Faerie Tale

The moon’s glow came through the window, and the light level rose and fell as clouds crawled slowly across the sky, alternately plunging the room into deep gloom and lightening to what seemed almost daylight. The dancing shadows had an odd pattern Sean had come to recognize.

Outside, an old elm tree rose beside the bedroom, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. When the moon was not obscured, the tree shadows became more distinct, making their own display. The thick leaves rustled in the night wind, casting fluttering shadows that shifted and moved around the room, shapes of ebon and grey that capered in mad abandon, filling the night with menace.

Sean watched the play of shadows with a thrill of danger that was almost delicious, a sweaty-palm-and-neck-hairs-standing sort of feeling. Then something changed. In the blackest part of the gloom, deep in the far corner, something moved. Sean felt his chest tighten as cold gripped his stomach. Moving in the wrong rhythm, against the flow of greys and blacks, it was coming towards the boys’ bunk beds.

‘Patrick,’ Sean repeated loudly. His brother stirred and made a sleepy sound as the shape began to slither along the floor. It would move a beat, weaving its way across the carpet, then pause, and Sean strained his eyes to see it, for when it was still, it would vanish. For long, agonizing moments he couldn’t see any hint of motion, then just when he finally relaxed, thinking it gone or an illusion, it would stir again. The maddeningly indistinct shape approached the bed slowly, at last disappearing below the foot of the bunks, out of Sean’s view.

‘Patrick!’ Sean said, scooting backwards to the corner of the bunk furthest from the creeping shadow. Then he heard a sound of claws upon wood, as something climbed the old bedpost. Sean held his breath. Two clawlike shapes, dark and terrible in their deformity, appeared beyond the end of the bunks, as if reaching up blindly for something, followed an instant later by a misshapen mask of terror and hate, a black, twisted visage with impossible eyes, black opal irises surrounded by a yellow that seemed to glow in the gloom. Sean screamed.

Suddenly Patrick was awake and shouting and an instant later Gloria was standing in the doorway turning on the lights.

Phil was a moment behind, and Gabbie’s voice came through the door of her room. ‘What’s going on?’

Gloria reached up and hugged Sean. ‘What is it, honey?’

‘Something …’ began Sean. Unable to continue, he pointed. Phil made a display of investigating the room while Gloria calmed the frightened boy. Gabbie stuck her head in the room and said, ‘What’s going on?’ She wore the oversized UCLA T-shirt she used as a nightgown.

With a mixture of contempt and relief in his voice, Patrick said, ‘Sean’s had a nightmare.’

His brother’s tone of disdain caused Sean to react. ‘It wasn’t a dream! There was something in the room!’

‘Well,’ said Phil, ‘whatever it was, it’s gone.’

‘Honey, it was just a bad dream.’

‘It was not,’ said Sean, halfway between frustrated tears at not being believed and a fervent hope they were right.

‘You just go back to sleep and I’ll stay here until you do. Okay?’

Sean seemed unconvinced, but said, ‘’Kay.’ He settled in and began to accept the idea he had been dreaming. With his mother nearby and the light on, the black face seemed a nightmare design, not a thing of solid existence.

‘Broth-er,’ said Patrick in disgust. He rolled over and made a display of needing no such reassurance.

Gabbie’s grumbling followed her back into her own room as Phil flipped off the light. Gloria remained, standing patiently next to Sean’s bunk until he fell asleep.

Outside the boys’ bedroom window, something dark and alien slithered down the drainpipe and swung onto the nearest tree branch. It leaped and spun from branch to branch as it descended, dropping the last ten feet to the ground. It moved with an unnaturally quick, rolling gait, a stooped-over apelike shape. It paused near the gazebo, looking back over its shoulder with opalescent dark eyes towards the boys’ window. Another movement, in the woods, caused it to duck down, as if fearing discovery. Bright twinkling lights flashed for an instant, darting between boles, and vanished from view. The dark creature hesitated, waiting until the lights were gone, then scampered off towards the woods, making odd whispering sounds.

• Chapter Six • (#ulink_447c4fe4-367c-5760-be4b-93c9649fa237)

The house became a home, slowly, with resistance, but soon the odd corners had been explored and the ancient odours had become commonplace. The idiosyncrasies of the house – the strange little storage area beneath the stairs next to the cellar door, the odd shed in the back, the way the pipes upstairs rattled – all these things became familiar. Gloria considered her family: Gabbie wasn’t happy but had ceased brooding, and the twins shared their secret world, seemingly content wherever their family was. Gloria had been most concerned over their reaction to the move, but they had shown the least difficulty in adapting. The most positive aspect of the move had been in Phil’s attitude. He was writing every day and seemed transported. He refused to show Gloria any of his work so far, saying he felt superstitious. She knew that was so much bullshit, for she had talked out story ideas into the night with him before. She knew he was simply afraid she wouldn’t like what he was writing and the bubble would burst. All in good time, she thought, all in good time.

Seventeen days after Jack Cole’s visit, a note was delivered by the mailman. It was addressed to ‘Philip Hastings and Family’. Gloria opened it while Phil scanned a letter from his literary agent. ‘… look forward to presenting your newest work. Several publishers already have expressed interest …’ Phil read aloud.

‘Read this,’ Gloria instructed as she handed him the note.

He scanned the envelope and frowned. One of his pet quirks was about Gloria’s opening letters addressed to him, something she loved to do. ‘It said, “and Family”. That’s me,’ she said with mock challenge in her tone.

Phil sighed. ‘Defeated before I begin.’ He read aloud, ‘ “Mrs Agatha Grant invites Mr Philip Hastings and family to dinner, Sunday 24 June. Cocktails at 5 p.m. Regrets only.”’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means RSVP only if you can’t come, you California barbarian.’

Gloria playfully kicked her husband. ‘Barbarian! Who was it who called the town “La Jawl-lah” the first time he propositioned me?’

‘I did?’

‘You most certainly did. It was at Harv Moran’s house, at the wrap party for Bridesdale. You came sliding up to me while my date was over getting drinks – Robbie Tedesco, that was who I was with. You and I had just met at the studio the day before and you said, “I’ve got an invitation to spend the weekend at a friend’s beach house in La Jawl-lah. Do you think you could get away for a couple of days?”’ She spoke the lines with a deep voice, mimicking his speech patterns.

Phil looked only mildly embarrassed. ‘I remember, I still can’t believe I did that. I had never asked a near stranger to spend the weekend with me before.’ Then he smiled. ‘Well, you did come with me.’

Gloria laughed. ‘I did, didn’t I? I guess I just figured someone was going to grab up this eastern square and it might as well be me.’ She playfully grabbed a handful of his greying hair and pulled his head down, kissing him quickly. ‘And La Jolla was beautiful.’

‘So were you … as you still are,’ he said, kissing her deeply. He felt her respond. Playfully nipping at her neck, he whispered, ‘We haven’t pulled a nooner in years, kiddo.’

Then the phone rang, and Gabbie shouted from upstairs, ‘I’ll get it!’

Instantly they heard the sound of the screen door slamming as the boys tromped into the kitchen. ‘Maaa!’ shouted Patrick.

‘What’s for lunch?’ inquired Sean in counterpoint.

Passion fled. Leaning against her husband, Gloria shook her head. ‘Such are the prices of parenthood.’ With a quick kiss, she said, ‘Hold that last thought for tonight, lover.’

Gabbie came running partway down the stairs, holding the phone at the limit of the cord’s ability to stretch. ‘It’s Jack. He’s back. We’re going riding this afternoon, then getting a bite and a movie. So I won’t be home for dinner. Okay?’

Phil said, ‘Sure,’ as the boys came marching in from the kitchen. Gabbie dashed back up the stairs.

‘Mom,’ said Patrick, ‘what’s for lunch?’

‘We’re hungry,’ agreed Sean.

Gloria shrugged regretfully towards her husband. Putting her hands on her sons’ shoulders, she turned them around and said, ‘With me, troops.’ Suddenly she was gone, heading for the kitchen to feed her small brood. Phil could still smell her clean scent in the hall air and felt the deep stirrings that contact with her always brought quickly into existence. With a sigh of regret at the moment’s being gone, he returned to reading the mail as he walked back towards his study.

• Chapter Seven • (#ulink_e401c288-91b7-56ca-ad13-b59f4daa6945)

Gabbie stood in mute and pleasant surprise. At last she said, ‘All right!’ slowly drawing out the exclamation.

Jack smiled as he motioned for her to come and take the reins of the bay mare he had led. It was a beautiful, well-cared-for animal. Gabby took the reins. ‘They’re terrific.’

‘Mr Laudermilch raises Thoroughbreds and warm-blood crosses. He’s a friend of Aggie’s and I’ve helped out around his farm, so he lets me borrow one every so often. He used to race Thoroughbreds, but now he’s into jumpers.’

Gabbie admired the animals, noting the curve of the neck and the way the tail rose up, and the slightly forward-facing ears. ‘These have some Arabian in them,’ she declared, as she took the reins from Jack.

Jack nodded with a grin. ‘And quarter horse. These don’t compete. They’re what Mr Laudermilch calls “riding-around stock”. Yours is called My Dandelion and this is John Adams.’

She hugged the mare’s neck and patted it. ‘Hi, baby,’ she crooned. ‘We’re going to be buddies, aren’t we?’ She quickly mounted. Settling into the unusual position of the English saddle, she said, ‘God, this feels weird.’

Jack said, ‘I’m sorry. I thought you rode English.’