The Corn Bride

Faye Bright lay on a platform of the Oxford Circus underground station as the city above took a hammering from the Luftwaffe.
Sleep came and went in brief, delirious shifts. Every time she fell into a deep slumber, another salvo of bombs rolled like thunder, the floor trembled, dust trickled from the ceiling and Faye jolted awake. Again. For the Londoners snoozing around her, it was just another raid. Perhaps they were used to it by now? Or maybe those who couldn’t cope had fled to the countryside, leaving only the hardy town mouse types who were able to endure this kind of nerve-shredding hell night after night? ‘We can take it!’ was a familiar refrain, though Faye had to wonder when they might start dishing it out for a change.
She checked her wristwatch – the one her commanding officer Bellamy Dumonde had insisted on giving her after she was late for one session of training at Beaulieu – and was astonished to see that it was ten to five in the morning. The raid had started a little after nine o’clock last night. This was a punishing one by any standard.
Faye had been caught out after a pleasant dinner with Vera Fivetrees, Head Witch of the British Empire, at Duck Island Cottage, her official residence in Saint James’s Park. Bellamy had been there, too, and they had spent the evening discussing anything but the war. Faye was due a few days’ leave and was looking forward to going home and being back in Bertie’s arms for their wedding.
This would be her first trip to Woodville since the strange events of last Christmas, which had culminated in her beloved Bertie proposing to her. Faye had said yes without hesitation. She had known Bertie all her life, and in the last year had fallen head over heels for this sweet and brave boy. It all made sense. Apart from the fact that she had to leave the morning after the wedding to begin her training with Bellamy’s Special Operations Executive: Paranormal Division.
But tomorrow she would be going home.
Woodville was where Faye had been born. She knew its every nook and cranny, and greeted everybody by name. But now, as she lay on the dusty platform in the heart of London, the village felt as distant as the moon. For the past few months, her every waking moment had been dedicated to applying her witchcraft skills to cryptology, weapons training, martial arts, orienteering, fitness and sabotage. It was exhausting, but there was never a dull moment. And she was good at it.
Bellamy was quick to praise her interrogation skills and her swift right hook. Would Bertie notice the change in her? Would it scare him off?
After dinner with Vera and Bellamy, she had decided to take an evening walk back to her lodgings above a pub in Oxford Street. She’d been close to the Oxford Circus underground station when the siren sounded, and had ducked inside.
The Londoners’ famed Blitz spirit was alive and kicking to start with, and there had been music, singing and laughter. But around midnight, folks had become more subdued. As it became clear this was going to be a long raid, they all hunkered down for the duration.
And now, some eight hours or so later, Faye sat up and stretched. The sun would rise soon and the raid would end as the Luftwaffe returned home from their deadly mission.
A handful of people were already awake, reading newspapers or solving crosswords – one man was clearing his lungs a little too enthusiastically for Faye’s liking – but most were still asleep. Faye considered nodding off again.
Then she heard the singing. Eerie, distant and childish.
‘Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.’
Faye stood slowly and glanced around. The folks nearby were rubbing their eyes, yawning and scruffing their hair as they woke. One woman was knitting a pair of socks. No one else reacted to the echoing voices. There had been children playing and singing when she had first arrived, but she looked about and found them piled asleep on top of their parents further down the platform. Treading carefully, Faye walked silently past the snoring children. As she approached the darkness of the underground train tunnel, something in the air changed. An electric sensation that left a metallic taste in her mouth.
Magic.
She reached the empty maw of the tunnel and glanced back along the platform. She couldn’t see the moon down here, of course, but could still draw on its energy. She created a glamour so that no one saw her hopping from the platform and onto the rails. Faye was fairly certain the power had been turned off during the raid, but she kept away from the electrified third rail nevertheless. The tingling sensation of the glamour comforted her, giving her what she felt might be a misplaced sense of invincibility, but one she welcomed all the same as she stepped further into the dark.
‘Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.’
A chill brushed at her cheeks, a trickle of cold sweat snaking down her spine. The air was laced with smoke and dust and something that made Faye think of when the pub’s outdoor lavvy was blocked.
The singing continued, echoing off the curved walls of the tunnel.
‘Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.’
Faye wondered if she was dreaming – after all, it wouldn’t be the first time that eerie singing had haunted her dreams – but as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw them.
‘Care is heavy, therefore sleep you.
You are care, and care must keep you.’
They were holding hands, dancing in a circle.
‘Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing you a lullaby.’
Three boys and three girls, dressed in school uniforms. The boys wore caps. One had broken specs. The girls all wore their hair differently. The mousy one had a ponytail, the blonde had pigtails and the littlest one wore hers with a blue clip. Their parents had gone to some effort to make them presentable for school, yet— ‘Bloody hell,’ Faye muttered as she moved closer to the children. Their glistening faces were blistered, blackened and burned. Light curled around them, and she thought of the magic lantern shows she had seen as a child. How the colours blended and swirled hypnotically. These children were ghosts. Victims of another raid, perhaps. Their lives cut short by this hideous war. The all-clear siren sounded. A long drone, no rise or fall in pitch. Faye instinctively looked up at the sound and the children stopped singing. When she looked down again, they were all staring at her.
Faye’s bowels loosened and she nearly had an unfortunate incident but managed to keep it together.
The children began to sing again, their voices creating a forsaken harmony with the siren.
‘Huffity, puffity, Ringstone Round,
If you lose your hat it will never be found,
So pull your britches right up to your chin,
And fasten your cloak with a bright new pin,
And when you are ready, then we can begin,
Huffity, puffity, puff!’
The singing ceased with the siren, the children vanished in a burst of light and Faye’s ears popped. Something fluttered in her chest, her breath coming in short rasps. She took a moment to gather herself in the dark of the tunnel before turning on her heel to make her way back to the platform.
Silhouetted in the arch of light, another figure blocked her path. Still and silent.
Inhuman.
It was a corn dolly, but one as tall as Faye, wearing a white wedding dress. The corn dolly’s head was a cluster of wheat shafts, like an exploding star. Her fingers were broken stems poking from her sleeves.
Faye’s mouth was dry. A ringing began in her ears, growing louder and louder.
Creaking like wicker, the Corn Bride slowly raised her makeshift hand and pointed at her.
Faye tried to speak, but no words would come. Her chest heaved; her limbs were paralysed.
The Corn Bride tilted her head back and rushed at Faye, hands raised as if to shove her deeper into the dark.
Faye’s training kicked in as she bunched her fists and took a defensive stance, but the Corn Bride whisked straight through her, turning into swirls of vapour and vanishing on the dusty breeze.
Faye blinked. The ringing in her ears subsided. She was alone once more.
As her heart slowed, she found her voice again. ‘Blimmin’ ’eck.’
It was time to go home.