Feel that moon, sister, feel that moon

By Michael Wilson

An eclectic collection of 18 stories that explore love, loss, betrayal, evil, the unexpected, the sinister, and the miraculous.  

• A couple encased forever in a block of ice.
• Time moves at different rates for a father and his children.
• Mandrakes sing a song of hope.
• A non-believer helps to

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Wilson
• Release date: Aug 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781802271638

Michael Wilson

Michael Wilson is a biology undergraduate at the University of Alberta.

Book preview

Feel that moon, sister, feel that moon

The moon. Such a strange notion, isn’t it? So many different ways of looking at that bright round thing in the sky. Men are supposed to have walked on it, lovers always talk about it, and for some reason it was even thought to be made out of cheese. As a child I used to think it was simply the sun’s reflection. As if the sky was a vast mirror or an immense deep, calm sea. Now, why did I think that? I must have asked an adult why there was a big shiny thing in the sky and been told that it’s illuminated by the sun and doesn’t really shine by itself. Adults rarely listen to the questions of children. Or else they reply to them as if they were simply speaking to smaller versions of themselves. I suppose they’re generally well-intentioned and, since I’m a generous soul, I’ll give that long-forgotten grown-up the benefit of the doubt.

Anyway, they’re all wrong. Only I know what the moon is, and what it means, only me.

I’m not a lunatic by the way. How can I be? I’ve a handle to my name. Strings of letters after it. An intellectual giant. A luminary of the academic world. So, you’d better listen and take heed. Hey! You in the corner. Don’t you want to hear my story? You do? Well then, keep quiet.

They were my days of wine and roses. I was free, really free. Blown along by the winds of circumstance. Not a care in the world. Life was good, kind, and easy. I was favoured, the Gods smiled on me.

No! Don’t giggle. It’s true. You’ve forgotten what I once was. I’ve nearly forgotten it all now as well. Please be quiet.

There was a hill. It was dark……and it was hot. Yes, that’s where I’ll begin. I was living in a hot country. I had everything I’d ever wanted, and I was young. I was walking up a rocky hill with another lotus-eater, Mary. She’d recently arrived from England and had quickly succumbed to the gentle, easy way of life in those foreign climes.

We ambled slowly upwards, intoxicated with the soft, warm, scent-laden night air. Both of us knew what would happen at the summit - it was that kind of a night. The lovemaking seemed to last for ever, everything was slow and dream-like. It was too perfect. Even the harsh sandy earth added its own excitement. On and on we went until…. well …..something, a barely perceptible something, tugged at my back. I ignored it. My pace quickened. But again - a gentle tugging. Onward we plunged. The tugging became irresistible. What the hell was going on? I felt as if I was being lifted bodily from my lover – up I floated. I just had to look round. And there it was. The moon. Dragging its immense weight over the horizon. Huge and blood-red. I came. A string of milk-white beads arched across that heavenly body.

You’ve screwed the moon. Mary yelled.

I gazed at her, stupidly.

She was laughing. From here it looked as though you’d screwed the moon. Que hombre! The man who can make love to the moon’s the man for me.

At least it won’t be you that’s pregnant then, I muttered.

Of course, exactly nine months later she had a baby. We called her Clair. She was beautiful. Silver hair, plump face and a skin as white as ivory. Everybody loved Clair. I did too, but as she grew, I seemed to be the only one who noticed some odd things about her. Like on Sundays she’d be really miserable, but then on Mondays she’d suddenly cheer up and brighten everyone’s life. Then there was her smile. At times she simply couldn’t smile, no matter how happy she seemed. Then, as the days passed, her smile would get broader and broader until it seemed that she was beaming continually. Then, inexplicably, we’d be back to the grim face and the whole thing would start over again.

Being a methodical person, I started keeping a diary, and then I began to see what was happening. Mary didn’t want to know. I became obsessive. Star charts cluttered the house. Everything Clair did and said was noted down in huge diaries and then astronomical data were added from weighty tomes. I could predict the exact position of the moon at any time of the year together with its appearance, whether it was waxing or waning, and when it would rise and set. What I didn’t predict was that Mary would leave - everyone else could see that coming.

But she didn’t take Clair.

I think she must have started to half-believe in my obsession. Maybe she even began to feel a little afraid of the child. Clair and I became even closer. For a time, we were happy together, very happy. Then she went to school.

Children notice things that adults don’t. Within six months they were calling her moony. I don’t know who started it, or how they managed to make the association. It made Clair utterly miserable. All I could think of doing was to keep her away from school. It didn’t help. The damage was done.

One night I lay in bed unable to sleep. It was another hot summer evening, the windows were wide open, vainly lying in wait for a stray cooling breeze. I gazed at the moon. It was in Gemini, elevation 4 degrees, and swiftly moving to a conjunction with Mars. At that time of year, it seemed to perch on top of the very hill where Clair had been conceived. It brought back memories of that night six years ago and I couldn’t help smiling. Then I heard sobbing. It was Clair. I wasn’t surprised. I’d been expecting it. It was Mars you see. Mars and the moon. In conjunction they were. Pretty bad alignment. Always means trouble. Poor kid, she’d had a bad day already. I’d tried to keep her in, but you can’t bolt all the doors and windows at this time of year. Anyway, I’d dozed off in the afternoon, and she’d gone out. And who should she meet but Billy? Typical Arian he is, totally ruled by Mars. I suppose he couldn’t help but start a fight with her, but why did he have to go on and on about her mother leaving us? That incessant chant of You’ve got no mammy. just broke her heart.

I’d been in to see her half a dozen times already. There was nothing more I could do except let her cry herself to sleep.

I must have dozed off. Fallen straight into a dream. Because all of a sudden, the wall started to glow. As I watched, it became whiter and whiter. It pulsated rhythmically, organically, as if it were the beating heart of a gigantic snowman. I was mesmerised. And through the centre of this throbbing whiteness came Clair. Right through the wall! She stood at the bottom of my bed, radiant, magnificent. She smiled, and I felt a joy which only a child’s unselfish love can bring. But as the smile faded, there lingered traces of a sadness that tore at my heart. And then she was gone. All that remained were dancing motes of a luminous dust which settled slowly to the floor.

A door slammed.

I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. And there she was. Dashing up the hill. Leaving a glittering trail as she headed straight for the moon.

Within seconds I was out of the house racing along after her. Everything had a curious solidity and deadness in that bright moonlight, with moon-shadows so clearly etched that it was hard to distinguish substance from shadow. I stumbled on the loose rocks continually, lacerating my feet.

Clair ran on, swiftly.

She reached the summit and stood there, hands outstretched, starkly outlined by that huge white sphere. She seemed transfixed. But then she turned towards me. She smiled.

I yelled at her and ran on. Faster, faster. She began to fade. I threw myself up that hill.

She was the water-skin on a mirror-smooth pond. I ran right through her. And in that moment, that crystal moment, as I clutched at the air like a demented blindman, trying to hug those fleeting traces, she whispered why. And I understood, I really understood. There was no need to worry. Everything was alright.

They found me the next day. On the hill. Alone.

I was singing that old song, Moon River, over and over.

They wanted to know where Clair was. So, I told them.

She’s gone back to her mother. I said. That’s what I told them.

They asked me lots of other things. They don’t anymore.

Mary came once, I think. She doesn’t now.

I think they’ve forgotten about me. In this little room. All by myself.

Still. It’s not so bad.

Once a year, for two weeks, I can see the moon shine through my little window high in the wall.

And I know what the moon is. Shall I tell you?

Shall I tell you about the moon-mother?

"Moon. Moon. Mother moon.

Please take me home. Please take me soon."

Love minus zero

The room seemed vast, and I was alone. Alone, but not afraid. My parents were around somewhere, I must have known that. I remember crawling through a huge doorway. The door hinges creaked as I squeezed through. The room was empty, silent, and quite gloomy. I stopped and looked around.

Tiny specks floated aimlessly in the still sir.

And then a sunbeam flashed in through a window, bouncing off a bright rectangle on the floor.

I crawled towards it, across what seemed to be an enormous distance. The floorboards were rough. They hurt my hands, and I can almost feel them now, even after all those years.

How many boards did I cross? I don’t know.

I couldn’t count. But they seemed to go on for ever.

Many years later, I crossed the equator on some kind of cruise. ‘Crossing the line’ they called it and the phrase resonated somewhere deep inside.

I crossed many a line that fateful afternoon. I’m sure it was fateful. I’m almost certain it’s what started the whole business off. Why else would I remember it so clearly? Anyway, there I was, crawling across the floor towards this strange bright shape. At last, I reached its edge.

I peered over it and there I was - me.

Of course, I didn’t know it was me - not then. But I knew it was someone.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. It stared back.

I reached out a hand to touch this…..being - it felt cold, cold and smooth. I saw it reach out to me and I tried harder to touch it. Tried hard to reach something warm, something soft. But all I felt was the smooth unyielding surface. Cold and slippery.

I talked or, rather, gurgled to my new companion. But it never replied, even though its lips moved.

I smiled and it smiled back.

I felt drawn to this creature, this silent friendly being. I crawled on top of it. Its cold, smooth body was so close. Its eyes staring into mine, so friendly, so trusting. I was so happy.

And then a noise.

Huge hands pulled me away, pulled me away from my new-found twin. I screamed. I was inconsolable. My mother often told me about it - how she found me gurgling happily on top of a mirror. But she didn’t have to remind me - I remembered it perfectly. She said we were moving house that day and she’d been loading the car. She said she always felt guilty at leaving me alone for so long. Anything could have happened to you. She used to say.

And she was right. Mothers always are, aren’t they? Something certainly did happen. I think that’s how it all started. But