Folklore of the Night

         Once again, the darkness grew thick, heavy, suffocating.  Though it was not possible to see it, he just knew that the walls of his sleeping chamber, the ceiling too, must be closing in.  Torment, misery, and stifling panic.  In his younger days he could sleep so easily.  His bed was delicious, a comforting sanctuary from all the world and all its perils.  But now he dreaded the coming of night.  The darkness pushed into his room again.  His feeble candle failed to guard him from the oppression and the cold.  Inexorably, he was driven to his bed.  There, poorly shielded by the covers, he frequently held his breath, listening for what might be approaching.  But then came that drowsiness again.  Not the pleasant feeling of his past.  This was not a gentle, sinking feeling, but rather it was as if he was being crushed down into the depths of the stifling earth, bombarded by those dark shapes and dark feelings of chaos.  In the morning he pried himself from that coffin of the

    Their traumatized hearts race as that of hummingbirds, ready to burst from their tiny bodies.  The children wander deeper into the nightmare forest.  Because they are entirely lost, going forward is the only action to be taken.  If they hold still, if they hide, the old lady will get them.  She will certainly be able to hear those pounding hearts.  And even if she can't, it is said that she could easily sniff them out.  They move faster, sharp branches tearing at their thin arms.  She is coming, yes, she must be coming.  Move faster!  But no, they are moving straight into her lair.  All hope is gone.      In the hills of Leicester England, a monstrous hag still lives and kills.  She is known to the locals and especially the local children as Black Annis.  She often hides in her cave, hidden by overgrowing moss and bramble, but she often secrets herself in the confines of an overgrown bush near a trail leading to a local school.  Her skin is icy blue and each fingernail