Sleep No More by Rolt L. T. C

Author:Rolt, L. T. C. [Rolt, L. T. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, Horror, Short Stories
ISBN: 9781553102786
Publisher: Ash-Tree Press
Published: 2012-08-01T22:00:00+00:00

World’s End

I NEVER LIKE SHARING A ROOM with a stranger, but there are occasions when one must accept such a contingency with good grace. I was on a walking tour in Pembrokeshire at the time, and on this particular day I had planned to reach the Milford Packet at St Bridget’s where I had forwarded most of my belongings. But everything went wrong, weather included. My idea was to follow the old coastguard path along the rim of the cliffs, but I eventually had to abandon it. In places the path had been blocked by subsequent enclosures, while in others it had just disappeared owing to coast erosion. To make matters worse, a thick sea-mist was blowing in, so there was a good chance of falling over the cliff edge. This wasn’t a pleasant prospect, as you’ll appreciate if you know Pembroke. It’s as savage a coast as any in Cornwall, and those cliffs in places must be two hundred feet high. I thought I might be able to make up for lost time by walking below the cliffs and just above the tide line, but when I eventually managed to scramble down I found this was quite impossible. Then I struck inland, but the mist obliterated all landmarks, and I lost my bearings completely in a maze of small fields enclosed by those walls of stone and turf which are characteristic of that part of the country. It was then that I abandoned all hope of reaching St Bridget’s, and realised that it was a case of making for the nearest shelter, for it was still early in the year, and to be caught by darkness would have been the last straw. I was just beginning to visualise a comfortless night in some barn or other, when I struck a familiar lane and knew that if I followed it back towards the sea it would bring me to the World’s End.

You may perhaps have heard of the World’s End, for it’s quite well known, and all the guide-books mention it. It’s a little isolated inn standing four square to the winds on Trevean Head above a little fishing cove of the same name. As you may imagine, it’s associated with various tales of smuggling in ‘the good old days’. It’s a grand place to call for a glass of beer on a fine day, but it did not look particularly cheerful or hospitable to me when I eventually saw it loom up out of the darkness and the mist. Admittedly I was feeling pretty miserable, for I was very cold and my clothes were soaked by the mist and the spindrift which the wind was whipping off the sea.

There was only one room available in the house, a room with two beds in it, one of which was already occupied, but I must say they did their best for me. There was a roaring fire in the little parlour, and they produced a good hot meal and strong tea liberally laced with rum.

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