Once Upon A Dandelion Dream

Short Story Sunday

No. 2

“The Spires Sing”

The stairs creak as loudly as a bone breaking in the darkest part of the night. They sigh when you step on them, as if to remind you to go back to bed. I put my finger to my mouth, ssh, and they grumble as they settle back down. If I am very careful, I can snag my coat from the peg without sending any of the shoes or hats or other things which have gathered in the hallway, waiting for a purpose, tumbling. If I am very gentle, the latch will not click on the front door. Ssh. Tiptoe. Tiptoe. I step into my boots outside with the torch beam trembling in the inky blackness.

I follow the well-worn path to the beach carefully so as not to stumble over any hidden dips or stones. I am suddenly, astonishingly, aware of my feet. Of my own clumsiness. Of the way everything sounds different, louder and clearer, at night. Of the cold air which creeps into the collar of my jacket like thin fingers and the way my breath steams in the torch light.

In the long row of boats pulled up on the beach, I find the one my father named “Celine” with cursive letters in red paint. It only takes a moment to loosen the rope and push off, to half scramble and half tumble over the side, and we’re off. With the waves tugging at the oars, I follow the brightest star towards the tallest rocks, brown and grey on the horizon, and keep to the line of the coast. I push and pull, push and pull, hauling the oars through the water until, at last, I reach the place where the spires sing.

The ancient rock spires loom over me, spiked sentinals, at midnight under a kaleidoscopic sky. That is when the lights come, singing, to set the water on fire. Swirling reds and pinks and blues, silver orbs which dance across the shining waves. Gold and blue. The will-o-th-wisp lures you in, calls to you with honeyed tongues and pretty voices, and sends sparks skipping across the sea.

Was it only hours? It felt like days I drifted, lost in their illuminations. When eventually my father found me, asleep under my coat in the bow, my boat untethered, I was rolling gently back towards the beach. Asked where I’d been, how to explain? Was I snatched by fairies? Lost in the world of the dead? I could only say that I followed the lights.