Lamplight

by Benjamin Appleby-Dean

  There was a click after that, and the back door swung open with the awful slowness of a bad dream.

  It was standing there, framed by streetlight and starlight. Broad straw hat with ragged brim and pointed crown, long tattered robes that caught the breeze. Its face was hidden this time and Amy was glad of that, but she still found herself shivering and short of breath.

  "A burnt child dreads the fire," said the Lamplighter, and the words had razor edges. It stepped forwards into the house, and its pointed toes tapped against the kitchen tiles.

  Amy scrambled backwards, trying to keep the table between her and it.

  The Lamplighter advanced without hurry, taking its pole off its shoulder and reaching for the dark lantern, all the while speaking in that distorted pain-voice. "It is clear however that you were not burned."

  "M-meaning?" Amy managed to find her voice. Her hands were hidden by the table, and she had her phone between them, typing frantically to all her lost friends: "hes here hes here the way is open plese come qucikly"

  "Meaning neither have you learned." It leaned over the table like a teacher at a desk, and the Lamplighter brought that stretched mockery of a face into the gaslight. Its chin was arched like a crescent moon, its smile stapled to the skin.

  Amy's heart leapt as if it were trying to escape. She could barely stand, grabbed hold of the worktop behind to steady herself. Her phone fell clattering to the floor.

  "Why're you – you – s-so sure?" Her throat betrayed her, choked the words and cut them off. This shouldn't be her, not now, hadn't she learned to stop being weak?

  "Because here we are again." It set the metal lantern down in the centre of the table and opened it up.

  Amy's eyes ran around the room but all she could see were the blue lights of the gas cooker and the shadows of the street. Nothing else out of place. No-one was coming.

  The Lamplighter snapped its fingers inside the lantern and brought it flaring up, orange light spreading across the room. It looked back to Amy and shook its head like a disappointed parent.

  The kitchen door was to her left but she couldn't go that way not with what was waiting. If she ran round the table she could reach the back door but –

  – it need only step sideways to stop her.

  No way out.

  "Now," said the needles-voice the blood-voice, "hold still." The lantern dangled from a dried-out hand. Amy scrabbled on the worktop behind her back looking for something to throw, but Hazel's kitchen was too tidy for that.

  The Lamplighter sprang onto the kitchen table, balancing on toe-points. That face was too close too high up and Amy couldn't look at it so she looked everywhere else, seeing the flickering of the lantern-light the orange hue across the cooker and worktops the reflections in the window the dancing shadows across the side wall –

  Familiar shadows. Shadows tall and short, long-haired and buzzcut, clear and proportioned and unmistakably –

  – the Lamplighter wasn't the conduit the lantern was the lantern was –

  – human.

  There were six of them and she knew their names.

  The Lamplighter turned and the lantern spun with it, sending its own shadow onto the wall among the others –

  – and they fell on it like locusts.

  The ragged figure staggered and stumbled in tune with its shadow as the others showered blows and kicks upon it. Long fingers reached for the lantern to snuff it out –

  – Amy swallowed her fear her nerves her paralysis and snatched –

  – cold heavy metal in her hand. The lantern hurt to touch, the weight of it almost pulled her over but she clung to it, needing to keep the light burning and the shadows there –

  – the Lamplighter lost its balance and fell on the table with a sound like twigs snapping. Over on the wall Amy could see the long-haired shadow and the bushy-haired one on top of it while the others lashed out.

  Spider-fingers shot towards the lantern and Amy jumped backwards, keeping it out of reach.

  The Lamplighter's pole fell to the floor. The tattered figure flailed at the air but Amy could see those arms connect through its shadow and throw the others off. The Lamplighter gathered spindly legs under it and rose, recovering –

  – the long-haired shadow that Amy knew best jumped, grabbed –

  – the straw hat came off that mottled head –

  Air howled. Light fled.

  Amy's hands were empty. The table was empty. The room was empty.

  The light coming through the window was electric and normal. The shadows were still.

  Amy regained her balance and gulped down air. Her head was stinging and her legs trembled but she felt somehow light on her feet, as if all the pressure had gone from the room.

  She tapped on the kitchen door, opened it a crack, and the hallway on the other side was quiet.

  There was a buzzing from under the table. Her phone lit up, jumped about on the tiles.

  Amy picked it up, found the anonymous message.

  "Everythings quiet now thank you"

  She wasn't sure of it but that seemed like Hazel, matched the way she'd chatted with Amy once or twice.

  Amy breathed in, breathed out. She wasn't sure how to reply, so gathered herself up and headed down the passage to the front door.

  The phone vibrated in her hand. Another message.

  "Hey man can't see any more, hope you're alright"

  That seemed like Steven. She ought to say goodbye, if this was how it ended – they'd only known each other a little, but who else was there to say it to him? Amy replied: "I'm okay , take care of yourself." The little words seemed inadequate, but she was so worn and battered that even these took an effort.

  Outside in the garden. The cold air revived her, brought life creeping back into her body. When the phone went again, Amy was half-expecting it:

  "Don't know what that was but thanks. Are you okay, is Jess?"

  Jack. Amy tried to swallow but there was a lump in her throat. Could she tell him now, when there was so little of him left?

  Better to lie.

  "We're both fine, stop worrying."

  Amy didn't feel like walking any further. She stopped by the wall and waited, and the next message followed soon after.

  "Guess that wasn't so stupid after all."

  That had to be Tom, and it was even harder to reply to. Amy leaned on the gatepost for support, texted with her free hand:

  "Told you, and thank you – I mean it, you weren't so bad at the end"

  "Haha who're you kidding"

  She could almost feel him go after that, dissipating into the night air.

  Two left. She couldn't think about that or she'd break here and down, melt all over the gatepost.

  The next anonymous was Jenny – "hey its not dark nemore"

  "Does that mean you can get out?" Amy needed to know that this wasn't just a blip, that she'd broken the link for good. That they were free.

  "i think so hes not here anymore either"

  "That's good," words were so useless now, failing her and all she could do was hope they understood if there was enough left of them to understand.

  "u better take care of urself amy"

  "You too." As she sent that Amy cracked, all the shocks and untrammelled feelings of the night coming up together. She cried so hard she could barely see, and almost missed her phone buzzing one more time.

  Jessica.

  "I can feel myself going away, are you okay did we do it?"

  "We did," Amy started to type when the tears took over and picked the words for her: "I'm sorry imsorryimsosorry"

  "No I should be, its been my fault all along." Words on a screen, but they were like nails driven into Amy's chest.

  They kept on coming. "I pushed you away then I guilted you back then I drove you away again, so I'm sorry. You can't be it's not allowed."

  Amy's tears should have redoubled but they were drying up. She didn't need them anymore, felt as if she were brimming over. "It’s
okay, this isn't the time, it doesn't matter."

  "Hey it's the only time. I'm nearly gone, not long left."

  Amy couldn't take any more words like that. "I miss you," was all she could manage back.

  "I miss you too and I wish that all this hadn't got in the way, that we'd just reconnected like normal people. I wish we could have been–"

  The message broke off. Wish we could have been what? Friends again? Lovers? Amy didn't think it mattered any more.

  She sat down on the garden wall and looked up at the sky. There was a wash of deep blue across the horizon, and the stars were fading one by one.

  Soon it would be daylight.

  THE END

  Biography

  Benjamin is a complex event sometimes mistaken for a writer. When recognisably human, he lives in the North-East of England with his partner and a trio of dysfunctional cats.