The House for Lost Things - Part Nine

Hey guys! This is part nine of the House for Lost Things. We hope you enjoy it and would love to have your feedback. Please read it and pass it on!

IMPORTANT NOTE: As Christmas nears, there MAY be a short hiatus. Also, as this story draws to a close we are looking to you, the audience for more ideas for the next story. Please comment or email cherise.tess@gmail.com or nevermoreemergingflame@gmail.com with your ideas and feedback. Thanks!

#

The countryside looks so different in the moonlight. The remaining snow glistens like piles of pearl necklaces here and there among the dark shadows of the land. Mist hangs above the mountains. All is still. All is peaceful.

Except inside of me.

My fingers curl against the windowsill. The inside of my soul must look no where near as lovely as the Outside of this place. Perhaps, that is what residing here does to you. Perhaps, there is a curse upon this Mansion to make everything within it dirty, evil, and fulls of cheaply sold lies.

I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the windowpane. My warm breath bounces off the window and warms my cheeks. The glass feels cold and damp against my skin.

How am I to understand this? It seems too much to grasp.

I sigh softly.

“That’s a heavy sigh,” Master’s voice is soft and mournful behind me.

I jump, startled and look toward the door. He has heaved it open and now stands inside. I turn back to the window then.

What do you want with me?

I hear the door shut tight and Master slowly approaches. His presence is heavy and dark to me as he kneels behind me.

“You asked me a question,” he said quietly. I sit down on the hard floor silently. “Would you allow me to answer it?”

I don’t speak, but I scoot around to half-face him and tuck my feet under my skirt. There is a leather-bound book in Master’s hands. His thumb rubs the cover and then he places it in my lap.

“What’s this?” I ask.

He gestures for me to open it and I do. The pages are rough and discolored, old. I flip through them single page by single page. Each page is a different drawing. Most of them are done in pencil or charcoal. Many of them are pictures of birds. Some birds, I’m nearly certain I’ve seen from the very window that I sit by.

“Did you draw these?” I ask, absently, each page drawing new attention to itself.

“A very long time ago,” Master fidgets and crosses his legs, resting his hands on his thighs.

One picture is of a spectacular looking eagle. The shading, even in black and white, gives it a certain sense of majesty. I run my fingers over the feathers of the right wing, only to jerk them back when I realize that I’ve smudged the charcoal.

I can feel Master’s quiet smile as I wipe my fingers off on the skirt of my dress.

Master likes birds.

“Were you a hunter?”

“Not for birds,” he answers.

I study the drawing again and my eyes are drawn to the signature smudged in the lower right hand corner. I hold the book up a bit to cast the moonlight on it.

Master stiffens some as I say his name: “Edward Brickell.”

Then, he nods. “That is my name,” he murmurs quietly.

Sighing through my nose, I shut the book with a light clap of the meeting of pages and covers. I rub a hand over the leather cover and hand the book back to him.

Master is trying to be kind to me, but I am still resentful. I cannot help it.

“It suits you,” is all I find myself able to say.

Master curls the book under his arm, nodding. It seems he senses my dismissal because he rises to his feet and heads for the door once more.  I come to my knees again, staring at the glass window. The door heaves open and I suddenly feel the urge to look back.

“Master?” I call to him.

“Yes?”

“Say I’d been able to go back through the Mirror to the Outside,” I look back then. His fingers are curled around the door and I see the knuckles turn white, knowing what’s coming next. “Would you have let me go?”

Master leans his temple against the door, as if he is about to embrace the wood. He licks his lips, watching me for a time.

At last he says, “Yes...but I would’ve asked you to stay.” He tries to smile. “It gets lonely in here when you’re all by yourself.”

I swallow hard. Then, like the ghostly spirit  of a castle haunt, he is gone without a word and the door shuts.

#

House for Lost Things - Part Eight

Hey guys! This is part eight of the House for Lost Things. We hope you enjoy it and would love to have your feedback. Please read it and pass it on!

IMPORTANT NOTE: As Christmas nears, there MAY be a short hiatus. Also, as this story draws to a close we are looking to you, the audience for more ideas for the next story. Please comment or email cherise.tess@gmail.com or nevermoreemergingflame@gmail.com with your ideas and feedback. Thanks!

#

Master clutches my arm and half-drags me quickly out to the front room. I trot some to keep up with his pace, tugging against his hold. He drags me until I stand about six feet away from the Mirror and then stops. His jaw is twitching as he releases my arm.

Show me what?

“Stay here,” he ordered. “I don’t want you getting sucked into nothingness.”

I frown at him a little and cross my arms over my chest. Master approaches the Mirror with now evident reluctance. I hear him exhale shakily as he stops in front of the Mirror.

Turning my attention to the Mirror, I watch the reflective surface. It ripples and shimmers and shakes silently. My heart seizes a little.

“Master, come away, it will--”

“No, it won’t,” his voice is a growl. “This, Esme, is what happens when people stop looking for you.”

The Mirror’s surface appears so agitated by Master’s presence that it might very well split apart and shatter. The frame jostles and the glass oval heaves inside of it. Then, it goes still. The ripples slowly dissipate, not into any scene from the Outside, but once more into the motionless, reflective pool. I can see myself, standing disheveled behind Master.

Master looks back at me. I feel myself tremble a little bit and I look up at him, arms lowering to my sides.

“Nothing,” he says firmly. “I’ve stood in front of this Mirror a thousand times and this is what it offers: Disappointment and hopeless dreams of returning to a life that no longer exists!” His voice rises with every word and he slowly works his way closer.

I fall back several steps as his voice increases. I read the pain and anger in his gaze, the anguish and hate in his voice, the desperation in every muscle of his body. It makes me want to run, to hide, to cry.

To go home.

“I kept you away from the Mirror to protect you from that!” he yells at me.

Tensing I scoot away again, shaking my head.

“Yes,” he said firmly, gaze darkening, continuing to advance on me. “You don’t deserve to live with that disappointment. It was better for you to remain in the dark than to live with the pain of knowing that there is no one,” his arm extends behind him as he stabs a finger toward the Mirror. “No one out there that loves you anymore.”

My shoulders hunch forward at the words and I cover my mouth with a hand, doubling over in my shock.

That’s not true! That can’t be true!

My brow creases in silent agony and my stomach clenches. I hear Master’s rough, harsh breathing and see him lower his arm. His face starts to soften some and he appears weary once more.

How could he say that?

“Esme,” he begins to speak, voice soft and coaxing.

I straighten up slowly. But as his hand rests on my arm, I jerk it away. Shaking my head, I look up at him. I can feel the anger bubbling in my chest, the denial and hurt in my face. I push his hand away.

“Who are you?” I ask in a growled whisper.

Before he can answer, I turn and find myself rushing out of the room. For once, I don’t cry. I run, run far away, up the stairs to the Tower. Slamming the large door shut behind me, I race across the room and fall against the window, pressing my face to it.

I look out across the green hills, the mountains, the skies. I see everything below, alive and fresh. The realization of truth trickles down into my soul, like the melting snow into the green sprouts beneath it.

I’ve spent eight years under the spell of this man who lied to me. And I don’t even know his name.

#

The House for Lost Things - Part Seven

Hey, guys! Here's part seven of The House for Lost Things. Please share, comment, let us know what you think. We really appreciate your feedback!

NOTE: All pictures here are strictly for viewer's pleasure. Those of any people may or may not be the writer's idea of what a character looks like and were chosen to reflect the mood of the scene or an attribute or emotion of the individual, rather than the character.

#

The next morning, I didn’t get up. I couldn’t get up.

I was still lying on the couch where Master had tucked me in the night before, close to the warm fire. The fire was growing low, popping and crackling as the wood turned to ash. I stared into it numbly.

I can’t go back in there.

I curl up tighter beneath the blanket left around me. It scratches my skin, but at least it’s warm and safe. Master’s scent comes from the coat balled into a pillow under my head. Keeping the blanket pulled up around the bridge of my nose, I remain huddled beneath it.

I won’t come out. I won’t go back in there. He can’t make me.

I close my eyes and drift in and out of fitful sleep, constantly somewhere between sleeping and being jerked awake by tiny imagined noises around me.

I feel myself just slipping into the clutches of darkness when a hand brushes through my hair. My eyes flash open and I stare. Master is crouched before me, eyes worried.

“Master,” I whisper, starting to sit up a little.

“Shh,” he says, placing a hand on my arm. I rest against the couch once more. “Do you feel well?” he asks.

I can feel my insides shriveling up at the question and I shudder, ducking as far under the blanket as I dare till he can only see my eyes and the top of my head. Master sighs. He rests against the couch, and slides into a sitting position.

“I’m sorry, Esme.”

I close my eyes tightly as he strokes my hair with his hand.

“I can’t go back in there,” I feel tears brimming at my eyes but they won’t spill over. My body is tired

of crying. “I can’t go back in there, Master.”

Master’s fingers curl in my hair.

“Yes, you can, Esme,” he says firmly. The shaking of my head starts slowly until I am vigorously shaking it back and forth. Master grabs my arms to hold me still as I try to formulate the words to argue with him. “Yes, you can,” his voice deepens to a soft growl that stills me.

But I can’t...The Mirror will get me, too.

Master looks at me, relaxing slowly before he promises, “It’s safe now. You’ll be safe.”

“Master, the Mirror will get me,” I whimper.

“No, it won’t,” he replies adamantly. “I’m not going to let the Mirror hurt you. You don’t have to go close to the Mirror. I promise.”

I curl up again and close my eyes, trying to relax.

“Please, don’t make me go back in there,” I whisper into his coat.

“Esme, I need your help to get our work done,” Master says softly. “I can’t do it by myself.”

But I’m scared!

“Andrew…”

“Andrew,” Master closes his eyes as I open mine. His fingers drop from my hair and curl in the blanket near my shoulders. “Andrew is safe at home.”

I shook my head, closing my eyes tightly again.

If only that were true.

“No, Esme,” Master whispers. “I mean it. He’s safe at home. With his woman.”

I stop, “What?” I ask in confusion.

How can that be?

“Whoever was looking for him found him and he was able to go back through the Mirror to his home.”

I stare at Master.

“But you said that wasn’t possible...for us to go home.”

Master bows his head and looks at the floor for a moment, seeming struggling to speak.

Master lied to me?

“I said it wasn’t possible for us to go back home,” Master corrected. “I never said anything about Andrew.”

...It is possible to get home then?

I push myself up into a sitting position, the blanket falling around my waist. Master leans back. He pulls one knee up under him and looks up at me, features calm and expectant.

“Then why can’t we go home?” I ask him, suddenly suspicious.

“The Mirror is constant,” Master replies, resting his hands on either side of my curled legs on the couch. “Something can only pass through if it has been found.”

“I could go home?”

“If someone found you,” Master looks down and his jaw tightens. His voice is begrudging and reluctant.

My mouth opens and closes slowly a few times before I find my voice, “Master, why would you not tell me this?”

Master remains silent, looking down at the floor for a long time. His fingers press into the couch one by one as if he is pressing silent piano keys. His brow wrinkles and his nose twitches.

At last he says, “No one is looking for us anymore.”

“But they might have!” I exclaim, sitting ramrod straight.“They might have looked for me and I would never know because you wouldn’t let me near the Mirror!”

Master clears his throat and speaks patiently, “Esme, you were terrified to even leave your room the first few days. Those periods are the most crucial. After that, people...stop looking.”

He looks up at me, searching my face for understanding.

You don’t even know if your family looked at all, Esme.

Master reaches forward and takes my hands in his. I frown down at our hands. His calloused palms fit around both my hands.

“I didn’t allow you near the Mirror afterward in order to protect you,” he tells me.

“Protect me from what?!” I demand rather harshly.

Our eyes meet, mine filled with the anger that is sullying my heart and his filled with some form of silent, chilled, ice. His clothing rustles as he stands.

“Come with me,” he says, tone indignant. “If you will not believe me, I will show you.”

#

The House for Lost Things - Part Six

Hey, guys! Here's part six of The House for Lost Things. Please share, comment, let us know what you think. We really appreciate your feedback!

NOTE: All pictures here are strictly for viewer's pleasure. Those of any people may or may not be the writer's idea of what a character looks like and were chosen to reflect the mood of the scene or an attribute or emotion of the individual, rather than the character.

#

Weeks have passed. Or maybe months. It could be years for all I know. For as they used to say, “Every day is a thousand years”. But in a world like this, stuck inside, doing the same thing, day after day…every moment can seem like a thousand years.

Things scrape against the floor and dust flies as Andrew, Master, and I work our way through today’s pile. Things are nearly finished for the day and soon we will be moving on to our last pile, one thing my aching arms are glad for.

The long sleeves on my recently acquired lavender gown repeatedly slide down my arms. Over and over, I shove them back up to my elbows and carry armfuls of books to Master to be “checked”.

The day is drawing to a close and weariness consumes us all. Corners of spines dig into my arms as Andrew packs them into my arms. Hard covers thud together. I grimace and my shoulders hunch beneath the weight of the load.

“More or stop?” Andrew asks.

He holds a book in each hand. His hair sticks to his forehead with sweat. There are dark circles under his eyes and sorrow in his smile. I shake my head and look at my feet.

Still, so long after he’s come to join us. So long after we’ve come to think of him as family. I can see it in his eyes.

Andrew dreams of leaving, of going home.  

Taking the books to Master, I sigh. One by one, he removes them from my arms, piling them into his own to go before the Mirror. His movements are jerkish and uneasy as he re-stacks the books under his arm.

“How much more do we have?” he asks in a low voice.

“Just a few more piles,” I say softly, trying to sound encouraging.

Master looks ready to drop the books he has taken from me as he replies, “That’s what you said hours ago.”

My semi-smile falls and my shoulders slump a little. Something in his tone makes me feel small and inadequate.

Perhaps, he’s hungry. Hunger makes him grouchy.

“Are you hungry, Master? I could get you something to eat,” I offer.

Master looks toward the remaining items and Andrew. Andrew wipes his forearm across his forehead. His damp hair mousses, giving it an almost natural cowlick where his sweat has caused it to stick together.

“No,” Master said slowly. “Let’s finish here.”

Nodding, I return to Andrew as Master works with the Mirror. Andrew and I stack the rest of the books in piles. First, we open the front cover to check for evidence of names to tell us if multiple books belong to one person. We then pile those together. The left over books are merely stacked in piles of five.

It only takes us a short time to finish sorting the books between which may return to their homes and which will be joining our collection.

“Alright,” Master begins to speak. I rub my red hands together, massaging the sore spots as I turn back to Master. “Let’s break in here. Esme, help me carry the books that weren’t sent back and we’ll take them to the library.”

“Yes, Master,” I agree.

He’s finally ready to stop. Maybe he’ll let us leave the rest until tomorrow.

Master and I gather up the few books, twelve in all, that will be joining our collection. Some are thin, others are thick. Some are titled in English or Welsh, others are titled in languages that I do not recognize. Most of them have hard covers in dark colors like black, brown, blue, or grey. Several have red covers and one is leather bound.

We stride down the corridor toward the library side by side. I look up at Master, only able to see his cheek, the curve of his jaw, and the side of his head from my position. He walks quickly with a sense of need in the jerky movements of his body, as if he is trying to walk through a line of royal guards with a knife and not be noticed.

But there is no murder, no hate, no evil in his gaze or body language. Only weariness and uneasy which borders upon an unknown (and therefore unmerited) fear.  

“Did you see anything you would like to read?” I ask him, trying to coax out some piece of normality, of my happy, relaxed Master.

“I hadn’t paid much attention today,” he admits in a tone that borders upon sheepish.

He doesn’t smile, but I can feel it somewhere inside him. The smile in his body is in the air. For me, it is as if I am listening to someone laugh silently and I desire to see the smile, to hear the laugh, to watch the stiffness in his body melt away.

I desire to please. As always.

Was I born that way or has it been since I came to this place? I don’t even remember anymore.

“If you wish, we can read in front of the fire tonight,” I encourage, following him into the library.

A small huffed breath escapes him and I catch a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he turns and heads for the bookcases along the east wall.

There’s a smile.

“I’d like that,” Master says at last.

He begins by freeing one of his armfuls of books before reaching and removing mine, one by one. The soft thump of each one onto the bookshelf causes tiny flurries of dust to rise. I sneeze and tuck my nose against my shoulder.

Once my arms are empty Master says, “Why don’t you go and join Andrew. Pile the rest up by the far wall and we’ll stop for the night.”

He looks down at me through tired, but soft eyes. There is a smidgen of his usual lightheartedness hidden behind them. I nod and scurry out of the room without another word, smiling to myself as I go.

He does love his books.

I hurry back to the front room saying, “Andrew, Master says--”

I stop short.

Andrew stands in front of the Mirror. My eyes widen. In the Mirror’s reflection, I can see a woman walking down a street. Her lips open as she calls out for someone, her eyes are as hopeless looking as Andrew’s.

My, but she is lovely with thin waves of dark brown hair and eyes the color of the grass in summer.

“Andrew?” I call his name.

He either does not hear me or is not listening.

“Elizabeth?” he whispers as the woman stops, heading down an alleyway in the city.

Is she--? No. No. I’m seeing things.

“Andrew,” I hurry towards him through the hall and into the front room. “Andrew, come away from there, it’s dangerous!”

“It’s Elizabeth!” He cries out joyously. “She’s looking for me!”

He reaches out to the Mirror and it begins to ripple.

That can’t be…

My eyes widen and I hear footsteps rushing from the library toward my frantic voice. Andrew’s hand disappears into the Mirror and I run forward to grab him as he pushes to get through the keyhole and into the Outerworld.

“Andrew, no!” My voice is a scream.

He’ll get stuck! He’ll die!

I snatch a hold of his arm and try to pull him back. It’s like a raging current, as if I’m being pulled along with him into the Mirror. My lips form a scream of terror that doesn’t come out.

The Mirror is a mass of darkening ripples in which I can only see the grey skirt of the woman’s dress and Andrew’s body disappearing inside. I scramble, trying to pull him back. But then he is gone entirely and my wrist has disappeared inside the Mirror.

The pain is excruciating. My wrist feels as if I’ve stuck it in open flame, as if it is being stabbed by shards of glass, as if it is being twisted off, all at the same time. I cry out, closing my eyes tightly.

Master!

Before I can even breathe, two strong arms are wrapped around me and I am violently yanked away from the Mirror and into a body. The pain in my arm is gone and I am no longer holding onto Andrew. My heart thuds in my chest.

And then I’m sobbing. I can feel my body heaving with the sobs. I can hear myself trying to gasp to breathe. I can feel the hot tears burning my face.

Andrew...I lost Andrew. It’s my fault he’s lost in there.

I can hear Master speaking as if he’s in another room. His voice sounds foggy. He’s asking if I’m hurt, if I’m alright. I cling to him, burying my face in his chest, trying to hide myself in the warmth of his arms.

Now I understand why Master is afraid.

#