| 24. Whisper Dark Words |
New Years Day 1939
“So, we have no control over the events that take place, but we are able to assist the living and others like us who delay from entering the light?”
Stanley and Archie were sitting beside the glowing fireplace in the red reception room at RoYds.
“It's all about balance,” said Stanley. “Try to think of it this way; if one lived in a dimension where all was light and happiness, what would ever truly be experienced and learned? How would one know right from wrong and appreciate the difference? Within both life and death exists choice. There are those on the dark side , who also desire the continuance of light. It is why the world of the living is so attractive to them in the first place.”
“I see,” muttered Archie. “So who or what causes the problem?”
“There have always been those who wish for total darkness, not only in their own realm but also in that of the living. They whisper dark words and thoughts. Poison and plague so that only darkness can be seen everywhere and in everything. Here at RoYds we like to do our bit to ensure that the balance is maintained.”
“I see,” repeated Archie.
Stanley contemplated exactly how much to impart to Archie. He did not want to overburden him at this early stage. Thinking back to the time of his own crossing, he remembered how difficult it was to accept that there was no going back to the old way of existence.
“Oh, no need to worry about that, old chap!” said Archie gaily. “There never was much of an old life for me, you know. I think that is why I delayed in the first place; I couldn't see what could possibly be waiting for me on the other side of the light. Then I saw you and my choice was made there and then!”
Stanley laughed lightly, “That’s another thing I meant to tell you, but you will no doubt pick it all up as you go along. We have different abilities on this side. There are those who can read thoughts, others feelings. There are those who can do both and much more besides. It all goes to make life, or perhaps I should say delay, more fun!”
Archie gave a great big belly laugh and reached over to tap his old friend on the shoulder. “Can’t tell you how much I missed you, old pal! Good to have you back!”
“Same here!” replied Stanley before continuing in a more serious tone. “As you would expect there are downsides too. Although we can frequent the world of the living, walk amongst them and interact as one of them, we cannot return to our old way of life. Apart from extremely rare occasions, we either appear as strangers to the ones we love or not at all.”
“I’m sorry, old chap! That way with Edwardina, is it? Must be hard…,” Archie lowered his eyes. Stanley knew Archie was aware of how deeply his old friend loved his wife.
“She's never once acknowledged my presence, although she senses I am with her in some way or another,” Stanley confided. “I spend every night with her; I know how afraid she is of the dark.”
For a while, both men remained silent and then Stanley announced, “There are others here too, Archie, those you may have only read or dreamed about. Every kind of being that has ever existed in the minds of men. Some are even members of our own small group!”
“Like what?” Archie enquired, sounding fearful.
“Ah! That would be telling,” sighed Stanley. “Tell you what though. Why don’t you try to read my mind?”
Prologue
Part 1
Part 25Labels: 1940s, Billy, Fiction, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
posted by Miladysa @ 09:07  |
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| 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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| RoYds Part 23 - Remembrance Special |
Heav'n's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
1 July 1916 - The Somme - 07:15
The crescendo was building all around them. The artillery barrage, which although constant of late, had increased dramatically in the last few hours.
Stanley Thomas Birch tipped back his head and stared into the heavens straight above him. A light mist broke to reveal a clear blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful summer’s day. He permitted his mind to float home and pictured his wife cradling their son. He longed to return.
If only he could greet the next morning with his family and a dawn chorus of birds rather than flying pigs*. He longed to take a deep breath of fresh air, have a proper bath and wear clean clothes. He wished he had his life to live over; he would have done things differently. They had to win this war!
Amidst the jostling of bodies around him there was an urgent pulling on his shoulder and his attempt at peace was broken. It was Archie looking wild and frantic. The tension was even getting to the best of them. Stanley knew he did not have a hope in hell of being heard above the constant bombardment, but nevertheless he lowered his head and shouted as loud as he could, “We all feel the same way, Archie. Have no fear, we shall face this together!”
He glanced at his watch, 07:25. Only five minutes left. He nodded to the whistle hanging by a lanyard around Archie’s neck and reached down for his own.
Glancing to both sides he dived into a sea of smiling faces. If you had to be in a place like this, on a day like today, there was no better company than friend and neighbour. Placing the whistle in his mouth he faced the harsh reality that this would be the last morning for some of them.
Forcing himself to smile broadly he turned towards Archie and smacked him playfully on the back.
“This is the moment we have been waiting for! It’ll be just like a walk in the dell,” he yelled, and taking a deep breath they blew their whistles together.
*slang for mortar bomb
***
Change and decay in all around I see
O Thou, who changest not, abide with me
The rat was larger than a cat. The rats back home would never grow to be even a quarter of the size of the one he was looking at; they were not as well fed. It was the worst type of rat too, a brown one.
It stood still, staring back at him and they both knew he was going to kill it. He was going to butt stroke its rancid, stinking body with a Lee Enfield rifle a thousand times and smash it to a bloody pulp. He was going to smash it, smash it and smash it some more while all the time it squealed in agony. He freaking hated rats!
He hated frogs too, the way they croaked all bloody day and night from the shell holes, it drove him crazy. He hated all rats with a vengeance and the frogs, slugs and horned beetles that slimed their way over the entire trench, into his food and over him! Christ, he hated them all! He was filled with murderous hate and fear.
He preferred the hate to the fear. The fear gnawed and chewed away at him like the rats gorging themselves on the corpses of his comrades. Like the rats gorging themselves on Stanley...
He freaking hated rats!
This big bastard was going to get it and then some! He wasn’t going to give it the opportunity to feast on him next, or crawl over his face if he ever got the chance of sleep. He clenched the rifle tight, frozen in time like all the other bodies lying in the shallow graves around him. It was hell on earth but it was better than what was waiting for him on the other side of the parapet. Anything was better than becoming another feast for the vermin. He freaking hated rats!
In seconds it would all be over. The rat would just be another indistinguishable stench amidst the nauseating stink of rotting flesh, shite, cordite and stale sweat. Not that it would make any difference to the rat population though, Mr and Mrs bleeding rat could produce 900 of the bastards in a year alone. Maybe he wouldn’t have a year to see them, maybe he would be dead himself in a few minutes. He was a dead man walking and he knew it. They all were, even the freaking fat, about-to-be-dead, cocksure bastard of a rat!
Wouldn't you rather walk out of here alive
Freak! The rat was talking to him! Well it wouldn’t get the chance to say another freaking word! With a frenzied scream, he ran forward, lurching at it with his rifle. The demonic laughter continued.
“Die, you freaking bastard! Die!” he screamed.
I’m going to eat you from the inside out
He shot the rat. After the first shot, there was virtually nothing left of it apart from a pool of blood, clumps of fur and mush. The macabre laughing continued. It was coming from the vermin all around him: other rats, frogs, slugs, beetles and even the corpses of his colleagues. It was coming from inside himself, from the blood-soaked head of the rat chewing its way out from behind his eyes.
“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” he screamed hysterically.
"It will be alright, Archie. I am here beside you," answered Stanley.
PrevLabels: 1916, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 16:35 |
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| RoYds Part 16 - Crossing |
New Year’s Eve 1938
“Uncle Archie? What are you doing in here? Hiding!”
Archibald Templeton pried his gaze away from the tortoise shell-framed photograph he was studying and diverted his attention to the young girl who had just entered the room.
“Nothing of the sort,” he said in mock annoyance. “I was just enjoying a G and T while remembering friends who are no longer with us.”
“Oh dear!" His niece Lydia exclaimed playfully, “Don’t tell me you are getting all maudlin again?”
“Cheeky madam! Where’s your respect for your elders and betters, eh? You’re not too grown up that a good spanking wouldn’t put you right!” Archie replied with a grin. “Tell you what... Why don’t you go back to the party and continue enjoying yourself? I’ll just finish up here and be with you in a mo.”
“Promise?” Lydia asked with a tone of seriousness creeping in.
“Promise!” he replied, smiling as she closed the door on her way out.
Archie picked up the photograph from where he had placed it and raised his other hand and glass in a toast, “Here’s to you, Stanley wherever you may be!” He emptied the glass with one gulp and poured himself another large gin from the glass decanter on the table beside him, then added just a touch of tonic.
“How long has it been now?” he asked aloud, although he knew to the day exactly how long it had been since the events of the Somme. “Miss you, old chum!” Another toast to an empty room.
Archie had experienced a very privileged life and yet he had always felt something was lacking until the day Stanley Birch walked into it. Coming from an aristocratic background, even if it was a virtually penniless one, had meant that most things came easily, but true friends had been something else. His school days had been an absolute nightmare spent mostly at the mercy of bullies, and this had carried on into his adult life, right up until the moment he met Stanley.
They had literally run into each other while taking part in an assault course shortly after enlisting, and they had hit it off straight away despite coming from different backgrounds. Stanley, although well educated and wealthy, had been the son of a family who had made their money through hard work, something Archie’s family frowned upon. The only thing Archie’s ancestors had worked at for the past seven hundred years had been drinking, whoring, gambling and breeding. It saddened him to remember that he had been a bitter disappointment to them in the latter department.
Married to the army for his entire adult life, his bravery had often been tested and to his eternal shame had been found wanting on occasion.
He reached for another drink and then decided not to bother when a feeling of nausea overcame him. Instead, he went over to the French windows and opened them slightly. He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly. The icy air calmed his stomach somewhat and he looked out in awe at the scene that greeted him. Freshly fallen snow on the house and gardens had created a true winter wonderland.
“Wouldn’t like to be out there on a night like this,” he thought to himself, while at the same time acknowledging his appreciation of the refreshing breeze in his face. Up until a few seconds earlier he had been feeling rather flushed and had experienced a strange trickling sensation across the right side of his scalp.
The walnut grandfather clock in the hall struck a quarter to the hour and Archie was reminded of the imminent New Year and the need to go and rejoin his guests. As he turned to make his way across the wooden panelled room towards the light shining from the rooms beyond, he noticed another person standing in the shadows to his left. At first, he thought Lydia had returned to chide him.
“No! It can’t be! Stanley!” he cried out. “My God, old boy, don’t tell me I'm going bloody loopy again? Not at my age!” He laughed, the sheer joy of seeing his old friend wiping away everything but happiness from his mind.
“Afraid you’re not going mad -– not that you ever were, Archie!” Stanley replied, smiling. “This time we’re both dead!”
***
New Year’s Day 1939
Stanley and Archie were sitting beside the glowing fireplace in the red reception room at RoYds.
“It's all about balance,” said Stanley. “There are those on the dark side who also desire the continuance of light. It is why the world of the Living is so attractive to them in the first place.”
“I see,” muttered Archie caressing his chin. “So who or what causes the problem?”
“There have always been those who wish for total darkness, not only in their own realm but also in that of the Living. They whisper dark words and thoughts. Poison and plague so that only darkness can be seen everywhere and in everything. We do our bit to ensure that the balance is maintained and in return hope that our actions will be... placed on account.”
“I see,” repeated Archie, his hand still rubbing his chin. “I always hoped that God would be forgiving...”
“Ah, but the crux of the matter is can we forgive ourselves!”
Stanley contemplated his interaction with Archie. Thinking back to the time of his own crossing, he remembered how difficult it was and how hard to accept that there was no going back to the old way of existence.
“Oh, no need to worry about that, old chap!” said Archie gaily. “There never was much of an old life for me, you know. I think that is why I delayed in the first place; I could well imagine what could possibly be waiting for me on the other side of the light, what with my track record!” He laughed nervously. “Then I saw you and my choice was made!”
Stanley laughed lightly. “That’s another thing I meant to tell you, but you will no doubt pick it all up as you go along. We have different abilities on this side. There are those who can read thoughts, others feelings. There are those who can do both and much more besides. It all goes to make life, or perhaps I should say delay, more fun!”
Archie gave a great big belly laugh and reached over to tap his old friend on the shoulder. “Can’t tell you how much I missed you, old pal! Good to have you back!”
“Same here!” replied Stanley before continuing in a more serious tone. “As you would expect there are downsides too. Although we can frequent the world of the Living, walk amongst them and interact as one of them, we cannot return to our old way of life. Apart from extremely rare occasions, we either appear as strangers to the ones we love or not at all.”
“I’m sorry, old chap! That way with Edwardina, was it? Must have been hard...” Archie lowered his eyes. Stanley knew Archie was aware of how deeply his old friend loved his wife.
For a while, both men remained silent and then Stanley announced, “There are others here too, Archie, those you may have only read or dreamed about.”
“Like what?” Archie enquired, sounding fearful.
“Ah! That would be telling,” sighed Stanley. “Tell you what, though. Why don’t you try to read my mind?”
PrevLabels: 1930s, Archie, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| RoYds Part 13 - Bound to the Earth |
Present Day
Lady Mabel Theawicke entered the room in which she had died and looked across to where there had once stood a heavily carved and curtained four poster bed. The view through the stone lintel and leaded windows had changed dramatically over the past three hundred years and yet she could still picture the fields and woods that had once been there.
Sometimes there was nothing at all. At other times, especially when a crisp layer of frost coated the ground and the nights crept in early, there was a part of her that knew she was still capable of giving up her soul to him. Cold, swollen tears fell as she remembered the taste of claret, the scent of lavender, the feel of soft woollen blankets and above all else the rush of his hair through her fingers.
Her thoughts were disturbed by an approaching coach party and their guide tramping through the Hall in their haste to reach the goal of a cream tea and rummage in the souvenir shop. The tale of Heyleigh Hall's Wicked Grey Lady had been attracting visitors for centuries. Lady Mabel considered it ironic that her infamy was enabling the present Lord to keep the property in family hands.
“I thought I might find you here,” Stanley said, clearly considering his words carefully. It occurred to him that Elizabeth and Lady Mabel were alike in some ways.
“Why does Elizabeth remind you of me?” Lady Mabel asked, drawing her attention away from the window.
“You are both such strong women,” Stanley answered without hesitation.
Lady Mabel threw her head back and laughed. The temperature in the room sank rapidly. Stanley knew without doubt that if any member of the Living had been in the room at that moment, their blood would have run cold.
Lady Mabel raised her eyes to boldly meet his. “I never was a victim.”
"Elizabeth has returned," Stanley announced, changing the subject.
“I never doubted she would,” Lady Mabel responded coldly, just as a tour guide and group of tourists entered the room.
“...this is reputedly the room of Lady Mabel Theawicke -– the Wicked Grey Lady of Heyleigh Hall -– who in 1690 made a pact with a disciple of the devil. According to local legend, her soul haunts the Hall and its grounds to this day and is said to be bound to the earth forever. You can see her portrait hanging in the long gallery...”
Stanley found himself recollecting the night Edwardina had entered the light without taking more than a second to acknowledge his presence. He could hardly bear the knowledge that she had chosen to leave him.
Lady Mabel approached him, her full grey skirts sashaying across the oak floor as she did so. “There was nothing to hold her back.”
Labels: Mabel, Present Day, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| RoYds Part 10 - Blossoms in the Dark |
July 1940
Peg was surprised to see the number of people out and about in the early hours of the morning until it struck her that most of them were dead like Hughie and herself. She wondered if she would bump into anyone else she knew.
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Hughie. “It’s not been my experience anyways. It's no coincidence I was at yer home tonight. It’s not like I’ve been hanging around there these past few weeks. I knew you were going to bite the bullet.” He couldn’t resist a gentle snigger at his own pun. “I was doing someone a favour by being there when it happened.”
Peg stopped in her tracks, half her attention taken by Hughie, the other half by a figure partly submerged in the shadowy entrance of the fire station.
“Who?”
“What?” Hughie’s concentration had also been distracted by the figure.
“Who asked you to be there? Was it my mum?” Peg asked eagerly.
“Nay, it was Lady Mabel.”
“...Lady Mabel?“
“Yeah.” Hughie took hold of Peg’s elbow and steered her past the fire station. “She's helped me a few times since I delayed. Let’s go to the cemetery. It’s always very pleasant there in the wee small hours.”
He steered their way to a wooden bench under a cherry blossom tree and they sat down together. “I’ve always thought blossom smells best in the dark,” said Hughie, taking hold of a bough above his head and pulling it down to savour. “Champion, eh?”
Peg smiled in return. “It’s lovely, Hughie. Now, tell me more about Lady Mabel.”
***
Stanley Thomas Birch shuffled the papers on his desk and took a deep breath before running his fingers through his coarse hair and lighting a cigarette. There was a light knock on the door and his associate, Wilfred, entered the room with a cheery smile and a tray of hot tea and biscuits.
“Thought you might be in need of these," he said, putting the tray down and making his way back towards the open door.
“Perfect timing,” Stanley declared as the door handle clicked back into place.
Although he had never been able to read Wilfred's mind fully, Wilfred always had a good idea what was on his. If only he could see deeper into the mind of Billy Lawrence. There was only one thing he knew for certain at this point, the soul of Lawrence had been a fatality even before the unfortunate shot had been fired.
Stanley’s fingers repeated his earlier actions, shuffling papers and combing through his hair, pondering the situation. It might be possible to save Lawrence from the hangman. Thankfully, there were a couple of witnesses whose evidence would help to support a defence and he was certain that he would be able to provoke an unsavoury response from at least one of the prosecution witnesses.
His train of thought was suddenly derailed by a firm knock followed closely by Wilfred carrying his overcoat and a black umbrella.
“Time to leave for your meeting, sir. It’s getting late.”
“Thank you, Wilfred. What would I do without you?” Stanley asked with a grateful smile as he buttoned up his coat. His thoughts once again turned to the case at hand and he wondered idly if any of the Living were concerned about the welfare of Billy Lawrence. Somehow he doubted it.
***
Billy gasped for air. The roaring planes had returned, their machine guns blazing and cracking. He wanted to cover his ears and block it all out but he needed to keep one hand on the piece of debris that was keeping him afloat and the other free to ward off the desperate hands reaching out and clutching at him.
Incendiaries fell like bats diving from the sky and he realised the enemy was trying to set fire to the thick oil blanket covering the surface of the sea as far as the eye could see. Mesmerised, Billy stared ahead to where a crest of bodies had gathered and were performing a macabre dance in the waves. He clung desperately to the debris and then recoiled in horror as he realised he was clutching Charlie’s corpse.
Demons screamed at him from all directions.
You’re going to hell, Lawrence!
“I’m already bloody there!” he screamed back.
Suddenly everything went dark. Something was crawling on top of him, smothering him with its weight, pushing him under the surface of the freezing water. A silent scream erupted as he clawed frantically to free himself.
Sitting up with a start, Billy scanned the shadows of his cell and realised he had been dreaming.
Labels: 1940s, Billy, Peg, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| RoYds Part 4 - Ribbons of Red |
November 1917
He loved the ribbons of red in her hair, especially when the sun forged them into a halo of flame. The sun had been shining the first time he saw her, the moment captured in his mind so clearly that he could recall it as though it were happening still. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of that day and hearing the soft breeze rustling through the trees above.
Edwardina was sitting on a ledge of granite, her feet dangling down towards the burbling water below and cloaked by a retinue of greenery cast by the shadows from the overhanging trees. When she raised her eyes to meet his, the green soul looking out from within them seared him to the core. One moment had changed his life completely.
The sleeping figure beside him rolled over and threw her arm across his chest, nestling her face in the crook of his arm. Her face was damp from the tears she had shed and those waiting to be released. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead lightly, inhaling tones of Lily of the Valley as he did so.
He thought of the events of the previous day, the visitors, their kind words and offers of help. They were all good people and he knew they would stand by her and help her to get by. There was not one of them who had not suffered some kind of grief.
When they had left and just the two of them remained, he promised her that he would honour what she had demanded of him three years earlier and remain with her as long as he possibly could. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling above. He could not bear to think of it anymore. Maybe one day he would, but for the moment he made an agreement with himself to lock the memory in a box and push it to the very recesses of his mind. He knew she would never get over this.
The woman sleeping beside him woke, walked over to the window and pulled back the lace curtains. Despite it being a cold winter’s day she pulled up the sash window fully and let the frosty morning enter the room.
Stanley sensed the hollow feeling that consumed every inch of her. She was as empty as the abandoned cot and disturbed bed. Her tears flowed freely. She gathered up the woollen blanket from the arm of a chair and sat down next to the window. She let out a slow, frosty breath and then the tears began to flow again. Her body was racked with sobs as the aching in her soul grew. For a moment, Stanley thought she noticed him standing beside her and then she shook her head, apparently remembering that she was the only one left in the house. The feelings that radiated from her began to change from sadness and despair to rage and frustration.
Standing up abruptly and leaning her head out the window, she looked with hatred up into the grey sky and shouted at the top of her pitiful voice, “Can you hear me, Stanley Thomas Birch? I hope to God you can because you and our son are not the only dead members of this family!” Feeling the coldness of her words and the bitterness of the air, Stanley watched as she closed the window and crawled back into the desolate bed.
He reached out and covered her mouth with kisses, tasting the salt in her tears as he did so.
“Yes, I hear you.”
Labels: 1917, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:04 |
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