Moonlight
A Fairytale
~Moonlight~
The blind witch forced Mae to cook her brother in the oven after their dog escaped. Mae saved herself from becoming seconds by baking the witch an apple tart for dessert. She’d convinced the witch she was more valuable alive than as dinner. That was years ago, and Mae became as precious as a daughter to the witch, whose name was Bridget.
Mae never heard animals near Bridget’s house. Maybe she had already eaten them, or maybe they avoided the witch, or maybe there was another reason entirely. Mae stacked the logs she had collected and ate the stew Bridget placed before her. She never asked what went into the stew. If Bridget had wanted to poison Mae, she’d had plenty of opportunity. The witch taught her all the different uses of mushrooms, the herbs for potions, which animals to skin and how. When she was in a good mood, Bridget told Mae stories about the fay.
By midnight the fire smoldered in the grate. Mae was curled before the hearth, and Bridget woke her with a shake.
“Up, my dear, the wisp are out tonight.”
Floating between the trees, gentle lights bobbed. The wisps took up the women in their procession, leading them into a grassy clearing where little people with wings danced. They held aloft lanterns glowing sky blue, dandelion gold, and pink as a duck’s webbed foot.
“There is power this evening,” Bridget said. “A summer solstice on a full moon. Tonight, I will reclaim my sight and my youth.”
“How?”
“It requires the sacrifice of something precious.”
“You will kill me?” Mae asked. Her voice did not tremble.
“You were right, my dear; you are more valuable than a meal. You are like a daughter to me, and that sacrifice is enough. But no.”
Bridget tapped the sallow bone of her cheek beneath a milky eye with a paring knife.
“Years ago I cut the bonds of mortality. Tonight, I give you the same choice my mother gave me. You may break the binding of your soul to this world, for a life of fay with me.”
“But how does this help you?” Mae asked.
Bridget smiled, her wrinkles more numerous than the bark of the nearby willow tree.
“This is a full moon on the summer solstice. The power is great.”
A howl ripped through the woods. Fairies gasped and faltered in their dancing. Bridget jerked in surprise, dropping the knife. Pounding reverberated, branches cracked as an animal ran through the forest. With cries the fay scampered away, taking their lutes and lanterns with them. The wisps remained, bobbing over the valley.
“Good, that should be enough,” Mae said, bending to retrieve the knife. She did not sound like a scared girl, naively following a witch into the woods. The wolf entered the clearing, heavy breaths through a wet snout. Bridget’s nostrils flared.
“I banished all werewolves from my territory. The packs know not to cross”
“My brother belongs to no pack,” Mae interrupted.
Bridget froze. “Your brother is dead. I killed him myself.”
“You ate dog meat. My brother escaped.”
Bridget went white, though from anger, fear, or the light of the moon, none could tell. The werewolf regarded the witch with hungry yellow eyes.
“It won’t work.”
“If the full moon on a summer solstice can break my mortality, then it can break my brother’s curse.”
“I will sacrifice nothing for you,” Bridget spat.
“Where is your mother?” Mae asked.
Bridget stayed silent.
“The power of a daughter’s relationship with her mother is a powerful thing, but then, how else were you to rid the werewolves from your land. It drove them to us, and my blameless brother was bitten. My sacrifice is paid in full; years of my life playing daughter to a witch. All we need now is proof,” Mae said.
The wolf lunged.
Bridget never saw it coming.
Dear Reader,
In Connecticut, yesterday was our first chilly day. Fall is coming. The days will be getting shorter, crisper, and so shall my prose.
This month’s short story is very short. Permit me to geek out for a moment on the industry-standard length of stories. (And geeks run the world, so listen up).
Flash Fiction: 6-1,000 words
Short Story: 1,000-10,000
Novela: 10,000-40,000
Middle Grade: 20,000-50,000
Young Adult Novel: 40,000-80,000
Romance: 50,000-100,000
Thriller: 70,000-90,000
Non-Fiction: 80,000-90,000
Historical Fiction 100,000
Science Fiction & Fantasy: 90,000-12,000
Hemingway’s 6 word flash fiction?
For sale: baby shoes. Never worn.
My point (yes there’s a point) is that every word matters in a short story. There still has to be a beginning, middle, and end. The writer needs to develop the setting, transformation of character, and theme(s).
My pieces thus far have landed squarely in the short story range. (If you’ve missed any free stories over the last 8 months: Times Nature, Alec & Wunderland Designs, Refurbished, Screaming in Harmony, Dark Energy, The Eyes of Argos, and The Spokes of Wheels & Co.)
However, most of the pieces will be very short from now on—unless a particular story should grab me by the scruff of the neck and demand more words. I am well supported by other writers on the value of brevity:
“The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do.” Thomas Jefferson
“It was a delightful visit;—perfect in being much too short.” Jane Austen
“—brevity is the soul of wit—” Shakespear, Hamlet
(Thank you Kate Schutt for the quick collection of quotes).
I am currently in the midst of developing other projects and exploring other mediums of storytelling. (When these are complete and safe for consumption, I will certainly notify you in this newsletter.) Despite the messages of pop culture, one woman can only do so much and still catch her Netflix episodes at the end of the day.
However, if you decide “Shayla is such a brilliant storyteller and flash fiction once a month just isn’t going to cut it for me,” then please sign up for my subscriber-access newsletter! These episodic installments of Jean’s life in the city (begun in Refurbished) will continue to be within the short story range, a fully satisfying literary experience of new adult drama.
In the meantime, keep in touch with me on Instagram (@scdurbois).