Phantoms of the Moon

by Michael Ciardi

Perhaps more than sixty years ago, when the atmosphere over Belle Falls was draped in a curtain of darkness, one could have gazed upon the firmament and observed the unspoiled splendor of a celestial paradise. Neither the aid of a telescope nor binoculars were required back then. The naked eye discerned hundreds of beads of light speckling the heavens along the Milky Way’s pathway. But presently, much of that brilliance was tainted by the pollution of artificial light. As a result, the casual observers never truly learned to appreciate the stellar beauty hidden from their eyes.

  Before her death, Margaret Banner often reminisced on what a shame it was for nearly two generations of children to be deprived of the evening’s true identity. They had come to age in a world that restricted more than what nature intended them to observe. Margaret often recounted stories to Ryan about her youthful days, when it seemed as though some unforeseen hands had taken a bucket of ice and scattered its contents across the horizon. Such tales only fueled Ryan’s imagination with the glorious wonders of the night.

  Tonight, from his typical observation point in his backyard, Ryan focused his telescope’s six-inch lens skyward once again. Beside him, he paged through a star atlas in pursuit of the Andromeda Galaxy. He marked the area correctly on his chart as M31, which represented the brightest spiral galaxy. Even without his scope, Ryan spotted Andromeda in a moderately dark sky, but he found it quite impressive under magnification.

  As Ryan peered through his scope at the swirling blue and white star clusters, he recalled his grandmother regaling him with the mythological origins of Andromeda’s namesake. In some of Ryan’s more imaginary moments, he envisioned himself as the Greek hero Perseus soaring across the heavens on a winged stallion to rescue the Chained Lady from her appointed doom. Such illusions never lasted long enough for Ryan.

  Margaret once told Ryan that a man could not define himself completely until he discovered his passion in life. It did not take Ryan long to determine that his own zeal was hinged to the realm of infinite space. Whenever he ventured out beneath the stars, everything else in the environment seemingly vanished. He was no longer aware of the trees or shifting patterns of suburban light. The noise of side street traffic or barking dogs faded into the background, too. Only the enchantment of the sky mattered. Ryan felt his purest thoughts being consumed by the region he most cherished.

  Late autumn’s northeastern sky supplied Ryan with much pleasure. From his vantage point he clearly discerned the stars of Castor and Betelgeuse hanging low on the horizon. Higher up, the constellation of Perseus burst across the frothy pitch of the Milky Way. His eyes followed these visions to a beautiful double cluster and further along the northern sky to the formation of Cassiopeia.

  Though the November air had chilled on this occasion, Ryan could not resist the sky’s clarity. On nights when there were not any clouds to obscure his view, Ryan rushed outside and busied himself by hunching over his scope. Despite the cold, it was an easy decision for him to remain outdoors for as long as possible. Since Ryan’s grandfather rarely managed to leave the house, it was a place for him to seek refuge. Frank’s drinking had become intolerable again tonight, and Ryan wanted nothing to do with him. But strangely, he still felt obligated to make certain that the old man did not hurt himself.

  At this hour, Ryan’s concentration centered on the one significant bond in his life, and that existed through the eyepiece of his telescope. Undoubtedly, the galaxy of Andromeda poured forth an almost unfathomable amount of mystery. But Ryan soon found himself training the lens of his reflector scope back to the one object that fascinated and terrified him for most of his life.

  Sometimes Ryan considered the genuine amazement Galileo must have experienced when he first turned his new invention toward the Moon in 1609. Ryan remembered the first time he scanned the lunar surface through his telescope. The Moon’s jagged peaks and craters still held prominence in his most esteemed recollections. Tonight, the Moon had just entered its last quarter, which was a particularly perfect time to survey its silvery plains.

  Despite the passing of nearly four hundred years since Galileo’s initial observation of the Moon’s vista, Ryan realized that its formations were virtually unchanged in all that time. When engaged in such exploration, he fully appreciated the lure and beauty of this alien landscape. But there was another more personal reason that contributed to his enthrallment. At times, he was both intrigued and frightened by the Moon’s appearance. In his subconscious thoughts he harbored a memory so unsettling that he barely managed to ask himself the cause. On certain occasions, such as tonight, the compulsion to investigate his interior motives collided with reality.

  A layer of sweat suddenly coated Ryan’s brow as he squinted through the scope’s eyepiece. Since the air was quite chilly and he felt no immediate stress, the perspiration struck him as uncanny. After a few minutes, Ryan pulled away from his scope and opened his jacket. Even after unzipping his coat fully and loosening his shirt, sweat still streamed from his face.

  When Ryan realigned his scope’s field of vision directly upon the Moon’s surface, he almost predicted exactly what appeared in the telescope’s lens. He had developed an ability to calculate each stage of the satellite’s orbit. Even while enduring a certain amount of inexplicable duress, he anticipated the cavernous craters of Copernicus, and the spoke-like pattern of Tycho. Additionally, tonight’s viewing brought him closer to the Moon’s Caucasus Mountains, which resided just above the flattening wedge of landscape known as the Sea of Serenity.

  None of these sites seemed unusual tonight, but as Ryan continued to concentrate on these offerings, he discovered something unusual in the Moon’s circumference. While looking through his scope’s eyepiece, he discerned three distinct images illuminating in ways that he immediately considered unusual. At first Ryan suspected that it was merely an optical illusion. He pulled back from his telescope several times and adjusted the azimuth dial and slow-motion control on the Newtonian scope.

  After inspecting the view through his telescope again, he determined that the three objects were approximately four inches in diameter, oval in shape, and glimmered with a metallic luster. They hovered in place for several seconds, but then instantaneously disappeared from the scope’s exposure. The entire spectacle lasted for nearly five minutes. By the end of this period, Ryan had dropped to one knee in front of his scope. While looking at the Moon without the assistance of his reflector, Ryan did not detect anything unusual, which caused him to question whether he had seen anything at all.

  By the time Ryan gathered his thoughts and jotted some notes in the pages of his atlas, his enthusiasm transformed to confusion. He continued to sweat profusely and now felt chilled. To spare himself any further torment, Ryan elected to end his stargazing at least for the remainder of this night. But of course the question still loomed in his mind like the Moon itself: what in fact did he observe? Over the years, Ryan had conditioned himself to settle matters of the unknown in a logical manner. He preferred to develop an explanation grounded in scientific fact before attributing any event to supernatural speculation.

  “It was probably just a meteor,” said Ryan in regard to the objects, but he did not utter this with a supreme conviction. If he were being true to his suspicions, he would have already determined that space debris did not fly in such a stabilized pattern. A second more plausible notion was the possibility of a series of comets originating from the icy formations of Uranus and Neptune. But after further contemplation, Ryan realized that what he witnessed had neither white nor blue tails, and these were telltale indicators of most known comets.

  Ryan might have spent the remainder of the evening camped on his lawn with his charts in hand, but a more immediate distraction presented itself in the shadow of a drunken man. As Ryan disassembled his scope in order to bring it back inside, Frank emerged in the glare of the moonlight. The air was cold enough for Ryan to detect the old man’s breath beating in pockets of gray around his head. Even before Ryan turned around to face the
man, he knew that his grandfather had drunk himself to senselessness once again.

  Frank tilted his head toward the sky. Only a faint collection of stars was seen with the naked eye, but that did not prevent the man from mocking Ryan’s favorite pastime.

  “So much to see and so little time,” Frank cackled, but he amused no one other than himself. Ryan continued to ignore the man for as long as humanly possible.

  Frank wore the same drab-colored bathrobe from the night before, only now he had not even bothered to fasten the garment around his thinning waist. His bare, liver-spotted skin seemed unaffected by the cold air, but at least he remembered to slip on a pair of underpants, which unmercifully was not always the case. One item the man never forgot, however, was his bottle of gin, and it appeared as though he had already consumed a good portion of it tonight. He held it in his left hand as if it was fixated to his wrist with an iron strap.

  Ryan did not know how much longer he was capable of tolerating the man’s presence. Each moment in his company only caused an increasing amount of contempt to surge in Ryan’s heart. Frank must have keenly sensed this revulsion and used every opportunity to antagonize the boy. Even the undeserved pity Ryan sometimes extended to the man began to reek with artificiality. No matter where Ryan attempted to hide, it was certain that Frank intended to delay his vomiting session long enough to create some hostility between them.

  “Look at you now,” Frank snarled in Ryan’s direction. Frank peered at the sky when he continued. “What can be so damn interesting up there?”

  “We don’t need to talk about this again,” Ryan replied humbly.

  When Frank edged too close to Ryan, he immediately tried to step around him. After it became evident that Frank had no intention of leaving, Ryan started to pack up his telescope. But Frank had not staggered outside with the intention of being dismissed so easily.

  “Time to go inside already?” Frank taunted the boy as he swilled the gin between his lips as if it had no more potency than water. Ryan refused to answer his grandfather. If the old man had not been drinking so feverishly, he would have distinguished the look of repugnance on Ryan’s face. Nevertheless, as Ryan tried to pass his grandfather with his telescope in tow, Frank nudged him in the shoulder with his elbow. Ryan, who was certainly strong enough to overpower his grandfather if cause required him to do so, elected to remain calm, although he nearly dropped the Newtonian to the lawn as a result of the impact.

  “I’m not going to talk to you when you’re drinking. I’ve told you this before,” said Ryan.

  Frank ignored his grandson’s words and positioned himself in front of him again. He used his empty hand to poke a finger against the boy’s chest. Ryan clearly smelled a foul odor exuding from the man’s pores at such a close range.

  “Listen to me, you little freak,” Frank gritted his rotten teeth. Ryan saw no reason to look the man in eyes that appeared to be splintered by a series of red rivers.

  “What do you want from me?” Ryan asked, but his voice had slipped into anger by now. He then set the telescope on the ground next to his feet. “Are you trying to make me feel bad for you? Is that what this is all about?”

  “I doubt you feel anything,” Frank muttered as he shoved his finger against Ryan’s chest again.

  “Stop that, Grandpa,” Ryan admonished.

  “Ah,” Frank snorted and then jabbed his finger into Ryan’s collarbone. “I’m finally getting some kind of a reaction from you.” Despite Ryan’s repeated warnings for Frank to stop, the old man continued to thrust his finger against his chest. Finally, in an act of frustration, Ryan grabbed Frank’s wrist and forced his hand to his side. Frank resisted momentarily but then realized that he did not possess the strength to overpower the much younger boy.

  “I’m not a little kid anymore,” Ryan reminded him. “You can’t keep treating me this way. I don’t deserve it.”

  “Now I have your attention,” Frank grumbled. “What does it take for you to really talk to someone? You go day after day with your head turned to the sky. What can anyone think of you?”

  By now Ryan had applied enough pressure to nearly snap the old man’s limp wrist. Frank winced with the pain but seemed to welcome it at the same time. A wicked smile curled into his countenance. “That’s it,” Frank snickered with fiendish delight. He then licked his lips as if they were parched. “You want to hurt me now, don’t you?”

  Through seventeen years Ryan had never encountered one instance in his life where he contemplated violence as a solution to his problems. There certainly were moments in his childhood where such actions were justifiable, but it was always easier for him to walk away from potential confrontations. Yet as he stood in front of his grandfather on this night, Ryan could not deny the fact that he sensed rage toward this drunken man. It almost scared him to believe that he possessed the ability to permit such feelings to manipulate his thoughts in this manner.

  Before surrendering to the temptation to strike his grandfather, Ryan released Frank’s wrist and composed himself. Frank almost relished seeing the flash of hatred fading from the boy’s eyes.

  “Why don’t you hit me?” Frank dared him. “You know you want to do it. I see it in your eyes even now. For god’s sake, act like a man for once in your life.”

  “I’m not going to hit you, Grandpa,” said Ryan as he backed away from the man. “But if you don’t get some professional help for yourself, I’ll do it for you.”

  Frank still glared at his grandson defiantly. He then brought the bottle of alcohol to his lips and gulped it down his gullet as if he was inhaling oxygen. His tone sounded just as smug when he spoke again. “What makes you so certain I want a caretaker?”

  “You’re not making the decisions anymore,” Ryan said, motioning to the gin bottle. “That stuff is controlling your life now. What would Grandma think of you if she could see you now?”

  Unlike Ryan, Frank did not require much coaxing before he became enraged. Without further provocation, he flung the half-empty gin bottle at Ryan. The projectile deflected off Ryan’s shoulder and fell to the lawn without shattering.

  “Don’t you ever mention that woman’s name to me again? Do you understand me?”

  “You can’t even look at yourself in the mirror, Grandpa. You’re ashamed of what you’ve become, and you want to make other people suffer with you.”

  “What the hell do you know about anything?” Frank sneered. The old man was more inclined to attack the boy with his hands at this stage. Frank lunged forward, but Ryan effortlessly averted his grasp. After a few more equally futile attempts to overtake the boy, Frank ceased and directed his attention toward the gin bottle settled on the grass.

  Ryan found it difficult to do anything other than to stare at Frank with remorseful eyes. He watched the old man take the now empty bottle back in his hands and attempt to suck the last traces of alcohol from within. When this effort proved to be fruitless, Frank dropped the bottle to his feet and leered cautiously at his grandson.

  “Do you remember last night when I asked you if you loved my Margaret?” Frank questioned in a sullen voice. Ryan was surprised that Frank recalled anything from the previous night, but he nodded his head in the affirmative.

  Frank edged closer to the boy again. He now sensed the cold air stinging his chest and noticed small beads of sweat accumulating on Ryan’s brow. “I could say with certainty that your Grandma loved you,” Frank babbled onward, but with more coherency than a few minutes earlier. “And now that I think about it, I’d even go as far to suggest that she loved you more than what I thought was natural.”

  “Maybe you just loved me less than what is normal,” Ryan countered.

  Frank did not immediately respond. He waited another thirty seconds, all the while staring fixedly at Ryan’s eyes as if he had not consumed a drop of alcohol. After a few more seconds, Frank continued in almost a confessionary tone. “There were many times when I felt like an outsider in my own home. Had my Margaret always treat
ed me as she might a stranger, I might’ve never questioned her dedication to you. But I remember her as a much younger woman when she cared for your mother. It’s funny how she never paid her own child as much mind as she offered you. I guess I never imagined that you two would’ve become so chummy so quickly.”

  “We did become very close,” Ryan admitted, reminiscing about the happier moments of his youth. “But, Grandpa, you have to understand that neither of us ever intended to make you feel neglected.”

  “My feelings aren’t what I’m fussing about,” Frank clarified. “I figured Margaret was desperate to be a mother again, so I let her have her little fun with you. After all, maybe she was trying to make up for all the mistakes she made the first time around.”

  “Why are you telling me this now, Grandpa?”

  “I was just really shocked,” Frank answered, sinisterly moistening his cracked, purple lips with his tongue. “After witnessing how close you became with my Margaret, the day of her funeral opened my eyes.”

  Ryan could not be sure what his grandfather alluded to, but the oldster’s expression twisted as if he had tasted something sour. As Frank leered at him, Ryan attempted to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Ryan said, trying to remain composed. “That was a very sad day for everyone.”

  “Yes,” Frank declared, suspiciously. “Sudden deaths usually are sad. I remember a lot of tears being shed that day by everyone—everyone except for one person.”

  Based on the directness of Frank’s stare, Ryan became automatically defensive with the old man’s accusation. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Let’s just say that there is more sweat on your forehead tonight than there were tears in your eyes at Margaret’s funeral.”

  Ryan suddenly felt overwhelmed by a coldness creeping beneath his skin. He backed away from Frank and smeared the remaining perspiration from his cheeks. “I think that alcohol is talking for you again.”

  “You have a habit of watching the stars,” Frank remarked, with a certain level of contempt. “I do the same with people.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ryan denied. “I loved Grandma. I won’t let you say otherwise.”

  “But still no visible tears.”

  “You can’t make me feel guilty over what happened. Why do you want to blame me?” Frank did not respond. He allowed Ryan to sort through his own convoluted feelings. “We can’t live like this anymore, Grandpa. Your drinking is making you delusional.”

  “I’m as clear-minded as I’ve ever been.”

  Ryan had learned that arguing with an alcoholic never resulted in a favorable outcome. Instead of trading words with his grandfather, he bent down and picked his telescope off the lawn. After securing the scope in his arms, Ryan said, “I’m going in the house now. I also think you should know that I’m going back to see Doctor Evans tomorrow. Maybe he can help us get through this.”

  Ryan returned to his bedroom without further incident. He sat on a chair in his room and surveyed the backyard. Frank still stood on the shadowed lawn, although he did not seem coherent during this time. His attention swayed to the sky and remained fixated there for several seconds. While watching the man, Ryan considered Frank’s words with more seriousness than when he first uttered them.

  There was no moment in his past where Ryan genuinely questioned the admiration he felt for his grandmother. In many ways, she had been the closest example to a mother he truly remembered. But despite the insistence of his affection toward her, Ryan could not declare with absoluteness that he did shed tears at the time of her death or subsequent funeral. Perhaps the shock of the event prevented him from acting in a way that seemed acceptable to his grandfather, or maybe he did in fact show emotion and simply could not remember the details at the present time.

  Whatever the circumstances were, Ryan permitted Frank’s observation to affect him. The boy faced his bedroom mirror for more than ten minutes in silence. He could not determine why his grandfather had targeted him for such cruelty. Although Ryan knew it was unwise to listen to an alcoholic’s tirade, his own insecurities hindered his thoughts. For as long as the mystery of his family’s disappearance remained unresolved, Ryan Hayden’s future sanity would not escape jeopardy. He now had to delve deeper through the shadows of his mind to revisit the memories he had repressed so many years ago.