Moonshine

by Robin Trent

  Moonshine

  An Eldritch Tale

  Robin Trent

  Edited by

  Megan McKeever

  Copyright © 2020 Robin Trent

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  ISBN: 978-1-7349238-0-3 (EBook)

  ISBN: 978-1-7349238-1-0 (Paperback)

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Front cover image by Patrick McEvoy

  Book design by Robin Trent.

  Printed by Dark Muse Press LLC, in the United States of America.

  First printing edition 2020.

  Dark Muse Press

  4030 Smeltzer Rd.

  Marion, OH 43302

  www.darkmusepress.org

  Created with Vellum

  To my wonderful husband Tommy, without whose support this would not have been possible.

  Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,

  You moonshine revelers and shades of night,

  You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,

  Attend your office and your quality.

  Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyez.

  Merry Wives of Windsor

  William Shakespeare

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Glossary

  Prologue

  The white tile of the shower was cold against Elizabeth's back, her wet, bathing costume clinging to her skin like a lead weight. She leaned against the wall, shivering and weak-kneed after being doused repeatedly with frigid water. Elizabeth wanted to bolt from the shower room, but from previous attempts she knew that would only make things worse.

  Teeth chattering, lips blue, her tormented mind struggled to latch onto a coherent thought. She still possessed a vague feeling of indignation but responded to the alienist's questions more like an animal than an intelligent, well-brought-up girl. Her legs no longer felt like they could support her weight. She leaned even harder against the wall, as she attempted to remain upright.

  "Do you have anything else to say, Miss Barker?" The alienist stared at his pad of paper, pen poised to write anything significant that she might utter. He never looked at her. It made Elizabeth feel as if his eyes would wither in his skull if he offered her even the slightest shred of dignity.

  A guttural noise issued from her throat as she tried to form a rational sentence. "Why are you torturing me?"

  "So melodramatic, Elizabeth. No one is torturing you." With a heavy sigh, the alienist closed his pad and placed it in his leather satchel.

  She pressed her hand on the wall as she turned her body from him protectively, anticipating another blast of freezing water. There was nothing else she could do.

  Exasperated by the lack of progress, the alienist released Elizabeth to return to her room. "We'll try again tomorrow," he said. As he rose from his chair to leave, a nurse came in with towels, placing a large one around Elizabeth's shoulders. The sheet smelled musty, but she did not care as she sought whatever warmth it would provide. She stood passively as the nurse rubbed her down roughly with another coarse towel. She donned her robe and made her way down the hall to her room.

  Labeled hysterical by her family, Elizabeth was consigned to a sanitarium for young women and children. It was a private house with modified showers and bathing facilities. Treatments included submerging a patient in cold water to bring her back to her senses or forcing the patient to stand under freezing running water in her bathing costume. This would continue until she was shivering uncontrollably -- often until she fainted. Such were the recommended practices for women in her delicate condition.

  Being a private facility, one that her parents could afford, Elizabeth had her own room. Most asylums suffered from overcrowding and filthy conditions. It was a poor consolation, but one that she was constantly reminded of by the nurse. Nurse Kelsey's incessant chatter droned on as Elizabeth tuned her out, sick of being lectured about how "lucky" she was. Never once did the nurse acknowledge the young woman's horrific state.

  Instead, the Nurse Kelsey behaved as if it were just another ordinary day, and all was well with the world. The nurse helped her into dry clothes as Elizabeth feverishly schemed how to get out of the asylum. She wanted to be free and for this madness to stop. Since her arrival she had denied everything that got her here, insisting this was just her mother's revenge. She tried to make it clear these ridiculous cold showers were unnecessary and that she was perfectly sensible, but the sessions continued.

  Elizabeth had always been special. Not only did she have imaginary friends when she was little, they remained with her into her teens. Her companions were as unique and special as she was. Mostly in the garden, they came out of the trees. She could stare at a tree and see a figure grow out of the bark and detach its upper half to turn and look at her. Covered in moss and lichen, with rough, brown bark skin, they could not speak but creaked when they moved. Elizabeth learned how to communicate with them through her mind and through her feelings, and before long they were her only playmates.

  At first, they had begged her to be quiet, to keep their existence secret. She had done remarkably well for a small child who could easily slip up when questioned by her parents. That was in part because her parents were busy socializing and leaving her in the care of the nanny. They were unaware of her special friendships until Elizabeth was older, when one day she made the fatal mistake of confiding in her mother.

  Helen Barker reacted predictably for a member of Victorian high society. She told her daughter to stop being ridiculous and to end this nonsense immediately. She even slapped Elizabeth across the face and told her to stop fantasizing. Elizabeth was no longer permitted to read, something that she dearly loved. Her mother insisted she was going to be a good and proper girl and that stories did nothing but put ridiculous ideas into her head.

  Elizabeth could not understand why her mother was so upset. After all, she was telling the truth. Over time, she realized no one believed her and that her mother wanted her to act as if none of it was real.

  On Saturday, the alienist arrived. Elizabeth was out walking in the gardens and talking to herself as usual. The doctor and Helen watched from a second-story window as Helen expressed concern that her daughter was "touched." It didn't take much convincin
g to persuade the alienist to admit Elizabeth to the asylum. All they needed was his signature, as Helen already had the stamp of her family physician.

  She woke somewhere that was not her room. At first, she was confused and thought maybe she was still dreaming. She had a pounding headache, and her mouth was dry and pasty. Was she ill? Elizabeth sat up in bed and placed her hands over her face, checking to see if she had a fever. A soft knock on the door drew her attention. She swung her legs over the side of the bed to put her feet in her slippers as usual. The slippers were not there. The door creaked open.

  "Just a minute," Elizabeth called out. "I'm not decent!"

  She had no idea that no one cared about her person or being decent. No one would ever care again, or at least it seemed that way during her stay in the asylum. She had very little privacy and was continuously prodded and poked. Now she was enduring daily cold showers and freezing to death in the attempt to bring her back to her senses. She tried to explain to the alienist what had happened, that it had been deliberate, that she hadn't lost her mind. She had told the truth. It wasn't her fault no one believed her.

  Elizabeth had been languishing in the asylum for weeks. She spent her waking hours pondering why she was there. Then it dawned on her; this was not punishment, this was more serious. Eventually, she puzzled it out that it had to do with her "friends". It wasn't so much what she had done, but what she had said. The only way out of this was to pretend that it wasn't true, or better yet, that it didn't happen. She spent the next several weeks denying that she had ever said anything of the sort. What she didn't realize was that this was just as bad, and the cold showers continued.

  After months of denying or stints of being quiet and saying nothing, Elizabeth was no further along than when she arrived. The only difference was that now she was accustomed to the cold showers and the dunking baths. When she wasn't receiving treatments, Elizabeth was given a mop and a bucket and made to clean the floors. She didn't mind because it allowed her to get out of her room. One day, while mopping in the hallway, she heard the alienist and the nurses talking about electric shock treatment as the next possible step. Gripped with fear, Elizabeth knew she needed to come up with an answer fast.

  When she got back to her room, she pondered what to do. She had tried everything she could think of, except... she hadn't tried lying. No one believed her anyway, so the truth was not working. It grated on Elizabeth's nerves to have to lie, but if it would get her out, well, that was what she would do. The longer she stayed in the asylum, the angrier she became that her mother put her there. There was no way around it. They would never let her out unless she showed real remorse.

  The next morning, Elizabeth was very quiet and very grave as she walked into the alienist's office. No fits, no angry outbursts, no more denying. She told the alienist precisely what he wanted to hear. She never actually saw anything. She made it all up. She wanted her mother's affections, and she knew that it was wrong to put on such displays for attention. She was sorry, truly sorry for all the trouble she had caused.

  The alienist sighed and sank back in his chair. He gave her an appraising look, trying to size up her sincerity. It was going to take several more weeks of the same convincing routine before she would be released and finally sent home.

  Upon leaving, the alienist admonished Elizabeth. "You know, you should feel lucky. Your parents have money, and you received far better treatment than most. Some are more unfortunate than you, and they actually have mental illness. Don't try this again, Elizabeth." And with that, he shut the door in her face.

  Elizabeth now knew that no one would ever believe what she saw. The penalty for seeing things other people did not was being locked up in an asylum and tortured. From that point forward, Elizabeth strove to be the perfect daughter. She would never mention it again, or so she thought.

  1

  NORTHERN England, Spring 1882

  Larkin, the Royal Messenger had to send his summons, and he rose in the air to find a suitable leaf in the forest canopy. Verdant leaves fluttered in the morning breeze, allowing snatches of the bluest sky to peek through. Wildflowers bloomed on the forest floor in shades of amethyst, periwinkle, and butterscotch, their pistil and stamen glowing phosphorescent white. Even the sun shone with hues of golden pink and lilac on this glorious early summer morning.

  Drawing in energy from the luminous air and sunlight, Larkin passed his hand over a leaf drawing forth the power that resided deep within. A neon green swirl rose to the surface which pulsated and glowed. He drew a mark in brilliant blue energy, which he inscribed with his finger. The communication rune lay on top of the leaf's core life-force rune, and Larkin blew into it as he spoke his message. The green glow dissipated as the rune sunk into the blade, and a blue stream of energy began to travel. It traveled out of the leaf into the branch, then into the tree itself, lighting the whole tree up with energy lines. The message moved along from leaf to leaf and root to root and tree to tree. To a mortal, it merely sounded like the wind blowing through the wood. But to another Sidhe, the message would be clear.

  The messenger was so intent on his task he did not notice he was being watched from another tree. By the time the large bird's shadow loomed over Larkin it was too late. Talons closed around the fae's waist and lifted him into the air. "Drat," he said as he reached for the dagger on his belt. The hawk's talons closed tighter as he twisted and turned to position himself so he could strike. Lifting the dagger into the air Larkin plunged it into the bird's leg as hard as he could. The hawk let out a screech and opened its talons to let the messenger go. A large flap of its wings sent the small fae tumbling toward the ground at great speed flipping head over heels as he plummeted toward the earth.

  Larkin expected to hit the ground hard but instead felt himself once again being snatched from the air. But this time it was no hawk. As he lay in the palm of a young boy's hand, the Messenger opened his eyes to stare into the curious gaze of Benjamin Wintere. The boy smiled wide as he stared at his catch. He couldn't believe his good fortune. "Hello there, little fella," Benjamin said. "Wait until Dad sees you!" He closed his sweaty palm around the fae and took off towards home. He had heard about faeries from his mum his whole life, but his dad had always scoffed and called it nonsense. Now he had proof and his father would have to listen.

  As he entered the yard of their small farm, he could hear the loud 'thwack' of the axe as his father chopped wood. Benjamin ran around the house to the back, calling out for his father, "Dad, Dad, I've got something to show you!"

  Saul Wintere stopped mid-swing as he heard his son running headlong towards him. That boy was never careful. "Whoa, son, slow down. I've got an axe in my hand! Do you see that? You could get hurt." His admonishment fell on deaf ears as his son was too excited to pay attention.

  "I know, but Dad! I've got something, it fell from the sky. Wait till you see it!" Benjamin thrust out his hand and opened it, smiling proudly.

  His father leaned in to look and then raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Well, that's real nice, Ben, but leaves are pretty common. We live in the woods."

  "What?" Benjamin couldn't believe it. "No, no, that's not what I found." He pulled back his hand and there in his palm was nothing but dried leaves. "It was a faery. A hawk had it and then it let go and the faery fell and I caught it." Benjamin looked up at his dad with pleading eyes. "I swear."

  Saul dropped his head and crinkled up his brow. "It's those stories of your mother's again. I told her no good would come of it, putting ideas in your head." Saul let out a sigh as he propped the axe by the wood stump and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Now you listen to me, son, there's no such thing as faeries. They are just a fanciful tale from Ireland that your mother likes to tell ya. They aren't real."

  "But I saw it, Dad, I really did. I had it right here in my hand..." Benjamin's voice trailed off as he realized the futility of trying to explain. In disappointment, the boy lowered his arm to his side and the wind picked the leaves up and blew th
em into the bush.

  "I don't know what you saw, son, but it weren't no faeries. Now go wash up and get ready for breakfast. Your mother is putting it on the table and we best not be late." Saul patted his son on his head and Benjamin turned to go inside.

  At the base of the bush, a small whirlwind rose from the ground. The leaves twisted in the air swirling around and around, changing shape and clumping together until finally, the fae messenger had regained his original shape. He looked back at the house where the boy and his father had been standing and wiped his brow. That was a close call and he didn't fancy being captured again. Making sure no one saw him, he side-stepped into the Otherworld before anything else could happen.

  A baby's cry roused Elizabeth from her slumber. She donned her rose-colored dressing gown and slippers and sleepily made her way down the hall to the nursery, leaving her husband snoring in bed. She opened the door and slipped inside to the sound of both babies fussing. Cooing, she picked Ophelia out of the bassinet first and walked over to the rocking chair to begin feeding her.

  There was a time when Elizabeth thought she would never have a normal life. Her adult years seemed far more blessed than her childhood. As she rocked back and forth, holding Ophelia in her arms, Elizabeth marveled as she always did that she had, at last, found happiness. Maybe the beginning of her life was penance paid forward. Now she had nothing more to look forward to than a blissful life of motherhood and being a doting wife. Whatever the circumstances that brought her to this moment in time, she was grateful.