Fairies, scouts and historical ruptures

Greetings, readers, writers, and thinkers. I'm tapping this out while leaning on a fence, watching a troop of scouts tie each other up. The activity was raft-building; now it's ‘walk the plank.’ I sometimes think civilisation is just a pretty lie we tell ourselves to get along. Kids happen to be more honest than adults.

In this week's edition, I discuss fairy sightings, historical DnD and a contemporary short story.

As always, all of your comments will get a response.

Fairies are still seen in the UK today

I’m not talking about humans with rainbow hair and wings at the local music festival. Actual fairies! Or a close equivalent. The map and survey itself date from 2017, but I’m still flummoxed and happy that it happens in an age of smartphones and streetlights.

“The supernatural beings reported range from leaf-sized to 15-foot giants - some angry and mischievous - and encounters include include erotic and sexually-charged moments.”

You can read the full article here.

---

Adventure like its 1799

60% of fantasy is about nostalgia for a past that did not exist. However, humans are very good at forgetting, and most of what we play today in fantasy computer games, books, and films would have been recognised by our ancestors.

Take the typical fantasy setting. You are in the tavern, and a fight breaks out. Who restores order?

In the 18th century, it would be the local constable and whoever he could scrounge up in the street. That was also the case if you were a coastal community faced with Barbary pirates looking for slaves, smugglers, privateers or bandits. People still travelled armed (this was the era of the highwayman), and witches were still commonplace (despite the Witchcraft Act). It was normal to reminisce about sea monsters, mermaids, wood spirits and trolls.

At the same time, you could take the Turnpike Express to the city, visit a coffee shop, pick up a newspaper, purchase a gun, and go to a magician’s show.

The oddest thing is that we think everything we have now is unnatural compared to before. The dividing line was never between myth, magic, science and fantasy. It was always between the factory and the workshop. When labour became industrialised (in farming and manufacturing), it tore the rural communities apart and started the mass transfer of people to the cities. When you don’t have the time and the space for the uncanny, it dwindles.

Fantasy is our way of recapturing it today in a world with few natural mysteries left.

---

Take one picture…

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

“Are you sure about this, Mum?” Ed asked me again. His heel jiggled up and down in time with his vape stick. I waved away the sickly sweet, blueberry scent. I was glad he had given up the fags, but I wished he had stuck to the nicotine gum.

“It’s in the will,” I said firmly. “My sister made us the executors; we must carry out her wishes.”

“Yeah, in daylight with a map and compass! Aunt Dahlia was always as mad as a box of frogs.”

I shrugged as I pulled on my wellies and stepped out of the car. “Yeah, it’s strange. But she wrote it down, and she made me promise in the hospice. I’m not welching on a deathbed vow. Are you coming?”

Ed snorted and pocketed his vape stick. He unfolded his lanky frame from my small car and joined me at the boot. I was bent over, fumbling around for the jar. It was well-wrapped in brown paper and string, like an old-fashioned parcel and oddly heavy for such a small object.

Ed said nothing. He produced his phone and turned on the flashlight.

“No! No artificial light!”

“But-”

“She said it scares them away. Count to a hundred and wait for your night vision to kick in.”

We waited. Ed hummed under his breath, my square-footed sensible son with his office job and football club. We were the only ones left of the family now, and I wondered if his kids would be fey-touched, just like Dahlia. I wondered if I would be around to see it.

The trees faded into the foreground, and I could pick out the path between them.

“C’mon.'“ I said.

Ed fumbled and crashed behind me, swearing softly. There wasn’t much moon tonight, just enough to show the dark and make everything loom over us. I kept walking. I had never been here before, but Dahlia had carefully described the way to the barrow. I just had to follow the line of silver birches.

God, it was quiet.

“Nearly there, Ed,” I said to him encouragingly.

Ed did not reply.

I turned around. Nothing except trees, shrubs and an owl’s screech. I couldn’t see Ed.

“Must’ve gone back to the car,” I told myself. Yep, that was it.

Lazy bugger.

I spun back and continued walking. The barrow loomed up before me in a few more paces, a silver birch on either side like a sentinel. Fortunately, it was too late for dog walkers and too cold for the local teenagers. I had spared myself the embarrassment of an audience.

I scrabbled at the jar wrappings, wishing for scissors to cut the string.

The paper tore apart in a mournful howl.

To the right, someone cleared their throat.

“Ed?”

Just the shadows caused by a flapping tree branch. I was still alone.

Moving quickly, I unscrewed the lid and thrust the jar into the air. Until this moment, the jar had felt heavy - like it contained water - but it also appeared empty.

With the lid gone, it was filled with light, flying upwards in small puffs like Ed’s vape smoke. Except this cloud could change direction against the wind, spiralling into a geometric dance.

I watched, entranced. I could see why Dahlia had captured and kept them all these years. I wish she could have seen to their freedom herself, but addiction is selfish in that way. Fairies and fags. At least only one killed her in the end.

I followed the last spark into the barrow; the afterburn etched on my eyes.

“You did well, seanmhaighdean,” a soft voice uttered behind me. With that pronouncement, my nerve broke, and I ran.

It was a comedy escape. Sobbing and swearing, I bounced off trees, stumbled on shallow dips and fell over a badly placed log. The trip back felt like it took forever until I finally saw my solitary Vauxhall Corsa parked up in the clearing.

“Ed!” I screamed. “Ed!”

No reply.

I fumbled for my car keys and found my phone on the dashboard, where I had left it. The battery was flat, but luckily, I had a car charger I could plug into the cigarette socket. I switched on the engine, but it took a few tries.

The damp must’ve got to it.

I flicked on the headlamps, hoping Ed would see the light and find me. Doing so lit up A4 poster, fastened to the tree in front.

Odd, that. I couldn’t recall seeing it when I parked.

I leaned forward in the driver’s seat and squinted. It was a missing person’s poster with a £1,000 reward.

I glanced around, but I was still alone. I hesitated, then picked up the thermos flask Ed had left rolling around on the passenger’s seat. It wasn’t much, but I could use it to hit anyone sneaking up on me. I shuffled awkwardly out of the seat for the second time that night and walked up to the poster.

The date of the disappearance was today, which didn’t make sense. Not with the Crimestoppers number and police website reference. Who did all that in just a few hours?

The woman in the photo was me.

*

See you all next week.