Goblins

This was the part she hated most of all. It was one thing going through the dark halls when she at least had a small light, but this mad sprint to her own room in the pitch black was unbearable. This time she didn't bother pretending she was not afraid. This time she ran as fast as she dared and didn't stop until her bedroom door shut behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her heart to slow again. It took some time. She was brushing out her damp hair and slipping off her wet shoes when she heard the voice. It came right out of some darkened corner of her room, and she jumped and held her chest, as if her heart would stop. And the little voice said:

"As St. Collen sat in his cell he heard two men conversing about the king of the elves and fairies, and Collen put his head out of and said to them, 'Those are but devils.'"

It sounded as if it had come from the closet? But that was impossible. She must be overhearing something from one of the nearby rooms, though almost all of them were meant to be shut up. Anxious, she lit a candle and eased the closet open anyway. Of course, no one was there...

"Collen heard a knock at his door. It was a messenger saying that the king of the fairies bid him come to a certain hilltop at midnight. But Collen did not go."

Now it was in the hall. Heart racing again, Megan pushed the bedroom door open. Nothing there but shadows. From further down, perhaps in one of the empty rooms?

"Three times the messenger came and three times Collen refused, until finally the fairy threatened its most dire curse, and Collen relented..."

Padding in her bare feet up the stairs, Megan followed the voice. She wanted to call out after it but was afraid. It sounded like a woman, but no one she'd ever heard before.

"Collen went to the top of the hill, and there was a man dressed in hides with a crown of stag's antlers and a face as black as coal and a spear as long as three men. Down in the town the bells were tolling twelve."

There was a light under the door of the children's room, but not like a candle or even a lantern. This was pale green, like marsh gas. Megan pressed her ear to the door:

"Then he beheld the fairest castle he had ever seen, and the best appointed troops, and numbers of minstrels and every kind of music and voice and string, and steeds with youths upon them, and maidens of elegant aspect and every magnificence becoming the court of a sovereign. But the sickly sweet beauty of everything filled his heart with dread.

"That's when the king of the fairies said to Collen—"

Megan pushed the door in. She was not sure what she expected (or dreaded?) to find, but waited for her was...

Nothing. There was no light, and no one here but Flora and Miles, and they were both asleep, with their little heads together on the pillow. The voice was gone, its tale lingering in mid-sentence.

Cupping the candle flame, she looked behind the door and in closet and even peered under the bed, but no one was hiding. The window was closed, and this was the second floor in any case. The children stirred. Megan sat on the foot of the bed. When she put a hand on the comforter it was warm, as if someone had sat there only a second ago...

She noticed a pair of eyes peeping over the covers. She'd woken Miles. She told him to go back to sleep, but he pointed to the rosary around her neck. She dangled it over his head and helped him count the beads very quietly, as they did every night, then kissed him on the forehead and went back downstairs. There were no voices in the dark now, but she locked the door behind her and left a candle burning in the closet all night (never mind what Mrs. Rhoslyn might say). She did not want to run the risk of waking up and not being able to see who else could be in the room with her.

***

It was Wednesday. Megan couldn't concentrate. She'd been reviewing Catechisms with the children and kept losing her own place. Finally she sent them to play, on the solemn promise that Flora would not sneak off. Megan paced the sunroom, thinking. Sir Rowland had gone for a few days on business; the twins were being attentive; she was able to see Bryn every night. Everything was peaceful, but she still felt uneasy. It must be the queer summer, like Bryn said.

Lady Rowland's portrait was in this room. She'd spent much of the last year of her life sitting for it. Megan, who had come to work for the family only after she died, was not sure if it was a good likeness, but she hoped not. It looked downright ghoulish. Megan tried to read but made little headway. The window was open and she heard Mrs. Rhoslyn and one of the maids clucking away like a pair of hens as they folded the wash. She couldn't help but eavesdrop:

"...because my father's father was a miner, and you know they've always lived down in the mines," Mrs. Rhoslyn said. "They knock three times to warn a man he's about to die, but never soon enough that he'd be able to save himself. It's their way."

"My mother's bachelor uncle fell in love with a woman who rowed a golden boat across the lake over in the glen of nights," said the maid. "He knew she was one of the Wives of the Lower World, but he didn't care. He went every night to beg her to row to the shore but she never would. He washed up drowned one morning. How could it be any other way?"

Megan put the book down.

"Everyone's family has some story like that," said Mrs. Rhoslyn. "But this lot from the city don't know anything. They don't pay attention. Go out wandering around after dark or step into a ring of toadstools and it's nobody's fault but your own what happens. The neighbors' boy got caught in their dances once. Thought he'd been there ten minutes but it had been a whole year. No sense."

"It's the children I really feel bad for. Ought to put black-handled sheers in the crib, but no one does anymore. What's to be done?"

"These two aren't long for it. The boy maybe, but as for the girl..."

"Old King Gavran ought to be back from his voyage any time now."

"There'll be dancing at the yew tree like we never saw before."

"And all the rest of these will get what they deserve then. Mark my—" Megan threw open the window and stuck her head out, cheeks burning, an angry question on the tip of her tongue. Then she blinked.

No one was there.

She looked left and right, but the lawn was deserted. Both women's voices couldn't have been coming from more than ten feet away, but now there was only the sound of the wind. Megan saw the impressions on the grass where a basket and three-legged stools would recently have sat. She pulled her head back inside. She tugged her lower lip in thought, then stamped her foot on the carpet, once, like a child. "Not this time," she said.

She stopped the first maid she found and demanded to know where Mrs. Rhoslyn was. The girl (young, and new) fidgeted with her hair and said she didn't know for sure but she thought Mrs. Rhoslyn might have gone to town. Megan said that was impossible but was interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Rhoslyn herself, carrying an armful of green brocade. She smiled like a Cheshire cat when she saw Megan. "Good morning, dear," Mrs. Rhoslyn said. "How's all the news?"

Megan folded her arms. "Mrs. Rhoslyn, were you talking with someone outside the sunroom just now?"

"Can't say I was. I went into town to get fabric for the new curtains. Isn't it lovely?"

"I heard you and another woman talking for 20 minutes at least."

Mrs. Rhoslyn put the basket down and started unrolling the bolts of fabric. "It couldn't have been. Haven't even been to that side of the house since eight this morning, when we did the wash. You must have heard someone else." She would not stop grinning. Megan rounded on her heels and walked away but after a moment came back.

"One more thing: I notice that Flora has taken to telling stories. I don't know where she's getting them all from but if you or anyone else has been filling her head with nonsense it's time you stopped."

"It certainly wasn't me who's been telling the little duck such things. The children are your job, not mine."

Megan left again but lingered at the turn of the hall. Mrs. Rhoslyn's voice carried:

"...no better than she ought to be. You know she's the one who tells the children those stories in the first place. At least, that's the way little Flora has it, and which of the two is the more likely liar, tell me that?"

Megan balled up her hands. She marched straight up the old, creaking stairs to the children's room and found Flora and Miles in the middle some sort of castle game with the canopy bed. With no explanation except a stern word she pulled Flora into the library and shut the door. Getting on her knees she grabbed the girl by the shoulders.

"Flora, I promise I am not angry with you but I need you to tell me the truth right now: Did you tell Mrs. Rhoslyn that you get your stories from me?" Flora shook her head. Her eyes were already bright with tears. "Then why does she think that?"

"I did tell her that my nurse taught me the stories..."

"You just told me you didn't?"

"I didn't mean you," said Flora. "I meant my other nurse. The one who comes in my window at night."

A cold feeling crept across the back of Megan's neck.

"She sits on the edge of my bed and tells me stories," Flora said. "She said she's sent by the queen of the hill people to take care of me. She says the other side of the hill is a beautiful place and if I'm good she'll take me there. And she says..." Flora seemed to lose her nerve and it was only after Megan prodded her that she finished. "She says I can see Mother again."

Megan's mouth went suddenly dry and it was a few moments before she could speak. "How long has this been going on?" she said when her voice came back.

"Ever since we came here."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I did, but you didn't believe me!"

And Flora threw her arms around Megan's neck. Putting her own arms around the girl, Megan rocked her back and forth, and while she did she thought. "This other nurse, what's she like?"

"She's very nice. But she scares me sometimes, too. She asks me to leave with her and sometimes I want to, but I'm always afraid."

Something else about the story particularly troubled Megan, but it took a moment to put her finger on it. "You say she comes in your window?"

"Yes."

"Your window is on the second story."

Flora's eyes were very wide. "I know," she said.

***

Bryn put the kettle on. Megan stayed close to the stove. It was a warm night, but she felt chilled anyway. For a while neither of them spoke. Bryn looked anxious and held onto the sideboard like it was the only raft in the ocean. "Don't look so trapped," she said. "Sir Rowland isn't here."

"Someone could still see me."

"You're not a dog. You're allowed in the house."

"People will talk. If they talk to Sir Rowland—"

"He already knows about us."

"You told him?!"

"No, but he can figure it out on his own. He was young once."

Bryn looked even more uncomfortable. Megan put her hand over his.

"Thank you for coming. I can't stand being alone in here anymore but I don't dare leave the children by themselves. They're asleep in the study."

"Why there?"

"I certainly wasn't going to put them back in the same room after what Flora told me. I wanted them somewhere where I'm close." She considered her next words carefully. "This house and these woods, are they...haunted?"

"Yes. But not by ghosts, exactly."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Oh yes."

"Then we have to leave. Will you help me take the children to town tonight?"

"Are you mad? When Sir Rowland comes back—"

"I'll take the blame."

"And he'll turn you out, and who'll protect the children then? Mrs. Rhoslyn?"

That silenced Megan. She sat at the small table in the servant's kitchen, wringing her hands. The kettle whistled and Bryn poured the steaming water over the leaves. Megan wrapped her hands around the entire teapot.

"You're thinking about this all wrong," Bryn said. "Let's say you lived by a river. A river can be a danger, but you don't go running away from it."

"But you might warn children not to play by it."

"And they'll play by it anyway and most likely be fine, just like when you were that age. This is no different. This land all belongs to the hill people. This house was built out of trees from their forests. Its foundations are stones from out of their mountains. My flowers grow from the seeds they planted here a thousand years ago. They come and go as they please."

"You should have told me about all this."

"I did, but you had to see a little of it for yourself to understand. That's the way of things. You're outsiders."

"Sir Rowland's family has owned this land for generations."

"But they've never really lived here until now. It's the living that makes the difference."

Megan drank her tea too fast and burned her mouth. Putting her cup down, she sat on his lap and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. He seemed almost startled but wrapped his arms around her and comforted her as best he could. Then he said, "I have to leave."

She pulled away. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to find work in town."

"I don't understand..."

"You told me not to let you hurt me. So I'm not. Tomorrow morning I'll be gone."

"I am not hearing this," Megan said.

"There's no—"

"You can't really just be leaving me here in the middle of all this? I need you."

"You need someone to use."

"That's not—" But she couldn't finish. It was not, she was sure, entirely fair, but it wasn't entirely unfair either. She blinked away tears. "All right," she said. "Do what's best for you. Just hold me now. Kiss me."

"I'm not—"

"Please," she said, and before he could object again her mouth was right there on his and they fell into each other, hot breath mingling. He tried to pull away but she brought him back, and before long the kisses went wild. She was still sitting on his lap and felt the rise there. She slipped a hand between his legs and he grunted.

"We shouldn't be doing this..." he said.

"Does that mean stop?" She gave him a squeeze and when he said nothing she accepted that as surrender. Dropping to her knees she unlatched his belt and tugged at his trousers. Bryn peered at the doorway, anxious, but Megan paid it no mind. She took him in one hand and licked the curved length of his cock from top to bottom. The pulse right at the base throbbed against her lips.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Megan said, sliding her tongue along him again and listening for the involuntary gasp when she came to the tip.

"You never—"

"Stranger things have happened." She sucked her lips around it and drew her mouth tighter, until it gleamed even in the feeble, flickering light in the little kitchen. She eased it into her open mouth slowly, so that she wouldn't choke. She found it wasn't unpleasant. When she sucked it made a sound that was almost funny but sent a hot flush all down the front of her. As she moved her head up and down she snuck a glance at Bryn and was surprised by the look on his face. He seemed positively helpless. When she sped up he almost rose up out of his seat entirely. When he actually did stand she nearly fell over.

He pulled his trousers back up and fumbled with his belt. Megan reached for him again but he all but slapped her hand away. "What's wrong?"

"I told you I'm leaving and you're not going to change that."

"I wasn't trying to." Megan sensed an angry rejoinder and an argument right behind it, but before it could happen they both heard a noise. They turned. The candles flickered and almost went out. Standing, Megan crept to the doorway. "It came from the study."

"Don't go in there."

"I have to."

"Don't!" Bryn said again, and Megan saw that he'd gone pale. But the children were in there, so she went, and she heard him a few steps behind him, though even the way he walked betrayed his reluctance.

The window in the study was open. The curtains stirred. Miles and Flora were asleep on an old day bed. Someone else was sitting on it. It was a woman with her hair tied back in a bun. She was short, with a strange, hunched posture and arms that looked somehow too long. She faced the wall. The cushion sank under her weight, but only a little. Bryn shrank in the doorway. Swallowing her fear, Megan said, "Who are you?"

The woman's voice was so low she could barely make it out. "A visitor," she said.

Megan squared her shoulders. "You're not wanted here."

"Neither are you."

"Who are you people?"

"Children of the land of Gwydion. The faithful of Gwynn ap Nudd. Defenders of the Craig y Ddinas."

A sick feeling turned Megan's stomach over. The children stirred and fretted, as if troubled in their dreams. "Just get out of here," Megan said. "Leave the children alone."

The woman stood with jerky motions, like a marionette pulled on strings. There was, Megan was sure, a faint luminosity about her, a pale green color, like marsh gas. "This place is ours," the strange woman said. "We are the lords here. The owners."

Megan held up her rosary. She thrust it at the woman and, as loud as she dared, she said, "Go away!"

The shape of the woman jittered, and she made a noise like a goat bleating under the butcher's knife, and then she was gone, leaving only a haze of pale light that shortly faded. Megan waited to see if anything new emerged, but nothing did. The children still slept, like little enchantments. Megan fingered her rosary over each of them again and felt a bit braver. Turning back to the doorway, she saw that Bryn was gone.

She closed the window, latching it tight. But when she brushed the curtains aside she saw the hill on the west of the property and the copse of trees at the top, and then she shivered: There were lights all over it. Pale green lights. And as she watched, she realized they were dancing.

***

Sunday morning. Megan paced in the study, tugging the cuffs of her sleeves. Peter was at his account books, silent except for the sound of his pen scratching the page. He looked even more tired now than before he'd left. He'd come back late and put her off several times, and now she waited for him to finish with the books, rehearsing what she wanted to say. Finally he looked up at her. His eyes were very sad. "All right," he said. and nodded.

Megan swallowed. "I know it might not be my place..."

"Just get to it."

"Things have happened while you're gone. I'm not really sure how to tell you."

"Megan, I'm not an idiot. I know."

She blinked. "You do?"

"This is about the gardener boy. I know he's gone. If you want to follow him, I won't stand in your way. You're both young. I assumed someone would come along..."

"Oh! No, nothing like that."

Now Peter blinked. His voice took on an edge of uncertainty. "So you're not...leaving?"

Megan took his hand, squeezing his large fingers and kissing the backs of his knuckles, never mind the smell of ink. "Certainly not."

Some color came back into Peter's face. "Ah. Well. I'm pleased."

"But I'm terribly worried about the children. I think it would be better if we moved them back to the city."

"Why?"

"This place isn't good for them. And there's something that I..." Her voice quavered. "Peter, if I told you everything you would call me mad, but I'm frightened. There are terrible things here, and I think Flora and Miles are in danger every second. I can't say anything else, but I couldn't keep quiet about it either." She hung her head a bit.

Peter paused for a moment, mulling this over. He closed the ledger and went to the window. The garden below was a carnival of yellow sun and flower petals. He breathed deep, as if trying to inhale the essence of the place, and then he said, "All right."