A Short Story Written By My Father When I Was In My Teens… Me & My Dad A Few Years Ago
I doubt I shall ever forget that particular night although it happened so many years ago now, or lose the taste of excitement and fear I felt that 17th December.
On the anniversary date and especially when it falls on a Monday, as this year, I feel irresistibly drawn back to the events of that evening and I am more than happy to surround myself with as many friends as possible.
I was on my way to a reunion celebration called by a close friend who had recently moved to a part of the country I was unfamiliar with. I set off cheerfully in the late afternoon and found his directions clear until I turned off the main road and began to negotiate the country lanes. The roads were very icy and it was already getting dark. I soon realized that I could be in some difficulty and I cursed myself for not starting out earlier. I pressed on, but to add to my troubles, it started to snow and rapidly developed into a blizzard, so that in the gathering gloom, even with the windscreen wipers going full out, I had great difficulty in seeing where I was going. Rounding a sharp bend, the car skidded right across the road out of control and I ended shaken but unhurt in a ditch. With the car lying on an angle of 45 degrees, I gingerly climbed out and with the aid of a torch, soon discovered that both nearside wheels were firmly embedded in mud right up to the axles.
There was nothing for it but to start walking and here I had the one stroke of luck of that whole dreadful night, for I had gone no more than fifteen minutes before I came upon a telephone box. This was as welcome for the brief respite from the blizzard as for the chance of securing help. My numbed fingers fumbled in my pocket book for my friend’s telephone number and mercifully I was soon through to him. He quickly confirmed my fears. It had been snowing there for some hours and he said it would be hopeless to attempt the ten miles to reach me. However, my plight was not desperate for he said that less than a mile from where I stood there was a large three star hotel where I could spend the night and he would hope to pick me up in the morning.
Revived in spirit that I had not far to go, I set off once more, peering through the gloom while endeavoring to find and keep to the highway. Suddenly, my head struck a large object with a loud crack and looking up in a semi-dazed condition, I saw that it was an inn sign, hanging at an angle by only one chain, so that it was three feet longer than it should have been. Holding my head with one hand, I brushed the snow from the sign with the other and read “The Invited Inn.”
I looked around and could see a red light away to my right dimly glowing against the snow. I moved towards it and could soon make out an old black and white timbered building. So, my friend had been mistaken that there was only one hostelry on that road, and as the thought of a cosy inn parlour was much more to my taste than a modern hotel, I unhesitatingly tramped towards the main door. I pushed it open, the door gently creaking against its’ hinges and I found myself in a candle lit hall. The bar was immediately before me with a flight of stairs to the right and beside it a small reception desk. To the left was a large ancient fireplace with, most welcoming sight, a fire blazing within. There was no one in sight, so I rang the bell and could hear it echoing away at the back of the house. Almost immediately there was a shuffling and in came a man I presumed was the landlord.
“Yes?”
“My car’s broken down and I’ve lost my way in the snow. I was hoping you could give me supper and put me up for the night?”
I could barely see his face in the dimly lit hall and his manner seemed to belie the sign outside, but he answered civilly enough in slow measured tones.
“We’re likely closed for re-decoration, but there’s the guest room available. The power’s off and all the staff are away, but there’s cold beef, cheese and pickles if you want?”
I told him I would be grateful for anything and he shuffled away.
I moved to the fire, but had hardly time to settle before he reappeared with the promised food. He brought a good enough meal, which I did justice to, and washed down with a half bottle of claret, I soon felt warm and satisfied. I went back to the fire. There was still no sign of anyone else about, so I selected the ancient wooden settle, put my feet up and lay back contented. I was tired from the journey and under the influence of the meal, the wine, and the heat of the fire, I was soon fast asleep.
I awoke with a start; the atmosphere had perceptively changed. There was a deep chill in the air and an acrid smell of smoke filled the room although the fire seemed just as before. I was still coming to when I observed that I was no longer alone, for sitting on the opposite side of the fireplace was a woman. Her head was turned away, towards the fire, which she gazed at fixedly. Feeling embarrassed at being asleep, I ventured some polite conversation.
“Good evening. Was it still snowing when you came in?”
She didn’t reply and I thought for a moment she hadn’t heard, but then she arose and slowly turned towards me.
I was totally unprepared for the sight which met mine and whatever I was about to say faded from my lips as I voluntarily gasped, for her face, in very contrast to the black lace shawl about her head, was red, raw and horribly scarred and disfigured. There was a wild look about her eyes. I tried to rise but felt powerless to move and watched in growing apprehension and terror as she drew the shawl closer around her and turning, took a step towards me. I shrank back and to my immense relief, she walked straight past me, crossed the room and without a backwards glance, slowly ascended the stairs and passed from sight.
I felt an instant relief of tension to find myself sweating and shaking. It flashed upon me that I had seen a ghost, for surely no human being could possibly have survived the event that had brought such dreadful destruction to the human face. Leaning forward to poke the fire, I noticed for the first time that the candles had all gone out. As I did so, a voice behind me spoke and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“You’ve let the candles go out, Sir.”
It was the landlord and I drew breath again as he slowly went round the room, candle to candle, re-lighting them, but when he came back to the fireplace, he peered at me.
“Seen the lady of the house, have you?”
I nodded in reply.
“I thought so. Come on, Sir, a noggin of brandy will warm you up.”
He led the way to the bar and I was glad to have someone to talk to.
“Who is she?”
“Who was she, you mean. Oh, it’s a sad story, a sad story, Sir.”
“It happened a few years back, December 17th it was, just like tonight. There’d been a heavy snowfall that day, fair struck up a blizzard and at half past seven, a young man arrived and asked to be put up for the night. Seems he’d lost his way. Well, the inn was rightly closed for accommodation, but they had one room available, right at the end of the corridor at the back, so he takes it. No other guests, they all retired early, just after ten. The young man went to his room at the end of the corridor and the landlord and his wife to theirs.
About two hours later the young man awoke with the acrid smell of smoke in his nostrils. He opened the door to find the landing ablaze. He tried to make his way across the corridor to where he’d seen the landlord and his wife retire, but the heat was too intense and then the wall in front of him gave way. He heard the wife screaming and saw her engulfed in flames, her face burning and raw. Her husband was trying to clear his way past a fallen beam. His hands too were red, raw and scarred as the flames licked all around. It was no use; the young man had to try and get help. So, he went back to his own room and jumped from the bedroom window. Unfortunately, he must have hit his head, he was knocked unconscious and being out at the back and the snow lying deep he wasn’t noticed by the villagers who came later. He was found in the morning, but by then he was frozen solid.”
“So, they all perished?”
“Yes, Sir, all three, sad.”
“Then she is a ghost?”
“Aye, the locals won’t come near this place on 17th December. Oh well, it’s just after ten, time we were going upstairs. I’ll light the lantern.”
He struck a match and as he did so, my blood ran cold for there, quite clearly in the light of the lantern, I could see his hand was red, raw and scarred, just as the woman’s face had been.
“Come on, Sir, she’ll be waiting for us. I did say as how you could have the ghost room.”
He moved towards the stairs and fight as I would against it, I felt compelled to accompany him. What nightmare was this? In my dazed state, I stumbled forward and the full horror and confirmation of my situation came upon me as I reached the bottom step. I could see that although there were two of us, the light of the fire cast only one shadow. He motioned me to go ahead of him and I slowly and uneasily ascended, like a man to the scaffold.
As we passed the halfway landing, I found it impossible to even glance behind, as I could sense the overwhelming weight of his presence. It seemed an eternity passed in a few seconds as we approached the top step and I became aware of a flickering candle coming towards us from the far end. I put my foot on the landing and the light was now enough for me to make out what I had dreaded to see again. I Iet out a scream and whether it broke the trance I was in or whether I fainted or tripped on the top step, I shall never know. Sufficient to say, I fell backwards, head over heels, down the stairs to the half landing. Without a second glance, I pulled myself up and fled to the main door. I clawed at it in panic, till at last, wrenching it open, I had a brief glimpse of the night and stars before falling unconscious, outside in the snow.
When I came to, it was to hear the voice of my friend and feel myself seized by warm hands and brandy trickling down my throat.
“Good job we decided to come along when the snow eased, old man. You might have frozen to death out here.”
I clutched at his arm and tried to explain.
“Must be that nasty bump on your forehead. The inn was burned down a long time ago. Luckily only three people perished. See – it’s a total ruin.”
He pointed and in the light of his torch, I could see that his words were only too true.
I quickly recovered, but nothing and no one could drag me back to that place and although it is many years now, I still feel a chill each 17th December, especially when it falls, like tonight on a Monday.
CEDRIC READ