"Come on, you weakling! We've only got a half hour of daylight left!" Echoes bounced off the forest nearby as the shouter paused, midway up a hill, to look back at the treeline.
There stood her companion, all five foot nine and two hundred fifty pounds of him, panting against a tree. "Dammit, Rach, I have no idea how you outran me. Gimme a min, or I'll bust a nut!"
"You'll move NOW, Jack, or you won't be busting a nut later!" Turning back up the hill, Rachyl Walker put one foot in front of the other, gaining speed, as the crest receded before her. In the distance, a tall structure loomed, silhouetted by the twilight's rays.
Ephraim Mansion had been abandoned since Rachyl was eleven; all the occupants suddenly up and moved away, leaving the house and its land to deteriorate.
In truth, prior to her first visit here with her mother, Rachyl had never seen such a humungous house before, such a mansion. The houses in her home town of Millville were all single-family ranchers, with the occasional split-level or Cape Cod.
Her mother had been trying for nearly eight years to purchase the property and its land; Millville's High School was falling apart. The town council had planned for a new one, but the proposed school was much too large for the current property.
The four floor structure towered over Rachyl now as she approached a side door. She couldn't hear Jack's footsteps behind her... even as a jock Jack was awfully heavy-footed.
"Wooden plank siding," she thought to herself, the training her mother'd given her allowing her to appraise the house quickly. "Four floors, at least two entrances, full basement, large shed, barn, animal pens, probably for horses. Greenhouse... bet that's overgrown."
As Rachyl glanced at the front door, noting the 'Condemned' signs nailing it shut, she caught movement on the hill. Turning her eyes towards it, she saw Jack, moving in a squat, across the knee-high grass.
The sun was barely visible over the tall barn, a hundred yards away, when Jack finally caught up to her. "You bitch, why can't you wait?"
Whirling on him, she punched him in the chest. "Watch yourself, Kowalski. You were the one who volunteered to come with me. And if you want to come with me, you better keep up. I wanted to be inside while the sun was still up, but as it is, we're going to have to break my stash of flashlights and glowsticks." Gaping at the girl before him, Jack Kowalski was silent, and only nodded after she finished her complaint. Jack's father was on the Millville PD, second in command. Jack was sure to never get in trouble for doing something as 'reckless' as trespassing on the Ephraim estate, but the promise of getting with Rachyl Walker was too good to pass up.
Rachyl stood a scant five feet tall. Dark red, wildly curly tresses flowed about her head, tied back in a ponytail. A few wild curls dipped in her vision, and she was forever blowing them out of her sight or wisking them behind an ear with a finger. Bright green eyes with flecks of gold sparkled above pale but rosy cheeks.
Jack's gaze couldn't help but drop to Rachyl's breasts as she turned back to the house. He followed her, matching step for step, until she stopped at the basement doorway.
Rachyl reached into a large pocket at the side of her thigh, her cargo pants dragged low by a heavy weight inside. Fishing for the bottle, she wrapped her fingers around it, and unscrewed the cap as she brought it to her mouth.
Gulping at the cool water, she passed it back to Jack, and dropped it when he didn't grab it fast enough. Rolling her eyes, she hauled on the heavy oaken doors covering the basement steps.
A resounding bang returned from the barn by the time Rachyl was at the bottom of the short run of steps, standing before the iron door. Encrusted along all four edges with oxidation, the door swung open easily before the might of Rachyl's kick.
Jack paused, surprised; the door didn't squeak, as he'd expected, and he mentioned as much to Rachyl.
"Come here a lot," was her only explanation.
The basement was nearly completely dark, the last of the twilight streaming through dirty windows spaced along the walls. Jack sensed the room was very dirty, and even smelled a whiff of mold, and something... else. He shivered, and wrapped his fingers about the waistband of Rachyl's jeans.
They wound their way through the basement, past jutting piles of junk and detritus. A protruding piece of something caught Jack's pantleg, and he fell into Rachyl's back, knocking her off-balance, then to the floor.
"Clutz," she admonished as Jack felt a hand pulling him to his feet. Rachyl was strong for her size, he realized, brushing dirt from his sport jacket.
"Look, just... wait here." Rachyl ordered, and Jack heard her footsteps fade away.
Pulling Cement through Cheesecloth (journalistic)
Author's note:
It has been many years since I'd attended a therapy session for the following events. But after meeting Denise (in all her birthday suited glory) the memories came rushing back.
I haven't dreamt of... what follows, but it is another phase of my life I haven't shared voluntarily with Meegan (though in all likelihood she knows at least some of the sordid details.)
So while awaiting a phonecall back from the Lab for my tests, I decided to start writing - in third person, as best I could - what happened the day I found Denise Spelner's husband Anderson dead on the grounds of the Ephraim Estate.
The act of remembering hasn't been so difficult. One of the things I learned during therapy was to not let the memories bother me. Another was to not bury them, as they could resurface painfully. Statistically speaking, of course.
Though, one of the things I think of at this moment is: "I wonder how my therapist would react if I told her I broke down and nearly vomitted in the hall of Nachton's Art Museum when I saw my father's painting." I hadn't buried those memories, and yet, it had affected me.
Every morning when I wake up next to the reposing form of Meegan Masters (whether she be asleep or with mischievous hands and a playful smile) I feel resurge in me the complete antithesis of the hatred I'd felt at that moment.
Likewise, each new discovery I've made with her has brought me joy and even rapture - the antithesis, the polar opposites of what I'd felt that day.
It had been a few weeks before Halloween during my senior year of High School. I wasn't quite the law abiding citizen I am now; rather, I was a bit of a rebel.
Hard to believe, I'm sure.
The writing of this, though, has proven to be the difficult part. I paced the sunroom, trying to figure out first, where to start, and second, why this was being so difficult to transition to paper. Is this really something I want to share with Meegan? No, but I figure I should. She can choose to read or not read what follows; after all, we are adults. After all, I brought it up.
When I found myself at the kitchen door, bashing my head slowly on the glass, a revelation came to me in the form of a title... And I ran back to the computer as fast and carefully as I could to neither curtail nor contain the current of thought.
So I begin, then, this short tale, with the following realization:
"Remembering these events was easy. Trying to put this on paper, though, has been as difficult as pulling cement through cheesecloth."
Rachyl
18 years ago
Rachyl
18 years ago
The scent kept tugging at Jack's nostrils as he waited for Rachyl to return.
Eyes finally adjusted to the dark, he moved through the basement, following his nose. Feel like a damned bloodhound, he thought.
A tiny breeze trickled across Jack's face as he came to a door, slightly ajar. Jack felt the edges for a handle, and found it. Pushing it, he felt some resistance, as if something was behind it, but finally was able to push it open enough to enter.
The bare scent Jack had detected before now hit aromatic senses full force, and he groaned, quickly covering his mouth, trying to hold in his gorge.
Leaned over, Jack emptied the contents of his lunch onto the floor, adding to the already horrendous stench in the room.
As he straightened, a flash of something shiny caught his attention from the corner of his eye.
Directing his attention towards it, Jack approached it, careful not to slip.
Stretching his hand out carefully, Jack touched the shiny object, which moved more into the tiny bit of light left.
Feels kind of round, he thought, and wrapped his palm about it to pick it up. A ball? he tried to guess.
Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, he brought out his Zippo, and flicked it alight.
As his eyes readjusted to the sudden illumination, Jack stared for a moment at the item in his hand. A stark white smile shone up at him, and the divided nostrils of a bony face, festooned with the hard round orb of a skull.
With a yelp, Jack dropped both lighter and skull, extinguishing the former and cracking the latter.
Slowly backing up, he felt out with his right hand, trying to find the edge of the doorjamb, so he could exit.
Heart pounding in his ears, Jack's foot caught on something, and he fell backwards, bumping against something soft, which gave way as he landed.
Stars slowly gave way to a pair of rotted shoes, swinging just above his nose. As they moved, Jack got a glimpse of a body, perpendicular to the floor, and swaying ever slower, a low creaking sound with every move. Every turn of the body brought with it a fresh wave of the dirty, rancid stench.
Scrambling to a crabwalk he moved out from under the body, and saw a length of rope tied to a ceiling joist.
Slamming the corpse out of the way, Jack tumbled back through the door, and ran as fast and carefully as he could out of the basement, yelling the whole way.
A sudden yell startled Rachyl so, that she walked into the kitchen table trying to get to a window to follow the sound.
Rubbing her hip gingerly, she saw a figure running pell-mell across the front yard, and watched, disappointed, as it disappeared into the distance.
"Some jocks just don't know how to deal with pressure." she muttered under her breath.
Flicking on the flashlight she'd uncovered, she dashed down the steps back into the basement towards the door they'd come in.
Memory guiding her feet, she avoided every pile of debris, every jutting piece of junk as she approached the steps.
Step. Step. She lifted the beam of light to the steps as she ran, when her foot landed on the bottle of water she'd dropped earlier.
"Damn," was the only thought that had time to run through her head, as she fell, heels in the air, and cracked her head on the floor.
The flashlight tumbled out of her hands and rolled away, its beam illuminating Rachyl's now-pale face and the slight trickle of crimson in her hair.
Eyes finally adjusted to the dark, he moved through the basement, following his nose. Feel like a damned bloodhound, he thought.
A tiny breeze trickled across Jack's face as he came to a door, slightly ajar. Jack felt the edges for a handle, and found it. Pushing it, he felt some resistance, as if something was behind it, but finally was able to push it open enough to enter.
The bare scent Jack had detected before now hit aromatic senses full force, and he groaned, quickly covering his mouth, trying to hold in his gorge.
Leaned over, Jack emptied the contents of his lunch onto the floor, adding to the already horrendous stench in the room.
As he straightened, a flash of something shiny caught his attention from the corner of his eye.
Directing his attention towards it, Jack approached it, careful not to slip.
Stretching his hand out carefully, Jack touched the shiny object, which moved more into the tiny bit of light left.
Feels kind of round, he thought, and wrapped his palm about it to pick it up. A ball? he tried to guess.
Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, he brought out his Zippo, and flicked it alight.
As his eyes readjusted to the sudden illumination, Jack stared for a moment at the item in his hand. A stark white smile shone up at him, and the divided nostrils of a bony face, festooned with the hard round orb of a skull.
With a yelp, Jack dropped both lighter and skull, extinguishing the former and cracking the latter.
Slowly backing up, he felt out with his right hand, trying to find the edge of the doorjamb, so he could exit.
Heart pounding in his ears, Jack's foot caught on something, and he fell backwards, bumping against something soft, which gave way as he landed.
Stars slowly gave way to a pair of rotted shoes, swinging just above his nose. As they moved, Jack got a glimpse of a body, perpendicular to the floor, and swaying ever slower, a low creaking sound with every move. Every turn of the body brought with it a fresh wave of the dirty, rancid stench.
Scrambling to a crabwalk he moved out from under the body, and saw a length of rope tied to a ceiling joist.
Slamming the corpse out of the way, Jack tumbled back through the door, and ran as fast and carefully as he could out of the basement, yelling the whole way.
A sudden yell startled Rachyl so, that she walked into the kitchen table trying to get to a window to follow the sound.
Rubbing her hip gingerly, she saw a figure running pell-mell across the front yard, and watched, disappointed, as it disappeared into the distance.
"Some jocks just don't know how to deal with pressure." she muttered under her breath.
Flicking on the flashlight she'd uncovered, she dashed down the steps back into the basement towards the door they'd come in.
Memory guiding her feet, she avoided every pile of debris, every jutting piece of junk as she approached the steps.
Step. Step. She lifted the beam of light to the steps as she ran, when her foot landed on the bottle of water she'd dropped earlier.
"Damn," was the only thought that had time to run through her head, as she fell, heels in the air, and cracked her head on the floor.
The flashlight tumbled out of her hands and rolled away, its beam illuminating Rachyl's now-pale face and the slight trickle of crimson in her hair.
Rachyl
18 years ago
The breeze that whisked past Rachyl's nose was a lot fresher than the air in Millville, and didn't reek of anything at all resembling the basement she'd just been in.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, bit by bit, and realized she was looking at the underside of an arboreal canopy. Chirping and the clicks and rasps of assorted insects sounded in her ears as she inhaled deeply of the forest.
Rachyl blinked several times. Wasn't I just in the basement? she thought.
Bending at the waist, she tried to sit up, but stopped, and suddenly fell back, overcome with nausea. Head spinning, she rolled to her side carefully and released her lunch on the underbrush.
Breath shallow, Rachyl waited for the discomfort to subside, and wiped her mouth on a tissue. Pushing up with her hand, she rose to a crawling position. Willing the dizziness away, she pushed herself to a kneel.
Breathing deeply to prevent its return, Rachyl gingerly moved a hand to the back of her head. I know I hit my head... but how bad? Her gently probing fingers didn't detect any bumps or breaks, but she knew she got hurt pretty bad from the way she felt.
She rested a few moments before looking around.
The forest was dark around her, mist hanging low beneath the canopy and obscuring anything further than a few dozen yards away.
A break in the underbrush nearby, stretching in either direction, seemed to be a path through the forest.
Rachyl rose to her feet carefully, using a close tree to stabilize herself. She ran her meticulously manicured hands across her body, brushing dirt and pine needles from her rounded form.
Inspecting her nails carefully, she cursed, "Fuck! I broke a nail!"
Sighing with frustration, she slowly picked her way to the path, avoiding tendrils of thorns.
Pausing at the path, she looked left and right. Neither direction stands out... she thought.
Turning her foot, she dug a mark in the path's side, and headed to her left.
For a while, Rachyl walked thorugh the forest; the path arrowed amazingly straight through the trees.
She realized she'd been walking a while, and started to look about, peering into the oppressing grey gloom, when something at the corner of her eye caught her attention. Gazing down, she spied a familiar marking in the trail's dirt. She paused, staring down at it, the back of her head aching slightly.
"Of all the fucking retarded..." A scream of frustration echoed from the trees around, as she turned and walked in the opposite direction.
The spaces between the trees lightened as she proceeded along the path. Underbrush thickened, and a field lay before her, but the trailhead was strangely overgrown with thorns and vines.
A hand fell to her thigh, and unsnapped her military knife from the sheath. The tempered steel blade sliced effortlessly through the tangle of vegetation, allowing the woman a clear path.
Before her stood a mansion, quite unlike the one she'd thought she'd find. She'd been to the Ephraim Mansion before, but this looked nothing like it. Large, grecian urns stood upon pedestals of stone, along a rail in front of the building. Windows proved dark or blocked inside, but for the sparkle of light through one, just around a gentle corner.
The brickwork was stunning, if dilapidated; it previously must have held a unique pattern of colors. A weather vane above the topmost spire of the house showed the wind to be blowing from the south, but the animal portrayed above that, Rachyl did not recognize. A gigantic wingspan, a huge skull... If she didn't know any better, she'd imagine it a dragon. But dragons don't exist, she told herself.
Rachyl climbed the stone stairs to the large, oaken door. A strange feeling of forboding, combined with excitement, washed over her as she examined the intricate carvings on the pillars abuting the doorway.
There did not seem to be a door knocker present; indeed, there was not even a marking on the door to suggest one had hung there previously. The brass handle, set rather high on the door, for one of her stature, was heavily corroded. Some of the accretion seemed to have been rubbed off recently, as if someone had entered.
Drawing a deep breath, Rachyl's hand rose to the giant handle, and squeezed the latching tongue. She pulled it open as best she could; for being oak, it was a rather heavy door.
Upon opening it sufficiently, she stepped inside.
The large receiving room stood empty, save for the swirling dance of blue grey mists that filled the space, covering a few sparce furnishings within. A great fireplace stood empty and cold to one side of the room, and several doors led off into the depths of the building from all directions. Faint whispers carried over the fog, soft and delicate as a breeze to greet the newest arrival at the door.
Amid the shadows a figure stood and waited patiently for the girl to enter further, hands clasped behind it's back lightly. Only a sound resembling silk upon stone issuing when it moved to one corner out of the way to allow the new guest time to explore.
Rachyl paused as she closed the door behind, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the house. As the near features began to take shape, she saw to one side a huge fireplace, large enough to stand several people, shoulder to shoulder, it seemed, a few small chairs, and several doors.
A soft rustle in her ear caused her to whip her head about, ponytail whirling about and slapping her in the face. Ignoring the slight discomfort of hair impacting her eye, Rachyl stared into the darkness opposite her, half expecting an animal or a horror-movie style murderer to pop out at her. When the sound didn't continue, she slowly picked her way to a nearby chair, and all but collapsed on it. The sudden thud of her landing and squeak of the chair sliding ringing throughout the room, she rested her head on her hands gently, nausea spinning her senses and twisting her guts again. Several deep breaths later, she belched loudly, picking her head up, and wished she still had that thrice-bedamned bottle of water with her.
She shrieked as a sudden weight in her hand surprised her, shaking her hand quickly, thinking a rat had jumped into it, or worse. A subsequent thud drew her attention to the floor, and there, near the wall, rolled a bottle of water...
"It seems you have discovered one of the properties of the Manse, though I don't think I've ever seen someone achieve that so quickly upon entering," a dulcet voice intoned quietly. From the shadows, a figure emerged. Rachyl tried not to stare, but her eyes were riveted to the eyes of sparkling clear blue, set in a shapely face. A shapely -blue- face. Blinking a couple times forcefully, she focused, though it pained her, on the being before her. An elegant mane of pure, snow-white hair dangled around her shoulders in soft bunches. Her plump lips were curled into a careful smile, and concern? was etched on her features. Rachyl only hoped it was concern, and not hunger, as her gaze absorbed the rest of the being. Her dress - robe - gown - whatever was very sheer, as evidenced by the roundness of her pronounced globes, and visible peaks. The lower bell of the gown spread out, but Rachyl could tell she was standing. Standing, and short. A very shapely woman indeed, Rachyl thought, as the only response her mind could formulate, pained as it was, issued from her lips.
"Huh?"
"You do not look well, child," the woman observed. She moved closer to Rachyl, who suddenly found herself sitting in a chair closer to the fireplace. The bottle of water rose from the floor and landed on the table next to her. She fought the urge to try to follow the woman as she moved behind, then around, the chair, to stand in front of her. "Not well at all. And the blood running from your head leads me to believe you received a sharp blow... in battle?"
"Battle?" Even snorting derisvely hurt. "Fell in the basement. Came here somehow. Where is here?" she asked.
"You, dear, are sitting in The Manse of Dreams. It is a magical place to which all dreaming souls are drawn, though very few have the ability or desire to enter. That is where your strange little bottle came from; you wished it, and it is. Drink of it, you will have need if you are indeed injured, but I do hope you wake soon, or that someone finds you."
Rachyl did recognize now the concern in the indigo-skinned woman's face. "Me too," she croaked, as she unscrewed the water bottle and drank. Something moved in her hair.
"When you wake up, you will remember this place, though I am unsure if you will be able to return. Injury is not the most conducive way to enter The Manse..." The woman placed a delicate hand on her knee. "It would have been nice to have another new visitor," she commented, seemingly offhandedly. "Come, warm yourself," she commanded, and as she stood, Rachyl's chair slid closer to the suddenly roaring fire. The chair's arms rose to close around her gently, holding her upright.
Crystal blue eyes suddenly were immediately before her face, green sparkles inside the deepest black pupils. "Rest."
Slowly, she opened her eyes, bit by bit, and realized she was looking at the underside of an arboreal canopy. Chirping and the clicks and rasps of assorted insects sounded in her ears as she inhaled deeply of the forest.
Rachyl blinked several times. Wasn't I just in the basement? she thought.
Bending at the waist, she tried to sit up, but stopped, and suddenly fell back, overcome with nausea. Head spinning, she rolled to her side carefully and released her lunch on the underbrush.
Breath shallow, Rachyl waited for the discomfort to subside, and wiped her mouth on a tissue. Pushing up with her hand, she rose to a crawling position. Willing the dizziness away, she pushed herself to a kneel.
Breathing deeply to prevent its return, Rachyl gingerly moved a hand to the back of her head. I know I hit my head... but how bad? Her gently probing fingers didn't detect any bumps or breaks, but she knew she got hurt pretty bad from the way she felt.
She rested a few moments before looking around.
The forest was dark around her, mist hanging low beneath the canopy and obscuring anything further than a few dozen yards away.
A break in the underbrush nearby, stretching in either direction, seemed to be a path through the forest.
Rachyl rose to her feet carefully, using a close tree to stabilize herself. She ran her meticulously manicured hands across her body, brushing dirt and pine needles from her rounded form.
Inspecting her nails carefully, she cursed, "Fuck! I broke a nail!"
Sighing with frustration, she slowly picked her way to the path, avoiding tendrils of thorns.
Pausing at the path, she looked left and right. Neither direction stands out... she thought.
Turning her foot, she dug a mark in the path's side, and headed to her left.
For a while, Rachyl walked thorugh the forest; the path arrowed amazingly straight through the trees.
She realized she'd been walking a while, and started to look about, peering into the oppressing grey gloom, when something at the corner of her eye caught her attention. Gazing down, she spied a familiar marking in the trail's dirt. She paused, staring down at it, the back of her head aching slightly.
"Of all the fucking retarded..." A scream of frustration echoed from the trees around, as she turned and walked in the opposite direction.
The spaces between the trees lightened as she proceeded along the path. Underbrush thickened, and a field lay before her, but the trailhead was strangely overgrown with thorns and vines.
A hand fell to her thigh, and unsnapped her military knife from the sheath. The tempered steel blade sliced effortlessly through the tangle of vegetation, allowing the woman a clear path.
Before her stood a mansion, quite unlike the one she'd thought she'd find. She'd been to the Ephraim Mansion before, but this looked nothing like it. Large, grecian urns stood upon pedestals of stone, along a rail in front of the building. Windows proved dark or blocked inside, but for the sparkle of light through one, just around a gentle corner.
The brickwork was stunning, if dilapidated; it previously must have held a unique pattern of colors. A weather vane above the topmost spire of the house showed the wind to be blowing from the south, but the animal portrayed above that, Rachyl did not recognize. A gigantic wingspan, a huge skull... If she didn't know any better, she'd imagine it a dragon. But dragons don't exist, she told herself.
Rachyl climbed the stone stairs to the large, oaken door. A strange feeling of forboding, combined with excitement, washed over her as she examined the intricate carvings on the pillars abuting the doorway.
There did not seem to be a door knocker present; indeed, there was not even a marking on the door to suggest one had hung there previously. The brass handle, set rather high on the door, for one of her stature, was heavily corroded. Some of the accretion seemed to have been rubbed off recently, as if someone had entered.
Drawing a deep breath, Rachyl's hand rose to the giant handle, and squeezed the latching tongue. She pulled it open as best she could; for being oak, it was a rather heavy door.
Upon opening it sufficiently, she stepped inside.
The large receiving room stood empty, save for the swirling dance of blue grey mists that filled the space, covering a few sparce furnishings within. A great fireplace stood empty and cold to one side of the room, and several doors led off into the depths of the building from all directions. Faint whispers carried over the fog, soft and delicate as a breeze to greet the newest arrival at the door.
Amid the shadows a figure stood and waited patiently for the girl to enter further, hands clasped behind it's back lightly. Only a sound resembling silk upon stone issuing when it moved to one corner out of the way to allow the new guest time to explore.
Rachyl paused as she closed the door behind, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the house. As the near features began to take shape, she saw to one side a huge fireplace, large enough to stand several people, shoulder to shoulder, it seemed, a few small chairs, and several doors.
A soft rustle in her ear caused her to whip her head about, ponytail whirling about and slapping her in the face. Ignoring the slight discomfort of hair impacting her eye, Rachyl stared into the darkness opposite her, half expecting an animal or a horror-movie style murderer to pop out at her. When the sound didn't continue, she slowly picked her way to a nearby chair, and all but collapsed on it. The sudden thud of her landing and squeak of the chair sliding ringing throughout the room, she rested her head on her hands gently, nausea spinning her senses and twisting her guts again. Several deep breaths later, she belched loudly, picking her head up, and wished she still had that thrice-bedamned bottle of water with her.
She shrieked as a sudden weight in her hand surprised her, shaking her hand quickly, thinking a rat had jumped into it, or worse. A subsequent thud drew her attention to the floor, and there, near the wall, rolled a bottle of water...
"It seems you have discovered one of the properties of the Manse, though I don't think I've ever seen someone achieve that so quickly upon entering," a dulcet voice intoned quietly. From the shadows, a figure emerged. Rachyl tried not to stare, but her eyes were riveted to the eyes of sparkling clear blue, set in a shapely face. A shapely -blue- face. Blinking a couple times forcefully, she focused, though it pained her, on the being before her. An elegant mane of pure, snow-white hair dangled around her shoulders in soft bunches. Her plump lips were curled into a careful smile, and concern? was etched on her features. Rachyl only hoped it was concern, and not hunger, as her gaze absorbed the rest of the being. Her dress - robe - gown - whatever was very sheer, as evidenced by the roundness of her pronounced globes, and visible peaks. The lower bell of the gown spread out, but Rachyl could tell she was standing. Standing, and short. A very shapely woman indeed, Rachyl thought, as the only response her mind could formulate, pained as it was, issued from her lips.
"Huh?"
"You do not look well, child," the woman observed. She moved closer to Rachyl, who suddenly found herself sitting in a chair closer to the fireplace. The bottle of water rose from the floor and landed on the table next to her. She fought the urge to try to follow the woman as she moved behind, then around, the chair, to stand in front of her. "Not well at all. And the blood running from your head leads me to believe you received a sharp blow... in battle?"
"Battle?" Even snorting derisvely hurt. "Fell in the basement. Came here somehow. Where is here?" she asked.
"You, dear, are sitting in The Manse of Dreams. It is a magical place to which all dreaming souls are drawn, though very few have the ability or desire to enter. That is where your strange little bottle came from; you wished it, and it is. Drink of it, you will have need if you are indeed injured, but I do hope you wake soon, or that someone finds you."
Rachyl did recognize now the concern in the indigo-skinned woman's face. "Me too," she croaked, as she unscrewed the water bottle and drank. Something moved in her hair.
"When you wake up, you will remember this place, though I am unsure if you will be able to return. Injury is not the most conducive way to enter The Manse..." The woman placed a delicate hand on her knee. "It would have been nice to have another new visitor," she commented, seemingly offhandedly. "Come, warm yourself," she commanded, and as she stood, Rachyl's chair slid closer to the suddenly roaring fire. The chair's arms rose to close around her gently, holding her upright.
Crystal blue eyes suddenly were immediately before her face, green sparkles inside the deepest black pupils. "Rest."
Rachyl
18 years ago
The flashes of light that suddenly filled her vision were extremely distracting, and The Manse disappeared. Voices filled her ears; footsteps and shuffling, banging and sirens made her cry out in pain.
"She's awake. How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Six," Rachyl counted, but that didn't sound right in her head. She tried to close one eye, to focus, but her head swam and spun. "Ow."
"Try not to move too much, you've got a nasty concussion. Get her some oxygen," she heard, and a mask was strapped over her face. "We're taking you to the hospital."
-------
It was six hours later when Rachyl woke, her mother cradling her hand and snoring gently against her leg. She tried to sit up, but the nausea was overwhelming. She tried to lean over, and when the room twisted like a rollercoaster, dryheaved with a single "hurk" against the wall next to her. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she groaned as she returned to her back. "Ow."
------
The doctor's voice was abrasive and gave Rachyl the feeling someone was dragging her head across railroad ties. After a few minutes of his endless droning, she spoke up. "Doc, I really do appreciate whatever it is you're trying to tell me, but your voice is making my head hurt. Could you either come back in a couple days, or have someone else give me and my mother the news, or suck the helium out of one of these get-well-soon balloons? Thanks."
With that, she piled her pillow around her head, wincing at the rush of fresh pain, but blocked out his response. She thought she heard her mother speaking, but she was suddenly asleep.
------
A large field of blue obscured Rachyl's vision for a few moments as her eyes focused. The blur resolved itself into a man. Jack Kowalski's father-bear-of-a-man. "Hi Big Jack," Rachyl heard herself squeak.
"Miss Walker, we have a few questions to ask..."
------
She woke again later. "You know, Rachyl, when I suspected you were going to the Ephraim Estate, I wasn't quite sure what for, outside of typical teen rebellion. Then I found the birth control pills in your room. And the police found condoms at the estate. I'm so very-"
"Mom. You'll notice the birth control pills have never been opened. The condoms at the estate aren't mine. I haven't had sex, Mom, and I'm rather disappointed you'd jump to that conclusion just because I had a boy at the place."
"You're right. Instead, I had to talk Big Jack out of slapping you with trespassing charges. After all, they found something there much worse."
"What do you mean much worse?"
"Do you remember Mrs. Spelner?"
"Yeah."
"Remember how her husband disappeared earlier this year?"
"Yeah."
"They found his body in the basement."
------
It wasn't too long after that Denise started visiting her mother at home. At first, their talks ostensibly resembled a negotiation for the Ephraim estate's dismantling... then the town meetings started for the purchase of the land for the new high school.
Rachyl's mom came home with a new car soon after that, and a sizable amount was invested for her daughter.
Mrs. Spelner didn't visit as much, but Rachyl hadn't noticed, as she'd started college immediately after graduating.
The new high school was completed a year later.
"She's awake. How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Six," Rachyl counted, but that didn't sound right in her head. She tried to close one eye, to focus, but her head swam and spun. "Ow."
"Try not to move too much, you've got a nasty concussion. Get her some oxygen," she heard, and a mask was strapped over her face. "We're taking you to the hospital."
-------
It was six hours later when Rachyl woke, her mother cradling her hand and snoring gently against her leg. She tried to sit up, but the nausea was overwhelming. She tried to lean over, and when the room twisted like a rollercoaster, dryheaved with a single "hurk" against the wall next to her. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she groaned as she returned to her back. "Ow."
------
The doctor's voice was abrasive and gave Rachyl the feeling someone was dragging her head across railroad ties. After a few minutes of his endless droning, she spoke up. "Doc, I really do appreciate whatever it is you're trying to tell me, but your voice is making my head hurt. Could you either come back in a couple days, or have someone else give me and my mother the news, or suck the helium out of one of these get-well-soon balloons? Thanks."
With that, she piled her pillow around her head, wincing at the rush of fresh pain, but blocked out his response. She thought she heard her mother speaking, but she was suddenly asleep.
------
A large field of blue obscured Rachyl's vision for a few moments as her eyes focused. The blur resolved itself into a man. Jack Kowalski's father-bear-of-a-man. "Hi Big Jack," Rachyl heard herself squeak.
"Miss Walker, we have a few questions to ask..."
------
She woke again later. "You know, Rachyl, when I suspected you were going to the Ephraim Estate, I wasn't quite sure what for, outside of typical teen rebellion. Then I found the birth control pills in your room. And the police found condoms at the estate. I'm so very-"
"Mom. You'll notice the birth control pills have never been opened. The condoms at the estate aren't mine. I haven't had sex, Mom, and I'm rather disappointed you'd jump to that conclusion just because I had a boy at the place."
"You're right. Instead, I had to talk Big Jack out of slapping you with trespassing charges. After all, they found something there much worse."
"What do you mean much worse?"
"Do you remember Mrs. Spelner?"
"Yeah."
"Remember how her husband disappeared earlier this year?"
"Yeah."
"They found his body in the basement."
------
It wasn't too long after that Denise started visiting her mother at home. At first, their talks ostensibly resembled a negotiation for the Ephraim estate's dismantling... then the town meetings started for the purchase of the land for the new high school.
Rachyl's mom came home with a new car soon after that, and a sizable amount was invested for her daughter.
Mrs. Spelner didn't visit as much, but Rachyl hadn't noticed, as she'd started college immediately after graduating.
The new high school was completed a year later.