The Dessicant (Part 2)

Monday, September 25th, 1846

How foolish I feel now! How childish my fears appear when examined with a clear head!

The woman who met me at the door was the very definition of an innkeeps wife - her build was full and homely, I dare say she was very nearly as broad as she was tall; her thick hair fell to her shoulders and was curled tightly in the style currently in fashion in this part of the county. She greeted me with a wide smile, and ushered me without preamble into the large kitchen-cum-dining room within.

The meal was hearty, and to my mind somewhat recherche - she dismissed my query as to its content with a dismissive wave, insisting only that my build necessitated it's complete consumption - I was happy to oblige. The mug of cider that accompanied the meal settled my nerves, and I found myself dismissing my previous observations outside as the imaginings of a weary mind.

I found myself exhausted and was shown directly to my quarters. The room was warm and the bed no less comfortable that my own, and sleep came immediately - I was awoken briefly during the night by the heavy spattering of rain on my gable window but it lasted no more than a few moments and I awoke completely refreshed.

My venerable host was somewhat withdrawn when I offered greeting over breakfast and asked after her husband who was nowhere to be seen, preferring to comment on my dress - I had prepared for poor weather but was surprised to find the day outside a glorious one. A handful of men were busy at work scrubbing the stone of my dwelling with wire brushes on long poles.

What pride in their village! As I ate I reflected gloomily on the comparison between these rough-hewn country men and the gentlemen of the city with whom I was accustomed - I was almost viciously gleeful to find these coarse men agreeable in the extreme.

This entry must end abruptly - one of the local women has agreed to accompany me on the short drive to the river. I hope in this peaceful place I may find some inspiration.

Monday, September 25th, 1846, 9pm

I should imagine this entry to be almost incomprehensible, such is the severity of the tremors I find myself gripped by. Truly, I have never been so terrified. The events of the day have left me such a gibbering wreck that had I been at home I would be carried away at once to the madhouse. I shall endeavour to explain my malady.

Our drive to the river was a pleasant one. My escort, though obviously lacking in education was fine company and I passed the hour long journey answering her many questions about life in the city - indeed, it occurred to me that she had never left the confines of the valley. During my monologue she alternated between awe and excitement, and I was found her delight quite infectious.

My host had packed a lunch, and the rest of the trip was passed in a most decent manner. However, as the day wore on towards dusk our driver began showing signs of an odd distress, and at his express recommendation we set out back to the village.

As the rutted track entered the forest the sun was stolen away by the grey shade of the tall pines and I found my apprehension returning apace. Our carriage was an open top affair, and within a few minutes the temperature had become unpleasantly chill. Without warning the driver pulled hard on the reins, nearly catapulting us from our bench. What I saw on the road before us as I sought him askance set my blood to ice.

A child sat cross legged in the centre of the track. She was dressed in a simple wool shift, and her long red hair hung to the ground around her obscuring her features. Her hands and feet were clean despite the mud in which she sat but it was what she toyed with in the ground before her that drew my horror, for it was the corpse of a man.

I would have screamed had I been able to draw breath. As it was the horse whinnied and bucked, and the child noticed us. Her small face was fixed in a ricktus grin, and thick gobbets of blood stained her jagged teeth. She stood and began to walk stiff legged towards us fast, far faster that should have been possible - at last the driver found his nerve and lashed the horse into a gallop. Whether we struck the child I knew not, nor cared.

My companion and were simply petrified. Pale with fright, we clung to each other as the carriage crashed through the trees. After some few minutes the driver seemed to calm, but this was unwarranted - the darkness blurred in the trees and in the blink of an eye he was ripped from the carriage, his scream cut off by an ugly tearing sound.

The horse, still terrified, showed no signs of slowing and we cowered in the rear as the carriage plowed on through the dark. I know not how long we lay there in crippling fear; maybe minutes, maybe hours, but eventually and with tears of joy we beheld the dim lights of the village ahead.

The horse was caught and calmed directly we crossed the threshold, and we were helped down from our perch. As the townsfolk escorted us quietly away I dared a glance back at the forest - I knew it was no weary mind this time that traced bright eyes in the dark.