Cry in the Night

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

Darragh knew those woods almost as well as he knew his own name but tracking that elusive buck had taken him so deep into the trees that he'd become uncertain of where he was and, by the time he decided to turn back and start searching for his way out, night was already starting to fall. The gathering darkness only added to his uncertainty and, when the last glimpse of light faded from the sky, Darragh knew he was lost. The once-familiar forest had become an unwelcoming riddle and the experienced huntsman felt like a novice, completely lost and slightly afraid. "Dar, man, get a hold of yourself," he muttered and dropped down into the waiting fall leaves to watch for the coming day that was many hours away from its return.

A rustle in the dead ground cover drove the sleep from Darragh's eyes and re-awoke the dawning of fear in his heart; there were other things in these woods besides deer. Memories of his grandmother's fireside tales made him start to wonder if any of them were true and if he would be forced to face something that would make his years of experience with the rifle in his tightening grip meaningless. A pale white wash of moonlight breaking from black storm clouds revealed the red-brown of a hare disappearing from sight. Darragh shook his head and growled to himself, "O’Neill, start acting the man you are; these are your woods not some damned fairyland."

His start of fear had brought him to his feet and Darragh was about to sit back down to wait out the night when a hint of light caught his eye. He shook off thoughts of his grandmother's stories about fairy lights and searched the night for a clue to its source. An orange-yellow glow stood out from the deeper darkness between the trees and, with a small, determined tug of his short, black beard and a hesitant brush of his long, grey-black hair, Darragh took a step toward its source. His thoughts were awash with mystery and a slight undercurrent of nameless fear as he set out on his voyage of discovery.

The longer he walked, the darker it got and Darragh's feelings of fright grew. The trees, waiting in deep shadows, were closing in on him and he was certain that, if he did not escape them soon, they would trap him in their dark embrace and hold him there forever. He was on the brink of being overwhelmed by a rising wave of terror, on the verge of panic, close to breaking into a mad, senseless run, when the light he'd been struggling to keep his eyes on flickered, dimmed, then rose to an almost-brightness that revealed a break in the trees, a glimpse of open grass and a hint of waking dawn.

A marigold flash, an apricot glow, drew his hazel gaze to a burning candle in the window of a mystery. Not three days ago the cabin was empty, as empty as it had always been from before Darragh's first breath of his green land. A wisp of pale smoke drew his imaginations of spirits to awake to a reality of sad beauty. Brooding brow, downcast gaze to the melancholy resignation of her dispirited lips, young but aged with weights untold, she waited under old gold moonlight for the expected to come. A pale honey brush of her darkened-snow hair showed Darragh his vision's life, and the soft wing-whisper sigh that carried to his ear drew the man to take a step toward the woman's grassy seat.

With one foot still trapped in the woods' nameless threat, Darragh hesitated, uncertain of the wisdom of his longing to approach. He drew his fingers through the blackness of his hair then let his hands drop to his sides in mute surrender to his awakening desire to know, to know her, to gaze upon her thoughts and wait for her sad eyes to open.

The moment Darragh's boot broke from the trees' shadowed grasp, the woman looked up and, though he could not see her eyes, he knew she saw him, saw more than he ever wanted to be seen. Independent of his will, his steps led him to stand between her and the broken cabin that could only be her home, the shell that must hide her from the approaching dawn. He watched her from his uncertain stance and her eyes, turned away from his look, watched him back.

Their endless silent tableau was awakened by the shrouded rustle of her gray-cloud cloak. Her slow rise, weighed down with care, compelled Darragh to step back and stand aside for the sorrowing woman to pass. Without a word or the slightest look, she glided past him, and he fought his rising desire to speak, certain of the impropriety of the act. When the silent woman disappeared into the crumbling cabin, the light in the window died and the sky went black.

Darragh found himself standing in darkness and when, long moments later, the light returned, he saw the woods behind him and his distant village before him. A time of empty staring drove the fog from his frozen mind and Darragh shook his head with a murmured, "Dream..." His feet moved of their own accord and the enveloping silence was broken by his almost shout, "Just a dream." He took three steps toward his home, stopped, stood gazing into the distance for a time then turned back to peer into the light returning to the once threatening trees. "Dar, lad, you're chasing a dream," he warned himself with a note of anger then walked into the near darkness of the woods.

He knew the way to the old cabin but the deeper he went into the woods, the more lost he felt. Hours of searching wandering brought him to the point of wondering if he were even in the same woods, if he'd gotten so lost that he'd walked into the unknown and would never return. Darragh was at the edge of despair and entertaining thoughts to just sit and wait for his inescapable end when a beam of light piercing the darkness gave him a glimmer of hope. His steps were drawn to the golden shine of hope until, without knowing how he got there, Darragh found himself standing in a pool of sunlight and staring at the decaying cabin that held the question that needed an answer.

Darragh stood pulling absently at his beard and contemplating the thought of opening the broken door. He was sure that if he entered the cabin, the mystery would be solved; he was also sure that the answer would lead to more unknowns.

The raspberry lemon splendor, cloaked with imperial purple, sank beneath the sky and a flood of pitch pursued its wake. Darragh stood without sight then a bittersweet touch of light restored his vision. The candle glimmering in the forgotten window drew the man back into the waking world and aroused a glint of hope. His hesitation lasted only a moment then Darragh pushed open the decomposing door and stepped into musty darkness. When his eyes adjusted to the gloom, they filled with the faint light of the woman's honeyed skin.

Darragh, ignoring his uncertainty and the underlying fear, approached the sad beauty who could not leave his thoughts. She stood before the empty window gazing into the night and Darragh felt a wave of sorrow wash through him. He knew he should not intrude upon her lonely vigil, but her solitude called to him, and he answered. "I am Darragh... O’Neill." She nodded. "I'm here for you." She nodded. "I love you." The desolate woman turned and melted into his waiting arms.

The faint promise of dawn awoke to reveal winter-mist hair flowing over ruddy skin and the dying cabin was alive with sleeping breath. Darragh's eyes slowly opened to the vow of light and the man sat up with a start. The woman was gone, the forgotten cabin was gone, only he remained; darkness filled his thoughts and Darragh fell back in defeat.

Night's cold embrace woke Darragh to reality and the crushing thought that she was lost to him. His groan did not escape his lips as Darragh forced himself to his feet to stare into the blackness of the waiting woods.

With one foot still trapped in the woods' nameless threat, Darragh hesitated, uncertain of the wisdom of his longing to approach. He drew his fingers through the blackness of his hair then let his hands drop to his sides in mute surrender to his awakening desire to know.

When his slow, fearful steps carried him to his downcast love's side, she looked up at him and the bluebell she held dropped from her trembling fingers. The pale beauty brushed the frost hair from her mourning lips and her sad whisper fell upon his ear, "I carry your daughter." He was about to speak, he almost smiled, when her trembling lids opened to show him the crimson stains of countless ages of burning tears. Darragh reached out to his love and the night was rent by the anguished banshee wail of a love's loss and the deafening lament of a mother's grief.

"Strange, this one. For the life of me, I have no clue as to why he's dead. What brought him into this decaying old cabin? What made you think to look for Dar here?" "I heard a cry last night, a shriek it was; it brought to mind my gran's stories of banshees and the like. Strange... when I woke up this morning, I knew I'd find him here; as if that scream I heard was lamenting the death of Darragh O’Neill."