Cozy Fantasy Series Story #5 - The Werewolves of Ash Lane

The Werewolves of Ash Lane, and the Night Everyone Danced Whether They Meant to Or Not

This week in Millhaven: The Ashford family buys a plant, Professor Mole learns more about Tam and a small boy starts to sing.

The thing about magic coming back after a thousand years is that it doesn't come back evenly.

This was something Professor Mole documented in his notebooks with increasing urgency. He found the situation fascinating, but also slightly alarming, and he wasn’t sure which feeling was winning.

Magic returned the way water returns to a dry riverbed after rain. It filled the lowest places first, pooling in the corners, finding the channels that had always been there waiting for it. Some people felt it more than others. Some things felt it more than people. And some families, who had spent a long time managing something that was already there, found that what they'd been managing had quietly become more than it used to be.

The Ashford family was one of those families.

They had lived on Ash Lane for six generations. They kept to themselves, but pleasantly. They nodded at their neighbours when they saw them. They paid their bills on time, kept their garden neat, their children tidy and their curtains drawn after dark. No one had ever had cause to complain about the Ashfords. No one had ever had cause to think about the Ashford at all, which was, as it happened, precisely how the Ashfords preferred it.

That was all about to change.

Mrs. Ashford came to Sorrel’s stand on a Thursday with her two children. She was a tall, severe woman in a dark dress. Her daughter, the oldest, trailed closely by her side while her son, Pip, clearly the wild child, looked like electricity bundled in a boy’s body.

“Don’t touch anything,” Mrs. Ashford said.

Sorrel followed Pip from one end of the table to another as he chattered on about everything he saw.

“This one’s pretty. Hey, look, thorns.” He reached out to touch. His mother, knew without looking when her son was about to do something foolish, smacked his hand before he could touch the plant. He charged off again.

Then, he came to a halt in front of a new plant that Sorrel had just put out that morning.

“Ooooh,” he sighed. “Mama, look at this one. Can we get it? Please, Mama? I like the way it smells,” and he took a deep breath.

Sorrel thought he might inhale the whole plant. She hadn’t decided if she liked the smell of the new plant. It reminded her of something, but she couldn’t remember what and the not remembering was frustrating.

Mrs. Ashford came to look at the plant.

“The leaves are the exact shade of your son’s eyes,” Sorrel noted.

“So they are,” Mrs. Ashford said.

“What’s it called?” asked Pip, hands on the table to either side of the pot, standing on tip toes to see over the edge.

“Night bloom,” replied Sorrel.

“Why’s it called that?”

Sorrel shrugged. “Because it blooms at night.”

To her surprise she heard Mrs. Ashford chuckle.

Sorrel tried to catch the daughter’s eye, but she hid behind her mother’s skirt.

“How much?” asked Mrs. Ashford.

Sorrel named a price and Mrs. Ashford paid it and then picked up the pot.

“Can I carry it?” asked Pip, hopping up and down beside his mother.

“No,” Mrs. Ashford replied, winking at Sorrel.

It was Sorrel’s turn to laugh.

Sorrel watched them go. A man met them at the end of the lane, appearing out of the gloom beside the road as if he’d hidden in the bushes there. Then, Sorrel remembered that was where the shortcut through the hedge was.

No other customers waited, so Sorrel took out her notebook. There was another new plant that she wanted to sketch.

“You should make a note of that.”

Sorrel ‘eeked’ at the unexpected voice, but it was just Professor Mole. He’d been hanging around town for several days now and he was always carrying a notebook much like hers, only he used ink and a quill, and Sorrel drew with charcoal.

They had equally dirty fingers.

“Make a note of what?” Sorrel asked.

“That encounter. With Mrs. Ashford.”

Sorrel shook her head. “That was just a nice lady buying a plant for her son.”

Professor Mole stared at her for a moment and then shrugged. “You don’t mind if I do then?”

“Be my guest,” Sorrel replied and went back to her drawing.

 

 

The night it happened was a Thursday three weeks later, which felt like a deliberate choice on the universe's part, though toward what end nobody could say.

It was a full moon, which I’m sure you’ll realize is relevant.

Pip had been taking care of his plant carefully for the past three weeks. When Mr. Ashford had asked why she bought the plant, Mrs. Ashford couldn’t say, other than it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

On this night, Pip had insisted that his mother put his new plant in his window so it could drink in the moonlight. Mrs. Ashford had had a particularly difficult day and didn’t have the energy to argue. Pip dashed out of his room, brought the plant in, and set it carefully on the windowsill. He settled into bed without another peep, which should have alerted Mrs. Ashford, but it being the first night of the full moon, she had other things on her mind.

“Stay inside. Do not, under any circumstance, leave the house,” she said to Pip, as she had every full moon since he was able to walk and understand.

Although perhaps ‘understand’ is an overstatement. Pip didn’t really understand why he wasn’t able to go outside, especially when all he really wanted was to dance in the moonlight. There was something about the moonlight that made him think of music, but as he was only six, he couldn’t explain this feeling at all.

At half past nine, a sound woke him. It was the sound of his window opening. He opened his eyes to see that his plant had unexpectedly sprouted a vine which had wound around the window latch and popped it open.

Pip went to the window with the intent to close it again. He knew the rule. At the open window he heard the moon clearer than he had ever heard it before. Without thinking, he hopped onto the windowsill and then out into the night.

He made it as far as the garden gate before the moon found him.

With what came next, no one ever thought to wonder why the plant opened the window in the first place.

Old Perwick heard it first because he couldn't sleep. He sat by his window bemoaning his bad back and his sister’s lumpy guest bed and a catalogue of other grievances. The sound was somewhere between a howl and a song. He cocked his head, trying to decide which, and before he'd finished deciding, his foot was tapping.

Perwick looked at his foot with profound suspicion.

The sound grew. It filled the spaces in the night, dancing on the air, twirling, spinning, and leaping. It came from the direction of Ash Lane, and it sounded like several voices singing in unison, but Perwick couldn’t be sure. He poked his head out his window. More windows opened down the street.

When Perwick found himself on the street, doing a little jig even though he had never done a jig in his entire life, it turned out he wasn’t the only one moved by the music.

 

Sorrel was in her garden. Some plants, like Night bloom, preferred the night and so she accommodated them. She was on her knees, so absorbed with three new shoots the color of blood, that she didn’t notice the sound until the music settled around her like fog or smoke, but invisible.

She sat back on her heels.

Much like Perwick, Sorrel was not a dancing person. She had nothing against dancing, but she simply had other things to do. To her surprise, she set down her notebook and without consciously deciding to, made her way out of her garden toward Ash Lane. It was only when she found herself at the end of Ash Lane that she realized that’s where the music was coming from.

She was not alone.

A crowd had gathered at the end of the street, in various states of dress and bewilderment. The baker. The Small family, who were not small at all. The constable, in his nightcap, looking like a man who was going to have strong feelings about this as soon as he figured out what this was. Maren was there with Darien. Darien, like the other children, was already dancing with an abandon that made Sorrel’s toes want to tap.

The crowd moved together through the night down Ash Lane, drawn by the sound that wasn't quite music but was more than music, and the night was warm and the moon was full and magic had come back to the world and Sorrel decided there was no reason to stop her toes from tapping. She took Maren’s hand.

“Oh!” Maren said. Then she smiled in response to Sorrel’s wink and the two women danced in the wake of Darien and the other children.

At the end of Ash Lane, in front of the Ashford gate, were the wolves.

A large, dark grey wolf stood tall and formidable, as if protecting the others. Behind it two smaller wolves stood flank to flank. The last was small, just a cub, with golden fur that shone in the moonlight. Unlike the others, the smallest tumbled in the long grass of the verge with an unselfconscious joy that made Sorrel laugh aloud.

The music came from the wolves. The largest wolfs howl was a deep baritone. The others, particularly the cubs who had little actual singing technique, threaded through and around the baritone base.

I’m sure you’re not surprised to find out the song was coming from the Ashfords who were werewolves.

The people of the town didn’t make a big deal out of it at the time. The crowd was too busy dancing along to the music. The Ashfords were too enthralled in the pull of the moon to run. The children were happily dancing, arms out and twirling, too engrossed to notice any tension. Their enthusiasm was contagious and the adults joined in.

Not all at once. The way that water finds its way through a dry riverbed. After the children came the braver, or more accommodating adults, Sorrel, and Maren first. Eventually those who hadn’t danced in years.

Including Perwick.

Tam had not gone out to hear the music.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard it. Being in the stable he couldn’t help but hear it. There was a part of him that wanted to answer the call, but he couldn’t leave the horses.

Instead, he opened the stable door to better hear the music and then he danced through his evening chores.

The small wolf found him twenty minutes later.

He was a bundle of energy, going in several directions at once. He peered into the horse stall. The horses snorted at his scent but didn’t spook. Not even the grey mare, who tended to overreact.

He rolled in Tam’s pile of hay. He followed Tam around the stable and even jumped up against Tam’s leg.

"Hello, Pip," Tam said. It was clear this was the youngest of the Ashford children, even if he was more wolf than child now. "I think your family is probably looking for you."

Pip, now that he was out from under the moon, wasn’t making the music anymore. Tam could still hear the sound from Ash Lane, but the music was missing something. He finished the last of his chores, patted the grey mare on the forehead and stood at the stable door.

“Are you coming?” he asked. Pip, who was pouncing on the hay, turned and dashed to the door.

As they left the stable and came out under the wide sky where the moon still looked down in its bright wonder, Pip felt its pull once again. His small voice twined in with the others filling in the missing notes.

Back at Ash Lane, the large grey wolf was pacing back and forth. When Tam arrived with Pip, there was evident relief in the way the large wolf’s shoulders drooped and it took a moment between notes to lick the small bundle of wolf energy. Before fully returning to the song, the large wolf stepped close to Tam. Tam felt held in place as the wolf stared at him. Then the wolf raised its muzzle and joined into the song. Tam, released from the weight of the creature’s gaze, joined in the dancing in relief.

The music continued, as did the dancing, until the moon slowly settled toward the horizon and behind the trees. When the music wound down, the town stretched, yawned, and went back to bed.

Sorrel decided that her plants could wait until the next day.

The next day, when the Constable arrived at the Ashford house, Mr. Ashford was waiting for him.

“Please don’t punish the others,” he pleaded.

The Constable harrumphed. “Mr. Ashford, the Mayor has asked that you bring your family to the town square at noon.” At the look on Mr. Ashfords face, the constable leaned in a little closer and whispered. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”

Mr. Ashford, who had been planning on how to sneak his family out of town, did a double take at the man’s retreating back. He pulled at his lip and then went into the house, where his wife and children waited.

At noon, after an intense conversation with his wife, Mr. Ashford led his family to the town square. They had decided that a life on the run was no way to raise children. Mr. Ashford would take the punishment.

The whole town had come out and stood silently around the square. When the Ashfords appeared, there was shuffling and murmuring until a walkway appeared. Just enough room for the family to walk through. They felt the eyes of the townspeople upon them as they made their way into the centre.

The mayor stood there with the Constable. Before Mr. Ashford could say anything, the mayor held up his hands and the whispering from the townsfolk died. There was a long pause before the mayor spoke.

“We, the people of Millhaven, have decided to start a new festival, which we will hold each month on the full moon. We will have food and events and, of course, dancing. But only if you, wonderful Ashford family, will sing for us.”

Mr. and Mrs. Ashford exchanged a look.

The Millhaven Moon Festival would soon be known across the land as the best place to go if you wanted to go dancing.

Professor Mole was, for the first time in his life, unhappy to learn that he had slept through the night. He awoke the next morning, well rested as always. Night was one of the few times that his brain took a break.

On the way to the dining room for breakfast, he heard more than the usual number of people whispering and muttering among themselves.

“You missed quite the party last night,” the barmaid mentioned as she poured his coffee.

“I’m not much for parties,” Professor Mole replied.

“Maybe not, but I thought you would be more than interested in Werewolves.”

After a moment of goggling, the professor raced back to his room to get his notebooks. It would take him most of the next month to write down the stories of the townsfolk who had been at the Ashford house the night before.

Sorrel was one of the last people Professor Mole got around to speaking with. She told him the whole story, but there was one point he was particularly interested in.

“You say Tam brought Pip back to the party?”

“Oh, yes,” Sorrel replied. “I noticed because that child is so rambunctious, but he walked so quietly beside Tam. Then he started to sing again and even though he doesn’t yet know HOW to sing, his voice pairs so well with his family’s that we just had to dance even more.”

Professor Mole wrote furiously in his notebook. Sorrel saw that he had underlined Tam’s name in several places.

When he finished writing, Professor Mole put his pen down and sighed. “I’m so sorry to have missed it.”

“Why don’t you just wait until you can experience it yourself?” Sorrel asked. “There will be another Full Moon Festival this month.” At the man’s look, Sorrel patted his hand. “Didn’t you know that we’re having one each month now?”

Professor Mole raised his bushy eyebrows and grabbed up his pen. “I never thought of that,” he said.

It turns out, the good professor was learning about more than just returning magic.