The Moor Dancers

It was said that the moors were haunted. Well, not haunted in the traditional sense of ghosts and restless spirits seeking revenge and causing death and mayhem in their wake. This was the Isles after all. It was in these places where, when the mist settled just right with light shifting through, it seemed like time had never moved, and you could expect to see the ancient Cymry go charging past on their way to some battle, bodies covered in blue paste that traced intricate lines over their bare skin. Or maybe Arthur would be seen in that mist, riding stately along with Merlin, Lancelot, and Gweniviere. Forget ghosts, this was the territory of sprites, brownies, and the Fair Folk.

Caitriona’s father had promised that he would take her to visit the Isles when she was young so that she could see the places and history that her family had come from. That had been when she was seven, when she first started getting curious about it, thanks to an assignment at school. He had told her what he could, but had said that words just couldn’t do the land and the history justice. That was when he promised her that they’d visit when she was older. Even by the time she was seven she hated those words; she never seemed to get older, because adults kept saying “When you get older." She bugged him at least once a year and often more than that, always receiving the exact same answer in the exact same way. By the third time she could mimic it perfectly. Finally, when she was sixteen, he said that he would take her when she graduated from high school, so in two years. She had gleefully told him that she’d done enough that she’d be graduating a year early. Honoring his promise, they made plans to go to the Isles that next summer. They had invited her little brother David to come along, but, like Hannah their mother, he had no interest in their Scottish heritage. So it was to be just the two of them. She worked hard at school, knowing that in ten months they would finally be going. Six months later, she stood at her father’s funeral, still trying to comprehend that he’d had a severe seizure from his diabetes. He’d always been so careful about his blood sugar. She didn’t go that summer, or the one after that.

The funeral and hospital costs had wiped out the family savings and her mother’s income wasn’t anywhere near enough to pay for the trip. Besides, there wasn’t anyone to go with Caitriona now, even if they had the money. They had enough trouble paying the bills and David’s schooling. He and Caitriona had attended a private school, but after their father’s death they’d had to switch David over to public school, though Caitriona was able to finish the three months she had left at their old school. Once she was done, she had immediately moved out and gotten a job, eventually working her way through college until she had a bachelor’s degree with a major in ancient history and a minor in teaching. Thanks to her hard work and dedication, she had earned a prestigious scholarship that allowed her to study abroad for the remainder of her schooling, for she had to have a Masters degree before she could start teaching. A bachelor’s degree was basically useless. With it you could get the same kind of job that a kid still in high school would get, and with the exact same pay. It sucked.

So now she was finally touring the Isles at the age of twenty-seven. Her school break didn’t end for another thirteen days and she was enjoying her time. The moors were right outside the old cabin she had managed to rent for a couple days until she went to another section of Scotland. She hadn’t been able to sleep well that night, so she had gotten up before dawn and ventured out into the mist-clothed moors, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. It was probably not the smartest thing to go wandering about strange places in the dark, but she reasoned that she’d always been able to see well in the dark. So she wandered, watching the steam of her breath quickly disappear into the mist and smelling the heather that she broke underfoot. She stopped for a moment, just standing with her eyes half closed, soaking it all in. In her half vision she saw the mist swirl a little in front of her and she could’ve sworn she saw a person blurrily outlined in first traces of dawn light. It lasted for so short a time that she shook her head and dismissed it as a trick of the mist and her mind.

Walking a little ways further, she came upon stones that were stacked together in a small circle. Her heart jumped and she grinned wildly. A real cairn! How cool was that. She started to walk around it in a sun wise direction, just as the ancients did. On her second trip around the cairn she started pretending that she could still hear the echoes of the chants and songs that the ancient druids would’ve sung or chanted as they walked. Then she realized that she wasn’t dreaming it. With a start she noted she’d completed the third circuit around the cairn and that it was coinciding the time of day that the druids called time-between-times, a time when the fairy world and the mortal world nearly touched and were occasionally accessible, or so they had believed. She froze as it sank in that she was actually hearing voices and they were singing ancient Gaelic. Well, maybe it was a choir from one of the nearby schools for they often sang in old and archaic tongues. Maybe they had an early practice before their day began; they had earlier start times than in the United States. Her mind reasoning it all out, she relaxed and laughed at herself for thinking that she had actually created a link to a different world, or at least a past time. Then a laugh was sent back. It wasn’t hers. Despite all the logical reasons her mind came up with, that laugh was definitely not from a school kid or teacher. It just didn’t sound…right. It sounded old and young, wise and blissfully ignorant at the same time. Something out there was laughing.

She closed her eyes and started to wish that it would all go away. She almost regretted leaving her cabin. Then a sense of thrill ran through her and she felt elated that it was all happening. Everything she’d read and studied, it was happening to her, her! She opened her eyes and gazed out into the mist with bright eyes. Once again the mist swirled and she saw a figure for a brief moment before it disappeared again. She turned, sensing the movement of the figure. When she saw it next, she managed to see a lean, male figure, graceful as water rippling over pebbles. He was carrying a flute and started to play it, so she could follow him with that. He made his way closer, always moving in a circular motion around her until she could seem him clearly. Once she got a good enough look at him, she knew without a doubt that something was happening in the morning. Without a doubt, this man was a Fair Folk. He was too graceful, too perfect. His eyes were ageless, and she knew that the laugh she heard had come from him. He smiled, and she couldn’t help but smile back. Putting away his flute, he held his hand out to her. She hesitated, drawing back slightly, unsure and afraid. She stared at him for a moment, still wondering if this was a dream. Then, straightening her shoulders in resolve, she placed her hand in his. His hand was too warm and solid for it to be a dream. He smiled when she took his hand and drew her away, and they left an echo of laughter and song as they went together.

One week later, the authorities called off the search for the American student Caitriona Douglas. No trace had been found and her disappearance baffled everyone. The media had loved the story. A young student disappearing on moors where odd things were known to happen, leaving all her belongings in the cabin, and no sign of struggle. No body was ever found and there weren’t any rivers or lakes for her to drown in anywhere. It was an unsolvable mystery and the media couldn’t resist. Back home, her town held a memorial service and mourned. Her friends at school had moments of silence in her classes and dedicated essays and donated books to the library in her name. As time went on though, they all moved on and didn’t think of her anymore. But in the small town that bordered the moors where she disappeared, it was claimed that if you went out in the moors at the right time of day, you would hear laughter and flute music,and just might see two figures dancing in the mist.