A Full Moon Rises Before Night Fall

"SYBIL." 

The girl startled as Cecily grabbed her arm. Snapping out of her trance, she gasped for air as she looked between the two. Bertram was still there, though Cecily was oblivious to him. She always was. Mother said she simply didn't have their gift, as occasionally happened throughout the generations, but sometimes Sybil felt she was so oblivious that it must be an active attempt to ignore them. 

Despite knowing that, Sybil was still surprised by the lack of acknowledgment. If there was any spirit Cecily might have seen, Sybil would have assumed it was Bertram. The Wardwell family was known for twins, triplets - even quadruplets - and Mother said they were more connected than most. That seemed to hold true for Ely and Madge, the youngest of the family. But beyond both being sticks in the mud, there seemed to be no connection between the elder twins. Something that seemed to continue after death.

Or perhaps they simply pretend there wasn't. Sybil wasn't quite sure.

"Stop standing around and wasting the day," Cecily scolded. "There are chores to be done. You're meant to be fetching eggs, are you not?"

"Barney asked for a shovel -" Sybil started.

"I don't see a shovel."

Sybil took a deep breath. That was true. But the shovels - extra ones they'd stored up because someone kept breaking them beyond repair - were on the other side of Bertram. Which meant she would have to go around him. Yet, with Cecily staring hard at her back, Sybil scurried across the room. She avoided staring too long at the spirit nearby. If she didn't look at him, it meant she could pretend she couldn't hear him, and if neither happened that meant he practically wasn't there. 

That didn't change the chill, however. The wave of feeling that filled the room whenever spirits where around, visible or not. Most often it was negative. Sadness and fear, the feelings that were felt as they died. Perhaps some died happy. Surrounded by their family, knowing they'd put good in the world. But they didn't have reason to stick around. They simply moved on. 

Bertram was, perhaps, the worst of them. A constant, smothering feeling of shame, fear, and frustration. Sybil found herself naturally moving in an arc around him. She couldn't go far, but the little distance she could put between them was a bit of relief. 

Sybil didn't put that much care into getting back out. She fled the second the shovel was in her hand. 

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MIRON WARDWELL WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO DIE. Metaphorically speaking. He and the younger twins had been stuck with the selling of goods. Mostly eggs and baked goods Cecily was recently obsessed with making, to the point they'd all bloat and die if they were the only ones eating them. Ely and Madge were supposed to help. Little baskets of treats, light enough they could carry them and without fragile things they could drop and break, but that seemed to be too hard for them. Instead they dumped their things on top of the crate Miron carried and skipped off to join their friends.

If it was any other situation, Miron might have approved. Let them have their fun. If Barney and Cecily had their way, the two would be little adults by the time they turned ten. Right now? When he was sweating through his clothes and practically dehydrated? Miron was likely to complain if the two hadn't already disappeared. 

Finally - finally - the right booth appeared around the wall of objects. Miron took exactly a second to check he wasn't crushing anything before dropping his boxes. He leaned around the tower and grinned at the woman across the booth from him. Ms.McMillian was a widow, who's children seemed to ignore her completely. Meanwhile, the Wardwells were children - Barney the eldest at twenty-two, admittedly not a child - without parents.  Combined they seemed to make a rather good team. The worked and received most of the money while Ms.McMillian, who struggled to produce anything sellable, took what she needed for herself. 

"And this," Miron passed a small jar of preserves separately. "Is for you. Cecily thought you would like it." 

"She is dear, isn't she?" Ms.McMillian cooed as she took the jar. "Though you ought to keep an eye on those girls of yours."

"Ely and Madge?"

The answer came not from Ms.McMillian, but a faint song coming from down the way. Miron turned. A group of young children danced in a circle, Constance Berman in the center. 

"Pastor Miller, blind as a bat! Pastor Miller, blind as a bat!" The children sang. "Tried to read the Bible and his eyes went splat!" 

"Oh, but I see you..." Pastor Miller replied, standing from the horse's hoof he was cleaning to lunge at the children. "I've got eyes in the back of my head!"

All but Constance ran away screaming. She and the pastor just laughed.  Though Abigail appeared to drag her off seconds later, scolding her all the way, Pastor Miller was hardly offended. More like everyone was offended on his behalf. He liked teasing the children as much as they liked teasing him. 

"They take too much after you, I'm afraid," Ms.McMillian tsked and shook her head. "You and that brother of yours. Shame. Thought he was one of the good ones."

Miron inhaled sharply. That Brother of Yours. Half a month after his death and Bertram hardly didn't have a name. That brother of yours, they said, maybe throw in mad if they weren't interested in being sympathetic. It was funny. Before they called him pious. A good Christian, why couldn't Miron be more like him? Then he turned at a town meeting covered in his own blood and accusing them all of sin, deeming them all hopeless and worthy of destruction. Then he killed himself a day later. Then they saw what the Wardwell's had seen since their parents' deaths. Then he was mad. 

"Good day to you, Ms.McMillian," Miron said. He did his best not to sound irritated. 

Now it was to find Ely and Madge. They were likely hanging around to see when it was safe to come out. Waiting to see if the other children were in trouble, hoping to avoid anyone who might punish them. It wouldn't be too hard to find them. 

Sarah Fier passed at the time. A bag was slug over her shoulder, and a piglet tucked under her arms.

"You aren't planning to eat that little thing, are you, Sarah Fier?" Miron teased. 

"I am not," Sarah scoffed. Then, with a smirk, she added, "A full moon rises before nightfall."

Miron laughed. The lot of them, too old to be considered children but still under their parents control, had codes to avoid the elders' judgement. Most of them were simple and unoffensive, unless to the easily offended, used to feel a little clever. It felt good to feel like you were keeping secrets. To feel cleverer than those around you. This, however, was certainly something that needed hidden - a gathering in the woods. With dancing. And hallucinogenic berries Lizzie Schmidt got from the Hag. And fires. All things that would get them tried as sinners at best, and witches at worst. 

"Good night to enjoy the fruits of the land," Miron replied. The proper response to say I'll be there.

"What does that mean?" A little voice asked from behind them. Miron rolled his eyes and turned to see Ely and Madge standing behind him. Ely asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Yes, tell us," Madge complained. 

"I could," Miron crouched down in front of the two. "But then the boogyman would come and chew off your toes."

The girls squealed, too young to realize how stupid that sounded. Miron laughed and grabbed their hands, leading them back towards the house. They might complain to Barney and Cecily later, and he would get lectured for scaring them, but it would be for something Miron wouldn't get too in trouble for.

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THE WOODS WERE LIKE A SECOND HOME. Interwoven into Sybil's being, singing their silent song in her bones. As soon as she left Union proper and entered it's arms, she could feel in envelope her. The energy of the foliage. The warmth of the sun high above on the trees' leaves, funneling through their branches to form strength. Grass tickled her bare feet. There were scars were she'd scratched her feet against branches and bramble, but by now Sybil had learned to avoid them without a thought. Her hair hung around her shoulders, tangled from the wind and branches. Mud stained the hem of her dress, something most people seemed to miss unless they were looking for something to scold her for. It wasn't proper. But it was free. It was the woods. And she was part of it.

At least it usually was. Something seemed off now. A faint different, slight darkness hidden among the usual warmth. Sybil didn't understand it. It seemed to slip out of her fingers whenever she reached for it. Almost as if it was trying to avoid her.

The first actual sign was the berry bushes Sybil was searching for. Black raspberries, which grew in large quantities throughout the woods, always healthy. Sybil was able to find them with ease. There wasn't even a trick to it. Many still where. Yet nearly half the bushes she came to were dead. Berries hung shriveled on the branches and scattered the ground. The leaves were a sickly yellow, wrinkled and torn at the edges. When she lifted them carefully, the squished in her fingers with the slightest pressure. A strange slime, which Sybil didn't risk touching, coated the branches and leaves. 

All of which Sybil reported when she returned home. Barney studied the basket of rotten berries, half crushed in the attempt to collected them, as she talked. 

"Nothing has been said about farming troubles," Barney said. "Was it only these berries?"

"Perhaps, but -" Sybil started.

"It is illness, then. It shouldn't trouble Union."

Sybil frowned. She wished she could say she believed that. Yet it seemed like something bigger. Just a hint of something to come. 

The Devil has come to Union, Bertram had warned. The Devil has come for you all, and you will welcome him with open arms. Sybil pushed the thought from her mind. Yes, Mother had believe him sensitive, if he thought to cultivate it, but he wasn't some prophet, or even a witch. he was sick. From the corner of her eye, she could see him waiting by the table. He looked more normal now. No longer bloodied, if as pale and drawn as he'd always been. And suddenly, even knowing his words had no bases, Sybil couldn't help but fear them. 

Barney sighed. He seemed to have picked up on her reluctance, as he said, "I know you think you know better, Sybil, and you are a clever young girl. But things have been hard, and you are only a child. It is likely you worry over nothing." 

"It is likely..." Sybil said slowly.

Even if she didn't believe it. There were times, she had learned, that it was just best to let Barney believe he was right. He might humor her, but it was rare that he truly listened to her words. 

"He takes after your father," Mother had assured, when Sybil had complained to her once, "They believe in nothing but what they can hold in their hands. Hardly God, certainly not us. It is best to let them be as they are comfortable." 

It was why their parents had gotten along so well, Sybil supposed. They did not agree often or on much, but they did agree on one thing - to let each other be as they were. Something the people of Union seemed to have trouble with. Perhaps not to the lengths that Mother and Father had been, Sybil had to admit they took it to an extreme, but at times it was unseemly how much people stuck their nose into things. 

Perhaps that was what Sybil was doing. She tried to think through it that way. It made it easier to accept there was nothing she could do to change it. 

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SNEAKING OUT WASN'T HARD. Ely and Madge went to sleep soon after dinner. They awoke early and went to sleep before the rest, the strange childhood sleep schedule the rest of them had grown out of. The others took a little longer. Yet once they were asleep, they were near impossible to wake. Miron lay awake for awhile until the darkness hid the fact he wasn't sleeping, then slipped out. He had memorized the way through Union. A lantern wasn't even necessary - which was good, given the fact it would have given he away in seconds.

They met at the edge of Union and the woods. There was Lizzie and Sarah. Lizzie was a typical person to go. She seemed to know berries almost as well as Sybil did - except she specialized in those you weren't meant to eat. Sarah was another one expected. Who surprised Miron was Hannah Miller - the pastor's daughter. 

Perfect little Hannah Miller. Sneaking off into the wood for debauchery. What a world. 

"The berries make you see the world beyond our own. Just one bite," Lizzie explained as the walked, the only light the lantern in her hand. 

"What does an old lady need with that?" Sarah asked.

"What do you think?" Miron scoffed. "The elderly might want to see the world beyond themselves, you know." 

"She's not just an old lady," Lizzie corrected. "The Widow's a thousand years old. She drinks the blood of virgins to keep her youth." 

"Well, you're safe, then," Sarah quipped. 

The four chuckled. Yes, though her parents would cry to hear it, Lizzie was not a virgin. Nor were many of the women in human. The only people who believed it so where the older generations, who seemed to forget their own rebellious youth in favor of believing sin was a new invention. Perhaps Miron should have felt shame for thinking and dismissing the idea so freely. But wasn't it the Bible's own words that said for only the pure to throw stones, and were they not all impure with their own sins? If it was God's will they be judged, then he would do it himself, not through Miron Wardwell of tiny Union. 

"She sacrificed her husband to become the Devil's bride," Lizzie said. "That's how she gained eternal life."

"But not eternal youth?" Miron asked. "What deal is eternal life without enteral youth? You would rot into dust and have to live like that forever." 

"Deals with the devil always have a price," Lizzie said with a wink.

"Well, I heard she kept the company of the natives, and that she fell in love with one. That's why she was exiled," Sarah said. "She learned their medicine, too. Solomon told me. He took his wife to her after they lost their child, but...it was too late." 

"Well, if Solomon told you," Miron teased. 

But there wasn't any particular bite to his words. They all had heard of Solomon Goode. The Goodes were a prominent family in Union. But when his wife and child died in a wave of illness, the same illness that took the Wardwell's parents years later, he'd left the settlement to make a farm for himself. It went terribly. Now he was functionally outcasted. The Goodes waited for him to come home, but they wouldn't go after him if he didn't. He was sad man.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Hannah asked, coming to a stop. "How do you know here we're going?" 

"I've been there before. Remember when Abigail had her ring of fire?" Lizzie said. 

The girls chuckled, as Miron looked between them, confused. 

"She was scratching like a dog during Father's sermon," Hannah said. "Mother told me she'd lain with a demon. The Devil's gift." 

"More like Mad Thomas's gift," Sarah replied. 

"Well, whoever she lay with, Abbi made me go to the widow with her."

"And the Widow fixed her with witchcraft?" Hannah asked.

"Yes, witchcraft," Lizzie said with a smirk. "And some foul-smelling paste made for whores like Abbi Berman."

Soon they arrived at the Widow's house. It was an eery little shack. Somehow not as. bad as Miron had expected. When Lizzie pushed aside the flap at the entrance, they found themselves in a cluttered little hovel. Poorly made shelves held wild things that had been collected from the surrounding woods. Rabbits fur and feet, various plants hung up and drying, sticks tied in odd configurations. A fire burnt in the center. 

"Widow Mary?" Lizzie called.

No one responded. No one but a crow's caw.

"She's not here," Lizzie decided. "Fine the berries."

They split up to search the building. It seemed to grow more and more weird as they looked. Symbols carved into wood. Hung bones with notches on them. A vile of red stuff that could be either runny jam or blood. 

Lizzie found the berries. Meanwhile, Sarah found the Widow. 

"Get out," the woman said. Her voice started out softly, before rising with each repetition. Soon, she was screeching at them. "Get out! Get out!"

The four did just that, fleeing into the night. Miron yelped as she reached out to grab him, dirty nails raking his sleeve and nearly catching his skin. But soon enough they were safe and laughing wildly as they ran through the woods. 

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SYBIL DIDN'T KNOW WHERE HER BROTHER HAD GONE OFF TO. She'd seen him leave into the night. At first she meant to ignore it. Pretend she hadn't sene, perhaps confront him when he returned later in the night. But nerves had gotten the better of her. Nerves and the feeling of danger. Soon she had slipped out as well and into the woods. 

Even in the dark, she made her way through the woods. At first by memory and the feelings that drew her. Then by something else. The faint sound of laughter. Flickering lights that could only come from fire bits and langurs. The sound of music. Perhaps a sign of spirits, Sybil thought, if not for the fact that their sounds were never that bright and cheerful. So instead it was a clear sign of life. Or so she could assume.

And that assumption prove correct. Sybil came into a clearing. In it was a scattering of lights, surrounded by young men and women. Some danced and laughed, chatting louder than they'd ever be allowed. A couple was even...kissing passionately. Sybil wrinkled her nose and stepped away from them. They looked like they were attempted to chew off each other's faces, slobbering all the while. Sinful, Bertram's voice echoed in her ears, but she simply found the act distasteful in its own right.

"Miron?" Sybil called. "Miron? Miron?" 

She found him by the fire, talking with one of the girls. They seemed close until Sybil came up behind him and yanked a fistful of his hair. Miron yelped and scrambled to his feet as the girl burst into a fit of giggles at the show. 

"Sybil?" Miron squinted through the darkness at her. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Sybil said. "It isn't safe out here. Not at night."

"Which is why you're here?"

"I know these woods. You don't. You could be-"

A yelp cut Sybil's warning short. The sound sent everyone stumbling from the stop it came from in surprise. She turned to see Hannah Miller had danced right into Caleb. He caught her by the arms and pulled her closer to himself, even as she struggled in his grasp. 

"Come to the woods with me," Caleb slurred into her face.

"Entertain yourself with someone else," Hannah said, turning to leave.

But Caleb wouldn't let her go. He spun her back and tugged at the laces on her shirt, muttering about her teasing him. Sybil started towards the two. No one else had noticed, and perhaps he'd let her go if he realized he was being watched. But she was too far. Instead Hannah was saved by Sarah Fier, who shoved Caleb hard away from her.

"She's not teasing!" Sarah shouted, bringing attention to the three, which quickly flittered away.

"What are you, jealous? Sarah Fier, you want a kiss, too?" Caleb said.

"Of you?" Sybil interrupted. The three turned, surprised to see her appear from the darkness. "I doubt it." 

"Right," Caleb scoffed. He leaned towards Sarah. "you know, maybe if you weren't such a frigid bitch -"

He was cut short by Sarah slapping him. Now people where turning towards them in full force, not just the slight glances from before. Hannah and Sybil where forgotten. All eyes were on Sarah and Caleb, people giggling at the excitement unfolding. 

"There's your kiss. And if you're still so eager," Sarah motioned to his pants, "I'm sure there's a mule tied up who will over look your flaws in the dark." 

Caleb looked down at himself as others began to laugh. he yanked his shirt down to cover himself and fled. Seconds later, Miron caught Sybil and hurried her off. Things, he decided, where getting a little much for the girl, and the had a long walk to get home. The last thing they needed was Barney - or worse, Cecily - waking up and finding them missing. 

A movement caught Sybil's attention as they slipped back into the house. Bertram. Standing by the door way. Whispering prayers only he could hear. She pressed herself into bed and tried to sleep. The best she could manage was closing her eyes and pretending.