The String of Samhain

The flicker of torchlight cast long shadows across the town line. The shapes would move and grow, reaching out to touch the sky or far away paths with long, black, spindling fingers, fingers like those of the Fae, malevolent and mischievous. 

The torches circled the town, the ever-burning fires warding off whatever evil lurks in the dark. There was no light beyond the boundary, leaving the surrounding roads and woods consumed by night. Every so often, a branch would snap, or eyes would glow from beneath the brush. 

Nearby, children played by the barrier. They weaved between torches as if to tease the spirits of the wilds. But each time a child stepped out of the border, there was a shift in the air. All within the woods became quiet as if a silent hunter stilled itself and crouched, watching its prey with careful and calculating eyes.

Walking the barrier, not far from the playing children, was Kellas, and there was a string in her stomach.

She was sure it wasn’t an actual string, of course, but deep within her was a tug, and then another, so Kellas continued to follow it like a compass.

At every torch she passed, she reached her hand up to curl her small, childish fingers through the fire. Each time her hand emerged unharmed, her head would tilt to the side, her eyes blank and nearly lifeless. She couldn’t say what made her do it, only that she felt a deep urge within herself.  

The string continued to pull, so Kellas kept walking, gliding her hands through the flames as she went. 

Kellas was only a few torches away from the other children when she stopped. They paid her no mind as her hand continued to move back and forth through the fire. She paid them no mind either, keeping her eyes focused on the woods. The string was taut and growing cold. It made Kellas feel sick, but she never turned back. 

The children playing not far from her began inching their way further past the border. It was a game, a silly dare of who could venture the farthest into the darkness. That’s all it was to them, the dark, a void, nothingness. But as Kellas stood with her small hand sewing its way through the fire, her brown eyes nearly glowing yellow like that of a cat, she could see through the void.

The night played in shades of grey, a gradient of light so dull that Kellas thought nothing of it. But when a figure emerged at the edge of the woods, the string pulled itself into knots, and she wondered why the other children continued their game. She saw the creature curling out like mist from the leaves, taking careful steps forward. It was tall but stocky, and its dark shadowy figure ran like ink into the scenery behind it. It almost looked furry, as if it were an animal.

The longer Kellas stared at the creature, the more she could see. It had glowing eyes and stood on four legs. Kellas could see its long claws and padded feet as it took another step forward. 

Over the jeers of the children, she could barely hear the sound of its light breathing as its great maw opened. Even in the dark, the world in shades of grey, Kellas could see the teeth lining the beast’s mouth. She could see each fang glimmer as the torchlight played off of it. 

Kellas continued to weave her hand through the fire, staring out into the dark as the string continued to pull.

The great shadowed hound took another step closer to the boundary, another closer to the children playing, unaware of the danger. 

Its tail was braided, Kellas noticed, and its tongue, long and pink, licked against its snout. 

But Kellas continued to stare, her eyes dull and bored. She watched as the Cu Sith, the Faerie Dog, walked closer and closer to one of the children—a particularly brave (and stupid) one. He was yards from the closest torch, and through the dark, she could see the boy turn back to his friends and throw his hands victoriously into the air. He had traveled the farthest from the torches, and he thought himself a man of courage. 

Kellas thought him a boy of idiocy.

The Cu Sith, taller than the boy by at least three heads, stood behind him. He was unaware. 

Instead of calling out to him, warning the child of the Faerie Dog, Kellas continued to watch. 

Her head tilted to the side as her hand stopped weaving through the fire. But she didn’t remove it from the flame. She held it there, feeling its hot tongue lick against her skin. It burned, and she could feel her hand searing, but she never removed it. 

The string was tight and icy cold.

Kellas only stared forward, watching with those dull eyes as the Cu Sith lifted its head and howled. As fast as lightning, the Faerie Dog took the neck of the boy in its mouth and bit down. He made no sound, the beast’s grip on his throat stealing his voice. Kellas couldn’t even hear the boy choking on his own blood, but he most assuredly was. To everyone by the torches, the boy was as silent as death as the Cu Sith dragged him into the depths of the woods.

Kellas stood, unmoving and unperturbed, as the Cu Sith disappeared. The other children, however, screamed and roared. They ran as far from the barrier as they could, seeking the comforting arms of their parents, their cries echoing through the small town like those of a Bean Sídhe, the wailing woman.

Her eyes were still staring blankly into the woods when she removed her hand from the torch fire. As Kellas looked down, she saw no injury and felt no pain. The skin of her hand was unmarred and still pink. There were no burns or boils, simply the healthy hand of a child. Turning it over to further inspect it, Kellas tilted her head.

In the distance, the Cu Sith howl again.

Kellas smiled. Her eyes were blank and lifeless.

The string was gone.