Let The Moonlight in.

I visited Aunt Elma every year, usually in the summer time. She lived in a chateau in the French countryside. As a child she would take me boating on the river and tell me that she made the moon cry a tear and how she kept it in a bottle. When I asked her how she had made the moon shed a tear, she went silent for a few seconds and changed the subject, so I did not ask again. Sometimes, if Aunt Elma was in the mood, she would bring her fishing rod and catch some fish for dinner. She was rarely in the mood and we ended up having some sort of soup, which I was always grateful for. ‘Eat up’ she would say ‘the more you eat the more you will grow’. Whatever I didn’t eat I would feed to the mice that scuttled and shared the space. The mice were friendly and I spoke to them often and they told me of their culture. Aunt Elma did not understand their ways and would shoot them with an air-rifle and then feed them to the cat. ‘No Aunty, NO!’ I would shout. ‘They are my friends.’ She caught me in the act of feeding one and wounded it with a pellet, took it by the tail, dangled it over her mouth and proceeded to bite its head off. ‘I will have no feeding of vermin here’ she would scream and then send me to bed with no supper for three nights. I would sometimes have very bad dreams and in the morning, I had often wet the bed. Aunt Elma punished me by making me sleep outside under the stars the night after. I would lay under a tree pink as roses and be serenaded to sleep by the twit twooing of the owl that resided there.

Mushrooms wide as rainbows circled the tree.

‘’Don’t ever eat the mushrooms’’ Aunt Elma would tell me ‘’ Cause if you do, you’ll go blind.’’

But I did and would have such pleasant dreams and wake up dry as a daisy. She would never have known if it wasn’t for me floating outside her bedroom window one night. I do not recall the incident but Aunt Elma told me I was possessed by some other worldly magic and that she was deeply upset that I disobeyed her. So upset in fact she went into a coma for 3 months. I don’t think she has ever truly forgiven me… Since the coma she was less inclined to punish me for any behaviour she deemed unruly. And so, when Aunt Elma was fast sleep and the night was full, I would sneak out of bed and explore the corridors, forbidden rooms, and the forest where the trees have eyes.…On one of these nights I decided to explore the attic as for as long I could remember I recalled the sound of a violin and a sigh soft as the wind from there that vibrated throughout. Aunt Elma always told me I was hearing things, dreaming or hallucinating when I questioned her on the subject.

‘’The attic is full of nightmares. It is out of bounds!’’ she would desperately proclaim.

This was merely an invitation. The night in question was a particularly stormy night. Rain tapped upon the windows and every few moments a flash of lightening would startle my mind, but I was determined. The attic was in the south end of the building and as we all know the south of anywhere is the most dangerous. To gain entry I got the ladders, which were in the cupboard a few meters away and I climbed the 7 steps, opened the lock and let the door slowly swing open. Dust blew out like a swarm of bats and a smell that stung the eyes lingered in the air. After getting my bearings, I lifted myself up and entered the attic. It was dark and I could hear the sound of mice making haste. I lit a match and the flame flickered in shy discomfort. The floorboards creaked in long drawn-out moans with every step I took. The attic was large but not so large the universe could not contain it and I was not so small I could not contain the universe. I kept moving forward, careful not to trip or hit my head on a low wooden beam. Soon, I could hear a sad melody being played on a violin…It was so sad it distinguished the flame that was lighting my way. I then followed the music until I reached what I thought was a dead end. I lit another match and saw that I had reached a rounded door which looked as if it was smiling. I pushed the door open and was greeted with the words…’’Who be there?’’ The voice rattled like a rusty bell.

At first, I did not say a word. I was unsure of the rattle that rung in my ears. The room was dark except for the light that I was carrying. I took a big gulp to let my throat loosen up. But before I could even speak, the voice made itself known and appeared in front of my eyes, like some transparent ghoul, an anatomical skeleton. He wore a waistcoat and held a violin in his bony hands. Each step he took clattered in perfect musical timing. He had chains around his wrists, which were attached to some low hanging beams against the wall. The most he could stretch was no more than 20 metres.

‘Dear boy, would you be so generous and pick up the four toes that have rolled away from my feet?’

I was in a slight daze, between consciousness and unconsciousness, and so like in a dream, heeded to his request. I trotted about searching for his toes. It took me a good ten minutes to retrieve all four.

‘Thank you’ he said when I handed them back to him.

He then proceeded to reconnect the toes to his feet and tell me he has been up here for years. The reason he did not open up to me, but that night I ended up listening to his stories into the long hours and also the haunting melodies of his violin, which in some strange way healed my soul. Nearly every night after I spent my nights with the skeleton. Aunt Elma did not suspect a thing. We spent all our time talking and just before dawn I would rush to my room and jump into my bed. I did have the urge to question Aunt Elma of my discovery but the skeleton had told me otherwise, so I let go of such urges.

Instead, I went about my day with Aunt Elma. We went boating, fishing, walking in the countryside, picking fruits and eating dinner. I still fed the mice as and when I could. I became much more apt at subtlety feeding them under the table without being caught. I even brought food back to my room, leaving crumbs along the sideboards for the mice to eat. It was the skeleton who taught me such things. Like performing magic tricks with sleight of hand. I became very confident at outwitting my Aunt Elma. One night my arrogance nearly got the better of me, when Aunt Elma caught me while on my way to the attic. I made out I was sleep-walking and was immediately sent back to bed.

After that, I became even more cautious and did not let my arrogance betray me. The nights went by and my routine did not change for a good while over the summer.

The skeleton did not need anything and when asked if I could find a way to release his chains, he simply said he is where he needs to be. The only thing he requested was for me to open the window to let the moonlight in, telling me the moonlight was where he held his secret dreams. If ever the moon was shrouded by clouds, he would blow like the wind and the clouds would part. I did become aware when he played his violin; the moon became brighter, as if the moon was smiling down on us and the warmth of that smile bounded me to the secrets that lived in that wide open smile. The essence of such a thing did sometimes send me into a transient trance. I would sing in a foreign language not of this earth and have no way of retrieving it afterwards. It did in some uncanny way liberate my senses, filling me up with star-infused delights, but it also at times made me erratic with no self-control. In one of the corners of the attic, there was junk. Things like old childhood toys, old unused books, broken bicycle wheels and other such things. There was also a jar half-filled with water. In one of my erratic moments, I became so out of control, dancing like a madman, twirling in a horizontal frenzy, I crashed into the junk, smashing the half-filled bottle. The water trickled down the floorboards, leaving nothing but its mystery. At that moment I felt a pain in my heart and then heard the scream of Aunt Elma. I left the attic and rushed to her side. I found her in bed, breathless and with eyes as open as death would allow. I placed myself by her side for a little while, taken in the silent veil that stirred in the air.

I then returned to the attic to find the skeleton had gone. He had left his violin behind. I plucked at the strings, but made no tune. I looked out of the window and saw the moon smiling. I thought of Aunt Elma and how she had told me she had made the moon shed a tear and how she kept it in a bottle. I considered that the bottle I had smashed may have been the object she had told me of, but I had no way of knowing for sure. I let the moonlight in and was left with the secrets of my Aunt Elma and the skeleton, which died within me that summer night, only to be replaced with my own.

When I grew older, I inherited the chateau. I spent summers there with my own children, telling them stories of my time with Aunt Elma. I never told them about the skeleton or the bottle containing a tear from the moon, but every night we let the moonlight in and dreamed upon the tides of its secrets.

Reviews

[The Ink Chapters]

Wow great writing. Immediately captures the reader and is extremely creative. It does jump from scene to scene very quickly which sometimes lost me and I had to go back and see what happened. But all in all a great read and I think you are extremely talented!

[Coyote Poetry]

Outstanding story writing Danny. I liked the way you describe the life and the house. I liked the warning and the things saw. I liked the old houses. They do have a life of their own. A strong ending to the entertaining story.
Coyote

[Haley]

This was a fantastic read and leaves you wanting learn more of those secrets. Great imagery and unlike any story I've read for a while. Good job.

[Anni Pon]

I really enjoyed this, especially the beginning. It draws the reader in with the imagery and creativity! The whole paragraph about not eating the mushrooms was really amusing to me. I'm just a little confused with the last line:
"I let the moonlight in and was left with the secrets of my Aunt Elma and the skeleton, which died within me that summer night, only to be replaced with my own." What exactly died? The secrets? The narrator? From what I understand, the narrator has now replaced the skeleton and will be stuck in the attic with only the violin and the moonlight. That's a cool twist so I think a little more time at the end could be spent on that. But I like this story!