DARK MOON

Dark Moon was born in 2002, is the story that won me a literary agent and awaits its eventual paper debut. Special thanks goes to Natalia Aponte Burns for her assistance in the refining process.

1 Mystery

I stood over the yawning trap door, staring into the pitch below, feeling the cool draft sweep up through my thin robe and nightgown, wondering what brand of insanity brought me here in the middle of the night, and if I wished to chance its particular mercies at this god-forsaken hour.

Did I want to know what waited in that darkness?

My candle flickered, scattering shadows across the secret chamber in Baron Galedrew’s estate, catching glints of light off the straw covered floor.

Bizarre, yes. That seemed the only fitting description for this evening, starting the very instant I stepped out of Father’s buggy and through Galedrew’s front door…

The grime-covered girl lay sprawled on a dusty night road. Raven locks curled about a tortured pale face, eyes wide and begging. Her fingers grappled crookedly at the hem of her skirts as though struggling to break their hold—to breathe. She was beautiful…

She was also dead.

The carriage bumped and I came painfully awake. My heart thumped wildly as I tried to recall whether I’d been the girl or simply an observer…

Night pressed about me like in the dream, but unlike the nightmare I sat in a comfortable buggy, parents nodding off across the way.

Comfortable. That was a matter of opinion. Mine is that it didn’t exist for a female in seventeen-sixty-eight.

I groaned and looked out the window.

Dreams like this one always left me unsettled, especially the abundance of them lately. A month ago I turned sixteen. A month ago the expectation to be lady like and presentable began. A month ago the night terrors started.

Perhaps they resulted from Father’s talk of making me a match early—undoubtedly before anyone had a chance to glimpse the girl and advise the unlucky gentleman otherwise. My future certainly had the feel of dim witted and desperate.

A barrage of radiance broke through the nocturne as an estate came into view. I bit my lip, preparing.

This outing was my first since the dreaded birthday. I felt pity in the servant’s eyes as they bid me farewell this afternoon. Poor child, being turned out to the social slaughter…

Grand roman pillars glowed under a plethora of candled lamps. Five peaked alcoves broadened beneath smoking chimneys. Trimmed hedges and young saplings accentuated the house, vast for a Baron—and Galedrew made certain as the wealthiest lord of our province we didn’t miss that fact.

The carriage turned onto the graveled drive and my view disappeared. This was it. I braced for humiliation—wondering if I couldn’t somehow remain in the buggy until after the festivities?

“Ah! The Dumont’s! It’s been six years since I have had the pleasure!” Our gracious and always jubilant host greeted as we stepped into the lavishly carpeted entry.

Galedrew had thinned and whitened in that time. I dare say London did him little good—except by way of fortune. I didn’t remember quite so many wrinkles…

“Welcome, welcome! And who is this?” He seemed honestly perplexed. “This cannot possibly be Alexia, can it?”

I blushed furtively.

His utter disbelief stung, even when expected. It occupied an awkward moment in which I expected Father’s predictable wrath to flare.

Now the Baron would make a polite comment about how I’d grown or changed, but I needed no sheltering. This too thin frame and sunken jowls were enough to keep my eyes away from reflective surfaces. How could I fault others for sharing my opinion?

He recovered. “What a darling young woman you have become!”

I ducked my head, grateful for the unfitting compliment. “You are too kind.”

“Ol’ daddy is going to have to beat ‘em off with a stick!”

“Baron…”

He leaned in. “I’d be forced to woo you myself if I were not married.”

My stomach turned.

Thunder pealed behind us. I turned readily to the distraction—a horse, a grey with a long neck and shimmering white mane—thinner than most, even small in comparison to English standard. It skid to a halt at the foot of the steps.

“Oh dear.” The Baron uttered, a tremor in his voice as the cloaked stranger leapt from the animal and approached, face masked in a deep hood. The newcomer made me want to cringe behind Father. He halted close, too close. Torn between fascination (that anyone would stop so near me,) and dread, I stared up at him, attempting to glimpse his features in the shadows of his hood.

Galedrew wheezed, “You will excuse me.” Shaking hands with Father and hastily into the house.

As the ominous being rounded my parents he looked at me.

The world disappeared. His eyes radiated the arcane hue of a Portugal portrait on black velvet where deep still waters pooled below wooded boughs.

I reveled in the curious discovery as he vanished into the hallway with my host. He glanced back once more and I shuddered. Such an incredible color…!

I breathed again only when he disappeared.

“Not fit to be seen in a nobleman’s home!” Father’s livid murmur made mother’s perfect golden curls tremble.

How did Father know the intruder? Who was he? What did the rest of him look like? Did he keep himself masked to conceal a countenance that matched his hideous mood, or did he attempt to amass intrigue by playing the recluse?

My mind whirled as two lavishly dressed women occupied the space next to the piano forte, voices floating harmoniously over us in a duet of ridiculous runs.

Something pelted the back of my head. I turned.

Rupert Vanwick. I wondered how long he’d been trying to get my attention. He had a year and a half on me, although at the moment I wondered which of us acted older. Our fathers usually went hunting together, and in summers like this that usually meant weekly visits.

Feathery walnut hair branched haphazardly out on either side of his face, which I noted had elongated. Narrow hazel eyes squinted below a lengthy forehead, thick brows, fluted thin nose and what I had to laugh at as his attempt to grow a mustache.

He nodded briefly, indicating for me to come sit next to him and Abigail, his sister. She had the same hair, but longer and pulled up; similar slender face and smiling eyes. She would be fourteen now.

I excused myself politely and moved to join them.

“Is that really you Lex?” Rupert, “Ru” to me grinned. “You have changed.”

“I could say the same about you.” Indicating his thin lip-wig. We hadn’t seen one another since my birthday—too many illnesses going around. “Hello Abby!”

An uncertain grin split her face. “What is this? I like the curl! You are so…” her nose crinkled, “beautiful.”

I reddened uncomfortably. Yes, tonight the curl hadn’t fallen out of my hair as quickly as usual, but I didn’t see how that made me beautiful.

“Shhh…” Ru’s mom encouraged and returned to the performance. We slunk closer together.

“Your dad staying for the hunt tomorrow?” Rupert whispered quietly.

“Are you joking?” I returned. “He has not had enough things to shoot since his days in officers’ academy.”

“I know.” Abby snorted, “Daddy is always saying the same thing.”

Our fathers’ friendship stretched back to the early days, before schooling, before family, before history as far as I could tell. They liked to sit up swapping stories of the old days and drinking themselves into a riotous depression.

Abby inched closer, her face tightening in a grimace. “What is it like—knowing you could be promised in marriage any time?”

“Awful.” I reported.

“Do not say that! Can’t you admit it is the least bit exciting?”

“You are much prettier than I.” I assured softly. “Your chances of happiness far outweigh mine.”

“How can you say that?” Her nose creased. “Have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

I didn’t know how to tell her I avoided taking in my own audacious countenance at all costs.

“Surely you have at least one beau…”

Ru leaned forward.

“Really Abbs, do I seem old enough for, that?”

Her head shook timidly. “You are definitely pretty enough.”

I ignored the praise. “I have not changed.”

She smiled superiorly. “You are right Lexy. I will probably be married before you.”

The recital ended. We joined in the applause late, for which we earned a dark look from Rupert’s mom and were funneled off to dress for dinner.

Father sat near the head of the table. My heart reverberated wildly as I wished I could slink away from his side—back to the carriage, my room, anywhere but here!

I located Rupert on the other side of the table five seats down, silly smirk intact.

“Stop staring.” I mouthed incredulously, but he grinned wider. I rolled my eyes as the seat next to me filled—the gentleman with whom Father conversed.

“Tell me Charles, where have you been hiding this charming young creature, and what have you done with Alexia?”

My cheeks burned at the mockery.

One of the men tapped his glass. “A toast! To our excellent host, his generous wife and their beautiful new home. May your years here prove the best of your life!”

Several similar statements followed before Galedrew rose.

“Thank you my friends, you are too kind! I am pleased to be in your company. And now if I may,” His goblet tilted subtly toward me, “To the hidden,” I felt his eyes, “treasures of our culture.”

I wished I could cease to exist.

“To the treasures!” An elderly fellow I didn’t recognize chanted. Others took up the hail obliviously.

My neighbor leaned close and whispered in my ear, “Hidden treasure indeed!”

The meal proceeded awkwardly. My face undoubtedly remained scarlet through the duration for continued sardonic flattery and greedy chuckles—at my expense. Humiliation knew no equal. At one point I caught the Baron’s married cousin eyeing me like a sacrificial lamb, and Rupert never cease to stare despite my discouraging scowls.

Father seemed pleased.

The men gambled lightly and drank in the dining room while Rupert and I snuck into the parlor. Technically Rupert ought to join them, but because no one was paying attention we didn’t either.

“Could you have stared any harder?” I scolded.

“Oh come, you enjoyed the attention.”

“No.” I promised, wishing I could banish the last hour from my memory. “Did Father send out bribes?”

He laughed, settling into a couch where Abby pouted.

“I suppose it was marvelous.” She sighed as I sat on the end. “Tell the underage-girl all about it!”

“Marvelously awkward.” I corrected.

“Come now, it was not that bad.” Ru teased. And to Abby, “Chipper up. Two years little lamb.”

“Two disastrously long years.”

“Two gratefully long years.” I volunteered. “You can sit in for me next time.”

“If it means squeezing into your waistline and putting up with your father, I suppose I can wait.”

I laughed. Abby was entirely too social to be happy with my way of life.

“I cannot believe we are to stay in this old place.” Rupert asserted with a flicker of excitement as he rubbed his hands.

“Why?” I played along.

“Stop it!” Abby gasped. “I do not want to hear it again!” And she covered her ears.

He straightened and leaned in. “It is said this is the weeping house.”

I gave him a dubious look.

“It is true! The family that lived here sold the place because it drove them mad!”

“What happened?”

“A century back the cruel owners shackled disobedient servants in the cellar and left them there for days, sometimes longer. A stable boy died that way and the family buried him under the compost heap.”

“No!” I gasped.

“That is why the help rebelled. They chopped the family up with an axe and planted them in the herb garden. They only left the youngest alive, a little girl and kept her prisoner until she hung herself in the cellar. Sometimes her crying can be heard at night.”

I watched him suspiciously. “Where did you hear this?”

He leaned closer. “Gun Williams swears it is true.”

“Gun?” I couldn’t help the incredulous tone. “You trust a boy who goes by Gun?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“From school?”

He nodded.

“What is yours?”

His face reddened. “Bones.”

I laughed. “He made it up.”

“Maybe.” He grinned offhandedly. “We will see tonight, won’t we?”

“Yes.” I agreed.

And he snuck a valiant arm about me. “Do not worry Lex, I will keep you safe.”

I knocked his appendage away. “Pardon me? Who faced the phantom attic rats last year?”

His face reddened and Abby giggled. “You are never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Not on your life.”

* * *

A grime-covered girl, raven locks curled about a tortured pale face, eyes wide and begging, reflecting the image of a man: angelic, radiant, blue eyed…

I leapt out of bed, gasping.

The dead girl and those impossibly blue eyes remained behind my lids, haunting me, torturing me.

A single vaulted window with rippling glass glistened back eerily in the candle I’d left burning, motion twisting my stomach in unease. It was just a dream, a dream like the many others.

I retrieved my worn copy of Ossian and began to recite quietly out loud while pacing up and down.

A person flitted past me. I stopped.

A brass etched full-length mirror waited, but that hadn’t been me in its surface.

I returned hesitantly.

A young woman with heavy dark curls—healthy and luxuriant watched me through astonished twinkling-jade eyes and long lashes. Skin shone lush and gleaming with blushing warm cheeks, sleek confident brows and a pert pink smile. She was slim and shapely in her bed-gown…

The dead girl.

I backed away from the mirror.

“No…no!” I wheezed, unable to look away.

Somewhere beneath glamorous layers I could still see myself—the gaunt, sallow child who deserved only the books which occupied her life.

“This is impossible…!” Fell simultaneously from both our lips, grin widening.

And wonderful! And fantastic! And…!

Was it a dream?

Her excitement deflated with mine and I couldn’t help but wish to restore that elated creature’s prettiness.

I studied the double, awed by the exactness of my nightmare. I could almost see those fascinating blue eyes reflected in mine—hers. Yes, those eyes from the Baron’s doorstep…

I would not return to that consuming quandary. Something had awakened me—not the dream, so what?

I strained to hear.

Crying?

Yes, crying.

The echo felt desperate and broken, resounding from some forlorn corner of the estate. I wanted to ignore it, but it moved me, beautiful in its defeat. My heart ached for the sounder.

A prank. That had to be it. Rupert stashed Abby away somewhere to imitate the trapped spirit, and our parents would be so heavy from the festivities and alcohol they’d sleep solid until morning roused them to hunt!

Smart Ru. Smart.

I’d let him have his hoax, and then I’d give him a good scare in return.

I pulled a robe about me, tucked my hair back, retrieved the candle and pressed my door open.

The portrait flecked hall bid me unwelcome under the empty eyes of a hundred generations past. A man stood at his wife’s side holding her hand, but in the dark it became apparent the other fist squoze mercilessly at the back of her neck. Another canvas flaunted two sisters standing before a set of swings, but here I perceived the cool glint of their opaque eyes, flat silver, smiles malicious.

Empty things. I hated empty things: pictures without a soul, statues wrought in tragedy…

I shuddered.

Not tonight. I wouldn’t entertain those fears now—I had a prankster to put down!

I ventured onto the first floor and rounded through the blackened kitchens. There must be a vent up to my chamber from here—one he knew about or else the petitioning howl would be as lost on me as it seemed to be on everyone else…

Down a servants’ hall I moved, near the west corner, into a dead-end alcove. It sounded like we occupied the same space, the mourner and I.

A window glimmered against my candle from one story up, an empty chair the only other occupant of the tight space, braced against crumbling mortar and exposed brick. Directly before me hung a wizened crimson tapestry of a knight driving his lance through the heart of a bare whitened maiden. I reached for the fabric.

It rippled.

I stopped.

Wind?

I felt around the edges, astonished to discover a draft. I pulled back the hanging, astounded further to find a sallow wood door that came to my chest. No handle.

Crouching forward I pressed against the barrier.

The sobs stopped. I froze.

Nothing.

I slid the door open.

Straw covered the circular floor, lit by an amply based taper and four whitewashed walls. No windows.

Who left the candle here, and where could they have gone?

A ghost perhaps?

I chuckled at myself. No such thing. Someone had been here, but how had they escaped?

The walls felt solid, ceiling tangible as well.

Another draft.

I knelt in the straw, slowly brushing my hand from left to right. Six thin strands stood on end. I swept them away, and a cool breeze hit my palm.

The space revealed a handle-less trap door.

I stared. Why did I come here? What did I want? Apparently this went well beyond Rupert’s ability to devise, so who had been crying, and why? Did I really wish to discover?

Yes.

I retrieved a ladle from the kitchen to pry the flap open, questioning my motives the whole way. The plea had been too desperate! Like the moth to the flame I had no choice!

The hidden panel came free under the leverage of my ladle. Stairs below had been used, and frequently.

I stood over the yawning cellar, straining into the pitch below, feeling the cool draft sweep up through my thin robe and nightgown, sending tremors through me. The waiting steps welcomed my trembling candle’s appeal.

Did I want to know what waited in that darkness?

I swallowed my fear, set the candle down, gathered up my skirts, took a deep breath and stepped though.

The stair supported my meager weight like stone, cold and real, cobwebs swaying vindictively to either side.

But that’s not what stopped me. No.

I reached for my candle.

I didn’t see any spiders. What I saw is worse.