The Walk Of St. Layes

One evening as I walked along a quaint country lane close to the village of Exeter, not far from old London towne, I came upon the remains of an ancient monastery. Inquiring of a fellow passing by the name of the place, he told me it was the ruins of St. Layes, and then with a cryptic look he said "It's best to avert ye eyes as ye go by". He shuffled off without a backward glance, leaving me to ponder his words. But with a shrug and a last glance at the stones, I continued my evening stroll.As the beautiful English spring days blossomed, I found myself drawn more and more to my evening walk along what I began to think of as the path at St. Layes. I never saw the old man again, actually, I saw very few people at all, which was all right with me. Those I did see always seemed somehow dressed in clothes that would have been at home a hundred years ago. I remember thinking to myself that there are places here that haven't changed much in the last century. Occasionally I would say hello to a fellow passerby, who would smile and nod in return. And I always stopped to gaze at the ruins for a little while.Time seemed almost to stand still while I looked at the rubble of the old monastery, and when I checked my time-piece I would be startled to find that an hour had passed in what seemed a few minutes time. Then one day I had an inspiration; why not sketch the ruins by moonlight? So on my next walk I took an easel, my charcoal pencils and a sketch pad and got to work.Night after night when the moon was bright I returned, wanting to get every detail correct, the way the stones threw their shadows, the architectural details of walls still standing, even the individual branches of the trees that made up the forest in the background.One night, as I was close to finishing, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and there appeared beside me a boy of ten years or so, who, after looking at my sketch, asked me in a rather sly tone, "Have you seen it yet?" "Have I seen what, boy, pray tell?" I said. "Why, the red light atop the ruins," he answered me with a grin that showed spaces where most of his teeth should have been. "I've been here for weeks, boy, and never seen any sort of light from there," I replied. "Pray you don't then, Guv'nor, 'cause if you do, you'll not be long for this world!" Before I could ask what he meant by that, he ran back up the path the way he had come, laughing in a rather insouciant way. Shaking my head, my eyes returned to the ruins as I listened to his running footsteps. Looking back up the road, I was struck by the fact that although I could still hear his bare feet slapping the cobblestones, there was no one on the path, which was straight and rose gently in elevation from where I stood. Shaking my head again, I put it down to a trick of light or acoustics. I folded my sketch pad and gathered my things, with the thought that my sketch would be finished tomorrow night, and just in time, for my vacation being drawn to a close it was time to return to America, and I had as yet to book a passage shipboard.The next night I packed my art kit and walked the path to the ruins, set up my easel and began putting the finishing touches on my sketch, which had turned into a rather good portrait, in my opinion. Finally, standing back to look at the finished result, I noticed something odd, a bright red light which seemed to be floating above the highest point of the ruins. Intrigued, I sat and studied it for awhile. It did not appear to be electric, but more like the red lantern light used on the railways.Remembering what the boy had said before he disappeared, I could not suppress a shudder, then I laughed at myself out loud. Most likely the boy knew I was an American and decided to throw a scare into the gullible foriegner with a made up ghost story. Perhaps I would tell it for effect to my friends at home. And with that thought, I packed my kit and began the walk back to my rented flat to finish my packing. As I approached the door, I heard the landlady call out "Did you finish your sketch, Mr. Mason?" To which I replied in the affirmative and added "And just in the nick of time too, for I have managed to book passage on the brand-new ship sailing for New York on the morrow." "Splendid," she said, "May I ask, what was the subject of your artwork?" "Ah," I replied, "I have been working on a sketch of the ruins of the monastery along the St. Layes path. Only," I added," tonight as I finished I saw something I'd never seen there in all the nights I've spent sketching it. A bright red light which seemed to hover over the ruins." At this, I heard her give a sharp gasp, which she quickly stifled with her hand. Noting her strange reaction, I asked her if there was something wrong. She shook her head, and then said "It's probably all just talk, but I once heard that if a person happens to see a red light above the monastery ruins, it means that the death of that person is imminent. Probably just an old wives tale. Beggin' your pardon, I didn't mean to pass on rubbish like that on this, your last night here, I hope you have a wonderful voyage." I thanked her and said my goodbyes, but I noticed that her eyes would not meet mine, and her face was very pale. I thought to myself before drifting off to sleep that mayhap she was frightened because she believed the tale, but not I. And with that thought, sleep overcame me.In the morning I payed a youth with a wagon to take me down to the pier at Southampton, where I showed my ticket and papers to the purser and watched as my baggage was loaded for the journey home. It promised to be a most exciting voyage, being the maiden voyage of this collossal new ship, so aptly named Titanic....   Some of the things in this story are true, of course, the Titanic was real, and most are familiar with her fate, but there really are ancient ruins of a monastery along the path of St. Layes in or just outside of the village of Exeter, in England, and there really has been seen an unexplained red light, and some of the people who have seen this light have died not long after seeing it in unexpected and tragic ways. I read the story of the red light in a book called Ghosts and Hauntings, written by Dennis Bardens in 1964, and it inspired me to write this short story.