Caged Heart

Hey guys, we have a new short story! This one is by a guest writer and titled Caged Heart. We hope you enjoy it! Read it and share it with your friends!

#

Caged Heart

     Breathe.

     My chest rises and falls in a constant rhythm.  I dare not open my eyes, dare not look at the room around me.  The muffled sounds are enough to disquiet my mind, I don't need the images to go along with it.

     Thump.  Thump.  Thump.

     I lie as still as I can, my arms stretched straight on either side of me.  I've lost all feeling in my body, and now it's as if I'm just floating in nothingness.  If I were to concentrate hard enough, I could feel the surface below me.

     Exist.

     Soft, comfortable.  A bed beneath me with a pillow under my head.  Blankets cradle me, holding me as if to say that nothing will hurt me.  The sounds around me do not reassure me of that fact.

     Thump.  Thump.  Thump.

     I slowly lift my eyelids to see the hazy red dark around me.  The muffled sound of a beating heart echos through this room.  The walls move in and out with the movement.  Please, make it stop, make the noise stop.

     I want silence.

     I glance around the room slowly and notice an opening, as if the red of this room is but a curtain to be pulled back.  I slide out of the bed and walk toward the opening, peering out of it and into a dark hallway.  The hall is narrow, but I run through it all the same; anything to get away from that room.

     Tight.

     On either side of me are large ovular shapes which contract and relax, pressing around me more and more.  My range of movement seems to become smaller and smaller.  Oh, help me, please.  I can't breathe.

     Help me...

     I squeeze past the things and slam into hard horizontal bars.  They seem to curl around me as I reach my fingers through them.  I want out, I want out.  But there's nothing on the other side of these bars.  Nothing but blackness.  Emptiness.

     Please, I want out.

     The cage is getting smaller, curling more tightly around me.  No, no, no, what is this?  Why is this happening to me?  The sound of the heartbeat is growing louder in my ears.  Stop, stop this, please.  The pulsating lungs press against my back, making me squeeze between them.  Oh please, help me, I can't breathe.

     Let me out.

     I'm pressed back into the heart room, fall back into the bed, become ensnared in the blankets which won't let me go.  The cage continues to shrink until it's only around the bed now.  There's no escape, and the heart continues to beat.

     Thump.  Thump.  Thump.

# 

Vera Aisling is a young author who specializes in fantasy, surreal psychological horror, and supernatural, as well as emotional pieces.  She enjoys anime and video games as well as writing heart wrenching back stories for her beloved characters. Check out her blog at: https://dragonoftenebrae.wordpress.com/

The House for Lost Things - Part Twelve

Hey guys! This is part twelve 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!

#

Edward Brickell.

The name has been at the forefront of my mind for a long time. The Outside world has treated me well enough. Upon returning home, I have lived in our house with my brother. It is just the two of us now, these seven years later, but we live happily and comfortably.

Even in freedom, I’ve thought of Master often. Of how lonely he must be. I’ve wondered if someone else has been lost and taken my place in the Mansion, or if he is still alone. And then there are days like today, when I’ve thought of finding him.

I know where he is, though. I merely dread going to the place. Because inside, I know that there is no way for him to escape the Mansion. His eternity is somehow bound to the Mirror and the Mansion. Master...he belongs there.

I pull a white shawl close around me as I walk down the roadside toward the fields where I’ve often thought of going. I cross the road, rocks crunching under my feet as I approach the wooden fence separating this place from the rest of the town.

The gate is securely latched, but comes unfastened easily when I open the gate. I shut it behind me, lifting my skirt out of the way of the wood as it snatches for them. Then, I latch it behind me with a sigh.

Gathering my courage, I walk along through the fields, taking my time to pick some flowers from the spring’s fresh spray of color as I go. There are trees, large beautiful ones with green leaves that form coverings of shade over my as I walk.

And birds. Beautiful, lovely, majestic birds that Master loves, flying through the air and sitting among the tree branches. But no eagles. I have yet to see an eagle.

I stride through the tall grass with a meager handful of fresh flowers. When I reach the top of the hill, I stop. There is a tree among a small cluster some yards away. The breeze is ruffling its leaves and there are squirrels scampering among its branches. Master sits beneath it.

I smile sadly and approach.

Kneeling down before him, I place the flowers in the grass. I tuck my feet beneath my skirt and let my shawl slide down my shoulders some.

“Hello, Master,” I murmur softly.

I reach out a hand and run it over the cold, hard curve of the stone that marks the place where he was lost. His name is carved in it. The years of his birth and his death. And the message: “Beloved brother, friend, and soldier.”

A small sigh builds in my chest as I look down at him.

So this is why no one searched for him...they knew where he was.

I press my palm against the stone, rubbing my thumb along the letters of his name.

“I found you, Edward,” I whisper.

#

Well, guys. That's the end of this delightful story. If you have any thoughts or comments or ideas for future stories, please email us at nevermoreemergingflame@gmail.com. Thank you everyone for remaining faithful readers!

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!

#

“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...

#

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!

#

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.

#

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.”

#