Silkhaven 1

1.

"Scarlet blood and silent tongues

Robes do wrap around our loves

Here we come to offer thee

Savior below, set us free"

-16^th century incantation.

The scream hung in the air like thickly settled fog, shrill and lingering. As it was belted out into the dead dark night, the only retort was the whistle of the wind. The echoes of the scream resonated past the line of trees that marked the edge of the wood of its inception. Yet any ear that would intercept such a shrieking plea for help, would (due to reasonable judgement) strike the echo and any other followed pleas from their memory as quickly as they could. Screams in the night; especially from the woods, were as familiar to the town of Silkhaven as black cats and cobblestone. Needless to say, there was quite the abundance of charcoal strays and uneven cobblestone streets, just as there was pleas for help being emptied into the cool Autumn air deep into the night.

Silkhaven was a rarely visited town. One might venture there for its tightly knit giftshops or the occasional tarot card reading, yet overall it was a reclusive little treasure inhabited by reclusive little people. Home to poets, the occasional rebellious teen, avid tea drinkers and hand lit lanterns standing vigil on every quiet street corner.

Rumors were carried on the lips of townsfolk who resided nearby of witchcraft. Being the birthplace of Marylynne Estrague (A reclusive middle-aged housewife in the 1840's) was a small amount of entertaining history that Silkhaven had to offer the occasional merchant passerby or family seeking an affordable bed and breakfast in a dreary peaceful town.

If one sought a tea-leaf reading in spare time or believed that their future truly could be glimpsed upon, they would hear such a gruesome and malevolent tale as was that of Miss. Estrague. Arriving from London in 1811 accompanied by a handsome husband who had carried Marylynne across the sea to a promise of new life. For carrying a child out of wedlock for the Estrague's was seen as such an abysmal action, America appeared to be a gleaming promise of hope for a family that otherwise would be shunned from the aristocratic lineage that remained in London. Thus Marylynne and her charming man found prosperity and refuge in the New England town of Silkhaven, where the life they chose to live could be one that they created and were pleased with.

Upon further telling of this unique tale one may find themselves forgetting about their fortune all together, no longer staring in awe at the collection of weathered hymnals and musty recipe books that found a home in the fortune teller's quaint shop. The scent of sage now replaced with the burning of tea leaves, and the sounds of Silkhaven's weary winds with the tale of Marylynne Estrague.

All was well for the Estrague's for nearly their first few months upon American soil. Acquaintances were made with the other townspeople who had resided in the area and one might even say that Marylynne and her husband found happiness in the small wooded town, where spring blossomed in every garden and even the blanket of winter could be seen as beautiful.

It was not until Marylynne reached her final month of pregnant burden that her life and Silkhaven's legacy would become a looming memory.

Dark was the night that blood soaked the bed sheets, long and dry were the screams of labor from the Estrague residence. The child, according to the good doctor did not want to greet this earth, refusing at every contraction to peek it's weary eyes into the candlelight of the master bedroom. The midwives scurried across the wooden floors supplying freshly moistened cloth to the open chasm of blood as others hurried Mr. Estrague out of the room at Marylynne's screeching bidding. Silkhaven was quiet upon this night, it's inhabitants laid to rest nestled upon cots of wool, only hearing the occasional scream of pain from the Estrague establishment and the patter of rain that willed them back to sleep. The doctor headed Marylynne once again into the trial of childbirth, persuading her with quick commands to inhale and release.

One last screech of pain and spasm of muscle and the infant was freed, greeted by a weary mother and a pool of crimson. Ragged breaths filled the room, eyes refused to shut as silence cast it's spell throughout the house. Legend says that Marylynne could hear the child's whimpers and heavenly spurts as her lungs flooded with air during her recuperation. Yet all others within the room on that cursed night claim that the only sound to be heard were the cries of a mother, mourning for a child she could never love.