Much has been made of my story for good and ill. Mostly ill. It is always surprising to me how someone such as I feeling so insignificant, having such a small part to play in the wheel of life; would engender such speculation. Many men have gotten rich from the legend of me. Many men have died because of my legend. Many more will.
My mother escaped to the new world in search of religious freedom. Although not entirely a Christian or a puritan, she was not entirely anything else either. The desire of her heart was to be left alone. What she came to realize over time was nobody could expect to be left alone, not indefinitely and certainly not in a Puritan community.
My mother mostly followed what people nowdays call ‘The olde religion’ she fed house pixies and gave oblation in spring at what is called by her people Beltaine and in the fall at what they call Samhain. She worked the fields diligently and had children as was required of a mother, whose life giving force comes from the original Mother of Us All. Before I came she had twelve children all of whom lived. I was thirteen.
My mother found her comfort in the sect of Quakers. She was mindful of not standing out with her old fashioned practices, passed down from mother to mother. Quakers allowed however for individual religious expression. While sometimes this confused outsiders, with the dancing and quaking and conversely the silence that some people practiced, it suited my mother who was on her own path anyway.
She married a man named Leeds who was a good and kind man. He never did know or share her secret beliefs. They were to her mind woman’s practices anyway and not something he needed to know.
One Beltaine Eve my mother went out to the woods to give thanks to the Mother in the Mother’s way. It may or may not surprise you but practitioners of the Olde Religion resided in secret all over the colonies. As they came, so too did their deities and house sprits. This Beltaine in 1735 my mother met with chose a man who she could only describe as dark, pleasing and with an air of dangerousness.
Nine months later I was born to her on a stormy night. As her pregnancy had gone the same as ever she had no reason to worry about this one. She also had no worries on her mind regarding her husband as at least four of my siblings were Beltaine babies. However on this stormy night things would turn out differently and all who were present were completely unprepared.
I did not enter the world to coos and awe. My entrance provoked fear and disgust. The midwife and attendants, two of which were my older half sisters, had no experience to prepare them for a human shaped infant who upon entry into this world immediately began shifting forms. I am told to some I appeared to be winged, to others pony-like, to others I appeared somewhat doggish. My mother too was shocked. She was also afraid. She had built up a life for herself in this community. It was fairly clear to her that she had inadvertently coupled with one not quite human; however she clearly could not explain this to others. She knew the whispers would begin, and they did.
As the dumbfounded crowd left leaving her with my sisters, she took them to her and explained to them women’s magic. Things that they would have known in time, but had to be told early because of the occurrence of my birth. What was decided was as it was well past Samhain and another three months until the next time the veil between worlds would be thin, she would nurse and care for me, keeping me covered at all times so as not to attract attention. Her husband would be told I was born deformed and may not live; the reason given would be the number of pregnancies my mother had experienced.
Being not quite human I grew well and strong. Also my mind grew at a different rate. There is much that I remember from this time. My mother’s singing voice. The soft swell of her breast easing my hunger, milk thin, warm and sweet filling my stomach. My sibling’s laughter, filling the family home. The man I assumed at the time was my father, coming home heavy and tired, smelling of pine tar from clearing trees, or wood smoke from making charcoal.
When the next Beltaine did approach my mother did not take part in worshipping, instead she brought me in the dawn to a stream deep within the woods. Taking a deep breath and singing an ancient song she stepped through it and into another world and kept walking. She had entered my true father’s land.
I knew it immediately. Smells were not so much stronger as different, enhanced. I could taste the air. I squirmed in her grasp and became a pup, which she smiled at and put down. I was happy to follow her, but had no control over my forms, changing constantly between horse and child, dog and bird. She was patient and stopped when I became child and either carried me or waited for me to change again.
Eventually we came to what looked like a hunting lodge. My mother rapped thrice and waited. The door itself was thick and old. My dog and horse forms could smell many things on it, sadness, fear, joy, indecision. There was no indecision smell to my mother however. After a while the door opened and "was filled with the body of a huge man. He was dressed in trousers, and his arms were nearly around as some of the trees. He looked as if he could be quite foreboding but his manner and smell were quite kind.
He looked at my mother, and then glanced at me. “I see you have one of ours.” He said.
“Yes,” she answered “although I know not whom is father is, he is Beltaine Bourne”
The man laughed at this. “I know well enough whom he belongs to. And the form changes should have told you too, if you had been properly schooled.”
I could tell my mother was a little embarrassed at this. “I practice singularly my Lord. While I know enough to give The Mother her due, I have not learned all, I doubt if I could even have crossed if it were not the right time and I did not have my son with me.” At this she gave me a squeeze, but not an uncomfortable and stroked my feathers as I was at that point a bird.
“What I do know is I cannot have him with me, not here; in this new land where there are none to give him what he needs.”
The man looked kindly on her. “No you cannot. He will stay here, and I will give him to his father as soon as he returns from the night. He is Phouka and he belongs with us.”
With that he held out his arms. My goodly mother gave me a hug and tucked something into the man’s hands. “If he can, please let him see us sometime and teach him who his human family is so he will know them." With that she turned and strode away. She did not look back. It was not because she did not love, but rather because in order to live in her world, it was me she needed to be away from.
****I forgot to add the explaination of this piece. I have long had it in mind to write a fantasy about The Jersey Devil from his point of view. I actually began it some time ago, but the computer it is on is battery-less right now. So for this piece I began anew. Sometime I will go back, I'm sure it's nothing like the first draft, however the prompt made me think of it.
My mother escaped to the new world in search of religious freedom. Although not entirely a Christian or a puritan, she was not entirely anything else either. The desire of her heart was to be left alone. What she came to realize over time was nobody could expect to be left alone, not indefinitely and certainly not in a Puritan community.
My mother mostly followed what people nowdays call ‘The olde religion’ she fed house pixies and gave oblation in spring at what is called by her people Beltaine and in the fall at what they call Samhain. She worked the fields diligently and had children as was required of a mother, whose life giving force comes from the original Mother of Us All. Before I came she had twelve children all of whom lived. I was thirteen.
My mother found her comfort in the sect of Quakers. She was mindful of not standing out with her old fashioned practices, passed down from mother to mother. Quakers allowed however for individual religious expression. While sometimes this confused outsiders, with the dancing and quaking and conversely the silence that some people practiced, it suited my mother who was on her own path anyway.
She married a man named Leeds who was a good and kind man. He never did know or share her secret beliefs. They were to her mind woman’s practices anyway and not something he needed to know.
One Beltaine Eve my mother went out to the woods to give thanks to the Mother in the Mother’s way. It may or may not surprise you but practitioners of the Olde Religion resided in secret all over the colonies. As they came, so too did their deities and house sprits. This Beltaine in 1735 my mother met with chose a man who she could only describe as dark, pleasing and with an air of dangerousness.
Nine months later I was born to her on a stormy night. As her pregnancy had gone the same as ever she had no reason to worry about this one. She also had no worries on her mind regarding her husband as at least four of my siblings were Beltaine babies. However on this stormy night things would turn out differently and all who were present were completely unprepared.
I did not enter the world to coos and awe. My entrance provoked fear and disgust. The midwife and attendants, two of which were my older half sisters, had no experience to prepare them for a human shaped infant who upon entry into this world immediately began shifting forms. I am told to some I appeared to be winged, to others pony-like, to others I appeared somewhat doggish. My mother too was shocked. She was also afraid. She had built up a life for herself in this community. It was fairly clear to her that she had inadvertently coupled with one not quite human; however she clearly could not explain this to others. She knew the whispers would begin, and they did.
As the dumbfounded crowd left leaving her with my sisters, she took them to her and explained to them women’s magic. Things that they would have known in time, but had to be told early because of the occurrence of my birth. What was decided was as it was well past Samhain and another three months until the next time the veil between worlds would be thin, she would nurse and care for me, keeping me covered at all times so as not to attract attention. Her husband would be told I was born deformed and may not live; the reason given would be the number of pregnancies my mother had experienced.
Being not quite human I grew well and strong. Also my mind grew at a different rate. There is much that I remember from this time. My mother’s singing voice. The soft swell of her breast easing my hunger, milk thin, warm and sweet filling my stomach. My sibling’s laughter, filling the family home. The man I assumed at the time was my father, coming home heavy and tired, smelling of pine tar from clearing trees, or wood smoke from making charcoal.
When the next Beltaine did approach my mother did not take part in worshipping, instead she brought me in the dawn to a stream deep within the woods. Taking a deep breath and singing an ancient song she stepped through it and into another world and kept walking. She had entered my true father’s land.
I knew it immediately. Smells were not so much stronger as different, enhanced. I could taste the air. I squirmed in her grasp and became a pup, which she smiled at and put down. I was happy to follow her, but had no control over my forms, changing constantly between horse and child, dog and bird. She was patient and stopped when I became child and either carried me or waited for me to change again.
Eventually we came to what looked like a hunting lodge. My mother rapped thrice and waited. The door itself was thick and old. My dog and horse forms could smell many things on it, sadness, fear, joy, indecision. There was no indecision smell to my mother however. After a while the door opened and "was filled with the body of a huge man. He was dressed in trousers, and his arms were nearly around as some of the trees. He looked as if he could be quite foreboding but his manner and smell were quite kind.
He looked at my mother, and then glanced at me. “I see you have one of ours.” He said.
“Yes,” she answered “although I know not whom is father is, he is Beltaine Bourne”
The man laughed at this. “I know well enough whom he belongs to. And the form changes should have told you too, if you had been properly schooled.”
I could tell my mother was a little embarrassed at this. “I practice singularly my Lord. While I know enough to give The Mother her due, I have not learned all, I doubt if I could even have crossed if it were not the right time and I did not have my son with me.” At this she gave me a squeeze, but not an uncomfortable and stroked my feathers as I was at that point a bird.
“What I do know is I cannot have him with me, not here; in this new land where there are none to give him what he needs.”
The man looked kindly on her. “No you cannot. He will stay here, and I will give him to his father as soon as he returns from the night. He is Phouka and he belongs with us.”
With that he held out his arms. My goodly mother gave me a hug and tucked something into the man’s hands. “If he can, please let him see us sometime and teach him who his human family is so he will know them." With that she turned and strode away. She did not look back. It was not because she did not love, but rather because in order to live in her world, it was me she needed to be away from.
****I forgot to add the explaination of this piece. I have long had it in mind to write a fantasy about The Jersey Devil from his point of view. I actually began it some time ago, but the computer it is on is battery-less right now. So for this piece I began anew. Sometime I will go back, I'm sure it's nothing like the first draft, however the prompt made me think of it.
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