The Carriage That Only Came at Midnight

More about The Carriage That Only Came at Midnight

The Carriage That Only Came at Midnight
Nobody in the village of Elderbrook could remember when the story began. Some said the carriage had first appeared after the great winter. Others claimed their grandparents had heard the tale from their grandparents. Everyone agreed on three things. The carriage came only at midnight. It appeared only beneath a full moon. And if it stopped for you, you should never ask the driver where he was going. Mara Ellison had never believed any of it. She ran the village bakery, rose every morning at four and considered midnight an unreasonable hour for anything except sleeping. But on the night of the autumn full moon, she was awake. Someone had knocked on her door. Three slow knocks. When Mara opened it, nobody was there. On the doorstep lay a small silver locket. Her hands began trembling before she even picked it up. She knew that locket. Yet she could not remember why. Inside was the portrait of a young woman with dark hair and gentle eyes. Mara stared at the face. Something inside her whispered a name, but whenever she tried to grasp it, the name disappeared. Then she heard bells from the forest. Small ones, moving slowly along the old northern road. Mara should have gone inside. Instead she put on her coat, slipped the locket into her pocket and followed the sound. The forest was silver beneath the moon. Mist curled between the trees. At the old stone bridge the carriage appeared. Two enormous white stags emerged silently from the fog. Their bodies glowed faintly, and Mara could see the trees through them. Behind them rolled a black carriage illuminated by four golden lanterns. A hooded driver held reins that shone like moonlight. The wheels made no sound. Mara stepped behind an oak tree. The carriage approached—and stopped. The driver slowly turned toward her hiding place. “Mara Ellison.” She stepped out. “How do you know my name?” “I know the names of those who still remember.” “Remember what?” Instead of answering, he pointed toward the carriage window. A young woman sat inside. Mara’s breath caught. It was the woman from the locket. She looked perhaps twenty-five, her expression frightened. She pressed one hand against the glass. Mara approached. “Who are you?” The woman shook her head. “I don’t know.” “Why are you in there?” “I don’t know that either.” The driver spoke quietly. “She has been travelling for a very long time.” Mara looked at him. “Where are you taking her?” “Home, if home still remembers her.” “People don’t forget someone completely.” Beneath his hood, the driver’s face looked strangely pale. “They do when someone removes them.” Mara glanced at the locket. “What does that mean?” The driver climbed down. “People believe my carriage carries the dead. They are mistaken. The dead require no carriage. My passengers are those erased from the memory of the living.” Mara looked again at the woman. “Someone erased her?” “From letters. From portraits.