Listen to the Trees and Other Curious Tales

LEFT ON MY OWN  

Why on earth was I sat here on my own? I was shivering as the evening’s cold crept to ache my bones? Here I was sat upon an old, felled tree stump in the middle of nowhere in particular.

I was wearing nothing but a pair of denim jeans, a light tee-shirt and my old fleece jacket, long past its use-by date and a bit on the threadbare side.

An hour ago I had left the Ram’s Head with my so called mates enjoying an early Christmas drink. I had returned home two weeks ago after a career in the armed forces had finally run its term. We had met up this last Wednesday, as we often did before I left for the Army, and decided to have a proper get together. There were others of our ‘gang’ who were not there but would be after a few telephone calls. I didn’t have their new mobile numbers but the two I met did and would organise a get together in the old village pub for this weekend.

All six of us got together for a good drink and to talk over events of the past nine years during which I had spent some time away fighting the terrorists of the middle-east while they had enjoyed their easy civvie jobs. Stories of the footie at the weekend and the enjoyment of a few beers whenever they were wanted went down well. It was nice to be back and amongst my old mates although we didn’t talk to each other as we once did. I had changed, for the better I thought, while they were clearly in my eyes and very much so, civvies. The night had moved on, the ale had kept coming and had gone down nicely and we did manage to find some common ground between us.

They had spent the last half hour or so talking about the mysterious old wives’ tales and the ‘goings-on’ that were supposed to happening in the old woods a few miles away. Not in my neck of the woods, you might say, as the place they were referring to was half way between here and the next village; it was not even a place I had ‘explored’ as a youngster. 

Their last words were still ringing in my ears and a dare had been mentioned. Not something that should be put to a well inebriated squaddie or even an ex-squaddie. I had been goaded, slowly at first, then straight out; I guessed that they must have been putting this together for a few days, they had to have done so. The extra beers I had sunk hadn’t helped, the Dutch courage provided by the alcohol had done its worst; I was up for anything.

“Go on you scaredy cat, what’s a challenge to a guy of your illustrious history?”

That one struck home.

I had not long ago put my uniform days behind me, trying to settle into civvie life and restore ‘old’ acquaintances. No longer drinking in the ‘NAAFI’ as my muckers now left behind had called it, although that organisation was already a long time gone. We would drink until a few of us could no longer stand and had to helped back to our bunks. The food was shite, the beer drinkable but they turned out a decent ‘pot noodle’. The return to ‘civvie street’ had been a cold shower after such a long time serving the Crown and I was still adjusting to the confusion.

“Don’t be a wimp, what are you guys made of, chocolate?”

“A chocolate soldier, that sounds about right.”

“Where’s your bollocks?”

It was a good job that these guys were my friends of long standing as, despite being the worse for wear, I would have had no hesitation to set about anyone else who tried it on with these sorts of words. But then I also found it funny and just laughed at myself and the whole situation I was in, pretty much as if I had still been with the mates I left behind, nearly a month ago now.

“Alright, alright, I hear you, you bunch of bastards. I’ll do it, I’ll show you.”

And I had started laughing again all the way down to the cobble stones which I managed to turn my face away from as I impacted hard. Being well over some limit or other and this early in the evening, I didn’t really feel the thump I got; I must have gone limp or something. I had still been laughing when I was hoisted to my feet and the crap dusted off me.

I was remembering here, on my ownsome, while I was rapidly sobering up. Getting rid of some of the liquid content up the nearest tree as I had staggered here had helped and even though I wasn’t fully sober, I certainly felt that I was.

What the hell was I doing accepting a stupid dare from friends that didn’t even include an element of real bravado? Why was I not still in the pub sinking some more? This was not in the same league as pinching the Colonel’s dust bin in the middle of the night, avoiding being caught by the guards or the repercussions which would follow discovery. Or perhaps while out-on-patrol finding a senior rank’s car rocking nicely in some remote spot with the windows all misted up as he humped someone other than his wife. Then banging like hell on the roof to disappear quickly into the dark from where we had just come. It certainly didn’t approach the different kind of frightening and strangely exciting nervousness we soldiers had all felt as we took our first steps into the gloom of an evening patrol.

Here I was sat on my own in the gathering gloom of an autumn evening, and not even closing time. I was on my own, while my supposed friends were enjoying a few more scoops as they continued to laugh at my predicament; to spend the night at this ‘haunted’ spot at the edge of these expansive woodlands without running away.

The trees, how many types I didn’t know, they were just trees to me, stood tall with their upper branches seemingly reaching up, looking for light perhaps, into the darkness of a canopy now barely visible. The gloom was advancing rapidly with last light in the west, almost hidden by the multitude of trees. A few rays managed to find their way through the undergrowth in a few odd places but apart from that, the depth of the wood was becoming enveloped by a blanket of strange darkness.

Why was I thinking the word ‘strange’? It had to be the tale that my alleged friends had spun that had brought me to this spot, this nowhere place in the middle of nowhere. “Ye Gods, what am I doing here?”

I had been raised in the country and knew most of it round here, but my venturing as a child had been in the opposite direction to the pub and indeed to the village, now a township with lots of council houses spreading away to the east. My parents had lived in one of these basic houses, a short while after they had been built much to the annoyance, I was told, of the locals. The locals did not talk to us ‘townies’ nor us to them, even in the couple of pubs, including the one I wished to be back in right now. But a dare is a dare and it was not in my nature, not especially after nine years service, to back out.

I had seen some real action out east, which had scared me for real, doing two tours of duty and I had really come to understand the reliance on mates, especially to stay alive. Being left alone in a makeshift sangar for a couple of hours had really got the wind up me each time it became my turn, according to the platoon sergeant’s roster. Here, now, sat on my own, I had no such feeling, no trepidation that some hairy-arsed nig-nog might come charging at me firing from the hip with every other step.

As I sobered up more fully, I could only think what a prat I had been to accept such a stupid challenge. “‘Haunted woods’ you arsehole, how could you fall for that; it had to be the drink and my ‘convincing’ (ex)mates.”

“Go on me old son, we dare you, just one night, you brave sorts shouldn’t have a problem with the odd faerie, should you?” they had echoed through the space between my ears.

‘Faeries’, the only type that we, my non-pc mates in the services and I, had ever referred to, had no connection whatever to the types that were supposed to appear here.

We were a rough-arsed crowd; that’s not how we started our service but that’s how we ended up otherwise the job we had to do would have done for us, most probably permanently.

“Faeries”, I repeated out loud to myself. “How in hell did I fall for that? Just one night, not for reward, not even a buckshee pint but only for the prestige, and the laughter of my so called mates.”

I really was speaking out loud to myself; starting to lose the plot perhaps. I had to stay calm and find something to do, to think about and to pass the time. Practising fieldcraft had become boring, couldn’t tell the Sarge that, but come-on, how many lush green trees are there out east? We had been promised a tour of Germany where it might have come in handy as the Ruskis charged at the border. But what had happened, another bloody tour out east. DPM was exchanged for desert cam, the so called multi-terrain stuff, and we got pissed off for real but not with NAAFI beer, that had suddenly become out of bounds.

I had survived, returned to the UK and finished my time at the depot doing some bloody awful clerical stuff for my last six months. The re-settlement course had done little for me and thankfully I had, despite all the piss-ups, managed to put some cash away and was now living off it and my ‘pension’. Back ‘home’, here, or rather back the other way a couple of miles past the pub, I had managed to secure a flat from a local housing association. Not female company however and not a job. I was still living off my pension and a few bob in the bank; it wasn’t going to last for much longer.

Now I was bored, as the alcohol left my system, and the cold of the evening drew in. A little ground mist was now appearing. It was creeping out of the woods to come in my direction. I was playing soldiers again, doing a last light stag, but here watching out for bloody faeries and without the right clothing, or a sleeping bag, to keep me warm.

I had done worse so I just had to get on with it. No Ruskis were going to creep up on me; none of my mates were depending on me for them to stay alive. I could see as many shadowy figures moving in the dark as my mind might imagine and I didn’t need to care; what a strange approach to a sentry stag.

“Now come on you daft sod, there could only be faeries to be bothered about  even they existed.” My friends seem convinced they did; even so would they be able to bother me.

“Of come on, you daft sod, you’re starting to believe the rubbish that was thrown your way. Bloody ‘ell, you’re talking to yourself again and out loud, get a grip and bloody sharpish,” I admonished myself.

What had my so called friends said, “Dare you to spend a night in the woods where no one else dares to. Will you come running back to the village shouting your head off like they do, blabbering about an old-wives tale of dancing faeries?”

It had to be all rubbish; surely the so called stories had to be a send-up. It certainly felt that way right now as I needed to get myself together, find somewhere to doss-down, to last the night out against the boredom that had already started and the impending cold of the now drawing-in night.

I found a spot partly under some nearby bushes, on the perimeter of this woodland edge clearing and lay down to go off to sleep, if the cold would let me. I wasn’t shivering as yet but knew that before first light struck, I most probably would. I had put up with cold before so why should this be any different; just get on with it and do not, whatever my imagination might see, go running back to the safety of the village blubbering like a fool. Most importantly, a few beers were hanging on this. “Settle down and win them,” I told myself.

I was laid, more or less, on a thick bed of wild grass that, during the day, must receive a good share of the available sunshine, even here partly beneath the greenery of the bushes I had selected. The slight hollow laid out before me, as I recalled seeing it as I arrived with my ‘friends’, looked to be mossy and I guessed must collect the rainfall or moisture laden dew when the temperature dropped, perhaps tonight, yes definitely tonight. I was going to get wet, but what the hell; I was a rufty-tufty. I was starting to use civvie slang already and my uniform had been handed in only a couple of months ago; I was becoming soft, of that I was sure.

My friends had brought me here, possibly a couple of miles from the pub, telling me the story that was now circulating in the village and which they had got wind of. Every so many years, it seemed, someone would try to spend the night in this same spot but would come running back to the pub or the village blubbering about faeries dancing in a ring and with fear glaring out from their still widened eyes. No-one really believed them and with a pint or two put before them, they would soon calm down and disappear into the fabric of real locals and any story would be lost.

The occupants of the estate considered locals as pretty weird types and news of such a happening soon confirmed their views; no-one from the estate had ever attempted to find out the truth of such things.

It had transpired that my so called friends had picked up the word going round the locals that this year was to be the one when the faeries with their ‘nether veil’, whatever that was, would appear to anyone brave enough to sit and wait for them to appear, here at the edge of the woods. This spot was the place to be, this year was the right one and if the overheard rumours were correct, this month and even this week was the right time.

I had only been back in the estate for a couple of months, and knew nothing of such stories and where these so-called friends of mine had got their information from I hadn’t the faintest of ideas. They had dumped me here then promptly departed without a further word; what a bunch of bastards they were, but mates sometimes are, I guess.

My grey stuff was circulating the events of a couple of hours ago, my friends’ stories and their rapid departure, and although the kidneys were clearing out the alcohol, confusion was settling in and I decided the best course of action was simply to get to sleep, become unconscious as quickly as possible.

Eyes closed against the dark shapes working their way towards me, moving from darkness into darkness within the mind’s eye, ears ignoring the rustling sounds of the nocturnal animals creeping about, body slightly foetal and with arms folded tight, I did my best to drift off to a shivering nights sleep, waiting for the warmth of the early morning sun.

A GENTLE TOUCH

Just one more time, I had the urge to open my eyes, a check perhaps before a definitive move to go to sleep. I turned my head to look up through the darkness at the stars and there were a few that could be seen between the slow moving clouds; not rain clouds, please.

I diverted my gaze with an odd compulsion towards the depths of the woods but all was darkness, no shapes to be seen creeping towards me of my imagined Ruskies. An owl hooted somewhere and a rustling in the undergrowth answered the cry; the night creatures were stirring.

Close my eyes, rest my head, try to sleep; the chill in the air wasn’t too bad, not as yet, it might be later, but not right now.

Last light had all gone and all was velvety dark. My eyes were open again; close them you fool and go to sleep. A sweet smelling scent of some night-time plant wafted my way which made my stay all the more pleasant. I had no idea what was producing such an aroma, gardening and plants were not resident in my grey matter, but it was certainly welcome. I let my thoughts wander into the depths of some imaginative dream and soon I would be awakening to a new day, unless the cold woke me up first.

I awoke almost as soon as I had drifted off but I knew this to be an illusion; I had been in this position many times before now. Something had roused me and my senses strained to listen for some enemy soldier who might be creeping up on this position. I wanted to quietly bring my rifle into a more useful position, but almost in a panic I realised that I didn’t have one.

“You’ve not lost it surely; bleedin’ ‘ell no. Steady, steady,” raced through my mind.

I was a civvie and did not have a rifle and I was not guarding some military position; the panic subsided as reality replaced the imaginative memory driven by panic.

“You’re dreaming you nutter, calm down.”

How long had I been sleeping, I didn’t know; I opened my eyes as fully as I could but the darkness was still as I had left it. In front of me was empty velvet black and across the hollow that lived somewhere within it, I heard the movement of some small creature stirring. Had I startled it or had it been roused by whatever it was that had roused me?

I glanced in the direction of the depth of the woods or where I assumed it to be from my last view before the night overtook everything.

In the depth of the blackness I managed to see the mist upon the ground and I was certain that it really was spreading in my direction, becoming closer every second. I did not wish to end up soaking wet, not yet. I would rather be simply cold than wet and cold. I had to get to my feet, perhaps feel for the tree stump and sit there as the mists enveloped my feet.

I managed to move my cold joints and found my way onto my knees. With a little probing in the direction I considered the stump to be, I quickly placed my hands upon it. Without bothering to get to my feet, I stayed crawling upon my knees and with a determined twist, managed to place my bottom firmly upon the flat faced stump.

What a way to have sleep interrupted, but why would the advancing and most silent mist rouse me? It had to be something else; my senses heightened once more and I desperately wanted to know what it was that I was facing.

Perhaps I would run away, trying hard not to be breaking anything of myself in the dark, or worse, in a crazy panic become a gibbering idiot on the run before I reached the safety of the estate. I was actually contemplating running the several miles back to my flat, the distance wasn’t the problem but in this darkness it was most unlikely that I could even find my way over the meadow path that my friends had used to bring me here.

“Sit still and take a grip of yourself,” was echoing through the grey matter and that made good sense.

I stood my ground, or rather sat my ground, placing my hands out before me at the ends of outstretched arms to hopefully intercept anything before it collided with my person; I was becoming very nervous, almost frightened, but why?

The low mist now reached the hollow, filling it completely, to spill over enveloping my feet; it was not cold, it was warm, what nonsense was this. It was actually producing a strange light, as well as odd warmth and I could make out my legs and my hands as I lowered them to touch the gentle swirls. The mist was sort of luminous, that’s all I could think.

I checked that I was awake. I most certainly was and my senses really were on maximum sharpness. My vision was straining to make out anything more than this rather odd, warm, ground hugging and luminous mist. My ears picked up a sound or rather a collection of sounds coming from the direction of the heart of the woods, from where the mists were continuing to emanate.

I heard, yes I definitely heard, a low melodic tone and I knew, instinctively somehow or other, that it was the trees humming in some sort of wonderful harmony.

“How in hell do you know that? Trees don’t sing or, for that matter, hum,” I was talking out loud to myself once again. But somewhere inside my head I ‘knew’ that this was what was occurring.

I stood up, completely dumbfounded, my feet buried in the mist.

“What’s going on here?” I questioned rhetorically. I had no sergeant to fall back on now; it was only me, on my own and I was starting to panic.

The hum gathered a little strength and I detected that words, though I could not make them out, were being sung; the trees were singing. I was aware that the trees were singing and that I was wide awake but really confused. Worse, I could see a glow, definitely a large glow in the depth of the woods; its light was finding its way through the trunks and branches of the trees to reach me.

My legs were not trembling with fear, not yet, and I was completely entranced, most pleasantly but also disturbingly, by events happening before me.

In the mists round my lower legs, something definitely stirred and even brushed against them. Now a certain nervousness did take hold of me as I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck and a particular muscle clamp tight shut, but I could not move, I wanted to but I couldn’t.

Gentle fingers caressed my cheeks and I really froze. Something, or perhaps someone, was gently stroking my cheek, first one side then the other, a gentle, delicate touch but I could not move; I was rooted to the spot as a fear built rapidly within me.

Then the words, the gentle words so carefully spoken, followed the most feminine of gentle finger touches.

“Come my friend, be calm, there’s no need for strife, please relax, I am not here to harm you.”

Then now a gentle, warm and moist kiss placed itself upon my left cheek; my fear subsided as quickly as it had arrived. What was going on? I did not want to run, but my head said I must. My heart was thumping but not with fright, but somehow with an excitement I could not control. The kiss from whom and with what magic it possessed to take away my fear; how was this so?

“Your fear’s now gone with my gentle buss, come live this life, my love,” the softly spoken words crept their way into my soul where all was becalmed and pleasant.

‘Buss’, I had never heard the word before this moment but I instinctively knew that it meant the kiss in a language now long gone from my world; how could I know this?

A sudden creation of light, a gentle easy light, spread roundabout, everywhere in this small clearing and exposed a scene of unreality; figures part lit, part concealed between light and dark and that I could sense more than I could see. Who were these figures, what did they want, why were they hiding in the shadows; I was no longer afraid but what was happening? I turned to find who it was that was stood behind me, the purveyor of such a gentleness of touch and who had calmed my soul with the placing of such a feminine kiss upon my cheek; there was no-one there.

“I am here my love,” the gentle, softly spoken words came from the direction of my front.

I turned back rapidly to find a wondrous sight set before me. A tall, youthful fair maid, yet with the posture of wisdom, of great experience, was the only description that rushed to enter my mind. These were not my choice of words but I found them to be natural and fitting of the apparition, if that’s what it was, standing gracefully before me.

I should be scared, no terrified, of any apparition this close to me but the opposite was true; I was being calmed and nicely so.

She smiled gently and in an alluring manner that captivated my entire soul with each slight movement of her full, youthful lips. An aura surrounded her head, the colour of her plaited golden tresses that cascaded downwards, and of the same gentle colouring. The plaited tresses ran down either side of her porcelain complexion to lay easy over the frontal contours of her pert body and yet some more also ran down her back, also well past her waist.

The diaphanous gown that seemed to be a part of her, yet it was not, concealed an incredible natural and physical presence of perfection. The generous lengths of her plaited tresses, beyond where her waist was hidden by the near transparency of her gown, so easily protected her modesty.

The beauty of her face captivated my attention so totally but she showed not a flicker of surprise at this, reinforcing the experience and her clear dominance of the situation with the slightest increase of her knowing smile.

“Please come with me and all of us,” she uttered with such persuasion as her presence turned in the direction of the glow deep in the woods.

I found my hand suddenly in her delicate fingers, entwining in a lover’s embrace and turned to walk away with her. I was unable to stay where I was or move in the opposite direction to her clear intentions, but at the slightest of unresisting movements of my mind and body that expressed their wish to follow, all reservations simply melted away.

I was alongside her moving as one with her, but I was sure that I was not walking. It was as though we were gliding along clear of the ground, moreover accompanied by other maids of similar appearance on either side of us that must have been the concealed figures of the watching shadows beyond the mist.

She came close up to me while we continued on whatever way she was taking me and her moist, full lips were again placed in a delicate warm linger against my cheek. Adrenalin flooded my entire system to an incredibly sensual effect; I had never been kissed in any manner that remotely approached the sensation I had just experienced.

Face to face, I was allowed to see deeply into the darkness of her eyes and what lay before me was hard to describe. I felt myself taken into those twin pools of darkness but only so far. I was not allowed full entry to the vision. Here was not merely the soul of a lover but through curtains feint, a shimmering veil, a nether veil, there were other things, other worlds, other life’s places and pleasures, other senses and realities; an experience both totally entrancing, captivating but in equal measure, unnervingly frightening.

Both of her hands now took mine in a lovers’ embrace as her gaze penetrated in return through my eyes to my very soul; I felt her presence deep within my thoughts. Our lips touched but slightly and I was taken, I was hers, most decidedly hers in all ways; there was no thought of turning back, no need for fear, to run away, but instead a wish to be captivated so totally by her very essence.

As she gently removed the embrace with a lingering parting of our lips, I had the compulsion, while held in her delicate long fingered hands, to avert my gaze from her eyes to look downwards at her erotic form. I glanced something that did not seem to be correct, it was me yet it was not and the compulsion to assess what I saw was immediate.

I was naked to the waist with a most muscular toned body, not the one that I had started the day and night with. Below there was a thick ginger mass of curly, spiky hair. It also concealed my modesty, running down each leg to two cloven hooves where my shoe clod feet had once been. I was no longer wearing any clothes but it did not matter; I had become something or someone else and strangely, but most pleasantly, I was quite happy with the transformation.

Releasing one hand from its entwinement and with her smile and deep eyes following my every discovery with increasing delight, I reached to my face to find a spiky goatee beard had appeared on my chin; the hair on my head I found to be unkempt, wild and of the same spikiness as my lower body hair. I had become the cloven half beast of myth and legend; how real this was?

I cared less, I was entrapped, changed, a new person, perhaps not a person anymore but it did not matter, this was wonderful and I earnestly wished to remain as this. I looked back to her face to find complete enjoyment, a sensual joy I could see and experience but unable to describe yet it permeated fully my very presence.

Those eyes, those pools of deep blackness, they took me somewhere else. They opened up to show me something I had never seen before and I revelled in the drowning of everything I had been, to arise as something I believed that I would forever be.

She turned again towards the light that we had been travelling to and I was quickly made aware that there was much more to be found there, awaiting our pleasure. We moved as lovers together again, towards that ever increasing brightness and the warmth of a satisfied soul arose within me, as she intended, of that I was most sure.

Captured by a lover with a love never experienced before this moment, I was smitten so completely and cared less for any predicament I may eventually find myself in. That last brief thought brought me to a reality check I did not expect; for a very brief moment the reality of this situation hit me hard and I checked our forward glide towards the bright glow. I shuddered at what I had become, and a hot surge of a fear ran through my whole body with a tremble of heart stopping fear; I had a momentary wish to be once again within my home in the estate.

Her beautifully enchanting and captivating face, framed by the golden braid falling from her shoulders, turned to me as we stood motionless and her words came warmly and most penetratingly.

“Come my sweet, there is nothing to fear.”

She paused to ensure that her sensing of my fear that she was wafting away was real, which I was sure it was.

“I am yours forever, today and for all times,” she continued in a lilt that I could not recognise but felt so comfortable with.

“This you must know is our Elvin way.”

As she spoke the words and more I knew immediately to what she referred; she continued in her entrancing lilt.

"Come my sweet love, please be my dear."

"I hoped 'till now, years oh so long,"

"As one without her darling faie,"

"And then, amour, you came along."

The rhythm of the spoken words melted their way into the depth of my very soul, if I still had one.

They had the desired effect; I assumed that it was desired. Then I knew that she was working some sort of magic as all resistance that may have arisen from my moment of fear simply vanished. Was it me that was allowing myself to be calmed and bewitched, or was it a spell she was casting so subtly over me but which I entirely accepted and welcomed?

I was who I was, here, a cloven hoof creature with such strength of love in his heart, however it got there. Mine was a heart that continued to race at such an exciting crazy pace, with my soul living an experience like none other before.

Her eyes, not merely dark pools now, but warm, enchanting, lovingly, engaged with mine and without any compulsion thrust upon me, I felt the message and willingly succumbed once more.

Hand in hand we turned towards the light and drifted once more as young lovers towards its enticement.

INTO THE LIGHT AND DARK

Bursting out into a brightly lit summer’s day, or so it seemed, there on the warm ground before me were gatherings of what I immediately took to be faeries, their wings shimmering as lustre in the dapple light.

One of the faerie gathering in the closest group called out to me.

“Come Pook, you are our Pook now, come, dance and sing with us.”

The words were repeated by many voices from the gathering.

“Pook, Pook, Pook. Come, come, dance and sing with us.”

Without a flutter of an eyelid, warmth filled my very being, yet my skills at song and dance I knew to be terrible; I could not sing nor dance without causing distress. But then I just started, from where I know not where, to sing an Elvin song, the words simply appearing in my thoughts as also came the tune?

Where did they come from and beautifully so? Was it me singing? It surely was and I enjoyed my new given talent immensely. And I started to dance with steps that seemed not to be my own, my cloven hooves at the end off the ginger mass of hairy, goat-like, legs, seemingly not my own, took me off and away.

The steps that I created, automatically and without thought not only entranced the faeries that rose to their feet, but also my Elvin love that followed every single move without mistake. The more we danced together the more intoxicated I became with the pure pleasure of the movement such that I now realised that the grass was left behind and I was soaring under, through and above the woodland canopy. I had no wings to fly with, as faeries do, but holding my love’s hand we soared delightfully together in a perfect harmony of movement.

I swooped to the ground then up again, my love at my side, in a dance that was, yet was not, mine. The faeries in their brightly coloured tunics and gossamer wings were besides, in front and behind me at every change of direction and the more they accompanied us the purer was the pleasure.

Now down to the stream to pause for rest on its banks and reflect in thought on the legends of old that I became instantly familiar with. I recounted stories of daring, of love, of despair, of great adventures through the faerie kingdom, of bringing joy and laughter to all I encountered. Pook I was and Pook I had become without any effort and without the prior knowledge that had somehow now been thrust upon me.

I turned to look into my love’s eyes, for there I most surely wished to be.

A veil had lifted, now just some dark abyss, an unending depth that I wished not to drown in but a blackness that brought a fear suddenly into my soul. Something unknown reached for my heart and I felt it would stop as had the heady beat of the dance and the endings of tales.

“You’ve seen the truth my faie,” my love declared. “Not faerie I, but other than they. In faeries, life lives fine, but in mine? It lingers still.”

“Stay in my arms and surely die as a human but forever live and become my Pook. You are the beast I most desire. Together we can kill your last life, come burn with me in love’s hot fire of such sweet embrace; be mine forever.”

Her face was pure love, in sweet, soft, smooth, gentle alabaster skin, as though sculpted by a master. Her golden tresses fell either side of this pure face, her arms held me so gently yet with a firmness that spoke of the presence of a loving grace. Yet, in her eyes was a dreadful darkness, a chasm of the unknown that caused me to fear what I had become and what might still be.

“I read your thoughts,” she spoke calmly, “and you’re human still.”

“If you are my Pook, you would not falter, you would see into the darkness and know what must be, what your destiny is,” she continued in the same calm tone.

RETURN

And then the words that struck my heart as some terrible sharp arrow yet were anticipated before she uttered them.

“From this place you must be gone, or your first, your human life you will certainly lose and still not be my Pook, you will be lost somewhere in-between. You have seen my soul, that nothing is there, but with your courage, my wait for many lifetimes can be resolved, but you fail me.”

“I will protect you as you return from whence you came; no hurt will come to you in my true care. My love, I will always be there should we become lovers once again, if for another life I must wait.”

We arose from the grass to make our way back through the darkened old wood. She held my hand gently as a lover would and guided me with not a word. Her aura lit the way and the old trees could be heard moaning gently as we passed. She brought me to a halt I knew not where.

“Your cloven form will remain for a while, but as you rest this will slowly go and you will be truly human once again,” she spoke in sorrow.

“Your soul I shall miss, for I truly thought that it may be mine, that we would have life together. My heart will ache for a lifetime but I must bear this in the hope that your ache will bring you back soon.”

“Lay down here in the light of the moon, do not fret, nought is amiss. You are still on my side of the veil, but this will change as you rest and go back to human form.”

I gazed once more into that face of beauty, into those dark eyes that seemed without depth and I felt a loss, but not one that was mine, but hers. A sadness that was already haunting her and surely me also was in her soul, in the dark depths that I had been most frightened of.

One last sweet smile, but not a kiss, as her silver light slowly faded away. We remained looking at each other until the moment that her presence faded completely from my view. A great sadness, yet relief filled my soul. I was still a cloven hoofed creature but the life beyond the veil had been taken from me. I could only lie down as I had been asked, beneath the light of the moon above and so I did, closing my eyes as moisture filled them and the true ache of my heart was felt deeply.

With a troubled mind I somehow managed to drift into a restless sleep. Thoughts abounded in my dreams, or were they some sort of reality, I couldn’t tell nor recall as my eyes squinted against the bright early morning light. I was prompted awake as dawn broke and I detected the sounds of many small animals around me; I assumed they were small animals.

I managed to force my eyes open slightly to determine whether to greet the day or not. There to my front a group of bright fairies were leaping about oblivious, so it seemed, to my presence here, laid upon the ground.

I struggled to my feet, each joint in my body aching and stiff. As an ex-soldier, I found this strange; I had slept many nights on open ground and never felt this achy or stiff. I looked in the direction of the dancing faeries that had now stopped their antics and were now all staring in my direction.

I smiled and they smiled back just before breaking into fits of giggles behind their raised hands. I looked down and my ginger haired legs had disappeared as had the cloven hooves. I was dressed in the same clothes I was wearing when I first entered into these woods and strangely I was dry although having risen from a dew laden sward. Nothing seemed right but there again, everything had seemed strange last night, so why should I be confused; yet I was.

I looked at the colourful faeries one more time to see them slowly fade away into nothingness. Had they been with me all night and for what purpose? Perhaps it had been their task to see that I came to no harm during the night.

As that thought crossed my mind a giggle was heard coming from goodness knows where. They were still there, somewhere yet not visible but, still there keeping an eye on me.

Yesterday gone, a fresh start, a clear mind and a new day full of promise; this felt good, yet something was missing. A presence, an entity, the one I pledged my love for but then was scared of, terrified of the emptiness I saw, or was it an emptiness that I should have filled?

A beauty, my tall enchantress that spoke in words of old, full of love and meaning, the one who sought me, not I her. I had been wanted, I had been loved but something terrified me sufficiently to run away and she allowed for my loss of spirit, not scolding or screaming but understanding.

Then a voice spoke up alongside me, a small voice from a small man. I was startled. I had not noticed his presence but maybe he had just appeared; this realm of the nether world was strange to me, a human, but had been joyous and full of love when I had not been human. What had they called me, ‘Pook’, yes that was it; a pan creature so full of joy and love and in the presence of the beauty who had sought me out?

The small man looking directly at me, spoke in an easy pleasant rhythm.

“We are here by your love’s true request,”

“Keeping you safe during darkest night,”

“Within love’s aura while it does last,”

“’Till this human place in new day’s light.”

“An elf,” of that I seemed certain as the words appeared in my thoughts.

“Indeed I am,” he replied curtly. “What else could I be?”

I couldn’t think of a sensible answer.

“The faeries you glimpsed have been with you through the dark hours,” he spoke now in clear prose.

But breaking into a sort of poetic prose he went on.

“You are well, are you not?”

“You are dry, despite the morning dew, are you not?”

“Your head is clear, is it not?”

“That was our task, was it not?”

“Now that you know this,”

“You are ready to depart.”

“It is our sad duty then,”

“To say our fond goodbyes.”

“Fare thee well our dear friend.”

With that the giggling from the invisible faeries decreased and gradually died as the elf slowly faded away to join them.

“Come now, leave the human alone, he has much to think of as he leaves us,” the elf’s voice, no longer in rhyme, could be heard in my thoughts amongst the distant faerie giggles.

I knew not the direction from which the sounds came, save that they seemed all around me or were they perhaps, only within my mind.

I looked in the direction I had to go, along the path I felt certain was to my right and back towards the fields, the pub and home. I wanted to step off but something inside me was resisting; I had to walk but found I could not.

I forced myself to take a step forward and whatever spell was holding me, as surely it must be, suddenly lifted. Two steps further and yet I faltered, to find myself standing very, very still.

There was something there before me, glistening in the grass below, reflecting the early morning light and catching my eye.

I reached down to pick up whatever it was and was surprised to find a gold ring that had been dropped carelessly, or perhaps not; a ring of glistening gold in a most ancient design of a braided weave. Without hesitation I slipped onto my finger and it fitted perfectly.

As it slipped effortlessly into place, I heard a voice speak within my mind. It was a gentle, calm and gently whispering voice, a gentle loving voice that I knew immediately.

The voice spoke these words:-

“Of my love now, only heart’s flame,”

“Oh faie’s love, a token I did leave,”

“In my heart now such feelings of old,”

“All sad doubts gone from myself now,”

“In love’s misery I grieve alone,”

“Bereft of this life, come take the vow.”

I was stunned because the voice was indeed that of my faie, the one I had left and ran away from, seeing nought where there should be all, mistakenly believing in fear and not trusting her words.

I stared at the ring and felt the tears gently trickle down my cheeks, hot salty tears that cried for my failure; I knew I had chosen wrong. But what could I do now, I had made my choice in error, in false fear, and I must learn to live with it.

“Come with me Pook,”

“Return into the fold,”

A voice behind me spoke, one I had heard a short while ago.

I spun around to find the same small elf calmly smiling up at me whereupon he continued speaking, but now in rhyme.

“Come Pook, for you all is not lost,”

“For always there is one more chance,”

“If for sure you make it but yours,”

“Once again to lead us in dance.”

“Of human kind no longer be,”

“Oh come ye back into the fold,”

“The door on you has not yet closed,”

“Still there open, for one of old.”

“Her heart it is breaking and sad,”

“For the loss of her faie one, Pook,”

“For you she mourns, until always,”

“As the human path that you took.”

At that moment my heart broke for the choice that I had made, the choice of a frightened man, for the loss of a love that I had left in my fear.

I needed no further prompting; I knew at once where my destiny lay. My friends might miss me but I no longer cared for their company. I had to return to the fold, to the joy and love I had deserted, to the lost love whose emptiness I mistook dreadfully. My feet needed no effort to direct me now; in the direction of the track back into the depths of the wood.

I had stepped barely two paces along the track when all at once I was surrounded again by the same dancing faeries all singing gaily as their wings glistened in the early morning light. 

I was going home, of that I was sure. I was equally certain that I would not be returning here or to my friends and the pub ever again.

Happiness flowed and was all about me.

~ o ~

Author’s Note.   

This story I elicited from some of the alleged friends of the lead character when I overheard their conversation during a pub lunch some years ago.

I interrupted their talk to ask them to tell me all the details that they could because I might wish to write up the story some day, which I have now done so here. They were only too happy to recount the tale yet again; they had done this many times on the promise of a couple of drinks. I obliged with a ‘few’ extra drinks and the story soon started winding its erratic way through events.

These were gentlemen quite a few years older than me, perhaps in their sixties, but they still remembered clearly what they had come to learn from the events of that fateful night.

What they told me, however, is not quite what I have described here as the main character who becomes ‘Pook’ did not immediately return through the Nether Veils. He returned to his flat, contacted his friends who had come to the conclusion that he had died somewhere (he had been missing for over a week) and ended up in the same pub where we drinking now as the story was being told.

He had described all the events of his heady time and with the beauty who so wanted him, all of the elves and faeries that he had encountered and the wild dancing.

He had promised to meet them again that evening in the pub but never showed up, ever. He was reported as missing, yet again, to the police but nothing ever came of it. His friends were certain what must have happened; he had returned to the Nether Veils and would never come back to the world of humankind.

 The ending of the story includes his description to his friends of the gnome like figure who tries to entice him back on his first return to a human existence and the golden ring he spotted in the grass. He had shown his friends the ring, which was upon his finger and they described it to me as made of woven gold strands.

The exact ending of his adventure cannot be known but I believe the one which I have written is about as close as anyone could come to the reality of what took place.

Of interest to the reader might be that I have changed all of the names of the main characters and made sure that the location of the story is not easily identified, for obvious reasons.

~ o ~