Gaslighter in the Dark

A Supernatural Story

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

The lamp post shadows stretched across the street, pursued by dusk.

Evening was fast approaching and I had to finish my rounds or Violshire would be plunged into darkness. Plus, there was a pint of ale with my name on it waiting for me when I was done. I nodded at the butcher through the glass shopfront as I dismounted my ladder and carried it to the next lamppost.

The gas street lights I’d already lit shone at their unlit neighbours, casting long shadows twice their physical length. The tips of those shadows were consumed by the haze that hung in the city air, only to be replaced by younger shadows in the repetitive cycle of light and dark. My route took me down a one-and-a-half-mile-long road. It was my responsibility to cover this area. I set my ladder against the crossbar, climbed it, reached in with my lamplighter's pole and touched the wick onto the burner, igniting the gas.

This job has been an eye-opener. The point at which the gas begins to burn has shed light on a great many things. Things that occur under the cover of night, in the darkest of corners. This particular light cast itself over a wall and brought a couple into view. The lady was kneeling down, holding the gentleman’s thighs.

She screamed at the sudden discovery of her act.

The man glared at me. ‘Get on out of ‘ere!’ he pointed a long knife towards me, ‘or I’ll ‘ave your bollocks,’ he took his time with the last part.

I hurried down the ladder.

‘Who told you to stop?’ the man snarled at the woman, followed by a slap across the cheek.

With nasty thoughts of what he planned to do with his knife next, I took his advice and left. It was none of my business and I didn’t have a weapon to defend myself with.

I finished my rounds and headed back the way I came. The road curved to the right and it was straight as a lamp post the rest of the way. I rounded the bend and stopped dead.

All of the lights, as far as the eye could see, were out. Using the faint light from around the bend I propped my ladder against the first of the failed lamp posts and attempted to reignite it. No light was forthcoming. I squinted to make sure I was touching the wick. I was, but it still didn’t light. Part of me was relieved, I was in no rush to disturb the man from earlier for a second time.

That relief drained away when the light from around the corner also went out, dragging me into a disorienting dark void. My balance was out of sync. I had to concentrate as I descended the ladder on shaking legs, not knowing how far from the ground I was until I felt the footpath beneath my feet. Again, relief came over me now that I was on solid ground. However, I was still disoriented and had lost any sense of direction. I told myself I’d fetch my ladder in the morning rather than haul it around through the night.

I was in sheer darkness. Sheer darkness is far more tangible than one would expect. It has a certain texture, a dryness to it. But that was an illusion. When I reached out for some support, I found nothing but dark space.

If I could locate the wall, I could guide myself along. That was my best plan, despite the danger of falling down someone's cellar stairs or losing my way when I had to cross a road. I eventually found the cold brick and gingerly took about ten paces before the wall ended, forcing me to navigate open ground.

Without a point of reference, I took a step.

And another.

Then I clattered onto the cobbled street. A jolt of pain shot up my leg. Inevitably, I’d rolled my ankle on the edge of the pavement. Any notion that I’d be lighting the lamps again tonight was extinguished.

The sound of horses' hooves on cobblestones started in the distance, growing louder. Getting closer. I’d be trampled if I didn’t move. With haste, I searched for the pavement. Thankfully it was a mere arm's length away. Propelling myself with my hands and good leg, I scrambled on my arse back to the safety of the footpath until my spine smashed into a lamp post.

The hansom cab or carriage should have been on top of me by now. It was still audible, though I could see nothing. I wondered how it was possible for someone to control a locomotive in such darkness. When night falls, even when the streetlights are on, drivers light a lantern and hang it on the front of their cab. The horses clopped past me and took a right turn. I couldn’t comprehend how the driver could guide the horses when there was no light. How did he know when to turn? And where?

I hauled myself up and managed to hobble over the road. The wall was mercifully easy to locate and I limped along. My ankle throbbed. In the past, I’d seen people put pressure on injuries, though I had no medical expertise. Tying something around my ankle as tight as possible might give me some respite. I sat on the ground once more and removed the neckerchief from under my collar. To begin with, I tied one knot around the injury. Then I secured it in place with a second knot. With the makeshift bandage compressing the injury, I set off once again.

The distant sound of hooves clopping from the network of backstreets grew louder. It had gone around the block and was coming from a road in front of me, heading in my direction. I’d flag the driver down and get a ride instead of struggling on foot for over a mile. It should have been visible by this time, but there was no light on the locomotive again. Yet, the wheels rattled along the cobblestones unhindered.

I decided not to call out into the dense darkness. I had little trust in this phantom driver. Had he gone past me a few minutes earlier, turned off the main road and circled back to cut me off? His intentions could be bad, and nobody could see in the night to witness his actions if they were.

The driver steered the locomotive to the right and back in his original direction like he was looking for someone. If I were who he wanted, I’d not go willingly. My ankle pained me, but defending myself was my only choice if I was to get home safely.

How much time had passed, I did not know. Despite the pain with each step, I had covered almost half a mile without mishap. I calculated the distance I’d travelled by the amount of lamp posts I’d used to guide myself along. 

Then I heard it again. The sound of hooves from a side road ahead filled me with dread.

‘Who’s there?’ came a voice, the first voice I’d heard since the darkness descended. 

I became rigid still, not daring to move.

The horses reigned in, swift and silent.

‘Come near me,’ came the voice again, ‘and I’ll ‘ave your bollocks.’

It was the man I saw earlier. My mouth dried. If he found me in the dark, I’d be unable to stop him. Especially while he’s in an anxious state, armed with a deadly blade.

The beginning of a scream was cut short, followed up with a gargling sound. I heard someone collapse onto the pavement. Hooves clopped and wheels turned on the cobblestones again and disappeared into the distance. I hobbled across the road that the mysterious vehicle had just vacated and mounted the pavement.

‘Is anybody there?’ I whispered.

No response.

I limped forward with cumbersome steps. The toe of my boot slammed into something and sent me toppling over it. My landing was soft but I instantly knew I was on top of the man. He gargled blood as he tried to breathe, or speak. I rolled off him and a hand closed around my forearm. He placed the hilt of his knife into my hand and in that moment, in total darkness, we had an understanding. He was telling me to defend myself at all costs if our tormenter returned. The strength of his grip deteriorated over the next few seconds, then his knuckles hit the ground and his life left him.

Holding the knife, I picked myself up and continued on, one lamp post at a time. In the distance, I saw the first light I’d seen since I was up the ladder. A lady was just ahead of me. She looked over her shoulder towards me before turning off the main road and disappearing. It was like I was pursuing her now, after being pursued myself. I swear it was the lady I saw earlier, entertaining the man with the knife.

The knife.

It was still in my hand. I’d been holding it so tight I had trouble straightening my fingers. I was more or less back in the light of the city now and didn’t want to be brandishing the knife around. I dropped it down a flight of stairs leading to a cellar. It landed softly on a bed of leaves that had settled there. Ignoring the alehouse I’d been looking forward to visiting, I went straight home.

I never want to know what occurred in the dark that night. Nor do I intend to continue lighting the lamps of Violshire. The unseen horses and phantom driver didn’t pass me again. Though, late in the evening as I stare at my ceiling, the sound of a cab being pulled echoes off the walls of the alleyway and a nearby street light blinks out.

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In Plain Sight, Unseen

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