Unspeakable by Celine Frohn

Author:Celine Frohn [Frohn, Celine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nyx Publishing
Published: 2020-02-13T00:00:00+00:00

***

Henry woke with a start. At first, he thought Abigail had come into his room, but as the last remnants of a dream he could no longer remember evaporated, he realised he was quite alone. His heart drummed against his ribs and the sound of his blood pulsing was loud in his ears. Despite the chill in the air, Henry found himself drenched in sweat.

“Hello?” he said quietly to the darkened room. He looked up and saw the moon peeping from behind fast moving clouds, casting a feint silvery light into his room. His eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom, but he could pick out shapes now—his wardrobe, the wash stand, the desk. Then something moved. A dark shape, a thicker absence of light, creeping around the foot of his bed. Henry felt his pulse quicken, his heart in his mouth. He felt around for a packet of matches and tried several times to light his lantern with shaking hands. Finally, it caught and flared. Henry tentatively moved his arm in a slow arc, trying to illuminate the darkest corners of the room without leaving the sanctuary of his bed. He felt like a child again, afraid to put his feet on the floor. Terror clawed its way up his throat as he peered into the shadows, but the lamp light revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Satisfied at last that the apparition had been nothing more than a trick of the light, Henry left the lamp blazing but slumped back down against his pillows, and closed his eyes. Just as his heartbeat had slowed back down, he heard that sound again; a child laughing. This time, he could have sworn he felt a puff of breath against his cheek as well. Henry leapt out of bed and snatched up the lamp. He made his way down the stairs, to the landing, and into the bathroom, where he stood over the sink and splashed cold water on his face. His legs trembled and he wanted badly to wake Abigail so he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the night alone, but he knew that was out of the question. Finally, Henry made his way down to the kitchen, and gazed out of the window, listening for the sea beyond the walls of the house until the first rays of sun turned the sky pink.

Henry crept back to his room to dress before taking breakfast with Abigail. What had seemed so stomach-churningly urgent in the dark suddenly felt trivial and ridiculous with the cold, autumnal sunlight streaming through the dirty windows. And yet, Henry could not shift the feeling of foreboding, like the hangover from a nightmare which bleeds into morning and dogs you throughout the waking day. He took a sip of his tea and studied his landlady.

“Can I ask you something, Abigail?” he said quietly.

“Of course,” she replied with a smile. She set down her knife and fork and dabbed at her mouth with a linen napkin.

“The children. Your brother and sister.

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