It’s Only The Wind

It's Only The Wind by Dom Conlon illustrated by Carl Pugh

A Badtime Story

The twins stared at the moon which hung like a dinner plate picked clean by crows.

‘I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight,’ said Jacob.

‘Rats and bone,’ said Jacob.

‘Please,’ said Balthazar. ‘At least make an imprint in your bed, or I’ll be…’ He shuddered and scratched at his face. ‘…spoken to.’

‘It’s so…’ said Jacob.

‘Rats and bone,’ said Jacob.

‘No,’ said Jacob.

Balthazar, the only surviving babysitter, adjusted his brass gorget which hung heavy around his neck. ‘Just a little lie down,’ he said. ‘Please, dear children.’

The window rattled and Jacob wailed. ‘They must be…’

‘Teeth and hair,’ said Jacob.

‘No,’ said Jacob.

Balthazar, third of his name and fifth to wear the uniform, placed a hand on the boys and took deep breaths. ‘Now, now. Now now and there there.’ He patted them and looked back towards the bedroom door and then to the bathroom door.

Another rattle of the window sent the boys scurrying away on all fours, the buckles on their nightshirts scraping against the wooden floors. ‘It can only be…’ said Jacob.

‘Fingernails and tears,’ said Jacob.

‘No,’ said Jacob.

Balthazar the babysitter, a young man with just six and a half years remaining, gathered the boys in each arm and led them back to the window. ‘You’re safe. You’re sound, sweet sweet children. Now climb into bed, I beg you.’

But the twins dug their nails into Balthazar’s side, and made him regret wearing the cotton uniform. ’There is…’ said Jacob.

‘Beetles and twigs,’ said Jacob.

‘No,’ said Jacob.

Balthazar, the one found upon the rocks, hugged the children as best as he possibly could. ’Your beds, tiny angels, I implore you and beseech you – even a moment will suffice.’

The sound of a thousand boney feet running on glass tested the window and the twins gnawed at their fingers. ‘Perhaps even…’ said Jacob.

‘Wings and skulls,’ said Jacob.

’Yes… no,’ said Jacob.

Balthazar, replete with greasy hair and bereft of memory, released his hold upon the twins and stooped to gaze into their faces. ‘Merely perspire once upon the bed, that is all I ask,’ he said. ‘And then you may play all night and I shall say nothing.’

The moon became black and the glass glowed with the reflection of Balthazar and the boys. ‘I believe…’ said Jacob.

Jacob did not reply.

‘Yes,’ said Jacob.

Balthazar, once a boy with a bag full of future, turned to the window with resolution in his heart. ‘It’s only the wind,’ he said.

Jacob said nothing.

Balthazar opened the window and the dark night swept in and surrounded him. The twins fell to the floor and closed their eyes and so did not see the babysitter get dragged outside to be lost for months upon the broken hills north of the house where even Cloister would not walk.

‘Tonight,’ said Jacob.

‘The wind is made of spiders,’ said Jacob.

Goodnight.

—

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