The true story of the Westbury Faery- A Westbury Novel

The Truth At Last

 Dawn is approaching, Phillip Ripton. What does Phillip Ripton mean? Phillip Ripton means me. It means loss. It means fear. It is a curse.

 I was told that the old land would call to me when I left. Three continents, great expanses of ocean, and yet I cannot escape. The release I feel when admitting my past is unparalleled. Do you know what the torture of my past has done to me, the voices I hear at night? The old land whispers in my ear now, I hear the pleading of a man before his death. I can see huddled cottages leaning against one another attacked by the wild Atlantic winds. I long to return to my homeland, the dusty hot summers of Tasmania have worn away my spirit. 

I lived the life of a convict, the deep creak of shifting sails is  an echo I hear everywhere. The coarse scent of salt is a familiar odour, no longer pungent. Where does my story begin, however? No... it does not begin on a ship... it begins in Skibereen, yes, of course it does. I was very young myself, barely over twenty years old, as was Lauren, my newly wed wife. Ah, Lauren, a true Irish rose. Her hair did not flow in a glossy stream down her shoulders, she did not rouge her lips with chemical products. Yet her eyes sparkled as if when she was born, she was born with fragments of sapphire in her irises. My greatest joy was to make those sapphires shine at my jokes, however to the end of Lauren's days those sapphires seemed to have been lost behind the clouds in  her eyes. I had always known that Lauren was sickly, every week I gave her a portion of medicine purchased from Mr Moran's apothecary. Mr Moran was never somebody I trusted, his jealousy at our marriage and happiness was evident. One time Lauren and I had an argument because she had been told by him that I was seeing another woman.  His gossiping caused me to accidentally hurt her. I didn't know what it would do to her. I didn't! It was Mr Mooney's fault for aggravating me, that's why he had to die. 

It all began about a week after our marriage. Lauren's parents did not approve of our union thinking that I was a drunk and untrustworthy. Yet Lauren was convinced that she could change my ways, that her attraction would be stronger than whiskey. A week after our wedding I met a young woman out in the woods as I stumbled home one night, all my money spent on spirits. Terrified of Lauren's rage when I returned, I sat down for a moment, hoping the air would clean my foggy mind. Then she appeared. A woman neither old nor young sat down next to me, her iridescent skin paler than the reflective light of the moon. "Phillip" she whispered with a voice as deep yet gentle as a winters breeze brushing sensually against the leafy forest floor. Immediately suspecting devils work I jumped up stammering,

"Get away from me sorceress," she stood, smiling radiantly,

"Oh Phillip, no. No. I just wished to congratulate you on your marriage to the beautiful Lauren." Resting a thoughtful spindly finger against her chin she uttered, "Such a plain name Lauren. Shouldn't you have married somebody far more... Interesting?" Just like that she disappeared into the morning mist. Just gone. Shaking, terrified, I ran home to Lauren to check that she was unharmed. But when I returned with my horrifying tale, Lauren just scoffed,

"Sure, a sorceress? What is it next time you get drunk? An elf, pixie? Not a faery?" 

"No, Lauren love, you are in danger, we need to leave immediately," She stared at me incredulously,

"Phillip, please stop this." Lauren sighed to herself almost crying, "My parents were right you are just a useless drunk." 

Over the next few months I saw the woman in everything I did, in the murky drinks I ordered, in the shadows of my house, in Lauren's face. Then, one day, outside Mr Moran's shop, she was waiting for me. She wore no shoes on her feet, her toenails were curled and ghastly, yet her beauty was not mortal. She was not mortal. She was inhuman.