Now this story, Students is about a Man who was Awakened in the Middle of
the Night by a Strange Sound.
It was about half three or quarter to four in the night; a wet winter’s night.
Everyone was asleep in the village, except for the odd tomcat or two that were always roaming around at that unearthly hour.
He was sleeping away contentedly, so he was, next to his wife, and he was dreaming of a summer’s day.
At some point during the dream he heard a sound that wasn’t of the dream, but as it were, was coming from outside the dream.
He woke up, and he didn’t know where he was for a moment.
But then he could hear his wife breathing beside him.
As he was lying there looking up at the ceiling and over at the curtains with a little bit of streetlight coming in above them, he again heard the sound.
He looked around but couldn’t see anything.
It was an unusual sound.
What did it sound like, Teacher?
It sounded like an oversized wellington boot, Craig flapping against your shin as you are trying to walk through tall wet grass.
As he lay there, he again heard it.
Not wanting to wake his wife, for she needed her sleep, he very slowly and quietly eased himself out of the bed, and went out into the hallway.
He didn’t turn on any light.
Then, he stood still, at the top of the stairs, and listened.
He heard it again!
From the direction of the sound, he made out that it wasn’t coming up from downstairs.
It was coming from near by.
He slowly made his way towards his son’s bedroom, and there he stood still, listening at the partially opened door.
But it wasn’t coming from there.
All he could hear was the sound of his son sleeping.
Then he slowly, and ever so quietly, made his way to his daughter’s room.
Again, he stood still, there before the partially opened door.
But the sound wasn’t coming from there either.
All he could hear was the sound of his daughter sleeping.
He then looked in the shadows up towards the attic door.
But from there he heard no sound.
As he was about to go back to bed; thinking that he must have been imagining it, didn’t he again hear that strange sound.
There was only one place left to check, and that was the bathroom.
He slowly, and ever so quietly, went towards the bathroom door with feeling his way along the wall.
As he stood there still, beside the partially opened door, he could hear this wellington flapping kind of sound.
Was he; was he afraid, Teacher?
Afraid, Jennie?
He was terrified.
Cold beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead, and his shoulders were beginning to shake, like so.
He tried to raise a hand to his forehead to wipe away the sweat but they seemed stuck to his sides.
He could feel his knees were getting weaker, and he was beginning to find it difficult to keep standing.
Somehow, he managed to gently put his right hand against the door, and slowly, ever so slowly he began to push it open.
As he was opening it, he could see there was . . .
As Children of Ireland: Original Stories for ages 8-12 composed by a Nuptial hermit of the Mystical isle of Éire
It was about half three or quarter to four in the night; a wet winter’s night.
Everyone was asleep in the village, except for the odd tomcat or two that were always roaming around at that unearthly hour.
He was sleeping away contentedly, so he was, next to his wife, and he was dreaming of a summer’s day.
At some point during the dream he heard a sound that wasn’t of the dream, but as it were, was coming from outside the dream.
He woke up, and he didn’t know where he was for a moment.
But then he could hear his wife breathing beside him.
As he was lying there looking up at the ceiling and over at the curtains with a little bit of streetlight coming in above them, he again heard the sound.
He looked around but couldn’t see anything.
It was an unusual sound.
What did it sound like, Teacher?
It sounded like an oversized wellington boot, Craig flapping against your shin as you are trying to walk through tall wet grass.
As he lay there, he again heard it.
Not wanting to wake his wife, for she needed her sleep, he very slowly and quietly eased himself out of the bed, and went out into the hallway.
He didn’t turn on any light.
Then, he stood still, at the top of the stairs, and listened.
He heard it again!
From the direction of the sound, he made out that it wasn’t coming up from downstairs.
It was coming from near by.
He slowly made his way towards his son’s bedroom, and there he stood still, listening at the partially opened door.
But it wasn’t coming from there.
All he could hear was the sound of his son sleeping.
Then he slowly, and ever so quietly, made his way to his daughter’s room.
Again, he stood still, there before the partially opened door.
But the sound wasn’t coming from there either.
All he could hear was the sound of his daughter sleeping.
He then looked in the shadows up towards the attic door.
But from there he heard no sound.
As he was about to go back to bed; thinking that he must have been imagining it, didn’t he again hear that strange sound.
There was only one place left to check, and that was the bathroom.
He slowly, and ever so quietly, went towards the bathroom door with feeling his way along the wall.
As he stood there still, beside the partially opened door, he could hear this wellington flapping kind of sound.
Was he; was he afraid, Teacher?
Afraid, Jennie?
He was terrified.
Cold beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead, and his shoulders were beginning to shake, like so.
He tried to raise a hand to his forehead to wipe away the sweat but they seemed stuck to his sides.
He could feel his knees were getting weaker, and he was beginning to find it difficult to keep standing.
Somehow, he managed to gently put his right hand against the door, and slowly, ever so slowly he began to push it open.
As he was opening it, he could see there was . . .
As Children of Ireland: Original Stories for ages 8-12 composed by a Nuptial hermit of the Mystical isle of Éire
Comments
Post a Comment