Maiju’s Teacup 3.2.2018 – Good Night Aunt Mary


Ok, so today’s task from the 365 writer’s journal was to incorporate in a passage some of these words, the coining of which is claimed by Shakespeare.

advertising, moonbeam, undress, assassination, blanket, amazement, lackluster, madcap, critic, puking

So I started with a few practice sentences but then it run into this. And I really love it.


In my story night is something you can put in a nightsafe. You know, one of those that you see at streetcorners. Just a metallic slot in a wall. That’s why they need the security, because night is something so famous that wherever it goes, it needs to be kept safe from the commoners. The moonbeams and the unicorns and the wet blankets and the madcap critics that roam the streets at night. And the people who don’t know what a celebrity night is just want to keep it away. It doesn’t matter what kind of light there is, as long as there’s some light. A lamppost, a digital clock, the tiny speck of light that says the power’s still partially on in the television. Because night is dark. And because the darkness of night is something that they’ve been taught to fear. The absolute absence of light. That’s what it is. Right?

In the countryside it’s different. People are used to night. They wish it good. They look into the dark and they consider it a part of life. Like death after life after death. And they know what lurks in the dark, because they know exactly what’s out there. A building, a field, a holy grove, a cemetery, a church, the man who murdered Aunt Mary. But a building’s not a threat, nor a field either. The spirits in the holy grove are peaceful and the restless ones at the cemetery are fenced in by the subtle placing of rowans among the hedgerows. The church is inhabited only by a mouse family, that holds vigil over the plaque for Aunt Mary. The man who murdered her… Well, he’s not going to cross the stream. Everyone knows that. And he can’t kill anyone else. Then he wouldn’t be the man who murdered Aunt Mary anymore. And he won’t cross the stream. Will he?

Aunt Mary is not buried in the cemetery. She’s not buried in the holy grove either. She’s where no one thought to look for her. She likes it that way. She planted the rowans. She stirred up the spirits. She hallowed the grove. And she walks the night. She’s the one you should look out for.


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