The Fable of Hilary Soames

Before our story begins, here is a short spooky poem to set the scene:

Are you sitting comfortably?

***

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. At first, its flame was barely perceptible. A flicker. A glint. A nervous tremble in a pitch-black night.

Hi - lar - y Soames

Hi - lar - y Soames

The morbid breath of the night air moaned through the branches of the forest's old oak trees carrying with it a name.

A name from a memory.

Hi - lar - y Soames

Hi - lar - y Soames

Creaking and wincing, the boughs of the trees groaned at the chill from the wind. Full of ticker tape gossip, their twigs hurled themselves in protest at the old cabin's roof and walls.

The forest floor swirled anxiously. From a hundred forgotten falls, its stagnant and skeletal leaves rushed about in windswept chatter, huddling together under the old cabin's skirts.

Snarling, frustrated by the forest's snipes and sneers, the wind bit at the cabin's weathered boards, trying to reach the flickering candle.

Caught in the lash of its temper, the old, rusted lantern hung above the door started to clatter. Back and forth, back and forth it swung, screaming out in metronomic panic, desperate to escape its noose.

Inside, blinking and erratic, the candle's flame held on tight to its wick as the wind grasped at it, poked at it... fuelled its fire.

Hi - lar - y Soames

Hi - lar - y Soames

Welcome home Hilary Soames

Flashing, flickering, and gasping, the candle burned into the air, chasing the wind as it called to it.

Brighter, stronger, taller, longer the flame of the candle grew, reaching further and deeper into the dank cabin air, burning into it, holding on to it... owning it.

The wind wailed.

Goading the flame.

Igniting its fight.

They have thrown sticks

They have thrown stones

But it is the names that truly burn

The flame from the candle flared at the wind's taunts, sending out a burst of intense white light.

The glass in the window cracked in the heat and fell from its frame to the floor.

Freed from its wax and wick tether, with the wind at its back, the flame from the candle climbed out through the open window and licked the cabin's walls, tasting its bittersweet freedom.

Quickening and curious, the flame stretched out onto the porch, stroking the coarse splinters of the ramshackle floor, caressing its blistering paint. Before it, the dilapidated wooden roof struts rose in shadowy salute, and the balustrade of gnarled and broken spindles quivered into a row of shaking arrows.

The flame smiled widely as it confidently wrapped itself around them all.

The old metal lantern fell silent as its gallows started to burn.

Proud on the porch, spite wild in its sight, the flame stared out beyond the cabin into the army of trees.

The wind growled at its heels.

Hilary Soames

Hilary Soames

Who has got bones with Hilary Soames?

The army of oaks, stoic and mute, stared back.

Only the nervy jig of their shadows belied their unswerving calm.

The flame raised its arms and, with an almighty roar, incinerated what was left of the cabin.

The trees watched.

The wind respectfully paused.

Twirling and curling, surging with hedonism, the flame danced in gluttonous glory; hissing, spitting and crackling all over the old cabin's bones.

Not a twig dared move.

Not a leaf dared twitch

The forest watched as their long-time bedfellow burned.

Fat with power, the flame started to roll around on the ground. Becoming hotter, burning lower, its ferocious roar turning to a contented purr as it lapped its way across the cabin's grave.

The trees chanced a sigh.

The flame, lost in its reverie, languished in its pyre, exposing its underbelly, beneath which beat its glowing, fading heart.

From the ground, the burned-out flame looked up into the canopy of gloating trees. Feebly, it stretched its fingers towards them. Smug in their denseness, endless sameness, and sure-footed monotony the trees stood, motionless, and watched as the flame withered away.

Hilary Soames

Hilary Soames

Don't die alone

Hilary Soames

Mournfully, the wind nosed through the flame's fragile heart, whispering to it, stroking it, caressing its blackening embers.

The trees, breathing easier, swayed.

Their leaves and twigs returned to a hum of inconsequential conversation.

Dyeing, held within the arms of the musing breeze, the heart of the valiant flame collapsed into a thousand pieces.

Hi - lar - y Soames

Hi - lar - y Soames

Here lies the lost soul of Hilary Soames

The wind cried out in woeful howls gathering into its bellows the shards of the broken heart.

Then, like a Valkyrie, it rose high into the night sky, carrying with it a legion of fiery angels.

Higher and higher rose the fragments of the heart, riding into the darkness inside the breath of the wind.

Silently they floated.

Barely alive.

A trickling glow in a dead night sky.

Searching for a new home, a new start.

Beneath them, in a clearing by a river, they found a group of tents and trailers.

From inside one, they heard the echo of a small voice. A sobbing voice. A voice that spoke of a memory.

They have thrown sticks

They have thrown stones

Their names forever hurt me

Wherever you roam

Hilary Soames

I call on your ghost to free me

In a cascade of kindred spirits, the wind dropped its hellfire of vengeful angels onto the small campsite in the clearing.

Silently, stealthily, the tiny, flickering shards of the heart nestled alongside the other, sharing its misery, glowing in rhythmic sympathy.

Then, with the wind as its whip, the fledgling flame turned away from the sobbing voice and found its own.

Hilary is here

Hilary's come home

Now, who has made bones with Hilary Soames?

***

Notes from the author:

The Fable of Hilary Soames is a short tale written for campfires with families.

Intended to be read aloud.

The presence of a fire brings to this tale a real-life illustration that a great narrator can draw from. Watching the flame's life cycle and adding in ghostly voices builds the storytelling atmosphere.

Hilary Soames is a warning to children (and adults) to speak kindly of others and to be mindful of the danger of an open flame.

Hilary Soames: The Poem ~ Transcript.

From dust to dust, from ashes to ashes

Hilary Soames' spirit never dies

Found in a flame's savage flashes

And amongst its withering cries

**

A demon brought on the breath of the wind

Searching for its name

Rekindling wherever hope is dimmed

A vengeful, vindictive flame

**

So, be wary all who hurt another

Brother, sister, father, mother

For Hilary Soames has no fear

They will right the wrongs of any tear

Thank you for reading.