Four-Poster

Racing against the fast-approaching sunset, Metcalf, their faithful coachman, urged the pair of top-bred carriage horses to go as fast as they safely could on the snow-covered winding lanes across the hills. John now wished he had not urged Metcalf to try to reach their destination for as long as the light allowed, thinking they might all freeze to death if they had to spend the night in the carriage, even though Metcalf had assured him there were enough blankets for such emergencies.

John watched his lovely young bride sitting beside him in the rocking carriage, her arm linked in his, Ella’s face radiating beauty and innocence, her gloved hands resting in her lap. He had not felt this good since he was a child. His love for Ella was almost overwhelming. John knew he was the luckiest man in the world, for this morning, Ella had given him the honour of becoming his wife.

Excited at their wedding-night lovemaking to come, John only occasionally glanced out the window at the winter-white scenery, the virgin snow glinting thousands of tiny bright points in the low winter sun, which was rapidly dropping toward stunning snow-covered hills and mountains.

The horses’ hooves pounded the frozen ground through the thick blanket of snow, the wheels endlessly turning, bumping over small rocks and potholes. John knew that although the world might not be at peace, his world was.

However, he did feel regret that they would not make it this evening to the luxurious log cabin by the lake where they would spend their honeymoon. The cabin was owned by John’s wealthy Uncle Victor, the Earl of Wodehaven. He had also supplied their carriage, the coachman Garnet Metcalf, and three other servants at the cabin for the entirety of their honeymoon.

Metcalf was an excellent coachman, getting the most out of the fine horses and expertly judging the route to avoid dangerous tracks on the icy winter roads. John liked Metcalf’s gruff voice, amenable manner, rugged but pleasant face, and his bright red hair that stuck out from beneath his black cap.

As they came around a sharp bend at the top of a rise, John saw an inn before them. Rather than being ornamental and welcoming as an inn should be, it was made of plain black horizontal wooden planking, causing it to stand out strikingly from the surrounding snow.

As Metcalf brought the carriage to a halt, John could not help but think they could have done much better if they had stopped earlier.

They alighted from the carriage, John helping Ella down onto the treacherous snow-covered ground, the pair of strong black horses, stark against the bright winter white, snorting their warm billowing breath into the frigid late-afternoon air.

Metcalf went into the inn to ensure this drab place still provided rooms; if it did, John expected the inn not to be full at this time of the year. They might even be the only guests. And even if there were, for whatever reason, no rooms available, they would surely be welcome to sleep in chairs by the fire.

John saw that Ella was already shivering and put his arm around her as they surveyed the beautiful snow-covered hills and mountains across the other side of the valley where the reddening sun was about to slide below them. Immediately in front of them was a crude fence made out of stakes of differing shapes and sizes with a single rope tied near their tops and a crude wooden sign hanging from it, saying, in blood-red paint, Danger cliff edge.

Moments later, John's attention was drawn to the foreboding inn behind them. The hanging sign, which bore no picture (any picture would have been trite or silly), was simply bloody lettering upon a black background: The Witches’ Inn; it sent a shiver along his spine, John thinking that it was a strange and uninviting name for an inn. There were small windows on the upper floor and, strangely, no windows on the ground floor. Behind the inn, dark, naked trees stood in contrast to the snow-covered hillside upon which they stood.

Once again, John wished they had stopped earlier at one of the far more homely-looking taverns they had passed this afternoon, but, for obvious reasons, he had so wanted their wedding night to be in the privacy of their cabin that he had told Metcalf to go as fast as he could and not to stop until they reached their destination or until it was too risky to carry on.

Looking bewildered, Metcalf stepped out of the inn. He said the Innkeeper had told him there was only one room spare, and, by luck, it was the room usually reserved for special guests and newlyweds. John told Metcalf that the Innkeeper must have been joking, but the coachman said the taproom was full of guests.

John thought the inn might be a good one, after all, as it did seem popular. But, for some reason, the fact of the inn being popular, rather than putting his mind at rest about this ominous-looking tavern, gave him a strange sense of unease.

John asked their coachman where he was going to sleep. The Innkeeper had told Metcalf that he could sleep in the stables with the horses at the back of the inn, had said there was plenty of hay and would give him blankets, which Metcalf had refused, telling the Innkeeper he would use his own. John asked Metcalf if he could sleep downstairs in an armchair beside the fire. Metcalf said a party was taking place and that the Innkeeper had told him it would probably go on until early morning. After a hard day’s driving, he wanted to get his head down soon. He assured John he would be fine and that he often slept in stables and barns.

While he and Ella walked up to the inn, Metcalf began driving the carriage around to the stables at the back. With a moment’s hesitation, John pushed open the plain wooden door, and they stepped inside.