Oh reserving with the name Scarborough.
The Story Of Scarborough
Authors Note
The various references to poems and the like refer to poems.
I take no credit to them and did not make them up myself.
Everything else are all my ideas.
The Poems Are The Skater Of Ghost Lake by William Rose Benét and Old Christmas by Roy Helton
The forest, ever dark and looming, stretched on ahead, on the frosted winter land. A small figure, his fur a vivid blue green and black, hurried along, his arm protectively clutching a vivid red notebook, and a red scarf wrapped around his neck for extra warmth. Although it was day, the vaiki was certain to take along his trusty flashlight hat. The forest, after all, only drew denser, as he well knew, and soon he'd be engulfed in darkness, and night would come sooner in the winter to add to the gloom. So, with all the courage he could muster, the young vaiki journeyed forth.
The forest was safe enough, he knew, and yet his mind told him to beware. All the eerie tales, ballads, legends, truths, tall tales and myths he'd ever read seemed to come to mind as soon as he had been walking long enough, and had reached the darker depths of the wood. He almost stopped and turned back several times, although he knew he had to keep on going. He had been here many times, and loved the wood, and continued to remind himself of the many times he had come here and gone exploring.
And yet, at those times he had usually had company, or had not strayed beyond the brighter regions of the wood. Here he was just alone with his thoughts.
Ghost Lake's a dark lake, a deep lake and cold:
Ice black as ebony, frostily scrolled;
Far in its shadows a faint sound whirrs;
Steep stand the sentineled deep, dark firs. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the verses of
The Skater Of Ghost Lake, and a very eerie tale it told. He needed to stop thinking, or else soon, the shadows of the wood would begin to play tricks on his eyes. He could already almost hear on the wind the sound of the skates of the doomed lovers upon the ice. The forest did have a lake, and he could imagine it now that it was winter, all frozen over.
Ice black as ebony, frostily scrolled.... If I am to get through to the other side of the wood before nightfall. The vaiki thought with growing alarm and a touch of anger.
I need to stop thinking. Think happy thoughts, Scarborough, happy thoughts.... Scarborough tried his best to recall to mind cheerful thoughts. He remembered fun sled rides with his friends, and taste of the delicious cookies his grandma made him just the other day, cozy warm fireplaces, and the sweet smell of flowers....
Flowers. Wasn't that one ballad talking of flowers? It was that poem, the one about Old Christmas Morning.
"What should I see there, Sally Ann Barton?"
"Spirits walk loose last night."
"There was an elder bush a blooming
While the moon still give some light." "Spirits walk loose.... Aha. Ghosts don't exist." Scarborough muttered to himself, his pace quickening again down the path. "Besides, it is still December. Not that close to Christmas yet, let alone old Christmas. That's in January. And I don't believe it ghosts. It's just a story, Scarborough, you'll be fine!"
He laughed to himself at his foolish fears, and yet his eyes still darted about, as if he was expecting a creature to come leaping out at him, and he didn't want to be caught off guard. This forest still had wild animals, at least. Even if everyone said it was safe, and even if he had never met, say, an angry bear or hungered wolf, they could be out there, and it was possible they were waiting in the shadows, watching him and preparing to sneak up on him. He suddenly felt as if all the trees had eyes, and all the eyes where staring down at him. The wind had a voice, and it muttered and mumbled through the pines, like a lost soul in torment. The freezing cold did not help either, for, with every step, he felt as if a cold hand were reaching out and poke him. This forest, though caught in the winter frost, was seemingly alive, and trying to scare him away.
It was in the midst of these thoughts that he looked up, catching a glimpse of a pair of shiny eyes, staring down at him from the trees. With a yelp, he jumped back, his heart beating faster as he stared in shock at the creature. Something was there, watching him, and he had no clue what it was.
After a few minutes of staring in horror at the eyes, he began to laugh nervously. For, the creature was merely a night bird of some sort, just awakening to begin its' nightly hunt. It was a rather small one too, possibly a night jar, and he probably would have not noticed it, if his flashlight had not shone right at it.
Far in the shadows and faint on the verge
Of blue cloudy moonlight, see it emerge,
Flit-flit,- a phantom, with a swoop and a swing...
Ah! It's a night bird, burdened of wing! It was a sign that night had come, and so the vaiki hurried on.
Time passed on as slowly as the slimy snails that crept in the underbrush. Scarborough felt as if he had been traveling for days now, although it had only been an hour or two since he had started his trek. His mind, still plagued by the vain fears, was not at all a help to him, and caused every croak from the frogs, scamper of a small animal on the forest path, and every crack of a branch to send him into a panic.
He was exhausted, however, from his walk, and needed at least a few minutes break, as much as it bothered him to stop. So, convincing himself to remain calm, he found a tree stump, dusted the snow best he could off it, and took a few moments to rest his legs. Although he tried to, his mind did not rest while he sat there. He was on the brink of panic still, and knew he had no good reason to be. So, he began to take deep breaths, and then said to himself. "The forest is safe."
He wasn't all too convinced, but he slowly began to relax, when suddenly....
The flashlight on his helmet decided to burn out. He began to panic again, and desperately flicked the switch on and off on his cap, yet the thing did not work and all his efforts were useless. So, jumping back to his feet, he looked about him, hoping he would adjust to the dark. He would have to keep going without a light.
Besides, I know the path. I should be almost out of here by now. Collecting his nerves, and running his minds over good things and how he would soon be out of the wood, he smiled nervously, and started forward blindly. After all he was certain the path went on straight ahead with no turns... or, so he recalled anyhow.
Oddly enough, as he walked, it soon seemed to become lighter, although it had not been yet long enough to be day. He hurried onward, towards the light, looking to try and see what it was coming from. Perhaps it was day, and he had been walking for longer than he thought? Was it the city on ahead he was getting too? Or, perhaps, a fire in a campsite, or fire flies?
His mind thus occupied, his fear actually began to slip away, like a horrible dream that, once you awake, just seems to ebb away and does not seem so frightening and scary anymore. He also felt a strange warmth, and soon he found himself out of the forest, without quite figuring out what that light flicker was.
When he finally reached the town, the people there were in a bit of an uproar. He hurried on to his cousin's house, his destination, and got them to tell him what was wrong. They also seemed, at the house very relieved to see him, as if they thought him in danger. "Ah, nothing is, anymore." Said his cousin. "Just a mysterious light in the forest. We were almost certain it was forest fire, but if it was, it is out now. Besides, there did not seem to be any smoke."
"I thought it might have been fireflies!" Exclaimed Scarborough. "Though I suppose we shall never know, now that it went out. Funny, how people see things differently."
