Moonlight (1)
MOONLIGHT DIVINING ROD David Byron Matthew's walk into the snowy woods in December brought him to the small frozen pond in the clearing. There was a girl there; a blood eater, he could tell. Her black hair fell in a slick black mess over her shoulders and the collar of her scruffy, olive-colored coat. Her face was the same smooth, unmarred silver-white of the frozen water. She was hunched down, snail-like, on the very edge of the pond, her bead bowed. He tugged thoughtfully at his full, black beard. which was stiff with the cold. Her presence made no sense at all to him. He was a woodsman, a seasoned hunter acquainted with all the forest people and their ways better than did all the ignorant people back in town. Three things were very wrong: for one, sunset was many hours away, although the winter sky was a low, steely gray and pregnant with snow. But besides that, the girl's fellows were all dormant in their earth dugouts well in the heart of the forest, where they waited in hibernation for the wet thaw of spring. Lastly, this pond was a kilometer at most from the outskirts of town, where the blood eaters would be hard pressed to go regardless of the season. She looked up and saw him, her large dark eyes full of the fearful black light of those of a rabbit or a doe. But she didn't move, which was also wrong; the blood eaters were skittish people who had as few dealings as possible with the flesh eaters outside their woodland jurisdiction. With good reason, God knew. He didn't always care for them himself, he supposed. Which is why he was a woodsman; and though accountable as well, he had asked for the district closest to the woods, and wasn't always overly keen on incidents actually happening in town. Here, however, was a different matter. He said, "Don't be afraid," aware of the sonorous boom in his deep voice across the still, frigid air. She blinked. Her lashes were long and dark, and a few stray snowflakes perched on them. "Are you hurt?" he asked, though he doubted a smart blood-eater would have divulged that if it were true. She shook her head, and her look now suggested neither fear nor welcome. A peculiar, affable indifference, actually.. Matthew didn't need to be invited He was possessed, he supposed, of a sense of stewardship about the whole woods; anything wrong or irregular with one of its inhabitants gave him a need for accounting, as though anything extraordinary might be symptomatic of something going on with the rest of the creatures in the forest. Especially the ones which affected his livelihood. He advanced through the calf-high snow, which covered entanglements of long, thick grass. He came to the edge and sat down beside the girl, on the frozen soil jutting in a hard jaw over the ice. She didn't flinch, only sat back on her ankles, her gloved hands on her knees. Her gloves were very torn; it wasn't unusual for blood eaters to have mostly second hand things, he knew; they were salvagers and scavengers as much as they were anything else. Through a large hole in one glove, a blue vein flexed and pulsed In spite of himself, he found it distasteful to look. "I hope you don't mind my asking this, but I want to know if you are well. This is odd, finding the likes you here, now." "Oh, that would be true, I guess, if I were more like them." she glanced rather contemptuously at the woods beyond the pond. "But I can't, and they know it. I live in the winter. They don't care for it much, but I can't do without it They are not quite sure I'm fully one of them, but I don't see what else I could be." "I can imagine this is a very hard time of year for your people," he said. "The deer are very scarce. Most of the animals are asleep. Food"- that was what he called it, food- "would be hard to come by. "True," she said, "unless you know where to look." There was a long stick lying next to her on the ice. The stick was the thin but solid and prickly wood of blackthorn. She picked it up in the hand with the holed glove, raised it and struck its tip hard against the ice. From the point where the tip struck, a thin white line budded in the ice, grew out like a badly done drawing of a large bare tree. In another moment, he watched with horror as a thin tongue of red slithered through the original crack and into every offshoot of it, until a great scarlet riverwork emerged in front of him on the frozen surface. He grabbed the girl angrily by the arm. "What have you done?" he shouted. "Tell me now and you might save yourself some trouble. I could make things a little easier for you once you get hauled into town for your trial." "Oh, stop," she said, in a breathy sigh of aggravation rather than anger or fear. She pulled her arm away in one swift, liquid gesture. "If you're a constable, you ought to know better. I think the charge was witch craft. Or stealing bread. Both, for all I know. There's usually quite a few, right before the water begins to freeze, and I am guessing that it's so the jails don't get too crowded over the winter. No sense having a lot of witches or bread stealers bottled up behind bars until spring." Then, as if he had suddenly vanished, she picked up her stick again. This time she used the hewed end to gouge at the ice, until one large, nearly triangular piece jutted up. Water splashed red, reflecting on its ripples the inert, sunless winter sky overhead. The blood water clotted in blushing spots around the edge of the ice, where air had now filtered under the ice and was trapped. She bent down like a child bobbing for apples, and when she sat upright again-which was not for several minutes-she pulled a ratty bit of cloth out of a pocket in the coat and scrubbed vigorously at her face. Then she took a handful of snow out of the grass and scoured herself with it. They were meticulously clean, whatever else might be said about them. Incongruously so, in a way that would have made him laugh if it didn't make him feel sick first. "See," she said, to him, a strange, angry light dancing in her eyes. "You. Me. The good people in town. Now we are all safe. Until spring, I think." NORRIS FETTER by David Byron When he smiled, he was all teeth. But when he cried, one could launch a whole shipload of dentists off the bridge of his nose. Emotions came easy to the likes of Norris Fetter. I recalled very well when he broke cover at the local pub's Quiet Night, which was held every Tuesday week to suit those who merely wanted a civilized chat over a jar of oil. No cheap imitations of a pile-driver masquerading as music nor toe-storms of coloured light not endless quizzes nor the clonk of feathered spikes into cork... The night had been dark as hell. So me and the wife, We went into shelter. She wanted a pint of sweat. But I got her a cocktail that had things swimming in it fit to sink a Cruiser of drunkenners. It had set her eyes to wide out. "Ooooh, darlink, you can't afford drinkies like this," she squealed. "For you, Dutch, nothing is special enough,' I responded. looking round at the company we kept. I cringed, for there was Norris Fetter in the chimney corner, smiling at me. He was wet-nursing the slowest drink it was possible to measure out in sips. He was obviously sheltering, too. I acknowledged his existence, put my finger to my lips and then pointed to the "Quiet, Please!" sign over the bar. I knew he had been after me, ever since I did him a turn at the local Odeon picture-house. He had wanted to goose an usherette, one in particular, So I tipped him a wink when she had lost her torch under the folding seats. Yet, with my chuckling connivance, she had laid off on him a thousand stale triangular prism ice-lollies, said he could easily sell them off at a profit at he next kids' Saturday Morning Pictures. It didn't dawn on him that they'd melt in the power blackouts... and the long and short of it, he failed to get her bum pinched either and he'd be on slow drinks, I expected, for the rest of eternity. For some reason, he blamed me. If looks could kill, I was never born. And now tonight, I turned back to the wife. She was gargling on swordfish, so no need to hold a conversation there, Norris Fetter had meantime sidled tip to the bar and revealed a mouthful of teeth. I'd never seen so many in one smile. "Hey, Gorgeous...." Was he talking to me? Words always seem to bring people nearer to each other. "Yes?" The one word reply left my mouth unbidden. "That lady friend of yours who works at the Odeon - she's got enough wooden ice-cream shovels to build you a coffin. They showed me how to do it on kids' telly..." He thumped me on the back and showed me how to cry. Quiet Night was evidently at risk, so I snatched the wife and blew off with a tail wind in the seat of my pants... except the night was still dark as hell and he came hounding behind as if he were part of it. They said Norris Fetter was a vampire in his youth, until other emotions overtook him. During daylight hours, I became a strawberry ripple rip-off merchant at he Odeon's Matinees for old people. They has begun to run black films by then and it was dark as hall in the auditorium. Pity I'd lost the torch. I was no good as an usherette. Norris Fetter was projecting.... The wife went into business with the real usherette selling sexy briefs to incontinents. THE ONLY WAY TO FLY by David Byron A brilliant blue sky, the air cool and fresh. The clouds parted revealing a truly breathtaking view of fields. As the wind rushed past her cheeks she lifted her head and, dazzled by the sun, swooped lower until she was flying just above the tree-tops. The sensation was amazing, so exhilarating, she - "I thought you were putting the kettle on? That water's been running over 10 minutes! Pam turned the tap off, took the kettle and gave Tanith a weary look. "This is planet Earth Tani, you ought to give it a try sometime." "I do, constantly." Visions of day-to-day life formed in her mind. Living with big sisters had its drawbacks. She picked up the mug and took a sip of steaming coffee. Not as many as living with her parents though. They'd never understood her fascination with flying. They found it obsessive and therefore tried to relieve her of it. After various fights, she left and ended up sharing with Pam. When it all got too mundane her mind would instantly start to drift upwards and soon her body would too. What a real kick it would be to fly... "There's a new club opening on Baritone Street tonight. We're going to try it out, coming too?" Tanith was suddenly back in the kitchen and realized Pam was expecting an answer.... ... The light was neon blue, dark and deep, not dazzling. The Midnight Club boasted little decoration outside, in fact the doorway was so small it could be missed completely if it wasn't for the small dark blue glow above the portal. "It's only just opened and it looks like a dump already!" groaned Pam. The small group went inside with Tanith wandering in behind. The main hall was dark and smelt musty, like old books, rather than smoke-filled. Tanith viewed the tables slowly, the people were all engrossed in conversation and didn't notice the small group enter. Whatever the music was, it was only playing in the background and the dance floor was completely empty. Pam had seen enough. "That's it. I'm out of here." "I think I'll stay awhile". Pam stared incredulously at Tanith. "Be serious Tani!" "No, really. Loosen up will you? I'll see you back at the flat, OK?" The others trailed out after Pam and Tanith wandered over to the bar. The woman serving was incredible to look at. Tanith watched her in a trance as she poured the drink; long dark straight hair, pale unblemished skin, dark pools of eyes, tall, slender, wearing a beautiful midnight-blue crushed velvet dress. She caught herself staring and looked away quickly. The woman asked what she'd like to drink and before Tanith realized what was happening, she was answering questions about herself, her family, her entire life. Before she was conscious of it, she was even confiding in this woman about her dearest love, flying. Realizing how much she'd given away about herself to a perfect stranger, she stopped mid-sentence. "What's wrong Tanith?" "Oh, ..nothing. I'm. just not used to people wanting to know about me, about my dreams." "I find your dreams fascinating." Tanith stared into those hypnotic eyes. She suddenly woke up and blushed. "Most people just find them weird, find me weird." "Weird isn't necessarily bad. Weird is out of the ordinary. Isn't it more interesting to be extraordinary?" "When I fly, I mean when I dream of flying, I can practically feel it. It's so powerful." "Do you fly at night?" Tanith considered this, "No, it always seems to be at daybreak. The world always looks so fresh and new..." Her voice trailed off as she began to imagine the feeling of sailing above the ground. "You should try it at night, Tanith. The world always seems fresh and new to me after sunset. I find the dark comforting, like being wrapped in velvet." She glanced at her watch. "It's time to close now." "What time is it?" "We close at 2 am. If you wait a minute I'll walk back with you." The woman emerged from behind the bar seconds later wearing a long cloak matching the fabric of her dress. As Tanith watched she seemed to glide across the floor towards her. She noticed the place was already empty...but she hadn't even seen anyone leave. Why had no-one come near the bar while she'd been there? It dawned on her that she'd had an uninterrupted conversation with this woman all night. She felt so tired and confused, and to top it all, she hadn't even asked the woman's name! This was all really weird She was lost in these thoughts when the woman stopped and pointed her long slim finger at the top of the large building they stood before. "I live here. Why don't you come in for a coffee, there's someone I'd like you to meet." Tanith opened her mouth to make her excuses, after all Pam would be waiting and the later it was, the worse the scene would be. Somehow that wasn't what Tanith wanted to say. She looked at the woman who was beckoning to her from the front door, and followed slowly behind the flowing cloak. "My friend shares your passion for flying. Few people share his feelings in the same way. and I think you may be one of them." The woman was looking intensely at Tanith, almost as if she were measuring her lip for a task. This whole evening was too strange. She knew the sensible thing would have been to go straight home, but didn't seem to have the will-power to leave this woman now. Anyway, if truth be told, she didn't want to go home at all. As they entered the highceilinged room the woman made no effort to put on the light. Even so, Tanith felt no fear, just curiosity. As she peered through the darkness her eyes rested upon a darker shadow moving slightly near the window. "I've brought someone to meet you Rudi." "To...meet?" the man questioned, almost amused by this. "This is Tanith. She's different Rudi." "You dream of flight" The statement seemed to leap out at her suddenly and took her by surprise. as did the fact that the man was now standing behind her; she hadn't noticed him move. Tanith had been struggling to follow the conversation but she felt almost drugged. That last sentence seemed to ring round her head. Now the voices seemed to be in her head, especially the voice of this tall slim man she couldn't see properly. Concentration was so difficult; she struggled to keep alert. "I dream of flight" she answered quietly. "What would you say if I could make that dream come true, for a price." The man no longer sounded amused. He was striking a bargain, a serious bargain. Tanith didn't even have to consider her reply. She knew she should feel in some way threatened, but she did not. In fact she felt no fear at all, which made no sense. "I'd pay any price." As the man approached her she felt suddenly weak and his arm steadied her. She looked up into his eyes to see the same eyes as the woman, dark and hypnotic. As she listened to his soothing words the room began to fade, the woman seated on the couch was fading too. All that existed in the room was the tall dark man before her. His lips parted in a smile. As she looked at his mouth she saw what she'd somehow half expected to see. As his small sharp fangs penetrated her skin she felt a sudden stab of pain mixed with ecstasy. As he drank her life she relaxed in his arms and smiled. "I told you she was different Rudi." A cloudless sky, just millions of stars above a blue-black world. She'd never noticed quite how beautiful the moon was, a creamy white glow in the distance, In fact the whole night was beautiful in a way she'd never imagined. Her world had changed way beyond expectation, as had her body for that matter. The thought amused her. Everything was just as the woman Lavinia had said it would be. The night was a whole new sensation; she alighted on a branch beside Rudi. It was certainly the only time to fly. MOONLIGHT by David Byron Moonlight glittered silver on the trees. Each leaf was defined in acid iridescence. The full round face of the moon peeked through the oval leaves and into gray eyes. The gray eyes, smoky like quartz, were momentarily eclipsed by eyelids fringed with thick black lashes. The lashes brushed against cheeks smudged with the remnants of the night's mascara. The cheeks were tickled by wisps of black flair. The hair was swept back and held by spidery hands with sanguine nails. The corner of the right pinkie fingernail rested in the bend of the full red mouth. The full red mouth parted slightly to reveal strong sharp white teeth. The teeth were eased apart and full-throated laughter rang out of the mouth. The laughter carried down into the city tar below and a man awoke, startled, in his bed. He sat up in the dark, clutching the thin bedsheet to his chest as if it could offer some protection against the dream that woke him. Cold rivulets of sweat ran down his forehead over his cheek to his chin to drip onto the powerless sheet. He glanced from side to side to see if he were alone. Yes, she had dumped him. How could he have forgotten. He still didn't understand why they had to break-up and stop having sex. He felt going out and fucking were mutually exclusive events. She didn't. That didn't matter now, he had better things to dream about. In the blue-defined room, the moon shone in and made patterns on his white sheet front the leaves on the tree outside his window. The vision of a pale redlipped lover hovered over him. He shook his head to clear it, spraying sweat drops onto the pristine sheets. He never could get back to sleep after having a dream that vivid. He decided to take a walk. She watched as the tall sleek man walked out of his house. She thought about how it would feel to run her fingers through his long light-brown hair. She thought about all of the life coursing through his veins, and how it could all be hers. But this was a fine specimen of a human, maybe she would keep him around for a while. He could work as a snack. She waited under her tree and twirled around, letting her long black skirts swish about her booted ankles. She could see him, now, a block away. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, his phantom lover come to life. He ambled over to her tree and tried to think of something clever to say. He managed a "hi". That was all he could think of besides her. She eclipsed his reality, was eternity incarnate. She smiled at him and removed the need for conversation by kissing him passionately. He felt a sharp pain in his tongue, but then she began licking it gently, and all of the hurt vanished. As she moved from his mouth to his neck, all he could think about was how he wanted to belong to her forever. She sighed. She longed for the man who could resist her. What good was a willing food source for a companion. Didn't anyone try to resist a blood-sucker anymore? More and more recently, victims welcomed her advances if they didn't actually invite her in the first place. She was sad to see such a sweet face fall by the wayside, but she was searching for a mate, an equal, and he was not it. She stroked his hair gently, it was indeed as soft as she had hoped, and as he murmured, "I love you,' she bit into the tender flesh of his neck. He didn't struggle, but happily abandoned himself to the pleasurable vortex that she hurled him into with her last kiss. As she set his body beneath the tree and stepped away, she bad one regret. She wished she had made love to him while he was alive. But then again, death and sex are not mutually exclusive events. A DREAM IN THREE COLORS by David Byron I really like TV. TV is one of the few things here in the city that we have at home, where there is a huge satellite dish which gets us just about any show we want on one communal television. Running water and electricity in every home still elude us, but yes sir, TV we got. Here, I like the shows on Nick at Nite. For one thing, obviously, the timing is good, and for another, the black and white shows are easier on the eyes. Sometimes, I think that if we were the ones running the world, the world would be a lot like Dobie Gillis - peopled with dull, bovine types, moving between soft shades of light and dark. Sometimes it's a little like that around here, with my roommate, Bettina. Nuit says I
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