The Wisp, Chapter Three, Part Three, Fiction, Reading, Photography, Digital Art, and Blog

The Wisp

(Scroll down for the blog and reading)

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Colin read from his phone.

“There isn’t any hits for Clâvigen. In French, Claviger means keeper of keys. No wait … there’s a tech company using the name … but that’s it.” He turned off the screen and thought. “Why don’t we look at our cast of characters? We got Nelson Sedgewick, the diary author, this Wisp being, and some creature that looks just like Bara but without eyes.”

“I think the Wisp wanted me to find the diary and the evil me, well maybe she didn’t, or maybe she was only a nightmare. But I’m almost certain the Wisp was real. I could smell her and everything. Dreams aren’t usually scratch and sniff.” Bara hadn’t told Colin about the dark-haired boy.

Amy had sensed her reasoning and obligingly said nothing. Colin would have teased the stuffing out of her if she’d told him some mysterious boy—a boy she’d never met—visited her dreams on a nightly basis. Besides, she wasn’t certain the dark-haired boy had anything to do with what was happening now. She’d been dreaming about him for a long time. So for the time being, she kept his nonexistence a secret.

“Let me take another look at the diary,” Colin said.

He held out his hand. Bara passed it over. He opened it and read aloud.

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Guenevere arrived in Windfall, dressed in dusty rose velvet, a feather waving from her felt hat. Her hair was truly golden, her eyes the deepest blue. I fell instantly and hopelessly in love with a woman I had only ever glimpsed in passing. Some said she had been born in Europe, orphaned as a baby and then raised by nuns until coming into her inheritance. Less generous gossips suggested her wealth had come from shadier sources. Even then there were whispers of witchcraft. I shut my ears to this kind of talk.

Guenevere was alone and I told myself in need of my protection. I was confident she would adore me in return. Wooing women was my greatest talent. Alas courting her wouldn’t prove easy. She moved into a cottage deep in the wood, surrounded by a hedge maze. She obviously wanted to be left alone. Such was my arrogance I didn’t include myself among those she wished to avoid.

Guenevere may have wanted a quiet life but neither I—nor the Slip spirits—would grant her wish. I told myself if she were but to meet me …

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Colin paused. A look of alarm overwhelmed his face.

“Why did you stop?” Bara asked.

“Shh … someone’s coming!”

Barely heard footsteps approached in the hall. The lightness of foot and the time in between steps suggested that whoever it was, he or she didn’t want to be heard … a footstep and then silence … a footstep … then silence. But the wooden boards of the dorms were telling, betraying the stalker with every creaking step. Slip Spirits? No, not spirits, but no less terrifying.

“Ladies!” A shrill English accent carried down the hall, piercing through the closed door.

“It’s Den Mother!”

Having announced herself at full volume, Den Mother gave up any further attempt at stealth. Her footfalls were now as heavy as a linebacker on eggshells, and they were coming fast. Amy threw Colin’s bag at him. Bara pushed him to move.

“You have to get gone—now.”

He sprang to his feet with the diary still in hand and headed for the window. No one thought his escape route too dangerous. They were on the second floor, not an impossible jump, or climb for that matter. It was how he’d gained access to the room in the first place. Colin was at the open window. He had one foot out. Bara pointed at the diary.

“Leave that here.”

“Right. Let me know how it ends.”

He tossed it to her. She slid it under her bed.

“Lights out, ladies!”

Den Mother was doing bed checks. Doors were heard opening and closing all along the hall. The doorknob to their room rattled but didn’t open. Amy had locked it.

“Bara!” came Den Mother’s sharp tones. “You open this door instantly!”

“Coming, Den Mother!”

Den Mother had a name. No one used it. Keys rattled. In seconds, she’d be in the room. Colin disappeared from the window frame just as the knob turned.

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The door flew open and an enormous shadow fell across the room. With her heavily muscled hands on her broad sturdy hips, Den Mother did a thorough job of filling the doorway. She had the physique of a tank and was as well-armed. Only the extraordinarily simple or suicidal ever crossed her. “Are you girls alone?” she asked Bara pointedly.

Den Mother didn’t like Bara. She liked few of the students at St. Catherine’s—spoiled princesses, she thought—but this one she held in special disdain. Bara was far too headstrong for her own good or for Den Mother’s comfort.

“Yes, Den Mother,” Bara answered with her best imitation of meekness.

“I thought I heard a third voice … a boy’s voice.”

“That’s impossible,” Bara returned.

“I know what I heard.”

Den Mother took a step into the room and peered around. Bara looked at Amy. Amy looked as guilty as one could look. It would be up to Bara. She thought up a lie, quick.

“We were practicing,” she offered.

One heavy eyebrow lifted. “Practicing?” Den Mother echoed.
“What were you practicing?”

She bore her gaze into Amy—the weak link. Amy remained silent. She looked down, refusing to meet Den Mother's stare. Bara rolled her eyes and handed over the Shakespeare.

Den Mother read from the page. “Macbeth?”

Macbeth it is. Bara’s mind continued to race to make the lie more believable. “Amy was playing the three witches. I was Macbeth and Banquo. So fair and foul a day I have not seen” she said in a grasped-for-baritone.

Den mother studied her.

“Impressive performance, Miss Cavanagh.”

She wasn’t buying it. Her narrow eyes focused on the open window. She crossed the room and looked out. Thankfully, Colin had completed his escape and disappeared from view.

“Why in this weather would you have the window open?” Den Mother demanded.

“To add mood to the scene.” Bara quoted from Macbeth once again, “When shall we three meet again … in lightning, thunder, and rain.”

“The weather certainly is helping with your studies, now isn’t it?” Den Mother replied ironically. “Still, let’s keep nature outside where it belongs.” She closed the window with more force than necessary. She’d no way of proving her suspicion and so had to let it go but knew—as sure as raccoons like to eat garbage by the pale light of the moon—she’d been deceived. She vowed to keep a closer eye on this little snippet.

“Lights out in five minutes and I’ll be back to check.”

Den Mother glared once more and exited the room. Amy and Bara knew she’d be true to her word. The old bag was likely listening from the hall. Amy jumped up and closed the door, but a closed door was little defence against her prying. Best to do as directed and go to bed. Further reading of the diary would have to wait. Bara slipped it out from under the bed and placed it in the top drawer of her desk. She locked the desk and placed the key under her pillow. Then she and Amy got ready for bed. Five minutes later, Den Mother opened the door. The room was dark. Amy and Bara were deep under the covers, feigning sleep, fooling no one. “Hmmphf!” Den Mother sniffed like she smelled something rotten and closed the door again.

Reading

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Today we meet Den Mother. She is meant to be the parental unit for the girls in their home away from home, to supply both authority and comfort. The authority part she has covered. Alas Den Mother has yet to learn that respect and affection is the most efficient and effective way to keep order and peace and instead she uses intimidation and espionage ... such as it is. At bullying she's pit bull; at stealth she is no cat.

(a little Taoist Philosophy)

So why do both Amy and Bara choose to live in the dorms? Their families both reside in Windfall. Don't the combination of the Pops and Den Mother make it just a little too undesirable.

Well, we will learn a little more about Amy's home life as the story progresses and for Bara ... there's Amy and a very unusual phenomenon for children. They crave knowing that the adults have things under control; they crave adult attention. And Den Mother with her sloppy and at times mean-spirited attention is better than inattention and/or absolutely no boundaries, even if those boundaries are going to be pushed and exceeded.

We need conflict for narrative. Keep that in mind the next time you start some. Do you really have a problem or are you looking to create narrative? Because with just about every problem where the action isn't obvious, time and patience, maybe a little listening, have a tendency to solve it.

But not in a world of narrative. In the world of narrative ... it's bring on the action.

Bara settles to bed but certainly not to rest.

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Words and Images are my own.

The Wisp, and its sequel, the Tall Man is available in paperback or digital through amazon and your local libraries and bookstores. Click on any title below to further explore and support my writing.


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