Masquerade on the Moors

No! You know I never travel on All Hallows Eve. You may very well think that, but I could not possibly agree with you and if you knew what happened to me that night. I know I never talk about, neither would you if ever you saw such terror. But perhaps it is time to lift the burden, let you who sit there mocking me share in my horror; let us see how well you keep on your face that sardonic smile when you hear my tenebrous tale.

Picture it, it was already drawing near to eventide when in a carriage, my brother Demetrius, his wolfhound Remus, and I all journeyed from Pickering to Whitby through the Moors of North Yorkshire in order to attend our cousin's All Hallows ball. As we travelled through the barren sea of grass, while the Sun's descent coloured the evening sky in shades of orange and pink, Demetrius sat with his focus directed on a Penny Dreadful, which he had bought in spite of my repeated attempts to persuade him into purchasing an actual book for once in his life. I myself was enthralled by the majesty of the verdant expanse, that grand sea of grass and heather left untouched by the agriculturist's hand. It was as I looked in wonderment that I saw rising from Moors, overlooking the grass sea from atop a hill, that which would come to be the centrepiece of my every nightmare. That foreboding relic of the middle ages, a melancholy manor whose gothic spires seemed to reach out across the moors with serpentine shadows as the Sun hid behind that most imposing of houses; the only sign of life in the house, whose one sunlit wall was covered in ivy, was woman garbed in a white dress walking in its purlieu.

As we had drawn near the shadow of that saturnine house, the horses became, for some reason, dissuaded from walking and so our journey halted. Concerned Demetrius left the carriage to see if he could perhaps aid the driver to discern and perhaps resolve the issue. Not that he had ever had any training nor even read of such things. As he opened the door to the carriage Remus leapt from the seat and began running away. Chasing after him, Demetrius ran panicked through the Moors until he eventually escaped the bounds of my vision; I did not fall to fear immediately yet once the period of a half-hour had passed I grew worried for his wellbeing: I would have gone, lantern in hand, to search for him myself yet our driver, a sensible old man who was named Karloff if memory serves, persuaded me that a far better thing to do would be to seek assistance from those who dwelt in the house upon the hill. By then it was nightfall and an orange incandesce emanated from the house's rose window, thus we knew it was not forsaken by man. Thus, after we found and removed stones from the horses' hooves, we made our way to the house on the hill under the light of a full Moon which shone with a reddish glow that night. Do not look at me like that, the Moon shines that way for perfectly natural reasons, this is a tale of trauma do not accuse me of making levity.

On the way to the house, the weather had turned, transformed from a calm and cloudless night to one terrorized by a tempest. The wind howled like one thousand banshees and barghests screaming in union while the deluge crashed against the carriage, like perdition's polyphony. I was terrified for my brother for what human could withstand such a raw display of Gaia's wrath and indeed until we reached the House, I had feared that that night might be my last upon this Earth. Yet only a short while later, we had reached the sanctuary of the house, knocking on its grand door so that we could depart from the Nights Plutonian shore and seek shelter amongst that warm bastion of life that had shone to us like a lighthouse.

Once at the door of that gothic manor, I knocked upon the door with the force of one who would see it broken down, desperate to enter sooner rather than later. When eventually the door did open for us, we were greeted by a clean-shaven man whose face was hidden behind a mask which had about it the appearance of a wolf while his attire was crimson coloured footman livery embellished with golden threads. Behind him, I saw many more people, all of whom wore upon their faces masquerade masks of divers types and were garbed in attire of equally rich colourings as the servant.