You can find the complete story and three others in Seasonal Disorders, a quartet of paranormal tales across the decades. All profits from sales in the next month will go to the Red Cross.
Drop by at the Summer Solstice (if not before) for the re-release of Midsummer Glen.
The sun. The moon. The stars ... And a plethora of malevolent entities ...
Last Spring
Chapter Three
They sprinted down the empty main street, their lengthening shadows following them in the eerie half-light. The full moon that had been a frosty white at dawn was turning ink black as it slowly it moved across the sun. The bright spring colours dulled until it seemed as they were running through time into some eternal twilight.
As they neared the church, the eerie rustling sound became louder. They reached the cemetery and slowed. Above them, the swarm of creatures was even more corporeal, all scrawny grey legs and arms, flapping wings, jagged teeth ... Some fixed them with a cruel stare and began to swoop at their faces, screeching.
Children’s voices echoed from inside the church, singing ‘All things bright and beautiful’.
‘We must open the doors,’ he shouted. ‘Let the children out.’ They made a dash for the building, but just as they reached the handle, the floral wrought iron pattern on the front sprang to life, writhing and coiling. The vine-like pattern grew thicker and stronger, spreading across the whole arched entrance, metal tendrils probing between the stones for a better grip until there was no wood left to be seen.
‘Side door?’ gasped Daphne and they battled their way across the crocus-strewn grass. A dozen creatures dived at their heads, lashing out with razor-sharp fingernails. The door was locked.
Inside, they heard Basil Crowsbill cry out. ‘Children? What are you doing? Stop!’ There was panic in his voice.
A sharp wind picked up and the sky went even darker. By now, the sun was almost completely obscured, just leaving a crescent of gold on one side. From inside the church there arose a loud wave of shouting, crying and screaming. ‘No!’ shrieked Basil. There was crying and shouting, then the sound of breaking glass, followed by the noise of wooden pews being dragged across the floor.
‘The poor things will tear themselves to pieces.’ Daphne looked afraid.
‘And Jenny’s there with them. What do we do?’ Richard tore at his hair, and gave the side door another furious tug, but it held fast.
The moon slid further across the sun, blocking it completely and the shadows intensified. ‘What’s that?’ Daphne pointed to a faint blue light from beyond the lychgate. The swarm above them became even more agitated and began to stream towards it.
‘Come on,’ he took her hand and together they ran across the grass, batting at stray fairies darting at their faces. They went through the gate, down the path and darted behind a cypress. Richard pointed downwards into the ravine. Below, part of the banks had been scythed, dead nettles lying in swathes. In the midst was an oak tree, a tangle of bulbous roots below. He looked more closely and could see that it was, in fact, a mound of gigantic iron chains and padlocks. The fairy with the evil expression they’d seen in Richard’s garden was prancing among the roots, cackling wildly. Goaded on by an audience of thousands, he held his arms aloft for silence then inserted the first of the ill-gotten keys of the bunch into the first padlock. Then the second, and the third ...
The last of the sunlight faded the same second that the mysterious chains fell away as the padlock fell to the ground, sinking into the mossy depths. High-pitched squeals filled the air as a new wave of creatures, three times larger than the tiny beings, surged out and up in a eye-searing beam of light and energy.
Daphne gripped his arm. ‘These are more than just fairies, aren’t they?’
He nodded. ‘Goblins, sprites, pixies – some monstrous mutants thrown in for good measure, from what I could make out. And now they’re all free.’
The sky became a solid mass of flapping wings and shrill cries.
‘What are they up – and what do they want?’ muttered Richard to himself.
As if in reply, the hoard compacted then soared towards the church.
‘Revenge?’ whispered Daphne. ‘After all, it looks as if they’ve been imprisoned for some time. Perhaps they want to destroy the building. Maybe they blame the church for imprisoning them.’
A knot of movement caught their eye and several groups of creatures had turned on each other in a frenzy. There was snapping and biting, then a ghastly ripping sound as one beast lurched out of the sky, plummeting downwards to the ground, landing at their feet with a thump. Revulsed, they gazed at the hideous mound of grey bones. A wing fluttered and stopped. Richard edged nearer and prodded the corpse with the toe of his boot. ‘Dead, but it looked dead to begin with.’ He shuddered. ‘No blood.’
‘Perhaps they’re already dead.’ Daphne drew him away. ‘Ghosts, I mean.’ Richard knew she was right. ‘I think they’ve been buried down there, in some horrific fairy graveyard under the tree.’
Richard recalled the mounds of nettles. ‘I reckon they were disturbed by the sexton and his scythe ... And with the help of this eclipse and whatever, they’ve managed to escape.’
‘And I’m guessing that the smaller ones managed to break through first. They squeezed through and set about their mischief with the reverse flower spells – and then they forged the key.’
‘To free the larger ones! Of course. Well, whatever happened, we must find a way to free the children.’ He steered her to a small shed on the other side of the lychgate. ‘Maybe there’s a crowbar inside.’ Fortunately, it was unlocked. Richard dashed inside and emerged with a wrench and a hacksaw. ‘All I could find. They’ll have to do. What is it?’
Daphne was looking over his head, back at the church. A sickly green light bathed the whole churchyard and ravine. Then, with a ghastly ripping sound, brambles and the rest of the nettles began to tear themselves out of the ground, spinning the thorns and stems into a hollow tube that snaked across the grass and latched onto the side door of the church. It flew open and a second later, scores of children poured out. Some pushed and shoved, while others stumbled along in shock, their faces pale and tear-stained. A few of the smaller ones had cuts on their face, while some limped or shambled from recent injuries. The living tunnel enveloped them, nudging them along its way, forming itself as it went. Finally, it stopped, its terrible mouth pointing straight at the loose tangle chains beneath the tree. A dull glow from below grew brighter.
All at once, the children went silent, turning their gaze to the light and plodded towards it, expressionless.
Above, the clouds of creatures leered and capered.
‘They want the children.’ Daphne turned to Richard.
‘No. Not my child. I’ve lost one – never again.’ He edged towards the tunnel, but a branch lashed out and ripped the skin on the back of his hand. ‘Enough.’ He drew himself up. ‘Well, Miss Greenway. What do you suggest?’
‘We need to distract them.’ She glanced around, her gaze falling on the shed. ‘I have an idea. Tell me, why does anyone ever study chemistry?’
‘Frankly, I have no idea.’
She grinned and began to run. ‘Because we’re all pyromaniacs at heart!’ She tugged open the door and emerged lugging a barrel of petrol. ‘Thank goodness they had a modern mower. And I still have my lighter somewhere.’ She rummaged in her pockets. ‘Yes! Coming?’
Richard shoved the wrench and hacksaw into his pocket and helped her carry the barrel through the lychgate.
‘Pour some on here to slow them down. Then we save the rest for the bridge. It should burn and collapse onto the tree – and block the underground entrance.’
They tipped some fuel onto the gate and into a puddle on the ground. She lit flicked the lighter, holding it to the liquid and stood back. Flames flared and speedily fed off the ancient wood. Ahead, the line of children faltered.
A tremor ran through the air like silent thunder and the cloud of fairies above them began surge and ripple as if tearing itself apart. One clump of hefty creatures with muscled legs and whip-like tails broke away and careered into the ravine.
‘Now, the bridge!’ Richard and Daphne ran on to the first section. Together, they upended the barrel and tipped out the contents. ‘Hurry.’
They backed off the structure. Daphne flicked her lighter again and flung the whole thing to the flimsy structure. It took immediately, and planks began to burn and drop away. The breakaway group clustered by the tree below, forming a shield, flicking away burning fragments with their tails.
‘It’s not working. We need more fuel.’
Richard scanned the area. ‘Wait.’ He ran to some small shrubs growing nearby, pulled out the hacksaw and began to chop at the branches.
‘It won’t be enough!’ Daphne seized them and lobbed them onto the fire.
‘It might. It’s witch hazel.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Because it’s magic?’
He shrugged and began sawing at another bough. ‘I assume so, but what if this reverse spell works on witch hazel, too? It might actually neutralise their magic.’
She laughed and threw another branch on the conflagration. ‘A taste of their own perverse fairy brew? Brilliant. Not scientific, but who cares! Look, it’s working.’
Orange sparks whirled into the air and the flames surged higher and higher, turning an iridescent purple. With a creak and a shudder, the bridge gave way and tumbled into the ravine in a sea of red, gold, lilac and blue. The buds glowed then there was a dull explosion as the whole tree became a blazing torch. Then, with a sigh, it toppled over, still blazing from the uppermost twigs down to the roots. The creatures who had been trying to save the tree simply scattered, howling, staring at the blank hole in the ground, raw as a gum suffering a pulled tooth.
In the dark, swirling sky, a crescent of brightness reappeared as the moon continued on its orbit. Shadows began to dissolve.
Richard leaned against a tree, sweat pouring from his face. He was panting with exhaustion. Daphne grasped his arm and pointed upwards. The supernatural throng regrouped, joined by the creatures from the ravine. They formed a swarm that hummed and throbbed with a million wingbeats, they it narrowed into a thin silver stream and sped away to the west, turning invisible in the pale sky. Then it was quiet.
‘Where will they go?’
Richard took Daphne’s hand and they headed back to the church. ‘Maybe they’ll find their own sanctuary.’
‘They were hideous, but I feel sorry for them. Their world has gone, they died – and then were brought back to life, only to lose everything again.’
‘I have a feeling they’ll turn up again somewhere. After all, the world is full of flowers. Come on.’ They stepped over the scattered embers of the lychgate and re-entered the churchyard. Rows of brambles and nettles lined the path, left and right, but the tunnel was gone, leaving a line of children, looking around blearily. Alive.
A tall figure emerged from the church, his hair wild. ‘Children?’ His voice was weak, so he tried again. ‘Are you there? Thank God! This way!’
A decidedly ungrumpy Basil Crowsbill began to shepherd the youngsters back inside, his face lined with shock and fatigue.
‘Jenny!’ Richard spotted his daughter, holding two dazed infants by the hand. Her clothes were ripped and she had scratches on her legs. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Crikey, Dad. We were singing hymns then it went dark. It’s all a bit of a blur.’
He hugged her, closing his eyes to hide his tears.
‘What happened, Miss Greenway? Why can I still smell the daffodils?’
Daphne Greenway gave Richard a quick look as she guided the toddlers towards Basil, whose sister emerged from the church in a dazed fashion. ‘I suspect it’s those old church heaters giving off poisonous fumes. Enough to give anyone a turn. We’ll have to talk to the priest to get them replaced, eh? It’s even affected the grown-ups, too.’
Jenny nodded, only partially convinced, and gripped her father’s hand. ‘Whatever happened to the bridge?’ She stared at smoking ravine.
Daphne took Jenny’s other hand and caught Richard’s eye. ‘Oh, just a couple of hooligans from Stratford – trying to frighten people with a silly practical joke.’ She smiled down at Jenny. ‘That’s all.’
‘Quite right. Nothing ever happens during a vernal equinox, does it?’
***
Last spring ...
Light footsteps sounded and Daphne approached with a giant thermos of coffee. ‘“Spring is sprung, the grass is riz. I wonder the fairies is.”’
‘Oh ha ha.’
‘I thought you might care for a hot drink.’
‘Thank you, darling.’ He poured out two cups of coffee and handed one over.
‘How’s the story coming?’
He put down his writing pad. ‘Not bad. Of course, they’ll think the whole thing’s fiction! All the crazy planets, moons, suns and fairies.’ He waved his free hand around at the burgeoning buds and banks of daffodils. ‘Despite everything, I like spring. My favourite time of year until, well ... apart from when I thought it was going to be our last one. What with the triple astronomical thingummy.’
‘Heaven and earth couldn’t keep us apart,’ she replied and squeezed his fingers. ‘Besides, we’re safe until 2015.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘That gives us plenty of time.’
THE END
Author’s note
Friday, March 20, 2015, was an unusual vernal equinox.
On the morning of March 20, the moon covered the sun, blocking out up to 98 per cent of its light in certain zones.
If this were not sufficiently impressive, the evening before, the earth and moon moved together, creating a so-called Supermoon.
A triple celestial whammy of a supermoon, equinox and an eclipse – all on the same day.
Did you notice anything strange?
____________________________
Author’s note
Friday, March 20, 2015, was an unusual vernal equinox. On the morning of March 20, the moon covered the sun, blocking out up to 98 per cent of its light in certain zones. If this were not sufficiently impressive, the evening before, the earth and moon moved together, creating a so-called Supermoon.
A triple celestial whammy of a supermoon, equinox and an eclipse – all on the same day.
Did you notice anything strange?
____________________________
See previous two blog entries for chapters one and two.
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