Something Wicked (part 2)
Below is part 2 of my story, Something Wicked. For part 1 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2014/10/11/something-wicked-part-1/
Charles reached for the knob of the bedroom door. He pulled. The door was stuck fast. With all his strength Charles yanked at the door handle. Still it refused to budge. Stepping back and surveying the door, Charles’s eyes met those of the stately raven. It sat on a ledge just above the door.
“Open the door”, he screamed at the bird.
“Never more”, the raven answered, it’s eyes burning into the boy’s.
Desperately Charles grasped the knob with both hands and pulling with all his strength once more attempted to open the door. it remained stubbornly immovable.
The bird’s eyes continued to bore into his, it’s talons tapping against the wooden ledge. The sound increased in volume until it seemed to fill his head.
“Help! Help! Go away”, Charles yelled.
With a start, the boy awoke shivering with cold. In his nightmare the blankets had fallen in a tangled heap on the wooden floor. For some time he lay in that state between dream and reality where the 2 states mingle producing a feeling which can best be described as a waking nightmare. He could feel the bird reaching out, attempting to draw him back into the world of nightmares. With a great effort Charles forced his eyes open and turning towards the door observed, with relief that no raven sat atop it.
Tap, tap, tap. If the bird wasn’t making that sound then who was. In a voice which betrayed none of the terror gnawing away at him, Charles said,
“Is that you uncle? Sorry if I disturbed you, I had the most horrible nightmare”.
No voice answered, while the tapping continued, mingling with, and, at times becoming lost in the sound of the wind which had, while the child was sleeping, begun to buffett the casements of the ancient building.
Charles thought about getting out of bed to retrieve the bedclothes. The desire to become warm once more, to snuggle up under warm blankets contended with the terror of what might happen should he dare to climb out of bed. He remembered stories of bogeymen who lurked under beds waiting to grab the legs of children who came within their grasp.
The wind eased and the sound of the tapping reasserted itself. Despite his terror Charles became aware that the noise eminated not from the door but the wardrobe which faced his bed.
Perhaps Smudge, his uncle’s cat had, somehow become trapped in the wardrobe. The animal loved to curl up among warm clothes and he had found it there previously, lying on top of a pile of jumpers.
“It will be Smudge’s claws making that noise. The poor animal must have become stuck in the wardrobe when I closed it this evening, just before I went to bed”, Charles said to himself.
All his terrors forgotten Charles climbed out of bed and padded across to where the huge old oak wardrobe stood.
“Did you get stuck in the wardrobe? You silly creature”, Charles said as he slid back the heavy wooden doors.
The wardrobe revealed only clothes. Jumpers neatly folded on shelves, several pairs of trousers, shirts, t-shirts and 4 pairs of shoes met the child’s perplexed gaze. He listened. The tapping had, as soon as he opened the wardrobe ceased and a profound silence now engulfed the room.
“I don’t like this” the boy muttered as he collected the tangled blankets and returned to bed.
Charles wished that he owned a mobile. He would like to text or instant message one of his school friends, to communicate with a fellow human being. However his uncle had confiscated his mobile,
“Mobiles fry the brain Charles. As a doctor I know these things. There have been several articles in leading medical journals showing a link between use of mobiles and brain cancer. Its for your own good Charles. If you want to talk to your friends use the landline but you will be seeing them again soon so I can’t see why you can’t wait a couple of weeks before speaking to them”.
So the mobile had been locked away in Lord Brockett’s study leaving Charles with no means of amusing himself other than the dusty volumes which sat in the bookcase in the corner of the room and solitary walks in the grounds of Brockett Hall.
