Goblins and Ghosties by Maggie Pearson Page A

name?
    Where did she go each night and on Sundays? Not to the kirk, for he never saw her there. Nor would any of the market women own up to having sent her to him. ‘Word gets around,’ they said, shrugging off his questions. ‘Of course the child’s fond of her. You’re never there. Why don’t you all do something together for a change, the three of you? Take them out in your boat, why don’t you?’
    The next fine day, that’s what he did. Instead of taking the boat out alone, he got Mairi to pack up a picnic lunch for three. ‘Today,’ he said, ‘you two are coming with me.’
    So Mairi and the little girl climbed into the boat and the crofter pushed it off and jumped in after them and started to row.
    As they pulled away from the shore, he looked at them sitting at the stern of the boat, arms round each other, heads together, whispering secrets.
    Suddenly he burst out, ‘What is it you want from us, woman? Are you trying to take my daughter from me?’
    â€˜Why not?’ hissed the selkie woman. He knew now where he’d seen her before, knew her by her big brown eyes and her sleek black hair, now when it was too late. ‘Why not? Since it was you that took my child from me?’
    With that, she wrapped her arms around the child and flipped herself backwards. Over the side of the boat they fell and into the water.
    He watched and watched and at last he saw, far out and heading for the open sea, two seal heads break the surface.
    Then they were gone.
    Often and often after that day he would stand on the shore and watch for the seals. And sometimes they came and sometimes there were none. But one seal looks much like another, so he had no way of knowing whether any one of them was his lost daughter. Or whether she’d drowned fathoms deep on the last day he saw her and was lost forever.
    That was the worst thing of all. Not knowing.

As Cold as Clay
    USA
    She was a wealthy rancher’s daughter and he was nothing but a lowly cowhand. Oh, but he had the bluest eyes you ever did see, hair the colour of honey and a smile that could light up the dullest day.
    To cut a long story short, they were soon head over ears in love with each other. Nothing her ma and pa could do about it.
    Oh no? Only send her away to stay with her aunt and uncle in the city, that’s what they did.
    ( Well, the young man was a good worker, so no way were they going to part with him.)
    She pined for him and she wrote to him, but he never wrote back, most likely because someone was making sure he never got the letters. Still, she knew he was pining too. So she wasn’t at all surprised when she looked out of her window late one evening and saw him there, riding the best horse from her father’s stable.
    â€˜Come quickly,’ he said.
    â€˜What is it?” she said.
    â€˜You must come home.’
    â€˜Is something wrong at home? Is my father sick? Or is it my mother?’
    â€˜Just come,’ he said. ‘Come now.’
    So down she crept, through the sleeping house and climbed up behind him and off they went, like the wind, on her father’s finest horse, her with her arms around his waist.
    Through the silent city streets they galloped and out into the country, across the wide grassy plain. Not a mouse stirring, it seemed, not a night bird or a bat to be seen flitting across the vast, starry sky.
    There was just the two of them, together under the moon and the stars, and it felt good. Except that with the two of them cuddling up like that, there should have been some warmth between them, but, ‘You’re cold,’ she said. ‘As cold as clay.’
    â€˜I’m not,’ he said. ‘Feel my forehead. I’m burning up. The sweat’s running into my eyes.’
    She felt his forehead and he was burning up. So she tied her handkerchief round his head to stop the sweat running into his eyes.
    On they rode, and on again through that