Lillian's Choices: Oliver Part 1

Tales of Lillian McBey Foundation.

Lillian’s Choices.

A Miss Lillian E. McBey, Mrs. Albright, Mr. Oliver Henry, and Mr. Brighton Pennacock story.

By R. L. Norman, Edited by N. Jenkins

<Hope you enjoy the stories. Please review and write constructive comments.>

         It was cold. Soon, the sun would rise and Lillian’s world would change. Rachel, her vampire, the nearly mindless creature next to Lillian, would collapse into the sleep of the dead. Lillian’s world would grow dull, dark and numb as the world; the real world grows bright and warm.

         At least, she would not be cold anymore. She could not sense any sensation, be in any condition until Rachel awoke again. She could not see, feel, and hear without Rachel. She would not be anything but an apparition without her.

As Rachel’s ghost, they were bound by tragedies committed upon them, and crimes both of them did upon the other. Wherever Rachel traveled and however she lived, Lillian would be there. She had no choice.

         No, that is not true; she had plenty of choices, all of them unacceptable. Even this choice is not acceptable. But, I have seen my Afterlife, it is far worse than any hell described in any church. In addition, she would not be reborn as Jonathan’s servant, an unknowing slave to the evil and powerful vampire who did this to them. This existence is better.  The waiting can be a challenge.

         Now, she wished, she could just sleep, cry or do anything. She stood there helpless as Rachel’s consciousness faded, and her connection to the real world disappeared. Then, she sat down and got as comfortable as possible, in the blinding, numbing, blackness. All she could do now is to wait for sundown, for Rachel arise again and her awareness of the world to return. She wished she had a one of her Rubik cubes, a crossword something or anything to pass the time. She started to sing a happy tune to fill the void. She could swear she heard an echo at times. She sat there lonely. 

         “Hello, there! That is a quite a jolly tune.” a voice, a boyish voice rang out from the darkness. She knew it was nearby, but where.

         “Who said that?” she stood up and looked about in utter surprise.

         “You can’t see me?” the friendly and clearly male voice teased like her older brother, would.

         “No!” she shouted back. There was not anything there but the engulfing, swirling darkness.

         “You got to try harder”

         “Try what? I have no idea what to do or who you are” Lillian shouted back with a rising annoyance at both herself and the taunting voice.

         “See, stupid.” The voice circled around her like a taunting schoolyard boy.

         “Excuse me, doesn’t that take eyeballs, and don’t call me stupid. The last person who called me that still owes me money.” she delivered in a fury to thin air.

         “Aren’t we a sharp tongued little vixen?” the male voice said playfully.

         “Why, You!”

         Suddenly, as if a curtain moved aside. She could see or something like it; it was her tormentor. It might be a being like her. It appeared to be a small man in black clothes. The image blurred and faded away when she stopped concentrating on him.

         “Can you see me now?”

         “Kind of. It comes and go.” she admitted weakly, embarrassed at her lack of skill.

         “It takes effort at first.”

         “Who are you?” she asked. 

         “You may call me Oliver.” he replied with a little bow.

         “As in Oliver Twist?”

         “Pardon, who is that?” he asked.

         “Oliver Twist, a title character from a book from Dickens.”

         “Chickens?” Oliver joked.

         “Not Chickens, silly. Dickens, an English author about hundred and fifteen years ago.”

         “I am sorry, miss. I believe I am quite well read. I have never heard of him,” Oliver approached Lillian gently and politely.

         “Are you a ghost like me?” asked Lillian feeling a sensation unfamiliar to her.

         “No, miss. I am a gentleman whose fine home you have invaded. Previous thieves have not been quite this incompetent.” joked Oliver as he waved to nothing.

         “Excuse my invasion, it was quite unintended. My friend, there” Lillian trailed awkwardly.

         Oliver looked around the inky void “There is another one of you...”

         “Can you see her?” Lillian asked, protectively perched over her friend.

         “Wait, is she alive?” asked Oliver.

         “We are not sure…,” Quickly changing subject, she asked, “Tell me about your home. At one time, it must have been …lovely.”

         “Pardon, if you want to insult my home, you can just leave,” said sharply as his image pulsed darkly in response to his temper.

         “I meant no harm,” Lillian paused. “Wait a minute. What year do you think it?”

         “I am not sure. I have not thought about that for some time. 1813 maybe, 1814.”

         “Oliver, I am sorry to say this.” Lillian firmly stated, “I don’t know if you will understand this. I don’t understand most of this. I believe it is year of Our Lord One Thousand Nine Hundred and Eighty-eight.”

         “Poppycock, excuse my language. That is most outrageous thing, I have ever heard of.”

         “I am sorry to say this; your fine house is now a dump…” Lillian stopped as a foreign tension filled the room. “What the hell...”

         “Be quiet and hide.” whispered the gentlemanly ghost.

         A shadow crossed the inky blackness of Lillian’s perception. The cold hateful shape grew in intensity as it gathered focus. It had the form of a widow in a mourning dress whose face glowed with icy death. Long ago, Lillian lost the ability to be afraid; still she watched from her host, Rachel, awe-struck with the power of this ghastly widow. She turned to say something to Oliver. He disappeared into the inky fog.

         The ghastly widow sensed Rachel, Lillian or both, stopped, and turned toward them. She felt the thing’s gaze like an icicle down her existence. When the ghastly widow stepped toward Rachel’s body, Lillian knew no point in hiding any longer. She knew what it wanted. She knew it in her soul. It wanted Rachel, her host. She stepped out Rachel’s body. Her form stood boldly to protect her friend.          

         Lillian stated with conviction, “She’s mine, and has been since we were little girls. Bitch, you can’t have her.”

         The widow screamed and the inky darkness of Lillian’s perception heaved and convulsed. The terror of it rippled down Lillian’s being. 

         “Scream all you want. I am not afraid of you. I will tear you apart”, Lillian advanced bravely and firmly, “Now, leave. There is nothing, you can do to me. You are no threat for I have glimpsed Hell. Now, GO!”

         The widow screamed and threatened wordlessly but its form pulled back. It grew snakeheads that hissed and snapped at Lillian’s existence. Lillian’s form started to step toward the ghost, forcing it back. Lillian warned, “Don’t try anything.”

         The widow leaped and arced around the protective Lillian, trying to reach the sleeping body of Rachel. Lillian’s grasp stopped the ghastly widow short of her friend and host.

         Their world erupted in hideous lightning. Lillian felt a familiar fury, the same fury every time, she thought of Jonathan, the ‘creature’ who killed them. In this world, that fury gave her a dangerous power. She was not helpless here, maybe, back then, but not now. Rage and fury made her savage. Blow after blow ravaged the widow and the surrounding landscape. In a blink of eye, Lillian’s rage ripped the widow’s form to pieces and it vanished.

         She shrieked and hollered as her form and the darkness shook in response, “Where are you, bastard? Where, why don’t… you kill me?” She begged, “Why did you kill her and not me?”

         She screamed and whimpered as her world twisted and trembled in her rage, “She did everything, every sick thing ...you wanted and begged for more. You turned her into a monster...I was one who refused you. I tried but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.” She wailed a cry that rattled the heaven of her world “...  am just terrible. All my fault, couldn’t save…protect you...my Rachel”

         Her form lay on the floor wishing she could cry real tears. Her world rippled with her sorrow and powerlessness. In time, if that was concept where she was, the darkness slowly came to claim her again.

         After a time, Oliver came over staying a safe distance and asked cautiously “Miss, are you all right?”

         “NO!” Lillian leaping to her feet, she paused for a moment, and then she said more calmly, “I will never be ‘all right’. Nothing will be all right.” staring at her feet.

         Oliver moved back a step out of fear more than politeness, “That was very brave. No ever faced off Mrs. Albright like that....”

         “THAT thing has a name? Did I kill it?”

         “I don’t think so. Even Mr. Bright Pennies couldn’t tell you for sure.”

         “Who is that?”

         “Another old time resident. Longer than me. Not as long as Mrs. Albright. I wonder what she wanted with your ‘friend’.”

         “I am not sure. I guess she wanted to replace me.”

         Lillian was worried and frightened about her outburst and her newly discovered dangerous power, “Oliver, there be monsters in this world. I know. I met one once, worse than Mrs. Albright is. I think that is why I could defend my friend, so strongly. I may be one of them. I don’t know if you should be around me…You might …be in danger.”

         “Nonsense, you are no monster to me. You are just a young girl. I think, a tad intense is all.” he said clearly.

         “Thanks.”, said Lillian. Strangely, she felt something akin to happiness and a smile form across her face. First time she felt that way in a long time.

         “That is better.” Oliver said, returning the smile, with genuine concern for her, first time she felt that from someone, also, in a long time.

         “What is your name?” asked Oliver softly and kindly.

         “Lillian. Lillian McBey.”

         “The McBeys of Newport?”

         “Maybe. I am from Mammoth, a small town in Illinois.”

         “From the terriorities, o’my, did you see a lot of Indians?”

         “Sir, I am sorry to say, the Indians are dead and gone. It has been a state for almost one hundred and seventy years.”

         “You are full of such wonderful fabrications,” said Oliver cheerfully, “I would love to sit, discuss these fairy stories over some tea and biscuits, but I seem to all out of them. Most distressing for a host”

         Lillian held back the urge to say ‘we’re dead, you moron, so we can’t have tea and biscuits.’ instead she said, “It is okay, it has been while since I could talk with someone,” she silently added to herself, “that I feel I didn’t kill.”

         Oliver and Lillian talked the meaningless talk about the events of day of early 1800’s that was all that Oliver could understand. He said he was on leave due to his injuries from a battle while serving on USS Glory, a frigate. Oliver didn’t seem to understand that he was a ghost or preferred to pretend not to.

         She found that she liked Oliver. It was a special treat to talk to someone, especially someone like Oliver. Oliver did not want anything from her but her company. She felt surprisingly at ease with him, as if she had known him all her life. After the events of last year, it felt indescribable to be.

         She told him that the US won the War of 1812, a bit of simplification but good enough for the discussion. She wished she had studied more history of that period when she was alive.

         His description of his home was detailed and beautiful. She faked her fascination with his house just to listen to him talk. She couldn’t see it at all. She could barely see him. He and his father built the house when Oliver was a young man, and he was extremely proud of it. He told of his family stories about his Ma’, his sister, Elizabeth, and his beloved Miss Sennepick. Oliver‘s death probably broke Miss Sennepick’s heart.

         In her turn, she told of the mounting debate over slavery and the growing industry revolution based on market economics and steam power. Some of her tales Oliver laughed about. He said he was concerned about the slavery issue, and said; “It might come to blows before it all done.”

         She agreed again, biting her tongue before telling him about the Civil War. In addition, she told few harmless stories about her, her family, and Rachel. The stories were mostly about Rachel.

         As time went on her ability to see this world improved, she could perceive Oliver better. Now, he appeared to be to boy of fifteen or sixteen, dressed like Abe Lincoln, dark short hair, clean shaved with attractive, gentle green eyes. She wondered what those eyes saw when they looked at her.

         Lillian started to ask him when a large heavy gentleman in a foppish white wig dressed in even older apparel closer to the George Washington era, with mean eyes, appeared slowly out of the mist and to greet them. “Good evening, Mr. Henry, who is your lovely young guest?”

         “I am pleased to introduce, Miss Lillian McBey of Mammoth, Illinois Terriority”

         “Charmed, I am sure.” said stately ghost.

         “Thank you.” Lillian stood up and did her best at a curtsy.

         “This fine gentleman is Mr. Brightpennies” Oliver smiled a sly smile as if he told an inside joke.

         “The name is Mr. Brighton Pennacock, you nit, could you see to the stocks like I told you.” Mr. Pennacock bowed to Lillian and sat down.

         “Of course. Mr. Pennacock” Oliver disappeared into the mist with a silly smile, and a tip of his hat to Lillian.

         “Young miss, Miss McBey, may I be bold enough to ask you a question?”

         “You may ask. I am not sure if I will answer.”

         “Are you responsible for that creature in basement?”

         “Yes,” she said with growing trepidation.

         “Is it your host?”

         “I don’t think I should answer that one”, Lillian felt trapped by the question.

         “Never mind, you just did. It is beginning to stir.”

         “It must be getting close to nightfall. I must go soon,” said Lillian.

         “Young miss, do you know what that creature is?”

         “I am not sure.” Lillian fidgeted with her silver bracelet.

         “It is a vampire”, Mr. Pennacock stated gravely.

         “Ok, I guess.” Lillian squirmed uncomfortably, feeling trapped by the line of this conversation. 

         “I have heard that their kind never find a good end. Be careful, young miss.”

         “I will, Mister Pennacock. I have no choice. I have nowhere else to go.”

         “I see, young miss, we all had choices. I fear all yours must be truly terrible to be bonded with that creature.”

         “That creature’ is my friend. Mr…” Lillian snapped, with face taunt and fist clenched.

         “Does it, uhm, her have a name?”

         “You are quite nosy.” Lillian biting off her words, fighting back her building rage.

         “Excuse me.”

         Lillian stood up, stated forcefully, and their world ripped in response, “You’re asking a few too many personal questions.”

         Mr. Pennacock sat still, met her fierce gaze unafraid and replied with annoyance, “I am not the nit wit who just left. I have some understanding of my predicament, a bit of understanding of the world. We may be able to assist one another. ”

         Lillian sat down, meeting his gaze with stubbornness. “What do you want, Mr. Pennacock?”

         “Smart and directly to the point, “Mr. Pennacock paused to find the right sentiment. “I find that refreshing. I want your company. I know ‘your friend’ will not stay here when darkness engulfs in the world. Therefore, I must more forward than I would be normally. I would like you to stay for as long you can.”

         “I have been duped by deals with the devil before. I feel you aren‘t telling me the whole story.” She stared at him with a look of distrust on her face.

         Mr. Pennacock may have been insulted or intrigued by her mistrust but he refused to display any emotion. “Yes, I have my secrets as do you. Terrible secrets, I don’t wish to reveal them at this time. As I suspect, do you.”

         “Mr. Pennacock, I ask again, what do you want? So, what else?”

         “I wonder how you nearly disrupted the wraith, Mrs. Albright.”

         Mr. Pennacock’s eyes took a suspicious glance around the inky darkness, searching for unknown beings and continued, “The Shade still bleeds from it. The source of that power must be worthy of study.”          

         “No, the last man that found me ‘fascinating’ killed my friend and then....”

         Lillian stood up, collected her thoughts, and considered the intriguing possibilities of relationship with Oliver and an existence free of her penance from the crimes and failure regarding Rachel. Lillian was tempted by the offer, but she shook her head solemnly, “I made my choice. It was my choice. Do I regret my decision? No, no one made me get in his car and go with him. No, I regret my failure to protect my Rachel. As for my choice to be with her, to be her ghost, I will perform my penance by guiding and protecting her to best of my ability as long she lives, or I fail utterly.”

         “They will not let you keep her.”, the elder ghost replied solemnly.

         “Who are they?” she asked, taken aback with this new possible threat.

         “That is for another time, perhaps. It is time for you go. May God bless and hold you, young miss.”

         Lillian stood up and faced Mr. Pennacock grimly, “I am afraid, God has very little to do with me.”



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