[Fosswell 01.0] A Brush With the Moon

by Raquel Lyon

  That evening, Beth bribed me into going out again, but I got the impression that everyone was saving themselves for the ball, because it was quite quiet for a Friday night, and the mood was distinctly sober. I was even beginning to wonder why I’d bothered to get dressed up. So when Vincent appeared and sidled into the booth with us, I was actually glad of the company.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he cooed.

  “Hi, friend. Long time no see.”

  “Been a bit busy. You know how it is.”

  “Sure. How’s Lara?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Perhaps you should try asking my brother. As usual, the golden boy has got his own way without a second thought for me.”

  “Lara’s with Tyron now? Jeez, that girl can get about.”

  Vincent looked upset, and I felt a stab of empathy for him.

  “I’m sorry. I know you liked her. Say, I have an idea. Why don’t you come to the ball with me tomorrow? Just as friends. I know you might think it’s a bit lame, but—”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Great.”

  Ouch. Beth kicked me under the table, but I chose to ignore her obvious misgivings.

  “Are you okay?” Vincent asked.

  “What? Oh, sure, just a bit of cramp,” I answered, rubbing my shin before I got up to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Pick me up at eight?”

  The vast expanse of barren land stretched for miles. Where was everyone? This world was harsh and lonely. The red earth, cracked and broken, thudded under my weary feet. I climbed the sandstone cliffs ascending before me in the hope of respite on the other side. They must be somewhere. A violent rumble shook the earth, and I surveyed the path behind me. Tremors from the quake radiated out from a hole in the ground and headed towards me. I had to move, and fast. Turning back to continue the climb, I was met by the predatory stare of a mountain lion baring its teeth. It pounced.

  ***

  The next morning I awoke with a start, blood pounding through my veins. I needed to go back, to revisit my dream, to continue searching, to find out why everybody had vanished, and to put things right—but sleep wouldn’t return. I was wide awake, and it was far too early.

  I stared towards the window. The curtains were closed, but I could tell that the light was the wrong colour. This was not the weather we’d been forecast. Where was my beautiful day? I’d planned to spend the day painting. I was a couple of pieces short for my coursework, which wouldn’t be completed any time soon if this dreary weather persisted.

  “Any joy?” Beth enquired when I returned later that day.

  “Not much. I’ve done an okay painting of a dingy alley, but I’m not completely happy with it. It’s too dull, too grey. There’s something missing.”

  “Let me have a look,” she said, grabbing a piece of hot pizza.

  I opened my folder and laid my painting out for scrutiny.

  “Hmm, I see what you mean.” She leaned over, and a blob of tomato sauce oozed from her pizza and splodged squarely next to the dustbins.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Soph.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” A light had clicked on in my brain, and I intuitively knew how to fix the scene.

  As I waited for Vincent to arrive that evening, I sat idly pressing buttons on the television control. Channels flickered and jumped until a particular news report caught my eye.

  “…People dropping like flies. The mystery illness has already claimed the lives of several prominent families across Eastern Europe. Some important bloodlines have been totally wiped out. Leading doctors and scientists in the affected countries are working together to isolate the virus before it wipes out the whole population.”

  The photograph of a white-coated scientist behind the newsreader’s head changed to one of a cute little blonde girl.

  “On a more local note, details released today claim that the remains of schoolgirl Maisie Marshall were recovered last Tuesday after a tip-off from a man hiking on the cliffs overlooking the old Lovell Mine. Details of the cause of death are yet to be released.”

  “Knock, knock.” Vincent’s face appeared around the door. “Ready?”

  “Um, sure,” I answered, turning off the TV. “You don’t mind giving Beth a lift, do you?”

  “Not at all.” If he was disappointed at not having the opportunity to be alone with me, he covered it well.

  Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the ball. I was extremely impatient to exit Vincent’s car. He had a new driver who’d been eyeing me in the rear-view mirror for the whole journey, making me feel very uncomfortable, so I was relieved to finally escape and breathe the fresh night air.

  At the entrance, I noticed Connor chatting with Marie. She was flirting shyly with him. I’m not very quick on the uptake, and it had taken a while for Marie’s infatuation to register with me. Unfortunately, I had a feeling he was only humouring her, and I felt a stab of pity that she was doomed never to have her desires sated. Even so, a pang of jealousy pinched my heart. I willed it away.

  Connor glanced up at our arrival. A look of alarm flashed across his face, and he stared at me with puzzled, pleading eyes. Was I supposed to understand? He shot an angry look at the driver who was holding the door open for Beth, and I realised my mistake. The driver was a vamp, and now he’d know about me. But what would he do with the information? Who would he tell?

  A drop of rain fell on my arm. I brushed it away. No time to dwell now; I had to get inside before the threatening clouds burst and every magical eye in the vicinity discovered my secret.

  In the hall, the fear growing inside me increased with every passing minute. The driver was probably on the phone to Tyron, already spilling the beans. I needed advice. I needed Connor. Where was he? He wasn’t with Marie. She was over by the bar, trying to find happiness at the bottom of a wine glass.

  I waited impatiently for a sighting and searched every dark corner, but after an hour, there was still no sign of him and fear turned to panic. Vincent was making conversation, but I had no idea what he was saying. My thoughts were singular: self-preservation. I couldn’t leave the safety of the crowd. I had no idea what would be waiting for me. Besides, it was lashing it down outside. I was trapped.

  A girl I recognised from one of Beth’s classes sidled up to Vincent and gave him her best come-on. I was happy for her to take his attention away from me, and he appeared perfectly content to stare at her enormous bazookas, which I had to admit were mesmerising.

  I smelled him before I saw him. The familiar musky scent filled my head and erased my tension. I felt his hands on my shoulders, turned to face him, and, unable to disguise how happy I was, threw my arms around his neck with a huge grin on my face.

  “Oh, thank God. Where have you been? Ugh, you’re soaking.”

  Connor read the panic in my eyes. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re safe now. It’s all taken care of.”

  I nodded and buried my head against his chest. “Don’t leave me.”

  “Never,” he whispered.

  The furious look on Vincent’s face at my reaction to Connor’s arrival was not good, and his focus diverted away from his admirer and back to us.

  “Again?” he barked. “I don’t remember asking you to join us, Lovell. And, Sophie? I think it’s time you decided whom you wish to be here with.” I opened my mouth to answer, but he shook his head and sighed. “Oh, what’s the point? I’ll see you around, Sophie.”

  Vincent grabbed Bazookas’ arm and she followed him willingly, throwing me a triumphant smile on the way past. Who cared if she thought she’d won the non-existent competition? I didn’t. I knew I’d betrayed Vincent’s friendship, once again choosing a Lovell over him, but needs must, and I snuggled deeper into Connor’s embrace as we swayed slowly to the music. It felt right…yet wrong.

  Minutes later, Vincent returned.

  “I thought you were leaving?” I enquired as he passed by.

  “I wish I could, but my driver seems to have vanished. The little sh
it’s deserted his post, and when I find him, he’s a dead man,” he growled before being swallowed by the masses.

  I stared up at Connor with questioning eyebrows.

  “Couldn’t have said a truer word.” He grinned.

  ***

  Back at the flat, I couldn’t sleep. My mind kept repeating scenarios. I would begin to dream and then wake up five minutes later, screaming.

  Connor was sitting in the chair in the corner, watching over me silently. He had refused to leave me.

  I perched up on my elbow and let my thoughts spill out. “I don’t know how you can stand it. I know I can’t. I’m so worried. The first week they were away was bad enough, but it’s been six weeks since you heard they were in Russia. How can you not wonder what’s going on, not worry yourself to death? I’m going mad here, and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep myself sane. How can you be so calm all the time? They’re your family. What if they’re all dead? How will you know?”

  “Whoa, there. Slow down with all the questions.”

  “I ask questions in the hope of getting an actual response. I want to know what you think. You’re such a closed book, so difficult to read. You never tell me anything.”

  Connor shrugged. “Some people are better with words than others. Besides, there’s nothing to tell.” He rose and came over to sit on the bed. “I’ve tried calling; I have. I’ve sent loads of texts, but no one’s answered. What else can I do?”

  “Don’t ask me. You’re the one with the magical world at your fingertips. Surely you can come up with something.”

  Connor studied his fingers and picked at his nails. “Um, well…we could visit the seer. Not sure how much use she’ll be, but it’s worth a try, I suppose.”

  “The seer?”

  “Yeah. Get some sleep. It’s a long journey.”

  ***

  Old Mrs Grimmock lived in a misty valley beyond Lyall Ridge, a desolate and sinister place uninhabited by humans and so far into the wilderness that even the most adventurous of hikers didn’t dare venture into its depths.

  We travelled there on horseback, veering off a local trail past waterlogged fields where a pair of ducks danced a merry courtship to steer our mounts down to the woodland below. I was grateful for the pony-trekking jaunts I’d taken with my father as a child and the docile mare Connor had chosen to be my ride.

  In the pale dawn light, the morning mist hugged the distant hills like wisps of grey cotton wool, and as we descended further through the tree-topped soup of swirling haze, the light mizzle floating in the air around us brushed my skin like walking through cobwebs. Below the grey canopy, a glitterama of frost twinkled prettily over the landscape.

  Connor rode on ahead, picking the best route through the primrose and violet-carpeted floor. I concentrated on his back. There was something truly sexy about a man astride a huge beast, controlling it with a squeeze of his tightly wrapped thighs.

  Rough mounds of earth evened out to form a more level landscape, and we wound our way past a small lake, crossed the stream that fed it, and continued around the water’s edge.

  A movement in the waves caught my eye and made my horse jumpy. I kicked the mare into a gentle trot, levelling up with Connor to position him between me and the unknown.

  Connor noticed my nervousness. “Don’t worry. It’s only the water nymphs checking us out.”

  “Water nymphs?”

  “Protectors of the valley, confirming we belong here, that we’re not human,” he explained.

  “Speak for yourself.”

  He turned his head and smiled. “You’re one of us now. Accept it. If you weren’t, you’d be lying at the bottom of that lake already.”

  After almost an hour, we arrived at the edge of an evergreen forest and then entered it. Daylight was swallowed by the thick canopy of branches, and a damp oppression clawed at my skin. Despite Connor’s reassurance that he could see our path perfectly clearly, I felt as if I were being pulled along blindly in some dark dream tunnel I had no control over. It was closing in on me, squeezing the life out of the air around me.

  I was imagining it. It wasn’t real. I knew that because the occasional branch snagged my hair and whipped and scraped at my face and hands, and it hurt.

  “Where are you, Connor? Talk to me. I need to hear your voice.”

  “Huh?”

  “Talk to me. I don’t care what about. Anything, like…have you been here before?”

  His voice came out of the darkness. “Twice.”

  “When?”

  “First time, I was seven. Dad wanted to know if I’d inherited the strain. And then two years ago, to discover the source of the disease.”

  “And she told you about Tyron?”

  “Not directly. She has a weird way with words.”

  “Oh. Do you hear something?” I asked, swivelling around in the saddle, blindly checking for prowlers. “It sounds like whispers. Is someone there?”

  “Only the trees and the Ramols.”

  “What are Ramols?”

  “Twig people. They look like stick insects walking on their hind legs but with longer limbs. Very graceful, tiny head and one big eye. You wouldn’t hear them, though. They communicate telepathically, and they’ve probably already informed Mrs Grimmock of our arrival.”

  “Oh. They don’t sound too scary.”

  “Have you ever been beaten with a broomstick? Because that’s what it would feel like if you got on their bad side.”

  On the other side of the forest, our journey continued onwards until finally we arrived at a small cottage seamlessly moulded between two trees, and we tethered our horses to the surrounding fence. We had barely reached the door when it flew open unassisted.

  “Welcome. Do come in.” The croaky old voice came from the shadows of the room we entered.

  It was dark and dusty inside. The curtains were drawn to the day, but the sunlight fighting to permeate the thin material made a silhouette of the old lady’s profile.

  “I so rarely get visitors nowadays. A tot of mead to revive you after your journey?” she asked, then wobbled over to a nearby table and poured out a couple of mugs from an old pewter jug.

  “Thank you,” Connor said.

  My eyes gradually adjusted to the poor light, and I studied the old woman. Her skin was wizened like a prune and dark, unlike her hair, which had turned noticeably white with age and spilled out from an encompassing scarf. Her body was swathed in layers of shawls over a long, flowery dress, and her neck was festooned with a myriad of beaded necklaces.

  She allowed us a moment to partake of our refreshment before speaking again. “You are not here by chance. You have a reason for being here.”

  No shit, Sherlock. It didn’t take a genius to work out that one. I kept my thoughts to myself and hoped that mind reading wasn’t a prowess of hers too.

  “Indeed,” Connor said. “I need to know where my cousin is and if he’s had any success. Can you help us?”

  “The old brain cells are not what they used to be, but I’ll do my best. Fritz, would you fetch the icons, please?”

  I peered around the room but couldn’t see to whom she was talking.

  “Please, take a seat.”

  Mrs Grimmock beckoned us over to the dining table, and an old bloodhound lying on a nearby tatty rug rose and left the room only to return moments later walking on its gangly hind legs and carrying a tray, which it duly deposited on the table.

  “Close your mouth, my dear. That’s not an attractive look for you. Thank you, Fritz.”

  The hound bowed its head, reverted to all fours, and resumed its place on the rug.

  The tray’s contents were laid out on the table, an odd assortment of items consisting of a few stones, shells, jewels, and a couple of carved figures. She arranged them carefully in an elaborate pattern, placed her palms on the tablecloth, and closed her eyes.

  We sat in silence, and I peeked at Connor. His face told me to remain quiet.

  After an
extremely long pause, Mrs Grimmock’s voice adopted a sleepy tone. “The bright side of death is hard to see. Social order decays as rapidly as the corpses. Devoid of morality, they feed off each other. Travellers return when the stars align…coffin-laden.” Her eyes flew open, and she stared at me blindly. “We are all grains of sand on the beach of existence, but you are a dune. You know what is to come, what you are, what will happen. Look inside yourself for the answer. The future lies in you.” She paused and cocked her head to the side before continuing, “You are at war with your own desires. Stop fighting…and beware the smoke in the night.”

  Her head lolled back, and I frowned at Connor, mystified.

  “I think that’s it,” Connor said. “We’ll decipher it later.”

  Mrs Grimmock opened her eyes and smiled. “I hope you heard something of use, my lovelies.”

  Connor withdrew a large bar of chocolate from his pocket and laid it on the table. “Yes. Thank you,” he said before ushering me out of the door and back to the horses.

  “Chocolate?” I queried.

  “It’s customary to give her a bar. She never asks for payment, but she is partial to a bit of the brown stuff,” he replied, giving me a leg up.

  The return home was as arduous as the journey there. Before re-entering the forest, I insisted upon tethering our horses together and sharing Connor’s saddle. I clung to his back, concentrating on his heartbeat, until we reached daylight once more. By the time we arrived back at Lovell Towers, I was so tired I fell asleep on the sofa.

  I woke up a couple of hours later with my head resting on Connor’s knee. He was gently stroking my hair with one hand and flicking through the music channels on the remote with the other.

  “Good kip? Dream about me?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

  “Yes, and, um, no,” I answered.

  “Shame. You hungry? I can call a takeaway.”

  “No, just a taxi, please.”

  “Oh? I sort of thought you’d wanna stay and discuss stuff.”

  “I need to be on my own…to think.”

  Half an hour later, I arrived at the flat.

  “Oh, hi, Soph. You’re just in time for the late-night film fest,” Beth said as I entered.