Please cirtique this short story

Banshee's Mourn, by Mark Coveny


I stalked the family of three, as they trudged through their day time routines. I formulated a plan to steal a closer look at the infant. The search of the village over the past week left only this house and one other possibility. Salt deterred me from entering the other house. The salt also made it more difficult for my nemesis Boglamore to switch the infants in that home. I, as a fairy, loathed banshees, Boglamore was one of the worst. The pain of seeing Boglamore's scream kill 10 of my fairy brothers still haunted me. I was close to catching the banshee's offspring. I just needed to find the child. I believed, this house held the child.


I watched as the father of the family brought the sweet milk from his cow. It was the magic time for fairies: dusk. My power was strong now, but hunger would set in later. I could taste milks warm wholesomeness on my tongue. My mouth watered.


Stay focused! I told myself.


I watched the wife cook to pull my mind away from thoughts of milk. I floated within 4 feet of the woman undetected. I found the brown of the mother's eyes unremarkable, but her hair was long, like wisps of golden smoke. The breeze through the window created the illusion of her hair barely hanging on, like the dying leaves of a tree in fall. I measured her normal human height. (it's hard for a fairy to tell these things) She seemed plump.


She's still heavy from the pregnancy. I thought.


I peered across the room at the soundless crib. A quick flight through the window would let me look at the infant. That's the human type of blunder, not the fairy's way. I finally came up with the trick. It's fun to prank humans. Why hadn't I thought of this before?


Stealthy I moved to a position in the field next to a cluster of grapevines. I waited for the husband to come near. He crashed down the row of grapes. I released my spell. The vines sprang forth to entangle my prey underneath them. I smiled as he tried to dislodge himself. The spell was subtle although ancient, the vines healthy and many, a human didn't stand a chance. That will subdue him for an hour or more. I expected calls for help and rushed back to the house.


I smiled proudly as the sounds of a struggle grew. The mother dashed out of the house to check on the disturbance. Now was my chance. I sped to the crib. I tugged the covers down to inspect the child. I could see no outward appearance of defects, mutations, or telling Banshee features. I began to cast a spell to reveal the infants true form.


"Iszera batogaloo, misdara da revealous cretarsemba," I cast, looking for signs of the banshee's magical voice.


I concentrated to maintain the spell to see deeper, past any illusions. I felt fairy dust pour off my body. I cursed my slow fairy magic. It takes time to break a banshee's spell, time which I did not have. In the back of my mind I knew the dust might give away my presence to the family. My worry was threatening to break my concentration, this spell is not easy.


When I heard the mother return from the field the spell broke. Hiding in the rafters of the house, I punched the wood. The mother checked on her babe. She finished the meal just before the father came in covered in leaves.


How had he freed himself so quickly?


The father gave the mother a tight hug. His kiss on her check was quick, but his gaze lingered on her even after he took his seat at the table. She filled his plate with large portions, setting it in front of him. Steam swirled off the plates with a gamey aroma of deer. My mouth filled with saliva again. I might do something stupid if I couldn't control my hunger.


He inhaled the food, he couldn't enjoy the feast she provided. Bits of food fell to the floor while he ate. The father then moved the table and pulled out the bed. The infant laid there still quiet. The male sat on the bed. He looked at the female with food hunger in his eyes. The woman smiled. Her hair cascaded across her face as she tilted her head. He growled at her showing teeth. She slid to him. He tackled her down on the bed.


"eep" she cried


The male stripped, and forced her into nudity even as she attempted to flee the bed. She futilely tried to free herself from his restraint. He pinned her arms above her head. He began nipping at her breasts.


This is some sort of attack. I thought.


The man forced the woman's legs apart with his thighs. She watched him as prey watches predator before they strike. The mother wore a calm helpless look of resignation on her face. I know nature, the woman did not have long to live.


The death of this woman would make my mission easier. I struggled with indecision. I wanted to keep the woman alive, but her death would mean less humans to interfere. I decided not to break my morals. I cast a spell.


There was a knock on the door.


The man stopped the violence to look around. The color flowed back into his eyes. The male animal was perplexed by the knock, he didn't seem to understand what it meant. I cast the spell again.


There was a knock on the door, again.


The males face flushed red. He jerked his clothes from underneath her, grumbling. He slapped the bed in frustration. The woman burrowed into the sheets for protection. The killing blow prevented! I was very proud of how I understood and handled the situation.


Humans are just like any other animals. I smirked.


The man ripped the front door open looking for whoever interrupted his sport. The house groaned under his strength. I now understood why the vines couldn't hold this human's strength for long. I prepared another spell against this beast just in case. The woman put on her clothes underneath the covers, while the man banged around outside.


"Who's there?" He yelled repeatedly.


No ones there human, I thought.


"Come back inside, they're gone," the woman finally called.


The man stomped into the house. Slamming the door behind him made bits of dust fall from the roof. He blew out all the candles, slipped into bed, and drifted to sleep. The woman stared at his back for many minutes crying softly.


She should be happy, I just saved her life. I puzzled


As the woman fell asleep, I focused on the quiet baby, his eyes following me as I floated down to the crib. I locked gazes with the child. I drifted closer to see the intelligent gleam in this so called human. He did not make a sound. I wanted to know for certain that he is the banshee's child.


"Iszera batogaloo, misdara --," I began to cast


The banshee child's scream was horrid, but not fully developed to it's killing potential. I was forced from the sky like a pheasant shot with an arrow. Dropping from the air saved me from detection, as the humans shot up in the bed.


While the woman nursed the child, I crawled under the bed to recover. The man crashed back to sleep. I didn't doubt the origins of this child now. I waited for the family to lay back down to bed.


I collected fairy dust I cast to the ground earlier, arranging the dust in a circle around the crib. I etched eight symbols in the circle with great detail. Eight fresh leaves, from the fathers clothes, worked well as the nature element present in all fairy magic. An hour from dawn I finished the circle.


Dazed with hunger, I scavenged what scraps I could from the floor to eat. The last gel like mass, of hard and cold deer stew resisted my throat. As I ate my mind cleared of everything but the spell at hand. The spell required perfection to place the human child in the crib. I was now mentally ready to weave my magic.


In a low voice I chanted, "barbalama, tusorulagosmar, tiscamakpeck, eeknarboo masgonar."


Fairy magic grew around the crib. I could feel it working. I felt it seek where the true child was hidden. My magic found the child. A dim pulse of light returned the human child to the crib. The changeling imprisoned in my enchanted pouch.


I checked the pouch to make sure Boglamore's infant was secure. The infant banshee could do no harm in there. The elder's spell would make the child's voice harmless forever, when I returned. The human lay in it's rightful place. I headed to the barn for a warm glass of delicious milk. It was my reward for fulfilling the vow to my fallen kinfolk.

Hi Coveny - I really liked your story. Sorry I'm not much of a criticer - hope I spelled that right lol.

Thanks!

Some of the things people who've read it have said are:
It's busy. (He wouldn't explain exactly what that ment though, but he seemed to feel it very strongly.)
Another said it was "solid", but he felt glass of milk should be goblet of milk.
Yet another really liked it(and told me I should see about publishing it), but she said she thought gel like might should have a hyphen. (gel-like)
At least 3 people didn't seem to know how to react to it. Upon pressing them, the best I got was it was interesting.

I guess no bad news = good news? hehe

Coveny, this is very creative. I have some observations and questions and warning, ENFP external thinking here; lots of words! :') I'm a little confused as to whether the fairy is reading the man and woman correctly, or if he just doesn't understand the natural things humans do, like the lustful looks (predatory) between husband and wife, or how sex can seem violent (passionate/wrestling/noisy).
Are the baby's cries actually inhuman because it's another creature, or is it just that a human baby's cries are ear- piercing to a fairy? Do the man and woman hear that the cries are inhuman? Nursing the baby seems like a regular response to babies cries which makes me think it's nothing unusual to them, which makes me think the fairy is misreading the situation.
Did the fairy actually save the woman's life or was she just pretending to fight off her husband during sex?
Consider adding details to elaborate on the signs the woman is about to lose her life so we can see it too.
I think this could go a different way, how a small fairy misreads humans natural habits and tries to save them.
Why is the child banshee with the humans? Is his father Boglamore looking for his child too or did Boglamore hide him with the humans? Where is the real baby hidden?
I love how the baby's eyes follow the fairy's when he goes to the crib and the fairy's craving for milk. Also how he measures the woman to be normal human height and somewhat plump; very nice description.

Thanks Lilsnowy! My girlfriend also indicated that I left many "loose ends" in the story. My belief was that I couldn't explain every action/motive in a short story. Several things are hinted at, but I don't go into deepth about them because I didn't have room. I think I'm going to write a few more short stories from different points of view to explain why the various characters acted the way they did. This would mean a story for the human woman, human man, Fairy, and Banshee. What one's motives would you be most interested in understanding?

The Irish myth of Banshee is that they are a creature created by the loss of someone important in their life. In my story their wail or keen is magical and deadly to all who are within range. (this is the standard mythos as I'm familiar with it)

Coveny, I love the idea of showing the different points of view! You could do a book like that. Each chapter unfolding from each character's eyes. It is hard to give details in short stories, but I think in this one, because you're describing such a different world, the details are an important element for the reader to appreciate exactly what's happening.

I'd be interested in Boglamore, his redeemable parts as well as his evil. Is he evil? Or is he just a banshee who can't help killing fairies when he screams? But also, the fairy character would be equally interesting. What is his world like? The cup of milk is a good example: is it a human cup or a fairy-sized cup, (or goblet?) Does he go for a swim in warm, fresh milk or does he light on the edge of the cup and use his hands to draw it to his mouth? How big is he, exactly? Be interesting to see what you come up with! I say develop them all!

The banshee is actually a female. The lore is that the reason the fay replaced human children with changelings is because fairy mothers don't produce milk. So for her child to survive Boglamore must let someone else raise her.

I think I may end up writting short stories on all of them. Several people wanted to know why the human male was such an ass. So I decided to do that one first. I'm working on it now. I'll work on Boglamore next though, it's of course going to be a sad story.

Lux's Death, by Mark Coveny (published 1-14-10)

Yanked by my shirt, dad tore me from the cupboard. I did not see a sword, so it meant father just wanted to beat on me. I deflected the first punch with my arms. He leaned toward me as he drew back his dominant hand for a hook. Connecting that hit would mean lights out for me. One hairy punch would end the fight with little damage, still I ducked.

I am 5'10" tall at 15. My father is 6'5" with arms the size of most men's thighs. Our fights are not fair. My life is not fair. I do the best I can.

I jumped back from his left front kick, but hit the back wall. The overextended kick still landed. My right jab hit his nose. I sidestepped toward the door. I hoped to make the door before his vision returned.

He blindly rushed me for a tackle. I drew my knee up spearing his jewels on impact. Contact took the air out of me, but he hurt worse. This close I could smell the liquor on him. I pushed him away when I noticed his pain. He landed on his knees and looked up at me.

"Your a bastard, and your whore of a mo--" he squeaked.

My right cross knocked him unconscious, blood oozing from his busted lip.

Who's the bastard now? I thought.

My earliest memories are fighting. I fought my father. I watch my father beat, bruise, and break my mother. I watch my father fight strangers at the bar. At eleven my mother died. I know my father's viciousness. I don't consider her death a mystery but everyone in town does.

I checked the mirror for bruises or blood, then I went to what started the fight: his chest. I rummaged threw the gold coins. The amount of gold in the chest amazed me.

He is rich and we live like paupers! I thought angrily.

Numb, I could not think. I could not decide what this new revelation meant, or what I should do. I put the chest back and traveled to the place I do the best thinking: the bar.

As I walked to the bar I thought of how I started working there three years ago. It is one of the few times my father's constant fighting caused some good. I fantasied many times about the owner being my real father. We talked about how wine and beer is made. He showed me a book once on the whole process. The book must have cost him a fortune. He let me look at the book unsupervised.

The bar is a five minute walk from our house. Dad liked living close to liquor. As I walk in I see three foreigners. One is a dwarf! I assume a warrior from dad's teachings. The scarred human with all the pouches would be the wizard. Leathers meant the other human is either a thief or a ranger. They looked familiar to me.

My memory synced. I knew father's tales of his adventuring party. I moved closer to hear what they are saying.

"Lux's house has got to be around here." Said the ranger.

They are talking about dad. I thought.

"Crush some skulls, and they'll talk I say." Grunted the dwarf.

"My spell might work if he's close enough." The wizard said.

"I want's me part of the treasure, even if I have to take it out of his hide!" Exclaimed the dwarf.

Dad stole their treasure. It dawned on me.

I attempted to draw no attention as I left the bar, but the owner spotted me.

"Rellik you gonna work tonight?" He questioned.

"Naw I'm not feel'n well." I responded.

"Ok, hope you feel better." He said with a concerned look.

"Thanks." I said as I left the bar.

I noticed the adventures still talking amongst themselves as I left. I ran to warn father. While running my mind kept asking why.

Why should I help him?

What do I owe him?

Why should they get the money?

Why not let him die, he killed my mother.

My pace slowed as I neared the house. Father did not stay down for long. I lost track of time while at the bar.

How much time passed? I could not remember.

I peered into the house checking to see if he is still sleeping. He looked exactly as I left him. I creeped through the house for the treasure chest. I will not limp away empty handed.
This is my chance. I thought.

I could live out my days on a farm I bought with this money. After I stole the chest I strapped it to a horse in the barn. Guilt seeped into me as I led the horse away from my home.

They would find him helpless.

My father never did a selfless act in his life. My mind struggled with leaving him to die. My father feared helplessness. I know the worst end he could imagine is to be slaughtered like some farm animal. So I tied up the horse, and ran back.

The group found the house. I could see them looking from the edge of the forest, just outside the clearing to our house. I circled to the back. I pulled my bow, and shot. The arrow hit the shutters on the back window with a loud thunk. I could see dad moving inside the house. I positioned myself for a better view of what was about to transpire.

The adventures walked up, and the dwarf found the door locked. The wizard began moving his hand, then threw dust in the air. He put his fist through the cloud. A wagon wheel size opaque fist hit the door, and blew it off it's hinges. As soon as the door disappeared, my father's arrow head exploded blood from the back of the Wizard's neck. His death mask a frozen smirk.

The ranger returned fire so quickly I never saw him pull off his bow. The dwarf rolled out of the doorway and drew his hammer. It seemed practiced somehow.

"Lux throw me gold out and you don't get smash'd." Yelled the dwarf.

I did not hear a response.

The dwarf picked up a board beside the house as a makeshift shield. They nodded to each other. Simultaneously the dwarf rushed through the door as the ranger fired arrows through the front window.

I could hear fighting inside. The ranger drew his swords and joined the fray. Several minutes later the ranger stumbled back outside, his chest soaked in blood. The ranger looked pale even from here. He sat down outside the house and looked at the stars. The dwarf followed him with his right arm and leg bandaged. The dwarf looked at the ranger's wound, shook his head, and went back inside to rummage around the house.

The ranger gazed around. He stared toward me. I felt he could see me somehow. He smiled, slumped, and died. My stupor broken I ran to my horse.

I rode for several weeks toward wine country. I only spent modestly. I did not want to draw attention to myself. After I started seeing grape fields I relaxed. My dream to make wine filling my head.

Before I entered the inn's barn, I saw a woman washing her hair. Her beautiful hair allured me. I figured her a barmaid.
"Barmaid, are their any vineyards for sale 'n this area?" I asked.

"I'm no barmaid!" She seemed insulted.

"I'm sorry, do ya know about anything fer sale?" I prompted again.

She relaxed saying "There is one in town, but I wouldn't buy it."

Intrigued I asked, "Why's that?"

"Old man smith ran the place in the ground." She said matter of factly.

Attracted, I responded, "Well, which one would ya suggest?"

"Brown's place about 10 miles from here. It's been taken care of, and it's at a good price." She stated businesslike.

"Well thank ye, would ya mind if I bought ya dinner as payment for this valuable information?" I said.

Her cheeks turned bright red. Her gaze dropped to the floor. Timidly she responded. "If you like."

Her response excited me in ways I can not even explain. I knew this golden hair girl would be mine.

Over the course of the next week I bought the Brown's vineyard, and we talked repeatedly. She is knowledgeable about the process of producing wine. We married before long.

My life is now as I dreamed it, all those years ago. I captured what I always wanted. Sadly the violence is still inside my head. My father is not truly gone from my life. Daily, I control the frustration and anger lest they consume me.

I promise myself I will never lay a hand on my wife or child as my father did. If I can provide nothing else for them, this I guarantee. I am not my father.

It seems my writing with this one was either better or the story was more entertaining. There are less loose ends in it at least. I have to go threw and put the blank lines back in the story when I post it on here though. I might have missed one. If you catch it please let me know.

Thanks,
Mark

try using the words I, my, and me less often