out on the moor

Out on the moor

The moors at night are a treacherous place, the dark hides a magnitude of danger, in more forms than you can imagine. The dark itself is thicker there, a black veil full of whispered secrets and untold tales. It settles on the ground at dusk, creeping, growing darker and darker until there is no way of knowing if your eyes are open or closed. The moors at night are terrifying.

Tonight is the night, Reeve mused as he watched the full moon rise slowly outside his bedroom window. Dusk spreading its icy fingers into every nook of the moor, shrouding the sparse trees in darkness, making the running river stand still. The glittering blue moonlight the only illumination, causing the whole world to sparkle and shimmer. Each hill and bush slowly vanished minute by minute claimed by the night to only reappear when the sun awakens from its slumber.

Reeve had been told all his life to never venture onto the moor alone after dark. Ever since he was a young boy, many years ago he has been fed this sound advice and most nights he followed it…. most nights.

Soon the spirit of the moor would speak his name. Entrancing him, luring him out into the cold night air. He would hear its captivating voice, feel its essence beckoning to him, and he would follow, as he always did. He would allow himself to be led astray by the celestial entity, the spirit would sing to him, a siren call so alluring only a fool would try to resist. He would allow it to love him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, making him whole, driving him to the brink of ecstasy, lifting him all the way to heaven, before slowly dipping him into the fiery pits of hell, as it always did.

 Every 29^th night, when the moon hangs round and heavy in the black sky, the spirit of the moor takes a physical form and comes for its lover. Reeve waits for what feels like an eternity to hear that mesmerising melody, he longs for the moment he sees it again, he yearns to touch it, to bask in its serene divinity. His heart flutters in his chest, palms sweat, fingers tremble, adrenalin flooding his system as he waits for his love. Finally, after a lifetime of hunger he hears his name whispered on the wind, an almost silent sigh, he smiles.

“I’m coming” he whispers back, and he knows his love can hear. he can feel the static in the air around him, sending shivers dancing down his spine in blissful anticipation of what is to come. He leaves his house in silence, rushing into the danger that threatens him without a single fear. The spirit that awaits him would never allow any harm to come to Reeve, would it now? This is the only night that the moors are a safe place…. well nearly safe. Reeve is wise to watch his back for though his lover is sweet it has teeth my dear and sharpened ones at that. At a glance, the spirit Is beautiful beyond compare but if you look a little deeper the cracks begin to appear, its pristine features are but a mask to hide what lies beneath. Reeve has seen snatched glimpses of the monster that he loves. But love is blind or so I have heard, so he pretends he cannot see.

This time is no different to the last, a joyous reunion of star-crossed lovers, smiles, laughs, bites. Each time Reeve has the pleasure of seeing this perfect being he is reminded just how lucky he is, it is uncommon for such a creature to take a human lover, but Reeve is special, his creature tells him so again and again until he feels his heart will burst with pride. He is the chosen one, what is a little bruise between lovers?

Their love making is sweet, absence makes their hearts grow fonder, but also causes their lust to grow stronger. A lust so strong is bound to burn and burn it does. Scorching heat and blistering skin, flickering flames, and licking tongues. Wondering fingers and a beating heart, soon to stop if morning dallies any longer. The darkness swallows any screams.

The night runs fast, too fast, clock hands always win the race. The black fades to grey and the moon reaches through the once impenetrable night. It touches the river, the hills, Reeve, the creature. It is in those moments when he can see his loves true form, if he is lucky, some might say unlucky. His focus is difficult to maintain but he tries despite the pleasure and the intense pain, god he tries. Anything to get just one brief moment of clarity, a mere second when he sees the true face of the spirit he has fallen so deeply in love with. Deeper that oceans and as sure as the sunrise is imminent.

Sharp teeth stained with red, eyes of fire, skin so cold it can only be dead. Beauty and horror rolled into one.

Reeve gasps up at the moon which seems to smile down at him, no…. smile would have positive connotations. The moon in fact smirks down, he cannot see but he feels the horrors that take place in the twilight.

The spirit is graceful, each movement elegant and mesmerising. They dance a death in their own utopia till morning approaches, as always it must. The grey drifts away and the night slowly turns to dawn. The spirit withdraws, a whispered promise to return for its lover is the last that can be heard.

Dew settles upon the grass and Reeve finds himself alone on the moors. Naked, broken, and cold. The same way the spirit of the moor always left him. he slowly, painfully journeyed back to the warmth and safety of his home, where he can lick his wounds and heal. Make himself strong again for the next 29 nights so he can repeat this whole amorous ordeal.

“Again” A concerned voice says as he creeps through the front door of his small home

“This is the last time” He answers, looking away sheepishly

“You said that last time”

“I mean it this time” he sounds sincere, but he is not, only a fool

would try to resist

“You said that last time too”

“so? What is it to you?”

“Its killing you Reeve, can’t you see that? Just look at yourself”

He eyes drop, his body is blue and brown, red rivers running down his flesh leaving tiny macabre puddles on the floor at his feet. Crescent moon shaped bite marks and deep cuts litter his body like an abstract artwork. He knows he should find these markings horrible, scary but he does not. They are fascinating, they are proof that he is the chosen one. The only evidence that his lover exists and it not all some wild trick of his imagination. All the while these marks are on his skin, he knows it will come back for him.

He sees the scars and the barely healed marks from the months and months before. If the spirit of the moors was killing him; it was the only way he wanted to go.

“I’m going to have a bath” He mutters, ending the conversation. There was nothing to discuss anyway, nothing could keep him and his monster apart. No one could stop him going out on the moors.



It has been 29 nights; Reeve is all but healed. Again, he waits, impatiently, for the moon to be full, and his demon to take him once more. Maybe this time would be the last.