The Curse of Land's End

by Rose Lorimer

  I rested Elizabeth on the ground and walked further, checking our surroundings. As my eyes became used to the dim light again, I saw what seemed the shape of a house at the top of the hill. But there were no lights. I checked my watch again. 3:15 am. I sighed. No wonder we are so exhausted. And perhaps that would explain why there was no light in that house either. Everyone must be sleeping.

  As I saw it, it was our only alternative.

  I turned to Elizabeth and her shivering body strengthened my resolve. I hugged her and rubbed her arms. “Elizabeth, we are out of the mine. There is a house at the top of this hill. We will rest there.”

  She did not open her eyes, just inhaled the fresh air and nodded. Her feeble response gave me pause. Should we stay at the entrance where it was not so cold and wait for sunrise?

  The noise roared again, hurting our ears, echoing everywhere as a malign warning. Miss Wiley’s words made so much sense now. Nobody of sound mind would approach this place at night with this howling.

  I had my answer.

  I pulled Elizabeth’s arm around my neck again. “Hold on, Elizabeth. We will walk a little more, and then we can rest,” I said for both our sakes. The path ahead did not seem easy.

  After half an hour of struggling and three breathless stops, we finally approached the place. It was an old and large house, perhaps even larger than the one Bingley was renting. And it seemed abandoned.

  As we came closer, the moonlight revealed its decrepit condition. Most of the window panes were broken. Tall bushes extended around the house, their bare branches like evil fingers grabbing the stony wall, covered with moss and ivy. I felt my skin crawling at the sight. Something was wrong with this house.

  I looked around the land hoping to see some light beyond. Nothing. Only darkness. Land’s End was a barren land, I remembered someone saying.

  I shook my head trying to dissipate those gloomy thoughts as we finally reached the front door. I knelt down, weary, panting in the freezing air as I gently laid Elizabeth on the porch floor beside me.

  I could not rest too long, though. The small pause was more than enough to make me feel the cold already finding its way through the damp fabric of my clothing. Elizabeth must be even colder.

  Forcing myself to my feet, I stood at the front door, reaching for the doorknob with my bare hand. It was cold. Too cold.

  A strange noise behind me broke the oppressive silence. I closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing, my heart racing. I turned, but there was nothing there but obscured vastness.

  I looked down at Elizabeth’s still body. I have no time for nonsense. I took another deep breath and tried the knob again. It was locked. I forced it, but it did not open. I stepped back and gave another good look around. There was no one there. With no other option, I forced the door, hitting my shoulder against it until it opened, and I stumbled inside.

  Beyond the threshold, silver moonlight crossed the broken glasses mingling with the darkness. I walked inside, the old wooden floor creaking under my feet. I stopped. It was as if the floor was hollow. A trap? It would not do to be swallowed by another hole. Clenching my fists, I moved slowly, one step after another.

  Passing the front hall, turning right, there was another door leading to what seemed like a drawing room. The sight took by breath away. In a bad way. The whole place seemed to move. White sheets hovered over the furniture, dancing and floating as the cold breeze invaded the place by the broken panes, giving the room the surreal picture of a ball. On the floor, shattered pieces of clay vases were everywhere. Whoever used to live there must have liked flowers.

  A loud scream cut through the night.

  What the hell?

  I turned around, searching for its origin, but there was nothing there. Perhaps outside…

  I froze, widening my eyes. God. “Elizabeth!” I shouted, running outside.

  She sat by the door, eyes widened, hands covering her mouth as she gasped for air. She was petrified!

  “Elizabeth, what happened?” I knelt beside her, holding her arms, but her enlarged eyes were focused on the distance. “Elizabeth!” I shouted, shaking her.

  Her eyes finally met mine. “I-I saw something. It w-was black and crooked, like a… a walking shadow…” she whispered. “I-It approached me, so slowly, I-I was not sure whether it was real… I waited for it to vanish… but it did not. Instead, it put a hand on its mouth and blew towards me. I-I closed my eyes and screamed, and then, it was gone!”

  By everything sacred, what was that supposed to mean?

  Despite my perplexity, I stood up, looking around. The place was deserted.

  I lowered my gaze to her. She was shaking. I sat down beside her and pulled her into my embrace, but she jumped, crying in pain. “Something stung me!” she shouted hysterically, quickly passing her hand over her chest and throat until she found a small wooden barb. She held it in front of our eyes and froze.

  I rested my hands on her shoulders and she must have felt my bafflement because she dropped the small object as tears flooded her eyes. “Oh, William. Am I so out of my mind that I am imagining things now?”

  I could not explain what had happened or what she had seen, but I knew Elizabeth was not an impressionable or hysterical lady. Despite her effort to rationalise it, I knew she had seen something — but a ‘walking shadow’?

  Afraid of embracing her again, I just dried her face with my thumb, trying a diversion to distract her. “The house is empty. Let us find a place to rest and warm ourselves. At sunrise, we will find our way back to Bingley’s house.”

  She nodded, but began withering as if what strength she still had was abandoning her body.

  After checking many bedrooms, we finally found one whose panes were not broken. Strangely, the bedclothes were still on the beds. I shook them all, pillows and blankets, double checking for bugs — or anything else — on the bed or hidden beneath. I helped her to remove her boots and coat, and lay down.

  But before I could have any hope of resting, I knew I must look after her cut. Despite being agonisingly exhausted, I knew it was in her best interest to have that cut attended. I resigned myself to find some water and left the bedroom in search of the kitchen. By the size of that house, it should have a water pump nearby.

  Fortunately, I found one outside, a few yards from the kitchen door.

  I pumped it and, as expected, the first water was murky. With some more pumping the water cleaned. I washed my hands and tried a gulp. It tasted good enough, so I filled a cup and drank. I was not aware I was so thirsty. After filling up a pan I had found in the kitchen, I returned.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the hairs on the back of my neck stood, and I looked around again.

  Nothing.

  “Bloody nerves!” I mumbled.

  On my way up, I noticed what seemed to be a linen closet and was pleased to find extra sheets and blankets — dusty, but clean. It looked like the residents had abandoned the house in some haste.

  I did not like that thought. What could have caused it? The rumours? The noises? Despite the distance, those painful moans still could be heard.

  I fetched what could be useful and left.

  I found Elizabeth sleeping. I thought about cleaning her wound without waking her up, but gave up the idea as soon as I remembered her scream in the mine. I caressed her face and was surprised by the feeling of her warm skin.

  Damn it. She was developing a fever.

  “Elizabeth.”

  She mumbled, but did not open her eyes.

  “I should see to your injury before we rest.”

  She put her hand over mine and nodded still sleepy. I helped her to stand up and dragged the bed closer to the window where I could see what I was doing.

  She stumbled back to bed, lying down again, her face down. Her behaviour and lack of complaint did not seem right. She seemed almost… drunk.

  I removed her stocking and the sight of that cut made my blood run cold. It seemed larger and deeper than before. I l
ooked back to her stocking and the black smudge gained a new meaning: she had lost a lot of blood.

  Double damn it! The episode with the rope bridge must have worsened it.

  I poured some water on it and started cleaning with a piece of cloth. She just flinched but had no other response until I finished. I ripped a piece of a dry sheet and tied it around her leg.

  I frowned at her lack of reaction. “Done. Here, have some water,” I said, offering her a cup.

  She turned but her hands were trembling so I helped her. “Thank you… for looking after me… I am not feeling well. I need… rest…” Her voice was so weak I could barely hear her last words.

  I helped her back to the bed and covered her. She took my hand and kissed it, closing her eyes. I leaned down and kissed her head. “I will bring a mattress from the other bedroom and sleep on the floor. I cannot leave you alone...” I spoke to her closed eyes, her deep breathing telling me she was already sleeping.

  Despite the cold, I decided not to light a fire. Last thing I wanted was to attract unwanted attention.

  I went to the other room and grabbed a pillow, more blankets and a mattress. I put it on the floor beside her and closing the door, I lay down. The smell was not agreeable, but it was much better than that mine. I closed my eyes and sighed, relieved for having again the luxury of a shelter from the cold night and a soft place to rest my head.

  Chapter 19

  Darcy

  I woke up with a door banging and jumped to my feet.

  The door of our bedroom was closed, but… No! Elizabeth’s bed was empty!

  I stood up and went to the door. She must have gone to find some food. Or a chamber pot. I began looking into the other rooms. In the worst scenario, I would find her in a delicate position. She would forgive me, if that was the case. But I could not wait. I needed to find her.

  I looked in every room upstairs. At every opened door, my frustration increased. I headed downstairs. Everything was silent. Too silent. I hated the way the moonlight illuminated the inside of the house, tricking my perception. Ten minutes had already passed, and I had not found her.

  The hairs on the nape of my neck stood again and I knew what that meant. Damnation! This time, it was not just an impression. I knew something was there, hidden in the shadows.

  Passing the threshold of the drawing room, I peeked inside. Another noise and, then, silence again. I looked around, but the only sound now was the creaking wooden floor beneath my boots. The white sheets were still moving, dancing at the sound of the dry branches scratching against the broken windows. But that was not the sound I was looking for.

  There! That was the noise! It sounded like a whimper from behind that curtain.

  I approached, stretching my hand and noticed it trembling. I lowered my arm and barely could control my breathing. I stretched my hand again, my heart like a horse in a race, deafening me.

  I pulled it.

  “Good God!” A pair of widened green eyes stared back at me. “Elizabeth!”

  Her breathing was fast and short as she rested her gaze on me, mumbling incoherent words. A dark liquid was trickling from her nose.

  Blood? “What the—” I cupped her face, cleaning her nose with my thumb, her skin burning under my touch. “Elizabeth! What happened?”

  “T-The… the shadow, William… I saw it… again! I-I ran and… hid here,” she stammered between gasps.

  “What happened to your nose? Did it hurt you?” I asked, reaching in my pocket for a handkerchief. She did not respond. “Did it hurt you?” I shouted, shaking her shoulders.

  “N-No, no,” she finally answered, blinking and shaking her head. “No. I-It did not hurt me. I felt… I needed… I needed to relieve myself… I was in the corridor, looking for a place, w-when I heard a noise and when I… turned, it was there again, l-looking at me. I was terrified and ran, but… my leg… my leg hurt too much!” she said, almost as hysterical as before.

  She stopped and her eyes went even wider, her breathing stopping. She looked over my shoulder, lifting a trembling hand, pointing to something behind me. The terror in her eyes triggered a wave of cold sweat through my body.

  I turned.

  “Merciful Lord!” I whispered, every fibre in my body denying my eyes. I shook my head, willing myself to wake up from that nightmare. I pushed Elizabeth behind me.

  A… creature was standing outside, bathed by the moonlight. It was short and crooked like a hunchback man, but black, all its body covered in fur — the walking shadow.

  It opened his mouth and a loud and petrifying shriek filled the house, resounding everywhere, as if summoning all the demons from hell to gather around us and be ready to attack — the same devilish sound from the mine.

  Have we awakened the dead?

  I cannot say what came over me — panic or courage — but overcoming my paralysis, I grabbed Elizabeth’s hands and pulled her after me across the entrance hall, forgetting about her wounded leg, running upstairs as fast as I could, entering the bedroom, and locking the door behind us so quickly I could barely remember my steps.

  I stared back into the room and trembled.

  What if…

  Releasing Elizabeth’s hand, I ran across the room like a madman, moving the furniture and shaking bed linens, pillows, turning over the table and chairs, making sure no one was hidden in the shadows.

  Nothing. We were safe.

  At least for now.

  Still panting, I returned to Elizabeth. She was sitting on the floor, trembling, her eyes empty, gasping for air. Her nose bleed had smudged her whole face. I helped her return to bed and sat beside her, cleaning her face.

  She was burning with fever.

  I raked my hair in desperation. What now?

  As she lay down, my mind went back to what I had seen. I closed my eyes, refusing to believe what we were living was real.

  What is that creature?

  The story of Captain Bellamy flooded back to my memory, “… his crew summoned from hell…”

  Good Heavens! By everything that was sacred, could it really be so? There was no other explanation for what I had seen. Against my better judgment, or everything I had always considered godly and holy, I confess, putting the events together, I considered the possibility.

  Elizabeth’s moans forced my eyes back to her. I needed to do something about her fever.

  I looked around the bedroom and saw that the pan with water was still on the floor. I went to fetch it and when I looked back, she was shaking violently.

  I ran to her and began washing her face, but it did not seem to be enough. I poured some water on her head and dampened her hair, opening the buttons of her dress, pouring some water on her chest. But it was the bleeding in her nose which really alarmed me. Too soon, the white sheet became stained.

  I kept wetting Elizabeth until all the water in the pan was gone.

  Fortunately, her temperature receded a little, and the seizure stopped.

  “William…” she whispered with closed eyes.

  I took her hand. “I am here, dear.”

  “I am… thirsty…”

  I shut my eyes. The mere thought of going out to the pump and fetching more water petrified me.

  I let go of her hand and paced around the room. Losing Elizabeth, or allowing any harm to come to her, was more terrifying and far beyond anything I have ever felt — even facing the devil himself, if it was really him beyond that door. I looked down at her. The sight of her fragile face, strained by her struggles to breathe, wet hair plastered to her head, broke the chains of my fear. I knelt beside her, taking her hand, kissing it, praying for God’s mercy — if not for me, at least for her.

  I stood up determined. I would go. She needed water and I would get it. It was in that moment I realised I would do anything for her, even if it would cost my life.

  It was at that moment I realised I would do anything for her, even if it would cost my life.

  But would it be safe to leave Elizabeth alone
? God help us. I did not have another choice.

  My heart was about to jump out of my chest when I reached for the door again, opening it. I looked outside and the place seemed quiet, empty — perhaps too quiet and too empty. I took the key from inside and after closing the door after myself, I locked it, taking the key with me. If that apparition was not a ghost, at least Elizabeth would be safe. I would not speculate any further.

  I looked around again, and ran down the stairs, to the kitchen, then outside. The way was not unknown to me anymore, so I was fast. After filling the pan, I ran back, holding the pan as carefully as I could. It would not do coming down again if I dropped it.

  I was halfway up the stairs when I felt something moving behind me.

  I could not look back. I could not. Instead, I sprinted as fast as my legs allowed me.

  As I reached the door, one hand kept balancing the pan as the other trembling one reached inside the elusive pocket. Where is the bloody key? I put the pan on the floor and tried another pocket. Found it! I turned the key and opened the door.

  As I fetched the pan, I looked back and by all the angels in Heaven, I became paralysed. The creature — Elizabeth’s walking shadow, grotesque, crooked and dark as a hopeless night — was just a few yards away, slowly dragging its steps towards me. This time, it had a sword in its hand, the reflexion of the moonlight shining on its sharp blade as its monstrous figure kept moving in my direction.

  It was not until I could see the whites of its eyes that I jumped inside, banging the door behind me. I locked it, and walked backwards expecting a hard blow to follow. Only the feeling of the cold water trickling down my arms told me my hands were trembling violently.

  Seconds stretched like hours but the blow did not come.

  A demonic laughter boomed instead. “You’re curs’d!” the low-pitched voice said, resounding around the empty house in a menacing echo. “Curs’d, ye and yer lady.” A pause, then a sneering whisper. “But yer fate’ll be worse than ‘ers. She’ll die a slow, painful death, but ye’ll live to see it all, at least for a while.”