Black Harvest Excerpt ...

Chapter 1 – Village of Missive, Ireland (Early 19th Century)

The mist and the fog are clouds and the evening a dark sea.

Born at dusk, I own the gift and curse of canny sight. Only a child born at such a time can see the hidden ones - the sprites, leprechauns and wee elfies hiding in the gardens, in the tarns, or dancing in the woodlands. Harmless, these creatures of air, earth and stream would never hurt a hair on any human head. But past the woodlands, past the streams, in the dead of darkness, other creatures creep and crawl, cursed and carried by the dark ebb of night… those we don’t dare talk about – not to ourselves, not to each other. No, not aword, not a whisper.

Sitting in my old, oaken rocker, I gazed down at knitting forsaken on my lap. I felt restless…yet tired and this night, oh this night, I felt such a chill. I wrapped my shawl tighter ‘round about my shoulders, but the cold would not lift, would not leave me. Getting up, the creak from the chair seemed to echo its sound somewhere beyond my lych gate. The hair upon my neck pricked up and I looked quickly behind me, felt eyes fixed upon me.

I went about my rooms, looked around the parlour, then peered into my bedroom. Nothing. Old age and foolishness. Time for a cup of tea. I put the kettle on the hob, added an extra coal to the fire and rubbed my hands along my arms hoping to kindle a bit of warmth into very weary flesh and bones.

As I poured hot water over the leaves, I looked out the window, saw the fog rolling in. My cottage sits distant from the rest of the village but I do not fear the solitude. Though the trees sway in the autumn wind and the sketch of moon casts their likeness into skeleton arms and legs dancing headless, I do not fear the night…

Then, just then, I heard a creaking sound.  The hairs on my arms pricked up and, as I turned, my old rocker began to tick sharply back and forth.

Clang!

I nearly jumped out of my skin into my soul. The clock on the mantle chimed. Strange. It wasn’t the quarter, half or full hour.
 
Lately I’ve felt so on edge as if every nerve lived on the outside of my skin. Even when I turn in my bed, the creak of the springs causes me to fling open my eyes, peer into shadows to search a darker shadow creeping nearer my wardrobe, nearer to the edge of my counterpane. At least my fancy contains my fear, like a creature trapped in a cave while out in the darkness, it grows and takes on what it wills and wanders where it pleases.

Through the lace curtains and out in the night, the fog began to play tricks. Bodies took shape, a man on horseback, a hand reaching out, then letting go. A face peered in, smiled and disappeared. The wind rose higher and, before I could hold onto my ears, it struck up a banshee's eerie wail.

The mist writhed like a breached babe, straining and struggling to be born. My knees buckled so I eased back into my stilled chair, never taking my eyes off the window.

Shivering in the ether, a spectral form arose from the mouldy earth. I could never have fashioned the thing, not even in a thousand years. In shock, I mumbled over and over, “What is this,what now, what now?” 

Long, curved ears – or… horns? I kept squeezing my eyes to make them out but the firelight kept throwing its own burning shapes against the window. I was too frozen to get up, get a better look, but I knew, yes I knew what it was. Oh Lord, could it be but the blackest elfie risen from its fiery pit?

Eyes two licking flames and molten scales up and down its hideous body. How could my fancy have fashioned such an evil likeness? My nails dug deeper into the oak armrest as I took in every horror from black hooves below, up to what you could little call a face. From its gaping black maw rose the most godawful scream I ever heard.

The creature bent over double. Long, crooked claws reached out, pawed the air screeching an answer from the winds howling round it. It rose up so high and huge, my head smacked against the headrest from the hard craning of my neck. Whipping about to pull hell’s cloak over itself, the creature glared at me full in the face. It knew, yes it knew the deed I’d done.

I huddled into my body like a root dug into the cold earth and waited for the end. A thousand moments later, still waiting. I pressed my fingers down, felt where my nails had dug harsh pits into the arms of the rocker.  Looking up and out, I saw the night mist fall, then creep like a thief back to the dark wood from whence it came.

I rose, paced that little parlor from end to end, for hours it seemed. If the devil’s cursed me then I knew there be no way back to my old life in this sweet, sweet village of mine. I was spared this time but retribution, I knew, was still well to hand. And my eternal debt, my eternal damnation.

Why does this child born of dusk see the other side and all its creatures – dark and light? I am cursed from the sight I was born with and cursed by the sight of this night. How my head aches and how I wish I can turn back the curse, go back to the moment I walked into that barn and saw what I saw, did what I did.

No, not then. Before that. Before evil walked our village in the fetching face and form of a widower’s new wife.

... watch for the release of "Black Harvest", details soon to be posted on this website.