The Merrie Side of the Moon: A Christmas Fairytale

A little girl is offered the chance to join a Christmas feast on the other side of the moon — but the spirits of the forest near her house will do anything to stop her

It’s the festive time of the year again! I’m very much in the Christmas mood already as the days grow darker, earlier. Increasingly, the happiest things have become fuzzy blankets and hot cocoa and my husband and my cat. So I found myself in the mood for a slightly spooky Christmas fairytale and decided to write one.

I love the concept of the “other side of the moon,” the old medieval idea that there was a heavenly side of the moon (for much more on this, see Planet Narnia by Michael Ward and even That Hideous Strength by CS Lewis. The Discarded Image by Lewis is excellent, too, but it’s also a little bit of a slog.) I wanted to explore that idea in the form of a children’s fairytale.

Happy reading!

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Once upon a time, a little girl named Samantha lived in a grand old house on the edge of a dark forest. Every night, she gazed out her window and wondered what was on the other side of the bright winter moon. If this side, facing her home, was so lovely, how much more enchanted must the other side be, facing all the stars of the sky!

One Christmas Eve, her uncle came home for the family’s Christmas party and brought a storybook with him which spoke to this deepest longing of hers. It bore a dark cover with gold letters embossed, “The Merrie Side of the Moon.”

To Samantha’s awe, the tale told of a joyous Christmas feast on the other side of the moon. She drank in its lush illustrations of the moon facing the sun and the stars, populated with lovely Christmas fir trees and dancing animals of every kind. In every illustration, the little creatures bore golden goblets and laughed and talked in such merriment that Samantha couldn’t imagine how it could be real.

She fell asleep that night, the fireplace roaring in her bedroom, dreaming of this “merrie side of the moon.” The dreams themselves reached up to the moon. She danced there alongside flute-playing centaurs and leaping hedgehogs and singing owls, circling the brightest, richest-colored Christmas tree imaginable. These were dreams of a haunting sort of music she had never heard in her waking hours, but which brought an unearthly joy to the festivities. The stars glimmered all around them, touching her with pinpricks of dazzling diamond light.

The centaur in the dream turned to her and held out his hand. In it was a little golden ornament, luminous as a harvest moon.

“I give you an ornament from our Christmas tree,” he said. “So that all the merriment of the heavenly side of the moon may be yours. Polish this ornament by your fireside every night before sunrise, for three nights, and then on the sunrise following the third night, you will be able to join us in the flesh at one of our feasts.”

A golden eagle flew up and joined the centaur and Samantha. Plucking a feather from her body with her beak, she placed the feather in Samantha’s other hand.

“It is easier said than done to remember the things we ought to do, even when they are things we want to do,” she said in a low, musical voice. “Should you lose sight of what you need to do at any point and still long to join us, drop the feather, and I will come to your aid.”

Samantha awoke from the dream amazed to find in her real hands an actual golden ornament, bright as the sun, and an eagle feather, light and lovely.

She jumped out of bed for joy and held the ornament and the feather to her chest, vowing to polish the ornament as soon as the dusk turned into nightfall. She could hardly wait and passed the whole day giddy with her secret.

The dark forest at the edge of her grand old home, however, was, unbeknownst to her, rife with spirits who also knew of her dream. These wraiths of the forest, as shadowy and gangly as dead trees, could flit in and out of dreams too, just as well as the merrie animals could.

The spirits burned with envy that this child might go to the merrie side of the moon, for they had once lived there themselves and, having been banished from that place, could never return. Bitter with resentment, they gathered in the dead of night to concoct a plan to lure the girl away and make her one of their own kind.

So the first nightfall arrived, and as Samantha sat down by her crackling fire and began eagerly to polish the golden ornament, she heard a voice cry out from just outside her window,

“Samantha, Samantha! I am the prince of the moon’s merrie Christmas feast, and I have come for you!”

The voice was so clear and unearthly and unexpected that Samantha rushed to the window. Below her, standing in the snow between the house and the forest, stood the fairest, most princely boy she had ever seen, clad in red and gold velvets.

“Who did you say you were?” she cried out in wonder.

“The prince of the Christmas feast which you so long to attend!” he called back. “Come down from the window and I will take you there.”

“But what about the ornament?” she asked, frowning a little, but still gazing admiringly at his rich appearance. “The centaur said I had to polish the ornament three times to join the feast after the third night. He didn’t say anything about a prince coming to welcome me on just the first night.”

“And where would be the good cheer in things going just the way you were told they would?” he replied, laughing. “This is a lovely surprise that was meant just for you. Come down and see.”

As he laughed, though, Samantha caught hints of what looked like fangs rather than teeth. They were tiny from her window, and she wondered if it had merely been a trick of the light, but she shuddered. The fangs unsettled her, and the centaur really hadn’t said anything about a prince. So she bid the boy goodnight and shut her window, returning to the ornament and the fireplace. She polished the ornament and slept.

The second day passed as she wondered about the curious appearance of the prince with fangs and daydreamed about the feast upon the moon. Night fell, and she began to polish her ornament by the firelight.

Just as she began to polish the golden ornament, she heard a voice at her window, this one high and cackling and frayed.

“Little girl in the grand house!” the voice called out. “Would you like to buy a Christmas ornament? I have a great variety for sale of fine craftsmanship — baubles of silver and green and purple, some studded with diamonds, some with sapphires!”

Intrigued and immediately imagining sapphire-studded ornaments, she forgot the gold one in her hand and rushed to the window.

“I haven’t got money with me, but your trinkets sound so beautiful!” Samantha called out to the old woman, who appeared, just like the prince the night before, to be dressed in almost royal-looking finery. She deduced that the woman must be rich indeed and have every lovely thing available for sale.

“I would accept a trade!” called the woman. “Have you got an ornament you might trade me?”

Samantha hesitated. She only had the gold one the centaur had given her, and she needed it in order to reach the moon. But the moonlight caught the reflection of one of the diamond ornaments and glinted off of it so dazzlingly that she found herself slowly pulling the gold ornament out of her nightgown pocket.

The woman’s eyes widened upon seeing the ornament. “Oh that’s very, very beautiful, child,” she said softly. “I would happily give you any of mine in return for your little gold trinket. My daughter would love to play with such a thing — she loves golden baubles.”

Samantha bit her lip and considered the offer. A moment went by, but suddenly she remembered the vividness of her dream again and managed to turn away from the dazzling diamond ornament.

“I mustn’t,” she said a little regretfully. “I can’t get another one of these again, you know. I wish you luck in finding one for your daughter, though.” She shut the window and returned to polishing her golden ornament, and many hours later, she fell asleep dreaming of diamond ornaments.

The third day rushed by in a blur as Samantha spent all day wondering how glorious a Christmas feast on the moon might be. In the light of day, she had managed to forget about princes and diamond ornaments.

The night fell again, though, and she began to polish her golden ornament. Then, from outside her window, came the cry of not one voice but many, together,

“Samantha! Samantha! We invite you to the great feast-before-the-feast!”

She wondered what the feast-before-the-feast was and went out to her window. Gathered below her was a whole crowd of gaily-clad people, men and women in shades of rich greens and royal reds, golden thread in all their clothing. Some carried trumpets, some flutes, some little harps, and some goblets of various drink.

“What feast before the feast?” she asked curiously, wondering at their grand appearances.

A man with a trumpet strode up to the front of the crowd and bowed. “We know you are to go to the feast on the merrie side of the moon,” he said. “Would you join us for a little early merriment here? That we may send you off with our little Christmas feast in the forest?”

Samantha hesitated, but she thought perhaps she might enjoy this little party in the woods for a while, just a little while. Then she could return to polishing her ornament before dawn. An hour or two couldn’t hurt, she thought.

And so she climbed down her window to great shouts and cheers, and she was borne up on the shoulders of several little men. The crowd carried her off into the dark woods, playing their music on every instrument they had with them.

The feasters carried her deep in the woods, deeper than Samantha had ever ventured before. She wondered at how far they were going and how long it might take to return home. “Could we stop here and celebrate?” she asked. “I’ve got to get home before dawn.”

One of the women laughed. “This isn’t where the feast is, dearie!” she said. “We’ve got to get to the heart of the woods, but don’t worry, we’ll get you home.”

And so they went on, until almost an hour later, they came to a bonfire in the heart of the woods, flocked all around with golden tables. Samantha forgot her cold and her fright and her worry and marveled at the sight. All the tables were decked in velvet cloths and laden with dish upon dish of scrumptious food — roast turkeys and fruit pies and mashed potatoes. Everything smelled delicious.

She ate her fill happily. A little boy invited her to dance with him, and she danced so merrily with him that she forgot the time again. She danced and danced and danced in the dark of the night.

After a little while had passed, Samantha finally began to grow concerned about getting home in time to polish the ornament.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she said to the boy. “I have to go home though, for I must be back by dawn, and it was a long way into the heart of the woods. It’ll be a long way heading back, no doubt.” She tried to stop dancing as she said this but found she couldn’t. Her feet seemed carried along of their own accord.

The boy laughed and held her tighter. “Oh stay, won’t you? What need have you of the feast on the moon? You have this feast! Stay and celebrate.” As he said this, she began to notice his arms start to look more like shadowy tree branches than arms and the color go from his eyes. Samantha wondered if she was imagining it.

She danced, her thoughts shaken and all a blur for a little longer, until she noticed the night begin to grow pale. It was almost dawn. Samantha looked longingly back in the direction of home and then up at the moon with tears in her eyes.

“Even if I can’t get back in time for the merrie feast, though,” she implored, her feet still moving despite her desire to stop, “I do need to go home. Please.”

Suddenly, the boy changed into his shadowy forest-wraith form, and so did the rest of the crowd. To her great horror, Samantha was now surrounded by dark wispy wraiths. They encircled her, their leering hands outstretched.

“Another dance,” said a woman beside her in a croaked voice, gripping her with her twisted tree-vine arms. “Stay and dance and be merry here with us, what need have you of home? Curious girl, stay and let all your curiosities be satisfied.”

Tears in her eyes and longing to go home, Samantha suddenly remembered the eagle feather.

“Yes,” she said cautiously. “One dance.”

As she danced, she made sure to dance wildly enough that the eagle feather would fall out of her pocket. She leapt this way and that until the feather fell upon the ground.

At once, the great golden eagle swooped into the woods. “I am here,” she said in her low, musical voice. The wraiths recoiled from her in terror, and some tried to cling to Samantha all the harder. The eagle cut Samantha loose from their grip with her talons and picked the girl up.

Clutched in the eagle’s talons, Samantha was now flying over the dark forest much more quickly than she’d had to walk through it. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed to the eagle. “I forgot. I forgot it all. I thought I could celebrate with them and come back, but they had never meant to let me come home. What are they?”

“It’s alright,” said the eagle soothingly, “that’s why I gave you my feather. I told you, sometimes it’s easy to forget even those things we most want. As for the wraiths in the wood, it is best not to wonder too much about them. It is enough to know that they were once our friends and companions on the starry side of the moon and that they are, by their own doing, no longer. They do not wish you well, child.”

The eagle carried Samantha back to her open window, where the girl scrambled through and rushed to the fireplace. Samantha polished the ornament as quickly as she could, her tears falling upon it as the sun came up. The eagle had agreed to stay with her during that time, keeping watch out the window.

“Do you think I’ll still be able to go?” the girl asked the eagle. “It’s dawn now. Have I polished the ornament enough, in time?” She cried a little more, softly. “I suppose even if I don’t, at least I’m home.”

“Perhaps,” said the eagle, with a wise smile. “Perhaps you will. Perhaps.”

As the dawn grew rosier and brighter, Samantha heard the sounds of harps and trumpets and flutes outside her window, more beautiful than any the music of any instruments she had ever heard in her life. She rushed to the window.

There, upon the clouds, rode the centaurs, the hedgehogs, the foxes, the rabbits, and some willowy creatures who were beautiful, lithe, and green, unlike the horrifying wraiths of the wood. Surrounding them were glittering people dressed in what seemed to be starlight.

The centaur, riding upon the sky, stopped just outside the window and reached out his hand to Samantha.

“Come to the feast,” he said warmly. Samantha happily jumped on his back, and the eagle flew behind her, the whole retinue taking off for the merrie side of the moon. She rode on through the sky above mountains and meadows and marshes, marveling at the sight of the moon. The dawn shone, blushing and gold, upon everything below her.

At last, they landed on the side of the moon that faced away from the earth. It was not rocky, but lovely with grasses, the ground solid with marble inlaid everywhere with gold, and bathed in hazy silvery and golden light alike. It was a magical place.

And it was just like Samantha’s dream — the feasting creatures danced happily, their golden goblets full of every good drink. And of course, at the center, the great fir Christmas tree, topped with an actual star from the sky. It was cheer like she had never known on earth. The feast lasted not one day, not two, but endless days, forever.

When she had celebrated for what felt like an eternity, the centaur finally returned Samantha to her home and promised it would not be the last she would see of such a place.

And so, she lived happily in her grand old house as she grew up, never letting the memory of the merrie side of the moon fade from her heart. And one day (though that is a story for another day), she was reunited with that joyous place again.

The end.

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