His Silver Glance (a short story by Gabriel, with Salome' in mind)

“Good night. My darling” came the soft refrain as her father gently kissed her head. Her eyes closed, and the sweet notes of a beloved lullaby floated from the retreating figure, a dark silhouette against the light of the hall. With a last sigh, his dear little Cecily relaxed into the peace of sleep.

An owl hooted from somewhere among the trees, greeting the other day of night. And the moon, full and clear, watched another world come to life.

The woods and fields, once ringing with the music of the birds and beasts, now took on the symphony of insects, and the concourse of darkness.

Cecily awoke. Silence and deep shadow welcomed her. The lunar face, her only companion, stared at her out of the open window, making every form, every object, knife sharp in his silver glance.

Cecily trembled. Papa had gone. Yet there was the moon. His gentle aspect called her on, in that dream world night.

“Moon Man, don’t look at me like that. You always make that same face at me. I can’t come out to play. Papa sang already.”

The moon soberly looked on.

“Yes, I know it is pretty out, but Papa would be so displeased.”

Still the darkness enticed her, and Mama had promised that with the stars so bright and twinkling, she would get to stay up at least once. That was a week ago. Maybe Papa wouldn’t be mad. After all, she was tall for her age—Uncle Angus had said so—and she wouldn’t be gone long.

“Ok Moon, I thought about it. I think Papa would let me for a little. I am tall, and almost seven, and we won’t be gone long.”

Outside, the air glinted with what seemed silver dust. And in the black blue and purple, the little girl darted as a firefly or a glance.

Her friend hovered above her, leading her on into the deeper dark. Eager and innocent, she followed.

There had been little difficulty in slipping out of the front door. Everyone slept. It had been a long day studying, working, cooking, eating, playing and laughing.

A smile peeked from her face, as she glided to the waiting forest. Jethro hadn’t been outside like this before, and he was a full two years older! She was first. She was brave.

A little shawl—“just like Mama’s”—swept behind, a comet’s tail in the night, and the moon looked on.

The edge of the field now loomed ahead, and the Aspen grove, stark and surreal against the darker backdrop of conifers, beckoned.

Stepping lightly beneath their tall forms, she peered up at a straight smooth trunk. “O beautiful trees, beautiful trees, I do like you all very much,” said she, and gave one an affectionate touch. But its silver bark in the cold light showed nothing of the warmth and assurance of the day.

There was a gentle breeze, and the tops of those silent wardens rustled in the dark. She shuddered, and the moon shone.

She took another step into the clearing, her silvery companion glided over the trees. “Moon, I don’t want to go that way, I am cold now; can we please go home?”

He looked on, silent and passive to her plight, while the wind faded to silence, and the wood receded into stillness.

Nothing stirred.

A little voice pierced the silence, “Dear Moon, please lead me home. I did want to see the night, but now I am frightened. You were with me a little, but now you are so far away.”

As if in answer, the air appeared to ripple suddenly. A great black form—huge but noiseless—loomed out of the darkness. Cecily’s heart leaped in her chest and she let out a little gasp. Like a falling shroud, a dark silhouette alighted with hardly a sound not a yard from where she stood. Golden eyes, shining as of their own light, stared out from a deep moonlike face.

A wail pierced the night. The owl—wonderful, terrifying, haunting—moaned into the dark. With every pinion and quill gleaming in the rays of the moon.

As that sound faded, a terrified sob followed “Please! Leave me alone, you! I want Papa, I want Papa!” The little girl’s whole body shook, as choking sobs wracked her little frame.

When she dared to peek from where she lay on the ground, the owl was gone. Relief spread like a flood through Cecily, and the air was a little warmer, and the silver light of the moon took on a comforting cast. Her tormentor, the owl, had vanished.

She looked up into the soothing face of her white companion.

“Thank you Moon, you saved me from him; you weren’t far away after all.” A warm breeze caressed her little tearstained face, and the night again seemed safe and familiar.

She looked up; her silver friend looked down, and she was glad. Face still lifted to the welcoming sky, she picked her way through the aspen, with their somber radiance like pillars in the temple of night. And set beneath the stars, in that pillared glade, glistened a pool.

A great splash sent a small cascade of black water and mud onto the bank, as Cecily plunged into the water. Where once it had reflected the moon in all his glory, it now boiled with the strugglings of a little girl. She had not seen it.

“Mr. Moon! Help me, please!” Came her desperate plea, partly garbled by water and mud, but the rippling pool continued to dance, as in laughter.

Though appearing to be just an ordinary pool in the woods, the water was deep, very deep, and Cecily could not swim.

Her hands flailed above her. Her head went under once, then a second time. A pathetic muffled cry, came weakly from the faltering child. The moon looked on.

A screech pierced the calming night. An owl, the same dark figure from before, tore through the trees, huge silent wing beats accompanied him.

A last choking “help” resonated from the pool, accompanied by a black, mud covered little hand raised to the sky.

Wings outstretched and talons extended, the shadowy figure descended, grasped the receding arm and shoulder, and with great labor, lifted the little girl free from the cloying mud, water and grime. With stolen child, he ascended into the night.

Cecily awoke, the sky, no longer black with shadow, glowed with the promise of the morning. She was in her own bed. The sheets, black with mud, bore evidence to her near fate. Feathers, soft and downy, to her salvation.

“What will Papa say?” came the last thought before she slipped back into an exhausted sleep.