The Woodshire Curse (excerpt)
BEWARE THE MOOR AT NIGHT...
She ran as fast as she could through the marble halls of Woodshire Castle, losing her slippers in her haste. The hideous screams of the beast rang in her ears as she scurried, leaving her breathless, her heart racing, her mind confused. But where to go? The wails seemed to be all around her. Her lover lay dead in the bed they shared, the servants nowhere to be found. Had they also perished? How could this be happening? Her instinct was to get out of the castle, out onto the moor. Perhaps she could engage a traveler, plead for some assistance from a passing stranger. Outside the winds were howling, the waning sun now hidden behind darkening clouds. The chill in the air, the horrid wailing and the encroaching darkness all seemed to conspire against her. Death stalked her like some relentless, ravenous animal. Oh, to go back in time. Back to the day before when all seemed right with the world. Her world.
(Flashback)
"Morning dear, cup of tea?" He had a voice like a dove, soft and sweet, and she reveled in it's gentility. "Certainly love and a biscuit as well, please." The day progressed like most days. She had married into English nobility, he being the earl of Woodshire. Her days were spent reading, checking and answering the post, giving orders to various servants regarding this or that and so on. Occasionally she would take a trip to London to shop or to hob-nob with fellow socialites. This summer, she and her husband had planned a holiday in Paris. She had never been to Paris. In fact, back in small town America where she was born and raised, she had never traveled at all. What a stroke of good fortune when the earl and his entourage arrived in Washington that special day five years ago to pay homage to the Woodshire family legacy. Her husband's ancestor, Hampton Woodshire II, had been on one of the three little boats that had arrived in America from England. The Nina, if memory served her right. A small town just outside of Washington D.C. had even been named after him. As a college student majoring in Political Science, her class enjoyed the privilege of having been invited to this particular event. It was there that her eyes happened to lock with his, just for a moment, while he was giving his presentation. Afterward, as she was preparing to leave with her classmates, she got a tap on the shoulder, "Darling, there's someone who wants to meet you," said the stranger. Her heart began to race as she pondered what this invitation was all about. She was whisked away rather quickly to a room behind the stage and after she entered those escorting her left, somewhat abruptly. There he was, the Earl of Woodshire, to her the handsomest gentleman she'd ever seen. Her eyes instinctively shifted to the floor, but in that very moment he set her at ease and they spent the rest of the afternoon engaged in light conversation. It wasn't long before she'd been invited to Woodshire Castle, and not long after that the the two of them were joined together in wedded bliss. The dream of every little girl, that of becoming a princess, or something akin to it, had really come true in her case. Life was looking up!
There were stories that the servants liked to tell, whispering as they would in the hallways and inner rooms, about a curse on the Woodshire family, a curse on Woodshire Castle! But her husband would always comfort her with reason, telling her that such things were nothing more than the grandiose imaginings of simple-minded folk. The legend of a beast that would visit death upon the castle in some maniacal effort to prevent any future Woodshire progeny from being born was ludicrous, he would say. Nevertheless, she found it difficult at times to sleep at night, especially when the winds would howl upon the moor and the thunders would crash and rumble.
(Return to present)
She ran faster, the rocky moor slashing her feet, the sky growing darker by the moment. She had, by now, lost all sense of direction. The Radcliffe farm was within a mile of Woodshire, but which way? If only she could find her way there she would be safe. And yet the wails seemed to grow louder, closer. She thought she saw a light upon the hill in the distance. If only she could... at that very moment something caught her by the throat! She struggled, but to no avail. She sank down to her knees, the cold, rocky moor below calling to her, beckoning her. As she fell she twisted her dying body in such a way so as to face upward. The last thing that she saw with her terrified eyes was more horrifying than anything she might have imagined. There, hovering over her, was her dear husband Robert, the earl of Woodshire! As light faded into eternal darkness the last thought that raced through her mind was: "What about the baby?" She was six months pregnant.
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