The Lady and the Ghost, By Jennifer A. McGowan

"The Ghost's Petition," By Emma Florence Harrsion

Editor's note: Jennifer's work has been featured often in EC--she knows how to evoke a mood. A touch of the macabre and a nod to classic story-poems from the British Isles made this a winner.

 

Bess, she had a likely lad,

and that lad he had Bess.

Why he went out on Hallows eve

is anybody’s guess.

He lost his way and climbed a hill

to see what could be seen—

Glided up to him from out the mists

a grim and ghostly queen.

“One kiss, my handsome Will,” she cried,

“One kiss!  I claim my prize.

or those who climb up Tanner’s Hill

are driven mad, or wise.”

Now Will he fancied wisdom

if it would get him back to Bess.

He bowed to the ghostly figure,

bestowed on it a kiss. 

Just one kiss from my clay-cold lips

and you’ll never be alone. 

And he saw gold abounding,

riches more than he could name.

He gathered gems up in his hands

and then he turned back home.

Bess waited with a lantern

brushing her flowing hair.

She thought she heard Will in the lane

but nobody walked there.

She thought she heard Will by the byre

but no-one passed it by.

She thought she heard him at the door;

she thought she heard him sigh.

He climbed in through the window

reached his hand hers to have.

But Will had found his wisdom

in the bed of an early grave. 

Just one kiss from my clay-cold lips

and you’ll never be alone. 

The Lady and the Ghost cont’d. 

Bess felt his hand pass through her own

put on her cloak of green

ran crying through the lonely night

to face the ghastly queen.

“I’ll pay your price, you hag,” she swore

as she clomb Tanner’s Hill.

“You shall have my cursed kiss,

and I shall have my Will.”

The queen laughed soft but she laughed long,

“I fear not to be spurned.”

A kiss then to her Bessie threw

and was kissed in return.

The morning sun dawned bright and gay

and Bess awoke and saw

The ranks of dead men in the dew

a hundred strong, or more. 

Just one kiss from my clay-cold lips

and you’ll never be alone.

Now Bess among the living waits

for Time to claim his own.

The faithful dead walk at her side

and she’s never alone.

 Jennifer A. McGowan lives near Oxford, England, and has published widely on both sides of the Atlantic.  For more poetry, info about her first collection and anthologies, and for samples of her medieval calligraphy, visit http://www.jenniferamcgowan.com

How Red Runs, By A.L. Loveday

Editor's note: A.L. Loveday's story writes a story that is completely unexpected and terribly twisty--in a really dark, intriguing way. I'll never see Red the same way gain.

run. We all run. Feet pound the earth, bodies steam, tongues out and pant hard. We are silent. The forest moves aside but not for me--it gets in my face, my skin, tearing and stabbing and making red run.

A howl to the east. Stop. Raise noses to the crisp night air: Mother. Full moon guides us to where she sits by fresh kill, with sour smell and warm wet under foot from running red. Hungry, hungry we crowd around.



"Back off!"

"Ours!"

"Wait your turn!"

Brothers and sisters growl at me. I try again but jaws snap at face. Crawl to Mother, feel her warmth and soft fur. Nuzzle, find nipple and suck but there is no more! She growls too and pushes me away. Stomach hurts. I cry.

Wait and wait. My turn but it is no good. Still so much hunger and pain. Cry again, but still no more from Mother. Warm bodies circle, move in, lie down and on and around. Curl up with family, close eyes and rest in inner-dark.

*

Early rise in low light: no birds sing yet, family still down. Up, stretch, and walk some distance to leave wet mark. Thirsty. Hungry. Walk on sore feet to brook, crouch and drink. Stay on front feet too and walk some, but then more pain. Up on back feet and try to smell food: wet ground, family smell and old red. Walk on with nose in air, must stop hunger pain. I cannot smell food like Mother or brothers or sisters. But I smell ...

I smell something. Hunger feeling twists inside and I drop and wet, burning sour comes out my mouth. More twists, but nothing coming out. Cry lots.

Smell still there, and hunger twists still there. Walk to smell and not far see low, wide tree. Holes in the tree with smell coming out. Wet now dropping from my mouth. Run to hole and see ... something. Reach up: hit it to floor. Sniff. Hunger twists! Take bite and another and another and it is good!

"Oh my!"

Jump back and snarl. Tall creature in big hole that wasn't there before, looking at me. Crouch down.

"Mine!" I growl, "Stay back! Wait your turn!"

"Oh my, oh, oh! You poor dear, poor little--"

Goes back in big hole and then comes out with more of my kill with good smell.

"Oh you poor love, you look half starved. Come in out the cold and let grandma feed you."

Don't like the noise, but like the smell. Want my kill. Creature going back in hole.

I jump forward and snatch kill and growl warning that it is mine and to stay back. Take kill to corner and eat and eat some more. It is a strange kill with no red running--but it stops the hunger twists.

Creature moves and makes more noises.

"I must fetch some water and wash the poor dear, find some old clothes that might fit her - who on earth does she belong to, I wonder--oh and I must send Jack to call for the doctor to make sure she is not ill--"

Stop listening to creature noises because I hear Mother call. I raise head and call back:

"Mother! Come! Fresh kill! Feed!"

Creature looks. I growl at it to back off. Mother will make creature go and leave our kill.

"Jack! Jack, get up, I need your help, love."

Mother comes, she comes! Hear her running, hear her feet on earth! She yips and I yip and then she is there, through the hole in the strange tree and I call:

"Come, Mother! Fresh kill!"

And the creature screams and Mother pounces, and the creature is on the floor and the red is running and running and I run to help Mother, but then there is another creature and it screams, and it picks up something sharp and shining and it jumps at Mother and then ... then there is Mother's warm red running all over me too, and I cry and cry but Mother doesn't move, and she won't because I know what the red means.

The creature drops the Mother-killer and pulls me up and pushes me through another hole that then disappears and I am alone. And I cry and I cry but there is no howl. No one hears.

*

"It's alright, lad, take your time."

"I just ... I heard her calling, said she needed my help so I got out of bed but then ... I'm sorry--"

"Don't be, don't be."

"Well--ah - so I got up and then I heard the most awful scream. I ran out and saw ... I saw ... it had its jaws around her neck .... I didn't think, I just picked up the axe ... but it was too late."

"Deep breaths, son. You're doing fine. Do you think you could tell me about the girl?"

"I ... I don't know. She was there, screaming and crying when I came out; cloaked in blood from head to toe she was ..."

"Frightened out of her wits I should imagine. Poor love. A blessing the wolf didn't kill her too I should say."

"I've never seen her before in my life."

"Don't worry. We'll find her family, and we'll make sure you get the care you need, son."

"Thank you. Oh ... oh God!"

*

I am in small spaces. Strange noises all around, and strange feelings. They push and pull my body and don't back off when I growl my warnings at them. I howl for help. I cry for my brothers and sisters but they don't come. So many noises, so many creatures, I don't like it, I don't like it!

But I am trapped. I cannot run. I cannot run.

A.L. Loveday is a writer living in Brighton, England. She is inspired by the wonderful, the fantastic and the magical, and her stories have appeared in Mirror Dance, Scheherezade's Bequest, Unsettling Wonder and beyond. You can find her at http://alloveday.blogspot.co.uk/