Candle in the Dark

I woke in the dead of night with a start.

The inn was quiet, just when I longed for the sound of another human being. A late drinker stumbling upstairs from the taproom or a guest clumping down the hallway to use the outhouse. Anything.

But my only companion was a cold feeling of dread.

I needed to master myself. It was nothing, merely the tail end of an unremembered dream.

Still, I reached for the candle on the nightstand. In my haste, I knocked it to the floor, and I heard it roll away.

“I need a light,” I whimpered, ashamed that I was afraid to leave the false safety of the bed.

A scarce-heard whisper of steps brushed through my chamber, and I drew breath to scream.

And the candle was put into my hand.

About cathleentownsend

Avid writer and reader of Faerie tales and noblebright fantasy.