A Time to Believe

By Linda Monsees Stump © 2006

The cold rain turned to sleet and I gripped my parcel tighter as the wind off the moors whipped my hair into my eyes with stinging force.  Auntie had sent me into the village with her ration book to pick up a few things for Christmas dinner.

It didn’t seem possible that it was Christmas Eve.  So much had changed since last Christmas.  I’d been living at Rowanlee, my Aunt Geillis’s farm cottage in Devonshire, for nearly eight months.  It was so very different from London, where I’d lived all my life, but I was starting to get used to it – although I thought I’d never get used to the reason I was here.  In the spring, our house had taken a direct hit from the bombers of the German Luftwaffe and both my parents were killed.  I had stayed with our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Roe, until the vicar could get word to my mother’s sister.  Auntie Geillis came to London alone because my Uncle Chris was with the Royal Air Force and couldn’t get leave.   Two days after my parents’ funerals, Auntie and I traveled by train to Torquay, the station nearest to Rowanlee.

Auntie Geillis was very kind to me and I soon felt quite easy with her.  She treated me like a grown-up, and said she was glad I had come to live with her.  I knew I was fortunate not to have ended up in an orphanage, as so many other children had, but especially now at Christmastime I missed Mummy and Daddy.  I couldn’t help remembering Christmases before the war; the parties we used to have and the tree with presents piled underneath.

At school, the boys and girls had been talking excitedly about what they hoped to receive for Christmas.  In spite of the fact that food was rationed and we even had ration coupons for clothing, Rob Harewood thought he might get a new cricket bat, while Molly Baines wished for a locket.  I had remained silent during that conversation.  I had a feeling I knew what my present would be, as Auntie had made an observation that the sleeves of my cardigan were awfully short and she had been waiting until I went to bed to take out her knitting basket.  I told myself I would be happy with a new cardigan; I did need a new one.  I didn’t want her to think I was disappointed in the gift she was making for me.

No one knew what I really wanted for Christmas – a puppy.  I had always loved dogs and wanted one of my very own more than anything else in the world.  Mummy and Daddy had talked about getting me one when I turned twelve.  They said I was responsible enough to take care of a dog.  But the bombing had changed all that.   I knew that people all over England had lost family in the war – it wasn’t just my life that had been turned upside down.  Two weeks ago old Mrs. Thornbury had received the news that her son had been killed in France.  I’d never told Auntie Geillis about wishing for a puppy – I thought it would seem ungrateful and somehow selfish after seeing Mrs. Thornbury’s sadness.

I even managed not to say a word when I’d gone with Auntie to the Harewoods’ farm in mid-November.  Their collie dog, Tess, was expecting her first litter of puppies and it was a difficult delivery.  The vet was all the way over in Torbay, and Rob had come running for Auntie Geillis.  I stroked Tess and talked to her while Auntie helped with the birth.  I was so relieved when it was over and Tess was the proud mother of four wriggling balls of fur.  Their eyes were closed and they didn’t even look like collies – their noses were short and rounded, not like the long, aristocratic collie nose, and their tails weren’t full and fluffy yet.  But I thought they were perfect.

Auntie Geillis was concerned about the littlest one, and explained gently that sometimes the smallest in a litter of puppies was too weak to survive.  I was devastated at that, and I think she saw it.  She said we’d have to check on him every couple of days to make sure he was getting fed.  I was determined that he was going to live and be strong and healthy.  Auntie seemed to understand how much it meant to me because she let me help with the puppies and she waited until I was home from school to go to the Harewoods’.

Tess never minded me sitting with her and the puppies, and she would even let me hold them.   Mr. Harewood shook his head and said that it surely meant I had a way with animals just like my auntie.  Three of them were tri-colored like Tess and all had a white ruff, but the little one had soft golden brown fur shading to black around the ears, just the coloring I’d always dreamed of for a puppy of my own.   He always snuggled up in my lap and would even fall asleep there.  The puppies grew and began to look more like collies.  Their eyes opened and it was great fun to watch them romp around, chasing a bundle of rags, playing and wrestling.  Even the smallest one was doing well.  I loved them all, but he was my favorite.  Privately I called him Rex, because he carried himself with his head up, as proudly as any king.

When the pups were nearly weaned, Mr. Harewood began talking of selling them.  A farmer near Paignton came and chose one of the girl puppies, and a young woman from Torquay bought the bigger boy puppy.  Mrs. Thornbury picked the other girl; she said she needed the company now that her son was gone.  I couldn’t think of Rex being sold to anyone…except me.   All I had in the way of pocket money was three shillings, sixpence, and I was sure that wouldn’t be nearly enough for a purebred collie.  I didn’t think Mr. Harewood would wait until I could save up.  But I still didn’t say anything to Auntie Geillis.  I couldn’t.

I’d gone to the village by way of the Harewoods’ farm, to bring Rex a ball to play with.  I thought perhaps he was missing his brother and sisters.  But when Mrs. Harewood came to the door and I asked to see Rex, she looked startled and said, “Oh, I’m that sorry, Gilly, but he’s gone.  Mr. Harewood’s took him off, you see.”

I didn’t wait to hear anything else.  I think I remembered my manners enough to thank her and wish her a happy Christmas, but I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer.  I ran as fast as I could down the lane, hoping I wouldn’t run into Rob or anyone else who would ask me what was the matter.  Rex was gone.

As I made my way home, I was glad of the raw wind that made my eyes water, for it gave me an excuse in case Auntie noticed my red eyes.  I didn’t want to make her sad.  She grieved for Mummy too and she missed Uncle Chris.  I knew she worried about him flying missions over Germany.  I did, too.

By the time I turned up the lane, the sleet had turned to snow.  We were going to have a white Christmas after all.  “Auntie, I’m home!” I called out.

Auntie Geillis came in from the kitchen.  “Good heavens, Gilly, you must be frozen!”

She took the parcel from me and hurried me over to sit near the stove.  “Tea’s ready, you’ll need that to warm you up.”  There were egg mayonnaise sandwiches, and I found I was hungry.  She’d made fresh scones, too, and I thought again how nice it was to have as much butter as we wanted since we made our own, and bramble jelly to go along with it.  In London, both butter and eggs were rationed because of the war.   As I usually did, I saved the last bite of scone for Meggie, Auntie’s Border collie.  I loved Meg, but she was Auntie’s pet and though she would come on walks with me, she always slept at the foot of Auntie’s bed.  I wished I had a puppy of my own to curl up with – well, if I were honest, I didn’t want just any puppy.  I wanted Rex.

It seemed like a long time ago that I’d sat on the tor at Midsummer, when a pixie had given me elderflowers to tie in my handkerchief and put under my pillow.  Patch had said that elderflowers were for blessing and making wishes come true.   He’d promised that before Midsummer of next year, I would have what I wanted most – I just had to believe.

I stared into my tea.  Believing was hard sometimes…especially now that Rex was gone.  The tears threatened to spill over again.  I closed my eyes and pictured Rex, silky golden brown fur, ears tipped with black, and bright brown button eyes that gazed at me lovingly with total trust.  Believe, I told myself, even though it was impossible.  Just believe.

“Gilly, are you all right, dear?”  Auntie Geillis’s voice was concerned.  She had noticed.

I started guiltily.  “Oh…mm…yes, Auntie, I’m fine, just thinking.”  I didn’t dare tell her what about or I really would cry.  “I ought to get my chores done before dark.”  In the country, all farm children had chores.

Auntie gave me a quick hug and dropped a kiss on top of my head.  When she did that, she reminded me an awful lot of Mummy.  Strangely enough, instead of making me sad, it was kind of comforting.  “All right, then, but don’t be too long – we might be able to catch a Christmas programme on the wireless.  Then we’ll have some eggnog, tell stories and sing carols.”

I fed the chickens and ducks, and brought another armload of wood in for the fire.  Then I hurried upstairs to wrap my gift for Auntie.  I’d worked very hard on it – a woolen scarf in a pretty forest green.  It was the best knitting I’d ever done; I even managed a cable pattern down the center and a fringe on the ends.  There were a couple of dropped stitches that I hadn’t been able to figure out how to fix, but I hoped Auntie Geillis wouldn’t mind.

I’d knitted a pair of socks for Uncle Chris, and Auntie had packed them in with the parcel she’d sent off to him a week earlier.  It had taken me all summer to learn how to turn the heel properly, but once I figured it out, I’d made two other pairs.  I thought perhaps Auntie could take them to her next Women’s Institute meeting.  The ladies there knitted socks for the soldiers too, just as Mummy and all the ladies in Minchinham Crescent did in London.

I heard Meg barking and then the sound of voices in the kitchen.  I hurried downstairs, stopping to put the scarf for Auntie in its bright paper beneath the tree.  I wondered who on earth had come to call.  It was snowing hard now and I thought the roads wouldn’t be passable for long.

I was right.  Two young men stood before the kitchen stove, snow melting off their leather bomber jackets and puddling around their feet as they stretched cold hands toward the big black Eagle range.  One was dressed in the uniform of the Royal Air Force, but I couldn’t tell from his insignia if he was from my Uncle Chris’s squadron.  The other was clearly American from his accent.

“Yes, ma’am,” he was saying to Auntie as she put the kettle on and handed them towels.  “Bill and I were headin’ back to Tenby from London, but I was driving and took a wrong turn somewhere.”

“You certainly did if you ended up here – Tenby’s in Wales!” Auntie said.  I could tell she was trying not to laugh.

The other young man whom the American had called Bill, said with a smile, “In spite of Jimmy not knowing the area, we’d have got ourselves sorted out if we hadn’t got a puncture.  We had to leave the car off the road, grab our rucksacks and hike it.”

“Well, you’ll not be making it to Tenby tonight in this weather,” Auntie said firmly.  “The telephone is still working, so the wires aren’t down yet.  Why don’t you contact your base and let them know what happened?  You’ll stay here for the night and when the weather clears, we can get someone from Torquay out to have a look at the car.”

While Bill put in the telephone call to the air base, Jimmy ruffled Meg’s fur and said, “I can’t say I’m sorry about the flat tire – it’s real nice to be in a home on Christmas Eve.”   He caught sight of me standing in the doorway.  “Hi there, missy!  What’s your name?”

“Gillian Matthews – most people call me Gilly.”  Jimmy shook hands with me as if I’d been a grown-up and introduced me to Bill when he came back from telephoning.

The two airmen were hungry, and Auntie Geillis soon sat them both down to bowls of hot stew, and freshly baked bread.  While they ate, I excused myself.  If they were staying for Christmas Eve, there was something I needed to do.

When I came back down, Auntie sliced cake for dessert and the adults had coffee.   Afterward we sat in the parlor in front of the fire and talked.  Bill was from London and it was nice to hear him talk about places I was so familiar with – St. James Park, the British Museum, Piccadilly and the West End.  He didn’t say anything about the bomb shelters or taking refuge in the Underground stations when the air raid sirens went, so I had a feeling Auntie had told them what had happened to Mummy and Daddy,  and why I was living with her.

Jimmy was from a small town in North Carolina and hadn’t been home for two years.  Although he didn’t say so, I could tell he really missed his family.  He said his sister had written to tell him that his dog, Shep, waited on the porch for him every day, watching for him to come home.  I felt sorry for him and for Shep, and I wished that the war would be over soon so he could go home and see his family and his dog.  Jimmy seemed to know how I felt.  He grinned at me and his blue eyes twinkled as he related a story about when he first arrived in England – a taxi driver said he would put his luggage in the boot and Jimmy was looking around for footwear, not realizing that what he called the trunk of a car, we called the boot!  The way he told it was funny and made me giggle.

Auntie played the piano and we sang Christmas carols and drank hot spiced cider.  I loved the old songs most of all, like the Coventry Carol and Away in a Manger.  As the last notes of Silent Night died away, I saw Auntie Geillis glance at the tree, a small frown puckering her brows.  It was traditional for many families to open presents on Christmas Eve because tomorrow morning there would be church in the village, and Auntie had invited Mrs. Thornbury to come for Christmas dinner afterward so she wouldn’t be alone.   But we hadn’t known the two airmen would be here, and I knew Auntie wouldn’t want to unwrap gifts when they didn’t have anything.

Bill caught the glance and said easily, “Please – open your presents.  We’ll enjoy seeing what Father Christmas brought for Gilly.  It’s been enough of a gift just to be here with you both tonight.”

Jimmy agreed.  “You have no idea how great this is – it beats the barracks hands down!”

Auntie Geillis hesitated and looked over at me, a question in her eyes.  It was to be up to me, then.   Bill smiled at me and Jimmy said, “Go on, Gilly, let’s see what Santa’s brought you!”

I put my cider cup down and went over to the tree.  Quickly I picked up the two small, rather lumpy parcels I’d placed there while the airmen were eating.  I handed one to Bill and the other to Jimmy.  “Happy Christmas!”  The two men looked astonished.  Bill swallowed hard and Jimmy just sat there looking at the gaily wrapped package in his big hands.  I laughed.  “Well go on, open them!”

Auntie smiled at me, but her eyes were suspiciously bright.  We looked on eagerly as Jimmy and Bill each undid the wrapping paper to find a pair of socks.  The W.I. would just have to wait until I could knit another pair to send to the soldiers.  We had soldiers of our very own who needed them right now.  They both hugged me a little awkwardly and after that it was easy for Auntie to hand me a box.

I unwrapped it carefully, trying not to tear the paper so we could use it again.  In wartime we had to reuse and recycle everything we possibly could.   I opened the box and drew aside the tissue paper.  It was a cardigan in a lovely dark blue wool that was feather soft to the touch.  And the sleeves were long enough I could even turn the cuffs up.  “It’s beautiful, Auntie, thank you!”  I gave her a hug and kiss, then gave her the present I’d made for her.  I watched anxiously as she opened it, then was rewarded by the pleasure in her face.

“Gilly, dear, this is gorgeous!  How did you know this shade of green is my favorite?”

“It just seemed right for you,” I answered, glad that she liked it.

Uncle Chris had sent an intricately-worked silver brooch set with a cairngorm stone for Auntie that he’d bought in Edinburgh, and a silver thistle pendant for me.  I didn’t have any real jewelry of my own.  Auntie had put away Mummy’s pearls and her rings for me when I would be old enough to wear them.

Jimmy got up and rummaged in his rucksack, and handed me four Hershey bars.  I thanked him, scarcely able to believe it.  “I can’t remember the last time I had a chocolate bar!  We’ll make these last a long time!”

Auntie Geillis refilled everyone’s cups with more hot cider and told us stories of the land in a time long ago, when the Druids would cut mistletoe for their midwinter ceremonies to bring back the sun.  “And there’s a legend here in the west country that if you happen to be in the barn at midnight on Christmas Eve, you might hear the animals speak.”

No one seemed ready to go to sleep, but by ten o’clock the fire had started to die down; as it was cold and it would have been wasteful to add more wood at this late hour, we all said good night, wished each other Happy Christmas again and went upstairs.  I undressed and stood at the window for a while, looking out at the snowy night.  “Good night, Mummy and Daddy,” I whispered, as I did every night.  Then I added, “I miss you…Happy Christmas!”

I folded my new cardigan neatly in the drawer and put the chocolate bars on the dresser with the thistle pendant.  It had been a lovely Christmas Eve, but as I knelt to say my prayers before bed, I couldn’t help thinking of Rex.  I wondered if he missed Tess and the other puppies the way I missed Mummy and Daddy.  “Please, God, let Rex have a good home…even if I can’t have him, please let him be with someone who will love him and take good care of him.”  I told myself I wouldn’t cry again, but my throat felt dry and tight.

I was still awake when the mantel clock chimed eleven, then half past.  At this rate I’d be falling asleep in the middle of the sermon tomorrow, which would never do.  I got up and, moving very quietly, put on my socks and shoes and pulled my coat on over my nightdress.  I decided I would go out to the barn.  Maybe if I was quiet I’d hear the animals speak.  But it didn’t matter, it would just be nice to be with them, and maybe it would make me drowsy enough to fall asleep.

I took a torch and let myself silently out of the kitchen door.  It was still snowing and very cold.  I probably should have brought a blanket, but it seemed a bit warmer in the barn.  Dobbin put his head over the stall.  “It’s just me,” I whispered, rubbing his nose.  He blew softly into my hand in greeting.

I turned off the torch once I settled down in the hay.  In the dimness, the barn timbers overhead made me think of the vaulted ceilings of a great church.  It was comforting to hear the swish of the cows’ tails and Dobbin shifting his feet.   Time seemed suspended.  It was so quiet that I could hear the church bells ringing at midnight, the sound clear and sweet in the cold air.

“Gilly!”

When I heard the voice, I almost jumped out of my skin.  It couldn’t be!  It seemed as though the sound came from Dobbin’s stall, but when I scrambled to my feet and looked in on him, he was standing placidly under his blanket.  He lifted his head and only whickered.  He certainly hadn’t called my name.

I stood there for a moment, puzzled.  Then I noticed a faint light at the far end of the barn, in an empty stall.   I knew I hadn’t left a lantern in the barn when I’d gone to feed the chickens.  Curious, but not yet frightened, I went to investigate.  I peered over the top of the stall and gasped.

“Happy Christmas, Gillyflower!”  It was Auntie Geillis, her own coat on over her nightdress, Wellingtons poking out absurdly underneath, sitting in the straw with a tiny bundle of fur on her lap.

I would know that form anywhere – soft golden brown fur shading to black around the ears and framing a white ruff, bright brown eyes and a white-tipped tail that wagged excitedly at sight of me.  For a moment I couldn’t speak.  Then a voice I hardly recognized as my own cried, “Rex! Oh, Rex!”   I don’t remember opening the door to the stall but I was down on my knees in the straw, my face being smothered with puppy kisses.

Some time later, I looked up to see Auntie Geillis watching me and smiling.  “Thank you!  Oh, thank you, Auntie!  How did you…?” I managed.

Auntie Geillis laughed, grey eyes sparkling with the success of her surprise.  “You and I are more alike than you know, my dear.  Ever since I saw you with Rex I’ve known he was meant for you.  Why do you think I sent you off to the village this afternoon?  It was so Mr. Harewood could bring Rex over.  When the weather turned I was afraid he wouldn’t get here in time, and then I was worried that Rex would be too cold out here in the barn.  I had to smuggle him up into my room and hope he’d keep quiet until I could bring him out here after Bill and Jimmy went up to bed.  I knew you’d come.”

“Then the story you told about the animals talking – it’s really just make believe?”

Auntie Geillis smiled and drew both Rex and me into her arms.  Rex’s tail was still wagging.  “Oh, I don’t think so – you see, the legends never said the animals spoke using human words.  You’ve always been able to understand Rex, haven’t you?”  I nodded.  Auntie went on, “It’s because you have learned how to listen with your heart and not just your head – just like you trusted Patch.”

I stared at her.  “Then you know about that, too?  Patch said you were a friend to the pixies.”

“I know.  Patch thinks quite a lot of you – and pixies aren’t easily impressed with humans.”

“Patch told me that I would receive what I wished for most – I just had to believe.  It was hard, though.  After Mummy and Daddy died I didn’t think I’d be happy again.”   Auntie’s arms tightened around me.  “But Patch was right.  I have what I wanted most…I’ve got Rex, and I’ve got you.”

I hesitated, and pulled a small, pixie-sized blanket out of my pocket, knitted in bright red wool.  I knew it wasn’t done to give a pixie clothing, but I thought he might be cold.  “I made Patch a present – but I don’t know to find him.”
“If you leave it here in the barn, he’ll find it – and he’ll know it’s from you,” Auntie answered.  “And now, how about we go in and get some hot chocolate and something for Rex?”

I picked Rex up and wrapped my coat round him to keep him warm as I followed Auntie Geillis out into the frosty air.  Rex licked my cheek and happiness welled up inside me as the three of us made our way through the drifted snow toward the welcoming warmth of home.

By Linda Monsees Stump © 2010

A brisk October wind scudded off the moors, whirling the fallen leaves into a spiral dance around our feet.  In the distance, I could see the whitecaps in the choppy waters of the bay.

“Let’s take a walk out on the moor,” Molly Baines suggested, her scuffed brown brogans crunching in the leaves as we walked home from school.  “The weather will turn cold soon enough and it’ll be too miserable.”  Molly lived in the village where her father owned the chemist’s shop.  Her mother usually helped him, so whenever she didn’t have to lend a hand at the shop herself, Molly would walk home with Rob Harewood or me.  Rob lived on the next farm over to Rowanlee, where I lived with my Auntie Geillis.

I shook my head and shifted my leather school satchel on my shoulder.  “You two go ahead – I should go straight home and do my chores.  I still have to finish my essay tonight.”

“I have to finish mine, too,” Rob said.

Molly frowned.  I noticed that she didn’t like it very much when Rob agreed with me rather than with her.  “Don’t be such a ’fraidy-cat, Gilly!” she exclaimed impatiently.  “I can’t believe you’re too scared to go out on the moor – it’s not as though we’d be trekking across to Buckfastleigh!”

“I’m not scared,” I protested.

“Of course you are!” Molly insisted.  “I’ll bet you’re afraid that the pixies will carry you off!”

“Pixies don’t frighten me,” I shrugged.  When I first came to Devon, Molly told me all sorts of stories about pixies who led unsuspecting humans out on the moor and then left them to find their way back…or not.  I knew I didn’t have to worry about being pixie-led, but I wasn’t going to convince Molly.  “It’s just that my aunt doesn’t let me go out on the moor unless she’s with me.”

“Well of course – you’re a city girl and you’d get lost by yourself.  But you don’t have to worry because we’ll be with you – and I brought horseshoes for protection.”  She handed them round.

“Protection from what?”  I asked, baffled.

Molly looked at me incredulously.  “From evil spirits and pixies, of course – any faerie creature, actually – they don’t like iron.  It’s supposed to work for the Wild Hunt and the hell hounds too.  Here – you put it in your pocket.”   The horseshoe was heavy, and it wouldn’t fit properly in my skirt pocket.  The ends stuck out and the weight of it made my plaid wool skirt droop on one side.  I hoped I wouldn’t tear the seam.

“What are the hell hounds?”

“You’ve never heard of the hell hounds?” Molly grinned eagerly and I knew she was about to tell me yet another West Country legend.  The scarier the story, the better she liked it.  And since I’d only been in Devon six months, she’d found a fresh audience for her tales.  “They’re a phantom pack of black hunting dogs with glowing red eyes and they raced across Dartmoor the night Squire Cabell of Brook Manor was buried, breathing fire and howling at his tomb.”  She paused expectantly.

“Why did they do that?” I asked, as I knew she wanted me to.

“Because the squire sold his soul to the Devil and so the Hell Hounds prowl his grave to get his soul for the Devil.  He lived over by Buckfastleigh – the squire, that is, not the Devil.”

“He must not have been a very nice man,” I said finally, having never heard of anyone who would deliberately sell his soul to the Devil.  “Did you know him?”

Both Molly and Rob burst out laughing.  “Hardly – Squire Richard Cabell died in 1677,” Rob explained.  He had a much better memory for history and dates than Molly did.

“Oh,” I murmured, a little embarrassed.

“Anyway, the Hell Hounds have roamed the moor ever since, and their baying can be heard for miles,” Molly finished her story.  “Come on, let’s go.”

“I can’t, I’ve got to get home.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’re afraid the hell hounds will get you!” Molly exclaimed.

“I’m not,” I insisted.

“You are so afraid, Gillian Matthews!” Molly stamped her foot.

I tried to keep my voice even and not, as Auntie Geillis would say, descend to Molly’s level.  “I’m not afraid, I just have better sense than to go tearing off on the moor when it’s coming on to dark.”

“Gilly’s right.  Maybe it’s not such a good idea,” Rob agreed.  “After all, looks like a storm blowing up.”

Molly snapped, “Don’t be a nit, Rob!”  Maybe it was because Rob sided with my point of view, but she turned on me.  “You should have stayed in London, Gilly.  You don’t belong here – you’re a prissy little city girl who’s afraid of your own shadow!  ‘Fraidy cat!”

I lost my temper then.  “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Molly!  Have you ever really been afraid?  You love telling scary stories, but they’re all make-believe.  You’ve never been in any real danger.  You’ve never been wakened in the night by the air raid sirens and have to run for the bomb shelter and huddle in the dark listening to the bombs falling around you, waiting for the all clear to go and wondering if you’ll have a house to go back to.”  My words tumbled out faster.  “You’ve never had your house bombed in a direct hit and been trapped for hours under the stairs until the neighbors can find you and pull you out, only to see your mum and dad lying in the rubble, covered in blood and not moving, and you know they’re dead and never coming back to you.   I have – and until you’ve been through it – don’t you ever call me a ‘fraidy cat!”

“Gilly…” Rob’s voice trailed off and he looked a bit strained.  Molly’s face alternately flamed, then paled.  She opened her mouth, then closed it without saying anything, and she looked as though she was going to cry.

But I was too angry to stop.  “You wanted a walk on the moor – then let’s go…unless you’re scared!” I flung the words at her and stalked off the pathway onto the moor, setting a rapid pace.

I heard Rob say, “That’s torn it, Molly!  You hadn’t ought to’ve done that.  Gilly may be quiet, but she’s got nerve, that one.  She…”  The rising wind tore the rest of his words away from me.  I kept my eyes on a copse of trees several hundred yards away and concentrated on the golden leaves falling like bright coins from the sky.  It kept me from thinking about the memories I had unintentionally conjured up.  They were far more frightening than the ghost stories Molly had been regaling us with in anticipation of Hallowe’en.

“Gilly, wait!” Molly panted behind me.  I wouldn’t turn around, not yet ready to let go of my anger.  I didn’t want to talk to either of them at the moment.  I was angry with Molly for goading me, but I was even angrier with myself for revealing more than I intended.  Although Rob and Molly both knew my parents were dead, I hadn’t talked to them about it.  And I didn’t want to talk about it anymore now.   If I did, I knew I’d burst into tears, and I didn’t want to be an object of pity.

Rob and Molly caught up to me at the copse of trees.  Rob was the first to speak, and he spoke quietly, in the same tone as I’d heard him use to calm a spooked horse, but his eyes were anxious.  “Are you all right, Gilly?”

I nodded and took a deep breath.  “I’m fine.”

Rob patted my shoulder, awkwardly trying to show comfort.  “I’m sorry about your mum and dad,” he said, broaching the uncomfortable subject head-on in the countryman’s way.  “I knew they’d died, but not how.  It must’ve been beastly for you.”  I nodded again, and he went on.  “You’re right, you know.  We’ve not been through anything like you have.  Sure, we’ve all done our gas mask drills and we’ve had a few planes come over, but the war hasn’t touched us other than knowing folk who’ve lost family in the fighting.  We haven’t had the constant air raids, and being on the farm we haven’t had near the rationing you had in London.  I reckon we’ve had it easy – we don’t know how we’d measure up.  We can only hope we’d never give in, like Mr. Churchill says.  You do know – and you didn’t give in.”

He looked pointedly at Molly.  Molly reddened again, then blurted out, “I’m sorry, Gilly – I didn’t mean to upset you.  You really aren’t a ‘fraidy cat…You were going to go home to your auntie and I just couldn’t face going home to an empty house.  Your auntie always has something nice for you to eat after school and my mum hasn’t done that for me in ages.  She’s too busy helping my dad with the shop since Mrs. Thornbury’s son went off to war.  I miss my mum being home!” She started to cry.  “I know it sounds really stupid, especially to you because you’re always missing your mum.”  She rummaged around the horseshoe in her pocket for a handkerchief.  As usual, she couldn’t find it.  “I only called you a ‘fraidy cat so you wouldn’t leave me all by myself, and I didn’t want to ask if I could come home with you again.  It was a really stupid thing to do – and I’m sorry.  Are you…are you going to be mad at me forever?”

I don’t know whether it was Rob’s quiet acknowledgement of my parents’ loss or Molly unexpectedly bursting into tears when I’d been so close to it myself, but my anger evaporated.  I understood how she felt.  “No, I’m not mad at you anymore,” I drew a spare handkerchief from my own pocket and handed it to her.  Mummy always used to carry two, so I did as well.  Molly gave me a watery smile of thanks and blew her nose.

I decided it was time to change the subject.  “Are you going to the bonfire on All Hallows Eve?”  I thought that the mention of Hallowe’en would probably start Molly on another ghost story, but at least it was preferable to the waterworks.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.  There’ll be bobbing for apples, roasted chestnuts and  – .”

“We’d better head back,” Rob muttered.  Unlike us, he’d been watching the storm clouds roll in.  A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.

“We’ve got time, haven’t we?” Molly persisted, reluctant to abandon her adventure.

Rob shook his head.  “That storm’s moving faster than we first thought.  We shouldn’t have stayed out this long.”

I looked up at the sky.  The storm was moving fast, gunmetal grey clouds massing over our heads.  Any minute now, it would start raining.  “Auntie Geillis might have baked apples for us,” I said, appealing to Molly’s appetite.

“D’you think so?” she asked hopefully.  “Her baked apples are the best!”

Rob intervened.  “Molly, you can think about food when we get back to Rowanlee.   Come on, let’s go.”

“Good idea,” I agreed, relieved that Rob was no more anxious to stay out on the moors in a storm than I was.  I had no doubt that Auntie Geillis was not going to be happy with me for this escapade.

We turned and headed back the way we came, but the sky was much darker now and lightning crackled across the sky, followed by a resounding boom of thunder.  “I guess I should have brought a torch,” Molly admitted.  “I can barely see the path.”

“We’ll have to stay together,” Rob instructed.  “Folk have been lost on the moors in storms.”

“Or the hell hounds got them,” Molly put in helpfully.  “They say that if you see the hell hounds running across the moors it means you’re going to die.”

“That’s a lot of rubbish, Molly,” Rob said stoutly.  “You’ve never seen a hell hound and you’ve never met anyone who did.  Those stories probably started to keep people from going out onto the moors in bad weather.  It wouldn’t take a hell hound to make you fall in a hole.”

With Rob in the lead, we walked steadily down the barely visible track.  The rain started, a chill downpour that had us all soaked to the skin within minutes.   Conversation stopped.  In the wind and pouring rain it was all we could do to stick to the path.

In the distance a dog howled, a lost, mournful cry that tore at my heart.  I loved dogs and had wanted one of my own for as long as I could remember.  Mummy and Daddy had promised me a puppy when I turned twelve because they felt I was responsible enough to take care of a dog.  But I’d spent my twelfth birthday sifting through the ruin of my house with Auntie Geillis.  I couldn’t ask for a puppy then.  To keep my mind off how cold and wet I was, I thought of a collie puppy with a white ruff, and soft golden brown fur shading to black around the ears.  Someday…

The distant dog howled again, the cry echoed by the deep baying of a hunting pack.  I couldn’t imagine why anyone would be hunting on the moor in this weather.  Then I saw them – black shapes racing straight toward us that soon became identifiable as large black dogs.  “It’s the hell hounds!” Molly shrieked.  She shoved a hand hard into Rob’s back.  “Run!”  The three of us broke into a mad dash toward Rowanlee.

My satchel bumped uncomfortably on my hip as I ran.  All at once my ankle twisted painfully beneath me and I fell, hard.  “Molly, wait!” I gasped, but she didn’t hear me, continuing in her headlong run for safety.   I tried to scramble to my feet but my ankle wouldn’t hold me.  I crashed to the ground again, feeling suddenly faint and slightly queasy.  “Rob!  Molly – help!” I called, but my cries were lost in the storm.  I could feel my ankle swelling, my shoe getting tighter every second.  I unbuckled it while I still could – I only had the one everyday pair, and I didn’t want to have to cut it off.  I pushed the wet hair out of my face and eased my shoe off.  The pain made me feel light-headed again and I waited with my head on my knees until the sick feeling passed.

Another flash of lightning, and I could see the hell hounds clearly now, coming straight for me.  They were big dogs – the size of mastiffs, black as night with eyes glinting red in the eerie greenish light from the storm.  I couldn’t run to get away, and I was right in their path.  What was it Molly said?  Iron…the horseshoe was supposed to protect me from evil spirits because it was made of iron.  I reached into my pocket with a shaking hand, but the horseshoe wasn’t there.  It must have fallen out when I took my tumble.  If hell hounds really did kill people, I didn’t have much of a chance.  It was too much to hope for that they wouldn’t notice me in a crumpled heap on the track.

The mournful baying filled my ears as the pack bore down on me.  I should have been terrified, but strangely, all I felt was sadness – that these poor dogs were fated to run across the moors forever.  In spite of what Molly said, I couldn’t imagine a dog being evil; dogs were some of the kindest, most loving creatures on earth.  Whatever had led them to this cursed existence, it couldn’t have been their fault.  A lump grew in my throat at the thought of them never having a home and hearth to call their own and a loving owner to feed them, brush them and take care of them.  “I wish I could help you,” I said aloud.  “I would if I knew how.”

They were on me then, and involuntarily I put out a hand, palm down.  “It’s all right, I won’t hurt you.  I’m a friend.”  I felt warm breath on my fingertips, then the brush of fur as the lead dog ran by, the rest of the pack following.  I watched them pass, marveling at their beauty and grace – and then they simply…disappeared.

For a moment, my brain refused to process what I’d just seen.  Something cold and wet touched my hand and I jumped, startled.  A canine whimper beside me brought me sharply back to my present predicament.  One of the hell hounds was still here!

And he was hurt by the look of it, holding one forepaw off the ground.  My fear totally forgotten now, I stroked the sleek black head.  He wasn’t as big as the rest of the pack and he looked like a half-grown pup.  He had that ungainly way about him that young dogs have before they’ve fully grown into their feet.  And this one had very large feet.  “There, it’s all right.  I told you I’d help and I will.  Did they leave you behind when you hurt your paw?” I was talking softly, trying to reassure him.  “Maybe they don‘t know you’re lost.  My friends didn’t know I got hurt either, so they just kept going.  What’s the trouble, then?  Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.  We won’t have to tell anyone you’re a hell hound, do we?”  The tail wagged feebly, and eyes that didn’t look red anymore looked trustingly into mine.  The dog pressed against me, shivering.  He was so thin I could feel his ribs beneath the matted fur.  I put my arms around him and the next thing I knew I had a lap full of very wet dog.

I buried my face in the dark fur, glad as he was to have some company on the lonely moor.  I rubbed his ears, murmuring all sorts of nonsense.  Carefully I let my hand slide down his foreleg.  He whimpered a little as I touched the injured paw.  I wished I had a torch so I could see what had to be done for it, and even more I wished Auntie Geillis were here.  She would know what to do.  My gently probing fingers found the problem almost immediately – a thorn pierced one of the pads of the foot.  “Oh, you poor dear, it’s all right, I’m going to get it out for you.  Hold still, now – it’ll only take a minute.”  He yelped once, sharply, as I pulled the thorn out, but didn’t try to get off my lap.  Thankfully I still had a clean handkerchief in my pocket.  I let the rain soak the cambric so I could stanch the bleeding, clean the pad and tie a makeshift bandage around the dog’s foot.  I talked to him constantly as I worked.

“It’s not the best, but it’ll do until someone finds us and I can get Auntie to look at it.  She’s as good as any vet – even the farmers say so, and she makes a salve that’ll draw out any infection and make it feel much better.  You can live with us and I’ll take care of you.  You’ll never be hungry again.”  The tail thumped again, more vigorously.  “There, you’ll do, boy.”  I patted his neck.  Suddenly my fingers touched leather.  He was wearing a collar!  It was too dark to see if there was a tag, but….This was no hell hound, but a very real, flesh-and-blood dog, now slurping my face with a rough warm tongue.  He must have gotten lost somehow and when he couldn’t find his way home he’d joined the pack of hell hounds…I couldn’t quite make sense of that.  It was almost as though the hell hounds had heard me, knew the dog needed help, and brought him to me.

“Thank you,” I said softly.  “I will take care of him.  I hope you can find peace and a home.”  The dog licked my face again and laid his head on my arm.  I lost track of time, just holding him.

The rain had started to ease up when I heard someone calling my name.  “Gilly!”  It was Auntie Geillis, and she sounded more worried than angry.

Lights flashed some way down the path and in the feeble yellow light I saw Auntie Geillis, dressed for the weather in mac and Wellingtons, and carrying a torch.  Rob Harewood was with her, and his father as well.  Mr. Harewood had a lantern.

“Over here, Auntie!” I called back.  The lights wavered, then shifted in my direction.

“Gilly, are you hurt?” Auntie called.  Her voice was calm, but I heard the undertone of concern.

“I’m all right.  I think I just sprained my ankle – but I’ve found a dog.”

“A dog!” I heard the exclamations of surprise.

The dog pressed against me as the others came up, watching them guardedly as though he were protecting me.  I wrapped my arms around him again as Auntie knelt down beside me.  In the lantern light, I saw that her grey eyes were shadowed with concern.

“It’s all right, I’m here to help Gilly,” she said to the dog, holding her hand out, palm down, for him to smell.  With her usual sense for animals, she realized that if she wanted to have a look at my ankle, she was going to have to reassure the dog first.  The tail wagged and he licked her hand.  Introductions completed, Auntie turned her attention to my ankle.  She manipulated it gently and I bit my lip.  The dog licked my face.  “It’s not broken, dear, but you’ve got a nasty sprain.  The best I can do is wrap it for you and we’ll get you home.”

“Auntie, could you look at the dog’s paw?  He had a thorn stuck deep in his foot – I think I got all of it out, but could you look at it?”

“Of course – here, let’s have a look at you,” The dog allowed Auntie to pick up his paw and unwind my handkerchief.  After her inspection, she nodded, and slanted a look at me.  “You did a good job, Gilly.  When we get home I’ll put some of my comfrey salve on it.”  She re-bandaged the paw, the dog watching her trustingly.  She murmured, “Heaven knows how long you’ve been living wild.  You need a few good meals and a bath and you’ll be right as rain.”

“What happened, child?”  Mr. Harewood asked gruffly.  “Rob said you got separated in the storm and Molly was shrieking some rubbish about the hell hounds got you.”

I caught Rob’s look – it was clear that he wasn’t sure how to respond to the bit about the hell hounds, so I answered the easier question.  “I think I stepped in a rabbit hole, that’s how I sprained my ankle.  Rob and Molly didn’t know I fell.  Then the dog found me….”  I didn’t want Rob to get in trouble for leaving me out on the moor.  “I think he’s lost – there’s a collar, but I couldn’t read the tag.”

Auntie shone the torch on the dog’s collar.  “Sam,” she read, her voice a little husky.  “He’s a long way from home…there’s a Coventry address – we might be able to phone.”

Getting home was rather an undertaking.  I still couldn’t put any weight on my sprained ankle, so Mr. Harewood handed the lantern to Rob and picked me up.  I was a bit embarrassed at having to be carried all that way.  “I’m sorry I caused all this trouble,” I said in a small voice.

“No trouble,” Mr. Harewood assured me with a grin, “I’ve had to tote sheep around who weighed more than you, child.  You’re just a little slip of a thing.  Pay it no mind.”  Sam – for I must call him by his name – paced between Auntie Geillis and Mr. Harewood, jumping up now and again as if to make sure I was still there.  Auntie didn’t say anything to me, just murmured a few words to Sam and patted his head.  At least she wasn’t upset with Sam.  I just hoped she wasn’t angry enough with me to send me away.  I’d seen enough pictures of the bleak orphanages where children like me ended up.  It seemed to take quite a while to get back to Rowanlee.

After Rob and Mr. Harewood left for their farm, Auntie wanted me to take a hot bath right away, but I insisted on seeing to Sam first.  Surprisingly Auntie didn’t argue.  But then farm folk always saw to the needs of their animals first.

Once both Sam and I were bathed and fed and Sam’s paw properly cleaned and treated with Auntie’s comfrey salve and rebandaged, Auntie Geillis called the telephone exchange to get the number for the Coventry address on Sam’s collar.  I waited anxiously, with Sam now sleeping contentedly on the sofa beside me, his head in my lap.  The phone call seemed to be taking quite a while.

“I see.  Thank you very much.  Good night.”  Auntie replaced the telephone receiver and looked at me.

“Did you find Sam’s family?”  I asked in a small voice, half dreading the answer.

“Not yet – the operator in Coventry said the address was bombed out.  She put me through to the police station and the sergeant at the desk knew the family.  He said they survived, although one of the children was injured, but he’d heard they’d gone to family in Paignton about a month ago.”  Her voice was matter-of-fact as she spoke of the bombing, but her grey eyes were shadowed.  I knew she missed Mummy too – after all, they were sisters and had been very close.  With Auntie’s husband, my Uncle Chris, stationed in Edinburgh with the RAF, she had been alone at Rowanlee until I came to live with her.  “I’ll have to call the exchange in Paignton.”  She picked up the receiver again.

“What happens if you can’t find them?” I ventured again, needing to know, but afraid to ask outright if we could keep Sam.

Auntie sighed.  “We certainly can’t turn Sam out to fend for himself, he’s still just a pup, but you must understand that we’ve got to do everything we can to find his people.”

“Is it because I disobeyed and went out on the moor?” I asked miserably, tears very close to the surface.

“Of course not!  Whatever made you think that?” Her voice gentled. “Oh, Gilly, love – ”

She put the phone down and came to sit on the couch beside me.  She put her arms around me and held me close.   “I know you want to keep Sam…but think about how much you care about him – and you’ve known him only a few hours.  If he were your dog and got lost somehow, think about how you’d feel.  Wouldn’t you want whoever found him to let you know so you could come and bring him home?”

I nodded, resting my cheek on Sam’s sleek head.  I couldn’t speak around the lump in my throat.  Auntie went off to call the Paignton exchange.  When she came back, she said quietly, “I found them.  The Carstairs family will be coming up by train tomorrow – they’ll take the taxi from the station.  You and Sam had better get to bed, Gilly.  He can sleep with you tonight.”

Sam curled up on the bed beside me and was soon fast asleep, but I lay awake long into the night.  My sprained ankle throbbed but even worse was the pain of knowing I would have to say good-bye to Sam.  I’d found a dog I’d hoped could be my own, only to lose him again.  At long last I cried myself to sleep.

Morning dawned too soon.  I fed Sam, took him outside and brushed him, but it quickly became evident that I wasn’t going to be able to go to school.  Rob stopped by on his way to the village, bringing a pair of crutches for me to use, and Auntie gave him a note for my teacher.  After the usual farm chores, Auntie was busy in the kitchen much of the morning, which left me free sit outside in the brisk autumn sunshine with Sam.

It was nearly eleven when the taxi came up the lane.  It came to a stop at our gate and a man got out, then the driver got out and opened the boot.  The passenger pulled out a wheelchair, unfolded it and wheeled it to the other side of the car.  He seemed to be helping someone get out and into the wheelchair.  Then he and the driver spoke for a few minutes, before the driver nodded, got back in the cab and drove away.

The man pushed the wheelchair through the gate and I saw the girl for the first time.  She was perhaps my age and very thin, with long brown ringlets tied back in a yellow bow.   She wore a brown skirt and yellow jumper, and her thin legs were encased in steel braces.

At the creak of the gate, Sam’s head came up sharply from my lap.  He barked once, joyfully, then bounded to his feet and raced down the drive.   The girl caught sight of him and cried, “Sam!” and then she was laughing and crying all at once as Sam leaped at the wheelchair, his tail wagging madly.

Auntie Geillis came out and shook the man’s hand and spoke to the girl.  By the time I reached the house I was composed enough to be introduced to Mr. Carstairs and his daughter Susan.

“My wife had to stay in Paignton with the boys – we didn’t have train fare for all of us,” Mr. Carstairs was explaining somewhat apologetically to Auntie.  “You see, Susan was in hospital for several weeks, and it took all we had to come here where we can stay with my wife’s sister until we get on our feet again.  But we’re luckier than most – we can start over, and the doctors believe Susan will walk again in time.”

Susan said, “I’m sure I will now because I’ve got Sam back – I’ll work hard at the exercises so I can run and play with him again.”

Mr. Carstairs said quietly to Auntie, “We were afraid she’d given up after we lost Sam.  We brought him with us but he had to be kept in the baggage car and when we got to Paignton, he was gone.  The conductor said it was likely he’d got loose when the train stopped at Torquay.  Susan was devastated – having him was the only thing that got her through the pain.”

Susan turned to me, “Thank you so much for finding Sam.  I was so afraid I’d lost him forever.”  Her voice caught and she bent to caress Sam’s ears.

“You’re welcome,” I replied.

Auntie, tactful as always, stepped into the awkward moment and invited Mr. Carstairs and Susan to stay for lunch.  “You’ll need time to eat before you catch the train.”

Mr. Carstairs accepted and maneuvered Susan’s wheelchair inside.  Sam curled up on the floor between Susan and me.  While Auntie and Mr. Carstairs talked about Mr. Churchill’s latest speech, Susan asked me, “However did you manage to find Sam?”

“He found me,” I answered, and told her about getting caught out on the moor with Rob and Molly.  I didn’t tell her about the hell hounds.  “He came right to me – he had a thorn in his foot, but I got it out.”

“You must be very good with animals,” Susan said.  “Sam doesn’t usually come to anyone but family.”

I shrugged.  “I love dogs, and I think Sam knew that.  His foot really will be all right.  Auntie Geillis put some of her salve on it and I’m sure she’ll send some along for you to put on until it’s fully healed.”

After that it was easy to talk to Susan.  Auntie had made bread pudding for dessert and we chatted while Auntie and Mr. Carstairs had coffee.  Before I knew it, the taxi was at the gate.    Sam seemed to know it was time to go.  He came to me, and put his paws in my lap.  “I’ll miss you, Sam,” I whispered in his ear.  I buried my face in his dark fur, then he was covering my face in doggy kisses.

Mr. Carstairs had brought a lead, which he clipped to Sam’s collar.  I got to walk him to the taxi while Mr. Carstairs helped Susan into the cab, then Sam jumped in beside her.  Our good-byes were a bit rushed, as they had to a train to catch, but we promised to keep in touch.  The driver pipped the horn twice, then they were gone.

The farmyard seemed very empty without Sam’s presence.

Two nights later, Auntie and I decided to forego the All Hallows Eve bonfire on the village green.  My ankle still wasn’t strong enough to stand for that long and the crutches would be awkward in the crush of people.  Instead, Auntie filled a thermos of hot apple cider and brought some shortbread and we sat on the hill behind the barn as the sun slipped below the horizon.  We could just see the flickering of the bonfire through the trees.

“I know you’re missing Sam,” Auntie said conversationally.

I nodded.  “You knew, didn’t you – about Susan, I mean?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Auntie sighed.   “You thought I wasn’t allowing you to keep Sam because you’d gone onto the moor, and that wasn’t it at all.  But I couldn’t tell you about Susan…you had to see for yourself to understand how much she needs Sam.”

“I know she does,” I said in a small voice.   “I am sorry I disobeyed you and went out on the moor.  I knew I shouldn’t have gone.  Molly just made me so angry by calling me a ‘fraidy cat.  But she doesn’t know what it’s like to be really scared.”

“Molly talks a lot of rubbish sometimes,” Auntie agreed.  “But I think she has a better understanding of fear now.  Whatever it was that happened to you three on the moor absolutely terrified her.  She was nearly hysterical when she and Rob came running up the lane, screaming that the hell hounds had taken you and it was all her fault.”

I swallowed.  The hell hounds again.  I’d been able to dodge the question with Mr. Harewood, but didn’t think I’d have the same luck with Auntie.  One dark brow arched a query.  “What did happen out there, Gilly?”

I lifted a shoulder helplessly.  “I – I’m not sure.  On our way home from school, Molly told me about the hell hounds and how they race over Dartmoor.  I didn’t really believe her.  But then we got caught in the storm and we heard the hounds baying.  Then we all saw them – ”  I told her everything.  “Auntie, I felt the breath of the lead dog, touched his fur as he passed me…and then they ran on and just disappeared, and Sam was there.  I don’t understand it, but it’s like they brought Sam to me.”

Auntie listened thoughtfully and didn’t try to tell me I was talking rubbish.  “There are many things in this world we don’t understand,” she said at last.

“Then you don’t think I’m daft?”

“No, I don’t.  You’re too sensible.  And remember your mum – the vicar thought that was impossible too, but you knew she was there.”  I nodded.  Mummy had pushed me under the stairs to safety when our house was bombed.  In the darkness, she held me, talked to me and sang to me until I fell asleep.  It was only after our neighbor, Mrs. Roe, cut open the door and pulled me out that I learned that Mummy had been killed in the first blast.

Auntie went on, her voice calm and comforting.  “It’s been said that at this time of year, the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead is the thinnest, so who’s to say that dogs can’t come through as well?  I don’t believe those so-called hell hounds ever harmed anyone, but – just like Molly – people feared them because of the legend.  You weren’t afraid of them because you love dogs, and you wanted to help.   Dogs – spectral or otherwise – know a friend when they see one.  Who knows?  Perhaps you brought them some measure of peace.  And they did lead Sam to you so you could help him and Susan.”

“I did want to keep him…but I’m glad Susan has him back.  I hope she’ll be able to walk again.  After hobbling around on crutches the last few days, I can’t imagine the thought of not being able to walk and run.”

Auntie Geillis put her arm around me.  “I’m awfully proud of you, Gilly.”

We sat for a while in silence.   A shooting star blazed across the night sky and I made a wish on it for a puppy of my own, a collie puppy with a white ruff, and soft golden brown fur shading to black around the ears.  Someday…

This is not a story of gumdrops or stockings;
It is not a piece on good ole St. Nick.
We are about to sneak a peek into the world
Of the man named Scrooge and his long spiritual trip.

So sit tight snuggling in for warmth
And listen with wide open ears,
Because a lesson is sure to be had -
For us to remember for years.

Our old main character, Mr. Scrooge
Owns a building on Buttonwood Street
He is a miser who bleeds his rentors dry
Of all the money they’d see.

When calls come in for repairs,
He is never around to help…
Forgetful he likes to play -
Even if it would only cost a cent.

“Hello Mr. Scrooge? This is your tenant
From apartment number three.
I seem to have an infestation
Of all these little fleas.”

“Tenant from apartment what?
I don’t know what you mean.
We just inspected those rooms
And found them very clean.”

Broken pipes and broken dreams
Have nowhere to go but downhill.
How those frowns on his tenants’ faces
Give Scrooge a little thrill.

After hanging up the phone,
With one more irritated rentor;
He cracked a smile of mockery
And went upstairs in his Tudor.

“Always wanting things for free,
How dare they beg and plead.
I’ve worked for all that I have -
Why can’t they be like me?”

Snug as a bug in his oversized bed
Scrooge slid down further into the sheets
Rolling to his side he thought once more
“No wonder… they are all just deadbeats.”

Sliding off into a comfortable dream,
Bold images were flashing by.
Colors, swirls and a world of beauty
And then a familiar did cry.

Old Scrooge turned to the sound…
“This animal does not belong!
What is she doing here?
A cat from yore; or could I be wrong?”

Sure enough, she climbed to his lap
Sitting so straight-laced.
Her small head cocked sideways,
Staring back at his gaze.

“I know you are surprised old man
But I could wait no longer
You’ve gone off the deep end my friend
And for that I must bother.

When you were my master, Scrooge
Two scores and several years ago…
You were quite attentive and loving
Now who you are, I don’t even know.

You’ve shriveled and pruned.
Scowls always on your face.
You don’t look happy in the slightest.
Alone you walk your pace.

You are not the least bit nice -
You’ve crippled your helping hand.
Money has taken over your world…
Yet your life is not that grand.

Don’t you remember, Ebenezer
What life was like before?
I, a cat by your side
Could never ask for more.

Charitable you were
Giving at every turn
There were smiles and laughter
And the hard times did not deter.”

“Who are you to tell me
What life was like back then.
Times did change and so had I
To survive, I needed thicker skin.”

“Okay Scrooge, I did try to warn.
From your familiar came courtesy.
But you will learn for yourself
Through some others visiting.”

The cat disappeared from his dream
And he was left in wonder…
How dare she try to come back
And want to point the finger.

Deeper into sleep Scrooge did slip;
Not realizing all dreams that were passing.
All of a sudden he was above himself -
No signs of falling or crashing.

Strange as it may seem
A penguin waddled toward him
Even in this open blue sky
Closer came his power totem.

“Hello Scrooge, finally we meet.
I have some things to share.
It is of utmost importance -
That you do become aware.

I’ve tried to help you sense
That some things were not right
But you were deaf to me before
So I come to you this night

See ahead those people
Living in your building?
Why do they deserve neglect?
For you to not respect them?

I sense the path you lead
May not be the one you want.
And for you to find happiness
You will need a new start.

It really can happen.
You can find your old self.
you simply need to believe,
And give up bits of wealth.”

“I can not be asked to let go
Of what I’ve worked so hard for!
I’ve not been lazy or lax.
Who do you think you are?

If you think my tenants
All deserve those handouts
Why don’t you help them each
With your future reading touts?”

“Ebenezer, I plead, take a closer look
There in apartment three -
A child on his own;
Even with all the fleas.

His father is working late -
And there is no one to watch him.
But money he has to earn
To keep the roof over them.

You won’t take care of the fleas
The poor boy constantly bitten.
His dad can’t afford meds
Because the money you have taken.”

“Okay, I will get rid of those fleas.
This promise I will make.
But this will not change things.
At least for my own sake.”

Change takes small steps
That we are all told.
And for Ebenezer Scrooge
It continues to unfold.

The penguin waddled off
No longer to be seen
A quick look around
He realized – still in the dream.

What could possibly happen next
In this wild dream of Scrooge?
But the arrival of one more creature
That makes the slowest man move.

Along came a large spider
Who crept up next to him
Lifted his two front legs out of anger
Bellowed, “I am your shadow totem”

“Shadow Totem, Bah.
You have nothing to say
That will really make me
Want to change my ways.”

The spider towered over him
And showed his sharp white fangs.
“You WILL listen to me, Scrooge,
And what I have to say.

If you do not heed our warnings
You will be deeply sorry
For you will go through all of your days
With no love or no glory.

Those around you will fall
When you could have lent a hand
The guilt will consume you
And nothing will be what you planned.

Take a look for yourself, Ebenezer.
At a home in a chair
Staring off in the distance
Because you know that no one cares.

Scrooge, is it really worth it?
Your life has been sucked from you.
You’ve allowed this to happen
Selfish till you turned blue.”

“I can’t let this happen.
I used to be happy once.
I can be generous and helpful.
I don’t want to be left alone.”

And with this, the spider walked away
Leaving Ebenezer to his dream
But how quickly he did awake -
When hearing himself scream.

“I will change; this I promise.
And I will start with apartment three.
I will help those families with their problems
And I will help them all for free.”

We all may venture off our paths,
This much is definitely true
So, pay attention to your totems
For they will come to the rescue.

© Karas Myr

"Starlight shimmers through autumn leaves,
rustling in the midnight breeze.
Pumpkins glow bright in soft moonlight,
as shadows dance in firelight,
flickering from a shadowed glade,
where strange and wild music’s played,
Imbued with magic, myth and lore,
haunting the soul forevermore.
Where spirits dance around the ring,
and faeries laugh and love and sing,
while souls departed long before,
return to walk the earth once more."