Folklore of the Night

            Water poured off the saturated, shrunken figures as they staggering into the old tavern.  The pride and arrogance of the aristocratic gentleman had leached away with the storm.  The formerly proper lady was little more than a shadow; the two children, wraiths.  As the thunder periodically rattled the old windows, the frequent bursts of lightning squeezed through the gaps in the shutters, strobing grotesque shadows on the walls.      The young serving girl dashed forward to guide the family to a dimly lit corner booth, miserably far from the great fireplace.      The tavern regulars, who had fallen silent to observe the scene, only partly returned to their former chatter.  The lone traveler leaned forward to catch what he could of their newest dialogue.      “Very rich and proud,” said a toothless old woman.  “Living up at that great house on the hill.  Loads of servants, which they treat like dirt, while those aristocrats can’t even button their own shoes by themselve

      Blood coursed down his face as he stumbled in the darkness.  The bright harvest moon that was rising behind a black mountain of clouds could not aid his vision, for he was hopelessly blind.  The pain continued to sear through his skull, and adding to the pain was the knowledge that it was his own fault.  His ears strained to hear anything that would guide him along, which led him to the young woman.  She halted in her progress down the road, releasing a high shriek at the sight of him.  "Please," he begged.  "Won't you help me?"  It was a mercy that she could not fully see the state of what had once been his eyes.      He recognized from the voice that it was a woman, a young woman that drew near.  "Please miss.  Would you guide me to an inn or a doctor?"      "What happened to you?" she asked in a trembling voice.      "You need not worry, miss.  You are quite safe," he gasped.  "Only sinners, such as myself, should worr

       "Don't you even think about going out tonight young lady!  Don't you know; the very thing that protects this house is a danger to this household."  Her mother took a moment to calm herself before giving additional counsel.  "Please, I'm begging you.  Don't even consider it."  The mother still did not trust her daughter.  She knew that it would be safest if she stayed up all night to guard the door from any stealthy exit.  It was a long night.  She feared that she would fall asleep and lose her cherished daughter.  She went so far as to perch herself in the chair shoved tight up against the only exit.  Somewhat satisfied, she allowed herself to fall into a deep slumber.  Unfortunately, so many teenage girls are thin, way too thin.  Who would believe that her daughter could really squeeze through the tiny slot at the rear of the house that could not really be called a window?  But she did.  The mother continued to dream until the nightmare screa

     A lonesome night.  The traveler pulled his cloak a little closer as a piercing gust of wind jabbed at him from behind.  An eddy of dry autumn leaves spiraled across the his path.  He paused for a moment, listening.  Slivers of light from the crescent moon lighted the way, interspersed with total darkness caused by patches of low clouds moved quickly overhead.  Why did he think that he could make his destination after nightfall through the county roads of Brittany?  He desperately wished he had stayed safe and warm at the tavern.  Then came the sound, a hated sound.  It could have been almost anything: an animal, a bird, it could even be the creaking wheel of an approaching cart.  Please don't let it be that!  But didn't a cart suggest a friendly companion with whom he could travel.  If it were truly a cart, would it not speed his way?  No, please don't let it be that.  Hadn't people in the tavern warned him?  He knew it.  The creak of a cart on these solitary roads