Encouraging him up the muddy driveway.
(Past the Q5 with its pompous London plates sitting next to a big pile of rotting firewood. Its engine still ticking softly in the stillness. A U-MOVE IT trailer hooked to its back bumper.)
Toward the hand-painted wooden sign.
A sign posted at the head of the driveway.
The sign badly faded. Nearly illegible.
As if it had been there for centuries.
Reading: SIORGHA COTTAGE.
Oliver blinked at it. Curious. Amused.
“Sigh-or-gah?” he attempted lamely.
As the cold drizzle settled upon them.
Ethan felt himself sinking. Sinking.
Sinking down into the muck.
Like he might very well just keep sinking.
Just keep sinking down, down, down.
He sighed. Cleared a dry throat.
Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
Then corrected Oliver’s pronunciation.
Emphasizing each stressed syllable.
As if he were speaking to a small child.
Oliver repeated the poetic sounds.
So unlike his butchering of the word.
The Gaelic sounding mysterious and exotic and somewhat rather delicious for all that, indeed, on his city-tongue.
Or so Oliver thought to himself.
Back in the beginning. Last autumn.
Mysterious, exotic, and rather delicious.
If almost immediately lost to him.
“But what does it mean?” he then said.
Ethan answered him after a pause:
Answered him in a hushed voice:
As if it were a thing to be hushed:
And only hushed for all that:
“…eternal embrace,” he said.
FROM THE AUTHOR
Hello, Dear Reader. Many thanks for your support of this book and for hanging out with me until the very end. In the event there is any confusion, this is a work of fiction. As such, it’s important to note that while I’ve had some fun with Manx folklore and traditions, I’ve taken many creative liberties here, not the least of which is how the Manx people themselves are portrayed in this story. I greatly encourage you to visit the Isle of Man should you have the opportunity. I’m certain you will find the Manx people to be lovely and hospitable folk. I’d like to thank them for their kindness, forbearance, and rich history. Yes, Dear Reader, you’d do well to visit this beautiful rugged isle in the middle of the Irish Sea a short ferry ride from the British mainland. Stroll the unspoiled beaches. Hike or take the tram to the grassy summit of Snaefell Mountain at 2,036 feet above sea level. Dine on Manx queenies, Kipper pate, battered fish, and mushy peas. Visit the House of Manannan, Peel Castle, and the many cultural heritage museums. Rent an old thatched cottage and have a spot of tea. Just do try to ignore the whisper of the wind at night and stay out of dark and dank cellars, please. And, perhaps, just perhaps, avoid booking on the full moon.
Most especially the blood moon.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Russell Gilwee is a novelist and screenwriter. He lives in Northern California with his wife, Lauraleen, and their
goldendoodle, Sophie. He is busy at work on his fourth
novel and several film projects.
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