The Call Of The Dark

I had always been scolded by my mother when, as a small child, I would wander about the house on flights of fancy. Indeed, it seemed at times as though I always received the brunt of her temper while my older sister would chortle at my plight.

Further, there was one particular instance that would prove my downfall, which at the time seemed petty and unnecessary.

My mother had just served breakfast and, as seemed always the case, father had left for his offices in Bond Street, having just a cup of tea. My sister had skipped off to the garden with Rufus (our dog) and I , being left to my own devices, sauntered off.

I left the dining room and skipped out into the hallway.

I recall going down the corridor and stopping, just where the stairs descend to the cellar. I fancied I heard a voice call out my name from below, and stepped towards the darkened stairwell to see if I could hear it clearer. As the staircase disappeared into the depths and darkness I fancied I saw something move - just at that point where it was barely visible in the gloom.

My curiosity was piqued and I stepped closer to the stair, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of whatever was below. Again I fancied my name being called and leaned forward, my ears catching no sound.

A hand grabbed me by the shoulder and yanked me back into the light of the hallway.

It was mother.

"Now listen child and take care my words are heeded"

Her face was pale, and her eyes wide, she seemed to spit every word into my face and I froze in terror.

"Hear me well. Should you ever go down those stairs you will not come back you hear?"

I was terrified.

"Mr Bandley lives down there. If he catches you, he will eat you. Heed what I say child and never, ever go near the stairwell".

With that she shook me hard and went back into the kitchen.

I ran outside, crying and whimpering.

Years passed, and, with my parents both long dead, and my sister married off, I succeeded my father in the family business, lodging close by in favourable accommodation.

All was going well with me and I had completely forgotten about the incident at the stairwell.

It was July, and summer was in full swing, I was 32 years old, and the business was very successful.

Late one evening when I had remained at my desk preparing documents, I received a call from my solicitor. He apologised profusely for the late intrusion and I called him to my office, as it seemed he had important news concerning some papers he had uncovered.

I ordered some coffee be prepared and tidied my desk. He had not disclosed the nature of his business, and I had no intimation as to what it could be.

His carriage arrived shortly thereafter, and my doorman showed him to my office. We sat down and I had the coffee served.

We passed pleasantries, and, after some minor matters were discussed he opened his briefcase and we began conferring on the main reason for his intrusion.

"It's regarding the house", he began.

I beckoned him to continue, and, shuffling his documents, he produced the deed for the family house - now unoccupied for 15 years, save for a gardener and maintenance man.

"The Market is ripe for such a development" he said, eyebrows bobbing about like floating logs.

I questioned the estimated value and agreed that the sale should go ahead, but stipulated that prior to any viewing I was to be notified. I Still had some personal items in the building and needed to retrieve them, though I hadn't lived there for over seven years, my sister remaining there until she married a year ago. There remained little affection between us, and, save the occasional perfunctory visit, we remained distant.

We continued going over various details for several minutes, and then parted.
I felt satisfied that the value of the property and grounds had been ascertained and pencilled in my diary to collect my remaining belongings on Saturday week.

The days passed in the usual manner until at last the day of my return to my childhood home loomed close.

That morning I had my coffee at my club, and took my ease reading The Times. It felt refreshing to have a free day, and i was confident my business could be concluded before lunch.

The House appeared much as I remembered it. Tall and grey, with a slight air of neglect about it. My carriage stopped at the entrance, and I stepped up to the door and knocked.

It was a grey, overcast day, and I felt impatient to get on with things. I was due to lunch with colleagues at One o'clock, and was in no mood for wasted time.

The door creaked open.

"Mornin' Mr Stoller Sir". It was the maintenance man, rather unkempt and odorous but a good reliable man otherwise. I nodded and strode through the door. I'd had my remaining things brought into the kitchen and headed down the hallway to collect them.

It was as I recalled. My papers, diaries and sundry effects were bundled neatly on the table and I scooped them up and, without another glance turned to leave.

I stepped out into the hall and, for some reason I cannot explain, I glanced back, past the kitchen to the stairwell. An odd feeling had come over me, and I recalled the events of years ago, when Mother warned me about the cellar. Compelled, I headed to the top of the stairs and peered down into the gloom. It was very unnerving to be back there and I shrugged off the chill which suddenly came over me. I turned to leave and then I heard it, faint - almost a whisper, but I heard my name called. Turning, I stared again downwards. The urge to just leave pulled me away but I could not back down from a simple childhood incident and taking a deep breath, I started down the steps to whatever lay down there.

It was very dark and musty, but I could make out my surroundings and felt fully in control. I recalled the words of my mother warning me, but shrugged it off.

I was no longer a frightened child, I was a successful businessman and would put this nonsense behind me once and for all.

Ahead lay the door to the cellar, and I grasped the door handle and pushed it open. With a creak the door slowly granted me access and I strode confidently inside.

It was a large, empty room, with no source of light save for a small window, which still allowed some light through it despite layers of dust and grime. The place seemed filthy, and years of dust swelled around my feet as I entered. Nothing. There was nothing here. It was just an old musty room.

I turned to leave and froze in my tracks. The temperature had dropped to freezing in an instant, and I shuddered in horror at what stood before me. I gasped in shock at the sight of it.

It was a very old woman, bent forward and supporting herself on a walking stick. Her sunken eyes were black as night, and her bones showed themselves through her skin. As she shuffled toward me I gagged at the smell of her, decayed and putrid. She arched her neck to look at me and in that one moment I fell back in stark horror.

"Heed my words child"

It was my mother, or at least, some ghastly image of her as she was in death.
I fell to the floor and tried to call out in terror but no words came. From deep within me some strange animal noise welled up and I finally let out a faltering scream for help.
She shuffled closer, a crooked smile forming on her face as she fell on me with a shriek. I screamed.

"You Alright Mr Stoller Sirs?"

"Mr Stoller - you okay there sirs?"

I was okay, the lights in my apartment shone bright and warming. I awoke back at my lodgings. It seemed the staff had heard my cries and pulled me out. They said I was alone in the cellar when they found me.

The house is now sold along with all fittings and furnishings. My sister has remained at her home and shows no sign of wanting to visit.

My business dealings go on as before though now I merely consult when needed, preferring the security of my lodgings.
I never now venture outside, and my needs are well catered for by my maid who does for me each day.

I see no visitors and callers are turned away.
I am happier now in myself and content myself most evenings by simply playing cards.

My mother is good company.