Gloaming (aka ‘The Gloaming Bride’)

“I don’t want to go out,” sobbed Jemima tearfully. “It’s cold and dark and I haven’t eaten all day! You can’t make me!”

Her parents, Wilf and Elizabet, exchanged anxious glances. They both knew the dire consequences they would bring on the village if their daughter refused to go through with all that had been arranged.

“Honey, we’ve been through this already,” said Wilf smiling as best he could. “It’s the greatest honour any girl can have to become the Gloaming Bride.”

“But I am only thirteen. I’m too young to be a bride!”

Elizabet choked back her own tears and finished tying the red ribbon in her daughter’s hair. “But only the most special girl becomes a Gloaming Bride, dear. The village elders chose you this year, you should feel very proud of yourself. It’s a great honour for our family.”

“But why does there have to be a Gloaming Bride? I still don’t understand.”

Wilf sat down beside his daughter and took her hand in his. “I told you earlier, honey. Each Halloween the Gloaming King comes seeking a bride from the village. If we do not offer him the most beautiful girl from the village, then the whole village will suffer a terrible winter and many will die. By being his Gloaming Bride you will save so many of the villager’s lives. Isn’t that worth it?”

Jemima sniffled and wiped away her tears. “I guess so. But who is the Gloaming King?”

“No one really knows, darling, so think how lucky you will be. You will get to actually find out all about him over the Gloaming Feast,” said Elizabet, straightening Jemima’s flowing white dress. “So, no more of this silliness, okay?”

Jemima stepped towards the door and smiled weakly. “Ok, I understand. Do I look nice?”

Both Wilf and Elizabet smiled with pride at their beautiful young daughter.

“You look beautiful,” said Elizabet.

“A bride fit for a King,” added Wilf.

Slowly Jemima pulled the cottage door open. Outside a heavy twilight had descended upon the village, black and oppressive, like death itself. Nothing stirred or moved. Jemima turned and looked back at her parents.

“Will I be happy?”

Wilf looked down guiltily at the floor.

“Of course you will be, darling,” said Elizabet forcing a grin.

Jemima smiled, turned and stepped out into the gloaming.

The moment the door closed behind her, Elizabet slumped to the floor, sobbing hysterically. “My poor, poor darling daughter! What have we done?”

Wilf knelt beside her and took her in his arms. “Ssssh, Elizabet, it will soon be over. It’s for the best.”

Suddenly Jemima’s terrified screams filled the night air. Elizabet clasped her hands to her ears, whilst Wilf looked desperately up at the ceiling. Eventually the screaming stopped and silence fell again.

“Do promise me one thing, Wilf,” Elizabet said, turning to her husband.

“Anything,”

She looked down and lightly patted her pregnant bulge. “If this one is a girl too, then we drown her at birth…”