After the Gloaming - 3 - Last Christmas with Abner

Episode Date: July 22, 2023

After the Gloaming is a production of Dissonance Media and The Other Stories.Last Christmas with Abner was written by John Kiste.For more from John Kiste please head over to www.johnkiste.wordpress.comEustace Willoughby was performed by Karim Kronfli - https://www.dramaticvoice.co.uk/Aunt Esther was performed by Alexandra ElroyUncle Phineas was performed by Ray O’HareBurton was performed by Chris SansomUncle Abner was performed by Tom PidouxHenry Blackwood was performed by Xander ZweigShelly Stevenson was performed by Alexandra ElroyAfter the Gloaming script was written by James Barnett.Sound production and editing was completed by James Barnett.Theme music was scored by Duncan Muggleton and produced by James Barnett.Music and sound effects were provided by: Epidemic Sound, Sound Stripe, and Freesound.org.If you have enjoyed the episode, please spread the word to anyone you feel may enjoy it and please support the show by leaving a review and giving it a 5-star rating.To support the show and gain access to all episodes now, ad-free, head over to www.patreon.com/nightsendpodcastThis episode is brought to you with a Creative Commons – Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license. Don’t change it. Don’t sell it. But by all means… share the hell out of it.Stay Horrific, everyone! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Dissinance Media and the other stories presents. Glow of dusk, Gothic tales of the Macabre, where the supernatural calls home, and the shadows dance. Hold tight, lost you may become. This storm really is not letting up, is it? I'm afraid not. Cheese, my dear. You must be famished.

I'm embarrassed to say. I'm embarrassed to say that I am. Nonsense, go right ahead. I wonder what became of that landlord. Some things are best left unknown. History can be harder than the truth. What was that? A best, a creaky board in the wind, a ghost maybe.

The only thing to know is to go look. This seat suits me just fine, thank you. Well, in that case, how about another tale? Oh, yes, please. Yes, this one really wants to be told. And so we travel to a manner, not unlike this one, though a little more lively, I imagine, where an unwanted occupant requires a good word.

This one is titled Last Christmas with Abner. The evening scene would have been surreal even in an impressionist painting. The graveyard nestled in the circular valley was so covered by rotting leaves that from the hilltop it looked as though tiny blue-grey marshmallow tombstones were floating in a bowl of wreaths. The sea of leaves undulating in the December wind and the lightest sprinkling of sugar-like snow completed the illusion. Yes, my description sounds absurd. and maybe I was more than a little drunk. But thinking back, that is still the picture of my mind's eye recalls.

The many small trees spread about the graves had each added their heaps of withered leaves to the scene, while one, tall, sturdy elm, lauded it over all the others in the centre of the plot. This graveyard inexplicably disturbed me. The great manor home rising above me with its latticework and softly snow-touched roof could have been an outsized gingerbread house, I must have been very hungry that eve of Christmas Eve. I had never been to my Aunt Esther's estate before, and finding myself summoned at Yuletide

was a bit disconcerting, as the stopover broke into vacation drinking time in a city. I was in no danger of inheriting a farthing from the old lady, for she frowned on my lifestyle and my character. Still, when she called you, you obliged. I admit I could never determine what gave her such a powerful holder. all of us. She had a will of iron and a way of demanding one's presence that broached no argument. But I think I mostly went in deference to the memory of my saintly departed mother. The butler, whose name I swear was Weaves, showed me through a vast and glorious hall

decorated with all the green trimmings of Christmas, and into a smaller but still extensive side parlour, where half a forest crackled in the gargantuan half. This room was also decorated for the season, and I could have observed massive sideboards of cookies and meats, sofas groaning beneath numerous semi-merry relatives, and a ten-foot fir tree covered in enough tinsel to show my reflection. But I had been stunned in a disbelief by that mantelpiece. I would have difficulty reaching the giant the model ship topping it, and I personally measure in at six feet. A dozen red stockings hanging from the topboard wearing grave danger of being seen. singed by the conflagration roiling within the fireplace.

The heat quickly made me forget the chill without. Then I heard Aunt Esther's throatsy voice. I turned to find her slight form robed in satin, sitting upon a corner settee, her grey hair done up in a white bonnet, and her wrinkled eyes smiling sardonically in me. Hmm. Hello, Eustace Willoughby. Hell, I hate my name.

Several of the other relatives rose happily and gathered about me, patting my cloaked shoulders and hugging me close. Most of them I had forgotten since childhood, and that gladly. And now I was sure to catch cold from all their unwanted caresses. I took the manhandling in stride. Here was fat Uncle Phineas, and there, snooty cousin Burton. Oh, and there, adorable cousin Hannah, who had grown into a most attractive lass.

Her smile was sublime, and her embrace a masterpiece. But on the one hand, I knew nothing of her present status, and on the other, I made it a rule never-to-date even second, cousins. I thought it best to learn the reason for my requisition at once, before I succumbed to the smell of the holiday dishes, the invitation of the overstuffed furniture, or the bright blue of Anna's glittering eyes. I set my jaw and turned to Esther.

"'Hello, Auntie. "'To what do I have the pleasure "'of seeing your splendid manner at long last?' "'She clucked at me and rose from the city. "'The other relatives retreated "'as they recognised her desire to talk with me "'in relative privacy. "'She moved close and took my hand.

"'For a moment I smelled vanilla talcum powder. "'Then she replied to my snide comment, "'softly and honestly. "'I will not insult you, nephew, "'by claiming that a sudden nagging desire for your presence intruded into my holiday musings. Not even for your mother's sake. You have but one quality,

one trait, if you will, of which I am tonight sadly desirous. Abner was always remarkably, if inexplicably, taken with you. I do believe you may have been his favourite nephew. you. I could not help but smile. Yes, your dear old hubby used to amuse me for whole weekends with his tales of the Indian wars and his trips to Tahiti and Pitcair. That was when you still had the brownstone and I still had mother, before you moved him out here to the country's end and

broke both their hearts. Esther frowned. Rinkles gathered from all points of her withered face as she backed away from me. I could not be sure if she was angry or ashamed. She turned again to the settee, and as she lowered herself onto the cushion, she leaned in. I am uncomfortable asking, nephew, but I desperately need you to talk to Abner. Uncle Phineas had crept back to my elbow. Well, you see, Eustace, he's ruining the holiday. Help us out, my boy. I looked at him in shock. Then I slowly took in the other faces. They all stared back at me plaintively, almost longing me.

What is this? Uncle Abder died twenty years ago. Yes, nephew, please tell him. Understandably, I imagined I was the victim of some tasteless prank. I chided the whole company and had even pulled my hat onto my head for an unceremonious exit via weaves. But my relatives, please, were so insistent, their entreaties so sincere and, Hannah's hand is so warm against my cheek that at length I let them guide me to an armchair and ply me with cheese and ham. I had been ravenous after my long journey, and the food absorbed most of the remaining alcohol in my system. This sudden sobriety did not incline me more to a belief in their tail, though.

You're trying to convince me Uncle Abner's ghost has manifested itself. That is ridiculous. I finished my meal by digging into a slice of mince pie while I let them talk. I certainly hope we can. I had never seen any kind of spirit in my entire 80 years, so I appreciate your scepticism, Eustace, but it is surely your uncle. When did you first see him?

Your uncle spent his last days in the tallest turret, watching the countryside by day and the heavens by night through his old brass telescope. He was so thin at the end. he rarely came down for lunch or dinner I never thought he missed the city he seemed so enrapped in nature but thinking back

I suppose he was cross I had taken him from his sister your mother and perhaps he missed you as well weaves found him up there on his stool leaning on the telescope so we buried him and stuffed the Christmas day core into the turret

I had not celebrated the holidays for 20 years until Phineas and Burton coaxed me to do so Bringing down the garland and the ornaments and tinsel must have stirred up whatever he left behind Burton, seated behind me, sniffed haughtily at the air I arrived earliest to the festivities last week and the very first night I saw him on the balcony above the staircase His outline was weak and off-white and translucent

But I know it was Abner because he spoke to me. That voice is unmistakable. It was not threatening, just matter of fact. What did he say? My cousin moved his shoulders in discomfort, but he did not sugarcoat his narrative. He said, I never liked you, Burton.

I heard Hannah suppress a giggle. We've all seen him since. Sometimes he's rude. Sometimes he merely slips beyond or through. That is an icy treat. I stared around at the mall. The party totaled nearly a dozen. If it was a prank, everyone had committed.

Aunt Esther arose and made her toddling way to me. I had hoped for one final joyous get-together to end my days, but Abner's apparition has determination to ruin Christmas. I admit, he has not feel. physically harmed anyone, but the sudden appearances on staircases and bathrooms and the occasional verbal abuse has dampened the spirit of all. We are doing our best to remain cheerful, but then someone noted he may not retire when we refill the turret. His continued presence would make for an unbearable situation. Have you tried to talk with him, aunt? Several times he has

sidled up to me and I have asked him what he wants. His eyes narrow and washed out, though they are, they are indeed Abner's eyes. And he simply puffs his cheeks at me in dismissal. Then he immediately dissipates. I am at a loss. Four days ago, Hannah reminded me that I had told her how close you two were, so I wired you.

I realise I do not deserve your help, but will you. you give it? I did not have to muse my answer. If uncle will appear to me, I will talk to him. Even with all the guests already present, Weaves found no difficulty assigning me a small back bedroom. It was clean and quaint and smelled of pine. I had only brought an overnight bag on this trip to the Western Wilds, and I retired to bed in my underclothes. Naturally, I did not sleep. I had never believed in ghosts, but I very much wanted this one to be real. If it manifested to me, the experience would alter my deepest hell believes that material things were excellent of all things

and that whatever made up the soul, if it existed, never touched the plane of mankind. Moreover, my life had been devoid of strong ties. I wished very much to see Abner again. As I lay, arms crossed behind my head, I realized a shimmering gleam had begun to pour into the arched window. There was no moon on this night, so I jumped from the bed and rushed to the casement. The window, over the overlook the slope of the now snowy hill and the basin which held the eerie cemetery. I realized at this instant why that graveyard so disturbed me. The nearest town was four miles distant. I could not fathom who was buried in this desolate place below a mansion,

but now I had no more time to dwell on my confusion, for there, in the midst of the tombstones, just beside the tall elm, floated a pale figure, the size and shape of a man. But a figure clearly not considered. clothed in flesh. It seemed to be hovering at its leisure near a particular marble marker. So, I hurriedly dressed and pulled on my boots. It took me a quarter of an hour to bundle up and make my way through the house, down the now slippery and treacherous hill, but the phantom still stood

in the grey yard. When I had come within 20 yards of him, he turned to look at me, and I could almost make out the craggy features of my uncle. The form wavered, but did not disappear. Uncle? I moved near and held out an arm. Uncle Abner? It's Eustace, your nephew. I thought the ghost's brows knit in wonder. Can you speak, uncle? He bowed slightly.

A weird type of chiming gurgle came into my head. I can. You've grown, boy. Then its knit brow looked confused instead of surprised. I'll recognize you. You never visit you. I lowered my face in shame. No, I'm sorry.

Aunt Esther and I never saw eye to eye. Forgive me. The features on the ghost were indistinct. The wandering voice was certainly Abner's though, just as cousin Burton had said. As time goes on, she and I do not see eye to eye either. Tell me, boy, why are we in the cemetery? It's night time.

I looked at the stone at our feet. My uncle's name was etched in it. Then I glanced to the side and saw that the tube of his brass telescope had been carefully affixed with copper bands to the great elm beside the tombstone. He was buried directly below us. Do you understand, uncle, that this is your gravestone? I pointed downwards. The shimmering head bent forward slightly. I could briefly see my uncle's sad eyes congeal in the form.

He nodded. I see my date of birth, Eustace. Hmm. I also see a second date. I have been having trouble making sense of my environs and my place in them. But that is my telescope on the tree whose leaves I used to count through its lens. I took solace in my scope starry views in my years of loneliness here. My last memory is of watching a waxing moon rise above these very trees

and thinking of the always pure light in your mother's face. Something lately disturbed me, boy, but my scalp and I, we do not belong here. I had so much more to say to him, but the form shivered and blinked out. I stood alone in the dark and the cold, shivering as well. In the morning, I breakfasted with Aunt Esther alone. She told me she had relented and would add me to her will. I said that I wanted nothing from her, but Abner's remains and his telescope. I took my leave so I would not have to spend Christmas with any of them

and made the arrangements with the exhumation the following week. Uncle now rests in a plot in the city near my mother. The brass telescope is buried with him. I ran into Cousin' Hannah last month at an event at the concert house. She told me Abner's ghost had not been seen at Esther's Manor since my visit. After the gloaming is a production of dissonance media and the other stories. Last Christmas with Abner was written by John Kist. For more from John Kist, please head over to johnkist.wordpress.com.

Eustace Willoughby was performed by Kareem Cronfley. Aunt Esther was performed by Alexandra Elroy. Uncle Phineas was performed by Ray O'Hare. Burton was performed by Chris Sansom. Uncle Abner was performed by Tom Piddu. Henry Blackwood was performed by Xander Swig. Shelly Stevenson was performed by Alexandra Elroy. After The Gloming Script was written by James Barnett.

Sound production and editing was completed by James Barnett. The theme music was scored by Duncan Muggleton and produced by James Barnett. Music and sound effects were provided by Epidemic Sound, Sound, and Freestyle and FreeSound.org. If you have enjoyed the episode, please spread the word to anyone you feel may enjoy it. And please support the show by leaving a review and giving it a five-star rating. To support the show further and gain access to all episodes now, add free. Head over to patreon.com forward slash nightsend podcast. All work remains the property of the respective author.

This episode is brought to you with a Creative Commons, Attribution, Non-Commercial, No Derivatives License. Don't change it, don't sell it, but by all means, share the hell out of it. Stay horrific, everyone.