They Mostly Come Out At Night
Read They Mostly Come Out At Night Online
Authors: Benedict Patrick
Artemis and the Three Daughters
The Magpie King and the Black Squirrel
Preview: Where the Waters Turn Black
They Mostly Come Out At Night
Copyright 2016 Benedict Patrick
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Jenny Zemanek
Published by One More Page Publishing
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Splintered wood, teeth and claws, blood in the night. Lonan had seen these events so many times before. He knew exactly what was coming.
“Can’t you get him to shut up?” The voice belonged to Lonan’s father. This was a dream about that horrible night eight years ago, and back then, Lonan had been unable to stop screaming.
His father grabbed him roughly by the shoulders. “Boy, you have to stop. They are above us, we can hear them through the floor. You will lead them straight to us.”
Lonan was a young man now, but could not help the guilt he still felt about that night. He had known that to survive the dark, he should be silent. If a child needed to cry, they did so with their head tucked under their pillow. But Lonan also knew that back then, back eight years ago, he was desperately trying to tell them all something.
Nobody had listened.
“I don’t want to do this,” his father said, before slapping young Lonan across the face with the back of his hand.
That was the last exchange that took place between Lonan and his father before the cellar door cracked open and the creatures took his father’s life.
As always, it was as those sinister clawed hands reached into the cellar that Lonan woke up. The dawn bell was ringing, signalling it was safe to go outside. Lonan knew he was going to be in a foul mood after his dream, so he chose to slink out of the cellar and make his way into the forest without having to speak to anyone.
Most of the village hated Lonan. Even now, years later, they blamed him for the events of that awful night, for the multiple breaches and the lives that had been lost. It had easily been the worst night in Smithsdown’s history. The villagers were right about one thing - there was somebody to blame for those events, but it was not Lonan. However, back then, nobody had wanted to listen to the boy who they believed had led the monsters to their doors, and now nobody wanted to listen to the man he had become.
Lonan made his way into the forest because he had roots and herbs to gather for the village healer. However, as often happened after he dreamt of his father, Lonan instead wasted the day away dealing with his anger, taking it out on the forest so as not to mistreat the few in the village who still cared for him.
As the sun began to fall, Lonan returned home, eager to see the village buildings before the sky darkened. As he crossed the river that ran close to Smithsdown, he stopped, looking downstream. There in the distance was Branwen, the woman who used to be Lonan’s closest friend.
On seeing her, Lonan quickly hid in the bushes. Branwen had not welcomed the sight of him for a long time. Out of all of the villagers, it was she who hated him the most.
What’s she doing? It’ll be dark soon, and they’ll be coming. Why is she still here?
From his crouching position in the bushes, Lonan strained his neck upwards to look at the setting sun. In truth, it was still around two hours until nightfall, which gave her and him plenty of time to return to the village and to safety. However, like many of those who lived in the forest, the hairs on the back of Lonan’s neck always stood on end when the sun began to fall. Worried, he turned to look at the young woman he was hiding from.
When they were children, they had spent as much time together as possible, playing on the village green or in the wild of the woods. But now…
Now, Branwen despised Lonan most of all. He knew they could never have a future together anymore, all because Lonan had been blamed for a crime committed by another.
Worst of all, Lonan’s boyish affections for Branwen had changed too. His memories of his childhood friendship with her were precious to him, and as he had grown into a man, his feelings of affection towards her had deepened. This was why her attitude towards him hurt so much.
He gave a small breath of relief when he saw Branwen finally gather her washing, adjust the small bundle she held swaddled to her chest, and left for home. Once she had disappeared from sight, Lonan stood, stretching his thin legs and ruffling his scruffy, dark hair to loose any brambles that had become tangled in it. It had been a number of weeks since he had last seen Branwen. Even now, he dared not get too close. His battered heart could not cope with the inevitable look of loathing she would give him. Worse still were the recent changes in Branwen’s life. Lonan had been actively avoiding seeing her because he feared that the sight of Branwen and her newborn baby would finally convince his heart to give up on the chance of ever being able to be in her life again.
His journey back home after a day foraging in the woods brought him past families whose talents contributed to the endurance of the village as a whole - seamstresses, tinkers, fishermen, pottery makers - and all gave Lonan dark looks as he walked, some opting to include a sneer or a whispered comment to their companions at the sight of him.
The village itself was unremarkable. It was made up of a selection of about a dozen stone, wood and thatch buildings, home to as many families. The most prominent building in the village was its titular smith, and as always Lonan gave it a wide berth. He travelled west of the main buildings of the village, doing his best to avoid the busier central area.
Dragging his heels, he finally made his way to his mother’s cottage. He gave himself a few moments at the doorway, pulling in a deep breath before entering.
The cottage was dark, lit only by the small tease of natural light that made its way into the building via two windows set into the east and west walls, and by the coals in the fireplace opposite the doorway. The stone walls provided the family with only one room, as was common in Smithsdown, and as a result the room was very busy. It was dominated by the large table in the centre of it, currently covered in a number of pots and plates that his mother was using to prepare dinner over the fire. These would soon be cleared away in time for the meal, and as usual Lonan would uninvite himself. Lonan's mother kept her back to him, not acknowledging his entrance. He was used to this response, and instead turned to the owner of the blonde curls whom he spied crouching behind some grain sacks off to his left.
As he made his way over to see his sister, Lonan dropped a hemp bag onto the kitchen table with a small thud. "Found a family of mushrooms. Thought they might be different for you both."
His mother's head turned slightly to glance at the parcel, but otherwise she did not respond.
Lonan tossed a smaller bag to his sister. "Here you are, don't gobble them all in one go."
"Berries?" Aileen asked, wrinkling up her nose as she picked up one of the small fruits and squashed it between her fingers, letting the purple juice dribble down her sleeve.
Lonan put his hand on her head and gave his sister a playful push, just enough to force her off her knees and onto her bottom. "Blueberries, stupid. Good for eating, and for making a mess." He pointed a finger at her face to suggest he was getting her into trouble, but the playfulness in his eyes betrayed his true intent. "And I gave you them for eating, so no messing, you hear?"
His sister giggled in reply, plunging her fingers into the bag and squashing a sticky mass into her mouth, prompting her to let out a large chortle.
Like a mother hen suddenly alerted to her brood's peril, Aileen's laughs prompted Lonan's mother's immediate reaction. She dropped the copper ladle that she was stirring her stew with, allowing it to tip up in the pot, sending it and a generous amount of food careening to the floor. With a stern face she rushed over to her daughter, shoving Lonan out of her path.
"What is that?" she barked at Lonan, her eyes never leaving her daughter's mouth, which was now pinched between a calloused forefinger and thumb. "What have you given her now?"
"Poison, of course. Thought it was about time we got rid of her." Lonan's reply was laced with spite, but he made sure to catch Aileen's eye so she knew he was not serious. He should not have worried - his sister was used to how the rest of her family interacted by now.
His mother gathered a lick of purple juice on her finger and placed it on her tongue, sneering her lips in response to the sharp sweetness of the fruit. She chose this moment to finally look at her son, the glower in her eyes showing that she was clearly unimpressed with his gift.
Lonan’s lips pursed at his mother’s disapproving gaze. The blood boiling behind his eyes urged him to say something to her, to invite her into an argument. History had shown him that his mother was more than willing to fight. But Lonan had long since learnt the cost of these arguments, how hollow and alone they made him feel afterwards, so he bit his tongue and said nothing. Lonan still loved his mother even if she was unable to love him back.
His mother swiftly gathered the remaining fruit into the pouch and hurried back to repair the damage left at the abandoned cooking pot.
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Again, this was uttered without looking at her son. Instead, her eyes were focused on the meal.
"You know I've nothing better to do than enjoy our witty banter," Lonan shot back, regretting the harshness of his reply instantly. He had never heard a kind word from his mother, never even seen her smile, since the night that his father had been killed. Her love for Lonan had died that night too, and Lonan struggled to remind himself that this was not truly her fault. She believed that Lonan had been responsible for the death of the man that she loved, a lie that the rest of the village was also guilty of believing.