The Darke Chronicles Read Online Free PDF

never changed from the fresh, graceful young woman she had been in that long-lost summer in the late 1870s. He had never perceived her golden hair turning to grey or the smoothness of her skin slacken and give way to wrinkles. For him, her beauty remained intact – remained so until death. While Gwendolyn’s ageing never impinged upon his consciousness, her passing now consumed him. He knew that to commit suicide would be against his own strict personal moral code, and so he found himself enduring a desolate and achingly sad existence. Gently he brought his lips to touch the cold glass of the photograph frame. ‘Oh, Gwen,’ he murmured softly, as the tears began to flow with unabandoned grief. Only his noble sensibilities prevented him from taking his own life.
    Momentslater, he recovered sufficiently to place the photograph on the bedside table and wipe his eyes with one of his wife’s handkerchiefs. He gave a deep melancholic sigh that seemed to suck the energy from his tired frame.
    There came a gentle knock at the bedroom door and a young woman entered. In some ways she was like a younger, harsher image from the photograph, but her hair was dark and worn in a severe style, pulled back from the face. By comparison, her features were pinched and shrewish. She lacked the grace or charm of her mother.
    ‘I wondered if you’d like a hot drink, Father.’
    He shook his head.
    She noticed his red eyes and tear stained cheeks. Her glance fell upon the photograph. The old man read his daughter’s mind. ‘I’ve been saying goodnight to your mother. I’m ready to sleep now, Sarah.’
    ‘Very well, Father.’ She came forward and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead. ‘Shall I pull the curtains? There’s a full moon tonight. I’m sure the light will bother you.’
    ‘No, no,’ said the old man with an irrational urgency. ‘If I wake, I like to see the world outside … the sky. With the curtains drawn, my world is so … so claustrophobic.’
    Sarah said nothing. Since her mother’s death, six months before, her father’s grief had led him into strange ways and he had developed odd little behaviours. It had isolated him from the rest of the family so that now he was almost a stranger to them. It was as though he had deliberately cut himself off from all those who cared for him in order to live in a world of sadness and memories.
    ‘If there is nothing else, I’ll leave you.’
    ‘There’s nothing else.’
    ‘Goodnight, Father.’
    ‘Goodnight.’
    Sarah swished from the room, closing the door noisily.
    Cornelius gave a sigh of relief. He was alone again with Gwendolyn. He closed his eyes and soon shallow sleep overtook him.He woke again some twenty minutes later. He was immediately conscious of a soft sound invading the room. He lay in the darkness, listening intently. He thought he heard someone calling his name, softly, persuasively. He sat upright, straining to determine exactly the nature of this sound. Surely it was not a voice. It must be just his imagination? The air was still and quiet … and yet…
    He glanced at the photograph on the bedside table, the moonlight highlighting the ghostly faded features of his dead wife. Was the smile more vibrant and were the eyes sunnier? Did the lips appear to move? Cornelius Horden closed his eyes apprehensively.
    And then he heard the voice once more – clearly this time. There could be no doubt. It was calling his name, softly but distinctly. The tone was high, but he was not sure whether it was a man or a woman’s voice. He struggled into an upright position and only then allowed himself to open his eyes. What he saw made him catch his breath in such a violent fashion that he thought for a moment that he would faint.
    There, against the darkness of the windowpane was a flickering, bright light that gradually formed itself into an image. It was the image of an angel. Or a creature that he recognised as an angel from the illustrations of the scriptures he’d