The Moonlight Boy | Ferry's Tale # 1

Whispers in the wind

Ferry loved the quiet afternoons at home. If he wasn't doing his homework at Ben's, he was staying home with his mother. In the small living room where always smelled like butter biscuits, and where the heat was coming from the hearts and not only from the smoldering fire in the fireplace, Ferry was happy. He used to spend the afternoons drawing. He loved to draw and sometimes he, too, was amazed by the wonderful things his hand could draw. His drawings seemed like improving with each day. At first, the most beautiful flowers and plants were emerging from his crayons. But in time, his drawings became... different. Besides flowers and plants, fantastic birds and beasts appeared. Then floating, light beings were coming to life on the paper. Creatures that both amazed and frightened him.

That particular afternoon though, he wasn't in the mood for drawing. He barely did his homework, then he tried to draw something; but after a few shaky lines, he gave up. Instead, he stared through the window at the grey sky. The trees were almost leafless; only a few fragile, ruby-like leaves were still hanging, isolated on the branches. But in front of the powerful wind, they eventually gave up. Then, they would swirl in the air and vanish somewhere in the highest skies. They reminded him of the whirlwind at the veiled lady's house; it seemed so alive as if it had a will of its own.

"Mum, what do you know about Lavender Sky?" he asked his mother.

Mrs. Donovan was taken by surprise as she always was when Ferry was asking her the most curious questions. She took off her glasses, a sign she was to give her son her fullest attention.

"So you met her..." she said. "It isn't much to say. She's the oldest person in town. And nobody knows too much about her. Maybe the older people, who lived in the village, before the town was built, could have known more. She comes to town every now and then to buy some groceries or to collect some woods for the winter. Sometimes I could see her picking up branches from the sides of the roads. But never from the forest, if I come to think of it. I never thought how odd this was, not until now..." she said, lost in thought.

"Yes, but why does she cover her face? And why isn't she talking?"

His mother gave it a thought for a moment.

"Well, I couldn't tell you. All I know is just hearsay. People were talking, you know... That she was the victim of a great fire that took place many years ago and that her face was burnt badly. As for her not talking... I don't think anyone ever talked to her. Maybe that's why we thought she couldn't talk. And maybe she became a mute because of the trauma from the fire. Who knows? And people... Well, people are afraid of things they don't understand. I believe that's why they've been avoiding her the whole time."

Ferry felt sorry for the old lady.

"So no one is visiting? Ever?"

"Well, as far as I know, some women from the church visited her a while ago. They were worried because no one had seen her for a long time. That was many, many years ago before you were born. So those women decided they should check how she was doing. She lived at the foot of the northern hills, in complete isolation. And then—"

And Mrs. Donovan stopped, trying to find the right words.

Ferry was on the edge of his seat, "And then?"

"You see, it's hard to believe what people are saying," she said with a sigh. "I've heard so many things... Even about you. That's why you don't have to believe everything you hear."

"What about the church ladies? Have they talked to her?"

"The church ladies did found her, indeed. But as talking to her... They were too frightened to speak; too terrified about what they saw."