A campfire story by David W. Thompson
Henry walks the night
It was a warm spring day in my youth. The fish were eager to
throw off the winter doldrums, invigorated by the lukewarm waters surrounding
them. But as the shadows grew long, the chill of the evening settled in our
bones. We huddled near the fire to embrace its warmth—except for Henry.
Henry was our token “old guy.” None of us knew his last name
or where he came from. He appeared like a mist from the shadows whenever we
camped here. He was a mysterious, good-natured sort who knew every hole that
held trout, and we welcomed his arrival. He’d sit beyond the heat of our
flickering campfire and listen to our morbid ghost stories with an odd smile on
his pale lips, but he never volunteered a tale. We'd decided it was time to
change that.
“Ah, you lads humor an old man,” Henry said, “but my tales
are too dark for innocent ears.”
“Unfair, Henry. You’ve listened to our stories for years…”
“Is it fairness you want? If that’s the price of admission,
I’ll pay my share. I know such a story of justice, though I doubt it will seem
so through youthful eyes. And it’s a love story. Will that do?”
We nodded our approval.
“Before you lads were a twinkle in your father’s eyes, we
lived in a lovely home. It was beautiful in the light of day when the sun cast
off the shadows of my torment. Merriam was my betrothed and was stunning in any
light. She owned my heart.
“But when he came, I feared my concern for her was
misconstrued—made into something it was not. But the change in her was too noticeable
to ignore. Had I wronged her? Was there a special event or anniversary I'd
forgotten?
“We welcomed him into our home as if he was a long-lost
friend. Embraced him like a brother as he crossed our threshold from the cold.
Lost in the wilderness, he’d said. Starving and covered in ice, we drew him to
our hearth, and oh, how he repaid us—repaid me.
“Overnight, she and William became best friends, sharing
things that should remain unsaid. Things she liked and didn’t, but it wasn’t
about her favorite meals or reading preferences, but things only a husband
should hear.
“She grew colder toward me, my Merriam, my heart. William
spurned me in my home as if I was the unwanted guest. What was I to do? I
wished for someone to talk to, but since we met, only Merriam existed. My love
was true, and my trust was absolute. Was I a fool?
Their laughter floated through the mansion. Hers was light
and flirtatious like a schoolgirl, his dark and ominous. But silence greeted me
when I entered the room. I was well-read in literature but illiterate in the writings
of the heart. Wealth breeds isolation, I’m told, and I’d known both in
quantity.
I’d trade that wealth to see love reflected in her eyes
again, but the two of them laughed all night & slept all day. No longer in
my bed, nor William's—but had she fallen for him? Could a love such as ours be
so casually discarded?
“I woke to the full moon shining through my window and sensed
the change in the air. I felt her calling to me in my mind, as clear as a
shout. She beckoned me to her bed, and I flew to her. Merriam’s arms were
thrown wide, her flesh pale, and her lips crimson. ‘I’m cold. Kiss me,’ she
said.
“At the kiss, she turned and slid her teeth into my neck.
Oh, the bliss I knew at her touch renewed! She drew on my essence, and we were
one again and forevermore. My vision blurred as her words caressed me... and saved
me.
“‘I love you,’ she said. ‘This is William’s gift; now, he
must die.’
Henry stood, his eyes glowing unnaturally.
“William paid for his disrespect and knowledge of us.”
He smiled a toothsome smile. “Now I’ve shared my secret,
lads, and you will share William’s fate.”
His eyes, burning with hellfire, terrified me, but Jim and
Ricky didn’t notice. They smiled and, in their mirth, paused a moment too long.
I dashed into the darkness, and their screams followed me. I spent the night
cowering in the shadow of a cross some long-forgotten penitent soul erected
years before.
I never saw Ricky or Jim again, but their spirits haunt me. They
torment my dreams and call me a coward. Are they the source of the knocks at my
window late at night? Those with no visible source? Has Henry returned to
reclaim his prey?
I cannot say, but now you, too, know the tale! Beware the darkness, the mysteries in the fog, and the whispers of the wind. Henry walks the night.
David W. Thompson
https://www.david-w-thompson.com
David is a multiple award-winning author,
Army veteran, and graduate of UMUC. He’s a multi-genre writer and a member of
the Horror Writers’ Association, and the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers
Association. When not writing, Dave enjoys family, kayaking, fishing, hiking,
hunting, winemaking, and woodcarving.