Recognition

No one in Bothal liked going near the Wansbeck. Most folks did what they could to avoid it, but sometimes crossing it, or just plain going near it, was inevitable. It was a source of water after all. The unease in Bothal went back sixty, no, seventy years, when s young woman named Morgan disappeared. Some townsfolk said it was suicide and blamed it on her poor love life. Others claimed the fae took her away. A few had even sworn that they saw a Barghest prowling about shortly before she vanished. My Granny swears on her Nan’s grave that she woke up two days before Morgan disappeared and saw a black dog standing on its hind legs and staring in through her bedroom window. She said its piercing red eyes were burned into her mind. Even sixty years later she could close her eyes and still see it clear as day.

I don’t know how much I believe her. I don’t doubt that Morgan disappeared, but I doubt the fae took her away. The fae were just made-up stories that parents told their kids to keep them on their best behavior. Of course none of it was real. That doesn’t change the fact that something is… off about the Wansbeck. If it was a normal river, there wouldn’t be so many rumors about it. People wouldn’t claim they’ve seen… things.

Old John claimed something attacked him at the river one night. Well, “attack,” might be a bit of an overstatement. Something threw a rock at him and hit him in the shoulder. At first he thought it was Will or Tommy since those two were always up to shenanigans like that, but Old John said his accusations and threats were met with silence. Will or Tommy would’ve broken out into laughter the second Old John opened his mouth. Normally I’d just blame Old John’s nerves, and I do, but Ashley Silverman reported a similar experience, as did her Papa. I’ve heard a handful of other similar stories myself, but more often than not it’s just some bully trying to scare the little kids, some kid repeating one of those bully stories he’s heard a hundred times, or some hearsay that might’ve happened to someone’s brother’s friend’s sister’s dog.

I may be a hypocrite for saying this, but even though I don’t think anything is wrong with the Wansbeck per say, I hate going out there. Everyone does. It always feels like something is out there watching you. Once, Sara from next door claimed that she saw a face in the water, though Sara also has what Momma calls “an overactive imagination,” and I’m inclined to agree.

The other kids tend to tease me. They always say that since I’m not scared of anything, I should spend a night at the Wansbeck. But I am scared. The Wansbeck terrifies me, and I can’t explain why. Something about the river is just… off. I can never put my finger on it, but it has this sort of otherworldly aura to it. Being on the riverbank almost feels like being in another world, completely cut off from everyone you know and love. I know it’s just my imagination, but I can’t help feeling that way every time I’m there.

Some of the elders in the village claim it’s the doorstep to a fae kingdom. Ginny said she had a dream about its king once. She nodded off one afternoon in her rocking chair and said a man approached. He dropped to one knee, clasped her hands with his, and exclaimed that she was the most beautiful woman she had seen. She was flustered by his kind smile, his rosy cheeks, his perfect alabaster skin that was as white as newly fallen snow. She was almost overwhelmed by his regal splendor. The name “Oberon” seemed to dance on the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t utter that name. Then she noticed his wings. They protruded from underneath his red silk cloak. When he noticed her staring at his wings—wings she say looked like they could’ve been plucked off of a monarch butterfly—his face grew red and he vanished without another word. She awoke to a particularly fat worm inching its way over her foot.

Despite the stories, I always told myself it was nothing. And it was. Until I went to the river alone.

It was supper time. Momma needed water, so I was tasked with fetching it. When I opened the door, I happened to glance towards the trees and saw it sitting there plain as day: a black dog with piercing red eyes. I remember that Annie had mentioned seeing a black dog the previous week, but of course I disregarded it as just… well, I don’t know what I disregarded it as, but there’s no way she saw a Barghest because those aren’t real. Or that’s what I told myself when she told me about it. Now I was face to face with a black dog. At least, I thought I was. I dropped the pail and rubbed my eyes, but when I opened them, it was gone. I must’ve just been imagining it. Nerves or something, I guess.

My walk to the Wansbeck was uneventful. I whistled all the way down just like I always did. Momma told me that whistling warded off the bad spirits. I… maybe that is why I whistled. I hated the silence. I never felt alone. The whistling calmed my nerves. It made me feel like someone was there with me. I gripped the pail tightly too. That also helped.

I reached the river and I bent down to fill the pail. It felt like something’s eyes were boring into the back of my skull. I turned around but there was nothing there. I scanned the trees. All empty. I turned back to the river. I lowered my gaze. She stared back. I dropped the pail. My legs moved backwards on their own.

I wanted to run, but I stood there transfixed by the figure in the water. I had to approach. I had to grab the pail after all. As I crept closer, the figure didn’t stir. She wore a plain brown dress. It looked a lot like mine. Granted most plain brown dresses tended to look like mine. Her brown hair buoyed in the water like an arcadian halo. She seemed… familiar. But she didn’t. I knew that I’d never seen this girl before in my life. Besides, her skin was pale white. As white as… as white as a corpse. Her lips were colorless too. At least her eyes were closed.

Then I thought I heard a voice.

I turned in a panic, but there was still nothing there. When I turned back to the water, the sunken nymph was still there. Nothing had changed. Why was she so familiar? She wasn’t Sara or Annie or Mary or Katherine or Margaret or Elizabeth. Who was she? Why was she here? It didn’t make sense. No one in the village had ever told stories about seeing young girls in the river. Or had they?

Then I remembered that I had to fill up the pail.

I held my breath and approached the water’s edge. No wait. This was a stupid idea. I walked thirty paces along the riverbank and filled my pail up there instead. Then I turned and ran back to the cottage.

During dinner, I told Momma and Papa about the girl in the river. All the color drained from both of their faces as I told them about it. I also made sure to tell them about the black dog. Papa told me I wasn’t to go to the riverside again, and if I was, I was under no circumstances to go alone. He called it an “echo” or “memory” or something. I can’t remember which. Momma asked if had recognized the body. I told her no.

“You don’t recognize the body.” That’s all she ever said on the topic. When I tried to inquire more about it, she just repeated that cryptic line again. Papa wasn’t any more helpful either. But if they told me to stay clear of Wansbeck, that’s what I would do. I’d never seen them that scared before. Never.

I avoided the river like a plague. While doing so, I also told my friends about it when I would see them in the village. Before long, everyone in the village knew what I had seen. They all believed me too because I was the one that had seen it and I never lie or tell ghost stories.

But even though Momma and Papa said under no circumstances was I to go to the river, something inside me felt compelled to disregard them and go see if the body was still there. Something else inside of me wanted to beat that curious part for being stupid and foolish. I refused to go to the river and instead always went back to the cottage. Supper was uneventful.

Weeks passed. Then months. Then a few years. Everyone had forgotten about my encounter at the river, including myself. Then Momma sent me to the Wansbeck to fetch more water.

As I made my way down the once-familiar path, I knew that I wasn’t alone. Despite the silence and the stillness of the trees around me, the pat—pat—pat— stuck in my ears like church bells. Whatever was following me didn’t want to be seen. I think I knew what it was.

When I reached the river, she was there again. It looked like she hadn’t moved from the last time I saw her. Maybe she hadn’t. No one ever mentioned the drowned ivory girl, so I guess we all just forgot about her again. I suppose that’s why she came back. The River couldn’t forget about her. Her eyes were still closed.

I filled up my pail with water like I had before and I turned to leave. Then I felt it. I knew who this girl was. I didn’t know how I knew, but I knew. No I didn’t. I’ve never seen this girl before, and I know I would’ve recognized her if I had. Her face was too pretty to just forget.

I knew her.

No I didn’t.

Her name was—

How would I know her name?

It’s on the tip of my tongue.

No it isn’t.

I finally turned to face her again. She just lay there peacefully. Nothing could move her. Nothing could make her stir. Was she a body? Or just a reflection, perhaps? Who was she? How did I know yet also not know. None of this made any sense.

Then it hit me.

“Morgan.”

Her eyes opened revealing empty sockets. Her head turned. Her arm shot out of the water like lightning and grasped my wrist. I struggled about but her grip was like iron. The water began to fill my lungs. So this is what she felt.

It all went black.

It all went black.

It all went—

…

The black dog sat under a tree. It watched the tragedy unfold again.

—————————————————————————————————–

“Titania,” a voice called. “Titania wake up.”

The young girl opened her eyes. She saw his handsome face staring down at her. He had positioned his head so that it shieled her eyes from the sun overhead. His auburn locks perfectly framed his ovular head. His chestnut eyes stared longingly into hers. His smile was so warm. So loving. So misplaced. His wings were beautiful. They looked like a monarch butterfly’s wings and flapped gently in the cool shade of the ash tree.

He extended a hand to the girl, and she happily took it. He lifted her to her feet with ease and spun her around. Her plain brown dress twirled in the wind. His alabaster skin felt cold against her warmth.

“I’m not—” she protested.

“Titania, my love, is this where you wandered off to?” the strange man said. “I was worried sick about you.

“My name’s Mo—” she tried to protest again.

“No Titania. Forget those delusions. You’re my wife,” the strange man insisted.

The girl cocked her head. A puzzled grimace adorned her ivory face. “Who are you?

The strange men stepped back a pace. “My love you know who I am.” He reached his hands behind his back. He removed a circlet woven from sticks and small branches, then handed it to her. “You are my queen—the queen of this forest. I am your husband and king.”

“O…Oberon?” she stuttered. “The Fairy King?”

“See, I told you that you knew me my love,” the strange man said beaming. “What are you doing out here? We were having a banquet last night in my honor and you were supposed to be there?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know where I am.”

“You’re in our forest you silly girl. And as for how you got here, well I imagine you must have just wandered off earlier in the day and simply fell asleep under this tree.”

“If you say so. That probably happened then.”

“Oh it definitely happened. Now please, come back with me to our court. This is no way for a queen to behave.”

“O…okay.”

Oberon took the girl by the hand and began leading her deeper into the forest. It was beautiful. The flowers in the forest were in full bloom. The sweet scent of pine and orchids wafted into her nose. She glanced overhead and smiled as chubby fairies danced through the tree branches and swung through the leaves. Some wore toadstools for caps. Others were dressed in bright colored outfits made of bird feathers. Some wore skirts woven from blades of grass. Their sonorous laughter rang in her ears like the most beautiful music. As they grew closer to the camp, the joyous laughter grew louder, as did the density of fairies. Everywhere she looked she saw them frisking about in the trees and splashing in the ponds. Their joy was palpable in the air.

“Isn’t our kingdom beautiful?” Oberon asked. Tents, or what could be best approximated as tents, were starting to come into view. They were small rectangular plots with four wooden posts holding up a roof made of leaves and sticks with no protective walls. What was there to protect from? This kingdom only knew peace after all. Rows of yellow lights connected the tree branches.

“It is,” the girl said.

“Now come. It will be sunset soon enough. Our banquet will be underway shortly. Now, change out of this frivolous dress. It’s not fit for a queen. Your clothes are in our lodging at the center of town.” Oberon led her deeper into the heart of the forest and the fairy town. At the very center the girl found a true hut—a building with four walls. Oberon opened the door, then promptly shut it after she had walked in. She looked down and saw a large pile of leaves and straw. Lying in the midst of the pile was a green dress with brown accents. It looked as if it had been made of stitched together leaves. It accentuated her plain brown hair. Her brown dress fell to the ground with a soft thud.

She instinctively covered herself with her arms as she turned around. She thought she had heard someone call her name—her real name. All she heard was silence. She scanned the wooden hut. The wooden corner posts resembled the other tents, but something about the canvas walls struck her as… off. They were tan. And opaque. She shivered involuntarily. It felt almost like this was less of a home and more of an exhibit; it was at the center of town after all. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching her.

As soon as that though crossed her mind, she threw the green dress on. It fit her perfectly. Almost as if whoever had made it knew her exact dimensions. She shivered again.

The girl whipped her head around and scrutinized the wall behind her. She knew she had heard her name. Someone was calling her. Something was out there.

She approached the wall. She extended her ivory hand and pressed it into the surprisingly warm canvas. Its warmth emphasized the biting cold of the tent. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but when she next breathed out, she saw her white, gaseous breath flit through the air, almost resembling a hand reaching out for help. The wall’s texture reminded her of when her Grandad would take her by the hand and lead her through the village market back when she was a child. Back before his tragic passing. Wait. Who was she thinking about again? No one died here. Not in her kingdom. So who had tragically passed again?

Then she felt it.

She jumped back from the wall. A thousand incoherent thoughts crossed her mind as she tried to process what she could only describe as the almost imperceptible feeling of another hand pressing up against hers on the other side. Had something reached out to her? Had it been watching her? She shivered. Her mind didn’t even register the fat worming crawling across her foot.

She bolted towards the entrance and tore the door open. The fading rays of the sun still felt warm on her supple, ivory flesh. The unease was gone too. She knew that no one was skulking about the outside of the hut. Everyone was in the village’s center. 

Little pixies flitted through the air, carrying goblets that were comically large in their minute hands. Toadstool men bustled about and moved past her feet. Some carried platters by themselves while others worked together in tandem to move the larger ones.

She looked up and saw her king—her husband—her Oberon, sitting at the head of the long feast table. Fairies were filing into their seats. She saw that he kept his hand firmly on the back of the chair on his left. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers didn’t seem to match the placid smile on his face, but she couldn’t explain why. She made her way to him and sat down.

“Titania, I’m so happy that you can be here with us tonight. I’ve waited for this night for too long.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” the Fairy King paused, “never mind that. Let me give my toast.” Oberon stood and raised his goblet. He swirled it in his hand before bringing it under his nose. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The other fairies stood up and swirled their glasses in kind. A humanoid fairy made of trees spilled some of his glass on the ornery gnome to his right, leading to an outburst of laughter. Oberon’s eyes darted to the scene and he flashed a smile, immediately quieting the disturbance. “My wonderful subjects, thank you all for coming. I know that we celebrate these banquets quite regularly, but this is a truly special one. Tonight, we celebrate the coronation of my queen Titania!” Oberon drank. The other fairies followed suit. The girl did not.

“What do you mean by coronation? Didn’t you say I wandered off before our banquet yesterday?”

“Titania,” Oberon said as a frown crept across his shining face, “what are you talking about? I never said anything about that. Now, drink your wine. If you don’t it might get warm.”

“No,” the girl said. When you found me under the tree, I remember you saying I must have wandered off before your banquet yesterday.”

“Titania,” Oberon said crossly, “stop this nonsense at once. I never said what you thought I said. You’re mistaken. Now, drink the wine.” His voice was cold. It reminded her of the tone Johnny’s father took when lecturing him in the town square. The town square. The memories seemed like a hazy dream again.

The girl didn’t know what to say. She grabbed the goblet and looked into it. The drink of choice was a deep red wine. Then she noticed her reflection. A face stared back at her that she didn’t recognize. Who was this girl with brown hair the color of tree bark wearing a circlet of sticks? Who was this ashen faced child? Why did her brown eyes look so sad?

“Wait,” she finally said as she rose to her feet. “I’m not your Titania!”

“Yes, you are! Stop acting crazy Titania!”

“I am not crazy!” The girl slammed her fists into the table. “I am not crazy!” Tears trickled from her cheeks. “I don’t belong here. I have a home. I have a family. I’m not supposed to be here.” She wanted to collapse into her chair, but she knew she couldn’t. Her body felt heavy.

“You do belong here my love,” Oberon said as he grabbed the girl’s hand with his own. “This is your home now. Forget about that old life. Those people have already forgotten you by now, assuming they ever loved you in the first place. I love you. I’ve always loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you countless moons ago. So please Titania, just stay here and enjoy this wine we made specially for you.”

The girl paused. She looked into the goblet again and saw that same sad face staring back at her. She knew what she had to do. “I’m not Titania!” she screamed before tossing the goblet aside. It clattered to the ground. Drops of red wine splattered over the fairy king’s black stockings. She tore through the forest without looking back. She knew that she couldn’t. Had she turned back, she would’ve seen Oberon frowning. She would’ve seen the cowardly king’s true colors.

She didn’t know where she was, nor where she was going. It was dark. The brambles hurt as they whipped and clawed at her shins. She had to escape. She had to see her family again. She glanced overhead but the trees blotted out the moon. She could only rely on her own fallible vision.

Eventually she reached the river. Then she heard the laughter in the forest. Gone was its earlier mirth, replaced by something new. Something dark. She felt the panic welling up inside of her. They would be upon her in minutes. She began to cross the river. She knew it was stupid, knew it could be dangerous, especially in the dark, but she had to do it. Before she knew it, she had reached the other side and collapsed. She weakly turned to see her pursuers. The Fairy King and his court stood on the opposite bank. Gone were their glittering smiles and boisterous laughter. Gone were their bright clothes and joyful eyes.

That’s when she saw Oberon’s frown. His auburn hair was streaked with writhing black worms. His clawed hands tightened on the reigns of his horse. The once-regal king turned away on his jet-black steed, beginning his return into the heart of the forest. The pale moonlight reflected off his glistening silver carapace. He resembled a grotesque beetle more than the loving king who had she awoke to that afternoon. Even across the river she could hear his cicada wings buzzing in irritation. His retainers followed suit. The tree man scowled at her as he turned and disappeared into the forest. The pixies adorned in cloaks of animal fur and bone armor flitted into the trees overhead.

When she turned back, she saw a lone figure approaching the river. As the figure grew closer, the girl began to notice how familiar this figure was. The eyes. The hair. The pale ivory skin. Even the plain brown dress. The girl thought that she was staring into a mirror again. The figure smiled at the girl before entering the river. The girl heard the figure splashing across. Then the splashing ceased. When the girl turned to gaze at the forest again, not a figure remained on its bank. Not even her doppelgänger. 

The girl made her way back home. She crept through the door and undressed in the dark. She nestled under her covers and let sleep take her. When she awoke, she was in her plain brown dress again. It must have all just been a dream, she thought to herself. She chuckled. Dreams like this were common during the midsummer nights.

She dismissed it as a dream. Thought it was her fanciful imagination. It seemed likely, after all. No one treated her differently, let alone acted like she had been gone. It must have been a dream.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Then months.

Then even years.

Before she knew it, the girl was blossoming into a beautiful flower. The boys in town all fought each other over who would get the honor of courting her. She was flattered, of course, but she refused them all. She had to. It was the only way to protect them. Especially John.

As the girl grew older, nightmares began to afflict her. Strange nightmares. Recurring nightmares. Familiar nightmares. It was always the same: a strange man with the wings of a monarch butterfly and a red cloak rapped softly at her window until she awoke. Once awake, he would crawl under the door or slip through the window or squeeze through the cracks in the wall. Then he would have his way with her. She would try to scream, to resist, to do anything, but she couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot. The nightmares were infrequent, occurring maybe once every six months, but they were devastating. The girl thought herself impure and became prone to self-loathing. It wasn’t her fault she was so beautiful. The only mercy she received was that all memories of the dream would quickly leave her, at least until the next time she experienced it. Maybe it was a mercy. Or maybe it was an even crueler punishment because she couldn’t even remember why she hated herself so much.

One midsummer night she felt awful. She couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the stress of having to turn down John. Oh John. What a perfect man he was. How he could, and would, love her more than any other man. How he could even make her forget her self-loathing. Maybe it was something else that disturbed her. She decided that a walk might help her clear her head.

She opened the door quietly and gingerly closed it behind her. She crept through the streets of town. Before she even realized it, she had begun walking down the path that led to the Wansbeck. And then she saw it. Standing directly in front of her, just outside of town, was a black dog. She froze. Its red eyes scanned her. It didn’t move. The girl—no, the young woman—frantically scanned the area around her.

Her attention was immediately drawn to the small, yellow light flash on her right. She carefully began to move towards it. The black dog watched her. It began to growl. She froze in her tracks. The growling stopped. Another yellow flash caught her attention. She watched as more lights began to flash, almost like a line telling her exactly where to go. She found herself enthralled like a child at a puppet show, and like the jester’s marionette, she helplessly followed. She ignored the dog’s growling.

Eventually the light ceased, and the woman suddenly realized where she was: the bank of the Wansbeck. She felt uneasy. She felt like she was being watched. She turned her back to the Wansbeck to return home when she noticed the black dog sitting under a tree. It was still watching her. She shuddered.

A soft neighing broke her from her reverie. Then she heard the splashing. She turned back towards the river as a horse approached her. It was as black as the night that surrounded it. The woman paused. The horse whinnied as if it wanted her to come towards it. She did. The horse bowed its head once the woman approached. The woman accepted its offer and extended her hand, patting its head and stroking its mane. Why did it feel… sticky? The woman ignored it. It was probably just her imagination. The horse whinnied in approval. The woman smiled. The horse gently assumed a sitting position, beckoning the woman to get on.

She did.

Why was the horse so sticky now?

She tried to move her legs to readjust them, but they were stuck to the horse’s flank. Then the terror gripped her. The Kelpie laughed. It rose to its feet and began trotting into the Wansbeck.

The water rose up and up and up. This was impossible. The river didn’t get this deep, yet the woman was up to her neck in water. Then her ears. She strained her head upwards to try and keep her face above water. It was to no avail. She screamed as the Kelpie submerged her into the impossibly deep river. The water filled her lungs.

It all went black.

It all went black.

It all went black as she heard that voice from her nightmares call out to her. Then she remembered her sojourn into his kingdom before. He had won. He was right. She was his Titania now.

…

The Barghest sat under a tree. It watched the tragedy unfold.