Once Upon an Autumn: Once Upon a..., #4

Copyright Information

Copyright Information

Copyright © 2024 to each anthology author and licensed by Macfarlane Lantern Publishing

All rights reserved.

Published by Macfarlane Lantern Publishing, 2024

Glasgow, Scotland

No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

Cover Art Copyright © 2024 Hayley Louise Macfarlane

Dedication

For everyone who really needs a good book and a hot drink

Editor's Note

PLEASE NOTE: The formatting in Once Upon an Autumn follows Macfarlane Lantern Publishing’s house style. However, in order to preserve the voice of each contributor in the anthology, the version of English the individual authors chose to write in has not been changed. As such some discrepancies in spelling, punctuation and language between stories should be expected.

Epigraph

Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns

Bring Autumn’s pleasant weather;

The moorcock springs on whirring wings

Amang the blooming heather:

Now waving grain, wide o'r the plain,

Delights the weary farmer;

And the moon shines bright, as I rove by night,

To muse upon my charmer.

Composed in August (Robert Burns; 1783)

Foreword

Foreword

H. L. Macfarlane

Autumn, or Fall, heralds the death of all things. But that is not a bad thing. Nothing can grow without death. We cannot grow without death – the death of our loved ones, the death of who we used to be, the death of ideas abandoned for new ones.

Perhaps this is why autumn is so synonymous with celebration instead of sadness. We celebrate the harvest so that it might get us through to spring alive and well, yes, but we honour the dead first and foremost. Samhain, All Hallow’s Eve, All Saint’s Day, Day of the Dead, and countless more. All in the name of those we’ve loved and lost, and to remind us that though we are mortal, if we are remembered we never truly die.

It is in this way that autumn, dear reader, is the spark that ignites so many stories. Werewolves and witches and wickedness. Sunsets and songs and soulmates.

Promises made in life doomed to be broken in death…or the other way around.

This anthology, as with its predecessors, contains a little bit of everything. What better way to celebrate our cycle of folk & fairy tales than to repeat and build on what came before it?

It has been an honour working on Once Upon an Autumn. I hope that you, dear reader, love each and every story as much as everyone involved loved bringing them to life.

The Network

The Network

Katherine Shaw

Lungs burning, heart hammering in her chest, Abigail pressed her back against the wooden fence, her already aching feet grateful for the moment of respite. Straining her ears, she listened out for more gunshots, but could hear nothing above her own heavy breathing.

She looked down at her hands, where she clutched a small sack of root vegetables with cracked and dirty fingers. Only sixteen, and she already had the hands of an old woman.

A howl rang out behind her, and Abigail’s heart leapt into her throat. That shithead farmer had set the dogs on her! And for what? Stealing a handful of food he wouldn’t even miss just so she could survive the rest of the week?

It wasn’t fair.

A second howl erupted, closer this time. There was no more time to waste – she had to get out of there, and fast.

Abigail took a deep breath and sprinted forward, her tight leg muscles already protesting at the forced movement. She took random turns down farm tracks and country lanes, the encroaching dusk making it harder and harder to discern which direction she was running in. Barks and growls followed every step of the way, sending panic rising up Abigail’s body until tears were streaming down her face. Farmer Kotter had the biggest farm in the village, which made it ripe for stealing from, but his hounds were renowned for their savagery, great hulking beasts whose primary function was to frighten off intruders. And if that didn’t work, they tore them apart.

Finally, farmland gave way to woodland, dry fallen leaves crunching under Abigail’s feet as she raced behind the nearest tree – a thick-trunked oak she could use for cover while she caught her breath. She slumped behind it, bent over with her hands on her knees, gulping for air. Each breath stung like razor wire was being dragged down her throat, and her thin legs trembled under her weight. Abigail hadn’t eaten a scrap of food in days; her body was in no state for this level of physical activity.

After several minutes of laboured breathing and some uncomfortable retching, Abigail stood up straight and dared to peer out from behind the oak tree. Night was closing in earlier now that autumn was here, and despite most of the branches being half-bare, it was impossible to see further into the woods than the next couple of rows of trees. She wouldn’t know if the dogs had caught up to her until they were already on her. The thought almost made her retch again.

Abigail worked to smooth her ragged breathing and listened. Leaves rustled across the ground in the breeze that was picking up now night was falling, and somewhere in the trees a pair of blackbirds sang to each other. But underneath that, if she really concentrated, Abigail could hear something else, something that turned her blood to ice. The unmistakable snuffling of a sniffer dog on the hunt.

The hounds had found her scent, and they were close.

Adrenaline flooded Abigail’s body and she bolted, all sense leaving her as she hurled herself deeper into the woods. Twigs, leaves and underbrush crunched beneath her feet, the flurry of sound almost immediately answered by the baying of two ferocious canines hot on her trail.

In her haste, she considered dropping the sack of vegetables, but what would be the point? It wouldn’t sate the dogs’ thirst for blood, and she wouldn’t survive much longer without the nourishment. Either way, she was dead if her luck didn’t change very soon.

Abigail zigzagged between tree trunks and leapt over fallen branches, terror the only thing fuelling her dilapidated body. She threw herself between two huge rowan trees with low-hanging branches, wincing as bunches of plump scarlet berries caught in her unkempt curly hair and dragged at her scalp. She lurched forwards, but skidded to a halt as a familiar but dreadful sight came into view.

A fairy ring.

A perfect circle of ghostly white mushrooms sprinkled with red-brown spots, daring Abigail to step inside and suffer the consequences.

Superstition wasn’t a strong enough word for how the people of Abigail’s village felt about such things – it was a healthy respect for a very real danger. All her life she had been warned not to reveal her true name to strange folk, to always refuse food or drink she hadn’t seen being prepared herself, and to never, ever enter a fairy ring.

Today, however, she didn’t have much of a choice.

Low growls sounded from behind her, turning her insides to water. She turned slowly and locked eyes with a hulking bullmastiff, its snarling lips pulled back to bare large, sharp teeth.

The dog looked to weigh as much as Abigail – likely even more – and she had no doubt that it could easily overpower her emaciated frame and tear her limb from limb.

It crouched, preparing to lunge, and Abigail’s decision was made for her.

She stepped back, and as soon as both feet hit the ground, everything changed.

***

Blackness, in every direction. And a damp, earthy odour that seemed to come from all around.

And… was she moving?

It was difficult to tell without a visible focal point, but Abigail felt like she was being pulled forwards, transported against her will at tremendous speed. Having grown up poor, she had never so much as ridden a horse, and her body reacted strangely to the quick movement. Her stomach roiled and she grew light-headed. She tried to take a deep breath, but nothing happened. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t draw any air into her lungs. Panic stirred in her chest, and yet a niggle of curiosity tugged at the back of her mind.

If she couldn’t breathe, how was she still conscious?

Unless…

Abigail pinched her arm, and felt the sharp sting of pain. So, she wasn’t dreaming and hadn’t passed out. This – whatever this was – was really happening.

Wait, where was the sack of vegetables? Though she could see nothing, both hands felt empty. Had she dropped it, after everything she had gone through to get those damn things? The prospect was galling.

Before she had time to dwell on her situation further, Abigail was propelled into a new one entirely.

The movement stopped, and she stumbled forward, landing hard on her knees. Only… it wasn’t hard. Abigail placed her palms on the ground around her, and it felt like nothing she had experienced before. Softer than dirt paths, stone steps and wooden floors, but firmer than wet mud or dry sand. She sat back and crossed her legs, and ran her fingers along the unfamiliar ground. It was dark, and strangely fibrous, as if it was made of thousands of separate strands.

Abigail raised her head, eyes widening at the alien surroundings.

Though she was shrouded in darkness, Abigail could make out that she was in the entrance to some sort of cavern. There were no openings to the outside world, but a faint green glow illuminated the space just enough to make out some of its features. Before Abigail stretched a vast, empty floor made out of this odd, fibrous material, the strands crossing over and under each other almost like the roots of some great plant. The edges of the space were shrouded in shadow, but as Abigail craned her neck upwards, she saw huge webs and fronds of the unusual fibres, connecting wall to ceiling and criss-crossing above her in fantastic hanging arrays. Green light rippled through them at seemingly random intervals, making Abigail think of mice scurrying through pipes.

She rose and turned, expecting to see some sort of tunnel or pathway that had brought her to this bizarre place, but there was just another wall of dark fibres. She walked up to it, stepping carefully as she got used to the spongy texture beneath her feet. Unlike the floor, the fibrous surface was not flawlessly interwoven. Instead, there was a circular area at waist-height made up of hundreds of smaller circles. Close up, they looked almost like cut flower stems. Unable to stifle her curiosity, Abigail brushed her fingers over them, recoiling at the unexpected silkiness. It was a sensation that on a soft pillow or a fine gown would be pleasing, but in this dark, surreal environment was deeply unsettling.

Turning back to face the cavern, Abigail’s gaze swept over the area once again, searching for anything resembling an exit. As grateful as she was for being spared the wrath of Farmer Kotter’s vengeful hound, this place did not feel like somewhere she wanted to linger in for very long.

The hound.

Abigail spun around again, panic threatening to return. She held her breath and listened for any sign that she was being followed. Nothing. Perhaps the dogs had also been trained to keep out of fairy rings, and – unlike Abigail – they had heeded the warnings.

She didn’t belong there – didn’t know if she could even survive there for very long – and needed to find a way out. The darkness was thickest at the far end of the chamber, so that seemed to Abigail to be the most sensible source of an escape. She straightened her back, took a deep breath, and strode forwards, into the unknown.

***

The gloom enveloped Abigail as she crept to the end of the mysterious cavern. Small flashes of light erupted in the darkness all around her, but didn’t penetrate the shadows enough to illuminate the path forward.

She walked, feet sinking into the springy ground, her steps unpredictable and awkward. Moisture hung in the air, clinging to her hair and settling on her skin. Whether she was walking down a passage or another open space, Abigail couldn’t tell, and the uncertainty twisted her stomach.

A warm breeze brushed Abigail’s face, and she stilled. The air seemed to slither across her cheek like a gentle caress, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

Wh-who’s there? she said into the gloom, cringing at the quiver in her voice. She turned on the spot, staring into the shadows; the lights continued to flicker, green and white flashes seeming to travel up and down whatever walls held Abigail in this place. Is anyone—?

A noise emanated from the blackness, a croaking moan that made Abigail’s blood run cold.

Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh…

She froze. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once, the vibrations running under Abigail’s feet and trembling through the air around her. It set her heart pounding, but she couldn’t move, rooted to the floor with fear.

Eeeeeeehhhhhh…

A second, higher-pitched groan broke the spell, and she bolted.

Abigail sprinted, blindly plunging into the darkness ahead. Fear drove her onwards, fuelling her aching feet until she could barely lift them anymore. A raised fibre protruding from the ground snagged her flimsy shoe, sending Abigail tumbling forward so she landed hard on her bony elbows.

Ow! The shriek tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it, echoing around her surroundings until it seemed as if the walls were screaming back at her. If someone – or something – was looking for Abigail, they certainly knew where she was now.

Easing back onto her knees, Abigail rubbed her throbbing elbows and looked around. The shadows were a little thinner here, revealing more of the luminescent webbed material growing from wall to ceiling. And there was something else Abigail noticed as her gaze swept over the ground around her – something that she did not expect.

A river.

A slow-moving channel of water ran alongside the edge of the passageway to Abigail’s left. She crept towards it, eyes darting around for any sign of movement. In truth, she wasn’t sure what she was looking for – this place was like nothing she had ever imagined, and Abigail couldn’t fathom what creatures or people might dwell in the shadows – but there was comfort in vigilance.

Abigail peered over the edge of what, up-close, appeared to be a narrow stream. The water was crystal clear, reflecting Abigail’s face perfectly in the luminescent glow around her. It was a while since she had seen herself, and her stomach dropped when she saw how gaunt and scruffy she looked. This coming winter would mark three years since Abigail had lost both her parents, and the bright-eyed, mischievous girl she used to be was long gone, replaced by a skeletal waif she barely recognised.

Blinking away the hot tears threatening to burst free, Abigail tried to focus on the water. It looked cleaner than any river or stream she had seen around the farmland she called home. In fact, it was bizarrely clean, devoid of any plant or animal life whatsoever, the riverbed made up of more of the strange material that this entire place was constructed from. Abigail licked her dry lips as she gazed into the water, only now realising how thirsty she was. How long had it been since she had a good drink? Farmer Kotter had moved his water butts closer to the farmhouse since he caught her drinking from them, so it had been shallow streams and dirty puddles for the last couple of months, and it was never enough.

Unable to deny her thirst any longer, Abigail plunged her hand into the stream and scooped up some of the sparkling water. The cool liquid had barely touched her lips when another creaking shriek sounded out behind her.

Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh! Eeeeeeeh!

Abigail spun around, heart racing. The passage appeared to be empty: the same glowing tendrils criss-crossing the walls and ceilings, the same sprawling, fibrous ground.

Something grabbed Abigail from behind, and a shock of cold struck her as she fell backwards into the flowing water, knocking the breath out of her lungs. The second her full body was submerged, the current grew stronger, and Abigail was washed downstream.

Water flooded her eyes, ears and nostrils as she fought against the flow, kicking and scrabbling until her face finally burst through the surface and she could breathe again. Abigail lay on her back, exhausted but alive – for now, at least.

Drained of all energy from her fight against the current, Abigail let the stream carry her. She floated on her back, straining just to keep her eyes open, and watched the glowing lights on the ceiling dart across her vision.

Tiredness seeped into Abigail’s bones, wrapping her in a cocoon of numbness. The adrenaline from her narrow escape and her tumble into this strange, new place was long gone. The sound of rushing water warped and shifted in her ears, morphing into something akin to a melody. Discordant notes penetrated Abigail’s consciousness, lulling her into a reluctant drowsiness. Her eyelids grew heavier, and she blinked rapidly, urging herself to stay alert.

She couldn’t fall asleep, not here.

The lights danced on the ceiling, swimming in and out of view until they coalesced. Monstrous luminescent faces formed before Abigail’s eyes, staring down at her with gaping maws. They seemed to be wailing something at her, but their cries were lost in the song of the current. Abigail tried to decipher their words, but the numbness was spreading. Her head was full of cotton, her eyelids made of lead. She couldn’t hold on any longer, and as the faces screamed their protestations, Abigail slipped into oblivion.

***

Drip, drip, drip.

A cold splash struck Abigail’s forehead. She wrinkled her face and blinked her eyes open. The ceiling was above her again, the lights now benignly glowing with no apparent shapes or messages, but what really struck Abigail was the hardness beneath her body.

She sat upright and ran her hands over the ground. Sure enough, she was on dry land. She grabbed at her dress, and was astounded to find it equally free of moisture. Except for the hem, which was still damp… or was it?

Abigail leaned forward, squinting to see in the gloom. The edge of her dress – which had been wet a moment ago – was already almost dry, as if the moisture was being sucked out of the fabric. She wriggled her toes, feeling the familiar discomfort of soggy shoes and socks. Since losing her parents, Abigail had had to make her clothes last as long as possible before scavenging new ones, and these old, cracked boots had long-since lost their waterproofing. Summer was over, and as autumn once again rolled in, she had grown used to perpetually damp feet. But as Abigail rocked her feet back and forth on the ground, she felt a new – and very welcome – sensation.

Dry toes!

Then dry soles, and then dry heels. It was as if the moisture was being siphoned from Abigail’s body directly into the ground. Within moments, it was as if she had never touched a drop of the stream’s fast-flowing water. She rose to her feet and, in the glow of the moving lights, could just make out the shrinking patch of wet ground where her body had been. Although she was glad to be dry again, knowing some unknown entity had sucked every drop of moisture out of her clothes, from her skin, her hair… It sent a shiver down Abigail’s spine.

She raised her head, dismay rocking her as she took in an another dark cavern, almost identical to the one she had started in. What sort of hideous maze was this place? Dread prickled the back of her neck. What if she was trapped? Doomed to wander this dark, dank labyrinth until she succumbed to either starvation or madness – whichever came first? The thought was almost too much for Abigail to bear.

No. Abigail had been a smart kid before everything went wrong, and since then she’d learned to survive on her own. If she could keep herself alive despite the wind, rain, and savage farm dogs, she could figure out how to escape this fairy trap.

Taking a deep breath, Abigail reassessed her situation. She had stepped into that fairy ring and… then what? She’d been transported to another world? Captured by the fae? Sent to a nightmare realm? Each option seemed equally implausible, but an impossible place required an impossible explanation.

She tried to think back to the warnings the elders of the village had shared about fairy rings. Old men and women would tell dark tales of children not watching their step and being forever changed by the magic of the ring, but now she thought about it, the details of such changes were always vague. They instilled fear through sheer conviction; their bulging eyes and bared teeth ensured each generation grew up with a healthy respect for these dangerous features of the forest.

But how real were those dangers?

Emboldened by this new rational line of thinking, Abigail strode through the chamber with purpose. She would learn more about this alien place, and she would find a way out – or die trying.

***

Abigail’s tentative fingertips slid slowly across the soft surface, sensing something that she hadn’t noticed before.

Hairs.

Thousands – no, millions – of tiny hairs covered the entire surface of the chamber wall. Abigail brushed her hand over a swathe of the strange follicles, and jumped as a vibration thrummed away from her touch. It rippled away from her, back through the chamber, the eerie glow of the tendrils brightening along its path until it disappeared around a corner.

Abigail had a feeling she had just sent a message she couldn’t take back.

Standing in the opening between caverns, half-cloaked in shadow but all too aware of how vulnerable she was, Abigail waited. The primal part of her brain screamed at her to run, to find some dark corner to hide in and avoid being found by whatever had just been alerted to her location. But Abigail stood firm. She had tried running away and it had got her nowhere. She would face whatever came for her, and she would use it to get home.

A far-off shriek echoed towards Abigail, turning her stomach upside down and sending her pulse racing once more, but still she stood. Something like warm breath tickled the back of her neck, but she didn’t move.

Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh…

That voice again. It sent a wave of ice down Abigail’s spine, and she fought the urge to run away. Instead, she listened.

Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh… Eeeeeeeh!

It was getting closer, but it was also getting clearer.

Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh… beeeeeeh!

When she really listened, Abigail realised it wasn’t just a nonsensical screech she was hearing, it was a word.

Aaaaaaa-beeeeee!

Aaaabeeeee!

Her chest tightened as recognition hit.

Abby.

They knew her, and they were calling out to her.

Abigail’s legs trembled and her throat tightened, but she didn’t move. The voices drew closer, the nickname she hadn’t heard for years echoing all around.

Aaabbbyyyyy… Aaaabbbyyyy!

What?’ She shouted into the gloom, nervous energy thrumming through her entire body. What do you want with me? Tears brimmed her eyes, the fear and the exhaustion and the frustration spilling over. Just tell me!"

Silence.

The sudden absence of sound made Abigail’s ears ache. She could hear her own blinks, her pulse throbbing in her neck, but nothing else. She swallowed, the noise impossibly loud in the silence.

She wanted to move, to explore the cavern and see what had changed, but couldn’t bring herself to make a sound. The stillness was so perfect, so absolute, Abigail couldn’t break it.

Then something broke it for her.

Great tendrils burst away from the floor and walls, curling away from the surfaces and arcing towards Abigail. They rose up like cobras, ready to strike, and Abigail’s resolve finally broke.

She turned and ran, sprinting blindly into the next chamber. It was stupid to think she was brave enough to stand up for herself against who knows what. Abigail ran – it was how she had always survived until now, and it was how she would survive whatever nightmare she had stumbled into.

The shadows and glowing lights blurred together through Abigail’s tears, but she hurtled forwards regardless; self-preservation was steering her body now.

Something grabbed Abigail’s ankle and she fell, landing hard on her elbows. The springy ground absorbed some of the shock, but pain still ricocheted up each arm. She twisted onto her side to see one of the fibres wrapped around her leg.

Aaaabbbyyyy…

Panic seized Abigail as the tendril tightened and began to drag her backwards. She scrambled onto her front, desperate hands grasping for a handhold, but there was nothing. Her nails – brittle from months of malnutrition – snapped and splintered as she dug her fingers into the ground. Fleshy material tore away from the fibrous surface, earthy and almost sweet-smelling. Abigail wasn’t gaining any purchase. With each failed attempt she was dragged further towards