Rehash

 

Rehash

This is a story from some time ago, brushed up and polished a little. I hope you enjoy it.

 

A Night to Remember

Was I dreaming, or had a noise outside woken me? Whichever it was, I was instantly alert, my body tense, my eyes straining in the velvet black, my heart pounding in my ears. The little noises that are swallowed up in the daily round were insistent and sinister in the small hours of the night. Identifying each one, the settling of the floorboards, the creaking of the wooden walls, the scuttling of small creatures in the roof, I convinced myself there was nothing to fear and tried to relax.

I had bought the shack a few months ago as a summer retreat. It was a simple construction and had neither electricity nor plumbing, but it suited my requirement for a peaceful refuge in bucolic surroundings. My working life was demanding, and I wanted a place in which I could relax completely.

On a sunny day, it was no hardship to fetch water from the well and heat it on the paraffin stove, though it was a different matter when rain pelted from a slate sky, and a sharp wind cut through my clothes. I should not have cared to spend the colder days of the year in my rustic accommodation, but living in it for brief periods helped me to appreciate the modern conveniences of my city apartment.

There was just one thing I had never quite grown accustomed to, but it played a minor role in my rural retreat and I planned my days with care to deal with it. I had grown honeysuckle and jasmine around and over the privy, both to make it look more attractive, and to mask the smell. I didn’t enjoy visiting it in the dark, especially on a stormy night, but sometimes I had to.

Having been startled awake, I realised I needed to venture out to use it. I lit oil lamps and candles in the house as a beacon in the darkness for my return. It was a warm, moonless night, with bright pinpricks of starlight in the enormity of space. I looked up and shivered, though not from cold. There was a strange atmosphere in the clearing around my shelter, as if eyes were watching me. In the distance, a dog barked, and was answered by another.

 Not for the first time, I wished I had a dog, but it wasn’t practical in the city, and certainly not fair, as I worked long hours. Perhaps I should start a dog hire company to accommodate people like me. It would be rather hard on the dogs, though, having to adapt to different ‘owners’ all the time. The idea amused me and distracted me from the conviction that I was not alone.

Returning to my little refuge, I was shocked to see that my beacon had disappeared. I could understand one or two of the candles guttering out. The ever-present wind sneaked through every small gap in the log walls, but the lamp flames were protected by glass shades. How could they have been extinguished?

A silent-winged owl soared above my head, making me start and clutch my dressing gown to myself. I felt a touch on my shoulder, and looked round, but saw nothing. I hurried along the path, and something grabbed at my ankles and tugged my hair. I shook myself free and stumbled on. Gasping, I reached the door and fumbled the latch. Inside, I felt for the emergency candles on the windowsill. I was trembling so much that I dropped several matches, but when the candles and lamps had chased away the darkness, I looked around.

Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed. I sensed a tangible presence and noticed a circle of flower petals on the floor. I had not brought any flowers into the house.

I spent the rest of the night in my rocking chair, every available candle and lamp ablaze. As night faded and dawn approached, I needed clean air and fresh water, and went to the well. All around, I heard faint rustlings and whisperings and caught half-glimpses of creatures slipping into the woods surrounding the clearing. There were more flower petals around the base of the well. I felt that I was not alone and yet I was - completely alone. I regretted the lack of close neighbours. My rural shelter had become a nightmare. Was it of my own making? Had I imagined the events of the night?

I sold the property soon afterwards, my sense of peace having been shattered and replaced with a feeling of alienation.

Years later, I was talking to a friend about that night.

‘What time of year was it?’ he asked.

‘Summer, midsummer,’ I said.

‘And there was a well on your land?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘It was the fairies,’ he said.

I laughed, incredulous.

‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘Midsummer’s Night is a magical time, when the veil between this life and another is very thin. I’d say that your well was an ancient holy well. You didn’t observe the rituals, so the fairies were angry with you.’

I shook my head, unable to believe him.

He smiled at me, and nodded. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’ he quoted.

Maybe he was right.