This story is now nine years old. I wrote it in 2003. A good few of my greetings cards were originally illustrations for the story, so I've put them in here.
At the edge of the sky
there are blue hills which can sometimes be seen and sometimes
cannot. They rise in ridges as if made of cloud which has been
whipped by the wind, and indeed some think they are nothing but
clouds, as their shape seems to change and they disappear on clear
evenings. But I met a traveller who had been to those hills, and
hills they are, though unlike any in the lands we know.
The stone there is
deep blue and lies beneath a blanket of lichen, a patchwork of smoky
blue, hazy purple, and bottle green, threaded with gold. A kind of
heather grows over the slopes but it is as soft as moss, while the
moss itself is thick and forms green cushions.
From these come an
eery music and my traveller could be forgiven had he thought the
hills were haunted, but it is only the little bees, singing as they
sell honey at their market stalls. They can be heard because it is so
very very quiet there.
Quiet too are the
valleys that fall through the hills in purple shadows, lined with
velvety grass. The valleys are narrow, ending in thin silver streams
and darting kingfishers, black-barked sloes and meadowsweet.
When my traveller was in a valley there, he saw that overlooking it
was a little clump of trees which gathered about as if hiding a
secret. Beyond their dark boughs could be seen a little roof,
overgrown with bramble and dog rose. This was the house of Nora.
Nora was a good witch.
Good witches spend more time gardening and drinking tea than casting
spells, and accordingly Nora had a beautiful garden and a very large
teapot. She spent her days drying herbs, reading about other witches
who lived long ago, and learning French. This was because the only
living thing she knew was a French spider.
All the other spiders
had moved house when they found out Nora was a witch, because spiders
are very afraid of witches. They believe witches boil spiders up in
potions, but of course this is nonsense. Nora wanted to explain this
to Inky, as she called the spider, but the spider spoke a very
old-fashioned French dialect and did not understand Nora at all, who
to be honest had very poor French and mispronounced all the words.
Nora was very lonely.
Besides Inky, she had only her pots and pans to talk to, and they
never said anything, not even in langue d’oc, which as it happens was the Mediaeval French spoken by Inky, whose real name was Guilhelm,
Comte de l’Aquitain. This means William, Count of Aquitaine. It
is neither here nor there that Inky was not a count, since he was not
from Aquitaine either. As a spiderling he had lived in the spine of
a book on Eleanor of Aquitaine, and had become convinced that he was
the reincarnation of William the tenth, on account of the fact that
both Inky and the count enjoyed romantic poetry.
Nora liked poetry too,
and one evening after trying to talk to Inky, while the count stared
blankly back at her out of his eight eyes, she took down her
favourite volume and began to read.
There were quite a few
poems about the moon in this book, and this put Nora in mind of the
fact that she had meant to wish on the moon that night.
She put on her coat
and went out into the chilly evening. The bees were singing softly
as they sat on moss cushions, knitting stripey jumpers, and the moon
was curled up on a cloud. Nora closed her eyes and thought of what
she wanted most in the world, and then she made her wish. Now, I
can’t tell you what she wished, as all wishes are secret, but as I
have told you that she was very very lonely, you can make a good
guess.
Then she took a sup of
tea, which she had carried out into the garden. She let a little
waft of tea-steam up into the sky, which was her way of paying the
moon for her wish. As it was such a lovely night she took out a
plate of toast and had her supper in the garden as the bees ended
their performance with a jazzy little number about honey.
The next morning was
warm and bright. Nora was eating her breakfast when she heard a very
strange thing. It was a knock on the door. That is not such a
strange thing to you, perhaps, but you must remember that Nora never
had any visitors. She wondered had it really been a knock or was it
just her imagination, and while she was thinking about it she heard
the knock again, and hurried to the front door.
A small white dog was
sitting outside. There was no one else around. Maybe you wouldn't
talk to a dog, but Nora had spent three months learning a foreign
language in order to speak to a spider, so you shouldn’t be
surprised that she smiled at the dog and said hello.
The dog said hello
back. In English. Nora was very excited. But the dog was a
dignified dog, and introduced himself properly.
“Good morning,”
said the dog, ”My name is Moondog. I live over the hills –“ (he
gestured with a paw) “- but I often drift by this way, and I’ve
always wondered who lives here. I am quite nosy.” And he gazed for
a moment at his long nose so that Nora found herself nodding in
agreement.
“Well,” she said,
“come in, come in. I am just having breakfast if you are hungry.”
Moondog apologised for
interrupting her breakfast, but Nora told him not to be silly and set
out an extra cup and plate. And what do you think she was eating for
breakfast? Chocolate cake! Nora was, after all a witch, and all
magical things love chocolate. Moondog was magical too. He had two
slices.
Nora and Moondog
talked of many things. Moondog had travelled a lot and he told Nora
about marvellous places and strange beasts. He also knew a bit of
history, and they talked about the witches Nora had read about and
kings she had not read about.
When the evening came
Moondog thanked Nora for the tea and cake and said goodbye. Nora
invited him to come again the next day and he said he would like that
very much. Then off he trotted, through the huddled trees and down
the valley. Nora was very tired and said goodnight to Inky. The
count waved a spindly leg, and off she went to bed, to dream of all
the things Moondog had told her about.
The next morning
Moondog came to the house again, and every day after that. When Nora
was gardening or learning witchcraft Moondog would sit and play his
violin, which was very big compared to him, so he played it like a
cello.
Maybe it was all the
chocolate cake, but Nora noticed that Moondog was becoming plump. In
fact he was almost round. She thought it a bit odd that it happened
so quickly, because just a week before he had been a very thin dog
indeed, but it was also odd for a dog to play the violin, so she
shrugged and said nothing. After a few days he didn’t seem so fat,
so she thought no more of it.
But then Moondog
seemed to become very thin! Very, very thin. Nora was worried and
made bigger chocolate cakes, but to no avail - her friend got
skinnier and skinnier.
Eventually, one day, he
disappeared. He was still there, because he came in and said hello
and played his violin as usual, but Nora could not see him. When she
put a plate of cake on the table, two slices cut themselves and were
eaten, and although this was quite funny to watch, Nora wasn’t
pleased at all.
“I am very worried
about you, Moondog,” she said to his chair. “Are you sick?”
Moondog shook his
head, but of course Nora could not see him, so he said,
“No, no, I’m not
at all sick. I will explain it all in two days, if you will wait.”
So Nora waited and in
two days time, Moondog knocked on the window and she could see him
again. He was so thin that even Inky was worried, and could not
concentrate on the poem he was writing.
As soon as dusk fell,
Moondog went out and Nora went with him. They walked through the
trees that whispered to each other, and stood on the brink of the
valley. Moondog wagged his tail at Nora and then set off at a gallop
down the side of the valley. If you have ever run down a hill you
will know that when you get to the bottom you are running very fast,
and can run right up a slope on the other side. This is what Moondog
did, and when he got to the top he leapt high into the air.
But he didn’t fall.
He stayed high up in
the sky, and as the night grew darker, his white coat seemed brighter
until he shone like the stars around him. Moondog was the moon.
Nora now understood.
She knew that the moon grows fatter until it is a big round circle,
but that it then becomes thin again until it disappears. And she
knew that although Moondog was invisible for a few days each month,
he was still there, and would always become nice and fat again.
The End
