Today’s prompt: “A glowfox leads you to a secluded grove and you can hear music coming from the surroundings. How do you react?”
Today’s music: Moonlit Glade, by Lo-Fi OldBoy. Listen on SoundCloud.
The Forest Glade
I wasn’t really the kind of person who believed in ghost stories. I mean, sure, I’d had my fair share of telling spooky stories around a campfire. There was that one time we all shared stories about spectres and got so terrified that we all stayed up under the trees, shaking at every sound. It was a hilarious memory, but entirely pants-wetting at the time. Side note: parents, do not leave your twelve-year-old unsupervised with friends after a sugar high and a back-to-back horror movie marathon.
Also, don’t let your twelve-year-old watch horror movies.
I’d been a little thoughtful after seeing the lanterns last night. If I’d been spending all my time in Hearthlight during the day and had only just encountered one of the hamlet’s night rituals, what else could be in store? I pushed the boat out a little and turned my morning walk an evening one; I borrowed a lantern (the ordinary, non-spiritual kind) from Bernard, the concierge. He didn’t give me a pack this time, and hesitated before handing me the lantern. He advised me to be careful, which seemed ominous for such a calm little town.
My evening stroll took me out into a small forest beside Hearthlight. That is, of course, when I saw the ghost—or, something like a ghost. A soft, blue light moved through the trees ahead. It had the calm attitude of a flitting fairy, but—hah!—fairies weren’t real. I picked up my pace, and it seemed the blue glow did, too. It seemed eager to intercept me.
I rounded a bend shouldered by a mammoth oak and came face-to-snout with a fox. I’d always liked foxes; they seemed to run cat software on dog hardware, and this one was no exception. It was noiseless, but its fluffy tail swished as it ran a circle around me. It almost seems gauche to mention it, but yes: the fox was glowing blue. And it was partially transparent; I could see the ground through it.
So, a ghost fox? No, that felt wrong, because ghosts were things that terrified twelve-year-old boys, and this fox seemed happy. Let’s call it a glowfox and move on.
The glowfox bounded away from me. I followed, because it’s not every day you are led through the forest by a magical creature. It was fast, but always paused on the trail ahead to let me catch up if it went too far. Before long, I could hear music coming from ahead. It was a piano tapping out a tune that was pleasant, almost welcoming. I felt it took a heroic level of resolve to bring a piano into the woods, so I was keen to meet the pianist.
And meet her I did. The glowfox bounded ahead, and I followed it into a small clearing. There was the piano, exhibit A, with a mid-forties woman playing it. The glowfox wasn’t there anymore, but the woman was both translucent and glowing a soft blue, so I managed to put two and two together: this woman was a ghost. What was really tripping my gears was that, as a glowfox, she’d managed to lead me here while also playing the piano.
I guess ghosts make their own rules.
She finished her piece, the piano notes dropping away, disappearing like audible minnows through the trees. She turned to face me, but didn’t say anything. Maybe ghosts couldn’t talk? I guess I should have been terrified, but she didn’t seem like the creepy spectre haunting the library at the start of Ghostbusters. I stood like a stump while she started another melody, this one wistful and yearning, the notes almost as distinct as words.
No: they were words, a musical conversation she was having with… well, not me, but someone. Someone she missed, that much I understood. I sank cross-legged to the ground, setting my lantern aside, and listened while she played. It occurred to me that Hollis had made the magic hamlet here, arriving after trying to fix the world… but what had convinced him it was broken?
Had he lost someone? A woman he might have loved very much, who played the piano and thought of him often? Did she linger on the outskirts of Hearthlight, hoping he might join her again? Had he chosen this place because it was where he scented a hint of her perfume on summer nights with the window open, or caught a strain of piano notes during his night walks?
She stopped playing, glancing at me before resting her fingers on the keys. She gave a silent sigh, then drifted on the next wind, her body shifting into a hundred tiny motes of light, each winking out as they drifted into the forest. I didn’t even know her name, but she’d shared music with me from beyond the grave.
I stood and paced to the piano. It was real, all solid heavy wood panelling. I touched a key, but no sound emerged. I opened the back and found the piano empty of strings. I eased the lid back down and glanced up at the stars visible through the canopy opening. Should I talk to Hollis about the ghost?
Perhaps it was best not to. Bernard had said to be careful, and now I suspected he wasn’t telling me so I wouldn’t hurt myself. Like all people in Hearthlight, he had a big heart. Bernard hadn’t wanted me to hurt someone else by accident.
Roll result? One shimmering fox, one silent recital, and a grove steeped in song.
XP Gained: 1 spectral duet, 1 echo of a love long gone, and +1 insight into why some music is never meant for us, even if we’re lucky enough to hear it.
Ready for Day 17?
If you’ve wandered this far into the forest, you might as well stay a while.
If a glowfox led you here and you liked what you found, consider leaving a little light in return. Buy me a coffee (or at least one for Bernard… he’s earned it).
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