A gust of wind swept the monogrammed napkin high into the crisp autumn air.
“Oh no!” exclaimed Cecilia as she trotted after the swirling swatch of gold while clutching the awkward box of decorations to her chest.
Nothing was going right today. Of course it didn’t help that she had fired her wedding planner at the last minute and was now scrambling to complete the backlog of tasks the incompetent woman had neglected.
She mentally scrolled through her considerable to-do list, ticking off the entries. The linens had been delivered, the caterer confirmed, and a small local band had agreed to perform during the reception. The box of decorations contained all the last minute details she had to get into place before the rehearsal tonight.
The overpriced scrap of paper had come to rest at the base of an enormous oak. Exhausted, Cecilia allowed her weary body to slide down the trunk of the ancient tree as she retrieved the napkin. The park was so peaceful and beautiful.
The sudden crunching of a twig startled Cecilia from her pastoral contemplations. Whipping around to find the source of the sound, Cecilia found herself facing two gleaming hoofs. Perplexed at this incongruity, she raised a perplexed brow to the vision before her.
A playful smile tugged at the lips of the apparition leaning against the oak. I must be hallucinating, Cecilia thought.
I’m under a lot of pressure and not sleeping well, for surely the scene in front of her must be a figment of imagination.
Crouching down, the being’s dancing chestnut eyes found hers.
“Hello Cecilia,” he murmured, offering his hand.
Cecilia flung herself backwards and scrambled on hands and feet, utterly speechless in her shock.
Pan, for whom else could this creature be, looked down at her indulgently.
“I didn’t mean to scare you Cecilia. You just looked so beautiful in the evening light.”
Struggling to control her sudden panic, Cecilia stared at the faun with wide eyes and a pounding heart.
“Do not fear, sweet child.” With a supple movement he produced a beautiful reed pipe and pressed it to his lips. A beautiful lilting melody instantly filled the air. The sweet, piercing notes brought goose bumps to her skin and the very air about them seemed to shimmer.
Enraptured by the exquisite music, Cecilia’s heart rate began to slow and the paralyzing tension seeped from her muscles. Pan had shifted much closer, without her even noticing, so that his shoulder brushed hers and she could see the way the golden light played across the curls of his ebony hair. As the song drew to a close, Cecilia realized she was no longer frightened.
With a jolt she quickly pulled away from the faun.
The rehearsal! Mark! Her panicked thoughts echoed in her head.
“Do not worry, Cecilia. I only wish to show you some of the beauties of my realm.”
“Th-thank you great Pan, but I really must be going,” she replied timidly.
The reckless smile once again transformed the god’s face. “Please, call me
Puck.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Puck, but I’m terribly busy.”
“All work and no play, sweet Cecilia.” Pan shook his head and tutted with disapproval. “You should take a moment to enjoy yourself. Tell me, my dear, have you ever met a
dryad before?”
“A what?” Cecilia stammered.
Before Pan could reply an acorn collided with Cecilia’s cheek and a burst of tinkling laughter wafted from the canopy above. Clutching her stinging cheek, Cecilia peered into the swaying branches and glimpsed a willowy form.
“Phoebe! Don’t be rude. Come down here and welcome our guest.”
The nymph glided down the oak, all graceful limbs and flowing hair. With a pout for Pan, Phoebe turned and approached the bewildered Cecilia.
“Hello child.”
Her singsong voice reminded Cecilia of shallow water flowing over smooth rocks. Rising and falling with soft sibilance. Indeed, her ethereal beauty did make Cecilia feel childlike. And terribly plain.
“You’re so beautiful,” Cecilia said reverently. Phoebe’s haughty demeanor dissolved into pleasure and she smiled warmly.
“Not nearly as lovely as you, sister. I’ve never seen tresses so lustrous, as golden as honey.”
“Sister?” asked Cecilia.
Phoebe turned a questioning gaze to Pan who was observing the exchange thoughtfully. “She has not agreed to stay. Yet,” he answered her wordless query.
“Oh you must stay Cecilia! It will be such fun. There is a marvelous little pool tucked away in that copse where
Liriope dwells. She tells the most wonderful stories. And on that ridge grows a flower of incomparable loveliness. There are magnificent vistas and beings of astonishing beauty and grace. The sun is always shining and the fruits ripe on the vine. And of course there is always music,” she cooed persuasively. “Please say you will stay.”
“Stay?” Everything sounded so enticing and the pastoral beauty around her so tempting. But then she thought of Mark.
Mark, she thought frantically.
The dinner! Cecilia glanced fretfully at the rapidly descending sun, trying to access the hour.
Fighting rising panic, Cecilia turned to Pan and Phoebe with regret. “I am truly flattered by your gracious offer but I simply can’t stay. I am to be married tomorrow and must get back home immediately.”
Tears prick the edges of Phoebe’s eyes and Pan looks as though someone has stolen his favorite toy. Sullenly he lifts his magical pipes and begins to play a mournful tune, gazing into the distance.
The discordant notes tug at Cecilia’s heart and for a moment she begins to question her decision. Mark’s face abruptly comes to mind and she shakes away her doubts.
Seeming to come to a decision, Pan lowers his pipes and places a comforting hand on Phoebe’s shoulder. “Of course you must go, Cecilia. But one day, you
will return to me.” The last is said with such ruthless conviction that some of Cecilia’s early trepidations return and a chill runs down her spine.
The edges of Cecilia’s vision seem to vibrate and the forms of Pan and Phoebe begin fading from sight. Cecilia is plunged into darkness and her terror escalates as her vision goes black. “Wait!” she screams into the void. “You didn’t tell me how to get back!”
She listens but only silence answers and her fear threatens to choke her.
“Just wake up…” hisses a whispering voice.
“Wake up!”
Cecilia jerks violently and slams her eyes open only to see the face of a kind old lady.
“Thank goodness! Dear child, I thought I would never wake you. You sleep like the dead.”
“Oh thank God!” Cecilia exclaims as she tries to slow her bellowing breaths. “I had the most terrible dream.”
“Ah,” the old woman intones softly. “Dreams are a slippery thing.”
“It just felt so real! How can I know it wasn’t true? At any moment I could be right back there!”
“Back where child?” the crone asks suspiciously.
“Back to…” Cecilia hesitates, unsure how to explain. “It was only a dream,” she finishes lamely.
“Well you know what they say about daydreams, ‘dreams that come in daytime are always said to prove untrue, and secondly a nightmare often signifies the opposite,’” the old woman recites as she leans in, conspiratorially.
The acrid scent of gin assaults Cecilia’s nose and she realizes that the kind old woman is rather drunk. Looking around her Cecilia realizes she has likely taken the sot’s favorite resting place at the base of the oak.
The old woman shifts impatiently from foot to foot and Cecilia stands up feeling rather silly. Looking at her watch, she realizes she only has 15 minutes before the party.
“Thank you so much for waking me. It was nice meeting you but I really must go.” Gathering her box of supplies, Cecilia walks briskly in the direction of the subway, eager to leave the awkward situation.
“It’s no trouble at all, child,” the old woman slurs to her retreating back.
Just as Cecilia reaches the corner, she glances back to place where her vivid nightmare took place. The crone had just settled back against the tree and was grazing off into the increasing gloom. Her eyes shut tight, she purses her lips and begins to whistle a simple tune.
Cecilia’s blood runs cold as she listens in disbelief. The plaintive notes fill the air with an all too familiar melody. Cecilia turns and runs.
The end
