Ch. 3: of brass lions & dark occurences

THREE

{/b}

of brass lions & dark occurrences



         Bright light: golden and shining upon air as fresh as a thousand spring mornings, shining off of the magnificent structure beyond the nearby window, something like a tower too large to see either side of it, right or left, nor its top, which reaches not into the clouds (for there are no clouds in this deep blue sky) but merely beyond one’s ability to see.  It feels of peace. As though nothing can harm her here, that she is safe from all that has ever plagued her. 

         And then comes the shadow: a sick, liquid darkness that steals over her vision, suffocating the light that has inhabited the room. 

         Grace shuddered in her sleep, knowing what came next but unable to stop the flow of the dream.

         In the utter blackness of the room, there floats before her a face pale as a corpse, its head shrouded in a large hood.  Its eyes are solid black and gleam as though slick.  It smirks at her and she glimpses a number of fang like teeth behind its lips.

         Then come its hands, their fingers each abnormally long and knotted with muscle, their nails like sharpened points of steel.  It caresses her face, the threat of blood ever present and growing as it trails its finger from her temple to her chin.  And then, its eyes seeming to glow from behind their black veil as though lit by a flame, it smiles and slices her arm.  Pain rips from the wound and into her head and soon her entire body is possessed with pain.  The face, still smiling, moves closer, the light in its eyes growing brighter, hungrier.  It reaches toward her and…

         Darkness.  Grace’s heavy, terrified breathing echoed in her otherwise silent bedroom.  She glanced around, moving only her eyes until she felt safe enough to move her head.  She sat up and looked at the alarm clock sitting on her dresser.  Three-thirty in the morning. 

         She had never remembered so much of her dream before and it stuck with her now, hung over her like a cloud fat with rain.  It felt so real.  Her arm still throbbed from the cut, so urgently that she expected to look down and see it oozing blood, but when she examined the arm she found it unharmed.  She rubbed it, attempting to dispel the illusion.

         A sound like a mild breeze whispered from beneath her bedroom door and a small envelope slid beneath it, making a quiet hiss against the wooden floor.  Grace stared at the parcel for several seconds, trying to make sense of why someone would slide such a thing under her door at three in the morning.  Surely not her grandfather.  He was completely out at this time of night.  Pain medication for his back pretty much guaranteed that.  And her grandmother, well, it was fairly certain she was asleep, as evidenced by the snores echoing down the hallway at that very moment.  So who?

         Despite the lingering fear of her dream and the strangeness of the current situation (for just as neatly folded notes in school beckon to be opened, so do mysterious letters delivered by breeze in the middle of the night) she stepped from her bed, tiptoed toward the envelope, then picked it up and rushed back to her bed. 

         It was handmade of parchment and closed with a small wax seal on the back.  In intricate, flowing letters the color (perhaps more than just the color, though) of blood, she found her name: Miss Alexis Grace Sullers.

         She broke the seal with care and from within the envelope came a blackness like vapor.  It pulled at her mind, left her hearing the tortured moans of countless people, of feeling their torment within her soul.  And then spoke a voice, smooth like the promises of a snake, and it seemed to come from everywhere at once.  “The time is expired and you shall die.”

         The letter burst into flame and floated away as smoke.  Grace stared at it without seeing it, the voice and screams in her head fading.  The world swam and went black, and then she slept.

*          *          *          *          *

         “What is this?” Grace asked.  Her grandmother looked over at her from her knees where she knelt in front of a box.  The light in the attic was low and full of the dust they had stirred up by treading there.

         “What is what, dear?”

         “This box that says Jacob and Allison?”

         Her grandmother’s eyes lit up as Grace spoke the names, but soon her brow fell and her eyes grew sad.  “That box,” she said, pausing to rise as far as she could among the rafters and to walk to where Grace sat cross-legged on the floor.  “That box contains a number of possessions which belong, or belonged rather, to your mother and father.”

         “”Can we open it, Grandma? Please?”  My mom and dad’s! she thought.  She had never in her life so much as held in her hands something that had once rested also in theirs, not that she was aware of at any rate.  What could be inside? Boring stuff probably, clothes, paperwork, things like that.  But even as the thought entered her mind she realized her sin.  Those things weren’t boring at all. The contents of that box had belonged to her parents and regardless of what they might be, they remained priceless.

         “Of course, Gracie.  If I had remembered it was here I would have shown you ages ago.  Hand me those scissors.”

         Grace handed her the scissors and watched as she began to cut through the twine that held shut her treasure.  Once open Grace hurried to peel back the lid. 

         “Oh my!” sighed her grandmother and grabbed the large, framed photograph of Grace’s parents that sat atop the rest.  In the picture Jacob and Allison Sullers were standing hand in hand in front of the small church where they had been married.  He wore a black suit.  Couldn’t afford a tux, not if he was going to pay for his wife’s wedding dress, which she wore as she sat next to him.  It was a simple dress, but fit her perfectly.  The smile upon her face made her entire body seem to glow.

         Grace stared at the picture for some time.  She’s so beutiful!  She looked at her mother’s hands, imagined them holding her as an infant; at her father’s eyes, trying desperately to remember them, but the memory was too far away.  “Can I look at the rest?”

         “Yes, yes!  Please do, I want you to go through it.  And anything you find there that you would like to have, just take it.  Everything here is yours.”  She rose from the floor and crept back toward the door to the ladder.

         “You don’t have to go, Grandma.  I’d love to have you look through it with me.”

         Her grandmother turned and spoke over her shoulder.  “It’s fine, Grace, no need to humor an old lady.  You need to spend some time alone working through that box.  It’s yours.  It’s your past, your life.  Much of you is in that box.  And much of who you will become.”  She smiled.  “Take your time, dear.  It’s Saturday.  We won’t need you till supper’s ready.”

         Grace looked from her grandmother to the box and the photograph leaning up against it.  Kind of like meeting them, she thought.  This box is my chance to meet them for the first time, to get to know them.  “Thank you, Grandma.”

         “You’re very welcome,” she said.  She began to turn her head and resume her trek to the door, but stopped.  “Just mind that you take care in how you view what you find.  Things aren’t always the fairytales we dream them to be in our heads.  And everyone has a past, as will you one day. Never judge a person by it, though.  Judge them by the life they live now,  not how they lived before.”

         Grace‘s attention turned quickly to the box as her grandmother left.  What was she talking about?  Pasts and judging?  What’s inside this box?  She looked at the cardboard container in a new light then, her excitement remaining but now tinged with the distinct flavor of anxiety.  Did she really want to know what was there that could prompt such a warning from her grandmother?  Did she really want to somehow shatter the illusion of her parents which she had created for herself?  She thought long as her gaze rested on the shadowy promises of the box before her.

         Of course I will look, and of course I want to see what she was talking about.  I want to finally know my parents, not just this image I’ve created of them.  I want to know the truth.

         She pushed the lids of the box down against its sides, causing the shadows to flee.  Inside the fairly large box were what appeared to be a great number of things, though it was impossible for her to tell for sure, as she could not see beyond the first layer which contained a number of vinyl records, several large books, and an alarm clock.

         She reached forward with the intent of moving the records out of the way, but the moment her hand touched them a low, musical hum began in her head and something from deep within the box began to glow.

         She recoiled, drawing her hand away, and immediately the hum and the glow ceased.

         What was that?  She watched the box in front of her with some amount of wariness, as though expecting some terrible beast to suddenly leap out of it.  This was merely shock, however, for the noise itself had been somehow comforting, like a soothing voice when one is sick; and the light had given off a sense of warmth.

         What could still glow like that? She thought.  Batteries don’t last that long.  After but a moment of thought, she reached back toward the records (being used to such odd occurrences had made young Grace a bit more immune to them than most) and removed them.  The hum returned as did the light from within the stacks of her parents’ belongings, both growing stronger as she pulled items away and dug toward their source.

         There were so many things within the confines of that cardboard case, so many items that had once found their home with her mother and father: letters from him to her, letters from her to him, an old pair of reading glasses in a dusty black case, a well worn bible with Allison Sullers embossed upon the faded leather.  She pulled out a small journal which appeared to have belonged to her father and flipped through it.  It was filled with tiny, neat lines of writing which covered both the front and back of every page from top to bottom.  She set this aside as something she would take with her and continued her search.

         It was not long before she neared the bottom of the box, where in a dark, dusty corner lay the source the soft but powerful glow that had drawn her there: a key.  She reached down and as her hand made contact with what looked to be a bronze shaft, both the light and the noise ceased.  She picked up the key and studied it.  It was beautiful, its bow (or handle) wrought to appear as though it was a lion in the middle of a fierce roar.  It had a round shaft which led to a shoulder of intertwining thorns.  The bit itself was so intricate that it seemed impossible to Grace that it could actually open anything at all.

         Upon the length of the key she noticed a number of words, finely engraved in flowing letters.  They appeared to be part of a poem or some other sort of verse: 

Of ancient beginnings, of eternal war,

The Lion, the Lamb, the Wizard of lore.

         Even as she read it Grace somehow knew that there was more to it, that this was simply one portion of a larger work.  How she knew this she could not possibly have said, but she remained certain nevertheless.

         “Grace!” called her grandmother from the bottom of the attic’s ladder.

         She glanced at the small watch she wore on her wrist and was shocked.  I’ve been here nearly 3 hours?  How is that possible?  “Coming, grandma!” she answered in return.  She set most of the items surrounding her back into the box as she prepared to go downstairs, but first she grabbed a piece of twine from the floor and laced it through the eye of the lion.  She tied a knot with the two loose ends, hung the key like a charm around her neck, then picked up her father’s journal and headed out of the attic.

         In her heart, if not in her head, she knew that she was on the road to something amazing, something that the key represented, and she found herself in a mood much lighter than she had known for weeks.

*          *          *          *          *

         “Do you think she’s really as mean as she seems?” Grace asked as she walked down the sidewalk with Bell.  On one side of the street sat a line of houses, some rundown and boarded up, others gleaming in their newness.  It was an odd combination and it served to make both types of house seem out of place there.  On the other side of the street lay the edge of a large forest. The bushes and plants around the trees were overgrown, suffocating any paths that might once have led through them.  “Miss Scraggs, I mean.”

         Bell lips curled in a shy smile.  “Oh, I don’t know,” she responded.  “I think maybe it’s a bit of an act.  No one is so cruel in real life.”  Grace loved her friend’s accent, the way she pronounced her words so clearly.  She’d even practiced mimicking the inflections when alone in her bedroom, but had met with minimal success.

         “Why’s she do it then, do you think?”

         “Hard to say, really.  Why does anyone do anything?”  She looked at the ground as she walked, falling silent.

         The day that Bell had confronted Catherine was the only time that Grace had seen her act in any sort of bold manner.  Since then she had remained very quiet, very reserved.  She was a timid girl in most ways, much like the puppy her neighbor had had years ago.  It was never fed, was never paid it any mind at all, and in Bell’s eyes Grace could see the same look of neglect, of loneliness.  She liked her very much.

         “Well, no matter,” Grace said.  “We have two and a half wonderful days away from her.”  She smiled and thought of a thousand different things they could do that didn’t involve Miss Scraggs.

         “How shall we fill the time then?”

         “We could stay at my house.  We have a new DVD player and a bunch of movies.  We could stay up all weekend watching them!”

         “Do you have any tea there?”

         “Tea?” Grace asked.  She thought for a bit.  “We might have some in the refrigerator.  Iced tea, I think.”

         “Americans!” Bell muttered, throwing a smile to Grace.  “No sophistication at all.”

         “At least we’re not all snooty and proper,” she retorted.  The two girls looked at one another for a moment then both fell into a fit of laughing.  “What’s that?” she said suddenly.  All laughter had left her face as she looked over at the nearby line of trees.  There had been a flash of color in the forest.  Something moving. 

         “What’s what?”  Bell turned and looked toward where Grace had fixed her attention.

         “In the woods.  Something moved.”

         “Where?”

         “There!” Grace whispered as she noticed movement again, something red, in the darkness.  Something like a growl issued from the blackness, a deep, rolling sound that threatened without saying a word.  “Do you hear that?”

         “Hear what?”  Bell looked at Grace, her eyes worried.

         “That sound, like a really big dog growling?”

         She stood without making a sound, listening.  “No, I don’t hear anything Grace.”  She glanced around her, moving her legs up and down.  She clutched at her arms, though it wasn’t cold out.  “But I’m getting frightened.  Can we go?”

         Grace stared into the forest, trying to catch another bit of movement, but saw only the gentle rustle of hundreds of branches as the breeze traveled through them.  “Sure.  So am I.”

         They began to walk faster, moving along the sidewalk as quick as they could and ignoring the forest to their left.  Grace focused on the houses around her, reminding herself that if anyone was out there they only had to run a few yards to ring someone’s doorbell.  The thought didn’t comfort her somehow, not with the picture of the white faced creature with the black eyes floating in her mind. 

         Most of the houses were nice in the area they had entered, all of them at least two floors high and quite deep.  It was a nice neighborhood.  She liked how all of the lawns were neatly manicured, all the grass in all the yards the same height.  She liked how everyone parked their cars in their garages, for it gave a sense of neatness and order, like a bedroom with everything carefully tucked away.  And she liked the huge oak tree planted in the middle of the street, making a roundabout for the minor traffic that passed through the area. 

         And it was as they neared this spot that Grace noticed something odd about the tree.  “What’s this?” she asked hurrying toward it.

         “What now?” Bell answered, her voice not exactly confident.

         “The tree.  The bark.  Look at it.”  Grace pointed to the fat trunk of the tree where somehow the pattern in the bark had managed to form a series of words:

Seek out he who wears the scarlet robe.

         “That’s really odd,” said Bell.  “Do you think it’s a trick of some kind?  A special effect or something?”

         “No,” Grace said without hesitation.  “It’s no trick.”  She ran her hand along the words.  “Something bad is going on.”  She looked at Bell.  “Maybe it would be better if we stayed at your house.”

         “That would be okay.  My Mum and Dad aren’t home, though.  They’re on holiday for the next two weeks.”

         “And they didn’t take you with them?”

         Bell shook her head.  “They never do.”  She looked up.  “So you’d like to stay there, then?”

         “Of course!”

         “Okay, well let’s hurry.  This place feels quite creepy.” 

         The girls quickened their pace and held their breath as they scurried toward Bell’s house.  That would be safe.

*          *          *          *          *

         Bell’s house was only a couple of blocks from Grace’s.  It was quite a beautiful house, two stories of red brick with large tinted windows on either side of the door.  A neatly kept line of rose bushes shouldered the walkway like a red carpet leading to the large oak door which sat upon a porch that took several steps to reach.

         “What a beautiful house!” Grace exclaimed as they neared it, all of her prior fear temporarily forgotten as she gazed at it.  It wasn’t a mansion – but it wasn’t quite far off, either.

         Bell smiled a bit, as though embarrassed.  “We’re only renting it, and only for a couple of years.  While my dad works here.  Then we’ll move.”

         “So you’ll only be here for two years?”  Grace lost interest in the house.  She only just begun to know her friend, but the thought of her leaving in two years was nevertheless a sad one.

         “Maybe.  Unless he is assigned permanently.” 

         Grace’s spirits lifted.  “Is that a possibility?”

         “I know he’s been talking about it a lot.  They need someone to fill a permanent position here, and he’s next in line.”

          “Wow!” Grace said as they entered the house.  From the entrance to the stairs and into every room she could see from where she stood, was a spotless white carpet.  The banister on the stairs was dark and shiny and appeared to be hand carved.  From the high ceiling hung a chandelier with strings of glass dripping from its branches.

         Bell smiled a bit deeper and looked as though she was finally allowing herself a bit of joy in her friend’s amazement.  “C’mon!  I’ll show you my room!”  She kicked off her shoes and set them in a basket next to the door, then rushed up the stairs.

         Grace followed suit with her own shoes and then raced after her.

         From only a few strides away, Bell was listing off her toys: “I have a new X-Box and a good many games, and I have a new computer and a big screen tv and a bunch of dvd’s….”

         Grace followed after her, her mind racing.  This was all so perfect!  What a great time they were going to have!

         She ran into the gigantic room Bell said was hers, her face aglow, and completely unaware that her life was about to change forever.