The Longest Night

The sun was setting in Tanglewood, and the forest trails were covered in a feathery dusting of snow. The trees were thick, but naked, except for the speckled evergreens, highlighting the death that winter brings. As Edgar prepared his horse for slumber, he sat uneasy, worried about what the night would share on this sacred evening.

His horse, Tragedy, when she was not in use, stayed in a single-roomed barn with no door. Edgar removed the modest, black, leather saddle from her back and placed it on its wooden perch underneath the barn roof. Edgar noticed that his old lucky horseshoe, which normally sat at the end of the wooden platform, behind his trusty saddle, always with its ends pointing upward, was missing. He swallowed a lump in his throat, squatting to the ground to find his heirloom. There it was, ends facing down, digging into the dirt of the barn floor.

Edgar was afraid to touch it. Tragedy whinnied. Night was coming on fast, and the skies were turning grey. When Edgar looked outside the barn, he witnessed the final light of day, sparkling and linear through the endless rows of trees. Hastily, he picked up the horseshoe with his thumb and pointer finger. As he returned to his feet from the squatting position he was in, he knocked his head on the saddle holder. The horseshoe fell again, this time, flat in the dirt. It was getting harder to see, and nerves were bubbling to the surface, so Edgar left the horseshoe where it lay, giving Tragedy a kiss on her nose before exiting the barn. Tragedy bowed her head and kicked one front hoof into the dirt and hay below, saying goodbye.

“I know girl, I know. Stay safe. Stay warm. I will see you in the morning.” Edgar left the barn without looking back.

His house was only twenty steps away, but the dusk was hurting his vision. As soon as he reached for the handle, he swung the wooden plank of a door open with vigor, jumped into his home, and slammed it shut behind him. His one-room abode was nearly pitch black, with little light coming in from the single window. He reached into his pocket for his matches, and he struck. The flame remained in time for him to find his kerosene lantern sitting atop the kitchen table. In the process of trying to light the wick, he dropped his match, and the flame went out. He turned in the direction of his front door, straining his neck with whiplash, before fumbling with his matchbox and striking another. This time, he was successful, and the lantern lit his immediate vicinity. He picked it up by the handle and hurried to the front door. Now that he could see the locking latches, he put them in the safe position, on top and bottom. Edgar could breathe easily, knowing that nothing could get in.

He carried the lantern back to the kitchen table and began lighting additional candles around the house for extra vision. He had a hearty pile of wood, and he was well prepared for the sleepless night that lie ahead. He prepared his black, cast-iron furnace with kindling, and used flint to spark the flame. Once it was roaring, he added a few cuts of firewood and left the hatch slightly open.

The wind was whistling outside, and the sound of metal clanked on the floor.

A fork from a previous meal had fallen off his countertop. He picked it up and threw it into the basin sink. While there, he filled the teapot that was waiting for him with water he hauled from the well earlier that day. He set the teapot atop the furnace to brew, and finally, Edgar could relax. He sat at the kitchen table and took a pipe out of his coat pocket along with a small satchel of tobacco. He filled the pipe before placing it softly between his lips. With a nearby candle wick, he lit the plant mixture and puffed away with eyes closed.

Edgar was interrupted by the sound of his distressed horse outside. Tragedy was kicking on the wood panels of the barn, and violent neighs erupted from her stall. Edgar was taken out of his trance, dropping his pipe to the table. He grabbed the kerosene lantern and rushed to the front door, tripping over the leg of his chair on the way. He maintained his balance as best he could and undid the latch locks. Once out into the wilderness, he sprinted toward Tragedy.

Upon arriving at the barn, Edgar learned that everything was well. Tragedy was relaxed, whinnying upon Edgar's unexpected arrival. Edgar was breathing heavily. He shone the lantern along all the corners of the barn, and he saw nothing. The only thing out of place was his lucky horseshoe, and he mustered up the courage to put it back where it belonged, with the ends pointed upward. After clearing the inspection, Edgar made his way back to his home.

When he reached for the door handle, he heard Tragedy again. Distressed. Raging. Kicking. Fighting. Edgar sprinted with all his might back to the barn, and things were exactly how he left them moments before.

Edgar looked around suspiciously, and he waded out into the night. Facing his fears.

“Hello?” He yelled. It echoed back to him, but otherwise, there was no response. Edgar rubbed both of his eyes a few times with his free hand and looked back toward Tragedy. She was fine, too. Edgar began laughing maniacally as he made his way back to the front door. This time, when he grabbed for the handle, he heard a baby crying inside.

Confusion washed over him as the door jolted open and slammed behind him. Once inside, he still heard crying. He quickly closed the top and bottom of the front door’s latches, leaving his home secured before investigating further. The crying remained. Ear-piercing, ungodly wails, ringing viciously. He frantically searched: in cabinets, under tables, under his bed sheets, and in his chamber pot. There was no baby, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Because Edgar lived alone. But he heard it.

He narrowed the noise down to the kitchen, and once he reached the stove, the sound of a baby crying transitioned into the screaming of his teapot. Edgar grabbed the wooden handle and removed the pot from the hot surface. The crying came to a lull, and once again, Edgar laughed.

“Curse the Solstice,” Edgar jeered. Raising one hand to the sky, shaking his balled fist.

He prepared himself a hot cup of tea and grabbed a half loaf of bread from his satchel. The wind continued to whip, and the overcast skies left for no stars or moon to keep Edgar company. Using his pocket knife, he cut off small slices of bread to enjoy between sips of hot liquid. Again, Edgar heard Tragedy, but this time, he was not falling for it. He enjoyed his meal, and relit his tobacco pipe, putting his legs up in the chair across from him. He would survive the night, and he wasn't making any more mistakes.

Tragedy continued to misbehave, but Edgar blocked out all sounds of distress by humming little songs to himself. With eyes shut, he tried to imagine he was somewhere else. Somewhere warm. Somewhere bright. Tragedy stopped complaining.

Then there was a knock at the door. Edgar's heart stopped. He put down his pipe, and grabbed a candle to guide him.

He made his way over to the entrance, trying not to make any sounds in the process. Someone knocked again.

"Hello?" Edgar called out in a shaky voice.

"Mister! You need to let me in. Please help, I'm lost." It was the voice of a small child.

"Go home," Edgar said firmly.

"I don't know where home is. I was wandering through Tanglewood, and I couldn't find my way back before the sun went down. I have no light to guide me! Please help!" The child continued to beg.

Edgar muttered profanities under his breath and unlatched the door.

As soon as it was unlocked, the door swung open and hit him in the face hard. The winter wind nipped at his cheeks. There was nobody on the other side.

Edgar's heart rate began beating frantically. He stayed in his home but peeked out the door frame into the night. He shined his candle toward Tragedy's stall, but he couldn't see her. Not enough light. He ran to the table to grab his lantern and made his way back to the barn. Tragedy was still there. Quiet. Still. Relaxed. Edgar let down his lantern and gave her a hug. He stroked Tragedy's mane and held her tight, afraid to let go.

A harsh wind blew, and the world became dark. His lantern went out. He collapsed to his hands and knees, frantically searching for his beacon in the night. His hand smashed into the cold metal with a thud, and he felt around for the handle. Sitting criss-cross on the barn floor, he placed the lantern in his lap before searching his coat pocket for some matches.

The matches were not there. He left them on the kitchen table with his dinner. He got up, quickly, with his dull lantern in hand, and by memory, made his way back home. He put out his hands and felt along the side of his house searching for entry. When he reached where the door should have been wide open, it was shut, and it would not budge. It was locked from the inside.

"Hello?!" Edgar began pounding on the wood. "This is my house! Let me in!"

The child at his door must have been playing tricks. There was no other explanation.

"This is my house, go away and find your own shelter." His own voice responded back to him from behind the door.

"Who are you?!" Edgar screamed.

"My name is Edgar, and I live here. You are tresspassing. Leave at once." The voice answered.

Edgar was frantic. He made his way back to the barn, stumbling through the snow. He tripped into its entrance and landed on the frozen dirt.

"Tragedy!" He called out for his companion. There was no answer.

He felt along the walls for her harness where she was tied up. She was not where she should be. He found her harness on the cold ground, mixed in with the hay she should have been eating. Tragedy was gone, and Edgar was truly alone. Leaving his lantern behind, he walked into the night in search of his horse.

Three days later, Tragedy was found standing guard over her owner's body. Edgar had succumbed to frostbite on the outskirts of town, almost making it out of Tanglewood into civilization. However, there were no human footsteps in the snow leading to where he lay. When authorities searched his home after he was found, his door was left wide open. There was a half-drunken cup of tea, a half-eaten loaf of bread, and a half-smoked tobacco pipe spread upon the table. All the candles in the home had burned down to wax puddles, and the fire hadn't been stoked in days. In the barn, Edgar's lucky horseshoe sat on the wood behind his saddle. Its ends were pointing downward.