MicroHorror

18th October 1916
Picardi, France

Dear Mum,

I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter, but I really haven’t had the time to write. All the boys say thanks for the biscuits you sent me–we had them with a cup of tea and they all said how they were the best biscuits they’ve had since leaving Blighty, so well done mum!

I’m on watch duty tonight and Corporal Jenkins is filling in this month’s munitions order in the dug-out, which means I’ve got both time and light to write to you. I know you must be worried about me, but everyone reckons it will be all over by Christmas and we’ll be on our way home. Won’t that be nice? Christmas back home with you, dad and Emily–I can almost taste that turkey!

There aren’t so many of us left as the last time I wrote. Not many came back from the last charge… well… we’re not really sure what happened to the others. Sergeant Parker says they deserted and I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about, but where would they go? One of the boys says Davenport hauled himself over the top of the trench one night and walked off across the mud, as bold as you like and disappeared into the dark.

I’m scared. I shouldn’t say it, but I am, because I’ve seen it–seen something out there in No Man’s Land–a shadow that’s darker than the night. You’ll think I’m being silly, but it’s true. I saw it last night and the night before, something so black that it blots out the moon and the stars. It dances out there in the churned mud and dirt, as thin as a sliver one minute, then wide enough to eat the sky the next.

That’s not all, mum. It speaks to me, I’m sure it does. When I’m out here, waiting for the dawn to come, I can hear a voice in the dark. It’s low and sweet and gentle, so quiet that I can barely make out the words, yet I can hear it over the howling wind as clear as church bells.

It’s calling me, telling me to rise from my post and climb over the top of the trench. There’s nothing to be afraid of, it says, the guns won’t get me while I’m dancing. I can’t make out the words; I just know that’s what it wants me to do. It sounds so lonely, like it’s seen some terrible sadness.

The shadow is moving again; closer than the last couple of nights. It’s so dark and cold, that I can barely keep my fingers from shaking. It’s coming closer, weaving in and out of the barbed wire, twisting and turning as though it’s trying to move in a hundred different directions at once.

I’m trying to be brave and I’m trying to do my duty, but I can’t take my eyes off it. That voice is in my ear again, telling me to join in the dance, just like Davenport and all the others. I don’t want to go, but it doesn’t feel like a request, more like a prediction.

I’ll have to stop writing now; I can see Jenkins blowing on the ink of his report and I suppose he’ll be putting out the lamp and retiring for the night. Don’t worry mum, I won’t be on my own. All the boys are with me, all those boys that went out and danced, knowing that they’d be safe from the bombs, the blood and the madness.

It’s moving closer, now; I can see it stark and black against the sky. Soon the light will go out and I won’t be able to see it any more, but it will be there, dancing through the valley of Death.

I love you mum. I love dad and I love Emily too.

I’m not scared any more.

Your loving son,

David.