Made Up Monsters

“Oh, but that’s all just stories,” Jack scoffed, waving a hand as though to banish the idea of monsters from the air.

“They weren’t always stories,” Arianwyn said, shifting the reins in her hands, and the horse turned from the main road and into the woods.

Around them the houses were dwindling, and the respectable establishments of the town were few. The forest was thickening and they saw little before them but leaves and green sunlight.

“Time was, man knew that they weren’t stories. They knew to keep their cattle safe from Red Caps and not just wolves. They knew that if they wanted to be rich all they needed was to fill the well with acorns, or meet Puck in the ferns the first midnight of summer, or find the fairies’ Golconda. They new that a rowan tree planted by the door meant protection, and that blood keep the fields growing. But time changed, and they stopped believing. Now the old ways are just that: old.”

“I bet that never happened,” Jack said, but his stomach curdled with fear at the thought of blood.

Arianwyn shrugged. “You’ve seen them. You’ve seen the kelpie and the selkie and the noonday twister. You can’t say they aren’t real.”

“I wish you weren’t real,” Jack muttered, not loud enough for Arianwyn to hear him.

As they rode further and further from the villages and the houses disappeared altogether, Jack’s anxiety grew. Without the grounded and rational civilization around him, Arianwyn’s explanations seemed to plausible. Their journey to Faerie too real.

“How long are we staying there?” Jack asked, expecting Arianwyn to answer with a ‘not very’ or ‘only a day or so’.

“You see, traditionally visits to Faerie are seven years long, or somewhere about that,” Arianwyn said. “But don’t worry, we won’t stay nearly that long. There’s too much to do. We simply need their help.”

“So how long will we stay?”

Arianwyn shrugged, and in the dimming light the movement was the shudder of a shadow. “However long it takes, I suppose. We’re making good time.”

Jack looked around them and ahead of them, but nothing suggested they were on the route to Faerie. There were no twinkling lights, no bowers of blossoms, no heaven-sweet music. “When do you think we’ll get there?” he asked.

“What? Faerie? Oh, whenever we want. It takes seconds to get there really.”

Jack paused and stumbled, though Arianwyn, on the horse, did not notice, and he had to jog to catch up to her. “So why aren’t we there? Aren’t we going to Faerie?” He was the smallest bit hopeful she would smile down at him and tell him it was all a joke, a terrible, terrifying joke. But she looked straight ahead, squinting in the light of the setting sun.

“Yes, but we need to stop somewhere first. We need to get a guide. I don’t know much about Faerie and it’s a bad idea to go wandering about the home of the Good People without someone who’s been there before. Especially someone who knows how to make a deal with them. Remember: they won’t sympathize with us. They chose neither Heaven nor Hell so they’ll make a deal for something they want.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped. He had nothing to give them; his pockets were empty of goods and full of holes, and every penny he had at home went to his sister, who was away. They could maybe make a few coins doing some chores in the village they had passed, but not nearly enough, he thought, to make a deal with the faeries. His impossible task seemed even more impossible and suddenly he only wanted to lie down.

“Jack,” Arianwyn called from in front of him. “Should I slow down? Or are you going slower?”

“I’m going slower,” he replied despondently, and jogged up beside the horse. “So who are we going to see?”

“I’m not sure,” Arianwyn said, her pale brow furrowing. “He’s a smart man. It’s a shame he’s in the asylum.”

“Asylum!” Jack yelled. “He’s in an asylum? Well, let’s just hire every man in the loony bin and ask him about fairies!” He spat the word contemptuously.

Arianwyn scowled at him. “He’s not mad. He’s touched. By Faerie. Lots of people who come back are called mad. But he’s clever and useful, and I believe he’ll help us.”

Jack fell silent, and after some time, he fell behind again, though this time it was from exhaustion. His legs became anchors and all he wanted was to sink to the ground. Arianwyn offered him the horse but he insisted that its steady sway would only put him to sleep, and he’d fall off of it.

“We can settle here for the night then,” she said, looking around the woods. It was clear she did not like the idea of a night in the dark wilderness, but she also appeared too fatigued to continue.

They hardly spoke as they lay down, under the foliage next to a large tree some ways from the road.

Arianwyn whispered a goodnight, which Jack returned, and then there was only the lull of the crickets and night creatures to send him to sleep.

Art by Sean Wong Jia Jun

Text by Lucie MacAulay