The Night Crawler

The Cromwell House, 1847

Something crawled inside the house — George was sure of it.

He heard it clomp up the staircase, then charge onto the landing and vanish back into the attic, scratching its claws against the floorboards. George squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, laying underneath the feathered blankets, a pillow pressed tightly to his neck. He listened warily to the whispers and voices that sprung out of the shadows. They wanted to talk to him.

Burning Bright, Burning Bright are the Stranger and The Night

Lured you out, Lured you out, Monster's waiting to Come Out

Eerie ghostly murmurs reached George's ears like nails on chalkboard and made his heart thump with fear. He knew he shouldn't have taken it — the Black Book. Now notched by his bed, it rattled inside a trunk with brass handles along George's wooden guns, cannons, and other toys. He knew when he had found it wedged into the medicinal cabinets in the dark corner of the apothecary – he should have left it alone. But instead, something diabolical loomed over him that day and begged him to pull it out, hide it away in the folds of his clothing and carry it home. Since then, the nightmares followed and eventually the shadows began to haunt him, his young mind surrendering to the dark that seeped through the pages of the book.

This night, George knew his mother and father were soundly asleep in their bed in a room across the hall. And, Derek, his annoying little brother Derek, who couldn't keep his nose out of his whereabouts and games, turned over in a bunk bed above him, and grunted. To George's surprise, he was immune to hearing and seeing the monsters. From his own bunk bed, without lifting his head, George could see the washroom door. It was propped open. A candle flame flickered above the washbasin, and dimmed, spooking him.

Though frightened, he needed to use the washroom. There was no way around it.

Bolstering his courage, George slowly pushed the coverlet off his legs and shuffled into the hallway. Rain pelted against the glass and wind occasionally brought what seemed like a bucket full of water and smudged it across the house with one swift leap. The metal rooster weathervane on the top of the Cromwell house shook, creaking, and George felt shivers moving up his spine as the sound vibrated against his bones. He squeezed the toy soldier inside his hand a little tighter. He promised himself that once he was done in the washroom, he would sprint back into the bedroom, just before the monsters came out of the attic to catch him.

Each step corresponding to his heartbeat, George quietly tiptoed around the banister and glanced inside his parents' bedroom. Both Tom and Mary lay asleep in their bed, a wool blanket tossed at their feet, and George sighed with relief. If the monsters were truly coming after him, they wouldn't get past his parents.

As George's eyes adjusted to the growing darkness, the house shook with the deep rumble of thunder and the room illuminated in a strike of lightning. It was as if the storm was reminding him that it was time to move on. Quickly closing the bedroom door and keeping his parents out of harm's way, George strolled away in the direction of the washroom.

The lightning flashes sparked one by one behind him, and George's heartbeat quickened. Suddenly, he felt as though he was being watched. George could see dark figures in his peripheral vision slouching against the walls and following him in the dark. But he was too terrified to have a look, and instead of turning, he ran forward.

The ghostly murmurs inside the house grew louder. Covering his ear with one hand and holding a toy soldier with the other, George swiftly locked the washroom door behind him. He picked up the candle off the washbasin and glanced inside the mirror. The same tall antique mirror with a golden frame he had seen a million times before, but not at night. This time it looked more sinister than he ever remembered.