The Highwayman's Hostage

Chapter 1

A shadowy figure stepped ominously from the deep green leaves of the withered trees. In the velvet darkness of a starless night, she could barely see anything, but the movement of the shadowy figure caught her attention immediately. She watched in anticipation, unable to do anything but that, as he drew a loaded pistol and pointed it at her face. Her breathing rapidly increased and her face was covered in beads of anxious perspiration. She let out an involuntary gasp of fear and shrank back from the bullet awaiting her. Sinisterly, the coach door opened with a slow creak, giving whoever was out there full access to her. She wimpered, scrambling back further so that she was pressed up against the other side. The shadow with the gun made no movement for a moment, it just stood there breathing steadily. Slowly, at the pace of a prowling predator, they stepped out of the shadows that had enveloped them. The darkness parted to reveal a faceless man, that is, he was wearing a black mask which covered the lower half of his smallpox scarred face. A three point hat eclipsed his glowing red eyes and with a bony hand, he reached his hand inside the coach...

Elizabeth "Bess" Hastings awoke, screaming and struggling against the duvet that tightly hugged her. Tears of anxiety streamed down her sleepy face as she tried unsuccessfully to relax and to convince herself that she was in no danger. The image of those insidious eyes was seared forever into her mind, a terrifying reminder of the dream she had had that night. With still shaking hands, she lit a nearly burnt out candle by her bedside. It's light caused eerie shapes to appear on the dirty white walls. A thorough search ensured that there were no cloaked men hiding in her bedroom, waiting to rob her at gunpoint. She kicked the sheets from her body, tired of them clinging to her sweaty, clammy body.

The brown oak door opened with a grumble of protest. Bess screamed in shock and fear, instantly reaching for the sheets that she had so recently rejected, as if they would protect her from whatever was behind that door.

"What is going on in here, child? Are you harmed?" Cried the elderly man in the doorway. He wore a white nightdress and had a cap placed upon his grey head. A concerned look was upon his face as he came to kneel by her bedsite.

"Oh, Father." She sobbed, "I had the nightmare again." She clung to him, afraid to let go incase the robber of her nightmares made an appearance. He stroked her chocolatey brown hair with comforting hands. "It was awful. That same man held a gun to me and it cut off just as he was going to pull me from the coach. I was all alone and it was night and there was no moon and, and oh, Father, it was the worst thing ever!" He broke away from the hug and held her shoulders, looking worried.

"This is the fourth time in two weeks that you've had this dream. I'm getting worried about you, Bess. Perhaps we should take you to somebody." He suggested cautiously.

"But you are a vicar, who could be better for helping me be rid of my nightmares?" Bess asked, unwilling to see anybody but her loving father about the terrifying dreams that frequented her head most nights.

"I was wondering, and this is simply an idea, if a physician would be better." He said judiciously, apprehensive about her reaction. He knew that she would not react well and he was correct, for she pulled away suddenly and widened her eyes.

"A physician? You do not think that there's something wrong with me do you?" She exclaimed.

"I just think that a physician's opinion couldn't hurt. I only want to help you get better." He said, avoiding the difficult question. In truth he had absolutely no idea what was going on with his daughter as of late. She would wake up in the middle of the night with no warning, howling and bawling about these terrible dreams. He wondered, just for a moment, if it was the work of the Devil, trying to get at his poor daughter. Driven by fear he urged his daughter to pray.