Capricious Moon

• Sienna McCarthy-Gray, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2017

It was a windy night, a wild night, and the trees of the forest seemed to lunge and grab at her as the gusts tore to and fro. It was dark and shadowy in the forest, though Grace caught glimpses of the moon every now and then in a break in the trees, and the branches made noises like gunshots as they clawed at each other. The shadows seemed to leap and leer at Grace as she stood, rather alarmed, at the window.
There was something like magic in the air tonight; that strange magic belonging to the faeries, goblins and pixies renowned for their tricks who were thought to dwell in the valleys, caves and forests of the world. Despite their frivolity, the ‘Hidden Ones’ were also said to possess a rare and powerful magic which each could wield with a frightening dexterity. They could mix the herbs of the forest into the deadliest of poisons that could beguile the heart, mind and body, and they played music more haunting and beautiful than all of the symphonies of the orchestra.
A gust, stronger and colder than the others, brought Grace to her senses and she gasped and pulled back. The wind had clasped the tree in front of her window and wrenched it to the side, exposing its’ roots and something more unusual that Grace did not notice. Her gaze was caught by the sight above her. The felled tree had left a breech in the cathedral-like roof of the forest and exposed the view above. The sky was pitch black but the scudding clouds, grey and purple and tormented, hid most of it. Even the moon, at its highest peak and round like a new minted coin, was all but smothered, but the wind kept the racing clouds moving and soon the moon was free. As it pulled away, sailing over the inky expanse like a boat cut lose in a storm, Grace caught a glimpse of a chariot, made from leaves and twigs and drawn by faerie moths, break free of the trees and careen across the sky. For a moment she saw them, clear-cut in the light of the full moon with every detail bright and shining as if dipped in pure gold, two faeries and their hapless pixie driver, who was desperately trying to gain control of the cartwheeling chariot. It was tumbling through the air, tossed about as the pair danced to the music of the stars under the light of a capricious moon.
Then the clouds caught the moon once more and sucked it into their embrace, blotting out her radiance along with the sight of the tiny faerie craft.
Her curtain billowed and the sound of bells and flutes came from below Grace’s window. Then they too faded and the storm cascaded around her ears. It sounded almost like screaming, but Grace had succumbed to the dream and knew no more.