I wrote this piece for my latest volume of poetry, Seasons, Vol. 2: Nights Alive. Given it’s a beautiful late September day, I figured I’d take the opportunity to share a fitting piece from my book – a nice little freebie.
The Harlot and the Harvest Moon
Wood floor chattered as he scooted the stool away from the bar.
Late September had the beach barren, but he liked it that way.
Shoulder to shoulder with tourists wasn’t the way he preferred to enjoy an ice cold beer.
It’s why he chose this time to pay the coast a visit.
He lit up a cigarette, thankful for a dive that let him.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Taking in the sounds of the waves.
Breathing in the ocean breeze.
The life he’d left behind was chaotic and full of noise.
There would be people disappointed, but he was in too much pain to hold on.
“What’ll it be, jack?”
Wherever his mind was wandering at the time, it snapped back to this little beach bar in Florida.
“Manners, huh?”
He was taken aback by the brusque bartender and answered in kind.
She was a beauty, enough so that it distracted him from his worries.
Struck by her saltwater blue eyes, tanned skin, and chestnut hair, he muttered, “I’ll start with a whiskey.”
“The man wants whiskey,” she judged, “who could’ve guessed?”
She strolled away from him, preparing a glass.
He puffed on his cigarette and shook his head.
The old timer next to him chortled.
Grizzled, puffing on a stogie of his own.
“You ain’t from around here, are you?”
“Can’t say that I am, friend. What’s her deal?”
The old timer smirked.
“Depends on how much time ya got,” the old timer said.
The bartender slammed a glass of whiskey down.
“Sam, don’t let these legends breathe,” she said, looking disapprovingly at the old timer.
“I’m taking my smoke break,” she added in a way that suggested the two men were on their own.
It wasn’t until now that he noticed they were the only three in the bar.
Sam took a puff his cigar, squinting at the man as if he wasn’t sure of whether to open this can of worms or not.
He relented.
“Bout two years ago, Priscilla there lost the only man she ever loved.”
“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said in response.
“No no no,” the old man stopped him.
“You save that standard issue sympathy for someone else. To hear her tell it…she deserves nothing less than the utter heartbreak of everyone who hears this story.”
He paused, sipping on his whiskey, contemplating the weird vibe that suddenly hung over his conversation with the old timer.
“Well, buddy…I don’t think she’s going to tell me.”
Sam laughed again, hearty as hell.
“No, she probably won’t, but seeing as how she ain’t here, allow me to indulge you.”
“Two years ago, damn near to the day,” the old timer paused…
“all’s I know is that it was around the harvest moon…Priscilla’s husband started talking about this woman…glowing like a light bulb..hanging around this very beach at night.”
Something about the look on his face changed.
It was as if he’d been having fun sharing spooky stories around the campfire only to realize the grim reality of what he was sharing.
“It wasn’t natural, though.
He began to obsess, and that’s when Priscilla thought he mighta been cheatin’ on her.
He would say the strangest things. Swore up and down that she would radiate light at night…that she walked on water…”
“So, she was a ghost?”
He interjected cynically and the old man took exception.
“She was a harlot,” he said firmly, staring into the stranger’s eyes.
He continued, “whatever drugs they was on, they musta been good. Priscilla couldn’t handle it. They found his body washed ashore a couple miles down the road.”
One more sip of whiskey.
“So, what happened to this woman?”
The old timer pursed his lips soberly…”never seen her…not once…not ever again. She never found the woman.
There’s an urban legend ‘round here.
Priscilla seems to buy it.”
“The story goes that a hundred years ago, a woman lost her husband at sea during the harvest moon. She couldn’t cross over, so she stays here, waiting for him to return and dragging lost souls to whatever damned hell she’s in…
…it’s children’s tales! But, Priscilla seems to believe. If you stay here after the bar closes, you’ll see her down on the beach, waiting to confront the devil.”
A door slammed.
“God damn it, Sam. You’re airing my life story to any old dickhead that walks into the bar now?”
If looks could kill, Priscilla would’ve had the old man on life support.
“It’s a good story,” Sam objected,
“Besides, the people love tall tales. Keeps the mystery of life alive.”
“Priscilla, huh? I’m Jason.”
He extended a hand, but Priscilla just rolled her eyes.
“What? You feeling sorry for the widow now, Jason? Pity me because you think I’m crazy?”
“Fuck, lady,” Jason shook his head.
“I’m just trying to be nice. Your business is your business.”
He couldn’t place it, but there was something magnetic about Priscilla.
He was drawn to it.
She relented a bit as time passed.
Going as far as pouring three shots of whiskey on the house, none of which lasted longer than a few seconds.
Jason confessed to her, “at least you’re willing to confront your past…I’m down here running from mine.”
She smiled.
“We all manage the best we can.”
By the time the clock struck midnight, all concept of time was lost.
Stories shared, troubles forgotten,
The strife of life left long behind.
All the while, the full moon burned brightly, hung quietly above the ocean, casting sparkling light across the water in flashes.
“Closing time,” Priscilla announced to the group.
“Best be making way back home then,” Sam said, “the missus will be waiting.”
He stuffed his cigar, probably his fourth of the night, into the ash tray.
He pulled out a wad of cash and threw it down on the bar.
“If that ain’t enough, hon, I’ll get ya tomorrow,” he said, heading for the door.
Priscilla leaned in.
Jason was unsure of what this energy was.
Was she into him? Was he just drunk?
If he thought about it too much, he’d risk losing the moment.
“Ghost stories aside,” Priscilla said, “it is the perfect night to enjoy the full moon.”
“I agree,” Jason obliged.
Priscilla locked up and they made their way down to the beach.
There’s nothing like a clear night on the ocean to make you feel like little more than a speck of dust in the cosmos.
“You don’t have to tell me, Priscilla, but…is what Sam said true?”
Priscilla stared ahead.
The way the moonlight cast across her face awoke something in Jason.
New love.
The feeling of falling for the first time washed over him.
She was light against the backdrop of dark waters.
Before he knew it, he was laughing alongside her, waist deep in the ocean.
“It’s complicated,” she said.
“Some of the things he said were so bizarre. I couldn’t fathom why he’d leave me here.”
With the moon at her back, white light exploded around her silhouette.
“I couldn’t help but feel like something beyond the veil pulled him in,” she said.
Shoulder deep.
Enjoying their swim.
Priscilla went under.
When she emerged, Jason noticed her shoulders were bare.
“Didn’t realize we were coming in to skinny dip,” he said.
Priscilla giggled.
She approached Jason.
He reached out and grabbed her by the hips, feeling skin where her jeans used to be.
Priscilla pulled him in for an intense kiss, but when she pulled away, Jason noticed her eyes radiating a white hot glow.
“What the..”
Priscilla began to ascend from the ocean, water trickling from her hair, over her breasts, and down her legs.
Her aura seemed to exude its own moonlight.
Jason began to feel heavy.
It was as if his body was sinking.
He cried out in a panic.
Entranced, hovering nude above the water, Priscilla shined like a beacon in the night.
“May the binds that tie you to this world relinquish,” she said.
Jason couldn’t move.
He sank further, smiling with lust in his eyes, as the salt water filled his lungs.
Buy your copy of Seasons, Vol. 2: Nights Alive on Amazon. Image courtesy of Joshua Earle on Unsplash.
Stoney Keeley is the Editor in Chief of The SoBros Network, second on Football & Other F Words, analyst for Stacking The Inbox, and a Dogs Playing Poker on velvet connoisseur. He is a strong supporter of Team GSD, #BeBetter, and ‘Minds right, asses tight.’ “Big Natural” covers the Tennessee Titans, the NFL Draft, Nashville, Yankee Candle, and a whole wealth of nonsense. Follow on Twitter @StoneyKeeley.
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