The Court of Midnight

The bank had closed hours prior, and so had the town that encompassed it.

The big clock at the town hall showed five to twelve. Not a soul dwelt in the streets at this time of the night.

Everyone lay sound asleep in their humble abodes, all comfortable in their beds. But one had yet to befall to the spores of sleep that showered the town.

Charlie sat quietly on his rocking chair by the fireplace, with his golden years long past him, and his face as decrepit as the seven seas. Many times, he had tried to close his eyes and doze off to Wonderland, and yet to no avail. He had tried counting sheep, but had lost the tally thrice already and had failed in setting his mind adrift. So, he set on counting his breaths instead.

One.

Two.

Fifty-two…

Nothing.

He could not fall to his senses no matter how deeply he breathed and how heavily he exhaled. Here, he began looking for something else to count, but came up short of finding one.

Then, he noticed the rather quiet ticking of the striking clock that sat at one corner of the room, and went on counting that.

Tick-tock one.

Tick-tock two.

Tick-tock twenty-two…

And here it was that the hand of the striking clock turned to face midnight…

First it played a little tune—the Westminster Quarters—then it began to strike.

Strike.

The moon outside shone just a litter brighter.

Strike.

Something traversed the nightly skies.

Strike.

In the mountains, its silence echoed.

Strike.

It rattled the leaves outdoor.

Strike.

It came cloaked…

Strike.

…in black and grey.

Strike.

It grew stronger…

Strike

…and nearer

Strike.

…and darker.

Strike.

It knocked at the door.

Strike

The fireplace put out its flames.

Strike.

Then, at last, Charlie fell fast asleep.

When he awoke, everything seemed hazed and blurry. Then, slowly, things began to materialise. First, he heard a loud bang, like the striking of a rather large bell. Then he saw the bar table set afore him, and a similar one to the right. Then a high-rising wooden stand that stretched the length of six sets of wooden fences, with two smaller cubicles to its right and left. To the right of him sat a cubical enclosure with many seats lined up. He looked back and saw a few sets of auditorium chairs, placed in rows of four and three columns on two sides.

He didn’t know how he got there; to his knowledge, it was all just an unusually vivid dream. But one thing was clear: he was in a courtroom, and not of the familial kind.

From all sides, doors opened and closed, and, in the blink of an eye, Charlie saw that all seats had filled with greyish, circular vapours that resembled clouds of smoke, only they looked more dilute. Each were encompassed with clothes of different shades, all of which were dark and gloomy.

Then, the door in the left corner of the room flung open with an audible swish. And from the open door emerged the same sort of vapour as the ones who’d appeared moments prior, only it wore a peruke wig and long black robes that carried on the ground behind it. As soon as it approached the high-rising stand that rose above everything else—in the front of the room, facing Charlie—it began to solidify, and as it sat on its chair, it coagulated and emerged as an elderly man of feeble features.

The old man then reached to the table in front of him and grabbed a pair of black spectacles, and, having raised it to eye-level, placed its bridge on his nose and let the rest come down onto his ears. He cleared his throat so loudly that Charlie could hear him as clearly as if he was sitting right next to him. Then he took in his hand some sheets of paper and began to speak.

‘Before the initiation of this trial,’ he said in a sombre sort of tone, ‘an affirmation must be made. Members of the Jury, will you all please rise up.’

The vapours from the enclosure to the right arose, and coagulated into distinct individuals—none of whom Charlie could recognise—clothed in bright shades of blue, yellow, pink, purple, white, and black. They rose their right hands up.

Then the Judge went on.

‘Do you hereby affirm that you will truly listen to this case and render a true verdict to this defendant?’ Here, he gestured at Charlie.

And together they all said,

‘I do.’

‘Thank you.,’ the Judge said; ‘you may be seated.’

The Jurors sat down.

‘Now, it would be my duty to task you all on this night with determining the fate of the defendant only on the evidence provided in this case. The Prosecution has been burdened with providing the facts that would determine the guilt of the defendant that sits here amongst us tonight. Also, I must add that tonight’s trial will be carried out without the presence of a Court Reporter.’

Charlie was speechless. He couldn’t even open his mouth, yet alone begin to form proper words.

‘Tonight’s case is The State of Vermont versus Charles Augustus Hames Senior, whom has been called forth for revaluation of his case, as new charges have been filed against him. Should you find reasonably that the evidence provided henceforth by the Prosecution unsatisfactory in providing closure as to the defendant’s guilt, you must find him not guilty.’

He looked at Charlie through his spectacles and went on to add,

‘Of course, there’ll always be another day to pass judgement, so keep an eye out, Mister Hames, should you make it through, that is.’

Charlie did not understand what he was talking about, but he dared not speak.

‘Okay,’ the Judge said; ‘enter the Prosecution…’

The double doors to the right of the room flung open, and suddenly both the seats on the table to the right were filled by men in black suits, one slender with square glasses and the other brawny. They looked ghastly, and also a bit tired and uninterested.

‘…and the Defence.’

The doors to the left were opened with grace, and the seat next to Charlie was filled by a man of tall stature, wearing a grey suit as opposed to black. His face looked gentle and caring—not like a teddy bear’s, but like a Boarder Collie’s it looked kind and intelligent.

‘Mister Hames,’ he addressed. ‘A pleasure to see you, as always.’

Charlie sat still, baffled: What is this man talking about? he thought. Why, I have never seen him in my life! Which wasn’t entirely true, though it was true enough in his mind.

Still, though, he shook the man’s hand when he offered it. It was a firm handshake that lasted no more than a second.

‘Well,’ the Judge went on, straightened up all documents he had in hand then placing them on the table in front of him; ‘are both parties prepared?’

The Prosecuting and Defence Attorneys stood upright. ‘Yes, Your Honour.’

‘Be seated. And do please call in your first witness.’

‘We shall, Your Honour.’ The Prosecutor with the square pair of glasses walked towards the cubicle to the right of the Judge’s table. At that moment precisely, the doors to the right from which the Prosecutors emerged opened once more, and the seat in the cubical was filled immediately, though this time it wasn’t a new face at all.

‘Junior?!’ Charlie was surprised to have found his voice, but even more surprised to be met with the sight of an old acquaintance. He looked around at everyone and announced that Junior was his late son, who had passed away a few years prior.

‘We are very well aware of that fact, Mister Hames,’ the Prosecutor declared. ‘That is precisely why we called him to the Stand.’

Charlie didn’t understand why his own son would testify against him: he had only done good for his son throughout both their lives.

‘Charles Augustus Hames Junior,’ the Judge called out; ‘will you hereby affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?’

‘I do, Your Honour,’ Junior said. He looked and sounded exactly as Charlie had himself when he was younger.

‘Thank you. The Prosecution may now ask their questions.’

The Prosecutor curtsied. ‘Mister Hames, why are you here tonight?’

‘To testify against my father, Charles Augustus Hames Senior,’ Junior replied.

‘And what exactly are you here to testify, Mister Hames?’

‘A murder. Both cold-blooded and calculated.’

‘And whose murder might you be referring to, Mister Hames?’

‘My own.’

Junior?! My own son MURDERED? It was a stroke that killed him, they told me it was!

Charlie was curious to know who the murderer was, but then it dawned on him that if his son was testifying a murder in his trial, there was no question as to who he’d say it was…It was Charlie himself.

‘Is this murderer present in this courtroom tonight?’ the Prosecutor asked Junior.

‘Yes, he is,’ he replied.

‘May you please point him out to the Court?’

Junior raised his arm and pointed a scrawny finger at Charlie.

He was shocked to say the least. ‘But how? I never did but good for you, boy!’

‘Now you’re speaking out of turn, “Charlie” Hames,’ the Judge said disapprovingly. ‘One more word out of you and I will be forced to call the verdict early.’

Charlie sat back without protest and sighed heavily. To some extent, he was still in shock.

‘The Prosecution may continue.’

‘Thank you, Your Honour,’ the Prosecutor announced. ‘But I do think that it would be best that Mister Hames Senior’s question does not go unanswered.’ He turned again to face Junior. ‘Mister Hames, may you answer the defendant’s question? How was it exactly that you came to be murdered?’

‘Well,’ Junior began, ‘it was a rather slow death—very painful—and planned out in advance. In fact, it was planned out from the very day that I was born.’

Charlie couldn’t make sense of his words, but Junior went on.

‘I was born to die, Your Honour. It was an inevitability—a side effect of living. But still, this man brought me to this world—with the help of his wife, my mother—knowing fully well that I would one day leave it just as I came. Did he ever give me a choice? No. Did he think to ask? That he did not. He and her brought me into the world to die and to suffer, and here I am now. That cannot be forgiven.’

‘An excellent argument, indeed,’ the Judge said. ‘What does the defendant have to say for himself?’

Charlie was beginning to understand what his son meant. But he could not accept it. His mind could not allow him to.

The Defence Attorney, the one that sat next to Charlie, held a hand up to Charlie as he was about to speak to silence him. He rose up to speak on his behalf.

‘There is, as Mister Hames Junior has already stated, no excuse good enough to justify the carelessness of my client. But do please consider what I am about to tell you, honourable member of the Jury: no child can ever be asked as to whether they’d be given birth to; why, they don’t yet exist! How could they be asked?’

‘But of course, you are right,’ the Judge said, then he turned to face the witness, Junior. ‘Do you have more to add to your testimony?’

‘Only that he should be found guilty, Your Honour.’

And the Judge did not like what Junior said at all. ‘You needn’t make unnecessary remarks like that. We already know why you’re here.’

‘Yes, Your Honour,’ Junior said, looking slightly uncomfortable; ‘I do apologise.’

The Judge looked away to the Jury and said,

‘Pay no attention to the witness’s statement. You shan’t consider it in making your verdict.’ He now spoke to the Defence Attorney. ‘I do understand correctly that you, too, have a witness to call to the Stand, do you not?’

‘We do, Your Honour,’ the Defence Attorney said confidently.

‘Well…’ The Judge raised his hand to Junior, and said, ‘be gone!’

And Junior evaporated into thin air, and was replaced with a black kitten.

‘Little…eh…cat?’ The Judge seemed slightly confused.

‘Lion, Your Honour,’ the Defence Attorney corrected.

‘Yes, Lion,’ the Judge acknowledged, ‘will you hereby affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth,

and nothing but the truth?’

‘Meow!’ the cat replied.

‘Thank you,’ the Judge went on, ‘you may speak.’

The cat gazed silently ahead, then turned to the Jury and said, ‘Maooow!’

The Judge raised his eyebrows, as if surprised. ‘Well, that does change a great deal.’

The Jury nodded in agreement.

‘It does, Your Honour,’ the Defence Attorney said in concord, ‘that is why I called him to the Stand in the first place.’

The Prosecutors at the table sighed audibly. ‘It seems, indeed, that the case is done?’

‘Indeed, it is,’ the Judge said. He turned to face the Jury. ‘Has the Jury reached their verdict?’

A member of the Jury rose from her chair and spoke.

‘We have, Your Honour.’

‘Then what say you?’

She took a piece of paper in hand and read it aloud. ‘We the Jury, in the case of The State of Vermont versus Charles Augustus Hames Senior, find the defendant NOT guilty. He may live on till the night of the Court arises once more.’

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. The Defence Attorney offered his hand, and he shook it with pleasure.

‘Then let it be known henceforth…’ The Judge lowered the gavel he held in hand, and banged it on the table. ‘…that Charles Augustus Hames Senior shall live on till further notice. Thank you, Jurors, for your services tonight. The Court is adjourned.’

Then…

…Charlie woke up…

…and there was no more knocking at the door…

It was exactly one minute past midnight. He had fallen asleep for just one minute… the only odd thing was that he couldn’t remember what he’d dreamt of.

It mustn’t have been important, he thought. But how wrong he was.

Then life went on as it always had.

But every few nights or so, Charlie would visit the Court of Midnight once again, just as he had nights prior, and await judgement.

And every night…

…he forgot the whole thing afterwards…