It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

By Mari Biella

A young man takes refuge in a lonely old house over Christmas, hoping to catch up with his studies. As the hours and days pass, however, he begins to suspect that he might not be alone after all. Is something else in the house with him, or is he suffering only from illness and stress?

A short story of 5,800 words, IT CAME UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR revisits the old tradition of the ghostly Yuletide tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mari Biella
• Release date: Feb 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463562314

Mari Biella

Mari Biella was born in Wiltshire and grew up in Wales. She has been writing from an early age, and her mother still has some highly embarrassing poems and stories to prove it. Her published works are "The Quickening", a psychological ghost story set in the Victorian Age, and "Loving Imogen", a collection consisting of a novella and three short stories. Her free short story, "The Song of the Sea", may be downloaded at Smashwords. Mari currently lives in Northern Italy with her husband. She’ll read just about anything she can get her hands on, but particularly enjoys literary fiction, psychological horror, and crime fiction. She blogs at http://maribiella.wordpress.com/ and www.authorselectric.blogspot.com/, and tweets as @MariBiella1. Find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/mari.biella or on Goodreads at http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5817666.Mari_Biella.

Book preview

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

Mari Biella

Published by Mari Biella at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 Mari Biella

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

Author Note

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

The house stood three storeys tall, constructed from honey-coloured stone, with bow windows and tall chimneys. I had never seen a house quite like it; but then, since I was of a decidedly lower class than Atherton, that was hardly surprising.

You must understand, Charlson, he had told me, when offering me the use of the place, that it’s really not a cheerful house. It hasn’t been touched since my grand-aunt died, still less lived in, and I think you could spend about as merry a Christmas in a tomb. But since you seem intent upon living like a hermit these holidays, you might as well go and stay there.

He had been right about that, anyway. I was a thorny fellow in those days, sullen and somewhat defensive, and it says something for Atherton’s patience that he had become my only real friend at the college we both attended. I was