The Gray Aisling of the Aisle

Here’s a story.

I was about ten years old when my brothers Thom and Siggard talked me into sneaking out of the house. Thom would have been twelve and Siggard thirteen or fourteen. This was a good many years ago, and Thom and Siggard are both gone now, but they were alive and indestructible then. It was summer, and my brothers had gotten it into their heads to sneak out to the cliffs some miles from our cottage, itself some miles outside the city of Stonebeach. There was a legend, old even then, that a ghost haunted those chalky cliffs, only visible by the light of the full moon: the Gray Aisling of the Aisle. Some say it is the spirit of the dread Avery Hornblende, or his second-in-command Captain Jack Littlebrook, both lost when their ship, the ironically-named Tide’s Revenge, was swallowed by a storm while crossing the Shatter Gulf. My brothers were fascinated with pirates, and between them had worked up the courage to go see the apparition for themselves. Naturally, they decided to drag me along, thinking a good fright might do me some good.

So, one summer night, we pulled on our boots and slid out the window of the room we shared. The air was still warm, and fireflies flit along the path we cut through the fields. Though the night was, indeed, well lit by the full moon, it took us probably more than an hour to reach the cliffs. Along the way, my brothers recounted the tales of the Gray Aisling, attempting to build both tension and excitement. In truth, I don’t think my brothers expected to see anything but fireflies that night, but the adventure was fun enough, and I looked forward to making up stories to share with my friends the next day.

Soon enough, the fields gave way to the open yellow-white rock of the cliffs overlooking the chopping sea that had devoured The Tide’s Revenge. Thom and Siggard directed me to a cluster of large rocks and a skeletal tree, burned, it seems, some years before. There, we crouched, as Thom continued another tale – no doubt invented on the spot – of the Gray Aisling, when, suddenly, Siggard slapped his hand tightly over Thom’s mouth. I looked at Siggard, who was staring at the cliffs past Thom. Something had caught his eye, and now it caught ours as well. A figure was moving along the cliffs – not walking, not moving its legs, just… gliding. And it was getting closer to us.

Well, I about shat myself. My brothers ran, and – as they would tell it later – kept running until they made it back to the safety of their beds. Somehow I stayed right where I was, crouched by that burnt-out tree. I won’t say it was bravery that kept me rooted in place, for I was frozen in terror. The apparition glided silently across the edge of the cliffs. It was the shape of a man – yes, I can say that much – but it was imprecise. I can’t say what it wore, exactly; the image would not fix itself in my mind. Through it, I could see the seas beyond, and it flickered like a wind-tickled candle. The figure seemed wracked with anxious purpose, though I can’t say what about it made it seem so, as it did little more than pace the cliff’s edge, floating some inches above the ground. I watched for some time in the moonlight, until – and I cannot believe I did this, the folly of youth – I called out to the specter. Truthfully, I cannot even remember what I said, something inspired like “hello!” or “you, ghost!” no doubt. The whole show had been like a pantomime, and I expected no more response than one would get from a shadow. But the thing turned its head to face me. And it had a face, sure: it had two eyes, one nose, one mouth. It wasn’t a monster in any conventional sense, all boogie-eyed or befanged. But it was nevertheless the most terrifying face I’ve ever seen. I can’t put my finger on what exactly was wrong with it, except that – that it was wrong. Fundamentally wrong. Terribly wrong. And the eyes that were lit as if with weak candles fixed on me. And the mouth that didn’t belong opened. If a sound escaped those misplaced lips, I didn’t hear. But suddenly, all was icy cold, and I could see my breath. A cloud passed in front of the moon then, and the ghost flickered out entirely. I stayed crouched there for some time longer, but the spirit did not return. Eventually I found my way back to the cottage, though I have no memory of this. In the morning, my brothers asked me what I saw, but I would not speak. Rather, I could not. I could not describe the thing on the cliffs, the Gray Aisling of the Aisle. And I would pay a pirate’s ransom not to have a second look.