Untimely: A Moonsilver Tale

We arrived when the moths were beginning to gather. When clouds of hoverflies hung like smoke in the gloom, and the light was fading in a heavy sky. The mansion reared before us, a monolith, oppressive in its opulence and grandeur. Surrounding the ornate edifice was fantastical topiary and tightly clipped box hedges, and a kitchen garden laid out in neat rows. Here and there among the trees were life-sized stone statues, glowing luminous white.

As we approached, our host, Sir Henry emerged from the Big House and hurried over to us. A diminutive, shrivelled man, he appeared harassed and agitated.

'Welcome to the Manor,' he said. 'Please, make yourselves at home. We are not – ah – quite ready for you yet.' He looked uneasy. 'I would urge you to come indoors now. Yes, yes, I know you've come to see the gardens, and I cannot prevent you.' Before I could wonder at these enigmatic words, he added, 'But please, if you must stay outdoors, then whatever you do, avoid the statues. There is death in their eyes. I swear to you, if you are unfortunate enough to get their attention, then there is nothing I can do for you. The bell will ring when dinner is ready.' And with no further explanation, Sir Henry hurried away, glancing back to see if any of us were following. We weren't.

I groaned inwardly, because I knew what would happen next. Sure enough, three of my five young companions immediately wanted to do nothing more than seek out the statues and prove him wrong. The other two and myself were of a cautious nature, albeit skeptical of such nonsense.

Of course I didn't believe a word of it.

Half-heartedly, I pleaded with them: 'Just - listen, we shouldn't offend Sir Henry. Try to do as he says, for heaven's sake,' but it was no good. They were at the age where dicing with the prospect of death was more enticement than anything else on offer. Off they ran, long-legged and laughing, dancing around the first statue they reached, examinely it minutely from head to foot, and finally staring widely into its blank stoney gaze. Nothing happened, of course, but they shrieked in pretend fear and galloped on to the next statue.

'Oh well,' I said with resignation. 'No harm done, I suppose. I just hope they shut up about it over dinner.' We plucked basil and lavender from the herb garden, and ran our hands over the topiary shaped like dragons and griffins and sphinxes, and when the gong sounded, we went inside.

Past the oil paintings in their heavy gilt frames, past the lofty drawing room, and into the dining area where we were seated at a table the length of my house. There was even a butler.

As we ate, there was giggling and whispered comments and finally someone spoke up. It was Toby, the one with the floppy dark fringe and faux-innocent face.

'So, Sir Henry, when did you first know that these statues of yours were - ah, dangerous?'

I threw him a glare but he avoided looking at me.

Our host didn't answer for a long time. He studied his soup spoon, as if for inspiration. Finally he spoke.

'When the first four people died,' he said softly. 'They were all marked for death, I could see it, when they came in from viewing my gardens. As you are, my dear young man.' Then he looked up, and there was something so sad and fierce in his expression, that Toby was silenced, and everyone paused, forks held halfway to mouths, glasses put back down on the table.

'Not only you,' our host went on. His gaze moved to Toby's neighbour. 'Also you, young lady. And you.'

My first thought was that he must have watched us from his windows, and seen the three of them horsing around with the statues. But there was something so serious and grim about him, and the light in the room was so dark and ominous, that it was hard, for a moment, not to believe. I looked across at the butler. He stared back at me, unmoving.

'Well, we all die, I guess,' I said, in an attempt at light heartedness. 'It's just a matter of when.'

'You are correct.' Sir Henry's gaze shifted to me. 'There are timely deaths, and untimely deaths. And your unhappy companions have today determined which of those they will have.'

Nobody said anything more on the subject. What could we say? We couldn't prove him wrong, not for a while, at least. And why was there a tiny part of me that was thankful that I hadn't disregarded his warning myself? Did I really believe in such superstition? Of course I didn't.

Dinner did not last long after that. As soon as we could politely do so, we thanked Sir Henry, and left. Nobody wanted to take the garden tour with our host. He was crackers, there was no doubt about it. But we left rather more subdued than when we arrived.

It wasn't until we were walking back up the road, with me at the rear, that I noticed something. The sun had set but there was still enough light left to make our way. I was looking at everyone, noticing how their mood had almost instantly picked up now that we were on our way home, when I saw something odd. I squinted, but it made no difference. Around Toby, hovering over his head and surrounding his body like an aura, was a shadow, darker than the surrounds; a shadow that moved with him, thick and oppressive as a stormcloud. And the same shadows hung about the other two.

I caught my breath, and for a moment stopped walking.

Toby turned around. 'Well, come on! Drinks on me!'

I briefly closed my eyes. What could I say? What could I do?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

And so, I followed him.