Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Spring morn

“Perhaps some group took shelter in this cellar to escape the disaster above,” said Roel, surveying the scene.

“It looks as if they lived here for a while in isolation. Yet there are no bones of any occupants, so they must have eventually fled.”

Celeste looked about as well. “Roel, there are no windows to the outside, and so whatever befell this manor, this is the only protected place.”

Roel nodded. “Love, although there are beds above, beds we could make habitable, I say we spend the night in the stables.”

“I agree,” said Celeste. “Let us go from this damaged place now.”

They unladed and unsaddled the horses, and they brushed the animals thoroughly to take away as much moisture as they could, and then took a currycomb to them. Then, as the steeds munched on their rations of grain, Celeste and Roel dried themselves, for in spite of the cloaks and hoods, their heads and necks and hands and forearms were quite drenched.

Roel built a fire, and together they made a hot meal of tea and gruel honey-sweetened, along with hardtack and jerky.

And the rain yet drummed on the roof as they made ready to sleep. Celeste insisted on taking first watch, and Roel nodded and lay down, the knight yet ruing the fact that he hadn’t thought to bring along a nervous but plucky dog.

Some candlemarks later Celeste wakened Roel and whispered, “Listen.”

Above the now-gentle patter of rain there came the strains of music.

It was the quadrille.

Too, there was soft laughter.

“Come, let us see,” said Roel, taking up Coeur d’Acier and his shield. Celeste grabbed up a hooded lantern and lit it, then took her long-knife in hand.

With the lantern all but shuttered, together they crossed the yard and entered the service door. The house was dark, but the music yet played and the voices sounded as down the hallway they went.

Through the door at the end of the hall they crept, and the sounds-harpsichord, flute, violin, along with gentle chatter and the rustle of gowns and the measured steps of dancers-came from the direction of the ballroom, whence an aetheric glow emanated.

Moving quietly through the litter, Roel and Celeste eased across the marble floor and to the archway. But the moment they peered within, the light and sounds vanished. Celeste threw the lantern hood wide, and the luminance filled the chamber, but no one whatsoever did they see. The room was yet litter filled, and the dust and leaves stirred not. No tracks could be seen, and when Celeste walked to the harpsichord and looked at the keys, they had not been disturbed.

Roel frowned. “Ghosts? Spirits?”

Celeste took a deep breath and shook her head. “I know not. But whatever it is let us leave it in peace.” Back to the stables they trod, and even as they left the house, again music and gentle voices came from within.

“I’ll take the watch,” said Roel, and he stirred up the fire and brewed tea, while Celeste fell into slumber.

Again some candlemarks passed, and this time Celeste was awakened by Roel. “Hsst!” he cautioned.

“Something large comes.”

Above the sound of music and voices, the ground thudded with heavy tread, more felt than heard, and Celeste quickly strung her bow and nocked an arrow.

Together they stepped to the doors of the stable. The storm was gone, and the drifting clouds were riven with ONCE UPON A SPRING MORN / 211

great swaths of starry sky, and a full moon looked down through the rifts and shone upon the abandoned estate.

“Though the steps come closer, I see nought,” said Roel.

“Neither do-”

Glass shattered and screams rent the air, and running footsteps clattered. Something or someone roared and shouted in triumph, and more glass crashed, and wood splintered, and shrieks ripped out from fear-filled throats and split the night.

But nothing and no one could be seen tearing at the manor, though the moon shone brightly.

Again came a triumphant roar, and a crunching.

“Lokar,” spat Celeste. “I know the voice.”

“But Lokar is dead. You slew him.”

“Yes, and of that I am glad.”

“Are you saying that his ghost, his spirit, has come calling upon the ghosts of those who dwelled here?” Even as the crashing of glass and the screams yet sounded, Celeste gazed through the moonlight at the once-stately manor, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Non, Roel, not spirits, not ghosts. It is the house, my love. It is the house itself remembering.” They spent the rest of the night holding one another, each taking turns dozing.

And the next morn they saddled and laded the horses and rode away from a place where both gentle and terrible memories yet clung.

Le Bastion

Through the forest they rode, the leaves adrip with rainwater from yester eve’s storm. The air smelled fresh and clean, as if the world had been washed and now sparkled anew. The azure dome of a cloudless sky arched above, and birds sang and small creatures scampered, and a deer and fawn broke from cover and bounded away. In spite of the bright morn, both Roel and Celeste rode in glum silence, their thoughts dwelling upon the occurrences in the night.

Finally Celeste sighed and said, “That poor house-

perhaps cursed forever to recall a terrible eve.” Roel nodded but said nought.

After a moment, Celeste added, “Yet if someone lived therein, the manor might store new memories to displace the old.” As if in deep thought, again Roel nodded without speaking.

They rode in silence awhile, and then Roel asked,

“Do you think most so-called haunted houses are simply ones who remember a tragedy?”

“No ghosts, no spirits, you mean?”

“Oui. Just events recalled.”

Celeste shook her head. “I think spirits do roam abroad, as well as remain attached to a place. Yet I also believe we witnessed memories long held by that troubled dwelling; hence some so-called hauntings are of that ilk.”

“And you think with new occupants those memories would be displaced?”

“Oui. Or at least I believe there is a possibility that will happen. For I would not like to think someone moving in would have that terrible event visited upon them every night.”

Roel nodded and said, “Perhaps as long as the scars remain, so will the memory.”

Celeste looked at him. “Your meaning?”

“Well, once the doors are rehung and the windows replaced and the manor repainted and swept and cleaned and set aright, then the vestiges of that night will be gone from the dwelling. In my own case I have scars, and when I look upon them, I am put in mind of deeds done in battle. Too, my companions and I-as well as many others-have scars of the mind, and they recall dread deeds done as well. Were these scars to vanish, both those in mind and form, then mayhap I would not recall those dire events, or at least not as vividly.”

“But, Roel, would not that require taking away some memories entirely?”

“Oui, it would, and that is my point, for perhaps if the scars visited upon that manor were wholly removed-

repairs made, painting done, and a loving family settled in-then gone would be the residual leftovers of that terrible eve.”

“I suppose, but I think we’ll never know,” said Celeste.

And onward they rode.

As they passed through the woodland, they came upon a wide swath of destruction: trees downed and cast aside, as if something huge had passed this way, leaving wrack in its wake. Starwise to sunwise through the forest it ran for as far as the eye could see. Roel dismounted and looked for sign, yet he found no track to tell him what had made this waste.

Roel gestured at the run. “It’s as if someone had started a road through the woods, but then abandoned the effort. Yet I think it not neglected, for if that were true, then weeds would have sprung up and saplings would be agrowing.”