Lords of Misrule

Part Five - Nocturne - a night scene

doors do not stop them
bolts do not stop them
they glide in at the doors like serpents
they enter by the windows like the wind

(extract from) Myths of Babylonia and Assyria
Donald A MacKenzie (1915)

Vivace...

The little girl danced across the meadow humming discordantly to herself; a cheerful nonsense tune that made her smile and raised her spirits. The sun was shining, the day warm; she was happy. Upon reaching the stile at the edge of the field she stopped and looked back. Trailing in her wake, as they always did when she sang to herself, myriad colourful butterflies performed their own dance upon the light breeze. Her smile widened, she laughed aloud.

Half-way across the flower-speckled meadow, following the path trodden down by the dancing girl, her equally red-haired, but much less cheerful twin sister beheaded yet another white-and-yellow daisy. At her own pace she caught up with her twin, the latter still cavorting with the butterflies; spinning and jumping, lost in her inner world, playing with the insects, but away with the fairies.

Larghissimo...

The dog came awake, raising its muzzle above the confines of its circular wicker basket. In its instinct-driven consciousness the sleep-disturbing stimuli provoked a defensive response. Coming to its paws the dog stepped slowly from its bed, nostrils questing in the night-dark kitchen. A hush lay heavily over the room, pressing down with almost tangible force. Facing the outside door, a growl started deep in the dog's chest, neck fur bristling in agitation.

A sigh; the faintest scratching; the doorknob rattled.

Rumbling through bared teeth the dog stared at the door, tail switching side-to-side. As the scraping came again, the dog's hackles rose, eyes searching for the source of its unease. Silent shadow flowed beneath, beside and over the kitchen door; tendrils of darkness snaked across the floor, the walls, the ceiling; shadow engulfed the mundane trappings of domestic life and rendered them into formless shades.

Claws scrabbling at cold linoleum the dog retreated into its small corner of the pack territory. Growls had become whimpers, tail curled between shaking legs in a posture of submission. The dog recognised an old adversary. Its kin had protected mankind, their adopted pack, for long centuries and the shades had always been there, just beyond the comforting firelight, beyond the odour and noise of technology.

The shadows filled the room, every corner and crevice, before they tried to pass the inner door and infest the remainder of the house; but a power infused within the building thwarted their further movement. Above the silence, beyond the door, came a tapping-ticking noise, like too many clocks not quite running in synchronization. The shadows investigated the limits of their surroundings and then slowly withdrew.

In the now pitch-dark kitchen the dog unraveled.

Allegretto...

Glover ran for his life, chest heaving with each snatched breath; with every step burning muscles threatened collapse. Abject terror propelled him on; his frantic footsteps echoing against the buildings that blurred by on either side.

Bursting from the oppression of the narrow mews, Glover found himself in a quiet cobbled street, bathed in moonlight and the inadequate illumination of too few streetlamps. Still in headlong flight he risked a backward glance, only to collide with a parked car. Winded by the impact he staggered, for a brief moment leaning against the vehicle, bile souring his throat. Fear overcame his exhaustion and sent him stumbling on.