3

I knew before I arrived that any attempt to explain my uneasiness would seem some mild form of madness at best, and so I decided to keep such things to myself. Old Haversham was known to be a superstitious sort, likely to let his imagination make more of my silly fancies than even I had. Yes, best not to tell him, but make haste with the coal. All would seem better in the light of tomorrow, and let Haversham believe my actions were a result of distemper caused by the troublesome weather.

The night was clear, as it often is when the wind blows away any clouds. But the nearer I drew to the Haversham place the more the fierce winds seemed to decrease. My scarf no longer whipped about my shoulders, my coat ceased attempts to unbind from me, and my face only remembered the biting sting of the icy wind. I began to think I might do well to return home and not venture out, that if the wind calmed, one night without a fire could be tolerated. I was quite far yet from my destination, the light of their fire only a dull glow in the distance. I stopped and turned back. With every step I took the wind seemed to grow stronger until at last it was stronger even than it had been when I left.

I felt at my wits end. I inclined my head back towards the Haversham’s and found myself taking smaller strides. This time the wind did not ease, and thusly it seemed to propel me away from my home. My frustrations began to develop in me a resentment. I trained my eyes on the ground before my feet as the shadows of dusk deepened into the opacity of night. I was quite accustomed to spending time in the company of only myself, as my work was wont to do, but I had never made a habit of speaking aloud with myself. I should not have been surprised to observe another oddity after the many I had already witnessed. It began slowly, mumbling, or perhaps grumbling, then single words meant only for my ears. Insane. Cold. Nonsense. Wolves. Cold. Fire. Coal. Wind. Cold. My steps came slower as my footing decreased in density. Preposterous. Shivering. Mud. Cold. The road was resolving into muck, sucking first gently then with more alacrity at the soles of my feet as they sunk deeper with each step. In a matter of moments I found myself ankle deep in thick mud, my pace slowed to crawl. Save for the sound of the wind the night had been silent. But as I was nearly arrested in my movements the silence was broken by a howl. Then another. I raised my head in the direction of Haversham’s place, searching the horizon for the light of the fire of his hearth. But all was dark. I glanced north and south, east and west, for fear I had wandered from my direction while absorbed with the mud about my feet. But there was no light to be seen anywhere save the stars above. My breath was already quickened from my battle with the mud, but now it came even quicker. My heart pounded as panic began to set in. Then I saw it. Directly ahead, a light. It was bigger than I expected it to be at the distance I judged. Relief washed over me and I felt again the cold sting of the wind in place of the heat flushing my skin from anxiety. I set about immediately to free my feet from their earthy prison and make haste toward the light, when I noticed that there was not one light, but two. And then I heard the howl again.