that this was no bad dream, alcoholic delusion or mental reaction to the tribulations of the day.

  For a moment, I believed I caught motion within that dark world, but this merely distracted me from the real fright that clung to the edges of the cracks.

  Two hands, both pale as a cadaver’s, gripped the wall. Thin fingers were curled out of the shadow like worms from some dank underground cave where light is an unknown concept. Fingernails pressed into the plaster.

  I gasped and nearly dropped the lamp.

  As a landed fish may silently slide back into the murky depths, so too did these ghastly hands, their nails leaving the tiniest of paths along the wall.

  For a long time, I sat perched at the edge of the bed, staring into that abyss, waiting for the rest of the horror to emerge.

  What to do in the face of this dilemma? The beast appears dormant in the day time. As the sun rises and my confidence grows, I shall move the heavy wardrobe to prevent any further activity and consider my next move.

  December 20th 1906. (extract)

  How very foolish of me! I have reread my previous entry, which was barely legible due to my erratic hand, and have dismissed my recollections. A sad result of a very upset mental state, I adhere. Behind the wardrobe, the hole in the wall has not emitted the slightest of sounds, and every night I retire following my work at the Institute and my rest is undisturbed. Beast indeed!

  Still no sign of Hodges, to my relief. His replacement, Rothering, a young man who works at the foundry, appears honest with no . . . tendencies towards my wife. Cora herself is busy as ever with the festive period, but I find her returning home at a reasonable hour and of acceptable sobriety. I believe she feels the guilt of her actions and has turned over a new leaf.

  March 16th 1907 (extract).

  As with Dicken’s ill-fated Scrooge, I have become tormented by festive ghosts. With Christmas and New Year many weeks in the past, it seems the period still is not over. Cora’s bookings have not shied over the cold winter, and she spends more and more of her time with those harpies at the Music Hall Ladies Guild. Her new found decency is lacking, with my occasional night spent solitary as Cora socialises well into the night, only to stumble home the following morning, still singing and intoxicated from the night’s adventures.

  I fear we are slipping back into our old ways. Only yesterday, I attended the tailor to acquire new clothing for my work at the Institute. Cora too attended and after my measuring, informed the tailor of the material and colour which I desired! I will admit that I felt hurt and angry by her seizing of my affairs, yet held my tongue to prevent our discussions in public.

  There is also rumour of Cora being seen with a man about town. I am yet to confirm these allegations and until that time must trust in the fidelity of my wife.

  Sweet Ethel requested that we take a stroll through Hyde Park this evening, as she felt my disposition has been a little dark of late. While my heart flutters at the thought of such a rendezvous, I reluctantly declined. While Ethel is very dear to me, I am still a married man and must put all thoughts of romance aside. I will not lose Ethel as my closest friend, despite the sparks I feel as she takes my hand in those private moments. In these dark times, one must remain good and noble.

  Mem. Must ensure I bait the traps. It would appear the rats are in the walls again. I can hear them at night.

  November 2nd 1908.

  It amuses me bitterly as I flick back through these pages and find these entries of a soul bared among the mundane lists of tasks and numbers! It paints a very sad portrait should you sift through the daily trappings of my day to day business and put the pieces together.

  Just as the days follow their circle, as do the months and seasons, my marriage has once again come around to this. Cora has admitted, quite flamboyantly, that a string of lovers have passed through her life in recent months, lavishing upon her various trinkets and passions.

  Like the patent medicines I so fervently promoted in my days with Dr. Munyon’s, sometimes the impact can be lessened with prolonged courses, and the body requires a larger dose to respond. My Cora, she has exposed me to her exploits for so long that nothing surprises me. Rather than react with the previous shock and heartbreak I have logged within these very pages, my response is hum drum. Cora’s constant perfidy has become the equilibrium.

  So what now for the future? My righteousness and loyalty are crumbling, as is the wall of the bedroom, which deposits dust and plaster behind the wardrobe on an almost daily basis. I watch Cora as she sleeps. I do not take my wedding vows lightly, yet I lie in the dark, listening to the rats gnawing at the foundations behind the wall, and I dwell on the current state of affairs. While I grow tired of her wayward actions, which at times feel befitting to a woman half her age, I see now that Cora is happy, while I, on the other hand, have grown stagnant in my routines. I am not hurt directly by the adulteries of my wife, rather it is my own missing desire that pains me so.

  Today, I may put to my dear Ethel to take a walk with me following our work together at the Institute. How my mouth goes dry at the mere thought! A girl so pure and kind may very well refuse my proposal, but I feel in my starved heart that she is to be the piece that is missing. May God give me strength for what I am about to do. While He shall surely disapprove of this affair, I trust the Lord shall see this is a matter of love, and lend me the courage to see it through.

  January 5th 1909.

  The oddest thing happened this evening. The theory of out of sight out of mind no longer applied regarding the growing hole in the bedroom wall. I have no idea how Cora can sleep through such a racket. The vermin inside attend their demolition work nightly, as if they are rushing to meet some deadline known only to themselves.

  While Cora was out on one of her many exploits, I concluded my business for the evening and enjoyed a cup of tea before attending my night’s work. With some effort, I pulled the cumbersome wardrobe aside and studied the revealed wall.

  The radius of the hole appeared the same and this didn’t account for the sound of gnawing nor the amount of dust that had fallen to the carpet. I initially deduced that the fissure had not overtly widened, but perhaps had deepened. However, there had been no sign of damage within our bathroom, which was the next room. Considering this queer problem, I lit the gaslight and peered into the darkness.

  Once more, the light did nothing to shift the shadow. It was easy to imagine one looking through a window into the deepest reaches of space, a destination no telescope had the power to observe.

  I reached out to sample the depth of the hole, but refused at the last moment. Something about this anomaly—the density of the darkness and a fleeting memory of dead fingers curled around the edge—refrained my hand. Instead, I listened for evidence of the long-tailed workers that coordinated such wreckage. Only silence reigned within.

  Uncertainty gnawed me. It felt that this transgression against light had become my own personal affair, and I was unsure of the appropriate steps to take. It had become clear that some fiendish will was at play, and I had the suspicion that should I find the funds to have the hole repaired, the fissure would appear again, costing me of pocket and mind.

  It was then that something revealed itself in the darkness, although to keep a true account I have to confess that the sight was glimpsed for but a second,
and due to its nature, I cannot vouch for its authenticity.

  Outlined deep within the darkness glimmered two small circles of gold. I gasped, believing that some hellish animal had been lurking in the shadows all this time, scrutinising me and drawing its malevolent plans.

  To the relief of my beating heart, I realised that close to being a set of eyes, the golden object I had seen had been a pair of spectacles, similar to my own.

  As I stared into the hole, the sight now a mere memory like an after image of a bright sun, I held that not only had I witnessed a pair of small golden spectacles within the wall, but also a long moustache below and thinning hair above! How foolish of me! Driven to terror by my own reflection!

  I surmised there had to be a mirror or at least a pane of highly polished glass within the wall. How it originally came to be inside the wall, I have no idea. However, as I raised the gaslight to seek out a second glimpse of this reflection, I found darkness.

  Only darkness.

  I replaced the rotten bait on the untouched traps and pushed the wardrobe back against the wall. This house deepens my curiosity once again.

  July 27th 1909 (extract).

  I must make efforts to secure this diary in future. I fear Cora suspects my growing intimacy with Ethel, and these words will betray me should her eyes fall upon them. Troubled sleep these last few nights. Hearing scratching and banging in the early hours that stir me from my nightmares. I worry the strain of my romance is beginning to tell. I am a doctor and a gentleman, and am not cut out for such secrecy! At times I pray to God for assertiveness in these troubled times.

  October 2nd 1909 (extract).

  My position grows ever more precarious. While Cora continues her gallivanting about town, irrelevant of company and marital honour, her suspicions have narrowed on my romance. She demands to know why I spend much of my time with, in her own words, that slip of a girl. Lord knows that I wish so much to confess all and end this unfortunate charade. But that won’t do at all. My reputation and limited means, which I have striven to achieve over this last few painful years, my wife shall surely take from me.