| Stanley Part 8 - Lhiannan-Shee |
1907
Edwardina looped her arm around Tashriel’s and smiled flirtatiously.
“Come and sit down. Lady Mabel and I are dying to hear all the gossip regarding the dashing Stanley!” She pouted, dragging Tashriel halfway across the blue reception room with her and over to a group of comfy armchairs beside a small table laden with cakes and a crockery.
“I’ll be mother, shall I?” she asked, raising the china teapot and filling three delicate china tea cups. Tashriel and Lady Mabel took the offered cups and played along with her.
“Well?” Edwardina asked, raising one of her delicately arched eyebrows. “Are you going to tell us the full story or not?”
Edwardina had not failed to notice that Tashriel did not appear to be his normal self. He seemed preoccupied and there was something else which Edwardina could not quite put her finger on. She reached for a coconut macaroon and bit into its delicious sweetness.
“Very well,” uttered Tashriel, leaning forward slightly and placing the untouched tea cup back onto the table.
“The talented young man in question has had the misfortune to fall into the path of Arwydau, a member of the Lhiannan-Shee.”
“Talented?” queried Edwardina, her curiosity piqued even further that it already was. “Is he an artist?”
“Not with paints,” replied Tashriel. “With words.”
“Published?”
“Not yet. He will be though, one day, I am sure. Arwydau only reserves her special attention for those with exceptional talent in their field.”
It was Lady Mabel’s curiosity which was now awakened.
“You know her?”
Tashriel responded with an empty smile which failed to reach his sapphire blue eyes. “The Lady and are I are, shall we say, old acquaintances.”
“You were lovers, weren’t you?” Edwardina said with glee, placing a hand on his. “Did she break your heart?”
“For pity’s sake, child! Must you go on about love as though it is some trivial matter to be discussed over tea and macaroons!” Lady Mabel bristled.
Edwardina was possessed by tiny pangs of guilt. She had not meant to behave inappropriately or upset anyone. “I am sorry,” she said sincerely to both Tashriel and Lady Mabel. “I am afraid I opened my mouth to speak without thinking -– again!” And then directly to Tashriel, “I promise to behave while you tell us all about the problem with Stanley.”
Edwardina did not understand why she was so interested in a man she had never met and only briefly caught a look at. There was something so very attractive about him though. She felt driven to learn more!
***
Stanley wrote furiously, his fingers black with ink and his study strewn with papers. Three days’ growth of beard shadowed his face and his eyes had achieved a wild and absent appearance.
He threw himself back in his chair, oblivious to the chaos around him, and grinned at the manuscript on the writing desk. This was his best work yet! It was good enough to rival Doyle and Wells!
Stanley reached for the open bottle of whisky close by and took a long swig from it before hurriedly lighting himself a cigarette. Tomorrow he would go to the library and conduct more research. There was no time to waste; he must be onto it whilst he was in the mood to write. He never knew when his muse would leave him.
He briefly remembered that there was something else that he had intended to do too. Some place he had planned on revisiting. He vaguely recalled a most unusual looking man with long blond hair. Perhaps he had imagined him? He was not sure if he had or not. It was getting harder and harder to tell reality from daydreams these days. Anyway, whatever it was could wait; he had more important things to do.
A twinkling caught the corner of Stanley’s eye and he looked down at his crumpled grey tailored trousers. There it was again! He tried to brush the glittery substance away but no matter how hard he tried it wouldn’t shift. He remained that way for several hours, until he eventually collapsed across his desk and slept fitfully.
To be continued...
PrevLabels: 1907, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
posted by Miladysa @ 18:00  |
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| Stanley Part 5 - Doomed |
1907
“You’re a writer?”
“I hope to be. Perhaps one day.”
“Tell me about the dreams.”
Nervously, Stanley took a sip of the gin and tonic which had been served to him by the manservant, Wilfred.
“Well, I suppose,” he cleared his throat. “They started a few weeks ago now, I think. I can distinctively remember that I slept well over Easter and...,” he paused trying to calculate just how long it had been since he last had a decent night’s sleep.
“And?” asked the pleasant young man standing at the window of the elaborately decorated room.
“I haven’t slept properly since.”
“I see.”
Stanley observed the rather eccentrically dressed gentleman. They were probably about the same age. He was not one to judge, but he doubted the fellow could wander far without causing disquiet with his manner of dress. Stanley liked to keep abreast of fashion just as much as the next man, but even so, hair that long was one step further than he would ever wish to go.
“This is all?”
“Pardon?” asked a startled Stanley, somewhat embarrassed by the generous smile the other man bestowed on him.
“You seek us out here at RoYds because you are having problems sleeping? Why not visit the local physician or instruct a member of your household to acquire a tonic from a local pharmacist?”
Stanley felt himself blush. He nervously stroked his fine facial hair before taking another sip of the satisfying drink. Now would be a very good time for the ground to swallow him up.
“Is there something else? Something you may be hesitant to mention?”
Stanley fidgeted for a moment or two and then sighed. “It’s about a woman.” His pulse quickened just thinking about her.
“The beautiful, sensual, seductive kind?”
Stanley felt his face blushing like a beacon.
“Most men would welcome such a dream,” his new acquaintance advised casually. “Personally, I find such women irresistible.”
Stanley was a little taken aback to hear this. If he had been a betting man, he would have wagered that the fellow batted for the other side. He was further surprised when the gentleman laughed heartily.
“I do! But not in the way your mind was working.”
“Pardon?” questioned Stanley somewhat shocked. Had his ears just deceived him?
“So, a beautiful, seductive woman climbs into your dreams, into your mind. Would it be fair to say -– to ravish you?”
Stanley nodded in amazement.
“And you’re complaining?”
“Not exactly,” Stanley replied, strangely feeling more and more relaxed if anything. “The problem is...it’s...well I feel like I’m losing my mind...,”
The gentleman sat down on a nearby large sofa. “Please continue.”
“She...the dreams are draining me. Physically. Mentally.,” Stanley hesitated; he was unsure how to phrase what he was feeling.
“Spiritually?”
Stanley nodded.
“This woman in your dreams, does she perhaps leave something behind, some trace upon waking that makes you question whether the dream was real?”
Stanley felt the blood in his face drain. This strange chap may be able to help him after all.
“She does.”
“If I was to tell you what this something is, would you be inclined to believe what else I may tell you, even though it may seem preposterous at first?”
Stanley downed the remainder of the gin and tonic and was amazed when the glass he replaced on the table appeared full.
“Well?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Very well, then. She leaves behind her a faint trail of gold dust. So faint, that you may only glimpse it from time to time and question whether or not it was your imagination playing tricks on you.”
The room felt silent. Stanley considered what he had just been informed. How could he possible know this?
“I met a lady in the meads, full beautiful -- a faery's child, her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild.”
“La Belle Dame Sans Merci?”
“To Yeats and others who have crossed their path. The Lhiannan Sidhe gift inspiration to those they persecute. For a short while anyway. Her embrace draws life and breath from you while she grows bright and strong. The madness is just the beginning, followed later by premature death. Even death is no escape.”
“I am doomed then?”
The young man studied Stanley for a moment before speaking.
“Most of us are -– in one way or another.”
***
Edwardina Templeton observed the smartly dressed young gentleman leaving through the side entrance of the RoYds building. Despite having an almost distracted and tired look about him he was undoubtedly attractive. She felt her heart miss a beat and everything around her seemed to grow more alive. Edwardina had experienced such surreal moments before but nothing quite as acute as this one.
Wilfred greeted her at the main door of the building.
“Afternoon, Miss. How are you today?”
She shot him one of her most spectacular smiles in preparation for the interrogation she had in store for him.
“Wonderful, thank you, Wilfred! Now tell me, who WAS that mysterious young man? I think I may have seen him before somewhere.”
“Tragic case, Miss. He...”
Lady Mabel Theawicke joined them in the corridor. Wilfred’s manner suddenly became sheepish. Unfazed, Edwardina continued, directing her question this time at Lady Mabel.
“Is there nothing we can do for him?”
“From what I have been able to ascertain from Tashriel, Mr Stanley Birch finds himself in the most tragic of circumstances. I have no doubt that he shall be remembered for his troubles in some way or another for quite a while following his untimely death.” Lady Mabel informed her with relish.
Untimely death? Edwardina felt crestfallen. There must be a way to help him and she would work her fingers to the bone to find one.
“If I may, Miss?” Wilfred interjected, helping Edwardina to remove her short pink bolero jacket.
“Thank you, dear Wilfred,” Edwardina smiled. Lady Mabel thought that she had seen a slight blush surface on Wilfred’s cheeks but dismissed the idea as ridiculous.
“I’ve laid out tea and cakes in the blue reception room, Miss. There’s some of your favourite Macaroon’s.”
Edwardina planted a peck on Wilfred’s cheeks. This time he blushed profusely. Lady Mabel rolled her eyes and huffed loudly. Her grey skirts dismissing the pair of them with a disgruntled swish as she proceeded to make her way down the hallway.
Edwardina giggled and shared a conspiratorial smile with Wilfred. “I have NO idea why she insists on acting like a fuddy-duddy! We both know she is one of the most passionate women that ever walked the earth! If only I was more like her. I would...”
“And look where it got her, Miss! You wouldn’t want to make the same mistakes now would you? Passion’s not all it’s cracked up to be, I can tell you!”
Edwardina chuckled and linked Wilfred’s arm playfully. “You can?” She feigned shock. “Oh! Please do, Wilfred. Tell me all about your romantic adventures!”
Wilfred turned scarlet.
“We haven’t got all day,” summoned Lady Mabel, her chastising voice eerily journeying down the hallway to meet them.
Edwardina sighed and unlocked Wilfred’s arm. “Well,” she said merrily. “I wouldn’t say that, would you, Wilfred? Some of us have all eternity!” And with that, she went skipping off to join the target of her mischief.
PrevLabels: 1907, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 21:20 |
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| Stanley Part 2 - Spellbound |
1907
Arwydau enjoyed watching the Living human boys. How they liked to dice with death as if they were the immortal ones. They always played a little too close to the edge of the manmade pathways littering the dell, running higher and faster than they should. One minute, young and beautiful, the next, shrouded in grey and shuffling through the end of their days with mortal longings and regrets.
Scowling down at the river bed below, Arwydau noticed a few lingering traces of the annoying, as well as debilitating, orange iron water as it gushed on by.
Swinging her bare legs over the granite boulder beneath her, Arwydau dragged her eyes away from the Living and sprawled out leisurely to soak up the glorious re-emerging sunshine as it broke through the luscious tree canopy above.
What was left of the iron traces the rain had washed from the moor above, down into the river, would soon be flushed further downstream. By the time that happened, she would be dry from the recent rain and refreshed enough to move on.
A crow sounded a warning as one of the Living human boys spied and chased after a couple of Annwn’s hounds who looked to have run off with some papers. The boy stopped abruptly on a narrow outcrop of rock directly above Arwydau. He stared at her, spellbound.
“How on earth did you manage to get down there?” he shouted as if to a naughty child. Then, in a friendlier, yet still superior tone, he added, “Don’t worry! I’ll work my way down and have you safe and sound in no time at all!”
Arwydau laughed. The tinkling notes of her derisive and dismissive outburst lost on the ripples of the fast flowing river below.
Poor deluded Living human boy! She would play with him a little before he fell to his death. Using her magic, Arwydau ensured that the land was firm wherever the Living boy placed his feet and that any foliage he clung to was firmly rooted.
The boy made his way carefully down towards Arwydau and stood dumbfounded on a granite ledge opposite. She watched amused as he sought to figure out a way to reach her.
Arwydau enjoyed the Living boy’s mental anguish. She waited as he ruled out every possible logical option and yet still continued to search for a logical solution.
Arwydau stood up on her ledge, walked over to its edge and peered over into the sheer drop below. Her long red hair floated out around her as if stirred by a gentle breeze. She smiled smugly at the Living human boy before stepping into the void.
Her body shot downwards giving the impression that she would meet with certain death on the jagged rocks beneath.
The shock and horror on the Living human boy’s face was both priceless and pleasurable to her!
Mid-flight, Arwydau stopped suddenly in disbelief. Despite all that he had witnessed so far, she sensed that the Living human boy was still fool enough to wish to save her.
For a moment Arwydau considered pulling him to his death and then she sensed something far more tempting about him. Arwydau rose up to meet him.
When she arrived on the granite ledge, he was trembling with fear and yet he stood his ground, finding a courage within which Arwydau admired greatly.
“What...who are you?” he asked, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the sunshine bursting through the trees and striving to get a closer look at her. The silver blue tones of his irises stood out dramatically against the greys of the granite rocks behind him and the assorted greens of the summer foliage all around.
Arwydau moved closer towards him, pushing him effortless until his back was against the hillside and his breathing was raised. Slowly and leisurely, she leaned the length of her body against his. Her nipples tightened as his large, mesmerised pupils opened wider.
The Living human boy licked his dry lips in order to speak. Arwydau refused to give him the chance. Her soft, plum lips pressed passionately and urgently into his, her tongue flicked into his mouth to taste him.
“I’m Stanley,” he exhaled breathlessly quite some time later. He reached out to gather a handful of Arwydau’s hair.
Arwydau liked this Stanley. She might let him live -– for now.
***
Stanley Thomas Birch tossed and turned. He thumped the white feather pillow under his head then threw it out of the bed where it landed with a thud next to his recent scribblings -- and the pillow he had thrown earlier.
Damn that dream! Always the same one! Night after night after night! It was driving him insane.
Stanley got out of bed and walked over to the bedroom window half asleep. He had no idea why the dream persisted. In the early morning light of the garden below, he noticed a shadow fall across the nearest flower bed and then a small cloud of what looked like gold dust blew up and tapped against the window. His mind fought to decipher what was happening.
Stanley knew that there was some meaning to what he was experiencing, he just could not figure out what it was at the moment. He opened the window; the floor-length heavy lace curtain billowed and the room was filled with a chill.
Suddenly, he felt an urgent need to write, to put all the thoughts spinning around in his head down on paper. As his mind wandered through a chaotic stream of thoughts, tinkling laughter abruptly filled the room. Startled, he turned and let his eyes slide along the voluptuous young woman lying languidly on his bed. Her skin appeared to be whiter than the sheets beneath and had a luminance somewhat similar to mother-of-pearl. Her wild red hair cascaded over her shoulders and way beyond her waist.
The laughter echoed again. Stanley was sure it was coming from the woman and yet her lips remained firmly closed like two fat caterpillars lying one upon the other. He was both attracted and repulsed at the same time.
She patted the bed beside her. “Come, boy,” she said enticingly, again with no movement from her lips.
Stanley ran a worried hand through his thick brown head of hair and frowned.
“I’m not a boy,” he answered louder than he had intended. “I’m a man,” he continued in a quieter tone.
She laughed again. Louder and shriller this time. The caterpillars stirred and parted.
“Even should you live to be a hundred, you will still be a babe compared to me,” she stated flatly and again caressed the bed beside her.
Stanley felt himself walking forwards. His body was obeying her command yet part of his mind managed to rebel and remained within his control. He wanted to discover who she was and how she had entered his bedroom. Try as he might, he was unable to find the strength to ask the questions.
He did not think it was in his best interests to lessen the distance between them. In fact, he wanted desperately to increase it. His mind screamed at him to run but his body continued to propel forward.
“That’s better,” the caterpillars purred against his ear as he sat down on the large double bed. Stanley moved his head away from the caterpillars and gazed directly into the woman’s hard amber eyes. He melted -– all of him -– into her. His lips sought out her flesh, his hands covered every inch, his mind drank in every iota of knowledge that she divulged to him.
The last thing Stanley remembered was the veil of gold dust covering the sheets and her sighs ringing in his ears.
Labels: 1907, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 21:40 |
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| Stanley Part 1 - Return |
1907
Gracie lay still on the ground listening to the low gathering moans of a bitter wind. A thousand or more icy fingers crept across the exposed skin of her spindly arms and legs and scratched her awake.
She tried to open her eyes a little; it was so dark that she was unsure whether or not she had succeeded. Slowly, her eyes grew accustomed to the murky darkness and she was able to make out a few scattered stars in the inky night sky above.
Though uncomfortable, the damp ground beneath her petite frame felt reassuringly solid. Hesitantly, she turned onto her left side and recognised the eerie silhouette of Heyleigh Stones, standing upon the barren moor, as if they had been specifically formed to greet her when she woke.
Gracie was relieved to discover that she was in one piece. The relief departed even more quickly than it had arrived when she remembered that she was supposed to have met up with her brothers, Alan and Bunny, and they should all have arrived home together in time for tea.
No doubt her mother would be worried sick after she had failed to return home as planned. Gracie could easily picture her siblings being read the Riot Act before being sent to bed without any tea. She definitely was not going to be in anyone’s good books after this.
Despite her eagerness to leave Hades Hill and return home, Gracie decided the best way forward would be to let common sense prevail and stay where she was until it was light. She really would be risking life and limb if she tried to make her way down its rugged slope in the darkness.
***
Alan Regan entered the kitchen of the small terrace house and rubbed his arthritic arm furiously, as the cold temperature wrapped around him. He swore and walked over to the black cast iron stove. A medium-sized liver and white mongrel dog left the place where it had been sleeping and joined him. It watched intently as he struggled to get the stove going, and cowered nervously as colourful language, and flying objects, peppered the room until a weak orange flicker appeared.
Alan retrieved a half-smoked cigarette from behind his ear. He lit it upon the now robust open flame and then placed a heavy kettle on to boil. The dog lied down to share the heat source, seemingly relieved although not entirely relaxed. He rested his head on his paws and looked up surreptitiously as his master inhaled the cigarette through pursed lips whilst rubbing his aching lower back with both his hands for several minutes.
The dog leapt up and darted to the rear of the room a split second before the cigarette tip and tube of ash dropped onto his master’s threadbare jumper.
“Basket!”
Swearing and half-demented with rage, Alan swiped at his chest and inadvertently stubbed his toe on the cast iron stove. This time he shouted out in pain and hopped around the room like a possessed frog, rubbing his injured foot.
The latch on the back door rattled, and the wooden door opened and closed firmly behind him. Alan ceased his administrations and reached for two pint-sized, blue and white hooped pots which were on hooks above the wooden kitchen drainer.
“Eh! Talk about timing! Kettle’s on.”
With his back still turned to the rear door, Alan limped over to the pantry and reached inside for some tea.
The mongrel growled and backed as far away from the visitor as possible.
“Shut the fook up!” Alan growled back at it with venom. “It’s only our kid! What the hell’s up with yer?”
He looked from the dog to his younger brother. The small bag of tea fell from his hands and onto the slate grey floor. A shower of black tea leaves fluttered to the ground and settled over and around his bare feet. He continued to stare, his mouth agape and a day’s full growth of whiskers standing to attention on his chin.
“Where’s me mam?” Gracie asked wide eyed, trying to catch her breath from the sprint down the street.
“Mary, Joseph and Jesus!” Alan managed to squeak before reaching for support from the kitchen table.
The latch rattled once more and the door barely had time to creak before the frantic hound dashed out of it and into the distance beyond.
Bernard ‘Bunny’ Regan stood rooted to the spot, the freshly baked loaf of bread he had been set to fetch, clutched tightly to his chest and mangled by his left hand. The only thing holding him upright was his other hand firmly fastened to the iron latch of the open door.
His questioning eyes darted back and forth between his older brother and sister. The two years between them had increased by a lifetime. Gracie’s physical appearance had not aged a single day since the last time they had seen her -- twenty years earlier.
“What?” she cried out, suddenly looking frightened and frantic.
Bunny closed the door then fell back against it. He covered his eyes with one of his hands leaving only a shock of red hair and his mouth and chin visible. He removed the hand and gulped audibly several times before he managed to get a word out in answer.
“Mam’s dead...,” he announced with tears in his eyes. “Dad and our Katie too...our Alan looks out for me now.” He nodded toward the other man in the room.
A perplexed Gracie frowned at the two men.
“It’s been twenty flaming years, Gracie!” A purple faced Alan shouted furiously, shaking the tea from his feet and searching behind his ears in the vain hope of finding another cigarette stashed there.
“What are you talking about? Stop larking around!” Gracie cried, her temper clearly rising and a fight brewing within her.
Bunny, now standing beside her, nodded his head in affirmation as Gracie looked to him for reassurance.
“He’s right,” he confirmed verbally. “Where the heck have yer bin?”
***
Gracie sat on one of the rustic kitchen stools and searched the sparsely furnished room as if looking for answers in the plaster cracks or splintered wood, but finding none.
The tea Bunny had made her cooled within its chipped cup. Alan stared at her with disdain, as though she was one of the bottled specimens in the travelling circus, which visited every autumn. She had no doubts that the man leaning against the wall glaring at her was her older brother. She was, however, finding it difficult to come to terms with the way both Alan and Bunny had seemingly aged overnight.
Bunny knelt down on the cold, hard floor and took her hands in his. They were old and calloused, more fitting her granddad than her younger brother. She studied his face. In the shadow of the man he had become, she could still clearly see the boy he had been.
“Did me mam find yer? She said she would,” Bunny said excitedly.
Alan scoffed behind him. Gracie shot him a disapproving look. He stared back at her with empty eyes. He was even colder and meaner than he had been yesterday.
“What a load of shite,” Alan snarled, filling the kettle and putting it back on the stove. “It can’t be Gracie! Think about it, soft lad. It’s probably some kid dressed up to look like her. Some sick idiot down at the pub trying to put the wind up us!”
Bunny looked hurt. Gracie instinctively reached out to ruffle his hair then pulled back.
“Have yer been away with the fairies?” Bunny asked enthusiastically, taking her by surprise with his change of mood.
Had she been away with the fairies? Gracie tried to remember what had happened on Hades Hill after she looked through the hole in the stone. The only thing she could remember was waking up last night and longing for morning to come so that she could return home.
Gracie tried to hold back her welling tears and failed. She reached into her pocket for her handkerchief and as she pulled it out, something cream-coloured and almost egg-shaped plummeted to the floor, spinning off in the direction of the stone kitchen sink. Alan reached it first. Creaking with arthritis he bent over to retrieve it.
“No!” proclaimed Gracie, rising to her feet and holding her right hand out. The object shot forwards and fell effortlessly into her palm with a slap.
“What the hell?” exclaimed Alan, walking menacingly towards Gracie and Bunny.
Bunny started to tremble.
“Keep yer distance,” warned Gracie, stepping in front of Alan and grabbing hold of Bunny’s hand firmly. Alan continued towards them and stared in amazement, as well as into space, when Gracie and Bunny suddenly disappeared into thin air.
Labels: 1907, Gracie, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Sidhe, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 23:00 |
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