Solstice Music
A bit of old fashioned wintertime folk horror. Not the most suitable images but I did look for ages and you can't have everything.
Sit beside me child and listen and I will tell you a tale of music and magic and dancing and darkness and of the wickedness that hides itself away all the long year round and ventures abroad only when days are short and nights are long and winter is upon the land.
In this season, as Christmas draws nigh, the sun keeps low in the sky, seems to sink lower every day, threatens to vanish beneath the horizon never to return and to plunge the world into eternal shadow. Light and darkness, day and night, good and evil, contend amongst themselves and the world holds its breath in the hope that virtue and light will prevail and each year, just when it seems too late and that winter will claim the land in perpetuity, the sun pauses in its descent and holds still for a few days and then begins to rise again in the sky as it recommences its long progress towards summer.
At this time of the year, which we call the solstice, sol being Latin for the sun and sistere meaning to be still, (always remember your Latin children, for you never know when it may come in handy), the magic of the natural world is at its most powerful and although it sleeps through the short days, it is awake through all the long nights. It is for this reason that, on a winter’s evening, all good children should be tucked up in bed and fast asleep early, just as you yourselves are soon to be.
But first a story, as I promised.
So if you’re sitting comfortably, then I’ll begin.
There was a girl who lived in a cottage at the edge of a forest with an old woman who was neither her mother nor her grandmother.
Nobody knew their names or where they came from. They just walked out of the forest one morning and took up residence the same afternoon. Nor could anyone remember having seen the cottage prior to their arrival but since the idea that it had simply appeared, suddenly and out of nowhere, was preposterous, most people tended to believe that it had been there all along without anybody noticing.
It was a pretty little home, like a picture you might see on a toffee tin, or a calendar or a wooden puzzle, with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof and windows made of many small panes, some of which had circular ridges in them as if a stone had been dropped into the glass while it was cooling. There was a garden where the old woman kept some chickens and ducks and rabbits for the eggs and for the pot …..
no not the rabbits for the eggs - obviously that is not what I meant at all …..
and she grew flowers and vegetables and herbs, for food and for use in the preparation of medicines. There was a barn where an old horse was stabled and a piglet was kept for fattening up and in the barn there was a cart with high sides and brightly painted woodwork.
Behind the cottage lay the forest. It was deep and dark and mysterious and it came right up to the back wall.
The girl slept in a small bedroom high up in the rafters and at night, when the wind blew, she could hear the branches scratching against the thatch and it sounded like the long fingers of some fierce nocturnal creature trying to tear open the roof so that it could devour her as she slept.
Sometimes she would mention it to the old woman but she just made a tutting noise with her tongue on the roof of her mouth and replied -
“Do not be afraid, child. The forest is our friend. It will not do us harm.”
And the girl did as she was told, for two reasons. Firstly because the old woman was invariably right and secondly because, in the unlikely event that she was wrong and the forest really did mean them harm there was very little that she could do about it anyway.
The people from the town did not like to go near the cottage. They were afraid of the old woman, partly because she was old and had the palest skin and the blackest hair and eyes and lips that anyone had ever seen and partly because on the rare occasions that she was heard to laugh it sounded like the crackling of a fire that has been laid with damp timber and which dries out as it burns.
The old woman was widely considered to be wise, not in the sense of being clever or of giving good counsel but meaning rather that she was believed to be in communication with the unseen world of magic and spirits.
For this reason the people of the town treated both woman and child with a degree of circumspection, although they did not fear the girl as much as they feared the old woman, because she was young and beautiful. As to the fact that they had lived in the cottage for many years without the girl ever appearing to get any older, well, people barely even seemed to notice.
As I have already said, the people of the town preferred not to go near the cottage but in times of emergency or distress they might pay the old woman a visit. For example, if a family member were sick, they might go in search of a remedy and if they had lost something valuable they would go to ask if the elves or sprites had stolen it and if they feared that they had been the subject of an enchantment cast by a jealous neighbour they would go to ask for the curse to be lifted.
If a child were to go missing, which happened occasionally, as you would expect, forests being what they are, the parents would go to consult with the old woman and sometimes she offered suggestions which proved helpful in the recovery of the missing infant. Most often the child remained lost and was never found but people did not seem to hold the old woman accountable for the failure of her advice. For the most part they appeared to blame themselves for allowing the child to go missing in the first place and for crossing the old woman’s palm with insufficient silver to effect a recovery.
For their part the old woman and the girl did little to encourage contact with the townspeople or to make friends among them. They did not attend church and the girl did not go to school with the other children but instead she worked in the garden or cared for the livestock or went foraging in the forest. Occasionally they would harness the old horse to the cart and they would take their surpluses into the market to sell and with the money they made they would buy essentials which they could not produce themselves such as metalware and sugar and shoes and gin.
Each year, as Christmas approached, the old woman sharpened an axe and went into the forest and chopped down the most perfect tree she could find and she dragged it behind her through the snow to the cottage. Not a small tree either but a tree so big she could barely pull it and it seemed impossible that it would ever fit through the door or stand upright in the living room, but somehow she always managed to get it in and up and it made the whole house smell of pine needles.
Then the old woman instructed the girl to go into the attic and to fetch down the boxes of ornaments and they sat together in front of the fire and they took them from their boxes one by one and polished them until they shone and they hung them from the tree or arranged them on the mantel. There were china fruit and red and white striped candy canes and gingerbread fairies and model reindeer woven from straw and birds and insects made of gold and set with gemstones and there were long plaits that seemed to be woven from painted hair and streamers of brightly coloured rags, torn in strips from old clothes, that they draped across the tree branches and hung in festoons around the walls of the cottage. Above the fireplace they stretched a length of cord, and from it they hung, by means of pegs, a number of woollen stockings of various colours and designs, each one containing a sweet or a piece of fruit or a toy.
The girl loved all the ornaments but her favourites were the fat crystal baubles, gleaming orbs of glass with glittering snowflakes drawn in silver powder on their outside surfaces and on the inside, tiny models of buildings and people and trees and birds and animals all made and painted in such wondrous detail that when she held one up to the light and looked inside she felt as if she were shrinking herself down so she could step inside the sphere and explore the world it contained. The baubles were suspended in clusters from the tips of the branches of the tree, and they reflected the hearthlight so wonderfully, it almost seemed that they were filled with a fire all of their own. Whenever there was a high wind outside the window, (and sometimes when there was not), the branches of the tree would quiver, almost imperceptibly, and the baubles rattled against each other and made a sound like a thousand tiny bells chiming, somewhere far, far away.
When the tree and the mantel were dressed they fetched a large wooden crate from the barn and they turned it on its side and rested it between two chairs and they scattered the bottom with choppings of stinraw and constructed a nativity with a carved wooden manger and animals all stuffed with sawdust and dressed up in clothes. There were kittens to stand for the holy family and puppies for the farm animals and lizards for shepherds and squirrels for kings and golden butterflies and moths pinned up on the walls and roof in representation of the choir eternal. The very last figure to be placed in the stable was the blessed infant himself, who was represented by a bundle of white ribbon that resembled the pupum of some great insect, awaiting its opportunity to emerge into the world to spread joy and light and forgiveness.
One night, about a week before the solstice, when the snow lay deep and the wind made the trees to creak and groan, the old woman and the girl were sitting in front of the fire when there came a tapping at the door.
“My, my,” said the old woman. “Whoever can be knocking at our door on a night so cold? Whatever it is that brings them, it must be something very important.”
She eased herself slowly out of her chair,
….. as you will no doubt have seen me doing, because like her I am old and my bones are weary
and she went to the door and opened it up and on the step two women were standing with a little girl between them.
They were well wrapped up in heavy coats and hats and scarves and mittens but there were snowflakes frozen onto their clothes and their faces were red and there were little icicles hanging from the tips of their noses.
The old woman was not personally acquainted with the visitors but she had seen their faces around the town so she invited them in and she scooted the girl out of her chair to make room for them by the fire and she bade the women sit and the women sat and their little girl stood near the tree and gazed intently at the nativity, as if it were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
The opening of the door had set the glass baubles to ringing and the old woman fetched a length of silken cloth from a cupboard and she threw it over the tree so that it hung down to the floor and the baubles were silenced.
When the visitors had warmed themselves a little while at the fire the old woman said,
“Well, ladies. Welcome to my home. May I enquire as to what brings you here so late on such a night as this?”
The women explained that they were hoping to enlist the old woman’s help in the finding of a child, the son of one of them, the nephew of the other, who had been lost on his way home from school that very day and for whose safety they were gravely concerned.
“His name is Daniel,” the mother stuttered. She was struggling to hold back her tears and her whole body was shaking. “A year older than his sister here and a fine boy, never any trouble, always does well at school, works hard on our smallholding, sure to win a fine wife in a few years and to bring in a substantial dowry. I know that mothers are not supposed to have favourites but I would be lying if I said that I did not love him best of all. I can not bear the thought of him being lost.”
She paused for inspiration and as she did so she lost the struggle to hold back her tears. Soon she could barely speak and aside from a few mumbled apologies she said no more and the aunt spoke for them both.
The old woman nodded and placed her hand on the mother’s arm. It was a small hand and pale and the joints were bony and the back was filled with a tangle of twisting blue veins.
“There is no need for apology,” she said. “In such a circumstance tears are inevitable and good. There are other children?”
The aunt replied,
“Three girls, one of whom, Lisbeth, the youngest, is here with us. She indicated the little girl, who was still gazing raptly at the nativity. “She too is a good child, and in addition to making herself useful around the home she is well known for her beauty and for singing and dancing like an angel. Which is of course a blessing but it brings in little enough money, while the boy may one day support the family.”
And then to the girl she said -
“Take off your hat, Lisbeth and let the lady see your braids and the girl, did as she was told and when she shook her head two fine, thick plaits, that looked as though they were spun from thread of purest gold, hung down behind her to her waist.
“An angel, indeed,” muttered the old woman. “And you would like my assistance with the boy’s recovery?”
“If you please. We would be very grateful. We blame ourselves for his loss but we only took our eyes off him for a moment, on the way home from school, and he was gone.”
The old woman nodded to indicate that she understood.
“And the girls arrived home safely?” she asked.
“They did so. They walked together as is their habit. They are sensible children. But boys are always more difficult, are they not?”
“So it is said, so it is said,” said the old woman. “I have little experience of the matter.”
“We will do anything in our power to get him back,” said the aunt. His father is dead these five years past, victim of an attack by a ferocious hedgehog. We are depending on him ….”
What’s that you say? Hedgehogs are not ferocious? I suppose you are right. It was in fact a lion. I was just checking that you were still awake. Now. Where was I? Oh yes. The fatherhas been dead five years past.
The old woman murmured something sympathetic and told them that although she could make no promises she would certainly do her best and at this the women looked somewhat relieved.
“It will take me a few minutes to gather together the things I need,” the old woman said. “While I make my preparations, if you would like something to drink to warm your hearts and hands, then my ward will be only too happy to fetch it for you.”
The women would have preferred her to deal with their request immediately and they would gladly have forgone refreshment but they were aware that they were guests and dependent on the goodwill of the old woman so they said,
“Thank you very much indeed”,
and hoped that her hospitality did not delay them too long.
The old woman turned to her ward and said -
“Look lively, child. Two cups of special chocolate. And some cakes and biscuits.”
And the child left the room and went through to the kitchen and they could hear the sound of the kettle being filled and set to boil.
At the back of the room was a round dining table with four chairs. The old woman spread a cloth over the polished surface and the visitors sat in silence as she moved around the room, gathering up items from shelves and cupboards as she went and setting them carefully on the table.
When she passed near the little girl, she said -
“So you are the famous Lisbeth? A pretty name. It’s good to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about you,” and when the girl looked surprised she added -
“About your dancing and singing, I mean to say. They say that you are the most musical child in the whole country.”
The girl smiled a little and started to look more at ease.
“And do you miss your brother and hope for his safe return?” the old woman asked and the girl replied that she did.
“And would you like some hot chocolate and some cake?” the old woman continued.
Now, this child had been taught well. She knew that she must not take gifts from strangers and she knew that even though her mother and aunt had introduced them, the old woman was still a stranger of a sort. So she looked questioningly at her mother and having received approval she politely replied “Yes, please.”
The girl in the kitchen was clearly listening because a few moments later she returned with three cups and she gave the visitors one each and she put a plate of sweet things on the table, to which the women helped themselves without waiting to be asked.
“Now,” said the old woman to the girl, “let me take your warm clothes or you won’t feel the benefit of them later.”
The little girl was feeling more at ease now and she shrugged off her coat, revealing a blue and white striped jumper, and the other girl took it into the kitchen to warm it near the stove.
The women wrapped their hands around their cups and sipped their drinks and they kept their eyes lowered so as not to appear impertinent but the child was still fascinated by the nativity, and the old woman noticed her interest.
“Do you like it?” she asked and the child nodded enthusiastically. “Which ones do you like best?”
The child pointed to the holy family of kittens.
“A good choice,” the old woman said. “You can reach in and stroke them if you like.”
And the girl did so and was amazed at the softness and warmth of their fur and the shining of their eyes.
To the women the old lady said -
“The chocolate is good?”
and the aunt said -
“Very good indeed, thank you. There are flavours that I do not recognise. May I ask what is in it?”
“Just some herbs from my garden,” the old woman replied. “I like to experiment with different recipes, according to the season.”
Meanwhile the she was still busy and had fetched several tins and boxes down from a shelf near the hearth and from them she withdrew more items which she added to the collection on the table: a spirit burner, a ball of glass, an earthenware bowl filled with soil, an old leather bound book, a pack of playing cards, a bell suspended from a brass stand, the skull of a small animal, a stuffed magpie, standing on a branch with its wings partly unfolded.
She spent several minutes making adjustments and when she was satisfied she sat on one of the chairs and beckoned to the two women to join her, which they did. The girl was still stroking the kittens.
“It is usual to work with an item belonging to the missing child, ” she said. “Do you have such a thing with you?”
“We thought you might ask,” said the aunt and, without speaking, the mother opened her handbag and withdrew a toy bear. She placed it on the table and the old woman reached out and stroked its fur with one black nailed finger.
“Will it do?” the mother asked. “He has had it since he was a baby. I have told him that he is too old for such things but he will not be parted from it.”
“It will do very nicely.”
The old woman fetched a stub of candle from her pocket and set it in the bowl in the centre of the table. She placed the bear close by. The bell and stand she placed near to the magpie so that if the bird had been alive it would have been able to admire its own reflection in the gleaming brass.
A muffled thud from somewhere upstairs. The old woman turned to her ward and said -
“It sounds like Nibbins has got himself stuck in the bathroom again. Go and let him out for me and keep him quiet until we’re done.”
The girl did as she was told. She left the room and they heard her climb the stairs.
“Now,” said the old woman, “let us try.”
She lit the candle with a match and used it to set three cones of incense to smouldering and she placed them in the dish of earth. Soon the room was filled with sweet frankincense and patchouli.
Then she took up the cards and laid some of them face down in piles, forming a clockface arrangement, with the rest of the pack placed in the centre and she began to chant softly and to turn cards over and to replace one with another. In the dim light around the table the women strained to see the cards and they leaned in closer. The old woman held her hands out above the ball to kill any reflections and she peered into its depths and the women did the same. They could see nothing but the old woman seemed satisfied.
“I see him,” the old woman said. “He is close. Cross my palm. Be quick.”
The aunt drew a small coin purse from her pocket and held it out towards the old woman, who took it without thanks and hid it somewhere beneath the folds of her shawl. She began to chant softly, softly, oh so softly and to interweave her fingers and then she spoke a few words that they did not recognise and she clapped her hands sharply together and there was a flash of light and a sudden gust of wind, and the cloth fell from the tree and the crystal baubles began to trill ecstatically and the candle blew out and the room was plunged into near darkness, but in the glow of the fire the women could see the shadow of the magpie cast on the wall behind the table flapping its wings and opening and closing its beak as if it were screaming a silent scream. And the bell rang, once, twice, more until it became constant and frenzied. And the little girl cried out in pain and surprise as a kitten scratched her hand and her blood fell upon the straw.
And then silence.
When the girl reached the top of the stairs she paused and listened but she did not go into the bathroom. Instead she went into her own small bedroom which was almost filled by a narrow bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe built of dark wood, with carved decoration on the doors and a brass escutcheon. The key was not in the lock but it was on the top of the chest. She fetched it and used it to open the wardrobe door.
The boy was tied to a chair, which had been turned sideways and tilted back so that he could not rise. He had been stripped of his clothes and was shivering beneath a thin blanket which covered him from feet to head. The girl pulled it away to reveal the cords with which he had been secured. They had begun to cut into his flesh. His school scarf had been used as a gag. His pale cheeks glistened with tears.
“Now then, monster,” the girl said. “I expect you thought that was clever but we all heard you downstairs and nobody is paying you any mind and we’re not going to hear you any more. Do you understand? You are going to keep very quiet. It probably won’t change much in the end but it will mean that things will go a lot easier for you. Is that clear?”
The boy nodded and sniffed loudly, and he turned his head to the side when the girl raised her arm and showed him the flat of her hand.
But she did not hit him. There was no need.
She began methodically to check his bonds, adjusting them as necessary and as she replaced the blanket over his head she said,
“Don’t forget what I said now. One more sound out of you and it will be your last. Understood?”
She could not see him but she could tell from the movement of the cover that he had agreed.
When she went back downstairs the three women were sitting in silence, staring at the embers of the fire and they remained so for about an hour, after which the old woman stood up and said, “Enough. Thank you for your company, ladies,” and she showed them to the door and closed it behind them.
When the women set out for home they kept the child handheld securely between them. They would not make the same mistake twice.
The next few days were busy ones at the cottage.
The old woman and the girl hauled the cart out of the barn and into the yard and they scrubbed it down and made such repairs as were necessary, and they checked that the leather and brasswork was in good order and the old woman inspected all the mechanisms and the girl took all the moving elements into the cottage and applied poison to the worm holes and mended any costumes that the moths had got at and oiled all the points of articulation.
When they were finished they sat back in their chairs and admired their work and congratulated themselves on the results.
On the morning of the solstice the sun stayed abed until late and the old woman and the girl did likewise and when they rose they fortified themselves with a fine breakfast and then they harnessed the horse and they put him to the cart and in the afternoon they set out to the town for the solstice fair.
It was growing dark when they arrived. The roads were deep in snow but the marketplace was almost ready for the celebrations. There was a decorated tree in the centre of the square and around its foot were stalls selling hot wine and beer and bread and sausages and Christmas bric-a-brac and there were hams for sale and chickens and turkeys and haunches of venison. A tall pyramid of timber had been readied for burning and there was a choir of children and a clown and a man with a dancing bear on a leash.
They stabled the horse and set about opening up the cart. The side panel folded downwards and outwards to reveal a gilded proscenium with a wide apron. Curtains of red velvet were drawn so that the stage itself was as yet hidden from view. The old woman was busy in the back of the cart making ready for the show. There were several stacks of thick paper, perforated with holes and folded concertina fashion and the woman attached the end of one of these stacks to a complex looking piece of machinery.
Meanwhile the girl had pulled out several boxes from the cupboards below the level of the stage and had removed from each one a number of carved wooden figures, both men and women, each one dressed in a fine suit of clothes and equipped with a musical instrument of some sort. There were shining brass trumpets and tubas, violins and cellos and basses, guitars and woodwinds and drums of all shapes and sizes.
On the back wall of the cart were several rows of shelves upon which the girl arranged the musicians, the largest on the bottom row, smaller ones higher up and there were dancers, dressed in gaudy costumes, which hung by their strings from hooks at the side of the stage, awaiting their turns.
People were gathering. The square was filling up. The old woman worked as fast as she could.
When all was set she used a flint to light the stage lanterns, which burned with a dazzling white flame, and she wound the curtains open and the stagelight beamed across the square, illuminating the faces of the crowd, making them blink in the sudden brightness.
At the back of the cart was a brass crank with a wooden handle. The old woman began to turn it and after one or two preliminary wheezes of the bellows the organ, (for such it was), began to play. As the paper stack unfolded and was swallowed by the machine the mechanical band struck up, slow at first and slightly jerkily, but then faster and smoother, drummers drumming, trumpets sounding, strings being plucked and scraped, whistles whistling, cymbals crashing and a single euphonium oompahing all alone.
As they played, each musician moved their arms and fingers and nodded their heads and stamped their feet in time with the music and soon the dancers emerged from the wings, their strings all but invisible in the limelight.
And so song followed song and the choir sang along and soon the whole square was dancing and the girl took a hat from her pocket and she moved among the crowd with it held out before her so that the townsfolk might throw money into it and soon the hat was heavy with coin and she returned to the cart several times to empty it.
And the townsfolk danced and danced, man and woman, adult and child, rich and poor, twirling and whirling and trotting and gavotting until the marketplace was a mire of slush and their boots and stockings and trousers were caked with mud and still they danced.
At five minutes to eleven the music came to a sudden halt. The whole town fell silent. The old woman stopped turning the handle and the organ was quiet. The beer and sausage stalls ceased trading. The man with the bear sat down on a bench for a well earned rest and his beast sat next to him with its head on its master’s knee.
The trees ceased to creak and the wind stopped its moan. It seemed as if the whole town, buildings, people and animals, nay, the whole world, had fallen into a deep slumber. Even the ticking of the church clock, whose hands continued their inexorable journey towards midnight, was muted.
A long five minutes it was too and as midnight approached the people softly counted down the final seconds until, just when it seemed that the hour would not be reached, that the chime would not ring, that the hands would not lie together in the vertical, then, with a loud click, the final second ticked away and the bells began to ring out the hour, and the people’s faces brightened, and the dogs barked and the cats meowed, and a white owl flew low across the square screeching as it went and landed in the bare boughs of an oak tree in the churchyard, which was considered a very good omen for the coming year. Somebody plunged a burning torch into the heart of the bonfire and soon it was roaring merrily, and a few fireworks were set off, (not too many because it was cold and most people preferred to save their display for the summer solstice, six months hence.)
The old woman began to turn the handle again and the organ struck up “Lead Toward The Light” and partnerships were resumed and the dance began again and the people went back onto the square and whirled and twirled and stomped and stamped and clapped and clopped and beer flowed again and more sausages were eaten.
On the organ all the instruments played loud and joyful and at the heart of the show was a new dancer, one that nobody could recall having seen before, with long blonde plaits that hung down her back almost to her waist and and a blue and white striped jumper and white skirt and stockings and a hat pulled down almost over her eyes and the mother and the aunt of the boy who had been missing only a few days previously came forward and they each placed a kiss on the tips of their index fingers and then they reached carefully between the strings to stroke the kiss onto the girl’s hair and then they turned and walked away and they set off for home with the aunt holding to the two little girls and the mother clinging to the hand of her son.
I think our messages crossed back there - thankyou for the feedback
I love this story – the luscious details and the haunting atmosphere – but it's not clear to me, how the boy was given back to his family. What have I missed?