The House Under the Hill

A short story.

”The House Under the Hill?” the girl asked, her round eyes widening fearfully.

“Aye, that be it. We’s livin’ there now.” Hili replied, making her voice level. She sounded distinctly different from the younger girl, having just moved in from the north. The younger girl squinted her eyes, trying to make out Hili’s words, and completely missed the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“But it’s haunted! There are ghosts there, and little mean elves! Aren’t you afraid that they’ll snatch you from your bed?” the younger girl asked, her voice the very image of childlike naivety.

“Aye, that be it, Clea. There be little spirits there, and elves and hobgoblins too! But they daren’t touch me, nay, they serve me instead. Me and me mum! They’s our servants!”

Clea breathed out a sigh of awe. “Ooh… you must be a magician!”

Hili chuckled, patting the younger girl on the head. “A magician, eh?” she said, pausing in thought. What was the harm in prolonging the lie for a bit? She’d tell Clea tomorrow. Just seeing her face would be worth it.

“Aye, a magician.”

That was the end of class. The girls began to shuffle out of the simply furnished classroom, holding their skirts above the muddy ground as they crossed the yard. Evening was well on its way; the sun was slowly sinking into the horizon as Hili finally said goodbye to her friends and set off on the road.

The road would quickly dwindle down to a cart track, winding its way o’er the hills and snaking up the hillside, until finally arriving at a small clearing. That was where her home was: a wooden hovel with a chimney and a sizable front porch, with the forest looming beyond. They called it the King’s Forest. She lurched up the front steps of the house and wandered to her room, tired to the bone. She bid goodnight to her mother, who was dozing off by the fire. She’d worked herself half to death to keep their little family fed. When Hili returned to her room, sleep snatched her away almost instantly.

The next day, she left to the village feeling unnaturally tired. Mum’s freshly baked bread had tasted burnt, and her sleep… it was as if she hadn’t slept at all. At school, her friends began to ask more about the elves, hobgoblins and spirits Hili had as ‘servants’. She found that she could not retract her words anymore. So she invented a fresh batch of lies.

“The elves,” she said, “they’ll only come out when the moon’s shining. And they’s not tiny, nay, they’s tall ‘n handsome! So handsome, that you’ve ne’er seen anyone like’em! And them hobgoblins, aye, fiendish! Tiny, but angry! They’s like badgers!”

And so she walked up the winding path once again, picking up a stick to help herself on the way, and arrived at the clearing. Once again, evening had painted the forest in a myriad of dark hues; the sun was no longer up, and moonlight would soon reign in the night. Once again, Hili clambered into the house, bone-tired. Once again, she made her way to her little bedroom…

The very next morning, Hili felt more tired than ever. It was as if she had spent the whole night hauling sacks of grain from one end of the room to the other. When she pulled open the door of her room, however, something seemed to change within her. It was as if the air she had been breathing up until now had become fresher. But she suspected nothing more than a little spring cleaning by mum.

At school, she once again had to invent new lies to cover up her old ones. A whole new mythology had sprang up into existence: the mythology of Hili and the House Under the Hill. But the joy of lying had gone out of her long since. She returned home.

The freshness was even stronger, now. It was as if she had stepped into a different realm; somehow, the air seemed lush with colour, if that was possible at all, full of alien but soothing fragrances, almost… dreamlike.

That was when Hili saw the tall man standing in the living room, his back turned to her. He had a plain green coat, the colour so vivid and strong that she doubted whether she had ever seen such a strong green anywhere. It was green as summer leaves. The man turned around; he had white, shoulder-length hair, and thorns grew out of his hair like branches from a tree. The man waved a slender, white hand. It was the most beautiful hand she had ever seen in her life. Then, all went black.

Hili awoke to the dry rustle of leaves in the wind. Her first sensation, cold and hard: a rock, a bed of dead leaves, a…

She opened her eyes, gasping for air, flailing about with her limbs; the dry leaves fell aside, were torn apart, and too late did she realize that they were the only protection she had from the freezing night. Then she took a closer look at what lay in front of her.

She was looking at the moon from a hole in the ground.

There was not much space to wriggle around, she realized. And the moon…

The moon filled the entirety of the hole. Hili wriggled, Hili squirmed, Hili spasmed; nothing seemed to work, for she was too cold and tired, and her muscles had turned to water. She could only stare at the moon - the full moon…

Panic began to well up in her throat. She was all alone. Only the moon stared down at her, mocking, scornful and disgusted. The leaves shied away from her now, too, so that whenever she tried to pile them on top of her to keep the cold away, they simply slid back to the ground; it was as if they wanted nothing to do with her. Hili gathered her strength, taking a deep breath.

“HEEEEY!” she screamed.

Neither the moon nor the forest deigned to reply.

Instead, something changed.

The moonlight, once white, pure and impassive, now seemed to Hili somehow different. It was as if, if that was possible, the moonlight had - ever so slightly - changed color. An ever-so-tiny speck of red in her field of vision, a slight change in the tone; but it was there. She knew it.

Another speck penetrated her field of vision, then another; the moon, like a light at the end of the tunnel, began to change. Orange, then darker, then even darker; redder, even redder, until it was all she could think of; red, red, dark, moon… blood. The blood moon.

She had not noticed closing her eyes until she opened them. Her vision was blurry, but she noticed that something had changed in the light - again. It was very dark, now. But she could see - recognize - something, something from up high, from the hole, peering down, a face, features, a disfigured nose, a pair of ravenous eyes, sharp teeth a-clacking, it reached down, further, crazed, driven, forcing its head lower and lower - closer and closer, its breathing growing ragged, frenzied, almost… reaching…

Hili screamed. She kicked. She thrashed about, blindly flailing her limbs, fighting back, anything, escape, fight, survive! Several times she felt the shock of impact, heard the cry of agony, the cracking of a nose, the surprised whine as something rustled above her…

Then something crashed down right next to her, crashed down onto the hard ground. She felt patches of fur, patches of bare skin; burned skin, brushing against her arm, but no response. Hesitantly, she twisted her head around to look at the thing which lay next to her.

A pair of blood-red eyes bored into her forehead. Glazed over, they were almost like a doll’s.

The corpse was warm. She pulled it over hers, using its excess warmth to heat herself up. Then, she began to climb. The surface of the walls were hard, but not too hard to be grabbed; after a few minutes of panting and sweating, she managed to haul herself out of the hole.

She emerged into the living room.

Hili felt her head start spinning. Again, she felt everything go black. But when she opened her eyes, it was morning. Mum had carried her to bed, put a blanket o'er her, told her to stay in bed. And so she did, the whole day.

On the very next day, Hili confessed to her friends that she had lied about the elves, the hobgoblins and the spirits. Just like she’d predicted, Clea gave her a look of insurmountable, innocent disappointment. And Hili laughed.

But she would never forget the night she’d spent in the hole in the ground, nor the man who had brought him there. No, man didn’t quite make the cut.

A faerie.

Author's Note

Another shot at horror. Well, I suppose this isn't full horror. Wrote this in a few hours, so there are bound to be many little things I could've done better. Enjoy! I like constructive feedback, so if you can / have the time, please do. I appreciate the time you invest in reading this.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I rarely read fantasy becuz most of the time, I'm only seeing the ways I disbelieve it. Your story is quite the contrary. I was completely taken in by the fantasy & not bumped out of it. I like the way your forays into the nether-world begin very delicately & softly, little glimpses, then suddenly a more pronounced situation of total fantasy (example: full white moon, then red dots, then blood moon) . . . this is why your imaginative writing draws a reader into the fantasy. Your irish brogue is well done & not distracting to the read. Most of all, your writing is filled with delightful sparks of imagination & original ideas. I also love the way the story wraps back around to those lies told at school. Very fresh & meaningful story.

[Mikael Malmberg]

As I (and Brandon Sanderson) tend to say, fantasy can be anything! After all, fantasy merely depicts events detached from reality in some manner or form, preferably in a world with its own ruleset. I guess that's the trick with fantasy: one needs to see past the similarities to reality, and instead look at the consistency of the imagined world instead. The aforementioned Mr. Sanderson's books are something I'd recommend even to non-fantasy readers - as I said, all fictitious literature can be fantasy depending on your perspective.

Even this story, I must admit, has some inspiration from Susanne Clarke (Mr. Norrell & Jonathan Strange). The style is my own, however, so I'm delighted to hear that it was so engaging to read! I've actually been itching to write more in this world of thought, expand on this story, perhaps the characters or from a different viewpoint.

[Samuel Dickens]

Excellent! The title made me think of the shire, being a fan of Tolkien, fantasy and such. Your style of writing this, and especially the manner in which Hili speaks, is a perfect delight. One small error here... "She big goodnight... "

[Mikael Malmberg]

Thanks for the review! I'll look into reviewing something of yours, too. I'm also a big fan of Tolkien and fantasy. This particular short story was in part inspired by the brilliant Susanna Clarke and her novel "Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell", which provides an eerie but beautiful mix of English folklore and more "conventional" fantasy.

I'm really glad that the way Hili speaks appealed to you! I spent some time on that, you know ;)

Thanks for pointing out the error. I've fixed that, alongside one or two other typos here and there!