2 – Early Fright
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Laura Westenra

Age 6

Styria, Austria

1860

My nursery was a large room in the upper story of the castle, in a tower with a steep oak roof. The room at the top of the tower was square and the ceiling rose high above our heads. Large windows, with shutters but no glass, sat in each corner of the nursery, allowing one to see all around the castle, from forests to fields and even all the way to the village down the road. During the day, these windows allowed bright, warm sunshine to flood the room. At night, if left uncurtained, soft, cool moon and twinkling star light bathed me as I slept. 

One whole wall was covered in bookshelves, each literary tomb a doorway into a different world. As a young child I was taught to read early, and my nursery maid or Frau Becker or my father would read to me before bed almost every night. Another wall was plastered with my creative endeavours: messy fingerpaintings and rudimentary crafts done with beads or yarn or flowers. One wall was plain stone but for a hearth. On the fourth were some low shelves filled with my dolls and toys. Above the shelves was a large painting of my parents, done almost six years previously, with myself a babe of only a few weeks, the two holding me in their arms, faces full of real love and joy. 

The mysterious event that would go on to shape so much of my life happened when I was just six years old, having turned so only the week before. One portentous night, I awoke and looked around the room from my bed, yawning, my eyes heavy with sleep. The window nearest me was open, a hint of moonlight falling over my blankets. I failed to see the nursery maid who usually slept in the second bed, beside my own. Neither was Frau Becker there, and I thought myself alone. 

This was, in fact, unusual. I apparently went through several sickly periods as a child and had been easily frightened by frequent bad dreams, so I rarely slept alone. These nightmares meant that I was studiously kept in ignorance of ghost stories and scary fairy tales, the kind of lore that makes us look over our shoulders when the door cracks suddenly, or causes us to jump at shadows cast by the flicker of a candle. 

In fact, spoiled little princess that I was, I pouted that night, feeling vexed and insulted at finding myself, as I conceived it, abandoned. Soon enough however, all alone in the dark, my bold feelings gave way to fear. The feeling of loneliness grew and I began to feel increasingly vulnerable. I became far too scared to get up and leave the bedroom and call for someone lest something jump out of the shadows to hurt me. 

Looking about the dark room, my imagination began to run away with itself. That single shaft of moonlight penetrating the open window and lighting my bed made the other corners of the room pitch black and every shadow seemed deeper and more menacing. I pictured demons in the far corners of the room and monsters under the beds. Fearfully, I sunk lower under the safety of my blankets. I began to whimper for attention, preparing for a hearty bout of tearful roaring that would surely bring someone—anyone—running to comfort me. 

That’s when, to my surprise, a solemn, but very pretty and feminine face rose up from the side of the bed and peeked at me!

I froze, eyes wide, halfway between shock and utter terror. I entirely forgot to breathe.

I’m not sure why I didn’t scream. I think perhaps it was the fact that she was so unearthly beautiful, like a dream made real. Her flawless skin glowed in the cool light. Her lovely, brown eyes were hypnotic. When she smiled, it naturally made me want to smile back. She was the one person I have ever seen that was even more beautiful than my mother had been. 

Who was this? I didn’t recognize her at all. Was she a stranger that had somehow stolen into my room? Or had someone new been hired to help take care of me, someone that I hadn’t yet met? I suppose I should have been afraid, but she seemed calm, so I guess I felt I should be too. And she was just so pretty that it was difficult to to fear her. Although, perhaps if I had been privy to stories of the fae and goddess-like fairies from another realm, I might have been wary even at that.

The beautiful young lady rose a little higher until she knelt with her hands on my blanket. 

I gazed at her in pleased wonder and lost all intention of whimpering. 

“Hi there, little one. Bad dreams?” she asked with a shy smile. She reached over with delicate fingers and took my tiny hand very gently and lightly squeezed. When I made no move to pull away, she crawled up next to me and lay down beside me on the bed. I saw that she wore a midnight-blue dress that melded with the shadows, but that her bare, white arms and feet glowed in the moonlight. Then she drew me towards her, still smiling, and gathered me in her arms just as a big sister would. 

It felt lovely. Her sparkling eyes watched me as she calmly stroked my hair and I felt immediately and delightfully soothed. My eyes grew heavy again and I soon fell asleep. 

At first, my sleep seemed peaceful. But a sense of wrongness grew. In my dreams, I felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness and panicked. I didn’t know what was wrong, I couldn’t see anything, but I was sure that something was after me. I was in danger. The panic surged. I snapped awake and sat up, crying out with all the power of a six-year-old’s young lungs. 

The pretty lady sharply pulled away, her hand brushing something from the corner of her mouth. Worried eyes fixed first on me then glanced towards the door with alarm. 

Rushed footsteps pounded closer in the hallway. 

She reached over and brushed her delicate fingers against my neck, her face apologetic and longing both. Then, as fluidly as smoke, she slipped down to the floor and hid herself under the bed.

Her strange actions terrified me. I screamed again with all my youthful might. The night air rang with my wails, surely disturbing everyone within and without the castle. 

My father burst through the door, with Frau Becker on his heels. “Laura!” my father exclaimed. Their faces were riddled with worry and panic. 

The nursemaid appeared behind them, lantern in hand, orange flames flickering wildly. It cast a myriad of moving shadows all about the room and I flinched, pulling the blanket up and hiding behind it. 

Father dashed into the room. He whipped his head back and forth, looking for danger. “What is it, darling? Has someone hurt you?” Seeing no visible threat, he swiftly knelt at my side.

I started to babble. I wanted to explain but all I did was dissolve into hysterical tears. I sobbed in his arms while he soothed me, stroking my hair and murmuring gentle things. At last I settled enough to answer.

“I felt something wrong. There was darkness and bad things after me. I was so scared.”

Father gave me a knowing smile. “Another nightmare.”

“No! There was someone here. A lady. In my room!” I insisted, my words tinged with anger because they didn’t believe me.

“There, there, Sugar Plum.” Frau Becker came around to the other side of the bed and started fussing over me, attempting to use her confidence to put me at ease. “It’s all right now. There’s no one here. Just us.” She’d nicknamed me Sugar Plum because they were one of my favourite sweets and she always insisted that I was even sweeter. Whenever we read “Twas the Night Before Christmas”, I imagined that it was I who was dancing through childrens’ dreams. A dancer just as my mother had been.

The nursemaid stepped forward, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Laura. I just stepped out to use the privy.” Father and mother had had flushable toilets installed during their renovations. Apparently the new technology was quite the hit in modern cities. I, for one, was glad that I had never grown up using chamber pots. In fact, one of the duties of the nursemaid was to escort me to the privy in the middle of the night, should I need to go. I was always too scared to go by myself. Besides, nobody had trusted me with matches to light a candle at that age and the halls were very dark. 

I looked up at the faces of the three adults and shook my head furiously at their reluctance to believe me. “Please! Just look under the bed,” I begged. “She went under the bed. She’s there! You’ll see!”

Dutifully, they looked under the bed and then all about the room, peeping under tables and plucking open cupboards, shining the lantern into every cubby.

“There’s nobody here, darling,” father assured me after nothing and no-one was found lurking secretly in my wardrobe or under the bed or hanging outside the window.

The nursemaid raised the bed sheets and knelt to examine under the bed. She determinedly crawled in deeper, looking for clues. Something there startled her. She jumped back up and whispered urgently to Frau Becker. "Look under the bed! Someone really did lay there; the dust has been disturbed and the handprints are far bigger than a child’s!” She, for one, suddenly and fervently believed me.

I was sure that this was all the proof I needed, but when my father too peeked under the bed, he apparently saw nothing to be alarmed about. “There’s nothing here. It must have been a trick of the light. The dust is disturbed because you have been playing under the bed at some point, that’s all. Or maybe one of the cats.” He sneezed twice and stood, convinced that the nursemaid was mistaken. 

“Nay,” the nursemaid frowned. “I saw marks left by an adult, I’m certain of it. Mayhaps there’s been an evil spirit in here.” She glanced nervously at the open window.

My father frowned at her and waved the idea off. He spoke sternly. “Don’t be ridiculous. There are no such things as evil spirits and no-one has crawled into my daughter’s room through the window, four stories up from the ground. I’ll have no such superstitious nonsense in this house.”

The nursemaid bowed her head and apologized. 

I myself was too scared to even look under the bed. 

Frau Becker petted me, hoping to calm my rattle young nerves. “There now, Laura. I know that our dreams can sometimes seem as real as anything. It’s perfectly natural to feel scared. But we’ve looked and there’s no-one else here, yes? You’re perfectly safe.”

“My neck hurts,” I complained to her, rubbing one side of it.

Frau Becker glanced at my neck but saw nothing in the light of the candle and the moon. “You’ve probably just slept on it funny. It’ll feel better in the morning.” She was not concerned. 

I sank back into the bed. Everyone around me looked tired but calm. I glanced about the room yet again and still there was no sign of the lovely young woman who had lain with me. Yet, despite their assurances that it was all just a dream, I was positive that I hadn’t imagined it! But adults never believe what children say, do they?

Frau Becker sat with me all the rest of that night, a lantern burning softly on the table next to us.

The morning after, my nerves calmed considerably. It’s amazing how much braver we are when the sun is shining. The whole episode almost started to feel as if it hadn’t been real. I was able to get up and enjoy the day as any young child would.

But, that night, when I lay down in bed, I felt a growing state of nervousness and could not bear to be left alone. 

My father came and lay with me, talking cheerfully. He was such a handsome, charming man. He delighted in his retirement in the countryside and in having a daughter. He listened to me seriously when I told him again of the previous night, but also turned the conversation to other things and laughed heartily, probably hoping that I would  take comfort at the easy sound. Patting me on the shoulder and kissing my forehead, he told me not to be frightened, that it was nothing but a bad dream and it could not hurt me.

Normally, my father’s words and presence were all I needed to feel safe. With mama gone, I was very much a daddy’s girl and he had always been my biggest hero. But this time I was not comforted, for I knew that the visit of that strange woman was not a dream, and I was awfully alarmed. 

Sometimes, when we are deeply frightened, soothing words are only hollow reassurances. We absolutely refuse to consider any soundness of reason. We reject logic and even truth out of hand. Our fear seems unconcquerable. My father was the world to me and part of me wanted to believe him, to brush the experience off as a nightmare. But the scare had just been too much to get over simply because he’d asked me to.

The event unnerved me for a long time. To this day I whenever it is time to sleep, I scamper towards the bed with chills and jump in, afraid of what might be beneath it, and unwilling to look just there be monsters under the bed. I am afraid of unlit corners and wardrobes and every little shadow, certain that something must be here, somewhere, lurking, just waiting for a chance to come for me, even though I know that it’s very silly of me. And when I imagined monsters on all those dark and feaful nights, I highly doubted that the next one would be a lovely young woman. Surely there were far worse and far scarier things out there who wanted to devour me. The nursemaid, after all, had secretly hinted that this was so when my father wasn’t around. I had no desire to discover what those scarier things might be.

While most of the others in the schloss carried on with their lives and thought little more of the incident, the nursemaid remained convinced of some supernatural threat. When she refused to see reason and give up her superstitions, my father felt that he had no choice but to dismiss her from our household. I was sad to see her go. No doubt her stories further fed local tales about how haunted our home was. 

Luckily, as children, time passes quickly and we are so young that we soon forget many things. In time, I too managed to mostly convince myself that it had all been a bad dream. 

I wonder now: was I just accepting the truth of things, that it had just been another nightmare? Or was I lying to myself and running away from the truth, just because it scared me?

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