The Ghosts of Sleath by Herbert James

Author:Herbert, James [Herbert, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2010-06-23T22:00:00+00:00

The secretions in Nellie Gunstone’s enlarged lungs precluded a decent night’s sleep not only for her, but also for her husband Sam. At their worst her breaths came in laboured wheezes; at their best they were merely laboured. Furthermore, several times during the night she had to lean over the edge of the bed and hawk up the mucus that had collected inside her chest into the bowl on the floor; she hated the indignity of that as much as she hated disturbing Sam. He needed his rest, for the proper running of their farm, small though it was, required early rising and working through the day, with less than an hour around midday for a snack, until late evening. He was a tough old bird, for sure, but without a good night’s rest - especially now she was unable to help even with the minor chores - he would soon be too exhausted to carry on. Not that he’d complain, mind, he wasn’t that sort, but she knew what was best for him - and why wouldn’t she after thirty-one years of marriage. So she’d insisted he move into the spare bedroom and although he’d grumbled and resisted at first, and only after she’d complained it was his snoring that kept her awake, he’d given in. Nellie still didn’t know if Sam had really fallen for her ploy - she suspected he didn’t want to upset her in her poor state of health by arguing. Now, for the first time since they’d been married (except for five years ago when Sam was in hospital having a gallstone removed) Nellie slept alone. And she didn’t like it, she didn’t like it one bit. Illness, she had found, was a lonely occupation, and in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning, that loneliness was worse than anything she had ever known.

She stirred, then woke, automatically shuffling her body over to the edge of the bed and flexing the muscles of her throat to bring up the phlegm that interfered with her breathing so. But as she raised herself on one elbow Nellie realized her air passages were not clogged and that her breathing was easier than it had been for several days. She slumped back onto her pillow, her grey, brittle hair framing her once full but now haggard face, and wondered what had caused her to wake.

The reason was soon apparent, for the ceiling flickered with an orange glow and a muffled crackling sound came from outside the window. It was not the noise, nor the soft reflections on the ceiling, but the sensing of something wrong that had roused her. She lay there and watched the dancing light, afraid not for herself, but for Sam and the people of Sleath, for her own imminent death - oh yes, she knew the emphysema had withered the tissues of her lungs beyond repair and that she was not long for this world - had somehow drawn her mind closer to mysteries that in normal life she would not even have considered.

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