The House for Lost Things - Part Eleven

Hey guys! This is part eleven 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: 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!

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“Esme?” I searched through the halls for any sign of her. “Esme, are you here?”

I hadn’t found her anywhere. I hadn’t found her in the kitchen or the library or her bedroom or the Tower, not anywhere else yet. I’d reduced myself to searching random rooms to see where she was hiding.

Where would she go?

“Esme?” I shouted her name.

Has she hurt herself? Is she angry still and hiding? Gracious, where is she?

“Esme!” I turned down to check the kitchen and lower levels of the Mansion once more.

Maybe she just can’t hear me.

But that seemed about nigh impossible. My voice, calling her name, bounced off every wall and echoed against the stone.

Cursing myself, I head first through the kitchen. The unstoked fire and untouched teaset are reminder enough that she is not here. I hurry down the hall toward the front room to check the Tower and her rooms once more.

Passing among the piles of junk scattered about, I take note of all the work yet to be done for both this day and the former.

“Esme?” I call for her again, tripping over things as I go.

My pant leg snags on something and I have to take a moment to disentangle myself so that I do not tear my clothing. Not that it matters all that much, because with all the things that people lose, I’m sure to “inherit” something else later.

But when bending down to untangle my pant leg, that is when I see them. Esme’s slippers have been set by the door, facing into the room. I slowly straighten up.

She’s been here.

That’s when my heart begins to sink.

I turn around, tiny step by tiny step and face the Mirror. It is still and unmoving, reflecting only myself and the things around me.

“No…”

I swallow hard, gritting my teeth.

Oh dear god, no. Why? I walk toward the Mirror, watching my reflection grow and zoom in as I approach. It begins to ripple. She left...but how? How would she get out? Who would still be looking for her after eight years.

I stare into the rippling, swirling glass, hopelessly.

Why would they still be looking for her?

“No, no, no, no, no,” the words are soft moans as I cover my face.

I hear the Mirror shaking, but rather than the glass, it is me who is splitting apart. Inside. Torn. Betrayed. Wounded. Left here in this Mansion alone.

“Why would you do this?” I groan the words, fisting my hands in my hair. “Why would you leave me here all alone?”

I trusted you, Esme. I needed you. You were the only freedom that I had in this godforsaken place… Why would you abandon me in this seclusion?

A growl emparts from my lips and I stare into the glass. It’s clear now. Reflective. Not a single ripple.

My breathing hitches, picking up angrily. My eyebrows lower and my lip curls a little in angry disdain as I glare at my own reflection.

“Why?” I demand of the Mirror, of the picture that it shows me. “What did I ever do to make them forget about me? Why did they stop looking for me? Why am I suck here? Why can everyone leave this place but me?”

My hands pull tight in my hair and my body shakes with fury.  I bite my lip hard and turn away from the Mirror, staring at the piles of things around me. At the piles of things that are me. Lost and never going to be found.

I want to go home, too...

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The House for Lost Things - Part Ten

Hey guys! This is part ten 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: 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!

MORE IMPORTANT NOTE: The blog will now be updated only every two weeks due to lack of time and submissions. Thanks!

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I silently descend the stairs, slippers in hand. I do not want to be heard. I don’t know want to be seen. If I am to go, I wish to do it alone.

I do not want to be stopped.

As I creep through the cold, still, silent house, I am lured by the Mirror. I want to see if my fate is truly the same as Master’s. I want to see if it is true, what he said, that there is no one who loves me any longer.

I tiptoe toward the front room, freezing at the tiniest sounds. I hold up my skirt with one hand, trying to avoid snagging it on anything or having it brush against something “too loudly”. Hardly daring to breathe, I make my way into the the front room.

As with every morning, it is already filled with new things for Master and I to sort. The sheer vastness of the array suggests that Master was not able to accomplish much on his own the afternoon before.

I set my slippers by the hall doorway and use both hands to raise my skirt, carefully stepping around the piles of lost yet to be found. I do not stop until I’m standing mere feet away from the Mirror.

Is this wise? What if I get sucked into nothingness?

I frown and then set my jaw.

I won’t. Master did not. Therefore, I will not.

Then, I approach the Mirror and stand directly in front of it. As she edges begin to ripple, so do my frazzled nerves. I’ve not slept all night, trying to prepare myself to do this deed, to foresee both my past and my future. Yet, here I am, before the Mirror, before a sight that suddenly begins to calm my being.

Because the Mirror does not rage. It does not shake. It does not tremble. It ripples and shivers and a picture begins to form within its pools. Hope seizes in my chest, like that that takes hold in the chest of a baby bird about to commit to its first flight.

What is it?

I curl my fingers in my skirts anxious to see.

It seems like an eternity before the picture clears and the ripples cease. Then, I see at last the thing I’ve always longed to see. It is my old room in the upstairs attic. It is silent and dark like the tower, but I can see light trickling from the window.

But it is not this space that makes tears form in my eyes. It is the person in the space. The one who when I left was but a nine year old boy. My baby brother. My angel friend, Addien. His blonde hair is thick and full like mother’s, his eyes are grey and blue like father’s. His clothes are just as dirty as always, yet he looks clean and handsome.

Tears of joy gather in my eyes and I reach out, wanting to touch the Mirror.

Please...please find me. I want to come home.

I can see my brother, now every bit of those eight years older, walking around, talking to himself, but I cannot hear him. I want to cry out. I want to hit the glass. I want to scream and tell him where I am. But I cannot.

My brother stops. It is as if in that moment, he is looking right at me, as if he knows that I am there. Then, he reaches out his hand toward the Mirror.

Please, please find me. I don’t remember where I got lost. I don’t remember what happened. You have to find me Addien!

I feel a soft sob of plea gathering in my throat. I close my eyes and reach out to touch the glass of the Mirror.

My fingers sink through.

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