Chilling tales for the restless night

Through the window

In the bustling city of **York**, nestled within its ancient walls and winding cobblestone streets, there lived a boy named Henry. It was the year 1886, and although Henry was just ten years old, he had never known the joys that other children experienced. Every day, from morning until midday, Henry stood silently behind the large window of his family's grand, shadowed townhouse, his small face hidden behind a thin, lace curtain.

From his vantage point, he could see the lively streets of York filled with children laughing and running through the narrow alleys. The grand clock tower in the distance tolled the hours as the world outside moved along without him. Henry watched the boys and girls of the city chase each other past merchants' stalls and horse-drawn carriages, their faces flushed with excitement. They played games of tag, kicked balls across the square, and climbed atop the low walls of the old city, their voices echoing up to where Henry stood alone.

His heart ached with a longing that only grew stronger with each passing day. He wished more than anything to join them, to run through the crowded streets, to laugh with them, to know what it felt like to be free. But his parents, strict and fearful, had forbidden him to leave the house.

*"It's dangerous outside, Henry,"* they would warn in hushed tones, their faces lined with worry. *"The streets are no place for you. You must stay here where it's safe."*

And so, Henry remained trapped within the house, watching the world from behind his curtain. His days were spent in silence, his only companions the dusty books that lined the shelves and the old toys scattered across the floor. The townhouse, though grand, felt like a prison, its rooms dark and filled with the heavy stillness of isolation.

*"Why is it dangerous?"* Henry would whisper to himself, his breath fogging the glass as he pressed his face against the window. He had never seen anything dangerous outside—only the children playing and the busy lives of the city's people. The market square bustled with vendors selling fruit and fish, and families strolling together through the streets. Yet his parents' words hung over him like a dark cloud, warning him of unseen perils.

He would watch the other children with envy, their laughter piercing through the silence of his home. They didn't seem to worry about danger. They ran freely through the maze of alleys, their clothes catching the breeze as they jumped over puddles and chased each other through the narrow streets. They seemed to live in a world of light and joy that Henry could only observe from afar.

Henry's life in York was unlike that of other children. While most spent their days running through the bustling streets and playing under the watchful gaze of the sun, Henry was only allowed out at night. When the moon hung high in the sky and the city streets lay empty and silent, Henry would slip out, always followed closely by his faithful butler, Mr. Finch.

Together, they would walk the quiet streets of York, the only sounds being their footsteps and the occasional rustle of wind. There were no children to play with, no merchants shouting their wares, no bustling carriages. Instead, the city belonged to them, bathed in the soft glow of gas lamps and the eerie quiet of midnight. Mr. Finch would carry a ball with him, and after a walk along the cobblestone roads, he and Henry would find a still corner of the city to play. The ball would bounce off the empty streets, the noise echoing off the stone buildings as Henry laughed, chasing it in the darkness.

They would play for a while, but before the first light of dawn could break the horizon, Mr. Finch would gently take Henry's hand and lead him back home, back to the safety of the house where the sun could not reach him.

Some nights, when his parents attended grand parties in the city's finest houses, they would bring Henry along. These gatherings were filled with adults dressed in fine clothes, their laughter ringing through the grand halls. There were no other children at these parties—only Henry, who would sit quietly in a corner, watching as the grown-ups laughed and danced. His only companion was the family's pet wolf, a sleek and silent creature that Henry adored. While the adults reveled in their own world, Henry would stroke the wolf's fur and play small games with it, finding comfort in its presence.