The texture of his palms was rough from years as a jousting knight, yet despite their coarse conditioning, they remained tender and kind; warm, confident, and often mischievous. Or, maybe, it was his eyes she loved the most. The way they sparkled when he laughed, or deepened in color from their usual vibrant azure to a rich sapphire during a moment of passion, never ceased in making butterflies dance and flutter inside her heart. She especially loved the way they crinkled in the corners when he smiled, like how they formed now, as his head tilted to the side in a gesture that spoke of confused amusement.
“Dandelion?” Raphael asked as he moved his thumbs along her knuckles of their held hands.
“Hmm?” Lola blinked, awakened from her reverie. She remembered where she stood, and snapped to attention. “Oh! Yes! I do!” she announced. She witnessed those happy-lines around his eyes grow more defined, and her heart gave the familiar jolt of that addicting thrilling flutter.
“By the powers vested in me, I now proclaim you as husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” Lazare said, his voice carrying over the open courtyard.
Lola closed her eyes, tilting her head back as she waited for Raphael to meet her. The soft pressure against her puckered lips as they shared a kiss made her wonder if this was the part of him she truly loved the most.
“That’s how you’re going to kiss her?” Jack asked, peering away from his camcorder. “Snooze-fest. Come on, where’s the razzle-dazzle? The alakazam? The pizazz? Try it again, but this time, with a little more chutzpa,” he directed, ducking back to his viewfinder while waving the couple into place.
“Jack, leave them alone,” Modesta chastised with a roll of her eyes. She bumped her hip into his, playfully knocking him off balance. “Let them kiss how they want to kiss. It’s their wedding.”
“It’s giving cold, like I’m watching a cod fish scrounging for food with its lips pressed against the seafood enclosure at the grocery store,” Jack said, mimicking the fish he so expertly described before angling his camcorder for a more dramatic perspective of the soon-to-be wedding couple.
“I’ll have you know my kisses are very warm and very lively,” Raphael defended with an indignant puff of his chest.
“Prove it,” Jack demanded in a lighthearted jeer. “Show me how you kiss your wife, not your mom.”
“Well… they say practice makes perfect,” Lola said, shrugging, and turned from Jack to give a coquettish smile at Raphael, looking up at him from under her batting eyelashes.
“Surely you’re not agreeing with him,” Raphael spoke, taken aback at the notion of needing practice to kiss his beloved. “I was under the impression we had mastered the art of lip-locked affection.”
“That kiss was a little lackluster,” Lazare shared, voicing his opinion not so subtly from under his breath.
“Thank you,” Jack agreed.
Raphael gave a sigh, annoyed that his kiss was being so heavily critiqued, but any animosity, mild or otherwise, melted away as he observed Lola’s slight movements of dancing in place with excitement before him. Her green eyes twinkled, her cheeks glowed pink from an internal flush that mixed with the chill in the air that colored her complexion in a rosy hue. Her sight kept darting to his lips. She wanted him to kiss her, and that realization caused him to chuckle.
“Eager for kisses, my silliest of gooses?” Raphael asked, stepping closer into her space. She giggled uncontrollably when he took up both of her hands and softly brushed his lips on the fingers of her left and right.
“You asked for it. Don’t blame me for what happens next,” he added, whispering that last part so only she could hear.
A heated shiver rippled through Lola from a pit in her belly, creating an explosion of butterflies that tickled her insides. He gave no other warning to his scheme and spun her in a twirl that had her yelping out a startled gasp of surprise, followed by a giddy squeal as he guided her into an elegant ballroom dip. His lips were on hers before she could fully recover her breath. The talented passion of his mouth made her legs weak and wobbly, the rest of her body descending closer toward the ground as she melted from the kiss.
She wrapped her arms around Raphael’s neck, keeping herself balanced as he tipped her lower and lower. She trusted he wouldn’t let her fall, not when he had her cradled in his strong hold around her back and waist. She could have stayed in that position forever, lingering in a suspension of weightlessness, her body’s senses teetering between falling or flying. She responded to his greedy need for her mouth, but before instincts could take full control, she was placed upright, standing once more before him.
Breathless and bleary, Lola swayed on her feet, blinking through the veil of the amorous shroud covering her eyes. A warm chuckle dazedly brought her eyes to meet a pair of sparkling azure.
“How’s that for cod fish?” Raphael asked, brushing a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.
“Wow,” she exhaled on a trembling breath, unable to conjure any other words to express the rush of endorphins flooding her system.
“Dude, save something for the honeymoon,” Jack quipped, smiling broadly at the glare Raphael shot his way.
“You sure know how to make me go weak in the knees,” Lola laughed, leaning against the edge of the old stone well to help support her limp body as she regained her composure. “Kiss me like that on our wedding day and I might swoon right over into the wishing well.”
Lola straightened from her slump and turned over her shoulder to look down into the inky depths of the limestone wishing well from where she and Raphael stood. She leaned forward with a wistful smile, trying to find glints of coins from people’s wishes filled with hopeful wonder as they were tossed into the magical void. Instead, she was met with a cone of shadows which funneled into a never-ending hole of a drafty shaft that bore the scars of time and history.
“It’d be a long way down,” Raphael commented, moving his arm to hold her around the hip as a safety precaution in case she tumbled forward. “But if you did fall in, I’ll be right there to pull you out.”
“My knight in shining armor,” Lola praised, beaming up at him, and they shared another, albeit much simpler, kiss.
“I still can’t get over how fast the time has flown,” Modesta said, joining everyone around the wishing well. “It seems like only yesterday you guys got engaged, and now you’re getting married in ten days.”
“Ten days,” Lola repeated, bursting with joy. “Are you ready?” she asked toward Raphael.
“I was ready ten months ago,” he answered.
“And talk about a killer venue,” Lazare chimed in, gesturing about the courtyard. “I’ve never been to Castle Springs before. This place is beautiful.”
“You’ve never been here before?” Lola asked, shock dropping open her jaw. “Well, you are in for a treat. This is one of our favorite National Parks to hike, mainly because all of the trails are---.”
“---haunted,” everyone said together at the same time, and then laughed.
“Of course it’s haunted,” Lazare said with a shake of his head, acknowledging Lola’s proclivity toward locations teeming with ghosts.
“Are you two doing the Love Lock tradition?” Jack asked.
“Yes!” Lola declared. “We had a special key commissioned and everything for that part of the ceremony.”
“‘Love Lock’?” Lazare asked, confused.
“Do you see the slit in that stone?” Lola asked, pointing to where Lazare rested his hand on the ledge of the wishing well.
Lazare looked down, moving his hand away from where Lola pointed, and revealed a crack in one of the stone blocks that formed the top of the circular structure. The naturally formed gap in the middle of the stone, roughly two-inches long, resembled a keyhole, the intriguing divot drawing focus to the characteristic charm of the old well.
“That’s the Love Lock,” Lola explained. “It’s a tradition for couples who get married here. After saying their vows, they take a key and ‘lock it in.’”
“It visually symbolizes the forever-after,” Raphael added. “It’s similar to other wedding traditions like handfasting or pouring different colored sand into a jar. Plus, being a wishing well, it secures our desires of happy wishes for the future.”
“The Love Lock is special specifically to Castle Springs,” Lola continued. “It honors the late Count Bastian and his wife.”
“Let me guess, they’re the ones who haunt the trails?” Lazare asked.
“That’s right,” Lola said with a laugh. “Count Friedrich Bastian built this castle for his wife, Wilhelmina, as a wedding present.”
Lola opened her arms out to their surroundings in a grand gesture that encompassed the vast property of the sprawling estate. In the middle of the grassy courtyard where they stood was the famed romantic wishing well. Beyond the iconic simple focal piece of limestone and wood, were the remains of a once imposing stone castle. Where most of the existing structure crumbled within itself, a majority of the grand walls stood tall and proud, defiant of time, the elements, and Mother Nature’s attempts to claim the building with tangled weeds and brambles.
Built in this portion of the expansive Dead Forest, deep in the northern region of Newberry’s mountain range, ancient overgrown trees hugged the remains of the castle built for love and for healing. While majestic in its scale and placement, a somber mist coated the blocks of sandstone and granite. Most accepted the moisture glistening off the rubble as a byproduct of the spring waters cutting below the cliffs on the castle grounds. But in the perfect light, in the timing of the wind or the shifting of one’s attention to the periphery, that gentle glisten shimmered with a liminal elusiveness.
The air thrummed with an invisible resonance, cloying with an underlying eerie trepidation as if donning a blindfold made of cobwebs. Power skittered through the network of roots beneath the soil, and Castle Springs stood as the beacon of otherworldly magnificence, belonging to the land, but not of the land.
“This place is going to be completely transformed on the day of our wedding come the eleventh,” Lola said, stepping away from the wishing well. “We’ll go over more details during the actual wedding rehearsal next week, but for now, picture some chairs that will be placed here, facing the well and forming the aisle where we’ll walk,” she shared, gesturing around the courtyard to indicate the logistics and seating arrangement.
“The well is going to be decorated in a way that complements the aesthetic of the castle, so there will be strings of fairy lights, some candles in antique jars, and these beautiful clusters of roses to make it positively enchanting. And, if you follow that path,” Lola said, pointing toward a set of stone steps leading down a hill, “that’s where the reception will be.”
Following Lola’s guiding hand, the friends observed what looked from this distance to be the remains of a narthex that once connected to the Castle itself. One wall was erected where three others should have been to help enclose the floor of paver stones. A hearth and chimney stack anchored the crumbled structure with barred windows of stain glass stretching out on either side.
The arched roof remained intact, standing the test of time. It curved over the floor, held up by exposed loadbearing pillars with gnarled fingers of vines covering the bases, clawing their way up from the ground in grasping tendrils. The lonely scene radiated a haunting beauty. The small building could have originally been a chapel, at first glance, but any plans for the construction of Castle Springs had since been lost, the mysterious identities of walls and rooms left to the imagination of the explorers who tread the grounds in wonder.
“From the pictures you’ve shown me off their website, I think that big fireplace is functional,” Modesta said. “It’s really quite enchanting, Lola, like you said, and suits the two of you perfectly.”
“It’s sure to be a magical evening,” Jack agreed.
“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Raphael confirmed, hugging Lola into his side.
“You guys are going to make me cry,” Lazare declared, laughing as he moved his glasses to wipe away a tear from his eye.
“We don’t want that,” Lola said. “Come on. As much as I love showing off our venue, let’s get started on our hike before our lunch spoils.”
Ready to get their adventure underway, the group of friends busied themselves in assembling their hiking supplies. Raphael and Jack pulled on backpacks filled with a homemade lunch and picnic items, while Lola threw the strap of a tattered purple satchel with patchwork quilts tucked inside across her body. Lazare adjusted his binoculars hanging from his neck, and Modesta picked up her walking staff embedded with crystals of tiger’s eye and obsidian. She also situated a satchel to lay comfortably against her hip, the soft leather pouch filled with extra snacks and a first aid kit.
“Before we go, there’s still one more thing we have to do at the well,” Modesta said, and she took out a quarter from her jeans pocket. “I’ve got extra coins if anyone needs one.”
The five stood around the old wishing well once more, shaded by the wooden pitched roof supported by two stone pillars. They held their coins over the maw of the well, a chilled breeze caressing the backs of their hands in a gossamer whisper drifting upward from the depths of endless shadows.
“Passage for the Ferry Man,” Modesta recited, and flipped her coin into the wishing well.
In a twinkling glimmer, five silver coins flashed in the cool November sunlight, and then disappeared down the narrowed tunnel of darkness.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
I'm back, back, back again, friends! I am over the moon excited to share this next installment of Newberry for you all! I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I have been!
Let me know how you like the chapter! Can't wait to start posting more!
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The Third Light. It is ambition. It is drive. The font of man's conscious and subconscious will, the Third Light responds to the need to assert oneself. It will always answer to one who is assured of one's wants, especially if one is prepared to do what it takes to see them realized. Lightning is the element with which it strikes, and it is potent indeed.
Situated at the solar plexus, it is at an ideal location for power to flow to all parts of the body evenly when called upon. It holds the strongest connection to the self, and anchors all other chakras to who one is. Similarly, it imposes one's will upon all other open chakras, so that one with an open Third finds oneself in better conscious control of whichever others have been opened.
Given its base in one's will, its power is drawn directly from the spirit, augmented with a lightning aspect that can be used throughout the body. The stronger one's will, the more purposed the aether, and the more powerful the augmentation. At the basic level it grants a heightened state whereby which one's limbs are activated into quickness and strength. The longer one remains in this state, the stronger it becomes. The strong willed who practice the art of Pugilism may experience a form of this. A master of this chakra may call lightning itself to wreath about their form, putting it to quick and destructive use.
Yellow is its color, and so does it mix with the red of the First to form the orange of the Second. Upward does it also flow to mix into the chakra above it, for without will, the rest are aimless. Wherever there is a need, there is a want, and wherever there is a want, there is will. Whenever there is a will, the Third Light will serve.
So writes Berrod Armstrong, Fist of Rhalgr, regarding the Third Light Chakra.
((Please understand that these writings are extrapolations on existing lore, and based on my own character’s studies and experience. If lore is released that forces adjustments, I’ll be more than happy to do so, but in the meantime, I’ll play in the sandbox that was provided. That being said, if you feel the need to…attack me or my writing over this – please reconsider. I assure you, that time and energy will be better spent leaving me the hell alone. Thanks for understanding! For those who enjoy this, thanks for reading!))
The question continued to linger in Lola’s mind, sinking its hooks into the deepest recesses of her thoughts.
Who else knows about Lillian’s grimoire?
So overcome with the question, she knew the only way to calm the fuzzies ricocheting in her brain was to return to the Northcott Manor House. There could be no rest until she laid eyes on the spell book. She needed to physically hold the item and compare it with the one burned in her memory clutched in a pair of fingers ringed with glittering jewels. With Raphael being out of the house for longer stretches during the week, thanks to his new training schedule, and her friends tied to their jobs and obligations, this would have to be a mission she accomplished by herself, so she made a lunch reservation for Tuesday.
Now all she needed was a plan.
The days leading up to her lunch date were consumed with ideas on how to achieve getting the grimoire. One major roadblock she had to contend with was the fact the library remained locked and off limits to the public. She tried to formulate a believable ruse that she left one of her belongings in the upper rooms when she stayed the night and needed to retrieve it, but that had been two weeks ago. Anything the cleaners or staff found would have already been removed by now. Her mind continued to wander, even while driving to the Manor House, concocting any scheme or loophole that could get her in and out of the library without the police getting involved.
“Maybe if I climb through a window,” she thought aloud, picturing herself scaling a rickety wooden ladder left out by a careless groundskeeper. She laughed, the idea obviously ridiculous. Though, she considered, it held better merit than some of her other ideas. Before long, she parked her car in the lot next to the Manor House, her steps taking her up the magnificent stoop, to present, standing in the rich foyer of mahogany, crystal, and candlelight.
The house sang to her. The walls whispered their old charm and elegance, the woodwork, of poise and grandeur, while a thrum of warmth circulated through the space as a quiet veil of mystery. The house, though at times stoic and pretentious, welcomed her with its embrace of secrets. She glanced around the small entryway, seeing the front parlor room was empty, though appeared as if a big party was about to arrive, as staff members had maneuvered the long, linen covered tables to accommodate for space. The formal dining room resonated with a healthy amount of chatter and levity, lunch running as usual for the clusters of diners.
Looking to the grand staircase, Lola saw a thick velvet rope spanning the width of the steps from railing to railing. A heavy gold placard hung from the barricade with blocky, bold letters reading: NO ENTRY.
Lola bit her bottom lip, annoyed at being thwarted by a sign. She flicked her eyes up the stairwell, peeking a sliver of the library’s doorframe, and for a brief second, debated if she could bolt up the stairs without anyone the wiser.
“Thank you for your patience,” the hostess greeted, appearing from the bar area. She approached the podium, and beamed a brilliant smile. “Are you joining us for lunch?” she asked.
“Yes, I am. I have a reservation,” Lola said, tearing her focus away from the upper floors.
After giving her name, the hostess walked her to one of the rooms near the back of the house. What used to be Cornelius’s den had since been transformed into a dining room of five linen covered tables. She was sat at a small table in front of a marble fireplace, given a menu, and then left alone to her own devices.
Serenading melodies of easy listening jazz warmed the underlying coldness that seeped from the shadowed corners of the room, and combined with the turn of the century opulence that practically dripped down the walls, the ambience created a pocket of suspended existence. If Lola wasn’t careful, she could easily find herself captured by the elegant charms of the House. Shaking off the hypnotizing spell, she held up her menu, reading the dishes just as a waiter approached her table.
“How are we doing today?” he asked, filling Lola’s water glass as he flashed a cheery smile.
“I’m well, thank you,” she replied, looking up at him. She guessed him to be of college age, not quite yet grown out of his youthful face, with close cropped sandy hair and brown eyes. Not Newspaper Man, she concluded, slightly disappointed. “How are you?” she asked in turn.
“Can’t complain,” he laughed. “My name is Grant, and I’ll be taking care of you today. What can I get started for you?”
Lola mentally shrugged, figuring she might as well take advantage of a good lunch considering it appeared gaining entry to the library was a bust. “I would love the fish and chips with a glass of the house Sauvignon Blanc, please.”
“Excellent choice. I’ll put that order in and will be back momentarily with your wine,” Grant declared.
She thanked him, and he retreated for the kitchen. Breathing a sigh, she took another look around the room. There was one couple mid-meal in the corner talking quietly to themselves. Aside from them, Lola had the dining room to herself. Since her library reconnaissance mission was a failure, it only made sense to make the drive and her lunch worthwhile by using this time to get some writing done. She pulled out a notebook and pen from her purse, opening to her notes for “The Toe Box” just as Grant came around the corner with her glass of wine.
Lunch was brought out soon after. She found a steady rhythm between relaxing in the enjoyment of fancy-casual fine dining and making great strides in her work. She leaned back from the table with a contented sigh, having just finished a crucial plot point in her key twist ending, as well as the last bite on her plate. With a grin, she looked at her outline, rather impressed with all that she accomplished. The waiter Grant appeared as she set her fork down.
“Can I interest you in some dessert? We have a lovely double berry mascarpone cobbler with brambleberries and blueberries,” he said with his pleasant smile, clearing her table.
“No, thank you, I am stuffed. That was delicious,” Lola boasted.
“May I get you another glass of wine?”
“Thanks, but the one was enough for me,” she said, packing up her things. “Just the check, please.”
Lola handed Grant her bankcard and he disappeared to grab her receipt. She once again observed the small room while waiting for Grant to return. She took her phone out to snag a couple of pictures, adding to the album from her birthday weekend. From the entryway, a trickle of laughter caught her ear, the sound increasing as more voices joined in the merriment.
That party must have arrived, she thought to herself, the sounds of their gleeful enjoyment making her smile. Grant returned, thanking her for joining the Manor House for lunch, and was gone. She signed for the meal and stood, albeit reluctantly, even going so far as to take her time putting away her bankcard in its correct place in her wallet. She didn’t want to leave the House. She hemmed and hawed, picking invisible lint off her table, saddened at having no reason to keep herself at the House. Lola looked to the ceiling, appreciating the preserved mural spanning the surface, yet longed to go beyond it. Lillian’s library sat right above her.
As did the grimoire.
It was so close, and yet so far. She yearned to reach up, stick her hand through the rafters, and pluck out the grimoire, satiating her desire to have it in her possession. Alas, the book remained untouched. Part of the fuzzies in her brain managed to calm down, knowing she was near the grimoire, at least, and that was good enough for now to pacify her curiosity. Throwing her large purse over her shoulder, there was nothing left to do but to go home.
“Bye, House,” she mumbled into the old den, shuffling her feet toward the front entryway. The sounds of laughter grew louder as she approached the hostess podium, and again, she smiled, happy for the party that seemed to be enjoying themselves. Upon reaching the front parlor, she noticed an easel outside the room displaying a large foam board sign. Lola paused to read it, as the purple bats, witches’ hats, and spider web cartoons in the upper corners caught her attention.
“The Stitch ‘n Witch retreat?” she read aloud, tilting her head in question. She turned fully toward the room, shocked to find the party consisted of people sitting at the banquet tables working away at their needlework projects. Some had contraptions made of wooden stretcher bars that held their fabric taut to help easily weave their needle and thread. Others held embroidery hoops of varied shapes and sizes, while a few simply sat with fabric and needle in hand, making stitches at a pleasant pace. The tables were also littered with the comforting evidence of snacks, wine, and comradery.
“---And so, it was in this very room, where Lillian was murdered in cold blood, her killer, never to be found,” proclaimed a man in a sweater vest and wide gold framed glasses. “The End.” The room cheered, some even applauding, and he gave a proud bow over his needlework.
“That’s my favorite story,” declared a woman with light up magnifying glasses at the end of her nose.
“You always tell it so well,” said a man with salt and pepper hair around his temples sitting next to the storyteller.
“Thank you, thank you,” said the first man. “Lillian’s story has always been my favorite.”
“Uh-oh. Looks like we’ve caught a curious fly in our web,” said a woman with purple, pixie-short hair who sat at the table in front of the fireplace. She spotted Lola standing in the threshold of the parlor room, clearly intrigued by the people gathered.
All eyes turned to Lola, and she flinched back a step in surprise, having been caught staring.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she stammered, embarrassed for trespassing on their private conversations. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
“We’ll forgive you…if…you can tell us something spooky about this house,” said the man in the sweater vest and glasses, giving her a crafty smirk. The collective eyes of the room swiveled back to her, eager to know what this newcomer would say.
“Um…well…uh, did you know the turret on the upper level was supposed to be a widow’s walk?” Lola said. Her mind initially went blank when put on the spot, so she said the first thing that popped into her head.
“That’s interesting, but not very spooky,” said the man with salt and pepper hair.
“Well, did you know it was Lillian who had it decommissioned?” Lola asked.
“Why?” the woman in the purple pixie hair questioned.
“She didn’t want Cornelius to know about her secret love affair,” Lola answered with a nonchalant shrug, as if what she said was public knowledge. Collectively, the room gasped.
“She was having an affair?” asked the woman with the light up magnifying glasses on the end of her nose.
“A secret affair,” Lola reiterated, “with a sailor that may or may not have been the one to murder her, since her lover was evil.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! How do you know all of this? Or if it’s even true?” asked the man in the sweater vest.
“Lillian told me herself---through tarot cards.”
The room erupted in a flurry of activity, and Lola found herself being ushered inside, bombarded with questions to know more. She was given a chair at one of the tables, the crafters setting aside their needlework projects to give her their full, undivided attention as she regaled them with the tarot reading from the night of her birthday party.
“All in favor of making this little monkey an honorary Stitch ‘n Witch, say ‘Aye’,” the man in the sweater vest announced once Lola wrapped her tale. The room resounded in one booming “Aye”, and she laughed.
“So, what exactly is a stitch ‘n witch?” Lola asked.
“The Stitch ‘n Witches are a group of cross stitchers, who gather together at the Northcott Manor House once a month to tell scary ghost stories while working on our projects. My name is Robert-Paul,” introduced the man in the sweater vest, “and this is my husband Johnathan,” he next introduced, laying a hand on the shoulder of the man with the salt and pepper hair.
“We launched our group on social media, and formed our community of misfit crafters. We’re basically a family now,” Johnathan shared.
“Tell us your name, little monkey,” requested Robert-Paul.
“I’m Lola.”
“Well, good to meet you, Lola. That’s Denise, Margaret, Juan, Julie, Linda-Joy, Claudia, and Mark,” Robert-Paul introduced, pointing to everyone he named. “Don’t worry about memorizing their names, I promise there won’t be a quiz at the end of this,” he added with a laugh.
“So, do you cross stitch, Lola?” Denise, the lady with the purple hair asked. Some of the crafters had gone back to their stitching, relaxing into their hobby again now that the excitement of the newcomer had settled.
“Not as often as I’d like,” Lola answered. “My mom taught me. She’s the real stitcher. She’s working on a squirrel right now named Dweezil.”
“Have her join our online group, and if she’s local, she’s more than welcome to participate in our Stitch ‘n Witch retreats,” Claudia said, adjusting the magnifiers on the tip of her nose. “Hopefully she likes ghost stories.”
“You don’t have to worry about her, she’s more than capable handling her own,” Lola replied with a chuckle. “But, speaking of ghost stories, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about Lillian.”
“She’s my favorite ghost,” Robert-Paul sighed. “Absolutely tragic how she passed,” he said, pulling a needle through his fabric, returning to his stitching.
“It was a horrible accident,” Lola agreed.
“Accident? I meant what I said about her being murdered in cold blood,” Robert-Paul said, shifting his gaze back to Lola. “I’m not buying into the whole ‘stray bullet’ theory. That incident had premeditation written all over it.”
“How so?”
“She was lighting her third light,” Johnathan said.
A shiver touched her skin, raising the small hairs on her arms. “What do you mean her ‘third light’?”
“If you really want to deep-dive into the Northcott rabbit hole, you’ll quickly learn appearances didn’t match what went on behind closed doors,” Robert-Paul said, lowering his voice to a mysterious level.
Subconsciously, Lola leaned forward, wanting to learn more. “It wasn’t a happy marriage?”
“Rarely are ones made in convenience,” Johnathan said, matching his husband’s tone.
“Lillian was rather…eccentric, and Cornelius was more straight laced,” Robert-Paul shared. “It was noted that she always lit the candles by three.”
“Why?”
“Eccentric,” Johnathan reminded while threading a needle.
“When they found Lillian, the butler made a casual remark in his testimony to the police that only two lanterns were lit on the fireplace mantle,” Robert-Paul continued. It couldn’t be helped, the three briefly turned their attention to the antique oil lamps at the corners of the fireplace mantle. “So why wasn’t there a third lantern lit?”
“She had died before lighting the third one,” Lola answered, reading between the lines of Robert-Paul’s question.
“Exactly! And who better to know when to pull the trigger than someone on the inside.”
“Someone who knew her eccentricities,” Johnathan purred.
“Wait, but her husband was out of town,” Lola said, pulling on her memory of all the details surrounding the infamous case. “And all the staff had been sent from the house.”
“Yes, and if what you said about her secret love affair was true---,” Robert-Paul began.
“---Then her lover was the one who killed her,” she finished, eyes widening in shock. “That’s mind blowing!”
“And that’s why Lillian doesn’t like it when you try to light three lights. It reminds her of her death,” Robert-Paul said. “It happens without fail.” He rummaged in a tote bag on the floor next to him, pulling out a booklet of matches. “Follow me.” He stood, as did Johnathan.
Lola followed suit despite being at a loss of the movement around her. She glanced around at the other stitchers sitting at the tables. Some watched her with a knowing smile while others continued stitching, relaxed and uninterested at the scene before them. She was instructed by Robert-Paul to stand in the middle of the room, he and Johnathan placing themselves in front of her.
“Hold this, please,” Robert-Paul said. He broke off a matchstick from the bifold and handed it to Lola. Then, he broke off another to give to Johnathan, followed by breaking one off for himself. “Lillian is going to stop you from lighting your match.”
“She will?” Lola asked, her eyebrows raising high.
“You have the third light,” Johnathan said.
“It’s like clockwork. Watch,” Robert-Paul scratched his matchhead across the prickly strip on the back of the matchbook. “The first light,” he said, and passed the booklet to Johnathan.
“The second light,” and Johnathan struck his match. He handed over the booklet to Lola.
She stared at the two men, noting their gleeful, expectant expressions while holding actively burning matchsticks. An eerie trepidation had cloaked itself around her, settling into her lungs as she watched the two take turns striking their matches. A warning sense of dread made her hands tremble as she took the proffered matchbook. She licked her dry lips, sucking in the lower one, and set her matchhead to the striker.
“The third light,” Lola said, her voice a hushed whisper.
“Hello, Stitch ‘n Witches! How’s everybody doing today?”
Lola yelped. She dropped her unlit match and the booklet as a staff member appeared in the threshold of the parlor room. She crouched down, picking up the fallen items, and looked up to see the Head of Hospitality Annie standing in the room.
“Hi, Annie, always a pleasure,” Robert-Paul greeted. He shook out the flame from his match to give air kisses to the pleasant lead hostess. “What brings you into our little corner?”
“How would you all like a special treat?” Annie asked, addressing the room of crafters, to which, they “ooh-ed” in curiosity. “As you know, the Manor House will be undergoing some renovations. One of the rooms about to start renovations first is Lillian’s library. Before construction begins…do you want to see it?”
If Lola hadn’t already been on the ground, she would have surely fallen over, as she could have been knocked over with a feather upon hearing Annie’s treat.
“You’re going to take us into the library?” Robert-Paul asked. “I’ve only ever dreamed of seeing her library.”
“Well, it looks like your dreams are about to come true,” Annie said, and turned to leave the room with a wave of her arm for everyone to follow her.
Light commotion moved all around Lola as the crafters rose from their tables, happily sharing their excitement and hopeful expectations of what they’ll find in Lillian’s library. She stood up, momentarily at a loss for what to do, but the gentle prodding from Claudia moved her feet to walk with the others gathering around the bottom of the grand staircase. She waited in the middle of the pack as Annie removed the velvet rope barring the people from venturing to the upper levels. Her heartrate picked up several beats as the excitement and disbelief of being allowed free access to the library registered in her mind.
Lola followed as Annie continued to guide the way up the stairs. Her eyes fixated on the oak door, her anticipation building as each step brought her closer to her coveted destination.
“Okay, my Stitch ‘n Witches, here we are,” Annie called out in a sing-song lilt. She produced a ring of fancy keys from her jacket pocket. “Get your cameras ready.” She slid one of the keys into the lock and twisted. An audible “click” echoed in the small space as the key released the tumblers inside the hardware. “I present to you Lillian Northcott’s library.” Annie pushed open the door and then stepped to the side, gesturing for the group to walk in.
Again, Lola felt herself prodded to move forward, and she complied, accepting the invitation to enter the library. The room was unnaturally cold. She shivered, bringing her hands to rub up and down her arms for warmth. The room was just as it was that fateful night she stumbled upon it, though, in the daylight hours, Lillian’s library had a soft glow emanating from the gilded furnishings, as if this space was frequently loved instead of closed off and forgotten. She stepped all the way inside, observing the room in its full beauty.
“Are you all right?” Annie asked.
Lola blinked, taken out of her daydreams as the hostess approached her. “Yes, thank you. It’s just a little cold in here,” she said, smiling politely and rubbing her arms again to emphasize her comment.
“You look familiar,” Annie said, her eyes squinting as she tried to recollect who Lola was. “Have you visited the Manor House recently?”
“Actually, I have. A few weeks ago, in fact. A group of us rented the House for my birthday.”
“Oh! How lovely. Yes, I think I do remember your party. I hope you enjoyed your stay,” Annie said, smiling broadly. “I didn’t know you were also a member of the Stitch ‘n Witches. I haven’t seen you in the group before.”
“She’s our newest inductee,” Denise said over her shoulder as she stepped back to take pictures of the intimate space with her phone.
“Annie, you said the library was about to undergo some construction,” Johnathan said from the fireplace. “What is the Manor House intending to do? This space looks in relatively great condition.”
“This room is going to be converted and redesigned into a modern day home office,” Annie answered.
“A what?!” Lola nearly shouted, the information acting like a hard slap in the face. “You can’t be serious!”
“Yes, the owner wants an office space on site to conduct business, and the library was chosen as the optimal location,” Annie explained.
“But…what about the books?” Lola demanded, throwing her arms out to indicate the hardback, dusty treasures.
“Most will go into storage, and some will be donated to the museums, but the rest will be given to the surviving Northcott family members.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no!” Lola laughed incredulously. “That’s not right. That’s not fair. These are Lillian’s books!” She started pacing, her indignation at the thought of boxing up Lillian’s treasure trove of sanctum artifacts absurd and out of the question. “Aside from her son, this is her legacy.”
“Well…I’m sorry…but there’s really not a whole lot to be done about it,” Annie tried to appease. “The books will be handled with care and respect---.”
“It’s not just about the books,” Lola stressed. “Lillian lived here.” She laid hands on a white, canvas tarp covered chair. “She read these books,” she continued, going next to touch a bookcase. “She ran her household from this very spot, and---oh!”
The strap on her purse snapped, falling off her shoulder, and landed on the ground. Lola looked at her spilled bag, sighing as she crouched down to gather her scattered belongings. As she scooped her things back into her purse, her fingers brushed over a loose floorboard. It slid out from under her hand, opening a secret compartment. It dawned on her she was behind Lillian’s sheet-covered writing desk, hidden from the Stitch ‘n Witches and Annie. Laying before her, shrouded in a pocket of shadows, was Lillian’s grimoire.
“Do you need some help, dearie?” Denise asked.
“No! No, sorry! I’ve got it! Silly me, it’s okay!” Lola stammered. “Don’t worry about me!” Her hand was in and out of the hole faster than her brain could process the movement. She put the floorboard back into place with her foot as she stood, clutching the broken purse to her chest.
“Sorry for getting so worked up,” Lola apologized. “I just really love books, and the news caught me by surprise.”
“It’s understandable,” Annie said with a nod, accepting Lola’s apology. “Why don’t you take some pictures, so you can look back on this little piece of history?”
Lola agreed, and grabbed her phone from the outside pocket of the purse still clutched to her chest. She fumbled with the device, her hands shaking almost too much to take a decent photo from her trembling. Eventually, it was time to depart and head back downstairs. Before Annie could close and lock the door, Lola hovered in the doorway, giving the library a farewell look-over. She snagged one more picture, the last of the group to leave the sacred room. Lagging behind, she waited for Annie to lock up as the others descended the stairs to return to their crafting.
“Again, I’m sorry for being overly passionate in there, and thank you for showing us the library. That was a really special treat,” Lola said as she and Annie walked down the stairs together.
“You’re very welcome. And no more apologizing, please. I think it’s very sweet you wanted to protect the books and Lillian’s library,” Annie said with a heartfelt smile.
“By any chance, do you know when the construction is going to happen?”
“Soon, I believe, but I don’t know the exact date. I know it will start before the next time the Stitch ‘n Witches meet, which is why I wanted to show you the library.”
“I just wish---oof!” Lola ran into something hard and solid that had turned the corner to come up the stairs just as she was coming down them. She fell over, landing hard and flat on her bottom upon the carpeted steps.
“My gracious, I am so sorry,” a man declared, startled himself by the surprise impact. “Are you all right, my dear?”
Lola looked up from her place on the steps to see a tall, broad shouldered man in a three piece navy suit standing before her. At first glance, he reminded her of a robin’s coloring, with his red double-breasted vest and slicked back brown hair with shoes and belt to match. His eyes were a striking clear gray, and he had massive hands, she noted, as one was reached out to help her stand. She slipped her palm against his, accepting his assistance, and shivered at the contact, the skin unnaturally cold. She thanked him for his help, but when trying to take her hand back, he held on tighter.
“Forgive me for saying this, but, I have the strangest feeling we’ve bumped into each other before,” he said.
“I can’t say that we have,” Lola said. Part of her wondered why her insides were internally panicking, but the longer he stared at her with his hauntingly glassy eyes, the more she wanted to flee.
“You’re probably right. I’d be a fool not to remember you,” he said. “May I have your name?”
Something deep in her spirit told her not to give it to him. She floundered, flustered in coming up with a response that didn’t involve disclosing her name. She became more nervous the longer he stared and the wider his smile grew. Thankfully, Annie came to her rescue.
“CJ, what a pleasant surprise,” Annie greeted, genuinely cheerful. “It’s been a while since we’ve last seen you.”
“Just making the rounds, Annie,” the man, CJ, said, matching Annie’s smile.
“CJ, this young woman stayed the night at the Manor House a few weeks ago for her birthday,” Annie continued to share.
“Really?” His attention and smile turned back to Lola whose hand he still clasped. “Well, happy belated. Tell me, did you notice any peculiar, otherworldly things during the night? Any wails or rattling of chains, perchance?”
“Just some footsteps on the third floor,” Lola said. Again she tried to pull her hand free and again he held strong. The cold sensation of his palm made hers turn clammy, her discomfort increasing the longer her hand remained trapped.
“Ah! Then you must sign the haunted guest book,” CJ proclaimed. He let go of her hand, turning to a side table by the entryway of the front doors, and picked up a rectangular object.
“What’s the haunted guest book?” Lola asked.
“It’s a regular guest book, but, if you have a personal ‘ghostly’ experience during your stay through the night, you get to share it in the haunted guest book with all the other claims,” Annie explained.
“Oh! That’s a fun idea,” Lola said, a lightness returning to her disposition.
“Here you are,” CJ announced, returning to the women. He held out the haunted guest book, opened to a blank page. “I insist you record your experience. And, if you share your address, you’ll receive the exclusive newsletter detailing all of the Manor House’s paranormal events.”
“Maybe another time, I have some errands---.”
“Nonsense,” CJ stressed, dismissing her rejection with a scoff and click of his tongue. “I’m sure your errands can wait. Please?” He held out the book closer to her. “I won’t let you leave until you sign it.”
Lola was positive he meant every word of that statement. Her purse weighed heavy in her arms like a lead brick the longer she stood in the foyer. If signing the haunted guest book meant she was free to leave, she’d acquiesce. “Do you have a pen?”
“Certainly,” and CJ produced a gold plated pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
Taking the item, Lola wrote in the book while he continued to hold it out for her.
Stayed the night for my birthday and heard footsteps on the third floor.
Finished, she held the pen out for CJ to take back.
“And your address?” he reminded, tapping a column in the margins where guests could leave their information.
“All right, there you go,” Lola declared, biting back her sigh of impatience as CJ refused to let her leave. She tried to give him his pen back, but he ignored her, turning the book around to double check her work instead.
“Glenbrook?” he asked, his eyebrows lowering as he thought upon the surname. “Glenbrook. Hmm. Why do I know that name?”
“It’s fairly common,” Lola was sharp to reply, and he laughed.
“We obviously have two very different definitions for when it comes to being ‘common’, Mrs. Glenbrook. Rest assured, it is a name I shall not soon forget.”
Lola involuntarily trembled, his promise reading more as a threat. Her legs begged her to run away, even if that meant sprinting back up the stairs, her feet itching to put as much distance between herself and this slick man. “I hate to write and run, but I need to get to those errands---.”
Again, he interrupted her. “You know, if you submit three addresses, the House enters you into a drawing to win a voucher for a free one night stay. Know anyone else who might enjoy a newsletter?” he asked, turning the haunted guest book back around to Lola.
“CJ! My goodness you’re being particularly pushy,” Annie said with a laugh.
“I’m allowed to be pushy, I’m eccentric,” CJ rejoined with a played up haughty scoff and raise of his shoulders. “Two more addresses and then I promise you’ll be on your way,” he said, tapping the empty space on the column below her name. “You have my word.”
It was easy writing her home address, putting down her soon-to-be married name, and so used the same loophole of anonymity for her friends by only listing their places of business. She finished writing down the address for Curios and Oddities, and as she went to scribe Pyrite’s Pawn Shop, the gold plated pen flew out of her hand. It landed on the floor in front of the hostess podium, where Annie bent down to retrieve it.
“Sorry about that,” Lola said while laughing. “That was weird.” She tried to write Pyrite’s Pawn Shop’s address for the second time, and as before, the pen flew out of her hand. “Well, you know what they say; if it happens a third time, then I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
CJ acted as if she physically attacked him. He bristled and blustered, offended by the very idea that she couldn’t write down the third address. He grabbed the pen from Annie, who, for the second time, had retrieved it.
“Why don’t you tell me the address, please? That way, we’ll have no other interferences, and you can be on your way,” CJ said, turning the haunted guest book toward himself, poised to copy down her dictation.
Eccentric is an understatement, Lola thought, eyeing CJ warily. At least he was quick to recover himself, the mask of poise having slipped only briefly. She gave the pawn shop’s address and he sighed, relaxing tense shoulders as he put his pen away in his suit jacket pocket.
“Well, now that that’s all settled, I have no reason to hold you hostage from your errands any longer,” CJ said with a chuckle. “I appreciate you indulging my pushy behavior,” he added, the charm and smarm back in full swing.
“It’s a good thing I like newsletters,” Lola said. “Have a nice day. Thanks again for showing me the library, Annie.” She slipped past CJ and Annie, her purse burning against her chest. Without a look back, she pushed open the main doors, and was gone.
“You took her to the library?” CJ asked, a curious look in his eye as he watched after Lola’s retreating form.
“I did, I hope that was all right,” Annie apologized. “The Stitch ‘n Witches adore this house so much, I wanted to treat them to the library before the renovations began.”
“No harm, no foul,” CJ said, giving Annie his signature smile. He closed the haunted guest book, passing it over to the lead of hospitality. “Great minds think alike. I, too, was on my way to visit the library.” With a nod, he departed, his light steps carrying him up the stairs.
Annie resumed her business. She checked over paperwork at the hostess podium, humming blissfully to herself and enjoying the laughter coming from the front parlor room filled with the needlework crafters. She moved to return the haunted guest book back to its place on the side table, when from behind her, a clattering sound of footsteps came running down the stairs. Startled, she whirled around to discover CJ barreling toward her. He pushed past her, bursting through the front doors.
He took the stoop steps three at a time, nearly flying down them to reach the front walkway. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw a car pulling out from the Manor House side parking lot to glide along the quiet street across from him. He noted the woman behind the wheel, her distinct red hair billowing behind her as she sped away. CJ took a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. He ran his hands through his hair to help him gain his composure, watching the little black car morph into a speck down the road before disappearing around a corner.
Turning on his heel, he slowly climbed back up the stoop, entering the Manor House. He found Annie in the entryway, still discombobulated from his brusque departure. She recovered enough to stare at him, wide-eyed and stammering around her questions. His eyes flicked down to the haunted guest book she clutched in her hands, and wicked inspiration flared to life in his mind. He plucked the book from Annie’s grasp, a thin grin splitting his face.
“I think I’ll take over the newsletter this month,” he said, and without another word, tucked the haunted guest book under his arm. He turned from Annie, waltzing up the grand staircase. He whistled a happy tune, the notes eerily complementing the cold shadows lingering in the corners of the entryway, his song creeping down the stairwell as he vanished into the lonely solitude of Lillian’s library.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hiya, friends! It's been awhile! I'm in love with this chapter for so many reasons! I hope you all liked it too! And now...mayhem! See you all next time, and happy reading!
Jack was busy juggling customers at Curios and Oddities, jumping from the register to answering questions between patrons hanging around colorful displays of crystals and candles. He didn’t mind the rush of people. In fact, much like his beloved Modesta, he thrived in the chaos, putting on a performance of amiable showmanship and hospitality. He liked learning about the people he helped. Knowing a part of their journey gave him an insight to their needs, and when he succeeded in helping a customer discover a trinket or a treasure, a personal satisfaction warmed his heart.
He never pressed people into revealing too much of themselves, for he prided himself on being a relatively good judge of character. When he saw a man wearing a three-piece white linen suit standing off to the side of the store nonchalantly eyeing the bookshelves with a pleased smile on his face, Jack knew he found within this inconspicuous shopper a challenge. Modesta was out picking up lunch for the two of them, so he would have to dazzle this character on his own, and regale her with the details later. Luckily for him, all of the previous customers had been helped and were content in their browsing, which gave Jack the chance to grace this customer with his full, undivided attention.
“Good afternoon,” Jack greeted, displaying his award winning smile.
The man in the linen suit smiled back, matching him grin for grin, and Jack faltered his footing when the piercing gray eyes of this customer cut across the way to acknowledge him as he approached. Feigning an awkward soft-shoe two-step, he regained his balance to finish his greeting, despite the sudden chill filling the air.
“I noticed you’ve been observing the store,” Jack said, clearing his throat as he stood before the man. “Are you finding anything you like? What brings you in today?”
“Hello,” the man in the linen suit easily replied. “I’m not needing anything special today.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we offer the mundane, as well,” Jack quipped, miming to elbow the other man in the ribs.
“Hmm, yes,” the customer said with a polite chuckle.
Jack noticed a devious twinkle in the man’s eyes, as if this stranger was reading his soul, and subconsciously, he took a step back. “Well, if you’re not looking for anything special, how may I help you?”
“A friend of yours recommended this store to me, and seeing as I have some time on my hands, decided to satisfy my curiosity. No pun intended, of course.”
“One of my friends?” Jack asked, taken aback.
“Are you not acquaintances with a troublemaking red-haired woman?” the man asked, smirking.
“Ha!” Jack laughed. “You must mean Lola. It’s good to know word-of-mouth advertising is alive and well. I’m Jack, by the way.” Jack reached out his hand in a friendly gesture.
“CJ,” the other supplied, taking the hand offered and giving it a firm shake.
“Oh! You’re CJ,” Jack exclaimed, continuing to laugh. “Lola told us all about her run-in with you and the haunted guest book. I take it we should be getting our newsletters from the Northcott Manor House any day, now. Modesta and I are looking forward to reading all the spooky goings-on over there.”
“Modesta?” CJ asked, tilting his head upon hearing the new name.
“Modesta is my girlfriend and the owner of Curios and Oddities,” Jack informed, motioning grandly about the store. “I think Lola gave you Lazare’s address, too,” he added, jutting a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the pawn shop across the street.
“You’ve inadvertently answered one of my next questions. I was going to ask in which direction Pyrite’s Pawn Shop was located,” CJ said with that same polite chuckle.
To Jack’s ears, he thought the tone had a pinch of wickedness behind it. “Well, I’m glad I could help you.” He shook off the growing sense of trepidation as he took another cautionary step backward away from CJ.
“Perhaps I am looking for something special after all,” CJ announced, pulling Jack into a new conversation. He turned his head to rove his eyes over the bookcases once more. “I’m in the market for a leather journal. Black leather, if you have any available.”
“I believe we have a few black ones,” Jack said, stepping up to the bookcase. He patted a shelf at chest-height, indicating the row of leather bound books. “Take your time with these. Hopefully you’ll find one you like. I’m going to ring up those customers, and if you need anything else, I’d be happy to help.”
“You have been plenty helpful, thank you.” CJ gave a slight bow, ending the exchange as he turned from Jack.
“Okay then bye-bye.” Jack awkwardly moved away from CJ, quickstepping toward the checkout counter, relieved to put some breathing distance between them.
While although a relatively pleasant individual, Jack couldn’t help but feel off-kilter by the man currently perusing the bookshelves. During the whole of their conversation, a prodding in the back of his mind told him he was in the wrong for answering questions that were unprovoked. A lump of foreboding sat on his chest, filling him with a sense of anxiety that he divulged too much sensitive information. Normally one who welcomes customers, he wished very ardently for this one to leave.
“You have an agreeable selection,” CJ said.
Jack jolted back from the register, blinking his sight into focus and shaking his head to clear away the heavy clouds blanketing his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed CJ’s approach nor his placement of a thin leather journal on the glass counter.
“Oh! Good! You found one!” Jack was shouting. He cleared his throat and picked up the item to scan its barcode.
“It will suffice for the time being. Its use is only that of a temporary replacement journal,” CJ said with a forlorn sigh.
“What happened to the original journal?”
“It was stolen from me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said with genuine sympathy. “Would you like a bag?” he then asked after a brief, uncomfortable pause.
“I’ll carry it out. What’s my total?” CJ asked, pulling out his wallet.
“Uh…thirty-two-fifty,” Jack replied.
He stalled reading out the numbers, his eyes having widened at the amount of cash nearly spilling free from the leather folds of CJ’s wallet. It wasn’t done in a flashy manner, the money simply existed in large quantities of large value, and the sight of the neatly crisp bills caught him by surprise. Maybe that’s why he felt uneasy: CJ’s demeanor was odd because he was loaded.
“Keep the change,” CJ said, sliding Jack a fifty dollar bill across the counter, giving the banknote two little pats. “And before I forget, this is for you and your girlfriend.”
CJ reached into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a white envelope with the address to Curios and Oddities scrawled across the front in sharp, thinly-slanted writing. He handed the letter to Jack, who took it, though his reach was cautious and his expression confused. CJ smiled at the reaction, deciding not to inform the other what was inside the envelope, and pleased with his purchase, picked up the journal without another word. He turned from the counter, his steps taking him toward the exit, when a woman entered the store at the same time he was leaving.
He saw her struggle to manage the heavy door and the bags of food in her arms, and stepped forward to ease her inconvenient plight. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said. CJ held the door open for the woman, and she smiled up at him as she passed under the threshold.
“Thank you,” Modesta said.
She smiled at the man holding open the door, but her pleasantry of gratitude shifted into fight-or-flight mode when they made eye contact. She scurried into the store, unable to break away from the gray eyes that locked onto her. The chill of an ice cube slid down her spine as she watched the man leave the store, the chimes above the threshold tinkling merrily as he left. A moment of frozen silence passed before the sensation of bugs crawling over her skin forced her to move.
“Sage,” she uttered in a half-trance as she turned to look at Jack. “Sage,” she repeated, a little more forcefully to dispel the invisible shroud of cobwebs that settled over the store in the wake of that stranger’s leaving. “Now.”
Modesta set the bags of food on the counter, only briefly acknowledging her boyfriend standing in a half-stupor at the register holding a white envelope in his hands. She marched over to a cabinet lined with buckets holding bundles of tightly wrapped swaths of sage and selected one specifically crafted for energy cleansing. She next plucked a sacred eagle feather from a nearby glass jar, and going back to the counter, she held out a hand to Jack.
“Pass me the lighter, please,” she requested.
Jack came to his senses, moving to match Modesta’s pace, and found the item. “You’ll never guess who that man was,” he said while giving her the lighter, indicating the customer who had just left the store.
“Who was he?” she asked over her shoulder. She walked back to the door, propping it open for when she lit the sage to give the bad energy a place to exit from the building.
“CJ from the Northcott Manor House.”
“No,” Modesta breathed, taken by surprise. “That was CJ? Well, Lola sure downplayed the creep-factor when telling us about him.”
Modesta lit the end of the sage bundle, letting the leaves catch fire. She blew out the flames as she stuffed the lighter into her back pocket, then took the eagle feather to start wafting the sage smoke around the doorframe. As she began to walk the perimeter of her store, Lola came bursting into the building.
“Sage,” Lola declared, then B-lined it to the cabinet of bundles, inspecting the varieties for one that best suited her needs.
“Speaking of little miss mischief,” Modesta quipped.
“Hey, Lola, you’ll never guess who was just in the store,” Jack greeted. “Your good pal CJ.”
Lola spilled the bucket she was poking through. She tried to stabilize the falling container, but the sage bundles layered in rose petals still managed to scatter to the floor around her feet. She cursed as she crouched down, swiftly collecting the items.
“C---CJ was here? At Curios and Oddities?” Lola asked, stammering the man’s name around a thick tongue and dry throat. When had she started shaking? She took a deep breath to calm herself, setting the bucket back in its rightful place.
“He personally hand-delivered our newsletter,” Jack informed, waving around the envelope. “At least, that’s what I’m assuming this is,” he added, tearing into the flap. “He’s a super creepy dude, Lo. Your text made him sound like a harmless, pushy solicitor. Ah! I was right. Newsletter.”
Jack reached into one of the sacks of food by the register, pulling out a sandwich, and took a large bite. He leaned over the counter on his elbows to examine the newsletter, occasionally taking sips from the straw of his soda, content with his new reading material.
“More like an eccentric solicitor,” Lola said under her breath.
She grabbed a random sage bundle and an eagle feather, then turned to the bookcases just as Modesta came along to waft tendrils of lilac-colored smoke around the shelves.
“Why are you saging the store, Mo?” Lola asked, stepping out of her friend’s way.
“CJ,” Modesta answered, brushing smoke into the corner above them. “He left a weird aura, so I’m recalibrating the energy. Why do you need sage?” she asked, eyeing the items in Lola’s hands.
“I’ve been working with…uh…that…fountain pen Lazare gave me for my birthday,” Lola said.
She hated lying, but she wasn’t ready to share about Lillian’s grimoire. Not yet. At least, not until she had a chance to return it back to the Manor House. That way, no one could be angry with her for taking it in the first place, as it would have been already returned before anyone knew it was missing.
“I didn’t think that pen needed saging,” Modesta said with a small laugh. “The energy attached to it seemed benign to me.”
“I guess my using it awakened something nasty,” Lola said with a shrug. “I put it in a circle of salt, but I think bad-spookies are still somehow leeching out of it.”
“It could be your attempt to cleanse it via the salt method is accidentally aggravating a negative spirit. You’ll need the classic sage. The one you’re holding is best for spiritual alignment,” Modesta informed, continuing her wafting.
“Oh. Thank you,” and Lola returned to the cabinet of sage to select the proper bundle.
“Jack, did we sell some books while I was getting lunch?” Modesta asked. “It looks like some of these shelves need restocking.”
“Good eye,” Jack complimented, briefly glancing up from his newsletter to spot Modesta at the bookcases. “Actually, CJ bought a book. Well, a black leather journal, to be more specific.”
A clatter of buckets hit the floor from the sage cabinet, startling Jack and Modesta. They found Lola already on her knees, gathering the fallen sage bundles, trying to put them back in their organized proper places.
“You okay, Lola?” Jack asked, sharing a concerned look with Modesta. It was unlike their friend to be this extra clumsy and swearing full-on curses under her breath.
“I’m fine. Sorry. I’ll pick these up,” Lola apologized.
“You’re not acting ‘fine’, Lola,” Modesta said softly.
She had noticed the puffy bags under Lola’s eyes when she first entered the store, the sickly-purple tinge giving the illusion that heavy eyeliner from a night on the town had been smeared and half-heartedly rubbed off. She placed a hand on Lola’s shoulder, who jumped back with a gasp of startled fright from the touch.
“And you’re acting like a Chihuahua in hyper-drive during a thunderstorm. You’re not yourself, Lola. Please tell me what’s going on,” Modesta implored. She made a quick glance at Jack, who hastily came over to take the sage and feather from her. He continued her path of wafting so she could sit on the floor with Lola.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Lola said with a heavy sigh. She tucked a curtain of hair behind her ear and tried to give a reassuring smile to her friend.
“If you keep lying to me, you’ll leave me no choice but to use the ‘Raph Card’,” Modesta teased with a lightheartedness.
That statement caused Lola to laugh and she relaxed. “Well, I wouldn’t want that,” she said with a roll to her eyes. “I’ve not been sleeping well these past three nights. I think it has something to do with that…pen. I’m having horrible night-terrors ever since I started using it.”
“Oh, Lola, I’m so sorry. That has to be pretty scary. Have you talked with Raph about these dreams?” Modesta asked.
“You can’t really avoid that kind of topic of conversation when you’re awoken drenched in a cold sweat from screaming,” Lola said with a mirthless smile. “We’ve talked,” she added, “which helps, but it’s hard to live your day with the ghosts of demons playing in your head.”
“Lola, if something is trying to attach itself to you---,” Modesta began, but Lola cut her sentence off with a raised hand and small shake of her head.
“I think the energy is feeding off the spookiness of my book. I’ve been using that pen to write my draft,” Lola shared. That much, at least, was true. She enjoyed her fountain pen and felt guilty using the innocent object in place of the grimoire as the source of her troubles.
“So, not only do I need to sage the…pen…but I wanted to see what kinds of books you have on dream protection and demons. Or, see if you have a book about dream demons and how to thwart them,” Lola concluded.
“I try to stay away from shelving darker subject matter,” Modesta said. “I don’t have any literature focused on demonology. But that doesn’t mean I want you going online to accidentally summon anything unsavory to stir up more trouble for you.”
Modesta stood from the floor and walked over toward the rows of books, Lola following suit closely behind. After a quick look over the titles, she pulled a book free and gave it to Lola.
“Here,” Modesta said. “This should help you. If you do have a haunted object linked with something of bad-ilk, this will help guide you in how to safeguard yourself and how to safely get rid of it.”
“Will it make the dreams stop?” Lola asked, her eyes downcast as she took the offered book.
Modesta didn’t like how timid and broken her friend sounded. Lola loved her spookies, more often than not embracing her paranormal experiences as a fantastical adventure to write about in her stories. Whatever these dreams were, and whatever dark spirits lurked in her shadows, it was clearly taking its toll.
“It should, yes,” Modesta answered. “And for a little extra precaution, take this as my gift to you.”
Walking to the wall behind the register, Modesta picked out a dreamcatcher. The twine was intricately woven with glittery crystals as soft, black feathers hung from leather strings at the end with matching colored beads.
“Oh, Modesta! This is beautiful,” Lola gasped. She set her other items on the checkout counter, freeing her hands to carefully take the confected dreamcatcher. Her fingers ghosted over the crystals, and she watched them sparkle.
“Those are smoky quartz, rose quartz, amethyst, howlite, and blue sandstone; all good crystals to protect against nightmares,” Modesta informed. “Hang this above your bed. The dreamcatcher will take the bad dreams and release them back out into the ethers come first daylight. The black feathers are good for protection, as well.”
“You have no idea how much this already fills me with hope for tonight, Mo. Thank you,” Lola said. She beamed a full smile, hugging her friend.
“I’m glad to hear it. You know I’m always here and happy to help,” Modesta said, returning the hug and smile. “Now, I’m going to take these to the back,” she said, hoisting the takeaway bags into her arms. “Jack can ring you up. Keep me posted on those dreams and your pen, and if there’s anything else I can help you with, please let me know.”
“I will. Thanks again for everything, Modesta.”
Lola laid out her items in a neat row upon the counter as Jack came around having finished his turn about the store saging the remainder of the space. He left the door propped open, allowing a subtle breeze to filter through, and she took in a deep breath, feeling for the first time in three days a weight lifting from her chest.
“I can tell Modesta’s help is already taking affect,” Jack said, noticing the lightness to Lola’s posture and spirits. “Sorry about those night-terrors.”
“Thanks, Jack. I’m sorry I waited so long to look for answers,” Lola said with a soft chuckle. “The good news is, I feel confident that this,” and she motioned to all of her items as Jack rang them up, “will help clear away the bad-spookies and I can get my nights back.”
“That’s the right attitude,” he agreed with a laugh.
Lola, comfortable, let the silence settle between them as she half-watched Jack wrap up her new dreamcatcher in blue tissue paper. Her eyes meandered the countertop, and she spotted the white envelope with CJ’s newsletter. Her levity melted and her eyebrows drew together into a knitted furrow.
“So, CJ was in here earlier,” Lola slowly spoke, and Jack nodded as he bagged up her book, sage bundle, and feather. “You mentioned he bought a book?”
“Yep. A black leather journal,” Jack recited.
“That’s weirdly specific,” Lola said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know we all have our preferences, but to specifically want a black leather journal seems a touch…eccentric.”
“Does it? He said it was to replace his original journal that he claims was stolen from him,” Jack supplied.
Lola dropped her bankcard halfway in the middle of passing it to Jack to pay for her items. “S-stolen? He said that? Stolen? CJ said those exact words? He had a black leather journal stolen from him?”
“Y-eah,” Jack drawled, eyeing her curiously as he picked her card up off the counter. The shift in her emotions was startling, and he noticed the color had drained from her face. “He also hand-delivered our newsletter,” he reminded, hoping to move the conversation along so Lola wouldn’t dwell on whatever had spooked her.
“That was nice of him,” she said, swallowing hard, not fully registering his remark.
“He went over to Pyrite’s to give Lazare his letter right before you got here. He might still be over there if you wanted to talk with him.”
That was the wrong thing to say, Jack realized, as Lola immediately retreated from her place in front of the counter to duck down behind it. She poked her head around the side from where she crouched, her sight fixated on the clear line of view she had of the pawn shop through the store’s open doorway.
“Lola, are you afraid of CJ?” Jack asked, once more perplexed by her out-of-character antics. She didn’t move from her spot close to the floor; just kept staring out the door as if CJ was going to emerge onto the street at any given second. “I can go over to see if he’s still at Lazare’s if you’re worried about running into him.”
“No! No, thank you, Jack, no! I…I….”
Lola stammered, unsure of how to process the onslaught of heightened emotions plowing through her at that moment. A tear rolled down her cheek, her body’s signal that she was overwhelmed, and she brushed it away in frustration. Taking a deep breath, she rose from her hiding place, gaining control over her racing heart that beat wildly from the rush of adrenaline-fueled panic.
“I won’t be afraid of him,” she announced.
Grabbing her purchase, Lola raised her chin and threw her shoulders back. She glared down her nose at Pyrite’s Pawn Shop, hoping CJ saw her defiant glower as she marched out the door of Curios and Oddities. Outside, she flipped her hair over her shoulder, “harrumphed” definitively, and turning on her heel, stomped down the cobblestone sidewalk toward her next adventure, wherever that may be.
Jack was left standing behind the register, at a loss for words as he watched Lola leave the store. One minute she was shaking like a leaf, the next, determined and headstrong. He briefly wondered if there was a full moon tonight, and he smiled to himself, equating Lola’s odd behavior as a reflection to what was transpiring in the astrological cosmos. Deciding to carry on with his day, Jack turned his attention toward checking in with Modesta, and as he turned from his position at the counter, noticed he still held Lola’s debit card.
“What’cha got there?” Modesta asked, coming out of the backroom with a partially half-eaten sandwich in her hand.
“Lola left her debit card,” Jack said, tapping the hard plastic against his palm.
“Want me to text her to come back and get it?” Modesta asked, pulling her cellphone from her back pocket.
“No, I think it’s best if she stayed home,” Jack said with his usual lopsided grin. “If you haven’t noticed, she’s weirder than usual today. I’ll swing by her place later and drop it off along with her birthday video.”
Modesta gave a nod of acknowledgement to Jack’s plan while taking another bite out of her sandwich. “Anything worthwhile in that newsletter? I’m curious to know if the content matches the creator. Did CJ write it himself or was it someone else on staff at the Manor House?” she asked, gesturing to the envelope resting on the counter. For something as innocuous as a sheet of paper, it was causing a lot of excitement around this sleepy corner of Old Main Street.
“I’m not quite sure who wrote it, but there’s some neat stuff in there,” Jack said with a non-enthusiastic shrug to his shoulders. “There’s a monthly calendar of events, some up-coming changes to the menu, talk about possible renovations, and---oops.”
Jack lifted the newsletter while talking and a small, rectangular piece of paper fluttered from the crook of the tri-fold to the ground.
“What was that?” Jack asked.
“It looked like a business card,” Modesta said.
Jack bent down, picking up the white rectangle, noting the paper-weight matched the cardstock, size, and style of a traditional business card. It had no depictions on it, Jack observed as he turned the card over in his fingers, except for the numeral figure “one” drawn in silver ink. With a quirked eyebrow, he held the item out for Modesta, who in turn, curled her lip in disgust, refusing to take it.
“I don’t trust that CJ,” she stated. Then, with a scoff, said, “Pitch it.”
Jack agreed with Modesta’s declarations, and without a second thought, tore the business card in half. He tossed it in the wastebasket under the counter. The two returned to their routine of everyday tasks, Jack going to tidy around the shop while Modesta finished her lunch in the breakroom so as not to leave too many crumbs on the sales floor. They stopped in their tracks when the sound of footsteps came racing toward the open door of the store, and soon after, Lazare came barging in.
Hands bracing himself on either side of the door jam, Lazare paused under the threshold, breathing in heavy gulps of air as his eyes swept across Curios and Oddities. Finding what he sought, he pointed to a cabinet next to Modesta.
“Sage!”
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hiya, friends! Another piece to the puzzle, I'm afraid. Things are about to get absolutely convoluted in the BEST WAY POSSIBLE so keep an eye out for more to come!
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The sound of running footsteps thundered overhead, starting from one end of the house and racing towards the opposite side, the pounding vibrations traveling across the hallway from above. A door slamming violently shut was heard next as if the upstairs runner found escape in one of the many bedrooms, the force of the door hitting its frame hard enough to rattle the crystal on the fireplace mantle behind the startled group of friends who sat in a circle in the middle of the floor. Lola was the first who shot to her feet, giving chase as she sprinted out of the main parlor room, Raphael close at her heels, and Jack taking up the rear, halting briefly to look back at Modesta.
“Go!” she ordered, waving him off while steadying a swaying Lazare. “I’ll look after him.”
By the time Jack made it out of the room, the other couple was halfway up the main staircase.
“Lola, why are you running?” Raphael asked, catching up to her.
“Someone’s up there,” she replied, giving the clear and obvious answer.
“If there is someone running around up there, at least let me go first.” Raphael overtook Lola on the stairs as they reached the landing of the second story level, putting his beloved at his back to protect her from any potential attack made by an intruder, if one, in fact, had entered the Manor House.
“It sounded like those footsteps came this way,” Lola said, pointing in the direction of the hallway towards the back of the house where young Edgar’s room and Lillian’s library was situated.
“There’s nowhere for an intruder to go,” Raphael said, looking up and down the eerily abandoned corridor.
“We heard a door slam shut,” Jack said, reaching the landing to congregate with the others. “But I could have sworn we’ve had our rooms locked the whole time since the tour.”
Raphael checked the imposing paneled doors along the stretch of hallway, rattling their doorknobs to confirm all the rooms were indeed locked.
“It doesn’t make any sense. We all heard a door slam shut up here,” Lola stated as she tapped her bottom lip in thought.
“Weird timing hearing those running footsteps after Lazare specifically told us to run,” Jack commented.
Lola gasped, her eyes growing large with realization. “That’s right! He did tell us to run.”
“Let’s regroup downstairs and check in with Modesta and Lazare. Maybe he gleaned something while in his trance to help make sense of it all,” Raphael said. In agreement, the three departed, but Lola lagged behind, curiosity taking control as she loitered near the library, and before descending the stairs after the men, touched the crystal doorknob to the forbidden and tantalizing room. She let out a harsh gasp, recoiling back in shock, holding her hand close to her chest.
“Lola, what happened?” Raphael asked, instantly at her side upon hearing her outcry.
“Touch the doorknob,” she said while stepping into his comforting arms.
“I’m not falling for that again,” Jack quipped, also returning up the stairs.
“It’s cold as ice,” Lola finished, ignoring the wisecrack.
Raphael reached out with tentative fingers, brushing the doorknob’s surface, and he pulled his hand back in surprise once he felt the drastic cold. “It does feel like ice. Why does this doorknob have such a significant temperature difference?” he asked as everyone took turns touching the multifaceted antique hardware.
“It’s the runner-ghost!” Lola exclaimed. “We heard them run down the hallway and slam a door, right? Maybe this was the room they ran into.”
“It’s locked, though,” Jack said.
“So are the other rooms,” Lola reiterated. “However, this doorknob feels unnaturally cold.”
“I don’t think this runner-ghost has a key to get into the library,” Jack started, “let alone the proper time to unlock, open, slam, and then relock the door in the span of the thirty seconds it took for us to get up here to investigate.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Lola countered back as the three of them attempted to leave the landing again. By the time the group reentered the front parlor room, Lazare had removed his blindfold and headphones, adjusting his gold, wired rimmed glasses on his nose as he and Modesta talked softly to one another, and as the others walked into the room, the two looked up at their friends with expectant expressions.
“Well?” Modesta asked. “What did you find?”
“Nothing,” Lola said with a sigh, sitting down in her place amongst the circle on the floor.
“We checked all the rooms to locate whomever was running upstairs, but all of the doors are locked,” Raphael said next, joining Lola on the floor.
“Even though we heard that door slam?” Modesta asked.
Lola nodded. “The only thing out of the ordinary we found was that the doorknob to the library was freezing cold.”
“That’s peculiar,” Lazare commented.
“Lola thinks a runner-ghost ran down the hallway and went into the library,” Raphael shared, “which explains why the doorknob was so cold.”
“And the library is still locked, yes?” Modesta asked, giving Lola a stern glower.
“I didn’t break into the library if that’s what you’re asking me,” Lola defended herself. “Now, how about you two? Anything interesting happen down here?”
“All I have to say,” Lazare began, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses, “is that was probably one of the deepest trances I’ve ever experienced. But what is really the most strange, is I feel there are warring energies running throughout this house.”
“Warring energies?” Jack repeated. “I thought only the Gray Lady haunted the Manor.”
“She has the most legend surrounding her spirit,” Lazare agreed, “and is the most commonly known ghost, but there’s an undercurrent flying just beneath the radar of this main, dominant energy. At times, I could feel it bubbling to the surface, but then that one dominant energy of the house came in to squash it back down. It happened multiple times while I was channeling.”
“How many spirits did you hear talking to you?” Raphael asked.
“Just the one.”
“I don’t know if that’s good,” Lola said. “Before we heard the runner-ghost, you sounded…gnarly is the only word I can think of to describe it.”
“It wasn’t the most pleasant sounding voice,” Modesta agreed. “If this one spirit is portraying to be sweet and innocent, only to switch to that kind of ghastly growl, then which is the true face of this entity?”
“It could be lying, lulling us into a false sense of security, acting all sweet and nice, but is actually really rather unsavory,” Lola speculated. After a brief moment of thought, she sighed, her shoulders slumping forward. “Well, the séance didn’t go quite as planned and all the flashlights are dead. What do we want to do now?”
“If you’re up for trying again, there’s still one other way we can connect with Lillian,” Modesta said.
“How?”
“By tapping into her energy using my tarot cards. She can communicate to us through the cards, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll just have to perform some old school ghost hunting techniques to experience a Northcott haunting.”
“That sounds like a fun idea,” Lola exclaimed, perking up at hearing Modesta’s plan of using tarot cards. “Do you want us to light some candles?” The room groaned, Lola’s attempt at making a joke falling flat amongst her friends. “Too soon?”
“The ambient lighting is perfectly acceptable,” Modesta assured while she retrieved her tarot deck from her purse mixed in with the party supplies. Once situated back into the circle on the floor, she shuffled the well-worn, loved deck of cards, then fanned them out face down in a line in front of her, and after taking a steady breath, she hovered her left hand above the spread of mystical rectangles.
“Okay, Lillian, what do you have to say?” Modesta felt a small patch of skin tingle on her palm under her pinky finger, and moved her hand towards the left half of the row of cards, stopping over the one that made her fingertips prickle. She flipped the card over, revealing the Ace of Cups. “Oh! That’s nice, albeit a little unexpected.”
“Which card is that?” Jack asked, squinting at the tarot deck to see better in the near darkness.
“It’s the Ace of Cups, which means big love,” Modesta answered.
“From what I’ve gathered in my research, it wasn’t a secret that Lillian loved this house,” Lola said. “She prided herself on her gardens, and had many high-society luncheons on the grounds as part of her social clubs.”
“What else do you have to say, Lillian?” Modesta asked, holding out her hand over the line of cards once more. She moved her hand over towards the right this time, and flipped over the second card. “The Nine of Swords? What were you so stressed about?” She felt the pull of her hand move back towards the left and turned over another card. “Three of Wands,” she announced, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Why were you stressed over your ships coming in?”
Raphael leaned inward to get a good look at the card Modesta held up for everyone to see. “If the person in the card is watching for the ships on the horizon to come in, then here’s a bit of interesting information that could shed some light. Originally, this house was blueprinted to have a widow’s walk,” he said, “but at some point during construction, the design was scrapped, and now a turret is in the place where the widow’s walk would have been.”
“I didn’t know that,” Lola said, wildly impressed by the information her fiancé delivered.
“I have access to untold amounts of resources as a board member of the Historical Society.”
“Wait, do we know if Mr. Northcott was a sailor?” Jack asked. “I know he founded the cannery, but did he ever actually go out to sea?”
“A widow’s walk would explain why she was stressed over watching the ships come in,” Lazare began, “and if Cornelius was a sailor, I can understand her worry. I mean, I’d be stressed out too if my husband was at sea, and all I could do was watch for him to have a safe return home.”
“But the widow’s walk was decommissioned. So, if her husband wasn’t a sailor, why initially build a widow’s walk to begin with?” Lola asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Modesta’s hand moving again over the tarot, flipping over a new card, and as the image was revealed, her friend gave a startled gasp. “What card did you pull?”
“It’s the Lovers,” Modesta said, holding up the card. As she picked the object up, the one next to it jumped out of line and flipped over, and Modesta couldn’t help but let out another startled gasp of surprise. “The Devil.” A collective chill ran through the group of friends as she held up both cards together.
“Lillian, what does all of this mean?” Lola beseeched the room, the drama of the tarot reading almost too much to bear.
“Okay, okay, okay, now hold on a minute,” Modesta spoke, trying her best to rein in the beginning stirrings of chaos. “Let’s all take a nice, calming breath before jumping off the deep end. The Lovers doesn’t always mean romantic partnerships, nor does the Devil literally mean Satan. They’re a mirror to one another. Remember, we need to look at the big picture behind the cards’ symbolisms and depictions. I think it’s safe to say Lillian was not in love with a demon.”
“Unless!” Lola scream-gasped, her imagination already sprinting ahead with reckless abandon. “She was having an affair!”
“What?” the others collectively questioned.
“Think about it. She’s stressed about a widow’s walk because her secret lover was a sailor,” Lola explained.
“Then, how does the Devil play into this scenario?” Modesta asked.
“Her secret tryst was evil,” the extemporaneous author answered, gesturing with her hands by the sides of her head that her mind was blown.
“I don’t think any of that is true,” Raphael said at length.
“It makes for a great story,” Lola defended with a shrug of her shoulders while folding her arms, unbothered that no one seemed to be catching onto her idea.
“But it’s not Lillian’s story,” Modesta stressed. “I’m going to flip over one more card, and hopefully it will tie this all together.” Modesta took in a large breath and closed her eyes, her hand for the last time hovering over the tarot cards, and selected the one that made her palm burn, regretting turning it over the instant the image was revealed.
“The Death card!” Lola shrieked. “Oh, my God, Lillian was murdered by her lover the Devil!”
“Lola,” Modesta chastised. “I know I’ve taught you better than this. In tarot, Death does not mean ‘literal dying’, nor the Devil being something evil.”
“I know, but, at first glance, doesn’t it just seem to…fit?”
“No. What ‘fits’ is that Lillian’s love for this house brought in opportunities that may have been overly stressful,” Modesta began to explain. She picked up each card one by one, sharing the insights the images made in a cohesive storyline. “She had lots of choices to make in running this house as well as keeping up with high society, and that clearly had some kind of pressure on her, which was cause for a critical transformation.”
“But what about the widow’s walk?” Lola asked, challenging the new narrative Modesta presented.
“Simply a pearl of wisdom courtesy of the Newberry Historical Society,” Modesta said. “Now, thank you, Lillian for trying to communicate, if this was you,” she said next into the room, making to gather the cards.
“Wait!” Lola shouted, stopping her friend. “One last card. Please. As my birthday wish. What does Lillian want us to know?”
A tense moment passed between the two women as they locked eyes, until Modesta relented, and waved her hand over the row of rectangles, turning over the last card.
“Of course it is,” Modesta scoffed with a half-hearted laugh, tossing the card into the middle of the circle. It landed face up, and the friends waited anxiously for her to explain the meaning behind the gruesome image of a bleeding heart. “Three of Swords. Heartbreak.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Happy Lion's gate portal day!!
I figured this chapter's timing was apt in posting, what with tarot being involved. I gotta say, I had so much fun writing this chapter specifically because it dealt with a tarot reading! As a reader myself, it was a delight to poke fun at the stereotypical reactions to pulling the "scary cards" like death and the devil. No, the devil card does not literally mean Satan! haha!
Also, why is it that every ghost Lola deals with has a broken heart?
Anyway, hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! I will see you all next time! Take care!
Dessert was brought out to the diners of a rich tiramisu paired with the house version of a Goodnight Kiss cocktail (or mocktail), the specialty nightcap’s colored liqueur glinting almost sinisterly of ruby bloodstone in the tall, fluted glasses. The dining room was filled once more with conversation and laughter, as crooner’s music of days gone by lilted sweet serenades to round out the intimate atmosphere of opulence. Having been served, Lola reached for Stanley, turning off the tape recording feature, and stuffed it with her pen and notepad away back into her purse to fully enjoy the company of her friends.
“Well, no newspaper man,” she said with a slight shrug as she spooned into her dessert. “But still a good play nonetheless. For a moment there, they had me believing the chef was the one who committed the crime.”
“That would have been a neat twist if two people attempted to plot against Fernsby in the same night,” Modesta said with a laugh.
“What if all of them had tried to murder Fernsby?” Jack asked, the group responding in more laughter at the convoluted thought.
“Although I am slightly disappointed none of you got to see Mr. Newspaper Man, maybe Jack got a shot of him at some point during the play,” Lola said, motioning with her spoon at the camcorder.
“I’ll keep an eye out for him when I review the footage for editing,” Jack said, making a mental note of the idea. As the friends continued in their conversation, a woman with soft brown hair and eyes, wearing a gold nameplate secured to her black jacket lapel, approached their table.
“Pardon me for intruding, but who among you is Mr. Glenbrook?” she asked, her smile sweet and charming.
“I am. How may I help you?” Raphael asked.
“My name is Annie, and I’m the Director of Hospitality. There’s no need to rush dessert, but when your party is ready, I’ll be guiding you on your stay tonight at the Manor House,” Annie said. “That includes a tour of the upper levels where you’ll be lodging.”
“My pleasure. Whenever you all are ready, come find me at the hostess stand located where you first walked in.” Annie gave another brilliant smile to the group and then departed.
“Ooh! My stomach just got filled with so many butterflies,” Lola announced with a shiver. “I still can’t believe we’re all staying the night. This is honestly the best thing you guys could have ever done for me. Thank you.”
“The night’s only just getting started,” Modesta reminded.
“Plenty of time and opportunities for you to get your spooky on,” Lazare added.
“I can’t wait!” Lola exclaimed, nearly vibrating in her chair with excitement to explore the old Manor House and its potential spookies. The friends enjoyed the remainder of dessert relaxed in one another’s conversation and company whereupon gathering themselves, agreed it was time to meet up with the Director of Hospitality at the hostess station, eager to get the rest of their night underway. Annie greeted them with her award winning smile as the cluster of five congregated in the main foyer outside the dining room.
“All right, is everyone ready to get started?” she asked, collecting a clipboard of papers and a packet full of specialty room keys from the hostess podium. “Did you enjoy dinner?”
“Everything has been terrific,” Lola said. “We also really enjoyed the play. It was so much fun and so clever. Real quick, could you tell us who the director is? I’d like to tell them how much I enjoyed the show, if I could.”
“Certainly. He’s right over there.” Annie raised her hand to flag down the play’s director who lingered somewhere behind the group of friends. Lola turned, expecting to see Mr. Newspaper Man walk in their direction, however, it was instead Detective Babcock who swaggered forward.
“Oh! Detective Babcock is the director?” Lola asked, her jaw dropping open from surprise.
“He is, as well as the writer of the play,” Annie replied. “Detective Babcock, these guests wished to congratulate you on tonight’s performance,” she said once the actor reached the podium.
“Ah! That’s always nice to hear. Thank you,” Detective Babcock beamed, his eyes bright and smile cheerful as he faced the others.
“Yes,” Lola stammered, recovering from her initial shock. “As I told Annie, it was indeed quite the clever show.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves,” Detective Babcock said with a slight bow of appreciation.
“I have just one quick question,” Lola began, ignoring the confused stares from eyes she felt penetrating the back of her head from her friends. “All the cast members were in the play tonight, yes?”
“They were,” Babcock answered, a small wrinkle of question forming between his eyebrows as his head canted to the side.
“I mean, not their characters, but the actual actors themselves? How many actors are normally in your plays?”
“We’re a small troupe,” Babcock said. “There’s only just the five of us.”
“So, then, who was the actor waiting in the---.”
“Sweetie, I think you’re confusing your murder mysteries,” Raphael interrupted, placing his hands on Lola’s shoulders. “Remember? There were characters staged in the wings at the show we saw last weekend.”
Lola looked up into her fiancé’s face, his eyes silently pleading for her to read his unspoken thoughts. “Oh…that’s right,” she drawled. “You’re right,” she said again, adding more confidence to her tone as she nodded along with Raphael. “Silly me, last week must have slipped my mind. Sorry, Detective, for getting confused.”
“No need to apologize,” Babcock said. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show. Have a good rest of your night,” and he tipped the brim of his hat in farewell before departing.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Annie asked, stepping out from behind the podium. “Let me first show you to your rooms. Follow me, please.” With a beckoning wave, Annie led the group to a set of thickly carpeted stairs inside the foyer that ascended towards the upper levels, but as Lola took her place first in line, she felt her arm tugged backwards, and turned to find Modesta holding her sleeve.
“Is there a particular reason why you felt the need to make that man uncomfortable?” Modesta asked, her voice a whisper so their tour guide didn’t overhear.
“He wasn’t uncomfortable,” Lola said, matching her friend’s whisper. “I was trying to find out more information about newspaper man.”
“I’m beginning to think there is no ‘newspaper man’.”
“So am I,” Lola agreed, oblivious to the dripping sarcasm of Modesta’s comment. A gentle tug at her hand had Lola turning once more to the front of the line as Raphael led her up the stairs with him, at which point the friends gathered close on the second level landing so Annie could begin her official tour.
“These rooms were once the dwelling spaces of the Northcott family members. Each room has been curated and furnished to personify each individual’s personality, based on what we know of their lives. Here, is young Edgar’s room, the only child of Cornelius and Lillian.” Annie stopped at a large paneled door of oak halfway down the long hallway as she rounded the banister, using one of the fancy keys from the packet at her clipboard to unlock the room, and swinging the door wide open, she gestured for everyone to enter. Edgar’s room was painted a soft, butter yellow with plush carpet covering the floor, while a full bed plumped with blue brocade and golden damask accents drew the focus as the main focal point of the splendid room. Decorating the walls were oil paintings depicting ocean scenes of large ships in calm seas. A fireplace of white painted brick boasted a sturdy mantle with vintage children’s toys resting on its top, and a toy chest with its contents spilling out of even more toys, was tucked against one side of the hearth. A bookcase displaying child-like trinkets was centered on the opposite wall of the fireplace next to a thick clothes closet and a small en suite.
“Although Edgar followed in his father’s footsteps of the cannery business, we wanted to give his room that essence of youthful wonder, given he was the founders’ only child,” Annie explained as she watched the group “ooh” and “aw” over the space. “Now, this room will be Lazare Pyrite’s for the night,” Annie said, looking at her clipboard to find the guest’s name.
“That’s me,” Lazare spoke, raising his hand, and Annie smiled as she passed along the room keys to him.
“Let’s move on to the next room, shall we?” Annie said, continuing the tour. She led them next to the end of the hallway, where a cozy sitting area was furnished and staged with leather wingback chairs and a table set with items for teatime in the nook of bay windows overlooking the front of the grounds. A door was to the left and right of the setting, and Annie took them to the left, unlocking the paneled oak door with another ring of fancy keys from her clipboard packet.
“This is Mr. Northcott’s room,” Annie declared as the door swung open on silent hinges. The chamber was a vast contrast to that of his son Edgar’s dwellings, for this room had painted walls of deep, hunter green, adorned with cherry accented furniture upholstered in vibrant tapestries. The bed was much larger as well, also dressed in deep, hunter green to match the walls, and dangling overhead was a gold, three-armed chandelier. Three pillows were propped against the sturdy headboard, as well as only three chairs placed in front of the fireplace between a large closet and en suite, and three paintings of hunting scenes decorated the walls. The room was grand, to be sure, and carried a weighty presence despite its minimalistic aesthetic.
“Mr. Northcott was a studious, no nonsense man, especially in his business affairs, so this room reflects the dedication he had for the cannery,” Annie informed. “This will be Jack and Modesta’s room for the night.”
“That’s us, thank you,” Jack said, taking the offered keys.
“Perfect. That leaves Mr. and Mrs. Glenbrook’s room next. This way please,” and Annie ushered the group to the last bedroom available across from Mr. Northcott’s room. “I present to you, Lillian’s Suite,” and Annie held the door open for Lola and Raphael. Lillian Eleanor Northcott’s room was the personified breath of fresh air, with lilac painted walls decorated smartly with gilded framed paintings of delicate ladies with mischief behind their eyes, while antique lace hung from the windows in floor to ceiling curtains. The furnishings were sleek and polished, every detail executed down to the finest touch, including a vase of freshly cut roses sitting in the middle of a table between two chairs in front of the white brick fireplace. The large bed, dressed in a dusty rose duvet and mauve linen sheets, had a chandelier above it, dripping in clear cut crystal and glass beads. A massive armoire, vanity, and chest of drawers lined the walls appropriately, as well as several fully stocked bookcases, the slender tomes locked behind glass panels to preserve the brittle spines and pages. A special detail to the impressive suite, one that did not go unnoticed, was a silver tray on the davenport at the end of the bed with an ice bucket chilling a bottle of champagne, two fluted glasses, and a notecard in gold filigree which read “Happy Birthday” attached to a single long stemmed rose.
“Lillian exemplified love and femininity, which we tried to recreate when furnishing her room. There’s also a claw footed soaker tub in the en suite, original to the home, as well as a delicacy ahead of its time,” Annie shared. “What do you think?”
The moment Lola first walked into the room, she instantly fell in love. It was as if Lillian’s spirit still lingered in the lavish bedchamber, living her days in the routine of her life before tragedy ended too soon her existence. Lola could easily imagine the lady of the house going from one piece of furniture to the next, perhaps humming to herself while pinning her hair at the vanity, or spending countless nights reading while in front of a cozy fire. Little fragments of Lillian’s essence filled the space with warmth and life despite her being cold and dead.
“Well, Lola?” Raphael asked, coming to stand by her side. “Is the room to your liking?”
“It’s absolutely perfect,” Lola breathed. Her eyes continued to roam the walls and tables, unable to stay focused on one particular thing for too long before darting to the next enticing, pretty object, until eventually landing on the amused and handsome face of her beloved. “It’s perfect,” she repeated. “Thank you.”
“Happy Birthday,” and Raphael leaned down to kiss her sweetly.
“Now that everyone has had a chance to see the upper rooms, let’s continue on our tour,” Annie said, and the group of friends assembled in the hallway as the pleasant guide led the party towards the staircase.
“Can you tell us what kinds of spooky things happen up here?” Lola asked. “It’s no secret this place is haunted. Surely there’s some type of paranormal activity happening up here, right?”
“You are correct. From what I’ve learned based off the haunted guided tours, not much ‘ghostly activity’ happens specifically in the bedrooms,” Annie answered, “however, guests do tend to hear footsteps walking above them on the third floor at all ends of the night.”
“What’s on the third floor?” Modesta asked.
“That would be the old servants’ quarters,” Annie replied.
“Are we able to tour the servant quarters?” Lazare asked.
“Unfortunately, no, access to that area is closed to the public at the moment while renovations are taking place.”
“What’s behind this door?” Lola asked, stopping at the top of the landing before following Annie down the stairs.
“Oh, that’s Lillian’s library,” she said.
“A library? Can we go in?” Lola grabbed for the crystal doorknob on instinct, but the knob wouldn’t budge beneath her hand.
“I’m sorry, but the library is closed as well due to renovations, and not open to the public at this time.”
“Come along, Lola, all that means is we have more reasons to come back at a later time,” Raphael said, his tone laced with humor while he twined their fingers together with one of his large hands to gently coax her down the stairs with the rest of the group. She gave a small pout, turning over her shoulder only to watch the door grow further out of reach, not that she was able to enter the library anyway, but thoughts of being free to investigate the door later that night chased away her frown, replacing the downturn of her lips into an upturned quirked smirk, no doubt wrought with mischief, and, consequently, trouble.
“Have you had any personal experiences dealing with the ghosts while working here?” Jack asked.
“I’ve heard the classic knocks and occasional banging every now and again, but I’ve grown so accustomed to it, I hardly even realize it’s happening,” Annie replied with a light laugh. “Though, one time, I believe I saw the Gray Lady.”
“You’ve seen Lillian?” Lola all but shouted in excitement. “Where?”
“I was in the basement getting the event space ready for a large dinner party. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and when I turned to see who it was, I saw what looked like a gray cloud move from the bottom step go into the kitchen. It was only brief, but I could distinctly make out a high-neck collared dress, with hair styled in the period of Lillian’s time, and just the briefest glimpse of her profile.”
“That’s so wild,” Lola stated, in awe of Annie’s story.
“What makes it even more startling, is that I was the only one in the Manor House at that time, and no one was due to the house for another three hours. So…do you folks want to see the basement?” A resounding “yes” was made by all, Annie laughing at the obvious exuberance and delight of the group, and took them to the lower level that housed the restaurant’s kitchen as well as the private event space, where a side door led partiers to the outer grounds, opening to the gazebo and carriage house as well as the sprawling landscape of the backyard edged by the Dead Forest.
“Since you all are staying the night, let me go ahead and give you some basic rules,” Annie said, her statement gaining everyone’s attention. “This space, as well as the main level, are open for you to explore. I must insist that you please refrain from taking any bottles from the bars, and if a room is locked, that means it is unavailable to the public, so please don’t force your way into any secured space.”
Lola felt the tingle of eyes turning to her at Annie’s last comment, but she ignored the feeling, contributing the sensation to her zealous imagination and halfway guilty conscience at plotting to revisit the off-limits library.
“An hour after closing time, myself and the rest of the Manor House staff will depart. We will lock the front doors, but you are more than welcome to explore the grounds using this side entrance. Your room keys have an extra key that go to this lock. In the morning, simply lock the door on your way out and drop your keys in the return box against this outer wall.”
“What time is check out?” Raphael asked.
“The cleaning crew comes in at 8:00, so we advise guests to be gone by 7:30,” Annie said. “Are there any questions?” When none were spoken, Annie smiled. “Great! I hope you all enjoy your evening.” She looked to her watch, then back to the others. “It’s closing time now. Happy slumbers, everyone.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
It's my birthday today!!
What a better way to celebrate a birthday than by getting a new chapter? It's my birthday treat to you all! This story is unfolding in so many new layers I hadn't expected, so get ready for a wild ride!
Hopefully everyone is enjoying the story so far, even if there has been quite a bit of a lag in posting. I appreciate everyone out there reading this, so thank you from the bottom of my heart! You're the best!
Have a great day, and until next time, happy reading!
Lola, having entered full on detective-mode, interrogated Raphael over their plates of scrambled eggs and bacon with toast. Black coffee and maple syrup scented the air while the morning sun spilled through the plate glass windows, warming the plastic vinyl seats of the booth the two occupied, the din of the older, Sunday morning crowd of churchgoers helping to disguise their conversations surrounding the mysterious and paranormal from nosy eavesdroppers.
“Walk it through with me one more time,” Lola said, conducting the conversation with a strip of bacon in her hand. “You passed Newspaper Man on the stairs,” she began, leading the opening statement.
Raphael nodded as he buttered his slice of toast. “I did,” he confirmed, moving next to dip his knife into the mini, personal jar of raspberry preserves.
“Then, you looked back, and saw him, quote: ‘go into the library’.”
“Precisely,” he agreed, crunching into his toast slice.
“He just…walked in.”
“Turned the doorknob and everything,” Raphael supplied over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Okay, okay, okay. So, you passed him on the stairs, you looked back, and saw him go into the library.” Lola wasn’t sure exactly what the cause of her growing headache was, for whether it was a lack of sleep or not enough caffeine, her brain felt like it was slamming repeatedly into a brick wall, unable to wrap itself around the simple concept presented to her of Newspaper Man walking into the library.
“I can assure you the facts won’t change no matter how many times you have me tell the story,” he said with a laugh. He reached his fork across the table, nudging Lola’s utensil she held loosely in her hand as a reminder to eat her eggs before they turned cold, and his smile softened as she subconsciously began to shovel forkfuls of the yellow fluffiness into her mouth while her brow continued to remain furrowed in thought.
“The library was locked,” she declared between chews. “Modesta made sure of that multiple times while we were checking out. Did he have a key?” she asked, blinking her eyes from staring into the middle ground to turn directly towards Raphael.
“No,” was his answer. “He merely approached the library, turned the knob freely, opened the door, entered the room, and then closed the door behind him.”
“But the library was locked,” she repeated for what must have been the hundredth time, and finally acknowledging the bacon she had been holding, took a bite out of it in frustration.
“I know, which is what makes the whole ordeal so spooky.” He once again reached across the table, taking it upon himself to butter and jam Lola’s slice of toast. Her body moved independently from her mind, her thoughts enrapt and myopic, fixated on the event at the staircase, oblivious to the fact she had taken the toast slice he offered while uttering a small “thank you”, already half-consuming it before asking her next question.
“Well, you know what this means now, right?”
“I’m afraid to ask,” he quipped, then thanked the waitress who came to their table to refill their coffees. “But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” he finished once the server left.
“We have to go back.”
Raphael’s hand paused over his cup as he was adding sugar to the freshly poured dark liquid, surprised by Lola’s remark. “To the Manor House?”
“Obviously,” she sighed with an exasperated eye roll. “Come on, grab your stuff, let’s go.”
“Wait a minute, hold on there,” he said, stretching his arm out to stop her from scooching out of the booth. “We can’t go back to the Manor House.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we don’t have our keys to get back into the building, for one,” he began to explain.
“Newspaper Man didn’t need a key,” she grumbled under her breath.
“And, it’s only---,” he looked to his watch, “---eight thirty in the morning. The Manor House isn’t open yet to the public.”
“We can wait in the parking lot until the staff come around to unlock the main doors,” she countered, and resumed her scooching.
“Dandelion, as much as I want to solve the mystery of the Newspaper Man and the library, I think we need to chalk this up as a really cool, albeit weird experience.” He had stopped her scooching again. “We can give the Manor House a call later today and ask questions on why the actors have such an early call time, all right?”
Lola stared at Raphael sitting across from her at their shared, sticky little table, and noted he was tired, the slight, puffy bags under his eyes taking on a thin translucence to highlight purple shadows around his drooping lids, and the sight of such weary features on his handsome face plucked a cord deep within her heart. She took up his hand still gently pressed to her arm, and raised it to her lips, kissing his fingers before setting their clasped hands down onto the table, and nodded. They shared a smile, and then returned to eating their breakfast.
“The Newspaper Man and the library,” she repeated at length with a chuckle. “Sounds like a title for a good story.”
“If anyone could write such a tale, it would be you,” he complimented.
They went back to eating, enjoying the meal in comfortable silence, yet all the while, Lola’s mind was spinning, wondering how Newspaper Man’s story was going to unfold.
Unfortunately, Newspaper Man’s story was turning into more of a knotted lump of spaghetti than the neat, perfectly laid out exposé she expected once ending her phone call after breakfast. Following Raphael’s suggestion, she phoned the Manor House as soon as they returned home, and after a craftily formulated re-telling of events from the morning to gather information about their surprise visitor, learned that cast members of the mystery dinner do not show up that early for rehearsals or shows, let alone in costume, nor had any staff seen a cast member of Detective Babcock’s troupe dressed as if they were selling newspapers on a street corner. It would seem, as her clever fiancé had previously stated over breakfast, that she would have to chalk this up as a really cool, albeit weird experience.
As the days of the week progressed, she was left to her own devices, which was a risky situation considering most of the time she was bored, the week continuing to draw out in the slow, languid way summer magically melted time. Raphael was preoccupied with Renaissance duties leading up to the big, opening weekend, and so was out of the house most days, and all her other friends had regular jobs to keep them busy, which meant not only was Lola bored, but alone. She listened through most of Stanley’s recordings she captured during her birthday weekend, and hadn’t, as of side A, found a hint of disembodied voices or otherwise, although it was fun re-listening to the mystery theater from that night. She texted Jack to find out how much evidence he was able to collect from his recordings, but he had yet to start going through any footage, as he was needed at Curios and Oddities to help Modesta with the summer crowds.
With nothing to presently occupy her time, Lola reclined flat on her back on the couch in the family room, staring at the ceiling, playing a game she made up with herself of blowing her bangs out of her face to guess where they would land on her forehead. Her mind, all the while, jumped from one thought of topic to the next, unable to land on an activity that sounded the most entertaining, let alone appealing, to spark her interest on how to fill her day. She was all caught up with posting for her writer’s blog, and no new commissions had come in for her freelance jobs. She sighed, and threw a leg over the back of the couch as an arm dangled askance off the edge to complete her sprawled rendition of a squashed starfish. She resigned herself to a day of couch-rotting, and listlessly reached for the remote to the TV for some mind numbing binging, when her phone pinged from its place on the coffee table, and startled by the sudden tinkling of wind chimes, fumbled for the device, curiosity piqued with hope for some much needed excitement.
“Oh! It’s Mom,” she said aloud to herself, looking at the notification on her screen. Instead of reading the message, she decided on giving her mom a call. “Hi, Mom, I got your text. What’s up?”
“Hi, Sweetheart. I was wondering if you wanted an old box of your stuff I had saved from when you were in middle school. I found it while cleaning out the attic,” Lola’s mother, Marcia, asked in her light and chipper tone.
“Middle school?” Lola scoffed. “Why are you hanging onto my old report cards?”
“They’re not your old report cards,” Marcia laughed, “and you never know when you might need them. This box has some of your old notebooks and stories. There are some photos in here I think you might like, too.”
“Old stories? I thought I had all of those with me.”
“I thought you took them all as well, and yet, here’s a box with your name on it. Want me to swing by and drop them off for you?”
“No, I can drive to you,” Lola said. “Are you busy, or can I come over now?”
“Whenever you are able is fine with me. I’m home all day, so there’s no need to rush.”
“Awesome! Let me throw on some pants real quick and I’ll head on over.”
There was a lengthened pause before Marcia spoke again. “You’re not wearing pants? I hope you’re at least in the comfort of your own home.”
“I mean, they’re pajama pants, but at this stage, nothing public worthy,” Lola replied, smoothing down the faded, threadbare Halloween kitty printed pajama bottoms she practically lived in year-round. She smiled when she caught the motherly “disapproval” sigh on the other end of the line. “Love you, too. See you in a jiffy!”
Disconnecting the call, Lola jumped up from the couch to eagerly head upstairs to change into something presentable. Not only was it a welcomed delight to share a phone call with her mother, but the conversation gave her the opportunity to get some fresh air and sunlight, much like a puppy or a house plant. It didn’t take her long to find something clean, and after a short drive through her old neighborhood, she parked her car in the familiar driveway, and with a bounce to her step, used her childhood house key to let herself inside.
“Hi, Mom, I’m here,” she called, closing the front door behind her as she walked into the home.
“Hello, Sweetheart,” Marcia called from the front room, and pausing the video she had playing on the TV, got up from her crafting spot to give her daughter a hug. “You got here fast. I just sat down to start stitching,” she informed.
“What are you working on?” Lola asked, taking a peek over at her mother’s crafting corner of the family room. As far back as Lola could remember, her mother, most nights after dinner, had a threaded needle in one hand and an embroidery hoop in the other, contentedly sitting in her rocking chair with glasses perched on the end of her nose, while her father sat close by watching TV or reading a book, as she sat on the floor between them coloring. Her childhood, though could be viewed as simple, held some of her most precious memories, and she cherished that young era of her life deep in the purest part of her heart. It was nice to see that some things, even if they adapted and evolved, at the core of it all, never changed.
“I’m working on a new project for fall,” Marcia answered, and she held up a piece of fabric roughly the size of a dishtowel with smooth, even lying X’s in warm, variegated tones of chestnut, marigold, and wine in the beginning shape of a squirrel.
“Already starting your fall stitching?” Lola asked with a laugh. “The summer season just started, you know.”
“I need to get these pieces done if your father is going to cut the frames for me so I can decorate in time,” Marcia said. “Plus, you know I can’t resist a squirrel no matter the time of year.”
“He is a cutie pie,” Lola agreed, admiring the hard work her mother put into the cross stitching piece. “What’s his name?”
“Dweezil.”
“Fitting for a creature of the woodlands,” Lola laughed, giving a nod of approval for the name.
“Thank you, I thought so, too. Now, would you like some coffee and then I’ll show you that box?” Marcia asked as she gently folded her fabric, laying it aside for later attention.
“Ooh, yes, please! Coffee would be delightful.”
Picking up conversation as if she had never moved away from home, the two ventured into the kitchen to pour themselves the freshly brewed coffee, and then headed up stairs to where Lola found the hallway strewn with several old, dusty boxes. Marcia waded through the maze of floor boxes like a pro, while Lola moved lopsided to avoid tripping herself, following her mother to the best of her ability until they both ended up in her old bedroom. She paused at the threshold while her mother continued in, and leaned against the doorframe, allowing the ghosts of nostalgia to wash over her.
“How did I ever fit so much furniture into this one, tiny room?” she asked, seeing the years play out in her mind’s eye of her life spent in her special corner of the house. Although the space had since been converted into her mother’s crafting studio when she left for college, there still lingered the scent of her past, the subtle notes of books and summer breezes helping to fuel the little pockets of old memories.
“Time has a funny way of enlightening our perspectives,” Marcia said. “Ah! Here we are. Your box of old things,” she declared, patting the top of the box in the middle of the room. She sat in the chair at her sewing machine while Lola made herself comfortable on the floor.
Setting her coffee mug to the side, Lola unfolded the musty flaps of cardboard. “Oh!” she laughed upon recognizing the bundles of neatly stacked papers. “This is my ‘extras’ box. I had printed out copies of my old stories and tried my hand at bookbinding them to look like real published books.” Lola held up a copy of the first book she “officially” ever wrote, a tale of a magical adventure of her best friends and herself traveling through whimsical realms to conquer some harrowing quest to defeat notorious, evil villains. The cover was held together with faded masking tape, and old remnants of the title made in silver puff-glitter glue flaked off in chunks to land on the carpet.
“Now it makes sense why I left these,” she said as more and more bundles of paper revealed themselves. “I have the originals at my place, but I couldn’t bear to throw away the extras I didn’t need.”
“How many copies did you make?” Marcia asked.
“A good handful or more, maybe ten or so, by the looks of it,” Lola answered. “I gave all my friends their copies, and kept extras on hand for anyone who seemed like they’d be interested in reading. God, I made these when I was…maybe twelve? Thirteen? And here are the extras for the rest of the series,” she announced as she dug through the remainder of the box.
“Have you ever thought about revisiting your old stories?” Marcia asked. A lull had formed in the conversation during Lola’s perusal, and she took it upon herself to fill the silence.
“Revisit my old stories? Aren’t I technically doing that now?”
“I mean, have you ever thought about putting your old stories out into the world? Like on your blog?”
“Well, I wrote them in middle school, so, no,” Lola laughed.
“You can always clean them up, and edit them to fit your style of writing now. I bet they’d do well if people had a chance to read them. Who knows? Maybe a publisher will come across them and offer you a contract.”
“I feel like you’re trying to hint at something here, Mom. What’s on your mind?”
Marcia gave a small sigh into her coffee mug before taking a sip to gain the courage needed to say the words to speak to her daughter that wouldn’t end up hurting her feelings. “I worry, is all,” she began.
“Worry? About what?”
“It’s just…I know how talented of a writer you are, and I love that you’re making your mark in the literary world.”
“But…?”
“But, I worry that you’re spending all your time writing other peoples’ stories with that commission work you do, instead of taking that time to write your own.”
“I write my own stories,” Lola defended, though she dropped her eyes to the bound pages she still held in her hands.
“You used to, Sweetheart, but it’s changed. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great you’re trying to make a profit out of your hobby, but it’s your contest entries where I see you really shine in how gifted you are at writing. You clearly have the ability to craft your own characters and worlds that are truly unique and gripping. You don’t need to waste good ideas on other peoples’ wish lists for their lack of ability to create a good story. I want to see you go within, really look in the mirror, and ask yourself, ‘What story do I want to write?’.”
There was that word again: hobby. Lola knew her mother didn’t mean anything by it, however, the word still acted like a haunted, never fully healed paper cut to her confidence sprinkled with fine wine and lemon juice; it stung. She took her mother’s words to heart as she absentmindedly flipped through the pages of her younger self’s tangible figments of imagination. It used to be she couldn’t leave the house without pen and paper in hand, but as the years grew, and new experiences and relationships entered or exited her life, the passions of preteen adolescence stumbled unceremoniously into the muddy waters plagued with societal pressures and prejudices. Writing had always been her saving grace, a link created to keep her heart tethered to a golden place of warmth and joy, yet the desired mantle of authorhood was threatened by seemingly good natured friends and family, labeling her passions as a “hobby” at best, and narcissistic fanfiction at its worst. The loophole she gave herself to keeping the dream alive was her writer’s blog, her freelance gigs a buoy in the mire of unpopular and sometimes unsolicited opinions, allowing her the outlet needed to give her soul a chance at a voice. Her mother wasn’t wrong to worry, and for a while, she had been feeling like she was “acting” the part of an author, as opposed to being the author she knew she was supposed to become.
“I’m not afraid of rejection, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Lola softly spoke, speaking on the fringes surrounding some of her fears. “I don’t think ‘afraid’ is even the right word. I just…what if I’m a fraud? I didn’t go to school for writing. I---I don’t even know where to begin.” She finally looked up at her mother as her shoulders slumped in defeat, and a frown pulled down the corners of her mouth.
“Sweetie, it’s okay not to know where to begin,” Marcia encouraged, getting down on the floor to be eye-level with Lola. “The important thing is that you start. The rest will figure itself out once you take that first step. And if it helps, you can always start at the beginning.” Her hand rested over her daughter’s, the two holding the clump of tattered pages that symbolized the advent of Lola’s life path.
“Thanks, Mom,” Lola said, her smile returning. She wiped away at a tear and laughed. “I didn’t realize how much I actually needed to hear that.”
“You’re a good author,” Marcia reminded, “and by all means, keep your blog and commissions, but it’s time for you to write. For you.”
“I can do that,” she assured with a determined nod. They embraced, and Lola felt the tether of her heartstrings vibrating with a warmth made of golden joy.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Hey, y'all! Happy Halloween coming up! Although this isn't a "spooky" chapter, per se, it is going to lead into some upcoming ones that are pretty spine tingling, so keep an eye out for more to come!
