THE TERRACES OF NIGHT by Margery Lawrence

Author:Margery Lawrence [Lawrence, Margery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
ISBN: 9781553102984
Publisher: Christopher Roden/Ash-Tree Press
Published: 2013-02-04T05:00:00+00:00

It was well after eleven o’clock the following night that the two friends stole softly down the dusty lane that ran past the ‘Rosenhaus’. The tall narrow house, with its steep roof and frieze of carved woodwork beneath, was shuttered and silent, standing back among the tangled green of its garden, staring, as it were, with hooded eyes over the silvery waves of the cornfield, towards the silent mountains that etched themselves like a Japanese silhouette in black against the star-patterned violet of the sky.

Despite the fortification of a stiff dose of brandy, to say nothing of companionship, it was with a considerable secret sinking of the heart that MacIntosh ensconced himself beside the little doctor in the shadow of the hedge beneath his own window—the balcony above showed dark and empty, lit only by the errant moonbeams, lightening and darkening as the clouds drifted athwart the face of the moon. In silence they sat there waiting until the distant clang of the tiny Kirchen Glocke told the hour of midnight . . . and straight on its dying echo, came the sound of another bell! The distant tinkle, clear from the watching hills beyond, of a cowbell . . . and glancing up, MacIntosh drew in his breath sharply, shakily, for the balcony was no longer empty!

A small thing wavered there, faint as a cloud, yet distinct—a little grey-faced middle-aged woman in a girlish flowered gown with a flaunting bow of red ribbon at the throat, stood at the wooden railing looking out towards the mountains, from whence came the sound of the cowbell—even as the two friends stared, she vanished, and MacIntosh drew a breath of relief, but the doctor gripped his hand fiercely as he whispered.

‘Keep steady—here she comes again! Now keep your head—and follow!’

Round the corner of the house she came, a mere shadow upon the shadow-filled dusk, flitting hurriedly, nervously, glancing backwards as she came as if alarmed, her pale hair and pale gown fluttering as she moved. . . . MacIntosh found his throat dry, found himself pressing back hard against the hedge, shivering, as this strange and terrifying visitation from another world passed them, bringing with it, it seemed, a draught of air cold as the tomb itself; yet he did not lack courage, and as she paused, hesitated, then flitted through the gap in the hedge beneath the linden trees into the cornfield, he scrambled to his feet and followed although his whole soul crept and quivered in terror within him.

Up along the hedge they followed her, up the dusty lane, their footsteps muffled in the deep white dust, before them the flickering little figure hurrying as if to a ghostly tryst. Sometimes they lost her, so faint and elusive was she against the warring light and shade, the moonlight and the shadows . . . but as fast as they lost track of her, she would appear again, far ahead, a pale wisp of a thing no more substantial than a drift of cigarette smoke in a darkened room.

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