The air on this dreary night was cold, the fog surrounding me like a veil, my vision stretching no further than the top of my horse’s head. I ventured blindly down the road, my horse plodding along slowly beneath my tired body. I reached over and pet the animal’s neck, running my fingers through its mane. My hand soon returned to take hold of the reins, guiding her along the worn cobblestone road. I shuddered against the cold and pulled my overcoat closer to my body, attempting to stay warm.

Squinting through the dense mist, a faint light appeared, wobbling to and fro in the light breeze. I tugged on the reins, urging the horse to pick up the pace, and hurried toward the source of the light. The further we moved, the more I could see through the fog. A kerosene lamp hung not too far from us now, swinging idly underneath a crooked sign. The wood was chipped away, repairs apparently not the owner’s priority, as well as their appearance.

I climbed down off of the horse, hitting the ground with a dull thud. I led the horse toward the sign, keeping the animal close to me.

The sign read “The Lennox Inn”

“Hmm, must be owned by a couple a’ Scots, eh?” I chuckled.

The horse snorted in reply, shaking her head excitedly.

I pulled the reins slightly, gently moving her. I stopped at the gate, examining the wrought iron, riddled with rust. I opened the gate, the old hinges creaked loudly.

Not a moment later, the front door of the building before me burst open, a large, burly man stepping out onto the porch. His rifle raised from his side and was aimed at me, the metal glinting in the bright light of the lamp.

“Who are you?” The man called out, his voice lilted with that of a Scottish accent. “Well?”

I looked at the horse. I was right. They are Scots, I thought. What an angry lot they are. “This is an Inn, ain’t it?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“Well, if you don’t mind…I’d like to stay here,” I said. “I can pay you now, I’ve got money.”

Behind the man, a woman appeared, peering over his shoulders. Her curious eyes scanned the yard, and locked onto my own eyes. She held eye contact for a moment, then stepped backward. She placed a hand on his shoulders. “Callum, dear, what’s wrong?”

His head snapped around to glare at the woman. “Get in, Elizabeth. It’s just another traveler,” he grumbled, the gun still aimed at me.

I tossed my hands up defensively. “I’m not lookin’ t’ cause any trouble, sir, I just need a place to stay.”

“Let the poor man stay, he looks worn out from his travels, Callum. Are ye hungry, sir?” The wife asked, ignoring her husband.

I smiled slightly at her disobedience, and her kindness. “Yes, ma’am, I am. I’m famished.”

“What’s your name, young man?” Elizabeth asked, stepping out onto the porch.

“My name is Grayson, ma’am. Grayson Ackley.”

“By the sound of that name, you’re a Brit, eh?” The husband remarked.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m a mix, if you will. But more English than anything.”

The woman swatted her husband’s raised arm, his hands still clutching the gun. “Put that away, along with your resentment for the English.”

“Come inside now,” he said, holding the door open as he stepped inside.

“Sir, what am I to do with my horse? You haven’t got any stables ‘round here, have you? I can’t leave her to roam about.”

“Tie ‘er up to the post here, the horse won’t move. We’ve got the whole area surrounded by gates,” he scratched his chin. “She’ll be fine.”

“Aye, but she’s a wild one.” I said admirably, petting the horse once again. “You sure she won’t escape?”

“Your horse will be fine. Now, tie her up and come in, it’s late now.”

He turned his back and entered the house, leaving his wife and I alone. I pulled the horse through the gate, shutting it behind me, the gate rattling loudly. I approached the house, looking up to meet his wife’s scrutinizing gaze. I smiled sheepishly, unsure of what to say. She must have sensed my apprehension, for she began speaking.

“What are you doing in these parts, Grayson?”

“Just traveling, ma’am,” I said. “I like riding along the countryside.”

She sighed. “It is beautiful here, isn’t it? Despite the weather of course,” Elizabeth chuckled.

I nodded. “The woods…I love the trees, the pine smell…the fresh air.”


“As do I. Callum loves to hunt in these woods. It’s why we opened our Inn here. Come now, your horse will be safe,” Elizabeth said, glancing over at the horse.

I patted her side one last time before entering the house, my boots pounding on the wooden floor.


Their house was big, especially for a low class family. The walls of the entryway were lined with hooks, all holding coats and various hats and other items. It was dark, the only source of light the few candles the were placed randomly about the hall. My eyes adjusted quickly to the dark as I followed Elizabeth down the length of the hall into the common room.

Her husband sat on a wooden rocking chair, his feet pushing him back and forth, the motion seemingly calming him for he began dozing off.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Callum, dear. Grayson is in now. Shall we send him up to his room?”

Callum blinked, staring at his wife, a look of confusion on his face. “Ah, yes, hon. Send him up.”

“Do you have any bags with you, boy?” Callum asked me.

“No, sir. I’ve come empty handed. I don’t have anything aside from me horse,” I said.

“Alright. Well, my wife here will bring you to your room. Get some rest, boy, you look drained.”

“Would you like anything before you settle down?” Elizabeth asked.

“No thank you, ma’am,” I replied.

“Come then, dear.”

Elizabeth led me up a flight of stairs, presumably toward the bedrooms for all of the guests they had attained. About five or six doors lined the corridor, numbers crookedly nailed to each of the doors. They mustn’t have a lot of visitors, or else, I would assume anyway, that they would take pride in the condition of the house, they would take care of the building they use to shelter weary travelers, or those looking for time away from a stressful environment.

I followed closely behind Elizabeth, her body rigid, as if she was scared, or stressed. I reached out and tapped her lightly on her bare shoulder, the skin smooth to the touch. She shivered slightly, turning on her heel abruptly. I took a step back.

“Yes, Grayson?”

“You seem tense. Is something wrong?”

She frowned. “No, Grayson. Nothing is wrong.”

“Then why are you as stiff as a corpse? If you stood up any straighter, ma’am, I’m sure your spine would crack,” I joked.

She glanced around the hall. “There‘s nothing wrong, hon.”

“Hm. Alright, then.”

“Well, I’ll let you rest now. Sleep well, boy,” she smiled, turning her back and walking back down the stairs to her husband.

I closed the door and turned the lock, satisfied upon hearing the loud click. I immediately began to disrobe, removing my coat and boots, as well as my sweater. I collapsed onto the lumpy mattress, pulling the covers up to my head and rolled over, and stared at the black ceiling.

My lids grew heavy, exhaustion taking over. I had been traveling for three days without any rest. The poor horse must be tired as well. I might have overworked the dear animal.

I frowned at that, vowing to remain here more than the single night I had planned on staying, in order to allow her some rest.

She deserves it.


. . .


I awoke the following morning, to the gentle rapping of what I assumed to be Elizabeth’s hand on the door. I rolled over onto my back, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Tiredly, I called out, “Come in.”

The door opened slowly, a small figure stepping out from behind the door. I sat up, propping my body on my elbows. “Who are you?” I asked, curious as to who this person was. Surely, it was not Elizabeth.

“Rhiannon. Elizabeth‘s daughter,” she said quietly.

“Oh. I had no idea they even had a child,” I muttered.

“Oh. Well…they don‘t speak much of me,” she blurted.

I swung my feet over the side of the bed and sat up. “What did you say your name is, again?”

“Rhiannon,” she said quickly.

“Rhiannon…well, it’s nice to meet you. I hate cutting our first meeting short, but would you mind giving me a few minutes to wake up? I’m still exhausted, sadly.”

“Of course,” she said. But the girl didn’t move. She stood in the doorway, her eyes crawling up and down every inch of my body.

“Is there something wrong…?”

She blinked. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

I nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

Rhiannon shut the door behind her slowly and I got up to lock the door, happy now that I could be alone.

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A horror story set in the village of Brockenhurst in the mid-late 1800s.

Grayson Ackley decides to stop at an inn after days of nonstop traveling, and swears he will only stay a night. He detests remaining in one place for an extended period of time.

The next morning, while eating breakfast with the owners of the inn, he learns of a creature lurking within the cover of the ever present fog. Newcomers die frequently, all of them having made the same mistake of entering the woods.

Grayson dismisses their fears, playing it off as an animal taking advantage of the lone travelers being unfamiliar with the territory. Although, he has no doubt monsters exist. Ackley is a monster himself.

He soon becomes unnerved by the actions and attitudes of the people around him. Regrettably, his want to discover just what is going wrong in the village gets the better of him, and he stays for more than just one night, determined to put an end to the people's fear of the supposed "monster".

Along the way, he witnesses horrible things, and begins to question everyone and everything around him.

updated Aug 18 '11 by Ashlie