Spindle Wood (COMPLETED)

Chapter 29

Logan was awake. It was the dead of night and Logan was awake. And, despite himself, he had no idea why.

He'd been tired so he'd gone to bed early. And he'd still been tired when he tried to go to sleep. But he just couldn't. He'd lain awake long enough to watch the summer sunlight drain from his room and then the moonless night paint everything a shade of grey.

It must be early morning now and he was still awake. It made no sense.

Turning his pillow over for the hundredth time, Logan was sure there really was no 'cold side'.  He pulled the sheets over his head, then pushed them down to his waist. Then he got cold and pulled the sheets back up to his shoulders.

"What is the point of having the most comfortable bed ever if you can't fall asleep in it?" He thought moodily. He supposed he could get up and get a book but the candle by his bed wasn't lit and he had no idea where Oscar had hidden his matches.

At least, he assumed Oscar had hidden his matches. It was something Oscar always did when he was angry at Logan. Hide his matches...

Now his mind was going around in circles. Candle, matches, Oscar, candle, matches, Oscar, candle, matches, Oscar, candle-

He hadn't realised he'd been staring at the crack in his door when he saw a glimmer of flame gold pass it. He hadn't realised he'd zoned out into his endless cycle of thinking about candles and matches and his stupid, stupid brother. Now, he actually heard it.

Footsteps. Soft, but there.

"Who's there?" Logan thought and the words nearly made it past his lips before he stopped himself. Calling out in the middle of the night to an intruder in a royal castle was the easiest way to get yourself kidnapped or murdered or both. Logan should just ignore it and try to go back to sleep.

Normally, Logan would. But right now, Logan's mind was addled by lack of sleep and so desperately, horribly bored that he was pushing the covers back and padding over to his door before he even registered it fully.

Logan paused, his ear to the wood of the door, a hand over his mouth. Nothing. He could hear nothing. If he couldn't hear anything in the dead of night, maybe he'd imagined it.

But that flash of gold. That light from a flame. He had an active imagination but he couldn't imagine yellow light into grey darkness.

Carefully, quietly, wishing it was silently, Logan inched his door open. There was the yellow light, just at the end of the corridor. From what he could see, Logan could just make out a blurry figure silhouetted in the candle's flickering flame.

Logan had forgotten his glasses.

The figure turned with a sudden purpose and strode down the corridor, away from Logan. As quick as he could, Logan followed.

"This is stupid. So, so stupid." Logan scolded himself. "You are going to get yourself killed." That nearly stopped him.

"Good." He thought then, morbidly. "Might spice up my dull life a bit."

He rounded the corner with surprising speed and stopped. The figure was stood on the first step of a spiral staircase, so still and so posed they looked almost like a statue.

One hand held the candle, the other was outstretched, fingers pressed against the wall. A foot on the floor, the other on the step just above. Gazing up the staircase with an eery concentration. It was unnerving. The whole scene was.

"What am I doing here?" Logan was struck with the sudden thought. "I should be in bed. I should be asleep, for Heaven's sake."

Almost as if they'd heard his thoughts, the figure turned their head and Logan could see their face with a frighteningly vivid clarity he hadn't even been able to get with his glasses on. They blew the candle out.

Logan awoke with a start, weak sunlight trickling through the curtains by his bed. Scrambling for his glasses, he found them and jammed them on his face.

He was in his own bed. In his own room. It must've been five, maybe six in the morning. He was fine.

It had been a nightmare! Of course. That's all it had been.

A nightmare.

Logan sat up in bed, waiting for the images from his dream to fade. Most of them already had but that face...

So twisted and awful. Scarred beyond almost all recognition of human features. Logan wondered briefly what could've caused such disfiguration then mentally shook himself.

What did it matter? His imagination had simply conjured up a frightening image, that was all. It had been a nightmare, not real and not bound by the rules of logic. Just a nightmare.

That's all it had been.

I know this is Pat's story technically but I had no ideas so you get Logan's POV instead.
Bye,
Blaize