The girl, who can't be more than five years old, reaches upward, doll in hand, trying to sit the doll among the spindly branches – which seem a little shorter, a little less tired, than they did a moment ago. Still, it's not by any means a sturdy tree.
“Now, Clara, wouldn't you like to sit among all these pretty flowers? Just... sit... right here... for just a few minutes, won't you?” Trembling on the tips of her toes, she manages to just set the doll in the crook where a branch meets the main trunk. Grinning, she laughs and dances off down the path toward the bench. I can see that the slightest breeze will knock the doll down... I wonder if I can better secure it?
I cross the clearing, and reach for the doll, whose supposed high vantage point isn't even up to my shoulders. But just as my fingers are about to brush the pale blue of her dress, I hear a desperate cry behind me. A black blur bounds into the clearing – and then stops stock still upon seeing me. It's a somewhat large dog... it actually looks an awful lot like the dog I saw a few weeks ago. I wonder if--- But the dog whines and whimpers, backing up warily, then turns tail and bolts out of the clearing, leaving by the second path I hadn't been able to find – an unpaved track between some rose bushes, just opposite the clearing from the stone path. The girl stumbles into the clearing then, wailing miserably.
“Roooolliiiiiie! Come baaack! I wanted you to play with me!” A long blue ribbon dangles from one of her hands, and I bite back a giggle as I imagine her having tried to use it as a leash for a dog bigger than she is.
She looks around the clearing forlornly, seeing no trace of the dog. I hear a surprisingly decisive “hrmph!” from her, and then she skips over to the tree to retrieve the doll. “Now, Clara, he's really not like that, he's a very gentlemint of a doggie.” She takes off the doll's hat, and smooths down the surprisingly lifelike golden curls – it occurs to me that it may very well be real hair, I seem to have some vague memory of a doll with human hair that I saw in a museum when I was little. “But I guess we can go look for Pussy, she'll be more soshub... sociable.”
A man's voice calls out sharply, and a dog barks – and I feel even more sure that it's the same black dog I saw, or maybe a decedent? The bark sounds so, so similar...
“Oh! Clara, we're in trouble if Daddy sees we let Rollie out without asking...” Looking over, I see that the girl is physically trembling, her eyes incredibly wide. She's a very pretty little thing, with red-gold curls and ivory skin... and for a moment, I think I see some similarity in her facial structure to Cora. Is this her daughter? But her expression is one of pure fear, and I call out softly to her, I don't know what to say but I have to say something, as I take a step toward her, reaching out a hand...
“Hey... it'll be alright, I'll go with you, and keep you safe. I won't let him hurt you... He might yell, but he won't hurt you...”
She looks over at me, seeing me for the first time. “Who are you? Your clothes are funny.”
I grin wryly. The abstract never lasts long for a kid when there's something concrete to fixate on. “I just came to see the gardens... but if you want, I'll try to come with you for awhile.”
She looks dubious. “I dunno... Daddy gets really, really mad, when we don't obey him.” She claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes impossibly getting wider. “...but I'm not a-s'posed to call him that, please don't tell? I just call him that sometimes when I'm alone, it's such a nice-sounding name for someone, and if I talk about having a daddy, sometimes I can imagine I have a nicer one.”
It would sound absolutely saccharine in a book, but hearing the matter-of-fact words from this darling little girl's mouth, I can see the sincerity in her expression, and my heart breaks for her. Children live in such small little social worlds, so any one cruelty is proportionally overwhelming... especially when it's someone who should be that close to you.
“Well, if I'm there, he won't be too bad, will he? He'll have to be polite to company, won't he?”
She considers this, then grins and takes my hand. “You're right. He'll have to be respeckable – Mommy tells him that all the time, and it makes him grumpy, but then he acts nicer at least.”
The man calls out again, louder this time. “Evelyn! Avery! Come here this instant!”
The girl quakes and presses herself against my side, clinging to my hand. Her hand feels perfectly solid in mine, her body warm and alive. It's not just ghosts that I'm seeing... no vague spirit hanging over my shoulder...
“Come on, I'll go with you, it'll be alright... your name is Evelyn? Mine's Kimberly. I'll be right here with you, okay?” Honestly, I'm pretty scared myself, but I'll play the big sister and try to be strong for her. Fleetingly, I remember Anna's warning, and realize that if I can hold Evelyn's hand, there's no reason anyone else I see can't physically touch me too...
“All right, Kimberly,” she says in a small, timid voice. She clutches her doll to her chest, and speaks softly to it as well. “Clara, Kimberly is coming with us, and Daddy will have to be respeckable, so don't worry, all right?”
We head off in the direction of the voice, following the little path I saw the dog take a few minutes before. The roses are still only in bud, but I can recognize the leaves of that plant, at least. Everything else I walk by, I have no idea, but there are more fragrant things around, lots of things just beginning to bloom, as well as some daffodils and hyacinths here and there. I wonder if they're still here..? It's only a minute's walk before the unpaved path runs into a tiled one, though it's a different pattern of tile than the ones I've already seen. Same general style though, so likely the same origin, which I still need to sort out. The tiled path leads into a formal rose garden, where the low bushes are arranged in neat and orderly lines, with carefully pruned hedges and artfully trained shrubbery in large green geometric shapes. There's a fountain in the middle, though it's much less elaborate than the one I've visited. This one looks to be marble, in a more generic – though still lovely – design of fluted columns and petal-like shapes.
Off to the right, by a white metal trellis covered in what I presume are climbing roses, stands a man, holding the black dog firmly by the scruff of his neck. The dog is perfectly silent and motionless, sitting still as a statue at the man's side. His ears are down, and his eyes look nervous to say the least. He whimpers softly as he sees Evelyn approach, and the man shakes him – not much, but enough to make his dominance clear.
The man narrows his eyes suspiciously when he sees me. “And who are you? We had no expected visitors today.” He eyes my jeans with disgust. He himself is dressed in a finely-cut suit of a deep navy blue, with what I suspect is a silk scarf at his throat. His face is very, very beautiful, his hair long and dark, his eyes deep and penetrating... and though I think these eyes are darker than the man I saw at the fountain, there is something similar in their gaze, something in the directness, the power of it.
Power... the man's spirit near me is both powerful and often angry...
“I asked, who are you? You are on my private grounds, and I do not believe you have been invited.” His voice is stern and commanding – though something in the fluidity of it is very refined, and would be beautiful if the words were kinder.
“This is Kimberly. She's my friend, and I want her to be here.” I look down at Evelyn, startled by the firmness of her young voice. She's far more self-possessed than I am right now, her expression is set in remarkably mature determination.
“You had no permission from me to invite callers.” His voice is almost a growl – far more menacing than any sound the dog has made.
The girl hesitates at this, and I wonder that she does not try to pretend permission from her mother. But maybe she learned young not to pit one parent against the other, I know I learned that one around the age of six myself.
“And were you the one to let the dog run loose?”
At this, she nods sullenly. “I tried to keep him from running, but---”
“But you are not strong enough to hold him, as I have told you a hundred times. You are not to let any of the animals loose without permission, as you well know.”
She nods, not looking up. “Yes, sir.”
It's clear the man wants to say more – I'm not a good judge of reading violence in someone's body language, not having had much experience with it myself, but I have a strong, worried hunch that, were I not here, this sweet little girl would have received blows from this powerful man's hands.
“Well. If you see your brother, tell him I need not speak to him. I will return the dog to his kennel, as you would be unable to.” With this, he strides off, hand still gripping the dog.
When he's out of sight, Evelyn sighs heavily and hugs my legs tight. I can't help but smile, and hug her back. “Thank you,” she breathes, looking up at me with shining eyes. “You saved me!”
I'd love to be able to say I didn't do anything... but I know I did. I wish I could tell her that he would never really hurt her... but I think he does. This poor sweet little girl...
I kneel down to her level, and straighten out her hat a bit for her. “Evelyn, is your mother kind to you?”
She nods and smiles brightly. “Mommy is the kindest lady in all the world.”
I smile back. “I'm glad to hear it. You stay as close to your mommy as you can, and stay away from... from him, whenever you can.”
She nods solemnly. “I do, Kimberly. Avery does too, though sometimes he tries to argue with him instead of just staying away. I get really scared when he does that, it's so bad when he's angry...”
I frown, getting back to my feet and casting my eyes over the garden. Such a beautiful, beautiful place... how could someone bear to spoil it by such angry and discord? “I'm sorry he's not nicer to you, Evelyn. I wish I could help...”
She looks up at me solemnly. “But you can't stay, can you.” It's not a question – somehow, she senses that I'm a transient part of her world.
“I can't, no... I'll come back if I can, but I don't know if I can or not.”
“Well, you always have my permission. Someday I'll be big enough that I can give permissions, and when I am, I'll give you them.”
I grin down at the bright, round face beneath the hat and curls. “Thank you...”
And suddenly, my eyes go out of focus, and I realize the garden is aging in places, around the periphery of my vision. “Evelyn! I have to go now...”
“Oh! Kimberly!”
“I'm sorry...”
“Kimberly, do you like flowers?”
I have no idea why this is such an imperative thing to ask at such a desperate moment, but... “Very much!”
“I'll plant some for you! Promise!”
...and then she's gone, and I'm alone in an aging rose garden. The top of the fountain has broken off, and lays in pieces in the mucky basin. The once-neat rows of rose plants have sprawled out, and in places been overrun by field grass and weeds. The carefully sculpted shrubs are all overgrown, their shapes long-lost to overgrowth and unkind weather.
I suddenly feel very, very lonely. There should be a chilly breeze and cloudy skies, but there's not, it's still sunny and warm, but the golden light is an odd contrast to the wilderness that was once such an elegant formal garden. The light which played so happily off the pale blue satin and red-gold curls falls tiredly on the debris-covered ground where she stood...
I'm vaguely comforted, knowing that she survived this place. The children escaped the fire, and the father perished in it. I wonder how far from now--- from then? From the time I saw her, until the time she was free of his grasp.
...and I wonder, did she plant flowers for me? Which ones, and where did she plant them? I wish I had some chance of knowing... but these visions have been so sporadic, so scattered in time and place. I've never seen the same person twice, at least so far... but I hope I'll see Evelyn again, and I can only hope she'll somehow grow up without being completely ruined by the psychological – and probably physical – domination of her father.
I did see the dog twice – I feel sure it's the same dog – so maybe that's a bit of hope at least of seeing the girl again.
I look around, trying to adjust my mental image of the garden, matching up my present with the garden's past. I can see where the tile path leads into an overgrown section of bushes... and while some of the tiles are gone, some still remain. I spend a few minutes taking pictures around the decaying rose garden, but not as long as I might have before – more important to me is my memory of the vision, of the garden Evelyn stood in. I'm itching to get home and draw the girl... but I'll have to decide how. Maybe by the dogwood?
I follow the tile path, and am soon stuck in midst of overgrown things. The path I followed with her such a short time ago is utterly lost now. It's purely by guesswork that I make my way back to the clearing with the pond and the dogwood tree, and it takes me a good deal longer to get there, battling my way through leaves and branches. I continue on, back to Cora's bench, and when I reach it, the pillar I weeded around catches my eye. I wonder what those blue flowers are? I never did find out...
Crouching down by the pillar, I pull out my field guide, and flip slowly through the pages.
Canterbury Bells, I think, some kind of Campanula anyway. I touch the flowers gently, struck by how sweet and innocent the shade of blue is... and then I realize why I have that impression. It's the same shade of blue as Evelyn's dress. I wonder... oh it's such a stretch, there's no way this is what she planted for me... but maybe, maybe it is. I think I'm going to let myself believe that it is – it makes me happy to think so, and it looks a suitable flower to remember her by.
I make a few quick sketches of the way the flowers fall against the white pillar, wondering if I can work them into my drawing of her when I get home today...
Friday, November 20, 2009
language and names
So in today's chunk, I had to fix the fact that I had the little girl saying "okay"! I know the origins of the word are pretty murky, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't in polite language use in the late 1800s, early 1900s, which is vaguely the time period I'm working in. Also: her mis-pronounciations started with a fortuitous typo, for which I am very grateful because it helped me give her a personality. She's adorable! I love her.
Thank goodness her name checked out. I was writing in the Starbucks on campus - no internet means I can churn out a day's worth of writing in like an hour. So when I went to invent names... I couldn't check my handy-dandy reference site. But, after a few minutes' thought, I realized I could narrow it down a bit anyway - noooo Biblical names for the kids. That was a nice break-through. The father, for as little as he wants to do with the kids, would definitely have put his foot down and refused to listen to Biblical names day-in and day-out around his house.
Evelyn popped into my head, I'm not entirely sure from where, but it was pretty - and, luckily for me, #125 in popularity in 1890. Not so high that it would be a common name, but high enough to be plausible. Her brother, I had a rougher time with, and subbed in Jared for a bit, but on checking the list, I found Avery, which I liked way better. Avery and Evelyn. The names sound really cute together. :)
...I had noooo idea what to name their dog, so I kept my eyes open while scrolling through the list. The name Rollie is somewhere in the top 500 for that year, and while I am totally unable to picture a kid surviving school with the name Rollie, I can totally see a couple little kids naming their dog that.
Thank goodness her name checked out. I was writing in the Starbucks on campus - no internet means I can churn out a day's worth of writing in like an hour. So when I went to invent names... I couldn't check my handy-dandy reference site. But, after a few minutes' thought, I realized I could narrow it down a bit anyway - noooo Biblical names for the kids. That was a nice break-through. The father, for as little as he wants to do with the kids, would definitely have put his foot down and refused to listen to Biblical names day-in and day-out around his house.
Evelyn popped into my head, I'm not entirely sure from where, but it was pretty - and, luckily for me, #125 in popularity in 1890. Not so high that it would be a common name, but high enough to be plausible. Her brother, I had a rougher time with, and subbed in Jared for a bit, but on checking the list, I found Avery, which I liked way better. Avery and Evelyn. The names sound really cute together. :)
...I had noooo idea what to name their dog, so I kept my eyes open while scrolling through the list. The name Rollie is somewhere in the top 500 for that year, and while I am totally unable to picture a kid surviving school with the name Rollie, I can totally see a couple little kids naming their dog that.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Parts 16-19
[went out one night with friends, then had migraines the next two days, thus the no writing... but I hate not having my post-titles line up with the dates. ;p ]
“You must be very careful when in that garden. Take someone with you if you can, or at least leave word with someone about where you are. It's very, very rare, that a spirit will cause someone physical harm, but you can never be too careful. If you have that feeling again, you must leave the area at once.”
I nod solemnly, inwardly sighing in frustration. How can I find out more, if all I can do is run away? “Is... is there anything I can do about it? Do you think it's something that needs to be set right there, or something?”
Anna shakes her head slowly. “Quite possibly, but the spirits in that place have had a very long time to fester in their emotions. It would be very difficult to find out what they're after... easy as the ghost hunter shows on TV make it look, it can take months of intense research to find out what a spirit wants. And even then, it's not always enough – sometimes, the spirits just want to hold on to their anger.” She sighs, and settles back in her chair, spreading her hands in a gesture of having nothing to offer. “I wish your first experience with that gray realm could have been a happier one, Kimber. There are so many good and helpful spirits, that watch us, and wish us well.”
I smile a little. “You did say there was more than one around me, right? Maybe she'll watch out for me yet.”
Anna smiles as well. “That is true. Now that's not to say that you shouldn't be careful, because you should, always. But that is true... it seemed a quiet, faint spirit, but who knows. The fact that they are both near you means there must be some kind of connection there. Had you any indication of them before you visited the garden?”
I shake my head emphatically. “No, not at all... and I don't really sense anything outside of the garden, even now. I mean, I can remember the visions I had exceptionally well, but other than that, there's nothing unusual outside of the fence.”
“Well, do keep your senses open – it's quite likely their power in this world is weaker away from the place they're tied to. Still, they may well present themselves elsewhere.”
Anna gets to her feet, and I realize my half-hour is over. I stand as well, and she shakes my hand warmly. “Now, if you have any further questions, or need any other assistance in this, feel entirely free to give me a call.”
I smile warmly back. “I will, thank you so much for all your help.”
Once I'm back home, I sit down with my vision-drawings. The one of the boy is basically done, though I'm still adding a few touches here and there. The fountain, I refused to let myself work on after that one day – it was meant to be a freer, more emotionally-driven work, something expressive, not technically perfect. I have a few sketches of Cora, but I can't find a composition I like. The expression on her face was so tender and poignant... and struck such a contrast with the yellow of her dress, the flowers and sunlight around her. While the contrast would be a nice thing, it's also hard to make the two opposite emotions cooperate in a single drawing, it just feels like I plopped the character into an arbitrary background.
What I'm longing to do, is a drawing of the couple I saw at the fountain. I have a few sketches, one of him cradling her in his arms, and one of her leaning over toward the fish in the fountain, with him looking on... But I didn't get a close enough look at either of them. The man, I nearly did, even though it was at a distance, I somehow got a really good sense of his features. But the woman... I can draw her hair, but not much else. I have a composition in my head, of her leaning over toward the fish, him at her shoulder, the view close-up with warm, rich colors and details... But I don't have the details here to work with.
Sighing, I rough out the composition on a large sheet of paper anyway. I'll fill in what I can, at least. I can get reference images from my own photos for the fountain, and I'm sure I can find some pictures of the fish on the internet – some kind of goldfish, maybe koi, shouldn't be too hard to find something close. The faces... I'll just have to see if a future vision of the past gives me something more to go on.
Several days later, I'm deep in thought on my walk back to the garden. I live a pretty solitary existence outside of work, so if something bad does happen to me... it's going to be like a day before someone notices. I have, at least, told a few coworkers, and my parents as well, that my days off are mostly spent poking around the old garden. (My mom thinks it sounds like a nice, romantic spot, but that it's a little morbid to hang around there so much. My dad doesn't get it either, but given how few of his hobbies other people “get”, he's pretty tolerant of other people's oddities.) And I have made an effort to remember to bring my cell phone with me. (I'm just a few years older than the generation that has their phones on them every second of every day. My friends and I had them, but, not like the kids do now. I text almost as slowly as my parents would.)
I'd kind of like to borrow somebody's great big dog to take along on trips like this, but... I remember the reaction of that one dog I saw, how it wouldn't come near, and how Anna's cats all disappeared when she connected with the spirits attached to me.
That, and I don't know anyone with a big friendly dog that I could borrow.
But those spirits... I've been trying not to think about the fact that they're attached to me somehow. It's a really odd feeling, like I have kites tied to my shoulders or something. Or like someone's always looking over my shoulder, every minute of every day. But I know it's not like that – I have no actual connection to these people, I just happen to walk around the place where they lived. So I'm sure they have other concerns besides me. Cora probably spends most of her days making sure the roses are blooming nicely, flicking any bugs away from the leaves. No, actually, she must go and find a servant's ghost, from what little I know of her I can't imagine her deigning to touch something as grubby as a bug! I remember reading Little Women years ago, and how it was an absolute social disaster that Jo's gloves were stained with lemonade or tea or something, and it would have been as unforgivable to show up at the party with stained gloves as it was to show up without any gloves at all. Cora was wearing perfectly dainty little white gloves when I saw her... pretty sure there was even a bit of lace at the wrists.
I wonder if Cora was the quieter one that Anna saw? Was the man her husband, or, more likely I think, the man I saw... the man who also saw me. As addictive as his smoldering gaze was, I think I'd rather have the boy's ghost hanging around. He might play pranks, but at least he wouldn't try to kill me.
I shudder as the thought crosses my mind – kill me? But I haven't done anything to harm the place... yes, I've trespassed into it, but wouldn't the ghosts want some company? And I did a bit of weeding... and more than that, I've been drawing the place, recalling the beauty that was apparently so dear to these people. And that, I think, should really be making them happy. I hope they follow me enough to see those drawings...
I have my flower books with me today, and I'm determined to do some identifying. The handful of photos I've taken were largely good enough to use as references for drawing, but I didn't get pictures of everything, and I want to know the names anyway.
Squirming beneath the fence (a process which does not, unfortunately, get easier with repetition), I haul myself into the garden. Standing up, I look around and take a deep breath. I have no idea what it is, but there's something... no, several things, I think, that smell absolutely heavenly. But before I go anywhere, I reach into my bag and pull out the field guide on flowers. (I left the larger book at home – I'll sketch out anything I can't identify with this one, and then check it in there.) The first thing my eyes fall on are the big grasses lining the creek bed. I ran into a lot of cattails growing up, but these look a little different. I'd flipped through the book to some degree at home, so I have a vague idea of how it's set up... and it's not terribly long before I find my plant.
Reeds! These are reeds. Probably common reeds, Phragmites australis, though I'm not sure I'd be able to spot the differences. How cool! I grin and jot down a note in my sketchbook. I had pictures of these, but, it's good to have the name for reference. They can grow anywhere from six to like twenty feet! That's insane. The ones I'm looking at here are maybe five feet... but I suppose it's a little early in the season yet? And the winter winds would have wiped out any particularly tall stalks from last year.
I decide to seek out the spots I've been trying to draw, to identify the plants there. I look around the creek bed a little more, but most things in this spot are still just masses of green leaves. I'm not that confident with my little book yet, I'll wait until the silly things flower. Next up is Cora's bench...
And I breathe in deeply, again and again, as I approach the bench with its vine-covered trellis overhead. The trellis is still covered in the small golden-white honeysuckle blossoms, and their scent fills the warm early summer air. Walking closer, though, I see something smaller in bright bloom at the base of the trellis, outside of its shaded interior. Crouching down, I tenderly lift one of the flowers, which are perched on long, slender stems, the flower heads drooping down a little to the ground. A pale column of petals make up the center, and crayon-bold petals surround it... I know this is something I've seen before, but I never knew the name. Flipping through the book, I find that they're columbines. Columbines, I should have known that, I remember now that Grandma had them in her front yard, my sister and I loved to dissect the oddly-shaped flowers when we were little.
Smiling at the memory, I'm half-tempted to pluck one of the flowers to play with... but Anna's warning holds me back, and I think I'd feel guilty anyway. As comfortable as this place is beginning to feel to me, the fact that the original owners are probably looking over my shoulder makes me a little nervous of making any change that isn't obviously for the better. Standing up, I can't help but look around, half-expecting to see someone there.
I don't see any human shape, but I do see a little path that I hadn't seen before – it's mostly overgrown, but there are a few flagstones set into the ground beside the columbines. Picking my way carefully, pushing aside the rampant green growth of goodness-knows-what, I follow the path as it curls around behind the trellis. There are a freaking lot of plants, all huge and bushy and trying to keep me away from their nice clean air. But now that I'm in here, I'm determined to see where this little path goes. One of the plants is covered in thorns, and I gasp as it snags my wrist, drawing a bit of blood.
“Damn you, vampire plant!”
Eventually, I reach a bit of a clearing – there's a small pool, only four feet or so long, a couple feet across, vaguely oval in shape. It's only because of a frog plopping into it that I know there's any water though – the entire thing is covered in some plant, with thick rounded leaves, and spikes of light purple flowers... oh but they're really pretty! I kneel down at the water's edge, and look closer at the flowers. Short spikes covered in these delicate, pale lavender-blue flowers. I take a quick picture, then find a stick and poke gently at the plant's leaves. They're pretty much floating, it doesn't seem like they're attached at all – but the plants make an almost perfect covering on the water, without moving the leaves I wouldn't see the water at all.
Looking up, I see that the little stone-paved clearing is surrounded by mounds of green, but that there are a few things blooming enough to catch my eye. A small tree, thin and spindly, looking rather old and tired, has surprisingly large white flowers on it... again, a flower I know I've seen before, though I'm not sure what it is. Four petals, oval with little notches cut out of the outside edge... oh! Dogwood! It doesn't look like the trees have a long lifespan, this one must be near its end. Its flowers are still so pretty, though it looks like it's costing the poor tree the last of its strength to bear them...
I spend a few minutes in the little nook, mostly taking pictures of the dogwood. There's something rather sad and lonely about the tree, hidden away in this forgotten little corner... I keep looking for a bench or a little sculpture or something, but if there's anything here, it's lost under the vast branches and leaves of the overgrown plants.
Walking around the edges of the little clearing, I peer as best I can below the plant growth, trying to see if there's a different path leading out. There appears to be a bit of space off to the left... but on closer inspection, it's only space around the stump of some dead plant, whose branches have broken away over the years, but whose roots must still be holding those of other plants at bay. Frowning a bit – I hate retracing my steps when I'm exploring, it feels so boring by comparison – I crouch down at the edge of the pool again, to tuck my camera and sketchbook safely back in my bag before braving the aggressive plants.
Looking up, I see a young girl, standing on tip-toes by the dogwood tree. A large doll is in her arms – the two are wearing in matching dresses, pale blue with ruffles and bows, hats with large brims and matching blue ribbon.
“You must be very careful when in that garden. Take someone with you if you can, or at least leave word with someone about where you are. It's very, very rare, that a spirit will cause someone physical harm, but you can never be too careful. If you have that feeling again, you must leave the area at once.”
I nod solemnly, inwardly sighing in frustration. How can I find out more, if all I can do is run away? “Is... is there anything I can do about it? Do you think it's something that needs to be set right there, or something?”
Anna shakes her head slowly. “Quite possibly, but the spirits in that place have had a very long time to fester in their emotions. It would be very difficult to find out what they're after... easy as the ghost hunter shows on TV make it look, it can take months of intense research to find out what a spirit wants. And even then, it's not always enough – sometimes, the spirits just want to hold on to their anger.” She sighs, and settles back in her chair, spreading her hands in a gesture of having nothing to offer. “I wish your first experience with that gray realm could have been a happier one, Kimber. There are so many good and helpful spirits, that watch us, and wish us well.”
I smile a little. “You did say there was more than one around me, right? Maybe she'll watch out for me yet.”
Anna smiles as well. “That is true. Now that's not to say that you shouldn't be careful, because you should, always. But that is true... it seemed a quiet, faint spirit, but who knows. The fact that they are both near you means there must be some kind of connection there. Had you any indication of them before you visited the garden?”
I shake my head emphatically. “No, not at all... and I don't really sense anything outside of the garden, even now. I mean, I can remember the visions I had exceptionally well, but other than that, there's nothing unusual outside of the fence.”
“Well, do keep your senses open – it's quite likely their power in this world is weaker away from the place they're tied to. Still, they may well present themselves elsewhere.”
Anna gets to her feet, and I realize my half-hour is over. I stand as well, and she shakes my hand warmly. “Now, if you have any further questions, or need any other assistance in this, feel entirely free to give me a call.”
I smile warmly back. “I will, thank you so much for all your help.”
Once I'm back home, I sit down with my vision-drawings. The one of the boy is basically done, though I'm still adding a few touches here and there. The fountain, I refused to let myself work on after that one day – it was meant to be a freer, more emotionally-driven work, something expressive, not technically perfect. I have a few sketches of Cora, but I can't find a composition I like. The expression on her face was so tender and poignant... and struck such a contrast with the yellow of her dress, the flowers and sunlight around her. While the contrast would be a nice thing, it's also hard to make the two opposite emotions cooperate in a single drawing, it just feels like I plopped the character into an arbitrary background.
What I'm longing to do, is a drawing of the couple I saw at the fountain. I have a few sketches, one of him cradling her in his arms, and one of her leaning over toward the fish in the fountain, with him looking on... But I didn't get a close enough look at either of them. The man, I nearly did, even though it was at a distance, I somehow got a really good sense of his features. But the woman... I can draw her hair, but not much else. I have a composition in my head, of her leaning over toward the fish, him at her shoulder, the view close-up with warm, rich colors and details... But I don't have the details here to work with.
Sighing, I rough out the composition on a large sheet of paper anyway. I'll fill in what I can, at least. I can get reference images from my own photos for the fountain, and I'm sure I can find some pictures of the fish on the internet – some kind of goldfish, maybe koi, shouldn't be too hard to find something close. The faces... I'll just have to see if a future vision of the past gives me something more to go on.
Several days later, I'm deep in thought on my walk back to the garden. I live a pretty solitary existence outside of work, so if something bad does happen to me... it's going to be like a day before someone notices. I have, at least, told a few coworkers, and my parents as well, that my days off are mostly spent poking around the old garden. (My mom thinks it sounds like a nice, romantic spot, but that it's a little morbid to hang around there so much. My dad doesn't get it either, but given how few of his hobbies other people “get”, he's pretty tolerant of other people's oddities.) And I have made an effort to remember to bring my cell phone with me. (I'm just a few years older than the generation that has their phones on them every second of every day. My friends and I had them, but, not like the kids do now. I text almost as slowly as my parents would.)
I'd kind of like to borrow somebody's great big dog to take along on trips like this, but... I remember the reaction of that one dog I saw, how it wouldn't come near, and how Anna's cats all disappeared when she connected with the spirits attached to me.
That, and I don't know anyone with a big friendly dog that I could borrow.
But those spirits... I've been trying not to think about the fact that they're attached to me somehow. It's a really odd feeling, like I have kites tied to my shoulders or something. Or like someone's always looking over my shoulder, every minute of every day. But I know it's not like that – I have no actual connection to these people, I just happen to walk around the place where they lived. So I'm sure they have other concerns besides me. Cora probably spends most of her days making sure the roses are blooming nicely, flicking any bugs away from the leaves. No, actually, she must go and find a servant's ghost, from what little I know of her I can't imagine her deigning to touch something as grubby as a bug! I remember reading Little Women years ago, and how it was an absolute social disaster that Jo's gloves were stained with lemonade or tea or something, and it would have been as unforgivable to show up at the party with stained gloves as it was to show up without any gloves at all. Cora was wearing perfectly dainty little white gloves when I saw her... pretty sure there was even a bit of lace at the wrists.
I wonder if Cora was the quieter one that Anna saw? Was the man her husband, or, more likely I think, the man I saw... the man who also saw me. As addictive as his smoldering gaze was, I think I'd rather have the boy's ghost hanging around. He might play pranks, but at least he wouldn't try to kill me.
I shudder as the thought crosses my mind – kill me? But I haven't done anything to harm the place... yes, I've trespassed into it, but wouldn't the ghosts want some company? And I did a bit of weeding... and more than that, I've been drawing the place, recalling the beauty that was apparently so dear to these people. And that, I think, should really be making them happy. I hope they follow me enough to see those drawings...
I have my flower books with me today, and I'm determined to do some identifying. The handful of photos I've taken were largely good enough to use as references for drawing, but I didn't get pictures of everything, and I want to know the names anyway.
Squirming beneath the fence (a process which does not, unfortunately, get easier with repetition), I haul myself into the garden. Standing up, I look around and take a deep breath. I have no idea what it is, but there's something... no, several things, I think, that smell absolutely heavenly. But before I go anywhere, I reach into my bag and pull out the field guide on flowers. (I left the larger book at home – I'll sketch out anything I can't identify with this one, and then check it in there.) The first thing my eyes fall on are the big grasses lining the creek bed. I ran into a lot of cattails growing up, but these look a little different. I'd flipped through the book to some degree at home, so I have a vague idea of how it's set up... and it's not terribly long before I find my plant.
Reeds! These are reeds. Probably common reeds, Phragmites australis, though I'm not sure I'd be able to spot the differences. How cool! I grin and jot down a note in my sketchbook. I had pictures of these, but, it's good to have the name for reference. They can grow anywhere from six to like twenty feet! That's insane. The ones I'm looking at here are maybe five feet... but I suppose it's a little early in the season yet? And the winter winds would have wiped out any particularly tall stalks from last year.
I decide to seek out the spots I've been trying to draw, to identify the plants there. I look around the creek bed a little more, but most things in this spot are still just masses of green leaves. I'm not that confident with my little book yet, I'll wait until the silly things flower. Next up is Cora's bench...
And I breathe in deeply, again and again, as I approach the bench with its vine-covered trellis overhead. The trellis is still covered in the small golden-white honeysuckle blossoms, and their scent fills the warm early summer air. Walking closer, though, I see something smaller in bright bloom at the base of the trellis, outside of its shaded interior. Crouching down, I tenderly lift one of the flowers, which are perched on long, slender stems, the flower heads drooping down a little to the ground. A pale column of petals make up the center, and crayon-bold petals surround it... I know this is something I've seen before, but I never knew the name. Flipping through the book, I find that they're columbines. Columbines, I should have known that, I remember now that Grandma had them in her front yard, my sister and I loved to dissect the oddly-shaped flowers when we were little.
Smiling at the memory, I'm half-tempted to pluck one of the flowers to play with... but Anna's warning holds me back, and I think I'd feel guilty anyway. As comfortable as this place is beginning to feel to me, the fact that the original owners are probably looking over my shoulder makes me a little nervous of making any change that isn't obviously for the better. Standing up, I can't help but look around, half-expecting to see someone there.
I don't see any human shape, but I do see a little path that I hadn't seen before – it's mostly overgrown, but there are a few flagstones set into the ground beside the columbines. Picking my way carefully, pushing aside the rampant green growth of goodness-knows-what, I follow the path as it curls around behind the trellis. There are a freaking lot of plants, all huge and bushy and trying to keep me away from their nice clean air. But now that I'm in here, I'm determined to see where this little path goes. One of the plants is covered in thorns, and I gasp as it snags my wrist, drawing a bit of blood.
“Damn you, vampire plant!”
Eventually, I reach a bit of a clearing – there's a small pool, only four feet or so long, a couple feet across, vaguely oval in shape. It's only because of a frog plopping into it that I know there's any water though – the entire thing is covered in some plant, with thick rounded leaves, and spikes of light purple flowers... oh but they're really pretty! I kneel down at the water's edge, and look closer at the flowers. Short spikes covered in these delicate, pale lavender-blue flowers. I take a quick picture, then find a stick and poke gently at the plant's leaves. They're pretty much floating, it doesn't seem like they're attached at all – but the plants make an almost perfect covering on the water, without moving the leaves I wouldn't see the water at all.
Looking up, I see that the little stone-paved clearing is surrounded by mounds of green, but that there are a few things blooming enough to catch my eye. A small tree, thin and spindly, looking rather old and tired, has surprisingly large white flowers on it... again, a flower I know I've seen before, though I'm not sure what it is. Four petals, oval with little notches cut out of the outside edge... oh! Dogwood! It doesn't look like the trees have a long lifespan, this one must be near its end. Its flowers are still so pretty, though it looks like it's costing the poor tree the last of its strength to bear them...
I spend a few minutes in the little nook, mostly taking pictures of the dogwood. There's something rather sad and lonely about the tree, hidden away in this forgotten little corner... I keep looking for a bench or a little sculpture or something, but if there's anything here, it's lost under the vast branches and leaves of the overgrown plants.
Walking around the edges of the little clearing, I peer as best I can below the plant growth, trying to see if there's a different path leading out. There appears to be a bit of space off to the left... but on closer inspection, it's only space around the stump of some dead plant, whose branches have broken away over the years, but whose roots must still be holding those of other plants at bay. Frowning a bit – I hate retracing my steps when I'm exploring, it feels so boring by comparison – I crouch down at the edge of the pool again, to tuck my camera and sketchbook safely back in my bag before braving the aggressive plants.
Looking up, I see a young girl, standing on tip-toes by the dogwood tree. A large doll is in her arms – the two are wearing in matching dresses, pale blue with ruffles and bows, hats with large brims and matching blue ribbon.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Part 15
But much as I would like to pick this woman's brain about the Masons, I'm very conscious of the half-hour I'm paying for.
“What do you think it was I saw? Ghosts, or a vision, or..?”
“Well... that is rather hard to say, Kimber. Do you have any history of Seeing? I have a sense that you're definitely open to the psychic realm.”
“I don't, no... but I'm an artist,” I reply with a wry grin. “Believing in otherworldly things comes with the territory.”
She smiles in return. “That's always a good thing to hear. Would you like me to do a reading for you, to see what the spirits around you may be trying to communicate?”
I take a quiet deep breath. And then mentally shrug – can't hurt, anyway, and I have to admit I'm curious. “Yeah, I think so. I've never done this before, so...”
“That's just fine, I'll talk you through it. Now, Kimber, I want you to clear your mind as best you can. Most people find it easiest to find something simple to focus on – an object in the room, a recent neutral memory, a favorite song. You may close your eyes if it helps, but it is not necessary.”
I do close my eyes, for the moment anyway. I think about the fountain, mentally following its curls and swirls, the smoothness of the lines...
“That's it... keep your thoughts calm, it helps the emotional atmosphere stay more clear, and readings more accurate. I am sensing a presence near you... several of them, I believe. One is female, and seems to be casually curious about your life. She watches you, and I think would help you if needed, but is not overly interested. Even now, she is fading... there is a much stronger presence near you.”
I've opened my eyes at this point, watching to see what she's doing. Anna is sitting quite still in her chair, rocking ever so slightly, but otherwise motionless. Her eyes are closed, and her hands are clasped tightly in her lap. The cats, I notice, have fled the room entirely. I didn't hear anyone call them... either their internal clocks know when feeding time is, or they're not a fan of spirits. I'm suddenly reminded of the black dog in the garden, who wouldn't come near me...
“This... is a male presence, I believe. There is the power of a man, but...” She is struggling to find words, her brow creases. “Something more than a man... a very, very great power, indeed. He is... I am not sure of his intentions toward you. He is very watchful, but is not open at all to my reading, his willpower is---”
She gasps suddenly, her fingernails digging into her hands. I lean forward in alarm, unsure if it would be safe to go to her or not. She resumes again, through gritted teeth. “He is quite strong, and you would do well not to anger him, I fear what he might do. He is... not... quite in the world, but not quite gone from it. His presence is much stronger than any ghost I have felt, he...” She trails off again, her face wrinkled in concentration. “Kimber, be careful of him... There is goodness but it is buried deep, I think, there is so much anger in him, so many dark thoughts, s-so----”
Gasping, her eyes fly open, and she clutches desperately at the armrests of her rocking chair.
“Anna... are you alright?” I start to get up and go to her, but she waves me back.
“I'm... I'm fine, Kimber, I'm fine. I've seen worse. But there is something about him... he didn't let me see much, I'm afraid. Very secretive. Most spirits are completely open about their intentions – they actively seek out communication, they want to make known the reason they're still here. But this one... If you have any dark family history, or personal tragedies, I would advise you to find some way to resolve them.”
I shake my head blankly. “I really don't... there's never been anything I've been involved in. But, I did... In the garden, after I saw the woman, and again, another day, I saw a dog but he wouldn't come near me, and I felt... I didn't think it was anything at the time, but I suddenly felt anxious, scared, there was this horrible oppressive feeling that I just had to get away from.”
Anna stares steadily into my eyes. I find it awkward to blink, in the grasp of that gaze.
“What do you think it was I saw? Ghosts, or a vision, or..?”
“Well... that is rather hard to say, Kimber. Do you have any history of Seeing? I have a sense that you're definitely open to the psychic realm.”
“I don't, no... but I'm an artist,” I reply with a wry grin. “Believing in otherworldly things comes with the territory.”
She smiles in return. “That's always a good thing to hear. Would you like me to do a reading for you, to see what the spirits around you may be trying to communicate?”
I take a quiet deep breath. And then mentally shrug – can't hurt, anyway, and I have to admit I'm curious. “Yeah, I think so. I've never done this before, so...”
“That's just fine, I'll talk you through it. Now, Kimber, I want you to clear your mind as best you can. Most people find it easiest to find something simple to focus on – an object in the room, a recent neutral memory, a favorite song. You may close your eyes if it helps, but it is not necessary.”
I do close my eyes, for the moment anyway. I think about the fountain, mentally following its curls and swirls, the smoothness of the lines...
“That's it... keep your thoughts calm, it helps the emotional atmosphere stay more clear, and readings more accurate. I am sensing a presence near you... several of them, I believe. One is female, and seems to be casually curious about your life. She watches you, and I think would help you if needed, but is not overly interested. Even now, she is fading... there is a much stronger presence near you.”
I've opened my eyes at this point, watching to see what she's doing. Anna is sitting quite still in her chair, rocking ever so slightly, but otherwise motionless. Her eyes are closed, and her hands are clasped tightly in her lap. The cats, I notice, have fled the room entirely. I didn't hear anyone call them... either their internal clocks know when feeding time is, or they're not a fan of spirits. I'm suddenly reminded of the black dog in the garden, who wouldn't come near me...
“This... is a male presence, I believe. There is the power of a man, but...” She is struggling to find words, her brow creases. “Something more than a man... a very, very great power, indeed. He is... I am not sure of his intentions toward you. He is very watchful, but is not open at all to my reading, his willpower is---”
She gasps suddenly, her fingernails digging into her hands. I lean forward in alarm, unsure if it would be safe to go to her or not. She resumes again, through gritted teeth. “He is quite strong, and you would do well not to anger him, I fear what he might do. He is... not... quite in the world, but not quite gone from it. His presence is much stronger than any ghost I have felt, he...” She trails off again, her face wrinkled in concentration. “Kimber, be careful of him... There is goodness but it is buried deep, I think, there is so much anger in him, so many dark thoughts, s-so----”
Gasping, her eyes fly open, and she clutches desperately at the armrests of her rocking chair.
“Anna... are you alright?” I start to get up and go to her, but she waves me back.
“I'm... I'm fine, Kimber, I'm fine. I've seen worse. But there is something about him... he didn't let me see much, I'm afraid. Very secretive. Most spirits are completely open about their intentions – they actively seek out communication, they want to make known the reason they're still here. But this one... If you have any dark family history, or personal tragedies, I would advise you to find some way to resolve them.”
I shake my head blankly. “I really don't... there's never been anything I've been involved in. But, I did... In the garden, after I saw the woman, and again, another day, I saw a dog but he wouldn't come near me, and I felt... I didn't think it was anything at the time, but I suddenly felt anxious, scared, there was this horrible oppressive feeling that I just had to get away from.”
Anna stares steadily into my eyes. I find it awkward to blink, in the grasp of that gaze.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
note about the name
I FINALLY NAMED MY MC!!!! I was wondering when that was going to happen. But when she walked into the psychics, I realized, holy crap she'll have to give her name. She doesn't have a name!!! ahhhhhh!1!!
So I brought up the list of five or six names that I was considering. Kimber really was the one I liked best all along (yes because of Jem), and it didn't seem to jar with the character in my head. But then I realized I needed a last name. DOOOOOM! I was going to snag something out of my own family history, but the few I could think of offhand didn't suit, and the one I like, I think I used in something else recently.
The site I got the rankings of first names by birth year doesn't do last names. But it gave me the idea of pulling up some kind of census. A google for "North Carolina census" eventually led me to a site with all sorts of things I didn't need. I started going off some random military listing from the 1800s, but then I found an actual listing of all the surnames in the state in... 1880 or so. Only, you know, a century earlier than my story... but her family lives in the state, so it's reasonable that some ancestor was there in 1880.
One of the first names that caught my eye was "Benton"... which is Kimber from Jem's last name. Couldn't do it, though it sounds so nice. I eventually came back to Bennette though, because, well, it really did sound good, as well as plausible, I think there was someone in my school with Bennet for a last name. Decided to change the spelling a bit though, that "e" on the end was too much.
BUT, the real reason I wanted to make a post about her name. I am NOT having the psychic constantly calling her by name in order to remind myself what her name is. (I've been test-running the name in my head for a few days, though the final decision wasn't made until yesterday.) Nor is it in celebration of her finally having a name, or to hit you over the head with it, now that it's finally in here. I promise, it's only because that's the way this woman talks - I'm sure you've run into that sort of person too, intent on making a good business-like impression, calling you by name to make you more comfortable or make your experience more personal or whatever their reason is.
(Personally, it always makes me feel really, really awkward. But I have a reclusive streak, so maybe it's just me.)
So I brought up the list of five or six names that I was considering. Kimber really was the one I liked best all along (yes because of Jem), and it didn't seem to jar with the character in my head. But then I realized I needed a last name. DOOOOOM! I was going to snag something out of my own family history, but the few I could think of offhand didn't suit, and the one I like, I think I used in something else recently.
The site I got the rankings of first names by birth year doesn't do last names. But it gave me the idea of pulling up some kind of census. A google for "North Carolina census" eventually led me to a site with all sorts of things I didn't need. I started going off some random military listing from the 1800s, but then I found an actual listing of all the surnames in the state in... 1880 or so. Only, you know, a century earlier than my story... but her family lives in the state, so it's reasonable that some ancestor was there in 1880.
One of the first names that caught my eye was "Benton"... which is Kimber from Jem's last name. Couldn't do it, though it sounds so nice. I eventually came back to Bennette though, because, well, it really did sound good, as well as plausible, I think there was someone in my school with Bennet for a last name. Decided to change the spelling a bit though, that "e" on the end was too much.
BUT, the real reason I wanted to make a post about her name. I am NOT having the psychic constantly calling her by name in order to remind myself what her name is. (I've been test-running the name in my head for a few days, though the final decision wasn't made until yesterday.) Nor is it in celebration of her finally having a name, or to hit you over the head with it, now that it's finally in here. I promise, it's only because that's the way this woman talks - I'm sure you've run into that sort of person too, intent on making a good business-like impression, calling you by name to make you more comfortable or make your experience more personal or whatever their reason is.
(Personally, it always makes me feel really, really awkward. But I have a reclusive streak, so maybe it's just me.)
Part 14
The historical society doesn't meet for two weeks, so I decide to check out a psychic next. Only one of them has a website, and it's a generic drab little thing, obviously put together by someone else at least five years ago, so it doesn't give me much to go on. But one of my coworkers has a friend whose sister had a session with one of the three whose ads I saw, and I suppose that's as good a recommendation as any. I called the number in the ad for Anna Temple, and made... an appointment? A reservation? I don't even know.
Approaching the front door of the old, but well-kept and pretty, house in town, I'm still not sure just what kind of answers or advice I'm looking for here. I'm pretty certain I'm not seeing visions, but I suppose it could still be ghosts. This woman will know about ghosts, and spirits in general I guess. She did advertise that being a medium was one of her specialties, being able to speak with your dead relatives and whatever. And I'm sure she'll have heard any rumors of strange things that might have happened on the Mason estate.
On the doorstep, I take a deep breath, still pretty nervous about this whole thing. My closest contact with a psychic has been through a television screen. But I ring the bell, and am ushered inside by a girl no more than sixteen or seventeen. She's a bit pretty, but looking so bored that it instantly stops you from considering any good qualities.
She flops back down behind a desk in the front entryway. “Name.”
I suppress a grin and a giggle, at the ridiculously cliché teenage behavior.
“Kimberly Bennett?”
The girl nods, making a little note in the record book in front of her. “Half-hour reading. Sixty dollars please.”
I have to wonder what kind of sketchy customers walk in this woman's door, I'm sure there's a reason she asks for payment up-front.
Taking my money, the girl shoves it into a metal box in a desk drawer (which I can't see, but the rattling sound of a cash box is clear enough), makes another mark in the book.
“Third door on the left,” she mumbles, waving vaguely behind her as she pulls her cell phone out of her pocket and starts text messaging a mile a minute.
“Why, thank you so much,” I reply, with as much saccharine as I possibly can, just to antagonize her. I laugh silently as I make my way down the wood-paneled hallway. God I hope I wasn't that bad at that age...
Approaching the third door, I hear a sound that fills me with dread.
Really, really bad new age music. Sound effects of running water and birds, some kind of flute playing an “exotic” melody, and really cheesy electronically produced synth washes of overtones in the background. I struggle to keep my expression serious, but really, this does not at all bode well. Nor does the spicy scent of patchouli filtering through the heavy wood door.
But, I've already put the money down... and it'll be an experience, any which way it all turns out. Taking another slow breath, I raise my hand to knock at the door.
“Come iii-iiin!” a voice trills, just before my fist makes contact with the wood. I can barely hold back the giggles, what a childish way to try to impress someone. But I open the door, and step inside, fearing the worst.
The place absolutely reeks of incense. The dense spicy smoke clings to the heavy curtains and deeply embroidered pillows that are strewn all over the floor and chairs. I can't even begin to count the number of candles that are lit around the room, arranged on shelves set at all different heights. There are old crocheted afghans (oh, you charming old gold and orange and brown zigzag patterns!), at least two cats, and lots and lots of plants. A freaking hippie-dippy haven. I'm a little terrified of meeting the actual person behind such a place.
And there is Miss? Mrs? Ms? Anna Temple, seated in a rocking chair beside a vine-covered window, a pampered-looking cat curled in her lap. She smiles warmly at me, and I have to admit, it's a genuinely friendly smile. She's old enough that the hippie trappings may actually be legitimate, not just a pretension, which makes me feel a little better. Her hair is very long, nearly to her waist, straight and gray. She is not in tie-dye, or an Indian-style dress, but a loose blouse with a bright floral print, and the loose, thin-fabric pants my grandma always calls “slacks”. This woman feels like a grandmother, I'm put pretty much instantly at ease.
“Here, dear, sit in the chair there. Don't mind the cats, they won't bother you, Susie will be feeding them soon and they'll all go running off.”
I bite back another cackle, knowing instinctively how much the sulky teenager – undoubtedly a granddaughter – must utterly despise being called “Susie”. I sit in the indicated chair, which is comfy, despite a bit of cat hair. The woman turns down the music, so it's at a low enough volume to (almost) be inoffensive.
“Now, your name was Kimberly. Do you go by Kim, or...”
“Kimber, mostly.”
“Alright, Kimber. Do just call me Anna, I'm not much for formality. So what brings you here today? Are you facing a difficult period in your life, or do you have questions about your future?”
I grin wryly, knowing that I do, but that I'm not here about that. “Not really... I mean, I have questions, but no more than anyone my age does I guess. What I really came here about was...” I hesitate, not quite sure how to sum it all up.
She nods reassuringly. “Go right ahead, dear, I've heard it all over the years. I may be a little old lady, but you won't shock me.”
I have to giggle a bit at that, and she chuckles too. “Well, I've been seeing some things that... well, I don't want to say they're not really there, I see them in such vivid detail, they have to be really there... but things that don't belong quite in this time, I guess.”
She nods sagely. “This is an old town, my dear, and for all the people that are here now, there are so many that were here before us... Not all of them have moved on. Where were you, and what exactly did you see?”
I briefly summarize the scenes of the boy, the woman, and the young couple, telling her they all happened on or near the old Mason property, outside of town. She was familiar with the location, and apparently the general story of the place. “It's a very active location, I hear of things happening there quite often. Be sure you're never there at night, or on the anniversary of the fire – people have seen some terrible things. Mr. Mason may have been reclusive, but there are a lot of stories, even now, about his temper, and that he may have had some strange powers that showed in his worst moments.”
I perk up a bit at this new angle to his character. Is that why Cora looked so sad the day I saw her?
Approaching the front door of the old, but well-kept and pretty, house in town, I'm still not sure just what kind of answers or advice I'm looking for here. I'm pretty certain I'm not seeing visions, but I suppose it could still be ghosts. This woman will know about ghosts, and spirits in general I guess. She did advertise that being a medium was one of her specialties, being able to speak with your dead relatives and whatever. And I'm sure she'll have heard any rumors of strange things that might have happened on the Mason estate.
On the doorstep, I take a deep breath, still pretty nervous about this whole thing. My closest contact with a psychic has been through a television screen. But I ring the bell, and am ushered inside by a girl no more than sixteen or seventeen. She's a bit pretty, but looking so bored that it instantly stops you from considering any good qualities.
She flops back down behind a desk in the front entryway. “Name.”
I suppress a grin and a giggle, at the ridiculously cliché teenage behavior.
“Kimberly Bennett?”
The girl nods, making a little note in the record book in front of her. “Half-hour reading. Sixty dollars please.”
I have to wonder what kind of sketchy customers walk in this woman's door, I'm sure there's a reason she asks for payment up-front.
Taking my money, the girl shoves it into a metal box in a desk drawer (which I can't see, but the rattling sound of a cash box is clear enough), makes another mark in the book.
“Third door on the left,” she mumbles, waving vaguely behind her as she pulls her cell phone out of her pocket and starts text messaging a mile a minute.
“Why, thank you so much,” I reply, with as much saccharine as I possibly can, just to antagonize her. I laugh silently as I make my way down the wood-paneled hallway. God I hope I wasn't that bad at that age...
Approaching the third door, I hear a sound that fills me with dread.
Really, really bad new age music. Sound effects of running water and birds, some kind of flute playing an “exotic” melody, and really cheesy electronically produced synth washes of overtones in the background. I struggle to keep my expression serious, but really, this does not at all bode well. Nor does the spicy scent of patchouli filtering through the heavy wood door.
But, I've already put the money down... and it'll be an experience, any which way it all turns out. Taking another slow breath, I raise my hand to knock at the door.
“Come iii-iiin!” a voice trills, just before my fist makes contact with the wood. I can barely hold back the giggles, what a childish way to try to impress someone. But I open the door, and step inside, fearing the worst.
The place absolutely reeks of incense. The dense spicy smoke clings to the heavy curtains and deeply embroidered pillows that are strewn all over the floor and chairs. I can't even begin to count the number of candles that are lit around the room, arranged on shelves set at all different heights. There are old crocheted afghans (oh, you charming old gold and orange and brown zigzag patterns!), at least two cats, and lots and lots of plants. A freaking hippie-dippy haven. I'm a little terrified of meeting the actual person behind such a place.
And there is Miss? Mrs? Ms? Anna Temple, seated in a rocking chair beside a vine-covered window, a pampered-looking cat curled in her lap. She smiles warmly at me, and I have to admit, it's a genuinely friendly smile. She's old enough that the hippie trappings may actually be legitimate, not just a pretension, which makes me feel a little better. Her hair is very long, nearly to her waist, straight and gray. She is not in tie-dye, or an Indian-style dress, but a loose blouse with a bright floral print, and the loose, thin-fabric pants my grandma always calls “slacks”. This woman feels like a grandmother, I'm put pretty much instantly at ease.
“Here, dear, sit in the chair there. Don't mind the cats, they won't bother you, Susie will be feeding them soon and they'll all go running off.”
I bite back another cackle, knowing instinctively how much the sulky teenager – undoubtedly a granddaughter – must utterly despise being called “Susie”. I sit in the indicated chair, which is comfy, despite a bit of cat hair. The woman turns down the music, so it's at a low enough volume to (almost) be inoffensive.
“Now, your name was Kimberly. Do you go by Kim, or...”
“Kimber, mostly.”
“Alright, Kimber. Do just call me Anna, I'm not much for formality. So what brings you here today? Are you facing a difficult period in your life, or do you have questions about your future?”
I grin wryly, knowing that I do, but that I'm not here about that. “Not really... I mean, I have questions, but no more than anyone my age does I guess. What I really came here about was...” I hesitate, not quite sure how to sum it all up.
She nods reassuringly. “Go right ahead, dear, I've heard it all over the years. I may be a little old lady, but you won't shock me.”
I have to giggle a bit at that, and she chuckles too. “Well, I've been seeing some things that... well, I don't want to say they're not really there, I see them in such vivid detail, they have to be really there... but things that don't belong quite in this time, I guess.”
She nods sagely. “This is an old town, my dear, and for all the people that are here now, there are so many that were here before us... Not all of them have moved on. Where were you, and what exactly did you see?”
I briefly summarize the scenes of the boy, the woman, and the young couple, telling her they all happened on or near the old Mason property, outside of town. She was familiar with the location, and apparently the general story of the place. “It's a very active location, I hear of things happening there quite often. Be sure you're never there at night, or on the anniversary of the fire – people have seen some terrible things. Mr. Mason may have been reclusive, but there are a lot of stories, even now, about his temper, and that he may have had some strange powers that showed in his worst moments.”
I perk up a bit at this new angle to his character. Is that why Cora looked so sad the day I saw her?
Saturday, November 14, 2009
just a note
I started out making up those classifieds off the top of my head - my handful of months working at the local Penny Saver gave me a good sense of the things. But I couldn't think of anything downright *weird* enough, so I pulled up some actual classifieds online for my area. (There are like three Penny Savers on my living room floor somewhere, but... that's all the way downstairs.)
So those last three? Are all actual ads. The jeans lady? Lists several pairs of jeans in every size FROM 5 TO 18.
I think she earns a novel in her own right.
So those last three? Are all actual ads. The jeans lady? Lists several pairs of jeans in every size FROM 5 TO 18.
I think she earns a novel in her own right.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
