Once in Lillethe Woods
being
The short firsthand account of
Miss Clarissa Eddy
of
The Curious Sight Her Eyes Beheld
I was a child of twelve years when
we moved to the house at the edge of Lillethe Woods. From the moment we first
arrived, everyone around me was telling me strange tales about this part of the
country, feeding an imagination which hardly needed encouragement. Indeed, from
the moment I first saw the house, I was imagining it as home to pixies and the
wood as being filled with all sorts of sprites and other creatures of that sort.
There were vivid pictures in my mind of these little friends, and many days
they were my playmates.
However, besides what my mind
conjured up, there were no unusual visitors to my room in the midst of the
night, no mischievous sprites playing gentle tricks upon the inhabitants of our
house. For months everything remained disappointingly dull as nothing save
ordinary everyday life went on.
Then one night, Midsummer's Eve to
be particular, something changed. The barrier between the fairy realm and our
own world was dissolved completely by the magic of that night, leaving one
young girl with an impression to last a lifetime.
When we first moved in, I had asked
to have my bed placed up against that window of my room which viewed those
glorious and mysterious woods, to which, at a time long out of memory, some
unknown personage had given the name of Lillethe for an equally unknown reason.
I awoke from a deep sleep on the aforementioned night to feel a gentle wind
blow the curtains playfully across the cheek of this slumberer. Glancing casually
out the window at the night, I had cause to give the sight a second look.
A circle of light was clearly
visible in the woods, and I guessed from my many explorations that the position
of these lights was around the perimeter of a glade, circular in approximate
shape, which could easily be found not a great distance into the wood. Being
overcome with curiosity as to the nature of the strange little lights, I put on
a robe and slippers and found my way down through the sleeping house and out
the back door.
I was drawn to those woods like a
moth to flame. It was almost as if some irresistable and mischievous force was
leading me, which through its gentle teasing at my mind kept me from fear, else
I would never have gone out. I walked straight across the well-groomed lawn,
and then the moment came that my slippers first touched the woodland soil, and
I was in.
It was not so dark within Lillethe
as one might have thought. Perhaps it was the full moon, perhaps the magic, but
whatever the cause, my path was well lit and I found my way easily to the
glade, following the ever-strengthening beam of the lights and the softly
increasing sounds of an ethereally odd music.
At the glade, I found that it was the
one indeed which I was familiar with and had often spent many happy hours in
amusing myself there. But while the glade was familiar to me, the nocturnal
scene being enacted before my eyes was anything but.
Around and around swirled a dancing
ring of fairies, all about my size and looking very much like exceptionally
pretty children. Had it not been for their beauty and their brightly hued, iridescent
wings, I might have been able to believe them merely a group of local children
celebrating the arrival of Midsummer in their own odd fashion. Their bright
dresses of every color imaginable swayed about them as they danced. Their hair,
short or long, curly or straight, of every hue possible for hair to be, bounced
and danced as merrily as they. For some minutes I stood quietly beside a tree, shyly
watching the festivities with amazement and wondering if I dared to join in.
Then one rosy-cheeked, golden-haired, blue-sparkle-eyed little pixy caught
sight of me, and with a laugh like the happiest of bells, clasped my hands and
drew me into the dance. The steps were easy to learn, especially with such
teachers. Their magical merriment was infectious.
I know not how much time I spent
with them. In the whole of that time I never discovered where the music came
from. At one point, my little friend took my hand and said, "Come, Rissa.
Let us go and see what the older ones are doing." She led me through the
woods in a winding path that was invisible to my eyes, and soon I was hopelessly
lost. Then at last we came to another ring of light, and music, and laughter,
and dancing.
This, apparently, was the adult's
party. They danced as merrily as the children, though with perhaps more grace.
Men and women, with glistening wings and ethereal beauty, leaped and spun, and
occasionally fluttered up into the air. My little friend and I watched them for
some time, then one merry-eyed lady caught sight of us, and with a laugh,
shooed us away.
I remember watching from a branch
high in a tree as the first lights of dawn crept across the horizon, and then I
found myself in my bed.
Now and again in the following year,
there were times when the barrier between the realms would become blurred, and
I would once again meet with one or another of my winged friends. But those
instances became more and more seldom, until they ceased altogether.
Years have passed, and with the
coming of adulthood have also come doubts. I have been finding it increasingly
hard to believe it was not all a child's vivid dream. However, there are still
times when, at night, I think my ears catch the distant, haunting strains of
wild music drifting through my window. And every Midsummer's Eve I watch the
woods, wishing to see those merry lights again.
© Rebecca Kletzing
