The Boy Messenger, A Christmas Phantasy

by Algernon Blackwood

A Christmas Fantasy

It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve.

Partly by train, partly on foot, they had come to a charming village, not much more than a dozen miles from London Bridge, and were sitting at tea looking out upon the garden of the inn. The dusk, like a thin veil, gathered silently’ about them, and a curtain of wintry mist, half moisture from the near woodlands, half smoke from the village, hung over the tumbled cottage roofs and shrouded the crests of the elm trees that circled the green.

A few children played near the well, a line of white geese straggled over from the pond, aad a typical village dog strayed dangerously near the hoofs of a typical village donkey that was trying its best to nibble grass where grass there was none. For the rest, the hamlet seemed deserted, the street peopled by shadows only, and the dishevelled yew-tree in the churchyard spread vaguely through the gloom till it embraced the church and most of the gravestones into the compass of its aged arms.

They were an unimaginative party. It is doubtful if any one of them possessed sufficient insight to appreciate the feelings of an untipped waiter⁠—surely the least of tests⁠—and yet, before the eyes of three of them, two girls and a man, this thing plainly happened. True, their accounts varied curiously when they came later to compare notes; but then accounts of the simplest occurrence⁠—say, a rabbit running across a road⁠—will vary amazingly when half a dozen persons who saw it rum come to relate their impressions, So that proves nothing; the important thing is that something happened, and the observers started even. The rest remains to be told.

They were waiting for the arrival of another friend, who was to bicycle over and meet them at the inn, and then return for the Christmas Eve party when they realised that the cold had grown suddenly much greater, and one of them⁠—it was the younger girl⁠—made the suggestion that they should go part of the way to meet him. The proposal was welcomed, and instantly acted upon, and the man and the two girls were up and away in a twinkling, leaving the others behind to nurse the tea against their speedy return.

“The moment we hear the bicycle bell we’ll make tea,” they shouted from the inn porch, as the three forms scattered into the darkness, the voices and footsteps making an unusual clamour in the peaceful little hamlet.

The road, winding like a white stream, and slippery with occasional ice, ran downhill out of the nest of cottages, and the trio followed its course headlong through the gloom, regardless of ruts or loose stones. A couple of villagers, walking briskly by, turned their heads to stare; a dog made a sudden run, barking shrilly; a cat shot silently across the road im front of them; and then, quite suddenly the village was left behind and the broad highway dwindled into a country lane. As they ran, the hedgerows flew past like palings with a level top, and the frosty evening air, keen with odours of plowed fields and dead leaves, stung their cheeks sharply and whistled in their ears.

They bad gone perhaps half a mile in this way, still urging the pace downhill, and they were running abreast along a clear stretch with nothing to obstruct, so that all had the same point of view, when suddenly⁠—and this is where the accounts first begin to vary⁠—they realised that something stood immediately in the road before them, something that brought them all up instinctively with a dead halt.

How they managed it, going at that pace downhill, is hard to understand⁠—some things apparently possess the curious power compelling a stop⁠—for they came to a full halt as completely as though they had charged an invisible iron barrier breast-high across the road. Panting and speechless⁠—they drew up in line as by common instinct⁠—drew up in presence of a fourth.

So far at least, they were all agreed⁠—that it was a fourth.

Outlined against the white road where a moment before had been empty dusk, of indefinite shape in the mingling of the lights, stock still and bang in the centre of their path⁠—the slang alone describes the uncompromising attitude of the thing⁠—stood this fourth figure, facing them with a deliberate calmness of survey that seemed a little than more insolence, and only a little less than menace. Another second and their headlong rush would have sent them ploughing over it as an ocean liner ploughs over a fishing smack in the night, Moreover, so sudden was the appearance, and so abrupt the halt, that for more than a whole minute they merely stood in silence facing it, and staring back with no thought of doing anything. To each of them the idea came that it was not possible to get past it, that there was no available space. Though actually diminutive, it seemed to fill the entire road just as a mail cart might have done. And, quite apart from this singular deception of sight, each member confessed afterwards io an uncommon emotion, which warned them that to force a way past was somehow not exactly the right, or proper, or safe thing to do.

So at first they stood and stared rather helplessly⁠—till at length their startled vision focussed itself better and the man of the party, finding his senses, expressed the relieved conviction of them all with a loud exclamation:⁠—

“Why I declare, it’s only a boy after all!” he cried, with a laugh.

Yet the words, as soon as uttered, had a false ring about them, for there was that about the figure of this little boy⁠—this diminutive person dressed in clothes of dark green, oddly cut, with the white face and large blue eyes so wide apart in it⁠—there was that about him which made it not difficult to imagine that, if he was something less than a man, he was at the same time something more than a boy. His self-possession was perfect. The manner in which he dominated the entire road, gazing up so quietly and fixedly at them⁠—peering it really was⁠—produced an effect privileged importance that was not calculated according to his mere size at any rate. Aided, perhaps by the twilight and the background of dark woods, he certainly managed to convey an impression, strangely insistent, of being other than he was⁠—other, at least, than these three saw him.

And, beyond question, each one saw him differently⁠—at first. The picture varied astonishingly. For the elder girl thought it was a “woman or a shadow,” and her sister said it looked like an animal on its hind legs, pausing to start in its flight across the road⁠—a hare, for instance, magnified hugely by the dusk⁠—while the man could have sworn, he declared, that at first he saw several figures, a whole line of them, indeed, which had then suddenly telescoped down into the single outline of this diminutive boy.

And the three accounts seem very suggestive of the curiously confusing effect produced upon their sense of sight from the very beginning.

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For a time no one said a word, and up the spines of all three ran chills of various degrees. For the place had turned suddenly lonely; no habitation was in sight; dark woods lay close at hand, with mist creeping everywhere over the sombre landscape; and, immediately in front of them, this imp-thing with the glowing eyes and the confident manner, barring their way. It was eerie; though what there contd be about a twilight country lane and an inquisitive little boy to make it so, no one of them could understand.

And then, while a stray breeze brought the dead leaves whirling about their feet in a little rustling eddy, the embarrassing silence was broken by the fourth itself, who in a thin, piping voice, like wind blowing through small reeds, ejaculated a sound that all heard differently.

“Surely it was my name that he called,” was the thought in the mind of each.

This, however, they discovered afterwards when comparing notes, and discussing the singular affair from every possible point of view; for at the actual moment the man of the party, remembering the character of the friend they were come to meet, and his love of practical joking, thought to see his hand in the behaviour of the youngster, and cried again with a laugh:⁠—

“But it’s some elaborate trick of Harry’s! He has sent the boy ahead to meet us, He is not far off himself at this very moment, and this is his messenger boy!”

But was it really a boy! Did it cast a shadow like the rest of them under the gathering stars? Was it unaccompanied truly, or were those merely shapes of mist that rose and melted so mysteriously into one another beside the hedge yonder? And how was it so vividly impressed upon the minds of all that the boy stood there with a definite purpose, a deliberate mission, and sought to spell some message to their brains? For, afterwards, it came out clearly, that it was this conception of the messenger⁠—of someone come to tell something⁠—that had impressed and perplexed the unimaginative three far more than the mere differences of sight and hearing.

“Let’s go back,” whispered the younger girl, “He frightens me.”

It was the one who had most reason to wish for the arrival of the expected friend, and her voice gave utterance to a secret emotion that was beginning to stir in them all⁠—an emotion of chill presentiment and fear. The imp, however, was far too fascinating for this course to recommend itself just then, and the others soon found their voices and began to ply the little fellow with questions. First of all they asked him who he was and where he lived; and without speaking, he pointed in a vague way, waving his hand generally to include sky and fields as though it were impossible more particularly to give his name or describe the place where he dwelt.

“He doesn’t know who he is, or where he lives,” cried the girl, who wanted the comforting lights of the inn, and the comfortable presence of the one they awaited. “He’s a goblin⁠—of course, but a very nice goblin,” she added quickly with an odd little forced laugh. The boy had turned his eyes upon her face. They seemed such old, old eyes, she declared afterwards by way of explanation,

“Do you live in the village?” asked the man next.

The boy shook his head with an indescribable gesture of contempt.

“Then where do you live?”

He opened his mouth so that they saw the white line of his teeth, and he began to utter a sound that was not unlike the throaty notes of a big bird. It continued for some seconds, but no words came, He stared at each of them in turn, the stream of sound broken at intervals by tiny explosions from the lips. It almost seemed as though speech were unfamiliar to him, something he could not manage and was struggling with for the first time. Then they discovered that the child had a dreadful stammer but a stammer unlike anything they had ever heard before. It was fully a minute before he managed to produce the words, yet in the direction where he pointed finally there was nothing to be seen but ploughed fields looming darkly, and a few ragged and ungainly elms standing like broken pillars in the night.

“Over there⁠—beyond,” was what he seemed to say.

They began to realise somewhat vividly that it was a late December evening; the night gathered increasingly about them; in the tops of the high elms a faint wind stirred and whispered; the face of the world grew unfamiliar, as though they were plunged in some desolate region where human help availed not. The shadows had come forth in troops and taken possession of the landscape, somehow altering it. For the moment they forgot their immediate purpose of meeting a hungry bicycle-rider and hurrying back to tea at the inn. The passage of time shpped back, as in dreams, to where it was of no account, and they stood there, half fascinated, half frightened by this imp of a creature who seemed to them about to lift a corner of the veil that hangs ever between the illusions ef the broken senses and the realities that lie beyond.

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But it was the boy himself who broke the spell by suddenly stepping forward and holding out his hands to them. A smile slipped out of his strange eyes and ran all over his face, making it shine.

“Come,” he said, without any sign now of a stammer, “come, and I will show you where I live, Your friend is already there waiting.”

And the imp mentioned him by name!

The younger girl⁠—she who most looked forward to his coming⁠—gave a perceptible start and moved quickly backwards towards the hedge. Something clutched at her heart, and made her horribly afraid.

But at mention of their friend’s name, the man of the party burst into a cheery laugh.

“There!” he cried, “I told you it was Harry! It’s his idea of a Christmas joke. He’s gone on to the other inn, the Black Horse, and sent this imp of darkness to waylay us. Now we shall have two teas to negotiate!” He clapped his hands and turned to the girls behind him. “Come on,” he said, “let’s follow the youngster to the Black Horse and then send him to fetch the others.”

Yet the man’s words seemed a sham, signifying nothing, or at most merely cheap bravado. They all stood stock still and made no pretence of moving. Their real business was with this boy who hovered there before them between the dusk and the darkness, his hands still outstretched, an air of invitation in his face and manner. It was the boy’s message they wanted, yet dreaded to hear, the real message not yet delivered. His eyes, there in the gloom, were so preternaturally steady, so compelling, so stern almost for a child, the younger girl thought. And they sought ever the one face, disregarding the other two. For each girl was positive he looked only into her own eyes, while the man afterwards declared that the boy looked only at him. To each the illusion was perfect.

Thus it seemed an act of inspiration, bringing relief to the uneasy feelings of them all, when the man walked forward towards the imp, and into those outstretched hands⁠—dropped coppers.

Certainly it was a relief to see him pocket them without an instant’s hesitation, for this was an eminently human proceeding. But the thin peal of elfin laughter that followed the action was not what they had expected, and the echoes that came from the leafless woods beyond, and prolonged the sound, made them all turn sharply about and try to face in every direction at once. The echoes had seemed so curiously like real voices.

Then the man, by way of protest against the increasing strangeness of it all, resolved to test the spell more vigorously,

“Come,” he cried, laughing rather boisterously, “we’ll play puss in the corner. You shall be puss, and each time you get into a corner you shall have a halfpenny.”

The boy made no audible reply, but danced about lightly in the twilight in the middle of the lane, while the smile flitted over his face like the reflections of an unseen lantern and the others ran wildly from corner to corner, till the imp hat finally won six pence. It was easy for him to win. The moment he made for a corner, its occupant fled screaming into the lane. It was impossible, they felt, to contest the points of a merely human game with such a creature of the shadows and the dusk.

Then occurred the strangest thing of all. The game was over and they were girding up their loins to follow the boy to the Black Horse first, and afterwards to their own inn, when, with a quick motion like the rush of a bird, he darted to the younger girl, flung down all the coppers into her hands, before she even guessed what he was about, whispered some words close to her face, uttered a shrill cry of laughter⁠—and was gone!

“Oh, Oh!” she cried out piteously⁠—and this time there was real pain and terror in her voice, “Now I know! Now I know why I was afraid!”

She half fell backwards across a heap of broken stones, and the other two were swiftly at her side with sympathetic questions of alarm. But she was on her feet again in a second. She ran a few paces down the road to the spot where the boy had so mysteriously vanished. None of them had seen exactly how we went, for one second he was there, and the next he was not there. That was all they knew.

The girl paused and held her hand to her side. She peered into the darkness.

“Harry!” she called faintly; and again with anguish in her voice, “Harry! Are you there!”

They were standing in the level space between the two sharp hills. In front of them, after an abrupt turn, the long white road seemed to run steeply into the sky. And it was down this hill that the coming bicyclist must shape his dangerous course.

“There!” she cried again suddenly, running to the side of the road where the hedge ceased, and an open gap led the sight as a single plunge into empty space. “Oh, I knew it, I knew it!”

And when the others joined her, and peered over the hedge they found themselves looking down into the chasm of a disused chalk pit, at the bottom of which in the faint glimmer of the lime and the starlight, lay the smashed bicycle, with the lifeless body of its rider outstretched beside it.