Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-6822927-20190331022511

Here's a little something I wrote on Nosleep as a whim.

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I should have always feared the Pretty Folk.

But it is to my eternal shame I didn’t even believe in them for years.

It all began when I was visiting my aunt and uncle in Donegal. The country is riddled with mountains and hills, making it prime hiking land. Unless you’re scared of heights, that is.

I considered myself a brave lad, however. I only wanted to go out for a wee criac, is all, I didn’t mean for anything to happen.

“Where are you off to?” my mother had asked me as I walked out the door. She was lounging in the living room chair, watching an episode of Father Ted.

“I’m going on a hike,” I answered. My aunt poked her head in then.

“Oh? Be careful in case it rains,” then she smiled cheekily, “and watch out for the Good People. You remember the stories, right?”

“Yes, yes,” I signed, rolling my eyes, “iron can burn a fairy.”

My aunt’s face turned as white as a bedsheet. “Don’t call them that,” she hissed, “they might hear you.”

“Ah, leave off, Carol,” my mother intoned, “they’re only stories.”

“You know what happened to Jim’s father,” aunt Carol retorted sharply, “they didn’t find him for months! He was off dancing with the Good People the whole time. Until the day he died, he swore he’d only been gone five minutes.”

“I’ll be careful,” I told them as I turned around and walked out the door. My aunt called after me, warning me to watch for the Good People and don’t eat their food. I almost ignored her, but she had a voice on her, let me tell you...

But I’m getting sidetracked. Forgive me, it’s just... I really do miss her, you know? The last words she ever said to me may have saved my life.

The hike was fairly peaceful. Inishowen is a peninsula that lies smack dab between Lough Foyle and the Atlantic Ocean. As such, the weather can be wild most days. But not this day. The sky was clear, letting the sun’s rays shine on the rolling hills, lush fields full of livestock and towering mountains.

I’d only been planning on hiking up to Malin Head and back, but as I was walking along the edge of the coast I... got a little distracted.

I was admiring the view from on high when I caught sight of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her hair was golden like the sun, her skin as pale as moonlight. She was walking along the beach in front of me. A green skirt blew around her legs, exposing her luscious legs and bare feet.

I shouldn’t have gone to her. I should have turned around and gone straight home. I would have, but only with the benefit of hindsight.

I had no trouble catching up to her. She was walking so slowly that I would have thought her sleepwalking.

“Hello there,” I said, putting on my best smile, “lovely weather we are having?”

When she turned around, I was struck dumb by her face. I still see it in my dreams, with those eyes like purest silver.

“Yes,” she answered, smiling with lips as red as roses, “the weather is very lovely.”

“I hadn’t thought there’d be anyone to enjoy it with,” I said, like the stupid Belfast lad I was. “Would you care to join me?”

“Yes,” and then she took my hand. Her skin was smooth and cool to the touch, and I felt a warmth spread through my body.

Aoife. Her name was Aoife. I still remember how she laughed when she told me. My fair Aoife.

I don’t know how long we walked for, but when we stopped, we weren’t at Malin Head like I had planned. I didn’t know where we were, but I didn’t care.

Aoife had taken me to a gathering of people, with music and dancing. Then she lead to the very center of the throng and we danced the night away. I didn’t realize until later that it had been nine in the morning when I went for my walk.

The music was otherworldly, so beautiful I never wanted to hear another sound, save my lady’s voice. The people around me were tall and slender, not a single deformity among them, but I cannot remember their faces. Only Aoife’s.

As the dancing came to an end, Aoife lead me by the hand to a table carved from the finest wood. The gathering took their places around, but Aoife and I sat at the very head. Then the food was brought out. I was immediately drooling at the smell of it, and wanted nothing more than to eat every single morsel. Except, of course, for my lady Aoife.

She offered me the first bite. It was an apple, skin red and polished as an ruby. I took it from her greedily, about to sink my teeth into it when I stopped.

My aunt’s voice was echoing through my head, telling me the old stories of the Good Folk. “Remember, you mustn’t eat their food, or you will be lost forever to this world.”

“What’s wrong?” Aoife asked, hand resting upon mine. “Aren’t you hungry?”

I closed my mouth and set down the apple. The rest of the gathering did nothing, and though I couldn’t see their faces, I could feel their cold glares.

“Eat,” Aoife said, picking up the apple again and holding it in front of my face, “eat, and stay with me, my love.”

I wanted her so badly. I still do. The apple was dripping wet with crystal clear water, ripe for the taking. I almost did take a bite. Sometime I wonder how it would have tasted.

But instead, I stood up and pushed the apple away. “I... I need to go home,” I told Aoife.

Her face became sad as she stood up, setting down the apple. “Then, my love,” she said softly, “you may go. But never shall you see the Land of Youth again.”

And like that, she and the rest of the gathering vanished, leaving me in the cold, dark countryside of Inishowen, at the mercy of the battering rain.

My limbs and back aches as I ran through the hills, feeling weighed down by a heavy burden I didn’t know I had been given. I wanted to collapse and lie upon the fields, but in every dark bush and rock I saw faces and little dancing men. They laughed and jeered at me, drowning out all other noise, even the painful beating of my heart. They threw stones and I could feel their little hands grabbing roughly at my pant legs, trying to trip me.

They only did so once. As I fell to the ground, I landed in a bush of brambles and thorns, scratching my skin and clawing at me eyes. I thrashed and struggled to untangle myself from it, but the branches tightened their grip on me, dragging along my back and leaving jagged claw marks.

I tumbled out of the bush, sore and bleeding, but as I stood back up on my feet, the laughing and jeering of the little men became a cascade of cruel swears and curses. “It’s a coming for you now,” they cried, “the púca’s coming for you, bastard!”

It was then I saw the biggest horse I had ever seen in the distance, thundering towards me with hateful, yellow eyes. It’s mane and fur was as black as death itself, and I knew it meant to show me what death really is.

I almost gave up then. I would have, truly, if I didn’t hear the sound of a car coming over the hill before a bright light appeared behind me. When I turned around, I must have been the happiest man to have ever been found by the police.

When I ran to the car, tears were streaming down my face freely. They came to a stop and one rolled down his window. Before he could say one word, I began screaming with a hoarse voice.

“It’s coming!” I screamed, wildly pointing behind me, “The púca’s coming! The púca’s coming for me!”

But the horse was gone. The little dancing men had stopped laughing and jeering, retreating back to their forts and mounds. All was quiet, save the wind and the police as they got out of their car.

Their were two of them, a man and a woman, the latter going up the path I had just come from. Her partner stayed behind, giving me a cup of coffee.

“Easy, lad,” he said, “what are you doing all the way out here? You been drinking?”

Then I began telling him everything, about Aoife, the dancers, the food, the little men. He took it all in stride - until I told him my name. I’ve never seen a man’s face turn white so quickly.

Then his partner came back running. “We need to go,” she said, “right now.”

The night was still quiet, save the wind, but in that wind, I heard it again. The cruel laughter of the little men.

I’d been missing for two whole years. The search for me was all over the news, in both the Republic and the UK. At it’s height, even Scotland Yard joined in. But they never found a trace of me. Rumors say their sniffer dogs wouldn’t follow my scent into the hills.

The police who found me had been responding to another call about a drunken bar fight. As I learned, the instigator was my uncle, Jim. He’d taken to drinking ever since Aunt Carol died of grief, blaming herself for my disappearance.

Even though I have been reunited with my family, it’s in a very loose sense. My body had aged without my noticing in the span of two hours, not the two years I had been missing for. It took some getting used to. Sometimes I don’t even recognize my own voice and face.

But I can still hear Aoife calling out to me on those windy nights in Inishowen. I can’t bring myself to leave and go home to Belfast yet. Because deep down, no matter how foolish it may sound, I still wish to touch the skin of my lady love, Aoife. 