The Misty World of Arial Hollyberry

With thoughts of the mysterious monk I encountered on the path to Willowmeer swirling through my mind I hurried around the curve in the path and was instantly transported back in time, just ahead of me stood the shops and cottages of  Willowmeer, looking exactly like the photo’s in the brochure.

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It was just a few months ago that I had decided to take a vacation to the UK. I wanted to see the grand old castles and visit Stonehenge, making the side trip into Ireland was a decision that I made when I got here. I reasoned, I’m so close why not visit the country of my ancestors. I picked up a few brochures in the lobby of my hotel and instantly fell in love with the photo of a small town that was only a day trip away. I decided that I would  leave in the morning.

The drive through the beautiful rolling green hills of Ireland was serene and I almost missed the small weathered sign stating “Willowmeer-1km” pointing down the path on the right side. I pulled off the road into a small dirt parking area and got out of the car. The sun was still fairly high in the sky and I thought that it would only take and hour or so to visit the town, so I started off down the path. A kilometer turned out to be farther than I had planned on.

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I pulled myself back from my reminiscing and focused on the  winding street in front of me. Holding the lantern out I made my way into the center of the town. Willowmeer was a quaint village  consisting of  stuccoed shops with paned windows and thatched roofs, some place right out of the seventeenth century. The street was cobblestone and was bordered on both sides with tall iron street lamps that were now glowing with a soft yellow light.

A few women were closing up their shops for the evening and started walking together in twos and threes up the sidewalk, making their way to hearth and home. A couple of stout little women in long skirts and aprons smiled and waved to me, then drifted off into the twilight, talking softly between themselves.

I stopped in front of a wooden door with a plaque above it proudly proclaiming it to be… “The Lucky Horseshoe Inn and Tavern, D. O’Brien-proprietor”. A large tree stump sat off to the side with a pile of firewood stacked beside it. There were two axes leaning next to the stump and another with its blade buried in the middle of the large, nicked surface.

It was way to dark to go back now, I would have to see if I could get a room here for the night. I placed the lantern on the stump and pushed hard on the door. To my surprise, it swung in easily, with me stumbling in behind it.

A tall, rugged looking man with a red beard and shaggy hair was standing behind the bar, wiping glasses and setting them on a high wooden shelf behind him. He gave a short laugh when I made my embarrassing entrance and said, “Well lass, come on in then and set a spell, looks like you could use it.” I smiled sheepishly at him then straightened up and nonchalantly smoothed my hair back. He waved his towel at the door. “Don’t be forgettin’ the door now, it’s lettin’ the cold in.”

Cringing a little I said, “Oh, I’m sorry!” I started to close the heavy door and remembered the lantern. Pulling the door open again, I stepped out to retrieve it. I had set the lantern down on the tree stump, I know I did, but now it was nowhere to be found. Where it had been was a circle of fine gray ash. I was staring at the stump when a chilling wind swirled around me and blew the ash out into the darkness. At that same moment, a hand landed heavily on my shoulder. I jumped and turned around as the bar keeper, towel thrown over his shoulder,  stepped out into the night.

He looked up and down the street, now empty of all life, and said in a low voice, “ghost wind’s blowin’ tonight, better come in now.” He took one more look around and lead me inside, closing the big door with a solid bang. Shutting out the spirits that roam the night.

© Tami Ruesch, The Misty World of Arial Hollyberry, 2009.

Night was quickly closing in around me and the path leading down to the little town of Willowmeer was becoming harder to see. If it weren’t for the kindness of the monk I met on the road I would have been lost for sure. I rubbed my eyes and glanced quickly around me. The deepening shadows must have been playing tricks because it seemed as if he materialized out of thin air.

With a humble nod, he greeted me silently,  palms pressed together in front of the Celtic cross that hung  around his neck. His tunic and cowl were dark gray. He wore the hood up, covering his head and obscuring his face.

“Brother, thank goodness you’re here. I had to park on the side of the road a ways back.”  I turned to point back the way I had come and continued. “There was sign posted saying that Willowmeer was a kilometer down this path. I had no idea a kilometer was so far or I would have waited until morning to make the hike. Could you tell me how much farther it is to the town?”

This mysterious friar moved closer, sending a chill breeze before him. It looked more like he glided than walked, then he stopped suddenly, close enough that I could hear his rasping breath. He gestured down the path, indicating with his fingers that it was only a short distance around the curve. I found it curious that he he wouldn’t speak, then remembered that certain monks take a vow of silence.  That must be it. I felt a little embarrassed that it took me so long to understand and said, “Please excuse me for my ignorance Brother, I understand, you’ve taken a vow of silence.”

He smiled. It was a sad smile. I could see his face a little better since he moved closer and there were deep lines of sorrow etched around his hazel eyes. With his hands stuck inside the large cuffs of his robes, he bowed, then started up the path that I had just come down. I held up my hand to stop him and touched the sleeve of his tunic. When he turned, it felt like my hand passed through his arm and  a shiver ran down my spine. I shook off the chill that had come over me, telling myself that there was nothing to fear from this mild monk. “It’s getting very dark, will I be into town before I lose my light completely?” He nodded and reached into a pouch that swung from the rope tied around his waist. When his hand emerged, he was holding a small lantern with a white candle. He brought the lantern close to his mouth and blew on the candle. I am not joking when I say that every hair on my head stood out as I watched the candle burst into flame.

I stood, frozen, looking at the monk for what seemed to be a eternity, then hesitantly took a step forward to take the glowing beacon he offered. He nodded at me and smiled that same sad smile, then turned again to make his way up the path. When I looked up from the light, he was gone, it was like he turned to smoke and vanished into the murkey forest.

The sun was low on the top of the hills that surrounded the little valley and the deepening shadows seemed to slither through the pines like ghostly wraiths.  A grassy meadow sloped down from the path and opened into a wide stretch of farmland dotted with small houses that had thatched roofs. As the shadows grew longer, a mist reached up from the ground with thin curling fingers and crawled through the glen, swallowing barns and fields, creeping closer to where I stood. I was startled from my thoughts by the quick, sharp hooting of an owl.

Holding the lantern out in front of me, I hurried down the path and around the bend. Looking back I thought I saw the form of the monk , hood up, arms tucked inside the sleeves of his robes, wavering on the edge of the trees.

© Tami Ruesch, The Misty World of Arial Hollyberry, 2009.