The Spirit of Christmas – Part II

Talia tossed and turned, as fleeting images of her mama passed before her inner eye. Her mother wandered through the moonlit forest, dressed in purest white and her wings, which Talia had never seen before, glittered with myriad hues.

The silver notes of a flute sounded amongst the trees, leading Talia towards the centre of the forest, a dark place she dared not go to in the waking world.

As she got nearer, she could see a clearing lit by the glow from lamps hung in the branches. A gentle breeze set them in motion and the light swirled and glittered. Talia gazed up at the lamps, filled with wonder. Dozens of fireflies flew in and out of the trees, adding to the beauty that surrounded the child.

The music grew louder and winged figures began to emerge from the forest. In  a swathe of colour – pinks, blues, oranges and greens – the merry company filled the clearing. Talia clasped her hands together – the Seelie Fey!

One last figure entered the clearing. Tall, stately and beautiful beyond measure, Talia’s mother looked like a Queen. Snowflakes sprinkled her hair and were girded about her neck and wrists. Her white gown shimmered with colours, as she moved.

‘Mama!’ Talia cried and held out her arms, filled with such longing it hurt. But her mother looked neither left nor right, her gaze fixed on a tall and handsome male sprite, who held out his hand, which her mother took. Tears filled Talia’s eyes, when she how happy her mother seemed to be.

Beware the Fey, for they don’t care. Their heart with you they’ll never share.

‘Mama!’Talia cried, still holding out her arms, as she was pulled up and away into the dark night sky. Below her, all the gathered figures began to dance, swirling about the clearing, their garments flowing in the midnight breeze, like the petals of flowers in springtime.

***

Outside, the Spirit heard the child’s sobs and bowed his mighty head in sympathy with her anguish. One long slender leg lifted, as if to carry him nearer the cottage, but he paused, still unsure whether the child’s heartfelt wish should be granted. For surely it would break her heart even more…

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Land-Midnight-Days-Katrina-Jack/dp/0957412649/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1356112665&sr=1-1 (Hardback UK)

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Midnight-Silver-Flute-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B008Z10Y3E/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1351100423&sr=1-1 ((Kindle UK)

http://www.amazon.com/Land-Midnight-Days (Hardback US)

http://www.amazon.com/Midnight-Silver-Flute-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B008Z10Y3E/ (Kindle US)

The spirit of Christmas

Talia knelt on the window seat and gazed out over the forest that surrounded her home. The cottage, ramshackle and covered in ivy, stood in a clearing at the very heart of the woods. Talia lived there with her father, a silent and dour man, since her mother had gone last Christmastide. But she was Seelie Fey and could not bear to be parted from her own kind. It was a sure and certain thing that she would leave them one day.

Mortals and Fey should never mix, for Faeries ever love to play tricks. 

The little rhyme played through Talia’s thoughts and made her shiver. Would that also be her fate – to play cruel tricks? For she was as much her mother’s child as her father’s.

He was a warden of the forest, tasked with the care of the trees and animals. But Talia knew his heart wasn’t in it. Since her mother had departed, his life had dwindled to ashes.Tears filled Talia’s eyes. If only she could see mama again, just one last time. It was Yuletide Eve, almost a year since she’d left them alone and desolate.

Talia climbed down from the window seat and went over to the old oak chest, standing in a corner of the tiny living room. The lid creaked as she raised it, having to use both hands to lift its heavy weight. Inside the musty interior lay an old book, a gift from her mother to remember her by.

The cover felt smooth and warm, except for the picture of the white deer, etched into the leather. The Spirit of Christmas, was the book’s title, stamped in gold letters. Talia raised the book and kissed it gently. She loved the story and the feeling of wonder it brought. The white deer was the spirit of the forest and would carry anyone who deserved it to wherever they desired.

Filled with a sudden feeling of certainty Talia stood up, the book clutched to her chest. She was going to seek out the deer and beg it to take her and her father to the place of gathering, where once a year the Fey gathered for a great feast, with all manner of merrymaking.

She glanced at the old clock – almost midnight – she’d best hurry. But even as she donned her cloak and then hurried towards the door, the latch rattled and her father entered; he frowned down at her.

‘Why are you not in bed?’ He stared at the book, still clutched in her thin arms. ‘Where d’you think you’re going, girl?’

 Before she could answer, he seemed to guess her intent and with a swift movement snatched the book from her grasp. ‘There is no place in this world for dreams!’ he shouted and threw the book on the fire.

‘Papa, no!’ But it was too late. The flames leapt and spread, causing the leather to crinkle and the picture of the deer to shrivel away into black flakes.

‘Go to bed.’

Talia didn’t look at her father, but made her way over to the stairs, only pausing to glance back at the fireplace.

***

Outside, in the cold, dark forest, a shadow moved with sweet grace amongst the trees. It raised its great head and stared towards the cottage, waiting for sleep to come to the tearful child. Perhaps then it would enter her dreams and maybe grant her wish…

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Land-Midnight-Days-Katrina-Jack/dp/0957412649/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1356112665&sr=1-1 (Hardback UK)

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Midnight-Silver-Flute-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B008Z10Y3E/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1351100423&sr=1-1 ((Kindle UK)

http://www.amazon.com/Land-Midnight-Days (Hardback US)

http://www.amazon.com/Midnight-Silver-Flute-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B008Z10Y3E/ (Kindle US)

The shop at the end of Nowhere Lane.

The shop at the end of Nowhere Lane

By

K.A.Jack

Nowhere Lane was where all the kids went to play. It wasn’t really a lane; It was really a long, scrubby path that ran along the edge of the local park. One side was bordered with a wooden fence and beyond that was miles of open fields, stretching away to the horizon and a pale blue sky filled with white clouds. Daffodils waved their golden heads in the merry breeze and chattered softly amongst themselves about the arrival of spring.

 Mia stood at the top of the path, looking down its long length to where a group of trees stood. That’s why it was called “Nowhere Lane”, ‘cos it didn’t lead anywhere, except to the small wood. Mia knew it took only a few seconds to go through the copse and come out on onto the big lawn in front of the crematorium. Still it wasn’t hard to believe, from this vantage point, that another world existed on the other side.

 The daffodils chattered on, inviting her to join in their celebratory dance. She ignored them and looked down at the patchy grass instead. She loved fairy tales, especially those where you found yourself in another place or even another time. Her favourite books were: The Chronicles of Narnia, Alice in Wonderland, and Alice through the looking glass. Mia swallowed down her tears and told herself the fact her dad had made her throw them all away didn’t matter. He was right; she was too big to be reading that rubbish now. She was nearly ten and it was high time, as her father had said, that she grew up.

Eyes filled with longing, she looked down the lane again and wondered. Local rumour said there was a shop somewhere along here – a magical shop. That is to say not a place that sold tricks and cards and top hats with rabbits in them, but a proper shop that sold magic itself. Mia sighed. Only a very few had ever seen it and they were dismissed as being silly and stupid, but somehow she knew the stories were true, or at least wished they were.

You had to be special to see the shop, a certain kind of person. Mia hunched her shoulders. Her dad’s interpretation of “special” was that anyone who said they’d been to the shop at the end of Nowhere Lane was backwards or just plain nuts. He was probably right.

The daffodils were getting excited again. Their shrill voices rose in a chorus of pleas, as Mia began to walk away. She looked over her shoulder at the scatty flowers and stuck out her tongue.

‘I’m going,’ she said, ‘and I won’t come here ever again.’

 The daffodils stretched out their leaves in supplication, but Mia marched away, determined not to look back. And yet… and yet, her footsteps led her towards the woods, when she really wanted to go home. As she drew nearer the trees she could hear the tinkling of the bluebells, the chimes from their tiny blue heads sounding clear and sweet.  She could not resist their charm.

It’s the last time, she told herself and stepped inside the wood.

The ground was carpeted with fallen pine needles. Feathery ferns tickled her legs and birds sang high up in the branches, a chorus of welcome. Mia grinned, filled with sheer happiness. It was a feeling so rare and precious these days that she hugged herself, trying to keep it inside, where no one could get at it and take it away.

Then she saw it, the yellow glow from windows with thick glass that had circles at their centre. Smoke rose from a twisted chimney that looked like a stick of barley sugar. A green painted door, with a brass goblin as a knocker, stood a little way open. Mia looked around. The woods suddenly seemed different – bigger – as if, as if… Her grin broadened.

As she approached the door, the brass goblin winked. ‘Wotcha,’ it said and the door creaked further back.

As she stepped over the threshold, Mia’s eyes widened at the myriad of wondrous things on display. There were jars of sweets, shelves of books, jars of fairy dust and a million, squillon other things she’d never seen before. A white haired gent, clad in a long green apron stood behind the counter.

‘Hello Mia,’ he said and his eyes twinkled sapphire blue over the top of his half-moon spectacles. ‘Welcome to the shop at the end of Nowhere Lane.’

As Mia stepped towards him, she knew that she would have to go back and face the real world again, but not yet, not just yet.

‘Hello Mr Shopkeeper,’ she said, ‘I’ve come to buy some magic.’

For more short stories, novel extracts and articles, go to:

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The Shopkeeper and his daughters.

Once upon a time there was a shopkeeper who owned a small greengrocer’s.  He and his three daughters lived above the shop. Their lives were very dull and ordinary, apart from their weekly visit to the library.
   

The eldest sister loved romance, the middle sister adored adventures, and the youngest craved fairytales. Dad read ponderous tomes on history and politics.

Whenever they entered the library they each headed straight for their own particular section, looking neither to the left or to the right. So it was they remained unaware of the dark narrow passage containing shelves full of books that were never visited – not even by the librarians.
 Entrance to this forbidding place was through an arch above which crouched a gargoyle. Its features werescrewed up in puzzlement, as if it didn’t understand life at all. Apart from being permanently baffled it was also an ill-mannered creature. Perhaps being draped in cobwebs put it in a bad temper.

One day, after a particularly dull week, the eldest sister entered the library behind the rest of her family face set in an expression that almost rivaled the gargoyle’s. She was sick and tired of helping to keep shop. She wanted to think about something else. Normally the prospect of taking out a new romance immediately cheered her up, but she was fed up with that too. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her middle sister’s book, as it were, and try an adventure story for a change. Little did she know the others felt the same – they all yearned for something different.

Just then the gargoyle chose to blow a loud raspberry; they stared up at it. ‘How very rude,’ they chorused and were at once shushed by the head librarian.
    

Not sure what to do next, they muttered amongst themselves until Dad came to a decision. He squared his shoulders, glared at the gargoyle – who winked back – then led his daughters into the fusty darkness that lay beyond the arch.
      

As they shuffled along, the light from the library became fainter until it almost disappeared.  Their feetleft prints in the thick dust that covered the floor. The only sounds to be heard was their breathing and the faint chatter from the books on the shelves to either side. The tomes rustled their pages and nudged each other’s bindings, excited for the first time in years – it was easy to tell they weren’t used to visitors. The little family did their best to ignore them until the youngest sister stopped and pointed.

     

Ahead lay a faint glimmer of golden light. Dad and his offspring looked at each other, shrugged and then walked on. The glow became stronger and they were able to see it came from a large book lying on a lectern at the furthest-most end of the passage.  Although it looked only a few feet away, no matter how the man and his girls hurried it seemed an age before they finally reached it.
 

They gathered around and stared in wonder at the parchment pages. They were illuminated with the most glorious letters and pictures in red, blue, and gold ink. As they gazed in awe, the little family somehow knew that whatever this magnificent volume contained would change their lives forever.
    

With a hand that shook, Dad reached for the first page. His daughters clustered eagerly about him the glow from the book lighting up their faces.

Once upon a time…’ the shopkeeper began.

Future past, future present.

I wear a coat of angel’s breath
and warm myself with his love…
Emme Woodhull Bache.

The small boy curled into a ball and tried not to breathe through his nose. The ratty old armchair, which served as his bed, stank of stale urine and old sweat. The urine was his, the result of “bed wetting”, which in
turn was the result of constant fear. The perspiration belonged to the source of his anxiety asleep upstairs.
     A floorboard creaked overhead and Ben looked up, guts tightening, a trickle of sweat running down his back. When there were no further signs of life he lowered his tousled head. It was winter and the room unheated. Despite being exhausted he was too cold and afraid to sleep. He wrapped his arms about his skinny body in an effort to keep warm.
     His gaze fell on an empty whisky bottle lying on the uncarpeted floor and his stomach churned. If she was out of drink his mother might send him “shopping.” A tear trickled down his cheek. Why couldn’t she be like other kids’ mums? Why did she have to get drunk and shout and swear and lash out all the time? She called him names and told him he was crazy – mad like his father – whom he’d never met. There was no refuge from her fury, save one.
     Moving as quietly as he could, Ben slid from the armchair and then padded barefoot towards the dingy window. He pulled aside the tattered curtains and peered outside. The grey light of dawn revealed a pristine layer of snow that disguised the street’s usual state of neglect. Ben’s mouth curved in a rare smile – it all looked so clean and new. This was more his idea of a city that had earned the title, “Capital of Culture.” He pressed his face up against the glass and by squinting sideways could just make out the distant shape of the Anglican Cathedral. Its tower reared high and proud and in his mind’s eye became the turret of a fairytale castle.   
     ‘What the hell’re yer doin’!’
     He jerked away from the window to see his mother glaring down at him. Her skin was sallow and the whites of her eyes a jaundiced yellow. As she opened her mouth to yell again he caught a glimpse of her decayed teeth and furred tongue. Ben swallowed down his nausea and twined his fingers together.
     ‘Gerraway from the winder!’ She raised a threatening hand and he scooted behind the armchair.
     Muttering and mumbling Chantelle Harris snatched up the whisky bottle. She raised it to her lips, but when she realised it was empty, flung it across the room. Ben flinched as it shattered against the already stained wall. He slid further behind his temporary refuge.
     Angel of the night protect me. Angel of the night protect me.
     The homemade mantra circled inside his head and for a brief second he felt the flutter of pure white wings on his face and the scent of lilies filled his nostrils. Then his mother’s bony hand grabbed his shoulder and the wings and perfume evaporated.
     ‘Gerrup out of there!’ she screeched as she hauled him to his feet.
     His shirt was pulled painfully tight under his arms as she shook his collar. The next second she flung him from her as if she’d been stung. She stared at him eyes so wide the yellowed whites showed all the way round.
     ‘Gerraway – gerraway!’ Her hands flailed the air and Ben guessed her demons were back. The demons appeared regularly to his mother and although invisible to him, were yet another source of terror.
     Chantelle backed up against the living room door imprecations pouring from her lips. The heel of her ill-fitting shoe came down on a discarded tobacco tin and her feet shot from under her. Her head cracked against the doorknob and she slumped into a boneless heap. Ben watched her. This had happened many times before, but when he tried to get past her she’d suddenly open her horrible eyes. 
     He clambered onto the armchair, drew up his knees, and wrapped his arms around them. He waited and waited, but his mother didn’t stir. After ten minutes or so he climbed down. Gaze riveted on the motionless figure he grabbed his trainers. Holding them high he began to tip-toe towards his mother expecting her to rear up like some dreadful monster from a nightmare, but she didn’t stir. Even when  his fingers closed around the doorknob she didn’t move.
     He began to tug at the door, but her inert body held it shut. He put his trainers down and using both hands tried again.
     Inch by painful inch the door opened. When the gap was wide enough he squeezed past the bedraggled heap, out into the hall. Pausing only to drag on his trainers he fled into the street.
      The cold air hit his lungs like a rocket, but he scarcely noticed as he raced along Falkner street towards Pilgrim Street. The cobbled surface of the road dug into the worn soles of his trainers as he ran to the end.
     The Cathedral loomed above him. Magnificent and awe-inspiring it seemed to float in the freezing winter air, sandstone walls glowing roseate in the early morning sunlight. Filled with sudden hope Ben ran on.
     As he sped towards the tunnel that led down into St James Cemetery he saw from the corner of his eye he was not alone. An armour-clad figure on horseback kept pace with him. Other figures trailed in the knight’s wake. Long bearded wizards, tiny sprites and beautiful damsels – all the people which populated his dreams and the reason why his mother called him mad.
     ‘Always bleedin’ livin’ in cloud cuckoo land, you are,’ she would say. ‘Well it’s time you faced up to real life yer stupid little sod, it’s not all candy floss and flowers.’           
     He saw the dull glint of metal as the knight drew his sword and raised it aloft, spurring him on. The others clapped and cheered silently, as if they were part of a silent movie. Even the horse’s hooves were mute on the rough surface of the tunnel, as both Ben and his escort ran past the headstones set into the walls. He emerged into the cemetery itself.
     Hands on knees he sucked in the cold air and looked around. Everywhere was covered in snow and frost. It sparkled and glittered in the weak sunlight and to Ben, starved as he was of beauty, it seemed like his very own kingdom. His soul ached with longing. Here, spread out before him, was a glimpse of magic. In this place spells could be woven, dragons slain and princesses rescued.
     The knight reined in his horse beside him. ‘The world is what you make it, Ben,’ he said.    
     Ben frowned up at him, then stared out over the frost laden grass again. ‘I don’t like the world,’ he said and looked down at his feet.
     ‘Then change it,’ the knight replied and wheeled his horse about.    
     Ben looked behind him. The horse, its rider and all the others had vanished. He looked up at the cathedral. It was still magnificent, but was no longer the castle in the air he’d imagined it to be.
     ‘It’s too hard,’ he muttered.
     The burden of life he carried was so heavy. His mother’s temper, the lack of friends and the scorn or pity of those around him. His eyes filled with tears. This was no magical kingdom, just an old cemetery with lop-sided headstones and dry dead bones beneath its surface.
     Life is what you make it, Ben.
     He looked around mouth open in astonishment. Then he saw her – his angel! She stood at the side of a large stone cross, one arm draped over it and in her other hand she held a single lily. She looked up her smile wide and welcoming. The greyness of her stone body gradually faded to be replaced by snow-white robes and wings, hair the colour of spun gold, and eyes so blue they reminded him of a summer sky. She slowly extended her arm, holding out the flower. Hardly able to believe he could see her, Ben crept forward until he was near enough to pluck the bloom from her fingers. She smiled one last time, then bowed her head.
     Ben turned away and retraced his steps out of the cemetery. His heart was filled with the glory of what he’d seen and felt, and as he made his way home the people of his dreams gathered about him solid and real.
     They would never leave him again.