Shadow Self-chapter twelve

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 22, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, Gothic novel, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, memories, queens, revenge, scary, strange worlds, teenagers, teenegers, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

   “Why doesn’t Aunt Maisie like me?” Juliet asked her mother.

   “Where did you get that idea?” Her mother looked at her in wonder. “She does like you. It’s just that you remind her of someone she loved and lost a long time ago.”

   “Who,” Juliet pressed her mother for an answer.

   “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” her mother closed the kitchen door so no one would hear. “I want you to promise to keep it to yourself.”

   “I swear,” Juliet crossed her heart.

   “Maisie had a sister who went missing many years ago. Dawn was three years old at the time and your aunt about six. Their mother left them alone in the garden for a few minutes and during that time Dawn disappeared. They searched for days, dragging the rivers and streams, but they never found any trace of her. All that your aunt could say was the fairies took her.”

   “Oh, god, that’s terrible,” Juliet gasped. “What do you think happened to her?”

   “No one knows. She may have wandered off and fell in to some old well,” her mother said. “Whatever happened, your aunt has never forgiven herself, and I think that every time she looks at you, you remind her of her sister. Try and be a bit more understanding.”

That explained a lot, Juliet thought, as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She sensed something was not quite right in the old house. It still gave her the creeps. The portraits of the old-fashioned looking men and women who gazed down their nose at her from the downstairs walls did not help. Sometimes, when she was sure that no one could see, she stuck her tongue out at them. Childish, she knew, but it made her feel better. Dawn’s disappearance added to the air of mystery, and she wonder how she could find out more.

   The next morning was dull and overcast. Dark clouds hung so low in the sky; she knew they were about to burst. It was the kind of day that there was nothing to do but stay inside. Wiping the sheen of condensation on the windowpane with the sleeve of her dressing gown, she peered out in to the garden. There was someone standing over by the folly. It seemed to be a tall, grey-looking figure that might just as well been a smudge on the glass. Kim’s shout that breakfast was on the table made her forget all about it. Everyone was discussing how foul the weather had turned and this fell in with Juliet’s plan.

   “How about playing dressing up?” She suggested to Kim. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Kim narrowed her eyes, her sister never offered to play with her.

   “Yeah, I would,” she searched Juliet’s face to see if she were just teasing her. “But we have no old clothes.”

   “There are trunk loads of them in the attic,” their aunt said.

   “Great, I’ll get a flashlight,” Juliet jumped up from her seat.

   “No need,” her aunt said. “There are lights up there. The switch is inside the door.”

   The interior of the attic was not as dark as Juliet imagined. It smelt of trapped heat, of age and secrets. Two overhead windows, barred and covered with cobwebs, let the light in. Flicking on the switch, they waited until the fluorescent strips lining the rafters came to life.

   “Ugh,” Kim pointed up at the dark shapes hanging overhead.

   “Bat’s,” Juliet said. “They sleep all day, so they won’t bother us.”

   “No way, I’m staying here,” Kim turned to leave.

   “Look, if you stay with me for a while, I’ll let you play on my computer,” Juliet offered.

   “What are you up too?” Kim narrowed her eyes. Juliet never let her use the computer.

   “I want to look at some stuff, ok? Have a root around. There might be jewellery in the trunks and let me know if you find any photos.”

While Kim foraged, Juliet threw open one trunk after the other until she found the one, she was looking for. Hundreds of years of family history came to light as she searched among the brown, aged documents. She had been sorting for hours when she found it. Her heart began to beat faster when she saw the childish handwriting on the envelope that proclaimed, “Dawn and me.”

Shadow Self-chapter eleven

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 21, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, Gothic novel, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, queens, revenge, scary, strange worlds, teenagers, wise women, Witchcraft, wizards, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Corey and his new family settled into the house. The first few weeks seemed a rollercoaster of emotions, as they sorted through the outbuildings. In one, he found his father’s old bike. Though rusted and with flat tyres, they restored it, so Corey had a means of transport. Even since he was old enough to work, he took whatever jobs he could find. The latest was an evening job in a burger joint. This, on top of Tom’s pension, kept the house running. Corey had been saving for years and most of his wages went into the bank. The savings book was under an insole in his runners, and it was this money he used to buy the things they needed. The electricity was back on, and he now had a power point for the second-hand computer he had managed to buy. Most of the homeless kept in contact this way, as the internet cafés gave them the much-needed shelter from the cold and provided them with a means of communications. Corey had hundreds of friends, and though the lives of most of those who lived rough could be transient, he managed to keep in touch with most of them. Life was good for him, though he was exhausted from the long bike ride to and from the town. The hours on his feet serving customers were hard, but he would not swap what he had for the world. Annie let him sleep in most days, as he sometimes did not get home until the early hours of the morning. Today was no exception and the house was quiet when he woke. The others were outside enjoying the good weather. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Corey swung his legs on to the floor. His night was restless and filled with the familiar dream about knights and castles. I am getting too old for fairy tales, he thought, as he walked down the corridor to the bathroom. This room was freezing, and goose pimples rose on his skin, as he turned on the hot tap. Calling it hot was a bit of an exaggeration. He was dozy from sleep, and he leant against the sink and watched as it began to fill. Lights danced on the water, bright gold, purple and red merged and started to take shape. He looked around him, wondering what caused such colours, but there was nothing in the stark, black, and white bathroom to account for it. Corey stared into the water and watched open-mouthed as a figure appeared. It was crazy, like watching TV under water. He leaned closer as the figure became clearer. It was a girl, red hair floated about a pale face and her huge eyes were filled with a silent pleading. Her lips moved and a word echoed from far away, “Culdoplin.”

Then she was gone, the colours faded, and the water lay still. Corey’s heart pounded so much it hurt. That was his word, the word whispered in his dreams. What did it mean? Too frightened to wash, he sprayed deodorant under his arms and ran from the room.

The alley smelt of stale beer, vomit, and rotten food. Corey wrinkled his nose in disgust, as he hauled two black sacks of rubbish over to the dumpsters. The bulb in the streetlamp beside the dumpsters had blown, so they were deep in shadow. A bottle clattered across the yard and the sound sent his heart racing. As he threw the bags in among the other rubbish, it came again.

   “Is someone there?” He asked, imagining it to be some homeless person in search of food.

There was a dry, shuffling sound, as though something was unfolding itself after hours in one, prone position. It moved out of the shadows and started to walk towards him. Corey’s legs filled with lead and he could not get them to move. It kept advancing until the Thing was right in front of him. What he saw made his heart spasm. It towered above him, so he had to put his head back to look at it. Its face was ashen, its lips bloodless and drawn back over sharp vicious-looking teeth. The only colour, for want of a better word, was the blackness of the eyes. Like fathomless pools of darkness, they scanned his face, and he saw in them his own reflection. A hand reached out, more claw than hand, with long, pointed nails.

   “You are the one,” it rasped, the sound tearing at the boy’s ears.

Oh god, Corey thought this is how I am going to die, alone in a filthy alley and murdered by some freak. As the claw moved closer, he closed his eyes. When nothing happened, he peeped under the lids to find the Thing was distracted by something. He heard the deep growl before he saw the beast. It was a huge, black dog, the size of a small cow and it was advancing on the Thing. Its red eyes blazed as the Thing covered its face with the sleeve of its black cloak. Corey did not wait to see anymore, but turned and ran back into the burger bar, slamming and bolting the door behind him.

Shadow Self-chapter ten

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 20, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, Gothic novel, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, queens, strange worlds, teenagers, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Juliet found the first night in her new home, terrifying. The old manor house was best suited to ghosts rather than the living, with its dark passages and endless, narrow corridors. The small cloakroom on the ground floor was the only place that did not stink of musk. Its small bathroom meant that Juliet did not have to climb up into the darkness.

   Lunch that first afternoon was an uncomfortable affair with everyone trying to pretend that everything was normal, but conversation was stilted. Her aunt tried her best to cheer things up with her no-nonsense approach to things.

   “I know it’s difficult for you,” she said, looking from Juliet to Kim. “But your parents are not the first to lose their jobs.”

   “We know that aunt,” Juliet answered for both. “And we don’t mind moving, well, you no,” she shrugged when her aunt raised an eyebrow.

   “You’ll soon settle in,” the old woman smiled. “And I must admit, I’m looking forward to having the company for a change. Go and explore the house,” she said. “I had four of the bedrooms aired, so you can choose which one you like best.”

Juliet and Kim were glad to be free of the kitchen and hurried out to join their father in carrying the suitcases upstairs.

Like the rest of the house, the furniture in the bedrooms was big, dark, and ancient-looking. It was early Victorian, her father explained, but all Juliet saw was the way it filled every room with its bulk and gave shadows somewhere to hide. Her room seemed like a vast cavern. Her aunt said she had the rooms aired, but dust lay inches deep on all the surfaces. The air smelt stale, and it was obvious from the grime-coated windows that they had not been opened in decades. Her bed was a huge, lumbering four-poster, the type she had seen in books and movies. Its once-bright tapestry faded and covered with old cobwebs and inches of dust. Juliet shivered, imagining the countless generations of spiders who made their home within the folds. Two large wardrobes faced it from the other end of the room and a matching dressing table nestled in the alcove of the bay window.  

   “It needs a lot of care,” her mother came in and put an arm around Juliet’s shoulder.

   “It needs condemning,” Juliet said. “I can’t sleep in that,” she nodded at the bed.

   “You go and explore,” her mother kissed the top of her head. “By the time you come back you won’t recognise the place.”

   “Cobwebs,” Juliet reminded her, pointing at the bed curtains.

She found Kim jumping up and down on the bed in her room. Dust rose into the air every time she landed on the stale covers.

   “Isn’t this the greatest bed?” Kim asked.

   “What’s so good about it?” Juliet thought, it is ugly.

   “It has curtains and everything,” Kim slid on to the floor. “It’s like a bed for a princess.”

   “Yeah, whatever,” Juliet shrugged, too miserable to argue. “I’m going to look around the house. You can come if you want?”

   “Yeah,” Kim paused, to tuck her teddy bear under the covers. “See you later, Mr Snuggles.”

   “You are so simple,” Juliet threw her eyes to heaven. “I sometime wonder if we’re related.”

   “I’d rather be simple than old and grumpy like you,” Kim flounced past her.

It is true, Juliet thought, I feel old, and I am still just a teenager.

   The rest of the house was worse than their bedrooms, as some of the rooms reeked of damp and decay.  

   “Is aunt Maisie poor now?” Kim asked.

   “I don’t know, maybe,” Juliet said.

Later when they met their father in the garden, she asked him same question. Maisie was a little eccentric, he said, but she had a healthy bank balance. She had given him free rein when he suggested doing some repairs and tidying the garden.

   Juliet tried to banish dark thoughts, but when it came time for bed, they returned. Her room was much cleaner and the dreaded bed curtains gone, but it still held its air of gloom. She left the curtains open so the light from the full moon lit the room, but it made crouching beasts of the giant wardrobes. As the air cooled the woodwork contracted, making little cracking noises that sounded loud as gun shots to her frayed nerves. The wild cry of some night creature echoed from outside and at that same instant her bedroom door creaked open.

   “Can I sleep with you tonight?” Kim stood framed in the doorway hugging Mr Snuggles.

Juliet had never been more pleased to see her little sister.

Shadow Self-chapter nine

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 17, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, gloom, Goblins, Gothic, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, passion, queens, revenge, strange worlds, teenegers, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Corey watched as the others explored the garden. He thought life on the streets had made him hard, as he had witnessed some terrible things over the years and believed himself immune to feelings. Why then did he feel so sad? He cleared his throat, hoping this small act would dispel the lump that formed there. The grass shimmered, as his eyes filled with tears. The screech of the garden gate became a welcome distraction, and he hurried back to the front of the house. The sight of a police car parked outside on the road would once have instilled fear in him, but now it meant nothing. A lone officer stood waiting.

   “This is private property,” he said to Corey. “What are you doing here?”

   “I’m Corey Dawson,” he held out his hand.

   “Paul Regan,” the officer shook it. “I’m the community police officer and I got a call to say that there was somebody snooping round the place.”

   “I inherited the house from my parents,” Corey explained. “I have just turned eighteen and decided to come home.”

He did not want the officer to know that he was underage, and it was just a little lie.

   “Who are they?” The man nodded at the others, who had come to see what was happening.

   “My grandfather, Tom, my aunt Annie and my cousins,” Corey introduced them.

The others held their breath. It was obvious they seemed a ragged group and no one would believe that, but Corey held the man’s stare.

   “Well, let me be the first to welcome you to the neighbourhood,” the officer smiled. “I’ll let everyone know you’re back, and good luck to you all.”

   “How do you do that?” Tom whispered, as they watched the officer climb back into the car.

   “Do what?”

   “Get people to believe everything you say.”

   “I’ve no idea, I’ve always been able to do it,” Corey said, as he pulled out the old tin box.

The key to the front door nestled next to the sepia-coloured will, and his hand shook, as he picked it up and placed it in the lock. It felt stiff from disuse, and he had to jiggle it a few times before it opened. Hundreds of envelopes, circulars and old newspapers blocked their way, and they pushed hard to get the opening wide enough to slip inside. The hall smelt musty, and there was another overriding odour, the stench of ammonia. Cats got inside and left their trademark by peeing all over the place.  Corey’s legs felt like lead as he made his way upstairs to his old room. His fingers gripped the white, round knob of the door handle, and for a moment, he remembered a time when his hand was much smaller and the doorknob as big as a football. The door creaked open and a small rush of trapped air sighed all around him. The room was exactly how he remembered it, with its Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles posters and matching bedspread. The curtains were closed, and he walked to the window and pulled them back. Inches of dust fell, causing him to sneeze. He sat down on the bed. They were all there, still waiting; his childhood heroes and he wondered why he had not taken them with him to the home. Perhaps, he sensed with that secret, instinctive knowing of a child, that they were better left behind. He picked up the action figures one by one. Leonardo, he pressed the cold, plastic head above his upper lip, hoping to find some scent of himself trapped there, but there was nothing. He did the same with the others Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Splinter, the rat, and the mentor of the turtles. The villains were there also, and he scowled at the fierce faces of his two favourites, Bebop and Rocksteady. He started collecting the figures long after they had gone out of fashion, and he remembered how his parents took great pains in tracking down each one of them.

           He had to get out. He closed the door behind him and walked to the next room. His parents’ room, like his own, lay suspended in time. His mother’s makeup littered the top of the dressing table and a nightdress lay carefully folded on her pillow. He opened the wardrobe door. His father’s suits hung in a neat row and jostled with his mother’s dresses for space. The smell of damp was overpowering, and patches of mould clung to the fabric. He went over to the dressing table. He was grateful for the solidness of the small stool, as he sat down. It felt sturdy and safe in a day that was fast becoming surreal. Cobwebs coated the mirror in front of him and dust settled on each carefully woven thread, making his image hazy. He picked up a glass bottle and pulled out the stopper. His mother’s scent rose in the air. It smelt of Christmas, autumn fires and warm summer days. He was home, he was finally home. Corey put his head down and sobbed.

Shadow Self-chapter eight

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 16, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, gloom, Goblins, Gothic, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, queens, revenge, strange worlds, teenegers, twlight, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

The driver wrinkled his nose but had the good manners to keep his opinion to himself, as Corey lead the scruffy group on to the bus. As the bus pulled away from the kerb, everyone started speaking at once. They were delighted when Corey told them they would have a house all to themselves.

   “Is there a kitchen?” Annie asked. “Cause I’m a good cook.”

   “It has a kitchen and four bedrooms, though Jamie, Stew and Rasher will have to share,” Corey told them.

   “Are you pulling our leg, boy?” Tom asked.

   “Have I ever lied to you,” Corey asked, and without waiting for an answer, he continued. “It’s a fine old house with an acre of garden. It’s been locked up for a long time, but we’ll soon have it in order.”

   “And no one can throw us out?” Jamie asked in wonder.

   “No, it’s going to be our home from now on, and it will be our job to take care of it.”

That last bit of news stunned them into silence. It was hard to imagine there was a place where they were safe from the street predators, and no one could tell them to move along. Their silence gave Corey a chance to get his thoughts together. Tapping his rucksack, he heard the comforting ping of the tin box. In it were the three things he held most dear. Pulling out the rusty box, he opened the lid and stared down at his treasures. The will, in which his parents left him the house, the old brown key for the front door, and the silver pendant that had lost none of its shine over the years. He did not dare wear it before as it would attract the street predators, but now he placed the chain around his neck and closed the clasp. The metal was cool against his skin as his fingers traced the outline of the phoenix. He had thought about going home before, but something held him back. He turned and looked out at the fields and bushes as the memories came flooding back. It was the day of his fifth birthday, when the policemen came into the classroom. He remembered the thrill of seeing the uniforms, as he thought of them as superheroes who caught the bad guys. Later, they would explain that there had been an accident and his parents had gone to heaven. There was no relative to take on the care of a young boy, and what followed was a nightmarish assortment of foster homes. Some were ok, but as he got older, things got worse. His body still retained the scars of beating at the hands of those who were supposed to care for him.

The bus came to a shuddering stop and he tucked the box back in the rucksack.

   “It’s a bit of a walk from here,” Corey said, as they watched the bus drive away. “You can lean on me, Tom.”

   “There’s no need for that,” Tom straightened his shoulders. “The old feet aren’t too bad.”

The chimneys of the house appeared first among the overgrown trees lining the road. Corey felt his heart ache, as they moved closer to the once familiar building.

   “It’s a fine house,” Tom patted his shoulder, sensing his pain. “And it’s been waiting for you.”

The paint was peeling from the gate and the rusty hinges groaned, as Corey pushed against it. White flecks fell like hail, as the rest of the paint surrendered to his touch. The stone slabs leading up to the front door lay broken and weeds sprouted from between the cracks. Wild roses ran riot, their budding beauty a welcome site among the thorns and brambles.

   “I’d like to take a few moments before going inside,” Corey said.

   “No, it’s all right, boy,” Tom assured him. “We’ll wait with you. How about looking around the back?”

After depositing their bags at the front door, they all walked round the side of the house.

   “It’s huge,” Jamie spread his arms wide when he saw how big the garden was. “What are those buildings at the bottom?”

   “They’re old stables,” Corey said.

   “Great, can we get a horse?”

   “No, horses are expensive,” then noticing the boy’s disappointment, Corey said. “We can get chickens though.”

   “Brilliant,” Jamie punched the air before running and hugging everyone in turn.

They laughed, and the boys pushed him away. Tom and Annie were aware of the sadness in Corey’s eyes and the memories he would face when he stepped inside the house.

Shadow Self-chapter seven

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 15, 2020
Posted in: Ghost. Leave a comment

All within the castle lay sleeping when they returned to Bargamore. The queen and Lady Blackthorn did not speak to one another, their pain was indescribable and not for sharing. The queen dismissed the wise women as she placed the baby on a mattress that still retained the small shape of her own child. She did not notice the shadowy figure in the corner of the room until he spoke.

   “You have exchanged our child, my love?”

   “I am the queen, I had no other choice,” she bit down on her lip to still the angry word she wanted to scream at her husband.

   “I cannot tell the difference,” he looked down at the sleeping baby.

   “You are not her mother,” it was difficult to keep the anger from her voice.

   “No, but I feel your pain,” he sat down on the bed beside her.

   “You know nothing of suffering,” she started to cry. “You cannot tell the difference, but I can and will do for the rest of my life, and so will Iris.”

   “I am sorry, my love,” he reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

   “Go, leave me alone with my thoughts,” she begged.

The baby, sensing the quarrel, started to cry.

   “Go,” the queen said. “I will see to her myself.”

The sound of the baby’s wails of anguish followed the king all the way down to the throne room. It would soon be dawn and for the first time he feared the coming of day. In the streets below the lamplighters snuffed the flames on the lanterns. Everything seemed normal, but it wasn’t and would never be again.

   “Hush, little one,” the queen picked up the baby. “I am not angry with you. Do not be afraid. I will take care of you,” she kissed her soft cheek. “I promised your mother, and I intend to keep that promise. I will surround you with all the love I have to give, and I pray you will never sense the yearning secret of my heart.”

   “That’s a pretty box,” the nurse said, as Alice sat up in the bed.

How strange, Alice thought, as she undid the bow. Had someone come to visit her while she slept? The beauty of the pendant made her catch her breath. It looked expensive, and was obviously given by someone close to the baby? There was no more time to think as the baby carried in. Alice picked up her handbag and tucked the box inside. She would keep the pendant safe until Juliet was old enough to appreciate such a work of art.

   “She looks different,” Alice frowned, when the nurse handed her the baby.

   “New-borns change from minute to minute,” the nurse said, as she twirled the Id tag on the baby’s wrist. “There you are,” she drew Alice’s attention to it.

   “You’re right,” she sighed with relief. “I am just being silly.”

   “No, it’s understandable,” the nurse smiled. “But, how could you mistake that hair? We were talking about it this morning. It’s so dark red, it’s hard to describe.”

   “I don’t know where her colouring comes from, “Alice said as she kissed her baby. “You’re a bit of a mystery.”

Was it just her imagination or did the baby’s eyes have a slight tilt at the corners that she had not noticed before? Later that night, Alice’s mother confirmed she had an aunt with the same colouring, so mystery solved.

Mary and Bob Dawson had no such qualms when it came to their son. He was perfect in their eyes and neither of them saw anything different about him. The pendant was accepted as a gift from a passing friend, who would, no doubt, reveal themselves in the coming days. Like Juliet, Corey’s hair was the talk of all the nursing staff as it was the whitest, they had ever seen.

   “I must have overdone it on the calcium or the milk,” Mary laughed.

So, the months passed, and all four children thrived on the love they received from those around them. In Bargamore the queen and Lady Blackthorn clapped as their children took their first tentative steps around the furniture in the throne room.

   “They have grown so fast,” Lady Blackthorn beamed.

   “Yes,” the queen sighed.

   “You must accept her, my queen,” Lady Blackthorn said.

   “I love her, you know that,” the queen said. “But sometimes, when I look in her eyes, I see a stranger staring back at me. There is nothing of the king or me in there.”

The queen looked across at her daughter. Amber sensing her mother gaze turned and said her first word. Its sound was like thorns piercing the queen’s heart, “mamma.”

Shadow Self- chapter six

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 14, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, queens, strange worlds, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Queen Heather stared down as the baby nestled in the crook of her arm and felt her heart torn by love and fear. The little princess was the most perfect being she had even seen. Her dark red hair would mark her out among her subjects like fire on snow.

   “My darling daughter, how can I bear this pain,” the queen whispered.

A single tear fell on the baby’s face and she made a soft mewing sound at its touch.

The wise women were back and had come to give their blessing to the child. The queen told them what she intended to do.

   “Let us take her, majesty,” Mistress Doogood offered.

   “No, I must do it,” the queen said.

   “But, majesty,” the women protested.

   “I have decided, and I will need your help to dress,” the queen handed Mistress Gamp the baby.

When she was ready, she took a small box from beside the bed. Inside on a cushion of gossamer paper sat a pendant; pressed from the finest silver and in the symbol of her people, a phoenix. It had a small tag attached and a note written in the queen’s own hand.

   “A gift for your precious child.”

Lady Blackthorn’s son would receive an identical pendant. Both were filled with fairy magic and would keep them safe in the mortal world.

   The castle hallways lay silent as the queen and her entourage crept along. Lady Blackthorn stood waiting at the top of the basement steps.

   “He is so beautiful,” the queen looked down at her friend’s child.

   “As is the princess,” Iris stroked the princess’s hair.

   “We must go, majesty, while the world is still in darkness,” Galten urged.

The air was cold when they walked out of the castle, and the streets of the kingdom silent under the cloak of darkness. They moved with lightning speed up through the cave leading to the mortal world. Here the night sky seemed a vast amphitheatre of stars, as all the astral bodies had come out to see the new-borns. Above their heads the ruins of Culdoplin Castle stood like a dark sentinel. The castle marked the spot leading to the hidden world, and its kings were protectors of those beneath them. Their line had died out and the castle, like its rulers, was now lifeless. Now it was time to separate.

   “Go with Lady Blackthorn, she will need your strength,” the queen whispered to Galten.

   “Be brave, my queen,” Iris kissed her and walked away.

   “Come, majesty,” Mistress Doogood put her arm around the queen’s waist.

The miles passed in moments and stars flew above them, as they moved towards their destinations.

The hospital was sleeping. Casting a spell of invisibility, the elfin women moved across its polished floors towards the nursery. The room pulsed with the wonder of new life, and its touch was a balm of the queen’s aching heart. The baby they chose was an exact copy of her own child, with the same pale skin and red hair. But she was not her child, and never would be,

   “I cannot do this dreadful thing,” the queen handed her baby to Mistress Gamp.

   “Go and see the child’s mother,” she said as she took the baby. “See for yourself the goodness in her.”

Large tears ran down the queen’s cheeks and caused dark stains to form on her gold gown. Alice lay in a deep, exhausted sleep. The queen looked down at her and sensed waves of kindness flowing from the mortal woman. Placing the box with the pendant beside the bed, she whispered.

   “Take care of my child, and I in turn, will do the same for you.”

She glided over to the window and looked out at the world of men. It made her shiver to watch the mortals, who had so little time to live, waste it on things that had no meaning. Her child would lose its elfin powers, as its new parents taught it about nothing other than material things.

   “We must go, majesty,” Mistress Gamp held the changeling.

No one wanted to stay for long in the mortal world. Its atmosphere was draining on those who were many hundreds of years old. Now, because of her decision, her daughter would age and die. While she would be forced to look into the eyes of a stranger for hundreds of years to come, a stranger she would call daughter.

Shadow Self- chapter five

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 13, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, Gothic novel, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, queens, revenge, strange worlds, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Lady Blackthorn’s moans of pain reached her, as she opened the door. The sound of her friend’s distress spurred the queen on, even as the pain in her own body roared.

   “Is it very bad?” The queen brushed her friend’s damp hair from her forehead.

   “Yes,” Iris’s eyes were wild with fear.” I have taken the herbs prescribed, but they did not work.”

   “We will form a healing circle,” the queen gestured to her ladies.

They joined hands and in the ancient language of their people, called on the spirits for help. The fire within Lady Blackthorn began to recede and her breathing slowed, as the magic did its work.

   “You should get some relief now,” the queen sat on the bed beside her. “I will stay with you a while, but I fear it may not be long as my own pains have started.”

   “Majesty!” One of the women exclaimed.

   “I am quite all right at the moment,” the queen brushed aside her worries. “I will call when I need your help. Now, run along and let us have a moment alone.”

When they left, the queen turned to her friend and asked.

   “Has your husband spoken to you about the changelings?”

   “I have thought of little else,” Iris gasped, as another pain tore through her body.

   “What are we to do?” The queen asked. “My heart aches so; I feel that I have already lost my child.”

   “My dear, we have known each other a lifetime, and we know what is in one another’s hearts,” A silent tear slid down Iris’s cheek.

   “How can we bear it?” The queen’s tears joined with those of her friend.

   “We have no choice. You are the queen and must lead by example. I am your friend, and I will not let you suffer alone.”

Those waiting in the hallway felt their hearts grow cold as the sound of the women’s sobbing reached them. It is unusual for elfin women to cry, and the sound signalled that something terrible was about to happen, but what it might be, they had no idea.

The wise women moved swiftly through the mortal world. There are no physical barriers for the elfin, and they can move through walls and solid structure as they wish. How many mortals have sensed their touch as they passed and shrugged it off as nothing, but a slight draught? The elfin also have the power to shape-shift and can take the form of animals such as deer and hares. The wise woman had no need to resort to such lengths and allowed the wind to carry them from place to place. The children Galten foretold of lived at opposite ends of the country and rather than split up, they decided to travel together. All wanted to be the first to see the children who would save their people.

Alice Wilson sank into the wheelchair the nurse held and sighed with relief.

   “I’ll take it from here,” the nurse assured her husband, John, who carried a suitcase and an assortment of bags.

Alice was relieved, now she was in the safety of the hospital and she relaxed as the elevator doors opened and she was steered towards the labour ward. She looked at the small group of women who stood watching as she passed. There was something odd about them, not frightening, but nevertheless strange.

Like Alice, Mary Dawson relaxed when she reached the hospital and she beamed as they passed the three, strangely dressed women in the foyer.

   “Good morning,” one of them said.

   “Good morning,” Mary beamed at them.

Her husband, following behind, wondered who she was talking too. He said nothing and thought it best not to ask.

By nightfall there were four new babies. To Alice and John Wilson, a daughter they named Juliet and whose red hair was the talk of the ward. To Mary and Bob Dawson, a son, Corey with pale skin and hair whiter than snow. At Bargamore the elves gathered at the castle and cheered when the announcement was read out that the queen had given birth to a daughter. Amber showed the signs of mortal blood from past generations in her fiery red hair. Lord and Lady Blackthorn had a son, Sabba, with the same pale colouring as his parents. In those first few minutes of life the fate of the four children, both elf and mortal, was bound together for forever.

Shadow Self-chapter four

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 12, 2020
Posted in: Ghost. Leave a comment

BARGAMORE

1995

King Karone sat on the balcony overlooking the main square and watched as the first ray of dawn broke through the earthen sky. Bargamore, like the mortal world, experiences both day and night. A series of tunnels are designed to let the sunlight in. There are also dark places beneath the earth that never see light. The silver mines where the dwarfs work, are darker than Hades, and they dig for the precious metal with the aid of hundreds of torches.  While those in the hidden world are self-sufficient, they had other needs. Thesale of silver provides for this, and the pureness of the metal is prised by those who trade for it inthe mortal world.

Then, there is the land where the Ereban live, a place of endless night. From his vantage point, the king could see the dark forest forming the boundary to this land, and the eerie shadows of the trees,

   “You have not slept my husband?”

Like all her kind, the queen moved on airy feet, and he did not hear her come in.

   “Talk to me,” she took his hand in hers. “I sense your fears.”

She knew how troubled her husband was, but she was unprepared by the hopelessness in his eyes when he looked at her. The child in her womb leapt, sensing her distress.

   “The scourge that is killing our people has to be stopped,” he said. “There are many poisons that might cause it, but yet the wise women cannot find the cure. We must strengthen our people before it is too late.”

   “Have the wise ones thought of a way of doing this.” She asked.

   “There is one way of strengthening the blood, but it is so terrible I cannot bring myself to speak its name.” The king said.

   “Tell me. “The queen urged.

   “Changelings,” his voice was muffled by his hands. “We must exchange elfin babies for mortal ones.”

The queen, overcome with horror, groping her way to a chair and fell into it.

   “What have you decided?” She asked.

   “Galten had seen into the future. There are two children who are not yet born, that will suit,” he said. “They will be the first of many. The wise women have gone to the mortal world to watch as the time of birth approaches.”

   “How can you speak of such a thing?” The queen knuckles glowed white, as she gripped the arm of the chair.

   “What is the taking of twenty children over thousands of our people?”

   “It is barbaric,” the queen was trying not to cry. “It is beyond cruel to ask a mother to part with her child.”

   “The suffering will be in this world, my love,” the king explained. “The children will be swapped at birth and the mortal mother will have no idea it is not her child.”

   “So, the mortals will be spared, and the elfin women know the bitter sting of parting?”

   “If there was any other way,” he sighed.

The queen walked out on to the balcony. The square below had come to life, and the elves went about their daily duties as though nothing was amiss. Those who sensed her presence looked up and bowed in respect. In that fleeting moment it was impossible to miss the look of fear in their eyes. She went back inside to where her husband waited.

   “How many babies are to be born in the hidden world?” She asked.

   “Fourteen, according to the wise women,” the king answered.

   “What will you do, go from door to door asking who is willing to surrender their new-born? You will not find your subjects so forthcoming, when faced with such a decision.”

She knew she was being cruel, and her words just added to her husband’s torment. But she was queen and if such sacrifices were to be made, she must lead by example. A knock on the door kept her from saying anything more. One of her ladies-in-waiting peeped in.

   “Forgive me, majesties,” the woman bowed. “But Lady Blackthorn’s pains have started, and the wise women are not here.”

   “I will come at once,” the queen dismissed her, and turning to her husband, asked. “Can you forgive me for the cruelty of my words?”

   “There is nothing to forgive,” he kissed her. “These are terrible times.”

As the queen hurried down the hallway to her friend’s chambers, she tried to ignore the gnawing pains in her back and stomach. Her child was in a hurry to be born, and she could not bear to think about the terrible price she would have to pay to save her people.

Shadow Self- chapter three

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 11, 2020
Posted in: Ghost. Leave a comment

CHAPTER THREE

BARGAMORE

1995

The blaze from the funeral pyre threw leaping shadows across the mirrored walls, and the crackling of the flames echoed like thunder around the vast cavern. Those gathered around the sacred lake stood with heads bowed, too sad to watch as the craft drifted closer to the edge of the waterfall, that would take it out to sea. The cliffs on either side of the lake rose in towering heights and beyond them stars glistened in the night sky. All funerals are held under the cover of darkness, so that those who live on the land above, do not see the smoke. Each ledge, each fissure in the rock was crammed with fairies, but their colours were muted. The sombre black they wore to mourn the dead made them look like small blackbirds that had taken roost and might at any time take flight. On the lower level’s dwarfs vied for space, as they tried to see over the shoulders of the elves. Lanterns on long poles hung by the shore, but once the blazing pyre disappeared, they did little to dispel the gloom.

   “It is time to leave, my dear,” Heather, the Queen of the Elves, placed a small, white hand on her husband’s arm.

   “Yes, we will go now, my love,” King Karone’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Forgive me, I was deep in thought.”

   “It is understandable,” she linked her arm through his. “These are sad times.”

As the royal party moved off, those standing behind them bowed, and the assembled throng parted to form a pathway. The dwarfs jumped from rocks and started to walk away with the toddling gait of those whose legs are too short for their bodies. The fairies took flight and moved en masse like a dark swarm swooping over the heads of the elves, as they made for home. Lord Blackthorn, the king’s friend and adviser walked beside his wife. His face was ashen and lined with worry.

   “You must rest when we get back to the castle,” his wife said. “These past few days have taken their toll.”

He looked up at her and tried to smile, but his eyes betrayed him, and she felt the familiar sense of doom gnawing at her heart.

   “It is you who should be resting, Iris” he put his arm around her waist. “Your time is almost at an end.”

Lady Blackthorn smiled and patted the bump in the front of her gown. She, like the queen, was due to give birth at any moment. It would be a firstborn for both families and the imminent births were the only light in this time of dreadful darkness. The funeral was the second one in a year. To mortals this would seem a small amount, but to the Elfin, whose lifespan was many hundreds of years, it spelt catastrophe.

The castle loomed in the distance and was set high above the land on an outcrop of rock. Steps were carved on each side and the queen’s ladies-in-waiting helped both the pregnant women with the climb. This gave their husbands a chance to speak without frightening their wives.

“It is a sad time,” the king shook his head.” Lord Ashwen was so young; he had just reached his hundred and sixty-eighth year.”

   “It is no age,” Lord Blackthorn sighed.

   “Have you asked the others to assemble in the throne room?” The king asked.

   “Yes, majesty, they will be waiting for us,” Lord Blackthorn assured him.

. Both men have the fair colouring of their kind, and their shoulder-length hair shimmered in the light of the many torches lining the steps.

   “Is there something else bothering you, majesty,” his friend asked. “Something other than Lord Ashwen’s death?”

   “You know me too well,” the king stopped and looked at him.

   “I should do, majesty, after all this time,” Lord Blackthorn’s laugh seemed alien.

It was a long time since the sound was heard in the land of Bargamore.

   “Did you see them?” The king asked.

   “I did majesty. They tried to stay hidden in the shadows, but they failed.”

The creatures the elves referred to are the Erebans. Dark, soulless beings born out of men’s darkest thoughts and desires. They inhabited a land beyond the forest; a place of endless shadow, shunned by the others who share the hidden world. The Erebans are the elves only enemy. Though the elves are of normal size, the Erebans tower over them, and stand at almost eight feet tall. Dressed from head to toe in a cloak of black, they make a frightening spectacle to those unlucky enough to meet them late at night. For this is their time. When others sleep, the Erebans come to life and roam the darkness. Their eyes are completely black, so they are blind during the day, but when the sun sets, they can see further than most. It is unusual for them to stray into the land of Bargamore, and the king knew they had done so only to mock him. They knew the elves were weak and like any predator they circled, anticipating the kill. The king sensed their sneers. He knew if something was not done to strengthen his people, then Perius, their leader, would lead his men in to battle against those in the hidden world. At any other time, he would not fear this, but now, as his people grew weaker, he could not bear to envision it.

In the throne room, Galten, the Seer, stood at a table and gazed into a crystal bowl. He stirred the water to dispel the images that gathered.

   “Has the outlook changed?” Mistress Doogood asked.

   “No, nothing has changed,” the old man shook his head.

   “Nothing?” Her sister healers Mistress Gamp and Mistress Tweed chorused.

   “We have a little time left,” Galten said. “Not very long, perhaps forty years.”

   “Forty years,” the wise women gasped. “But that is, but a moment.”

   “Nevertheless, it is what I see,” he sighed.

   “We are working hard to find a cure for this wasting malady, and I pray we may do so soon,” Mistress Doogood said.

Lord Fabien, the ruler of Faranord, the land of the fairies, snorted. Mr and Mrs Furze, who were there to speak for the dwarfs lumbered over to where he sat on the arm of a chair.

   “Whatever is the matter?” Mrs Furze asked.

   “I do not think anything is the matter,” her husband said, before Lord Fabien could speak.

   “But he made a noise, my dear,” His wife said. “At least I think it was him.”

   “Perhaps it was someone else,” her husband said. “I may not have been him after all.”

   “You are quite right, my dear,” his wife said, “Maybe it was…”

   “Enough,” Lord Fabien roared. “We will be here all night if this continues.”

Mrs Furze blushed and turned away. Lord Fabian realising how rude he had been, apologised. Everyone loved Mr and Mrs Furze, but it must be admitted, they are the most absentminded couple. They rarely get to the root of a problem. The dwarfs did not have a ruler and worked together as a happy little group.

   “What I was trying to say,” Lord Fabien said. “Was that I think my plan is the best.”

   “The king will never hear of it,” Galten said. “It is a barbaric suggestion and one that belongs to olden times.”

   “It might seem so,” Lord Fabien said. “But it has worked in the past. If you listen to me the elfin bloodline will be strengthened, and you will be saved all this misery.”

The wise women turned to look at Galten.

   “Do not tell me you agree with them?” The old man said.

   “Well…” Mistress Dogood muttered.

   “Can you imagine the sorrow it would cause?” Galten asked. “The king would never agree to such a thing.”

   “He will, if he wants to save his people,” Lord Fabien said.

    “What if we could do it without causing suffering on either side?” Mistress Gamp asked

   “I can see no way around it,” Galten said. “No matter what we do, someone will have to suffer.”

   “But what if…” Mistress Gamp started to whisper in his ear.

The others watched as the old seer’s eyes grew wide in astonishment.

   “The king will never allow it to happen,” he said.

   “The king will never allow what?”

 They were so caught up in their planning; they had not heard him enter the room.

   “Well?” He looked at the seer. “I am waiting.”

   “Changelings, majesty,” the old man stuttered. “They want to exchange elfin babies with those from the mortal world.”