The Moon Stealers and The Children of the Light

by Tim Flanagan

  The Grey Man silently placed his sword on the wooden floor behind the bar and lifted himself out of the hatch, trying to keep as low as possible so that he couldn’t be seen. He closed the hatch then raised his head so that he could peer over the top of the bar. He used the bottles of wine that were lined up on the counter top for cover, enabling him to look towards the creature without being seen. Crouched at the front of the restaurant and bathed in moonlight was a black hooded creature that looked like it was praying. It was lying flat against the floorboards listening to the sounds beneath it. From where the Grey Man was, he could still hear Edgar clearing his throat, trying to distract the creature, who continued to drag one of its claws along a floorboard.

  The Grey Man looked around the room. The tables and chairs would not provide enough cover for him to get any closer to the creature without being seen. If it felt threatened it might call for its brothers and sisters to help.

  Trying a different tactic, the Grey Man picked up a small shot glass from the top of the bar and rolled it along the floor towards the gap between the bar and the wall and waited. He pressed his back hard up against the side of the counter.

  The scratching stopped.

  The glass continued to roll until it hit the opposite wall.

  The Grey Man gripped the Donestre sword with both hands. If he couldn’t go to the creature, then he would wait for the creature to come to him. Using his Faerie magic, he merged into his background like a chameleon, and waited.

  There was silence in the room.

  Eventually a dark shadow moved into the gap between the bar counter and the wall. He knew that the creature had taken the bait and was now examining the glass he had moved. But still he waited. He could still hear the muffled noises from down below as Edgar tried to distract the creature, but its attention was now concentrated on the shot glass and the bar area. The Grey Man waited and watched the gap between the counter and the wall. As soon as the creature moved forward to investigate he could dispatch it in one swing of his sword.

  Suddenly the shadow disappeared.

  The Grey Man waited for a few seconds to see if the creature reappeared.

  But, it didn’t.

  Beneath the bar the Grey Man could see shelves piled with stationary including printed menus, business cards and some spare till rolls. He carefully reached over and grabbed one of the till rolls in his hand. He intended to send the till roll in the same direction as the shot glass when he heard the sound of a raspy breath coming from above him.

  Slowly he turned and looked up.

  Staring down at him was the hooded shape of the creature. He knew that it wouldn’t be able to see him, but it may have noticed the movement of his hand when he reached for the till roll. The Grey Man slowly placed the till roll beside him and moved his hand back towards his sword, grasping it tightly with both hands. Although the element of surprise had gone, he would still be able to attack the creature before it knew what was happening. The single white eye in the creatures head flicked and darted around the bar area as it desperately tried to find what had disturbed the shot glass. It clung to the bar top by its hooked wings ready to launch itself at its prey.

  In a sudden burst of energy the Grey Man leapt up from the floor and thrust the hooked blade of his sword towards the eye of the creature. Equally agile the creature quickly dodged backwards allowing the sword to harmlessly stab into thin air. The Grey Man quickly brought his sword back towards him ready to strike again, but the creature had jumped onto the top of a table further into the dining area. Any minute the creature could call for help. The Grey Man twisted round the side of the bar and faced the creature head on ready to swing the great sword down on it. The creature flapped its wings, creating a force of wind that pushed against the Grey Man, forcing him backwards. It then attempted to fly off, but the ceiling was not high enough to give it sufficient space. All it managed was to jump from one table top to another, edging closer towards the window. The Grey Man picked up a chair and threw it at the creature. As it ducked to avoid it the Grey Man leapt forward once again, swinging his sword in a wide arc which carved the creature in two.

  Its body fell lifelessly to the floor.

  The Grey Man waited once more, listening to the night air. There were distant sounds and screams that he knew were the creatures, but none that seemed to be coming from close by. He wiped his sword on several napkins that were piled at the side of the bar counter, pulled the hatch up and stepped back down into the cellar.

  They remained there for the following few hours, waiting in the darkness without making a sound.

  By the time the sun had risen in the sky, they had already had breakfast and packed several bags ready for their journey. Once they were sure the sky was free of creatures, they loaded the bags into the back of their vehicles. The Grey Man stuffed food into a separate compartment on the back of a motorbike together with some kitchen knives. The large Donestre sword was too big to carry, but he managed to wedge it between some metal struts within the rear frame of the bike. It looked a bit awkward, but at least it would be easily accessible should he need it. Edgar packed food into the back of a small Ford they had found, together with some baseball bats that Joe and Max had discovered. The third vehicle was an old style Mini; the red, white and blue of the British Union flag had been proudly painted across the roof by its previous owner. Scarlet, who had experience of driving her dad’s tractor on his farm, had agreed to drive Flora to Burnham Beeches, together with Peter.

  ‘Good luck,’ Edgar said to the Grey Man, holding his hand out for him to shake. They all stood in the road outside the restaurant ready to leave.

  ‘I will see you in Avalon some day,’ the Grey Man said, taking Edgar’s hand.

  ‘Will I see you again?’ Scarlet asked Edgar. A warm tear of salty water was already filling the corners of her eyes. The other three children stood behind her watching, already knowing the answer.

  Edgar finally shook his head.

  ‘Probably not,’ he replied as he knelt down to her. ‘I have been here too long as it is. No one should live forever. I have wandered this country and seen many changes. Seen so many people die, most of them unnecessarily. This world is no longer the one I was born into. Humans seem intent on killing each other, just because of different views or beliefs. It has taken near extinction to bring them together again. Amongst this chaos we still have hope. You are the future. Bring the world together again, accept differences and embrace the magic of life.’

  Scarlet wrapped her arms around Edgar and squeezed him tight.

  When Scarlet finally let Edgar go, Flora stepped forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.

  ‘How will you know if I find Avalon and the swords?’ he asked.

  ‘I will know,’ she simply replied.

  Waving them all goodbye, the Grey Man roared off on his motorbike, the throaty engine audible for some distance even after they had lost sight of the bike.

  Lady Flora got into the Mini with Scarlet and Peter. Scarlet took one last look at Edgar and the boys, turned the engine on and began to drive away. It lurched forward as Scarlet struggled to take control of the car.

  Edgar stood in the middle of the road and watched the Mini disappear round a corner, catching Scarlet’s eyes as she glanced in her mirror.

  Joe and Max patiently waited without saying a word. They didn’t know what lay in front of them.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Edgar asked as he turned to the boys.

  13. The Forest of Dean

  The Grey Man weaved his motorbike between the abandoned cars that littered the road. It was easier to negotiate the roads than in a car, and as such, it only took a couple of hours to reach the Forest of Dean on the border between England and Wales. He left the main road before he reached Gloucester and entered the forest from the north.

  Occasionally, through the ever increasing density of trees, he caught a glimpse of the River Wye that followed alongside the road that took him deeper into the forest. The h
edgerows and trees began to overhang the road so much that he was riding amongst the shadows, only aware of daylight, by the narrow strip of blue above his head. But when that disappeared too it was like he was riding through a narrow tunnel of greenery. On those occasions he remained especially alert in fear of attacking creatures. Eventually, the trees thinned again and he entered a small village that he recognised.

  It had been many years since he had been in the area, but it seemed like nothing had changed during that time. There was a heavy earthy scent hanging in the air. A smell that reminded him of the night he had been dragged into the portal to the Underworld. In his mind he could still hear the scream of his wife as they desperately tried to cling to the nearest stray branch or claw the ground against an invisible force that constantly pulled at them with such strength that it felt they were going to split in two. But, most clearly of all, the Grey Man heard one word.

  'Steffen!'

  His wife had screamed his son’s name over and over again, as she desperately realised their son was going to be left alone and vulnerable without them. The Grey Man glanced into the forest. Between the thick tree trunks, he thought he saw a glimmer of silver, but when he blinked it had gone.

  The river was clear to see on the right side of the road, whilst on the left, grey stone houses had begun to spring up. The Grey Man pushed on, trying to keep his focus on the road and not in the past. Leaving the village behind, the trees enveloped the road once again. Occasionally he caught sight of a movement dancing within the shaded darkness of the forest. But so far, the creatures hadn’t troubled him.

  On the edge of the forest, he slowed the bike down and coasted along the road. He entered a quaint village with stone walls holding back typical English country gardens.

  The road was silent, except for the growling vibration coming from the engine of the motorbike. The Grey Man stopped beside a picket fence, turned the engine off and stepped from the bike. He drew the Donestre sword from its strapping beside the engine and held it loosely in his hand and waited.

  He looked at the cottage. It had once been the home of his wife’s sister and he hoped she had not moved since the last time he had been there. This was his only possible link to trace his son.

  The building was made of large grey stone blocks that looked weathered with crevices filled with soft spongy moss. There was an ivy creeping its long tendrils around the entrance porch, whilst in the garden, rows of foxgloves, lavender and roses released their scent into the air. The thatched roof didn’t look so perfect. There were stray clumps of straw that had been pulled out of position where something heavy had been gripping or moving across the roof. He had a pretty good idea what may have caused it, and for that reason he pulled his sword up level to his face and grasped it with both hands ready to use if necessary.

  The wooden gate swung into the garden accompanied by a high pitched squeal. He cautiously took a step along the path towards the front door which appeared to be slightly open. Keeping his sword high, he nudged the door with the toe of his shoe so that he could see inside the cottage. With the sun behind him it cast a long stretched shadow down the length of the hall.

  ‘Melodie?’ he shouted into the house.

  There was no reply.

  The Grey Man took a step inside.

  With only the limited light coming through the windows, everywhere appeared dark and grey. The first door he came to went into the living room. The furnishings were simple and dated. They consisted of a two seater settee which looked like it had hardly been used compared to the sunken cushions of a single armchair that was pushed into a corner facing the television. To the side of the armchair was a small table supporting a stack of folded newspapers which were weighed down by two remote controls. A tall free-standing lamp towered above the armchair. Along one wall was an old stone mantelpiece. Above that he could see a silver ornate framed mirror that was hanging by a triangular piece of wire from a nail in the wall. The Grey Man looked along the top of the mantelpiece and pulled out a white card that was wedged between a vase and clock. It was an anniversary invitation that was addressed to his wife’s sister, Melodie Knight. He smiled to himself. At least he knew she still lived in the cottage. Respectfully he placed the invitation back on the mantelpiece and his eyes glanced over a curled picture of a young boy smartly dressed in school uniform.

  The Grey Man instantly recognised the eyes of his wife in the boy.

  ‘Steffen,’ he muttered to himself.

  A tear gathered in the corner of his eye as he picked the picture up and smiled. His son was older in the picture than the night he had been abandoned by his parents. The Grey Man had hoped that Melodie would have taken Steffen in and raised him, but he had never known for sure. He turned the photograph over. On the back was the date of his son's first day at school, together with the English translation of his welsh name, Steven.

  He slipped the photograph into his pocket and continued to search the rest of downstairs. It was a small cottage, the downstairs only consisted of the living room, kitchen, dining room and pantry. Fruit in a bowl on top of the dining table had gone soft and mouldy. It was covered by a moving winged mass of flies that erupted into the air as the Grey Man walked past.

  There was no sign anyone was still there, or had been for several days.

  He began to walk up the stairs. Each wooden step creaked as he loaded his weight onto it, betraying his presence. At the top the narrow landing was lit by a small window at one end and had three doors leading from it. The first opened into a single room. The interior decoration looked very different to the rest of the house. The floral patterns had been replaced by bold colours mixed with posters and film trading cards. There was a row of books propped up along the window ledge. The Grey Man read the titles printed down their spines. Many were about space, UFO’s and myths. If Steffan had lived there, he assumed he was currently standing in his bedroom.

  He moved into another room which was larger with a double bed in the centre that appeared as well worn as the armchair in the living room. He opened the wardrobe door. Inside were hangers with colourful floral dresses and an overwhelming smell of mothballs. At the bottom were neat rows of unused court-shoes; whilst above the hangers was a shelf that supported rolled up bed linen and a shoebox held together by several elastic bands. The Grey Man reached up and slid it from the shelf, disturbing the dust that had settled on the top. He carried it over to the bed, sat down and lifted the lid off.

  Inside the box was a jumble of photographs, some old and worn, others newer and shinier. At one end was a bundle of letters neatly stacked and tied together. The Grey Man took out the photographs and began looking through them. He saw pictures of long dead relatives from his wife’s family and placed them on the bed. He then picked out an old photograph of himself with his wife on their wedding day.

  At that moment the Grey Man’s life stopped.

  Since leaving this world his life as Rhys Avall had been left on hold, paused and waiting for his return. He realised that, although he was looking for his son, he was also looking for himself once again as well. He looked at the man in the photograph. The man he had once been was proud and handsome, standing next to his wife and staring lovingly into her eyes. He desperately wished she was still alive. He closed his eyes and kissed the picture of his wife, holding it against his lips as if she was actually there. When he opened them again he put the picture aside and continued to sort through the rest of the photographs. He found many of Steffen at different ages, so began positioning them on top of the bed in age order so he could see his son growing up in front of him. The boy had changed from a fair haired child to a dark haired man, but whatever the age, he still had a look of his mother in him.

  At the bottom of the box were several newspaper cuttings. The first was dated two days after the night when Rhys and his wife had unwillingly gone through the portal. It described the mysterious disappearance and even had several quotes from locals who reported seeing strange lights in the for
est, whilst others linked the disappearance to wild animal attacks. Other clippings mentioned the subsequent investigation, but every one became smaller and smaller as less newspaper space was allocated to it.

  He turned to the letters. Many were from Melodie’s late husband when he had been working abroad, but there were two others, written in a less decorative handwriting. He read through the first which told the tale of a young man, nervous and frightened as he took his first steps of independence at University. The second, dated several years later, was written with more confidence. In it the boy truly was becoming a man and making his way to London.

  At the bottom of the page was his son’s address.

  14. A Close Encounter

  It was a pleasant afternoon on the Isle of Wight. The bungalow was decorated in an old fashioned style with net curtains at the window, lace doilies laid out on the dining table and pottery figurines inside a display cabinet. Georgia was seated on a wooden chair pulled up to the dining table with her shotgun lying across the table top. She was looking out of the front window watching the sea peacefully roll up and down the beach whilst in the distance she could make out the outline of the northern edge of the island. She was so relaxed that she quite forgot where they were. Taking a clean roll of bandage from her bag she began to remove the old one around the top of her arm. The wound was healing nicely, shrinking all the time, but she knew the muscle damage would never repair itself and she would always have a noticeable dent in the arm. Despite wearing layers of waterproof clothing on the crossing, the dressing had still managed to get damp. As she carefully began winding the clean bandage around her arm, she didn’t noticed the approaching sound of rubber tyres coasting slowly across the concrete road that separated the lines of bungalows. It wasn’t until she saw the sun glinting off the front of the car that she remembered where they were and the danger they could be facing. In one quick glance she saw two occupants in the front of the car peering through open car windows towards each bungalow as they rolled along the road.