The horse refused to budge as soon as the carriage entered the misty terrain. Try as he might, the young man couldn’t coax the animal to even budge a millimetre. Cursing his misfortune, he stepped out of his coachman’s seat. He looked around and shivered involuntarily. The night was cold, but no sooner had he crossed a signboard named Gorseheath Grange than a shroud of fog descended upon his surroundings.
Daniel Dawney opened his black umbrella and began to stride carefully towards the silhouette of a country house. The air was dewy, and the mist seemed to trail him like a spectre. He looked up. The full moon that had hitherto guided him beamed weakly at him, as though the rays had passed through layers of curtains to reach him.
Daniel lifted the J-shaped bronze knocker and banged it against the door once. The loud thud reverberated in his ears, and he stepped back instinctively. He was contemplating whether to sprint back to his carriage when the door opened to reveal an attractive woman holding a lantern in her hand.
Daniel gave a short bow. “Apologies for the inconvenience, my fair lady. But my carriage broke down. May I inconvenience the man of the house to allow me shelter for the night?”
The woman flashed a lopsided smile. “I am Bathsheba Blackbrook, the owner of this humble abode. You may spend the night at Gorseheath Grange.”
Daniel hesitated for a moment before accepting the offer. Thanking his hostess profusely, he stepped inside the house when Bathsheba grabbed his hand. Caught off guard by the abrupt gesture, he turned around.
“I like your umbrella!” Bathsheba whispered. Her eyes glowed like a firefly fluttering in a swamp. Before Daniel could utter a word, Bathsheba knocked him down with an ornate brolly handle.
*****
The sun shone on the countryside, but its rays failed to penetrate the invisible canopy of mist surrounding Gorseheath Grange. Bathsheba held a candle and opened the door to the cellar. The stairs creaked under her weight. Two flaming torches mounted on either side of the dingy wall cast their flickering lights on a floor. Fifty umbrellas of varying colours and sizes lay neatly arranged. Bathsheba walked towards the table and picked up a small piece of white paper. Dipping the quill in the red ink, she scribbled with the flourish of a dainty woman.
Date: 22nd June 1899
Colour: Black
Owner: He who shall remain nameless
With a predatory grin on her face, Bathsheba stuck the paper on Daniel’s umbrella and folded it, placing it gingerly amongst its companions. Patting it with her wiry hand, she got up and exited the cellar.
The frantic knocks beneath the wooden floor that had echoed throughout the night grew muffled and finally gave way to an eerie silence. The mist descended on the room, dotting the new object with ice-cold droplets. The formidable darkness around Gorseheath Grange deepened as Bathsheba Blackbrook and the mist waited for the victim, preferably with an umbrella.
Deepa Vishal
Eerie! Well -written!