Irish folklore

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Shadow Self-chapter thirty-three

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on August 26, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, castles, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, gloom, Goblins, Gothic, Gothic novel, hags, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, prince, princess, queens, revenge, strange worlds, teenagers, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

The steps leading down from the Ereban castle were steep and menacing. Through a series of different manoeuvres, which included jumping, sliding, and falling, Hack managed to reach the bottom. His breath came in small gasps as he ran through the trees, the branches tearing at his clothes. Dark beings that inhabited the forest, watched as he ran by, but did nothing to stop him. The cry to give chase had not yet gone out. The fairy lights still glimmered within the dark castle; he had a few minutes start before they realised, he was missing. He stopped when he reached the stream, and his heart leapt, when he realised there was no way across. Stones that the Ereban took in his stride, were too far apart for Hack’s little legs. He backed away as the water hags came out from beneath waves and began to climb up on to the bank. Their condition sickened him.  

   “Have no fear, little man,” one of the hags said. “We will help you to cross.”

   “Why would you do that?” Hack asked.

   “We are not here by choice,” she said. “We will help you to escape.”

Hack watched as the hags lay face down in the water making a bridge of their wasted bodies.

   “Hurry, little man,” the hag called. “Your pursuers will soon be here.”

Hack took a deep breath and ran across their backs. With every footfall he felt their bones beneath his feet. The wound in his back still bled profusely and the loss of blood was making him faint. He fell on to the ground when he reached the opposite side of the river.

   “You must get up, little man,” the hag urged.

   “I cannot,” Hack shook his head, trying to clear his vision.

   “You must, if they capture you, they will kill you.”

Hack shivered and tried to rise, but he was weak from loss of blood.

   “Poor little man,” the water hag climbed up and laid a wet, cold hand on his forehead. “You will soon be a prisoner like us.”

Hack’s eyes became hazy and he tried to focus on her.

   “If I had tears, I would cry,” the hag said. “For yours is the first warm touch I have felt in decades.”

They both jumped when the sound of the hunting horn sounded, and they knew Hack’s pursuers would soon be upon him. The fairies swooped down and tried to lift Hack to his feet, but this was beyond them. Even though there were thousands of them, the dwarf was heavy.

   “Go and tell Lord Fabien,” General Tromp ordered one of his soldiers. “We will stay and try to hold the Erebans back.”

“What news?” Lord Fabien asked when the fairy flew out from the trees.

   “The dwarf is free, majesty,” she said. “But he is injured and has fallen by the river. General Tromp and the others have stayed with him.”

Fabien cursed his decision at not informing those in the other lands. The elves were strong, and the slight figure of the dwarf would be easy for them to carry. It was too late now, and time was short. The howls of a dog stopped him in his musing, and he knew Berrin wished to make amends for his failure to stop the dwarf.

   “Go and bring him back,” Lord Fabien ordered.

Berrin reached the dwarf in seconds.

   “Climb,” the water hag urged Hack, grabbing him by the back of his shredded tabard and helping him on to the dog’s back.

Hack buried his fingers deep into the course hair and held on as tight as he could.

   “How could you do something so stupid?” Lord Fabien asked as the dog deposited the dwarf as his feet.

   “I wanted to find out what the secret about the princess and the young lord,” Hack gasped as the fairies tended to his wounds.

   “What nonsense,” Fabien laughed. “There is no secret and you will speak no more of this.”

   “I think there is, sire,” Hack said and despite his wounds the news reporter in him stirred.

   “I said there is not. Do you understand?”

   “But, sire,” Hack envisioned the screaming headlines. “Horror of Night in Ereban Castle.”

   “Not a word,” Fabien roared. “Or you will be banished.”

In the few seconds it took for him to shake the dirt from his tabard, the fairies had disappeared, and he was alone at the crossover. Feeling hard done by after his adventure and the order not to publish it, he sighed and picked up the note that cause all the upset.

   “Did you see the fairy’s face when the dwarf spoke about the secret?” Perius asked General Keyos.

   “Indeed, sire,” the general smiled. “The hags are right after all and there is still much to learn.”

   “Then let it begin,” Perius nodded. “I have waited centuries to take my rightful place as the ruler of the hidden world. Both mortal and elf will soon tremble at the mention of my name. I will teach them the true meaning of fear.”

Shadow Self-chapter twenty-nine

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on August 17, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, castles, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, hags, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, prince, princess, queens, revenge, strange worlds, teenagers, thoughts, twlight, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

It was easy to understand why the Crossover had got its name. The boundary: the line dividing the Ereban forest from the other lands, is like comparing day to night. The dark shadow of the trees falls across the road, and not even the air vents cast any light into that dark place. Hack stopped and listened for a moment. There was nothing other than the sound of birds and the rustling in the bushes, as creatures foraged for food. Still, he could not afford to take a chance, so he moved on tip toe, wincing as his shoes made small crunching noises. A shadow fell across his path and blocked the light. Two enormous paws appeared, and he traced the shape upwards until he came face to face with blazing, red eyes. Beast and dwarf stood face to face for a moment until Hack sighed and said.

    “I am here on the king’s business, so you must let me pass.”

The fairy dog moved its giant head from side to side studying the small figure before him and gnashed its pointed teeth. It growled and shook its head. The dogs are the only creatures in the hidden world that have no voice. A smack from the dog’s paw sent him sprawling down on to the ground, and it was this same paw that held him in place. Other large shapes moved around him, and he heard the growls of the other dogs. I know what they are doing, Hack thought, they are sending word to Lord Fabien to see if what I said is true.

   “Listen,” Hack gasped when the others had run off. “I am finding it hard to breath with your paw on my chest. Let me up. I promise not to move.”

The dog’s face descended until he was staring into the red eyes again, but the pressure on his chest lifted. Hack stood and shook the dust from his tabard.

   “There was no need for that,” his said, as he felt along his ribs and glared at the dog.

It growled and went back to its grooming, all the while keeping an eye on the dwarf. Despite its great size, Hack mused, it is still a dog.

Hack let his eyes roam along the hedgerows. The dog cocked his ears, as he saw the dwarf pick up a stick from out of a tangle of branches. Its interest was piqued now, and it watched as the dwarf stripped away some of the dead leaves.

   “It is a nice stick, is it not?” Hack made a move, pretending to throw, and the dog arched its back ready to follow.

. Hack stood up on his toes and threw as hard as his small arms allowed. The stick sailed over the hedges and the shape of the fairy dog passed over his head, like as dark cloud as it followed. Hack ran, his feet hardly touching the ground, as he headed for the forest. The ground shook as the dog, realising he had been duped, took off after him.  

   “Not so big now, are you doggie?” He laughed from the shadow of the trees. “Wait until all your furry friends hear how the big fairy dog was outwitted by a dwarf.”

Hack knew the dog could not cross over the boundary, not unless ordered to do so by its master.

   “That is right,” Hack said, as the hair on the dog’s back rose. “Growl all you want. See if I care.”

    The Ereban forest is a dark and fearsome place and though Hack knew this, the need to prove himself overcame his fear. No one understood what it was like to be a dwarf in a world of elves and fairies. The elves are known for their beauty and magic. The fairies, whose colours glistened brighter than jewels, make him feel like nothing special. They would have to sit up and take notice when he solved the mystery of the princess and Lord Sabba.

   The fairy dog started to bark; the sound resounding like the clanging of hundreds of church bells. 

   “Stop it, stupid dog,” Hack shouted, but his voice went unheard above the noise of the barking.

The sound made his head swim and the ground went from beneath him. He opened his eyes as the trees swept past him in a dark flash. He blinked and tried to struggle free from whatever held him. A resounding slap on the top of his head stunned him.

   “Stay still, dwarf,” the voice rumbled like thunder.

Hack felt tears prick his eyes, and he shook his head to clear his vision. He was carried through the trees; his body dangling under the arm of an Ereban. His captor picked him up from behind, so Hack was lying sideways and able to see around him, as they moved deeper into the forest.

   “Please…” his plea earned him another slap on the head, and he thought it wiser to keep quiet.

He had never seen an Ereban up close before. In the past, their dark shapes were the things children whispered about, but no one ever expected to see one, except in a nightmare. The arm around his waist was hard, as though made solely of bone. The stench from its body was nauseating. It smelt sickly-sweet like fresh cut earth or blood. No, worse, Hack thought, it smells of decay. It moved quickly, the weight of its burden did nothing to slow it down.

They crossed large streams, the Ereban leaping from stone to stone. Hack saw the hideous shapes that sat along the banks. Women, or things that might once have been so, clambered from the water to get a better look. Their bodies wasted to the point of emaciation, ribs sticking through skin that seemed too thin to hold back the bones advance. All had long, white hair that grew in a tangle of confusion and when they noticed his searching eyes, they used this to cover their nakedness. Their faces were long, the mouth and nose quite normal, but the eyes were the most terrifying. They were oblong and covered over two thirds of the face. Hack felt his resolve falter as he saw reflected in each of the huge orbs a hopelessness he could never have imagined. He knew he was witnessing what the mortals spoke of as Hell.

Shadow Self-chapter twenty-seven

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on August 13, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, castles, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, gloom, Goblins, Gothic, hags, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, magic, monsters, prince, princess, queens, strange worlds, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Biddy paused to catch her breath and looked up at the grey sky. The clouds were so low and swollen with rain they seemed within arm’s reach. It was many years since she had last attempted the climb to the castle, and she had forgotten how steep it was. She sat down on a large rock and looked up at the jutting towers of the dark silhouette above her head. The last time she entered the world of the Elfin she had been with her mother. Even then the reception they received was not a good one. Her mother left the elfin world a day before her eighteenth birthday. Biddy knew the aging process for the elfin slowed at their coming of age Still, her mother’s decision to leave did not altogether save her from the heartache to come. She aged much slower than her husband, and that was her curse for marrying a mortal. Her mother did die as the headstone proclaimed in her hundred and twelfth year. She might have lived longer if the death of her husband had not broken her heart. Being half elfin meant that Biddy, like her mother, would age much slower than her father. Today, she felt all her hundred and three years, as she sat mopping her brow.

 The entrance to the world below is on the north side of the castle. This area never gets much sun and since mortals love the light as much as the elfin, they tend to shy away from this shadowy place. Everything was done to discourage the curious. Gnarled, twisted trees line the steep hill; wild brambles grow between the trunks, ready to tear at the clothing of any intruder. At the summit, six huge stones, weathered by time, stand like rheumatic fingers, the hands raised to repel any intruders who dared approach. These silent sentinels are the last thing one encounters before reaching the ivy-covered entrance to the cave.

      Biddy was panting when she reached the summit, and she leaned against one of the huge rocks. In the distance, the ocean looked like a black line against the greyness of the day. The air was still, too still. Despite the great height of the hill, there was no whistling of wind, and no cawing from the crows in the walls of the castle. It seemed that nature itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what would happen when she pulled aside the curtain of ivy. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped into the cave. It was cold here, and she stood for a moment to let the cool air wash over her. The only sound came from the slow dripping of water. With shuffling feet, she descended deeper into the darkness. To steady herself, she kept one hand on the wall of the cave. The rocks were slimy, and she shivered in revulsion, as her fingers encountered the softness of moss. Her heart pounded against her ribs and her breathing echoed off the listening walls. She could not remember how long it took to reach the fairy world. She kept going, her process slow as the ground beneath her sloped further, until her feet went from under her. One moment she was feeling in front of her with the toe of her boot, the next she went sprawling down on to the dusty ground, as her foot encountered nothing but air. At this precise moment the alarm bells sounded, and a small light appeared in the darkness. Its glow was bright enough for her to see the sharp spear pointed at her face and the angry, glaring eyes of its owner.

   “Go back, mortal,” the dwarf said. “You have no right to be here.”

Biddy stood up and shook the dirt from her skirt.

   “I said, go back,” the dwarf jabbed the point of the spear at her. “You will not get much further mortal. Help is on the way.”

   “Don’t you remember me, Roak?” Biddy asked. “I am Petals daughter.”

Roak, the Guardian of the Cave, held the lamp higher and squinted up at her.

   “I came here with my mother many years ago to visit with my grandparents,” Biddy said, as the thundering began in the darkness.

She leaned against the wall of the cave as the knights appeared. A line of archers, their bows raised, ready to strike, surrounded her. Beyond them, dozens of dwarves toddled with shields held high and spears ready for battle. She read the question in the elfin eyes as they met, not with the army of mortals they had imagined, but an old woman, cowering against the rocks.

   “She says she is Petals daughter,” Roak said, to one of the elfin.

   “You have no business here,” one of the knights said. “Turn around mortal or feel the sting of my arrow.”

   “I have no intention of turning around,” Biddy said. “I am half elfin and I demand to see the king.”

   “You cannot make such demands,” he laughed. “You have no rights here.”

   “I demand in the memory of my mother,” Biddy knew the elfin law well.

Though her mother was exiled from her people, she still had to right to return once in every decade to visit her loved ones.

   “Send a message to the king. Tell him I am here to speak for those who are called the shadow self.”

The knight whispered something to the elf beside him that sent him running back into the darkness. They waited in silence, until the soldier returned and whispered the king’s answer.

   “It would seem that the king wishes to see you,” the knight said. “Follow us.”

Biddy followed, praying she would not lose her footing again.   It was a relief when the dot of light appeared. She had to shield her eyes as they moved into the brightness and beauty of the world beneath the earth. Up ahead the castle of Bargamore glowed against the earthen sky, and she bit her lip when she saw the number of steps she needed to climb. As though reading her mind, the knight called over his shoulder.

   “I will assist you in the climb, ancient one.

   “Really,” Biddy huffed. “You’re probably older than I am, so less of the ancient one, if you please.”

   “You may well be right,” he turned and smiled at her.

Biddy felt her cheeks flames as her stomach did somersaults, I am a silly old fool, she thought, but it had to be said, the elfin men were beautiful.

Shadow Self-chapter twenty-four

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on August 10, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, castles, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, hags, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, prince, princess, queens, revenge, strange worlds, teenagers, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Corey opened his eyes and looked up in confusion at the green, canvas roof above his head. It took him a moment to realise where he was, and the thundering noise around him nothing more than the snores of his companions. His first thought was of Juliet. The light was fading by the time they had put up the tents, and there was little time to speak, as they set up the encampment. Three of the boys insisted he share the tent with them, and it would have appeared churlish to refuse. There were two tents left over when they had finished pairing off, so Juliet and Miss Williams chose to sleep alone. The air was chill when he crawled out from the cloying interior of the tent.

   “Can I help?” He went over to the makeshift kitchen.

   “Great,” Miss Williams looked up from her frying. “Corey, isn’t it?”

   “That’s right,” he smiled.

   “If you could unpack the plates and mugs, that would be great,” she nodded at one of the rucksacks.

The dawn chorus began as they worked. Birds awoke and greeted the day the way they could, by offering their song to the heavens.  

   “Isn’t it wonderful?” Miss Williams whispered.

   “Yes,” Corey’s heart swelled; he was turning in to a girl, he thought, but it was hard to deny the beauty of the sound.

   “Oh, my aching bones,” Mr Thomas came crawling out from his small tent and stood stretching and arching his back. “I’m getting too old for this lark,” he laughed when he saw them watching them.

   “Nonsense, you’re still a young man,” Miss Williams said, and then blushed to the roots of her hair.

   “That was a bit lame,” she whispered to Corey, as Mr Thomas went ambling off. “You won’t mention it to the others, will you?”

    “No way,” he assured her.

   “I must seem rather desperate,” she wiped her eyes, pretending the smoke from the pans was blinding her.

   “It’s going to be ok,” Corey promised. “He’ll notice you soon.”

   “You think so?”

   “I promise, just don’t try so hard,” he said.

He went back to laying out the tin plates and mugs.

   “Are you ok?” Juliet came strolling over.

   “Yeah, you?” He smiled at her mane of tousled hair.

   “It took me forever to get to sleep,” she stretched and yawned. “I’m going to the stream to wash, coming?”

   “I wanted to talk to you last night, but I didn’t get the chance. I can’t stop thinking about our pendants.”

   “Same here,” Corey said. “Do you know how you got yours?”

   “My mother said it came from one of her friends, but she doesn’t remember who.”

   “I have no idea either,” Corey said. “My parents died long before I could ask them. I got it from their solicitor along with the deeds of the house and a few other things. I knew from the moment I saw it that it was something special.”

   “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Juliet agreed. “My mother gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. She said I was old enough to take care of it then. I wonder if she sensed that it was important.”

   “Who knows,” Corey shrugged. “We should examine them when we get the chance. See if there are any similar markings.”

   “Good idea, we didn’t get a good look yesterday,” Juliet agreed.

   “Hey, you guys, wait up,” the rest of the camp was awake and following them armed with towels and tin basins.

   “It’s not going to be any time soon,” Corey muttered.

“I’ve been mulling it over,” Mr Thomas said over breakfast. “There are a number of things I need to do before we start digging. I must meet with a local councillor. He is the one who wants the castle knocked, so that should be pleasant! I also need you,” he looked at Steven, the oldest of the boys. “To explore the castle and surrounding ground to make sure it’s safe.”

   “No problem, sir,” Steven said.

   “You know what to look for,” Mr Thomas said. “Any sign of loose bricks etc.”

   “Got it,” Steven assured him.

   “The rest of you,” Mr Thomas looked around at the group. “Can have a day off to explore, but stay away from the castle until I say so, understood? Those of you, who feel up to it, can take a walk in to the village with me.”

   “We’ll have a nose around,” Juliet said “Corey and I have things to catch up on, family stuff. We’ll let you know if we find anything interesting, but don’t hold your breath.”

No one realised that despite the landscapes barren outlook, secrets were hidden under every rock, and mysteries waiting to be solved, but that would come later.

Shadow Self-chapter twenty-three

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on August 6, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, castles, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, gloom, Goblins, Gothic, hags, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, prince, princess, queens, revenge, strange worlds, teenagers, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

The meadow at the edge of Claradon is a training ground. Amber and Sabba stopped to watch as the young cubs jumped and climbed their way across the assault course. Their red coats gleamed with health and they seemed to move with winged feet, as they soared over the jumps. It was a magical sight, but the couple knew what they saw was vital to the fox’s survival. In the centre of the course, Flora, the most senior of all skulk, barked orders at the young cubs, as she ran them through their paces. Like the Elfin, she knew too well how important this training was. She pushed her pupils to the limit until the pads of the feet hurt and their tongues hung from their panting mouths. The cubs complained of this harsh treatment to their parents, but to no avail. They, unlike their children, knew the value of her teachings and how one day it could save their life. Flora was not a cruel animal, but she vowed, when she was first offered the job by Mr and Mrs Furze, that she would never lose one of her troops to the hands of a mortal. Her love for those in her care spurred her on, and the dreadful memory that woke her howling from her sleep, as the hunting horn sounded, and she was reminded of the death of her parents.

   “They look well,” Amber said, when the old fox ambled over to where they stood.

   “They are coming along, Princess,” Flora nodded. “I think they are the best I have ever trained.”

Amber and Sabba knew little other that what they heard about the use of foxes in battle. In olden days they served as mounts for the dwarfs during times of unrest, and were as strong and swift as any war horse.

   “We must go,” Sabba said.

   “Stay safe,” the fox bowed her head and ran back to where her charges had taken advantage of her absence.

The glare from the waterfall at the edge of the sacred lake was blinding. Tiny beads of light skimmed across the surface of the water and glistened like diamonds. The teenagers sank down and watched the different life forms that lived and worked around the lake. The fairies were the most prominent, as they flew in swarms collecting water to feed the thirsty flowers growing in abundance around the three lands. In the summer months geese and swans flew in from the mortal world and made their nests by the lake, secure in the knowledge that their young would be safe.

   “Hello,” Amber called to a small figure at the other side of the lake.

He stopped what he was doing and began toddling over as fast as his little legs allowed.

   “Princess,” his cheeks glowed from his exertions. “What a treat. Yes, indeed, and the young lord too.”

   “How are you, Brag?” Sabba motioned him to sit beside them.

   “I am wonderful,” he plonked himself down on the grass. “Thank you for asking and there is no need to ask how either of you are,” he smiled at Amber. “Our princess grows more beautiful by the day and as for you, young lord. Well, you have to be the handsomest elf in all of Bargamore.”

   “You are a rogue, Brag,” Amber laughed.

   “That well may be, my princess,” he smiled. “But I am an honest rogue.”

Of all the dwarfs in Claradon, Brag was their favourite. He was kind, gentle and a great storyteller. He regaled them with tales of past battles and legends of long ago, and they never tired of his stories. Brags job was one of the most important in all the three lands. He was the Watcher of the Wells. Since the time of the sickness, it became important to check the drinking water for signs of infection. He took samples every morning from the numerous wells that dotted the land and from the Sacred Lake, to make sure there was nothing there that could cause infection.

   “I have heard strange stories about you two,” he looked from Amber to Sabba. They say you are going up into the mortal world every day.”

   “It is true, I am afraid,” Amber sighed.

   “You know the risk you are taking, princess?” Brag was astounded by her candid reply.

   “I know, but there are reasons for our actions.”

   “Reasons, eh?” The dwarf raised his bushy eyebrows. “Very well, I will take your word for it.”

   “I have stiff competition today,” Amber looked towards the lake, where an elfin woman was gathering wildflowers.

   “Hello, Dawn,” Brag called.

The woman came over and bowed to Amber and Sabba. Her hair was the same colour as the princess’s.  

   “I trust you are well, princess?” Dawn asked.

   “Very well,” Amber smiled up at her. “How are your children?”

   “They are my greatest joy,” despite her words there was sadness behind Dawn’s smile.

   “I am pleased for you,” Amber felt uncomfortable under the woman’s searching gaze.

Dawn bid them good day and they watched as she made her way through the grass, her green gown billowing in the slight breeze.

   “She always seems so sad,” Amber said, “I do not like the way she stares at me.”

   “Her sadness is nothing more than a terrible longing to be back with her own kind.” Brag said.

He spoke without thinking and left Amber and Sabba puzzled by his words. 

Shadow Self-chapter eleven

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 21, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, Gothic novel, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, queens, revenge, scary, strange worlds, teenagers, wise women, Witchcraft, wizards, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Corey and his new family settled into the house. The first few weeks seemed a rollercoaster of emotions, as they sorted through the outbuildings. In one, he found his father’s old bike. Though rusted and with flat tyres, they restored it, so Corey had a means of transport. Even since he was old enough to work, he took whatever jobs he could find. The latest was an evening job in a burger joint. This, on top of Tom’s pension, kept the house running. Corey had been saving for years and most of his wages went into the bank. The savings book was under an insole in his runners, and it was this money he used to buy the things they needed. The electricity was back on, and he now had a power point for the second-hand computer he had managed to buy. Most of the homeless kept in contact this way, as the internet cafés gave them the much-needed shelter from the cold and provided them with a means of communications. Corey had hundreds of friends, and though the lives of most of those who lived rough could be transient, he managed to keep in touch with most of them. Life was good for him, though he was exhausted from the long bike ride to and from the town. The hours on his feet serving customers were hard, but he would not swap what he had for the world. Annie let him sleep in most days, as he sometimes did not get home until the early hours of the morning. Today was no exception and the house was quiet when he woke. The others were outside enjoying the good weather. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Corey swung his legs on to the floor. His night was restless and filled with the familiar dream about knights and castles. I am getting too old for fairy tales, he thought, as he walked down the corridor to the bathroom. This room was freezing, and goose pimples rose on his skin, as he turned on the hot tap. Calling it hot was a bit of an exaggeration. He was dozy from sleep, and he leant against the sink and watched as it began to fill. Lights danced on the water, bright gold, purple and red merged and started to take shape. He looked around him, wondering what caused such colours, but there was nothing in the stark, black, and white bathroom to account for it. Corey stared into the water and watched open-mouthed as a figure appeared. It was crazy, like watching TV under water. He leaned closer as the figure became clearer. It was a girl, red hair floated about a pale face and her huge eyes were filled with a silent pleading. Her lips moved and a word echoed from far away, “Culdoplin.”

Then she was gone, the colours faded, and the water lay still. Corey’s heart pounded so much it hurt. That was his word, the word whispered in his dreams. What did it mean? Too frightened to wash, he sprayed deodorant under his arms and ran from the room.

The alley smelt of stale beer, vomit, and rotten food. Corey wrinkled his nose in disgust, as he hauled two black sacks of rubbish over to the dumpsters. The bulb in the streetlamp beside the dumpsters had blown, so they were deep in shadow. A bottle clattered across the yard and the sound sent his heart racing. As he threw the bags in among the other rubbish, it came again.

   “Is someone there?” He asked, imagining it to be some homeless person in search of food.

There was a dry, shuffling sound, as though something was unfolding itself after hours in one, prone position. It moved out of the shadows and started to walk towards him. Corey’s legs filled with lead and he could not get them to move. It kept advancing until the Thing was right in front of him. What he saw made his heart spasm. It towered above him, so he had to put his head back to look at it. Its face was ashen, its lips bloodless and drawn back over sharp vicious-looking teeth. The only colour, for want of a better word, was the blackness of the eyes. Like fathomless pools of darkness, they scanned his face, and he saw in them his own reflection. A hand reached out, more claw than hand, with long, pointed nails.

   “You are the one,” it rasped, the sound tearing at the boy’s ears.

Oh god, Corey thought this is how I am going to die, alone in a filthy alley and murdered by some freak. As the claw moved closer, he closed his eyes. When nothing happened, he peeped under the lids to find the Thing was distracted by something. He heard the deep growl before he saw the beast. It was a huge, black dog, the size of a small cow and it was advancing on the Thing. Its red eyes blazed as the Thing covered its face with the sleeve of its black cloak. Corey did not wait to see anymore, but turned and ran back into the burger bar, slamming and bolting the door behind him.

Shadow Self- chapter six

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 14, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, queens, strange worlds, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Queen Heather stared down as the baby nestled in the crook of her arm and felt her heart torn by love and fear. The little princess was the most perfect being she had even seen. Her dark red hair would mark her out among her subjects like fire on snow.

   “My darling daughter, how can I bear this pain,” the queen whispered.

A single tear fell on the baby’s face and she made a soft mewing sound at its touch.

The wise women were back and had come to give their blessing to the child. The queen told them what she intended to do.

   “Let us take her, majesty,” Mistress Doogood offered.

   “No, I must do it,” the queen said.

   “But, majesty,” the women protested.

   “I have decided, and I will need your help to dress,” the queen handed Mistress Gamp the baby.

When she was ready, she took a small box from beside the bed. Inside on a cushion of gossamer paper sat a pendant; pressed from the finest silver and in the symbol of her people, a phoenix. It had a small tag attached and a note written in the queen’s own hand.

   “A gift for your precious child.”

Lady Blackthorn’s son would receive an identical pendant. Both were filled with fairy magic and would keep them safe in the mortal world.

   The castle hallways lay silent as the queen and her entourage crept along. Lady Blackthorn stood waiting at the top of the basement steps.

   “He is so beautiful,” the queen looked down at her friend’s child.

   “As is the princess,” Iris stroked the princess’s hair.

   “We must go, majesty, while the world is still in darkness,” Galten urged.

The air was cold when they walked out of the castle, and the streets of the kingdom silent under the cloak of darkness. They moved with lightning speed up through the cave leading to the mortal world. Here the night sky seemed a vast amphitheatre of stars, as all the astral bodies had come out to see the new-borns. Above their heads the ruins of Culdoplin Castle stood like a dark sentinel. The castle marked the spot leading to the hidden world, and its kings were protectors of those beneath them. Their line had died out and the castle, like its rulers, was now lifeless. Now it was time to separate.

   “Go with Lady Blackthorn, she will need your strength,” the queen whispered to Galten.

   “Be brave, my queen,” Iris kissed her and walked away.

   “Come, majesty,” Mistress Doogood put her arm around the queen’s waist.

The miles passed in moments and stars flew above them, as they moved towards their destinations.

The hospital was sleeping. Casting a spell of invisibility, the elfin women moved across its polished floors towards the nursery. The room pulsed with the wonder of new life, and its touch was a balm of the queen’s aching heart. The baby they chose was an exact copy of her own child, with the same pale skin and red hair. But she was not her child, and never would be,

   “I cannot do this dreadful thing,” the queen handed her baby to Mistress Gamp.

   “Go and see the child’s mother,” she said as she took the baby. “See for yourself the goodness in her.”

Large tears ran down the queen’s cheeks and caused dark stains to form on her gold gown. Alice lay in a deep, exhausted sleep. The queen looked down at her and sensed waves of kindness flowing from the mortal woman. Placing the box with the pendant beside the bed, she whispered.

   “Take care of my child, and I in turn, will do the same for you.”

She glided over to the window and looked out at the world of men. It made her shiver to watch the mortals, who had so little time to live, waste it on things that had no meaning. Her child would lose its elfin powers, as its new parents taught it about nothing other than material things.

   “We must go, majesty,” Mistress Gamp held the changeling.

No one wanted to stay for long in the mortal world. Its atmosphere was draining on those who were many hundreds of years old. Now, because of her decision, her daughter would age and die. While she would be forced to look into the eyes of a stranger for hundreds of years to come, a stranger she would call daughter.

Shadow Self- chapter two

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 10, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, magic, queens, wonder, writers. Tagged: , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Juliet

Juliet rested her forehead on the cold glass of the car window. Her head ached and the jolting of the wheels on the uneven country roads did not help. The stress of the move was causing her pain. Her migraines started when she got worried or upset, usually around exam time.

   “Are you feeling any better, dear?” Her mother turned round in her seat.

   “Yes, mom, I’m ok,” Juliet lied, but she would never be ok again.

As far as she was concerned her life was over. Her parents lost their jobs over a year ago, and once their savings ran out, they could no longer pay the mortgage. To protect their home, they rented it out and decided to move in with her mother’s aunt, Maisie, who lived in the country. Aaron, her older brother, said the old manor house was haunted. Juliet knew he was trying to scare them, but it frightened Kim, her twelve-year-old sister, who went running to her mother in tears. Aaron was fine, Juliet fumed, and he got to stay behind with his friend Mike’s family, so he could finish his exams. This meant she would be alone in the wilds with just her sister for company. She tried to be brave, she really did, but it was hard leaving her friends and Rick, her boyfriend. Susie Jones, her arch enemy, would be prowling around him, and this added to her worries.

   “Sorry to hear your sad news,” Susie came up to her on the last day of school. “It won’t be the same without you. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on Rick; make sure he doesn’t get up to any mischief.”

   “In your dreams, Jones,” Rick sneered, but despite his words, Juliet felt dark moths take flight in her stomach.

Susie was a beauty and used to getting her own way.

   “How long more, daddy?” Kim’s voice brought her back to the present.

   “A few more miles, princess,” her father said.

I wish I were as young and dumb as you, Juliet looked at her sister. Urged on by her mother, Kim had started to think of the move as some big adventure.

   “Why did you bring that thing with you?” Juliet poked at the tattered old bear Kim held.

   “Mr Snuggles always sleeps on my bed,” Kim said.

   “You are such a baby,” Juliet threw her eyes up to heaven.

   “I am not,” Kim pouted. “You bought all your stupid digging books.”

   “They’re not digging books, stupid. It’s called archaeology, don’t you know anything?”

Juliet was being mean, but she needed someone to take her miserable mood out on.

   “Stop it, Juliet,” her mother warned.

Kim was right. One of the few things Juliet brought with her was her books. Along with her computer and clothes, all she had in the world was packed in the trailer her father hired to move their stuff. The rest was in storage and her room, once the centre of her universe, was lost to her. Now, she might have to live forever with her mother’s crazy, old aunt. The woman could win medals when it came to eccentricity and at eighty-one, had all the charm of a bulldog chewing a wasp. It was Maisie who always said, not caring if Juliet heard, “that child is not a Wilson.”

   “Now, auntie,” her mother said. “Don’t be silly, red hair runs in the family.”

   “I’m not talking about the red hair,” her aunt replied. “There’s something else, something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

Her mother laughed, but it left Juliet with a strange sense of not quite fitting in with the rest of her family. To add to her misery, the dreams were back, and she had enough to worry her without them disturbing her sleep. They were always the same, the whisper of a name and a feeling of being abandoned. It would be worse now, living in that creepy old house under the disapproving stare of her grand-aunt, and with nothing to do.

   “You’ll find plenty to occupy you,” her father sensed her worries. “With your interest in the past there’s no knowing what treasure you could unearth in the attic or the old outbuildings.”

Yeah, Juliet thought, it will be a blast. What she did not know was the house had a secret. One that would help her uncover the reason she felt so different from everyone else. It would give her the first hint about those who were the cause of her confusion.

Shadow Self

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 8, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Dwarfs, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, queens, wonder. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Well, my friends, it is time to put aside the horror for now and bring back the magic into our lives. I have a story for you that transcends age and time. For those who believe in worlds beyond those of man, I invite to to come with me into the wilds of Ireland. To a place where time itself seems to draw breath in anticipation of the wonders of the hidden worlds. It is a place of myth and legend, of ruined castles and barren landscapes. Only a privileged few can see beyond the gnarled trees and rock shewn fields. Even on the sunniest day, the wind cries eerily through hidden tombs and secret passageways. But there is something there, deep within the earth another life continues as it has for thousand of years, but don’t take my word for it. Open your eyes and listen, as the tales of the past return and live again in the telling of this tale. Share with your loved ones, from eight to a hundred, if you believe in magic, you will accompany me on my journey. It begins now.

Shadow Self

PROLOGUE

Corey and Juliet sensed magic was dying long before they knew the truth. It was not a feeling, but an absolute certainty, born of that strange, secret knowledge teenagers have.  They had always known they were different, but not in the way the media portrays the typical teenager. They were not at odds with the world or desperately searching for their identities. No, they knew who they were; they just were not sure what they were. It was hard to explain, but it felt like something was missing from their lives. Had they known of one another’s existence it might have been easier, and they could have joined forces to aid one another in their quest for the truth. Corey was alone, his life unsettled and with no one to turn to, it was left to Juliet to voice her concerns. She was not adopted, because she drove her mother to the brink of madness on this until in utter frustration, the poor woman produced Juliet’s birth certificate. Her mother assured her she did not have a twin who died at birth, so this avenue was closed off to her forever. Yet even with these two major questions answered, there remained a dreadful longing Juliet could not explain. It was this, and the feeling of otherworldliness that distanced her from her family and those she loved. Her friends assured her it was normal to be this way. Most seventeen-year-olds have something that makes them feel removed from the rest of the world, and it was almost expected of them to feel different. Still, Juliet could not be persuaded. There was something beyond this real world and someone, a being she called her Shadow Self, who called to her. At times it frightened her and she imagined it to be some sort of ghost or supernatural creature that threatened her existence, but at other times she accepted without question the fleeting glimpses she caught from the corner of her eye. She was not influenced by the growing trends of genre in both book and film. If it turned out she was merely a vampire or werewolf it would be too easy. There was something different about her and she would not give up until she found out what it was.

   The course of her life and Corey’s changed the moment they were born, and this is where the story begins. It must start on the faithful morning seventeen years ago and be told through the eyes of those whose decisions, no matter how well intended, left the teenagers lost and confused.  

   Despite their determination to uncover the truth, they were unprepared for what they found, when the fates brought them together. It was one thing to suspect they were different to those around them, but terrifying to learn that they were not quite human, and a word that haunted their dreams since childhood, would change their lives forever.

Death Cry-Epilogue

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 3, 2020
Posted in: banshee, birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Death Cry, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Ghost, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, harbinger of death, Haunted Houses, horror, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, legend, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, screams, wailing cry, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

The nights are quieter now. The only noise to disturb the dark air is the hoot of the owl or the blood-chilling cry of the vixen. Annie and Dora still sleep, and their grave is tended and watched over. The house reverted to Emily after Liam’s freak accident, and with the help of Cora, Marie, and an assortment of nursing staff; it is now a retirement home. Its occupants the inmates of Hillcrest enjoy a freedom denied to them for so long. Between them they have restored the gardens. Marble statues appeared, haphazardly dotting the ground, when the trailing vines were stripped back. Everything was cleaned and polished, giving a sense of renewal. The old take pleasure in Laura and Shelly’s childish chatter and they in turn, love their newly acquired grandparents. They sit together at night and swap news, the two young girls just beginning their life, the others contemplating the end, but safe and content at last.

Still, there are times, when the dark closes in and the house lays quiet, when Cora stands at her window and watches. She looks across the gardens at the statues glowing white in the moonlight and standing like silent sentinels over the grave and wonders how long the peace will last. The red band on her wrist, burnt there by Annie’s hand, shows stark against the whiteness of her skin, and is a constant reminder of the eternal battle she witnessed. She traces her finger along the mark and her mind strays back to the day of Liam’s funeral. Many dismissed her lack of emotion for shock and her sob one of anguish, on seeing Liam’s latest pillow friend. They tut-tutted and whispered about bad taste, but Cora cared nothing about social niceties. What caused her to cry out was the unmistakable bulge in the front of the woman’s coat?