Will-o'-the-Wisp

Marta – although I’ve written this thinking of you, you shouldn’t read it right now. *hugs*

by JunoMagic
Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives-ShareAlike license

Will-o’-the-Wisp

You may believe that the oxidation of hydrogen phosphide and methane gases produced by the decay of organic material creates lights that dance over marshes and bogs at dusk and during the night night because that’s what your biology or chemistry teacher told you. Or you may favour the newer theory that such lights may be generated piezoelectrically under a tectonic strain. Or you may use your common sense, and think of random rays of sunlight or moonlight hitting a hidden pool at the right angle. Or just a white owl.

Forget all that.

It’s not true.

The fairy tales got that one right.

Arbyrds, candileja, dwaalichts, hinkypunks, Irrlichter, Jackie Lanterns, Lid̩rc, Martebo, Peg-a-Lanterns, spunkies, virvatuli Рno matter if you call them corpse candles, foxfire or spook light, they are real.

The worst of them are evil wights, delighting in the death and demise of hapless travellers lured away from lonely country roads.

And the best of them are still makers of mischief and mayhem without a shred of responsibility or concern for their fellow creature in their fiery, flickering hearts.

Bill-E-the-wisp could be counted among the latter, mainly because he was still young. At just a one-hundred-twenty-three years, nine months and seven days, he was a mere babe in the woods in terms of fairy creatures. He still had a lot to learn. That was why he was out one night in December 2008, practicing with his brothers and sisters how to sidetrack, delay, divert and generally lead astray.

And that was probably, also the reason why he ended up following that interesting red light that zoomed away into the darkness with a roar. He’d never seen the like before. It was new. It was interesting. So he followed it.

And followed it.

When it was joined by many other red lights rushing towards a distant goal, he was taken aback for a moment. And when many bright yellow lights suddenly came racing towards him, he had to master a moment of confusion.

But Bill-E had talent. He managed to keep sight of ‘his’ red light. Until, all of a sudden, it stopped moving and disappeared.

Bill-E stood stock-still and stared. Where in bog’s name was he?

Far and wide no fen, no marsh or mire. No muskeg, morass, quag or quagmire, no slough, sump, swamp or wetland he could see, hear, smell or taste anywhere in his vicinity. Huge, square mountains loomed above him. The ground was rocky and hard, the vegetation patchy, a few drooping trees and ailing bushes here and there, even weeds were sparse.

But there were lights, many lights. Some of them moved. Some winked and blinked and sparkled. They came in all colours of the rainbow, putting even his great-aunt Bright-Red-Mairi to shame. Others were strangely stationary, unnaturally immobile, remaining frozen into place.

‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ Bill-E muttered. ‘Father Foxfire will box my ears for that and douse my flame. What a bother, bother, bother! How am I going to find back home from here?’

For a while he remained where he was and watched the lights around him, trying to detect directions, perceive patterns. No such luck. The mobile lights all appeared to have a purpose and a destination, but no more than two at a time seemed to share the same direction. How very strange, and frightening.

In the end Bill-E realised that there was only one thing he could do, the most embarrassing and mortifying solution imaginable: he, Bill-E-the-Wisp, had to ask someone for the way.

But Bill-E being Bill-E, once he’d reached that decision, quickly swallowed his pride and approached the first light he found. This one was immobile. It flickered yellow and had one very long, grey leg, no foot and no arms, but a round black hat that was quite fetching.

Bill-E fluttered upwards so he was on light-level with the stranger.

‘Hello,’ he said politely. ‘My name’s Bill-E-the-Wisp. Foxfire is my father, Marfa my mother, and Bright-Red-Mairi my great-aunt. I’m afraid I lost my way, and I must return to the marsh before morning. Could you be so kind and point me into the right direction?’

The street-lamp sputtered. It had been a while since someone had talked to the lamp. Before, the phoenix-man had stopped by faithfully once a week for a chat. But he’d met a woman, and never returned.

‘Please,’ repeated the little wight. ‘Help me! Just a tip would be enough. Show me the first step, I’ll find my way. Mother Marfa says I’ve got real talent.’

The street-lamp flickered, guttered, puffed, and smoked.

‘Oh, thank you,’ cried Bill-E and flew away, following the thin trail of smoke.

He ended on a narrow, dark path. For a while he wondered if he’d made a mistake, but suddenly a new light appeared, flickering red, and accompanied by a whirring sound. It moved off into one direction, and Bill-E followed it happily.

They moved through several chasms between those steep, square mountains, then through a patch of open land with many trees and a hint of water in the air that made Bill-E feel all homesick, before they entered another gorge. At last the light stopped in front of one of those mountains, flashed once more and died.

Bill-E sighed, but he was hopeful – the scent of trees and water from that open patch of land they had just crossed was promising. He must be on the right track.

But, he decided, he’d better ask someone else. Just to be on the safe side.

Looking around, he detected a flickering flame halfway up the mountain. He flew upwards.

What he found, was very strange.

Behind a rectangular, translucent wall with an opening of a mere inches stood a candle and lit a small, square cave. In that cave was a small human, who was breathing heavily and staring at the candle. Bill-E bit down on his lip – he’d meant to talk to the little light. Humans were prey, good for pranks and play, but not for asking the way.

However, this human was different from all the others Bill-E had ever seen before. He was very small for one thing. And very white, almost as pale as Corpse Light Carol. He also – and that was really strange – did not move or make any noise. At all. Although he’d clearly seen Bill-E.

Curiosity overcame caution, and Bill-E slipped through the slit into the cave.

Bill-E stared at the human.

The human stared back.

At last Bill-E remembered his manners and cleared his throat.

‘Hello,’ he said once more. ‘My name’s Bill-E. My father is Foxfire and my mother is Marfa. And my great-aunt is Bright-Red-Mairi. I’m a will-o’-the-wisp. And what are you?’

‘Oh,’ said the boy. ‘I thought you were my angel, come to carry me away. I’ve been waiting, you know. My name’s Jim Scholar and I’ve got cancer. Condition inoperable, and not eligible for experimental treatment.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Bill-E. ‘But I’m no angel. They’re right busy, this time of the year.’

Jimmy sighed. ‘I know. Just two weeks until Christmas.’

Bill-E fluttered closer and settled down on the white, soft mound of fabric where the boy lay. He tilted his head and frowned. He didn’t know much about angels, but if they could carry you someplace, maybe he could make his way home that way.

‘Where did you want that angel to carry you?’

‘Home to heaven, I guess,’ Jimmy wheezed. ‘That’s what the priest told me. That I don’t need to be afraid. That an angel will come and carry me home. Home to heaven.’

‘Oh, what luck!’ cried Bill-E. ‘You see, it’s really embarrassing. I followed a bright red light away from the lake and the marsh, and now I’m lost. And I have to be home by morning. Do you think you’re angel will come soon?’

Jimmy gave the tiniest shrug. ‘Hope so,’ he whispered.

Bill-E thought that he looked as if just that little bit of talking had exhausted him. No wonder that Jim-E wasn’t running around, ready to be led astray if he could barely chat for a bit.

‘So tired,’ Jimmy added. ‘Always tired. And dying’s so boring. And sometimes, it hurts so much.’

Then, almost inaudibly, he mumbled, ‘yes’day Doc said ‘twould be soon. Thought I was asleep. But heard. Mum cried.’

‘Great,’ Bill-E said. ‘Soon is good. Would you mind if I wait with you? You’re not very big, and certainly not heavy. I’m sure the angel will agree to carry me home, too. It wouldn’t be much of a detour for him, I don’t think.’

Jimmy just nodded.

And then they waited.

After a bit of waiting, Bill-E got bored. So he told Jimmy a story about his brothers and sisters, and the games the liked to play, flickering in the fens, sparkling over swamps.

Jimmy smiled, and wheezed a wisp of a laugh.

Then candle on the window sill flickered and went out. Jimmy gasped, but he didn’t seem to have the strength to speak aloud anymore.

‘Oh,’ Bill-E cried. ‘Of course! You’re human, so you’re afraid of the dark! That’s why you follow the lights and allow them to lead you astray into marshes and moors, on lonely country roads.’ He pondered the problem. ‘No marsh to lure you to, and you’re too weak anyway. Hmm, what can I do?’

He wondered if he could light up anyway, just to pass the time until the angel arrived.

He scrunched up his face in a grimace, squeezed his eyes shut, and concentrated on producing a nice wisp-light.

When he opened his eyes again, Bill-E was pleased to find himself surrounded by a globe of pure white light. ‘Wheeee,’ he crowed. ‘It works! Even here! With no marsh and no mischief. Interesting, that.’

Jimmy stared at him with huge eyes. After a long moment he relaxed into his pillow. ‘Thanks,’ he breathed. ‘Don’t like being … alone … in the dark …’

Bill-E smiled, settled down at Jimmy’s feet, and concentrated on maintaining a bright, steady, glow. It was exhausting, he’d never ever kept his light on for such a long time, or sat still even a fraction of that time. But what could he do? Waiting with Jimmy for his angel seemed his best bet to get home before morning. And like all little wisps he knew very well that he had to be home and hidden by morning, or something awful would happen.

He thought of Father Foxfire and Mother Marfa, of great-aunt Bright-Red-Mairi, brother Brownie, sister Spunkie, cousin Candeleja, and Tante Irrlicht. Father Foxfire was going to be sooo furious. And Mother Marfa would be mad at him, too.

But by now, Bill-E just hoped that he would see them again.

Now and again he asked Jimmy nervously if the boy really thought his angel would come soon. But Jimmy didn’t answer anymore, just inhaled a little, exhaled a bit, and wheezed softly.

Thus, the hours passed.

Jimmy stared at Bill-E, and Bill-E stared at Jimmy. And both thought of the angel that would come, and of home.

Abruptly, Jimmy jerked, and pushed himself up on his elbows. ‘There!’ he rasped, his voice louder and clearer than throughout the night. ‘There! Look, the light! My angel! He is here!’

Joy brightened the boy’s face. And suddenly, he was bathed in light.

Never before had Bill-E seen a light that brilliant! He was almost too scared to turn around. But he had to. He wanted to go home to his family. And at the very least, he wanted to be brave, so his family would be proud of him.

So Bill-E turned around.

Oh, the light, the light! The angel bright! Light streamed into the rectangular, translucent opening of this strange, square, human cave. Golden, brilliant, radiant, pure – light flooded towards, flowed around Bill-E, drenched him, drowned him. Warmth filled his heart, bliss, and peace.

Home, Bill-E thought happily. Heaven. How nice!

And then he knew no more.

Song of the day:

Link(s) of the day:

Will o’ the Wisp – solitaire | The Will o’ the Wisp – poem | The Earth’s Anomalous Lightforms

…and my wish for you today is:

That you may never stay alone in dark places, that you will find good guides and faithful friends to accompany you through the darkness, and that in the morning the sun will rise for you bright and warm and golden.

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