Moonsong

by Harald Hagen Invisible beasts laid waste to the nights quiet, their howls rising and falling in natural disharmony. This was the reason. Telder Simmons convinced himself this was why he couldnt sleep. The true cause was one he had to erase. As he watched the moon climb, half of its face mired by blue darkness, he thought of his dead wife, whose ghost roamed the streets. Celia, he said to no one who was there, why wont you visit me? Hour followed hour, each generation of inbreeding minutes feeding the next, until at last the skys lightening granted Telder sanctuary from the moaning and writhing of unseen wolves. He stumbled back inside. He shut and locked all his windows and let the draw of the lonely bed ease his body in. Like a mistress made wife, morning had become his night.
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Noon was heralded by the married couple next door whose dream to have children recently turned urgent and frequent. It was a small village Telder lived in, locked away in a forest clearing. Fruit flies squeezed through the cracks of the houses, as did the secrets of their residents. Walls were only curtains. Hazy afternoons met Telder with familiar sensations: a chill up his back when he emptied himself somewhere near a piss pot, searing daylight, a harsh mutiny of sounds, the cold handle of a piping kettle, insistent thudding in his skull. That day, a door knock added itself to the cacophony. Yes? Telders eyes remained closed when he answered the door. Missed the town hall meeting, you fish-slapping fool. That nagging voice all too similar to his own. He squinted. It was his ever intrusive brother, Rayke, in the one dumb suit he had in which to appear important. What I missed was the point of it, Telder said. You promised that youd Telder slammed the door in his face. Youre a sad mess, Rayke yelled through. Be the sensible one, Tel. The thumping against the bedroom wall. For some, the fact of the towns inescapable closeness was all the reasoning needed to simply bare it all, devil may care. The young couple was one such example, forceful in their belief. Telder was of a different mind. And it irritated him to no end that there was no one else who saw things the way he did. Not anymore. Rayke began again. Forget about Celia! She was nothing but a pitiful drunk! As Telder slinked back to bed, he let the words slip out in a whisper: You only have till pages end.
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Telder was woken again the next morning by some of the townsfolk. Evidently he had slept through day and night. They, whoever it was, had some awful news. It was about Rayke. At the funeral, many good things were said about him. No one knew about his off-color remarks about Telders wife the day before. Telder thought it rude to mention during the burial. Instead he wept openly, and everyone forgave him when he couldnt say a few words. Raykes death was so sudden. A cluster of elderly women behind him spoke in hushed voices. It must have been terrible, Gertrude finding him like that. I visited her this morning. Oh, how is the poor dear? The old womans voice turned grave. She wont blink. There wasnt much to the ceremony. In fact, there wasnt much in the casket as they had found so little of his remains. Telder knew hed hear the moonsong again that night. Long after everyone left the cemetery, Telder headed home. He stopped at the bakers, then at the brewery. The coming Solstice Festival was their busiest time of year. Old Madigan stood in the middle of the room, anxious and shouting orders, hands at the waist, gut sticking out like a celestial body. At the back of his head, pockets of black hair hid coiled under the gray. Ah, my best customer, he laughed. Over there. Telder picked up his package and tipped an imaginary hat. Im still covered this week? The one thing you dont forget. I see you paid money for that bread, though. A man needs something to wash down. Madigan wiped the sweat from his neck. Isnt that what troubles are for? When he saw Telder about to speak, he continued: Be careful tonight. The wolves seem famished.
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The night once again refused to pass. Telder could do nothing but sit outside. He began to fill his head with anything he could to calm himself. He remembered his days as a virile youth, his fall down an old well that made him uneasy around wet stones, his mothers lemon pies which never sated his hunger but only distended it. It wasnt long until he started thinking of Celia and his undying love. He distracted himself with memories of boyhood: running through the forests without a care for any beasts, skinned knees and bruises without origin, the ease of laughter even when tears hadnt dried. But again and again, his mind wandered back. Until something came to visit. YOU. Her shrieking voice. SAY IT. To Telder, the apparition looked nothing like his wife. A mad woman in a pale white dress. Celias hair was never black. Never. SAY THE WORDS. She came toward him on steps of air. Slowly. Slowly. Finally, a soaking warmth unfroze Telders legs. He ran inside and locked the door. Into the bedroom. Under the covers. For a moment, everything grew quiet. Telder felt his pulse in his throat, his face, his head. A breeze blew in from the window. A creaking floorboard. A howl. No, he pleaded. Theres no one here but me. She screamed. Telder wished he had taken that last drink. Then, a thumping sound began on the other side of the wall, and never had he been happier to hear the throes of passion. Them! They only have till pages end!
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By the morning, it was no longer a stretch to think that an ominous shadow had fallen over the Simmons house. The young couple was found to have met the same fate as Rayke. People had such palpable worry on their faces, speaking in whispers whenever Telder walked by. Blood and death circled around him like some savage dance of sacrifice. Telder watched the mourning crowd huddled in the cemetery from afar. Congregating crows. Two burly men lowered the coffins amidst fog and a light drizzle. Why dont you stay with us tonight, Father? Even after twenty-something years since her birth, Matilde was something of a stranger in Telders eyes. As he saw it, he really had very little to do with the whole thing. The carrying, the birthing, the raising that was Celias hard work. He was just a man who wished a little ill on everyone but wished none on her. Hush, Matilde. Its nothing to get riled up about. The noise from those two all day long was bound to draw attention. She wouldnt stop looking worried in that lovingly condescending way. Theyre setting up a watch tonight. Im going to ask them to look in on you. Do what you want. As any of us should do. Telder went off. He had noticed how Matildes charcoal hair blended right in with her dress. Where did everyone get their funeral garb, he wondered, and where had he gotten his? On the first night of the watch, Telder found neither comfort nor sleep. No one had come to check in on him and he had been expecting that insult to come. He went out for a walk and found the boy on duty, envying the sweet embrace of slumber. He stood there, careful not to make a sound, carefully admiring the ants near the sentrys feet, marching with purpose in a thin line to nowhere.
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Matilde, being married to the mayors son, familiarized herself with the power of influence. When she heard about the sleeping guardsman, it was decided that two would be appointed to stand watch a task that went around to all able men. This was her doing. Predictably, bouts of strange and sudden illness began to emerge. Feather coughs. Groans of pain resembling awkward surprise. Vanishing fevers inside thin skin. Intangible vomit. Matilde came to the same realization her father had at her age: the townsfolk were lousy thespians and insufferable cowards. When it was subsequently decided that the Solstice Festival be indefinitely postponed, Madigan had no choice but to pay a visit long since overdue. What in gods name do you want? Telder asked his old friend as he burst through. Youre coming with me. I disagree. Have you brought drinks? Madigans answer: a hunting knife pointed in an unfavorable direction. Are you so desperate for food, Telder asked. No. Just a new rug. There was little need for debate. Madigan promised a months worth of drink, which was nothing compared to what his gains would be from the festival. It was enough for Telder to be overcome with a sense of duty. He looked around his house. Only half a bottle left. It would have to do in the meantime. Madigan brought a big satchel with him. A few slabs of meat, he said, and other things. The day was half over when they reached the far ends of the woods, near the den of wolves. Madigan sat down on a stump. Come. This bloody nonsense has gone on for long enough.
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Walking builds up such a thirst. I suppose thats true. Im glad I brought a bottle. Telder looked at the fat sow with envy. Give me that. You probably owe me for something, and we can call it even. Madigan ignored him. He began to unload small pieces of wood, springs, string and twine. Something clinked underneath it all. Telder sat and watched him. Forget anything? Any sort of help, apparently. Telder couldnt remember the last time he saw Madigan getting his hands dirty. Then again there were a lot of things he couldnt remember. A birds nest had fallen from a low branch. A dead bird lay on its back, spilling with maggots; a young snake coiled around it, with an egg-shaped bulge in its throat. Frozen in eternity. One of the snakes eyes dangled near the side of its mouth while the other was a moment away from exploding out. If there was a smell, Telder couldnt detect it. Madigan worked his way around the woods with a sip at each stop, moving farther away from where Telder remained willfully disobliging. Hey, Telder yelled, you look like youre done with that bottle now. Hand it over. Youre going to wake up the wolves. So? Telder tipped his own bottle all the way up, hoping for a few last drops to materialize and fall. He stuck out his tongue and stayed that way for a minute. Madigan ruffled through the sack. Why do you think all this started happening? Maybe somebody up there was bored with their immortality. So they started reading our lives. Imagine if they stopped. This might all go away. All of it. Forever.
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Youre disgusting. From the satchel, Madigan pulled out a shiny new bottle. Here. Wear your crown. Telder grinned and happily accepted, but Madigan hadnt yet let go. Be serious. Why do you really think all this is happening? Telder wrenched the drink away and downed half of its contents. How should I know. Dont ask questions to drunks. From the depths of the bag, Madigan took out a cleaver. All this time. Have you ever really been drunk? Something leaped out from behind Telder. A blur of silver. Snarls. Claws. Fangs. Madigan let out a grunt before he stepped aside and caught the beast in the crook of his massive arm. The young wolf squirmed, but he held it such that its biting teeth could only reach air. He tightened his grip and raised the clean blade. Ill start. You finish. A skinny hind leg fell to the ground, filling a small blood pond at Telders feet. It jerked. The wolf let out a cry of agony, and bled more each time it did. Madigan tensed his arm, squeezing its body until he felt something inside it break, and then let it fall to the ground. The splash made a pattern across Telders face and he laughed. Just like the old days, he said. Only when you put down the damn bottle. The weakened pup was crawling away. Telder set down his bottle and took hold of its remaining hind leg. Jaws snapped back at him. He pulled it in, grabbed its neck, and kneeled over the wriggling beast. A dire howl echoed for miles through the woods. Madigan braced himself for what was coming. Telder only grinned. I miss this.
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Matilde was sitting on the porch of the mayors house, distracted by distant howling. For hours she agonized over her fathers sudden brashness to accompany Madigan on a hunt after having left it behind decades ago. She hoped she wouldnt come to regret putting off the Solstice Festival. It had to have been the right decision. The mayors son came outside and asked her something. She didnt even hear him; he went back inside. The sun had started its descent. For everyone else, the clouds were being filled with a rich golden color. She could only see the redness of it. It was the one way she took after her father. In the distance, an old man stepped out from between the trees. But he was less man than apparition, repainted from head to toe in an unspeakable red. Footprints behind him in the grass seemed burned into the earth. An empty bag trailed behind him in one hand, a broken bottle in the other. Matilde rose from her seat, and the untitled old book in her lap fell to the floor. In a dark corner of the forest, a man lay on the ground in a bed of gray fur and blood, having just deduced the secret of immortality. He sat there, unnervingly still, pondering his revelation while trying to forget the words he would never have to speak again. He waited. And waited. And waited. The pages end never came.

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