The Woman in Black
I stopped by the nursery window and stared out across the drab, dreary and wet marshes, listening to the sounds that had filled not only my darkest nightmares for the duration of my life since the terrible incident, but had also haunted each waking day, every moment filled with terror. My boy, my Nathanial, out on the marsh, screaming, crying. I stared out with contempt as my eyes glazed over with tears. This happened so often that most of the time I was able to block it out in some way or form, but it was times like these, where I stood in the nursery where my Nathanial grew up, a loving, funny, carefree boy, that I could no longer fight it. Jennet's presence was still in the house after all of these years, she left a cold, dark, menacing feeling all around Eel Marsh House. Sometimes I had to get away from it, just for a little while. I never ventured as far as the town of Crythin Gifford, but I would walk out onto the nine lives causeway sometimes. It was hard, knowing that I may be sucked into the dreadful marshes at any moment, any misplaced step, but even with that knowledge, I felt better to get away from the house and its fearful memories, even for just an hour or two.
Although this didn't mean that I was safe from Jennet. The first time I left the house was a lifeless day, a few weeks after Jennet's death. There was a thick sheet of mist over the marshes so I had decided to stay in all day; however I was pushed out by the terrible occurrences that had begun that day. First, I woke up at 5am, which was not unusual since Nathanial's death, I had been waking up in the early hours of the morning a lot during those years, sweating and out of breath after the tumultuous nightmares I would suffer from. This time was different however; it was two weeks after Jennet died of the terrible wasting disease that purged the life from her, killing her slowly over a painful twelve years in which she spent every moment resenting me. I woke with a start as I felt as though someone else was in the room. I looked around the room hastily, panicking as I felt the terror rise inside of me. The door to my room was open a crack, and though it was dark in the hallway outside, there was a distorted kind of apparition to be seen peering in. The moment I looked at it, it turned away and presumably went down the hall. My heart was beating faster than it had ever done before, and I knew that instant it was Jennet. The following day had been full of terror and suspense as she followed me through the house breaking objects and whispering things into my ears. Hateful things. As if this was not terrifying enough, I tried to get away from her and ran into the nursery, yet there she stood, as solid as the rocking chair she stood beside. She looked at me with such vengeful hate, and was just about to say something before I ran from the room, and all the way onto the causeway. There I stood, crying, lost in the fog that was still lingering, thick as smoke. This was when the noises first began, my darling child Nathanial, calling out as he sank deeper into the murky depths of the marshes. The thing that really broke my heart though, was that he wasn't calling out for his mother, no, he was calling out for Jennet. Once I returned that night, I crept into bed, muddy and dishevelled, and stared at the opposite wall for almost an hour. It wasn't until I went to blow out my candle that I noticed my door was open slightly again, and there she was, staring at me, with pure and utter hatred in her eyes.
It had not been the first time I had caught her peering into my room late at night or early in the morning. Since Nathanial died, she had hated me more than anything in the world. She had hated me before, I won't deny, but this was different. It was as though there was a strong force emanating from inside her, every fibre of her being was fuelled by the hate she carried, her very being depended on her need for revenge. When Nathanial died, she had gone into a state of complete despair, she stayed in the nursery for days and days, not eating, sleeping or bathing. Sometimes she would be quiet, and Morgan and I would be sat downstairs in stony silence, then the next moment you could hear her wailing, crying for her lost child. When he died, our lives all changed for the worse. Morgan and I grew distant, and eventually separated. He left on a Sunday, I recall watching him walking out of the house and climb into a pony and trap. Apparently the accident didn't frighten him of those dastardly contraptions as it did to me and Jennet. I remember turning around from the window when I had finally lost sight of him, and finding Jennet stood before me, smiling. The smile was not friendly. It was the first time she had left the nursery, let alone smiled, however sinister the smiles was, since losing Nathanial.
She never spoke a word to me. I never tried to strike up a conversation with her. We lived our unhappy lives together in the same house, yet avoided each other like the plague. When we did cross paths, she would stare at me, blankly. On rare occasions, she would speak to me, however whenever she did, it was to insult me, to blame me for Nathanial's death. One time I asked her to leave my house. She didn't reply. She didn't make an effort to leave. I always wondered why she'd want to live in the same house as someone she hated so much, to have to see me every day. I couldn't leave Eel Marsh House; I had no money to buy a different house and no friends in the world. I couldn't remarry for I desperately loved Morgan and still clung to the hope that he might one day return, yet he never did. I received a letter some years ago notifying me of his death. It was one of the worst letters I had ever had the displeasure to read. For the twelve long years that we lived together after Nathanial died, she tormented me. I was scared of her. I would wake to see her outside my door often. It scares me to think what she would have done if I hadn't woken; would she have tried to kill me? She was bitter enough for me to believe she could do such a thing. The fear I lived with through those years was too intense for me to explain clearly. Once she died, it may sound a horrible thing to say but, I was relieved. I thought my horrors would be over. I was wrong.
The worst haunting I had from Jennet was so terrible that it that shook me to my very core. It was around ten years after she had died. The incidents had become less and less frequent in the past year, and at this time I had not been haunted for at least 2 months. I was walking down the hall to my bedroom when I saw her, stood in the doorway of the nursery, staring down the hall at me, lit only by a single candle on the wall next to her, a candle which I had not lit. I was shocked for a moment, but so used to seeing her that it was not much of a surprise. We looked at each other for a moment before I turned away, sighing, hoping tonight would not be as terrible as some of the past nights I had been subjected to. But as soon as I turned around, she was there in front of me. I threw my arms up to shield myself from her, not knowing what she might do to me. I felt her bony fingers clasp around my wrists, her skin as cold as ice, sending shivers down my spine. I screamed as she held me there for what felt like an eternity, whilst she stared into my eyes with such an intense look of loathing that it made me feel as though there were no hope left in the world. She threw me to the ground and I hit my head on the dark, old wooden flooring. My body was sprawled against the floor as I lifted my head to look at her. She stood above me, a figure of impending doom looking down at me with disgust etched upon her face. I have never felt as scared of anything in my life as I did then, staring up at the apparition of the woman I was sure was going to murder me. Instead of hurting me, she spoke to me.
"It should have been you…" she spat at me with a venomous tone. I could hardly see through the tears. "It should have been you…" she repeated. "It should have been you!" she suddenly screamed at me. Her voice was shrill and other-worldly, like a demon, spawned from the deepest depths of hell and broken free just to make my life miserable and restless. She repeatedly screamed this at me until she vanished, as quickly as she had appeared before me. I lay there on the cold, hard floor for another few hours, trying to think of something other than her. No pleasant thoughts would come. Just the image of Jennet standing over me, shrieking the ear splitting phrase over and over again.
As I stood in the dank little nursery, remembering all these horrific moments of my life, I thought to myself how unlucky I was. I wished my life had been happier, more fulfilled. I thought of Morgan, and how happy we were until she ruined our life. I remembered our wedding, the vows we shared and the smile on both of ours faces as we stepped out of the little chapel in Crythin Gifford, me in my beautiful silk wedding dress, Morgan in his father's suit. I remembered Jennet being there too. Young Jennet, only 16 years old. Her smile was so beautiful, she was truly a gorgeous young woman, it was no wonder she had gotten herself pregnant by some young city man. I remember it well, her running up to me, hugging me, smiling, crying, telling me how happy she was for me. Telling me she loved me. I wondered how so much could have changed because of the loss of a child. It wasn't my fault after all, and I did her a favour by taking him on. I loved the boy too, and wanted Jennet to be a part of his life, just not his mother, that was my role now. I thought back to all the happiest moments of my life, but however many there were, it was not enough to stop me from thinking of the terrible times too. The screaming of my little Nathanial ebbed. So he has finally slipped away… again. How many times had I heard him screaming? Too many to count. I was tired. So tired. Tired of Jennet, tired of Nathanial, tired of life. I stood in the nursery looking out for hours. I felt myself falling, falling, falling. I felt more peaceful than I had done in years, with Morgan by my side, holding hands with my dear Nathanial, his beautiful young face gleaming up at me, glowing with happiness, so it seems. I smiled, feeling elated. I reached my old, wrinkled hand out to Morgan, who reached out and gripped it tightly. I felt my youth returning, rushing back like a thousand years had been taken off of my life and I was suddenly a young woman again. I looked out of the window again to see that it was much brighter than it had been, and in the reflection of the glass I saw Jennet, young Jennet, 16 again, smiling at me. I felt wonderful, surrounded by my loved ones. And then I felt nothing.