The Wisp
One look around and her mood instantly improved. Everything was alive with wind and color. The air smelled of trees—damp but fresh. A falling leaf settled on her shoulder and worries fled. She paused long enough to wrap her scarf around her neck and made her way across St. Cat’s wooded lawn.
(Listen if you prefer; commentary follows)
Windfall was surrounded by forest on three sides, with the ocean on the fourth, and it wasn’t hard to see how the town had gotten its name. She turned onto Windfall Boulevard to find leaves falling as thick as snow on a winter’s day. The oaks that lined the street were hundreds of years old. Rather than reaching for sunlight, lower branches grew earthward. Selfless limbs braced ancient giants against toppling under their own weight.
At one end of the Boulevard was the School District, where both St. Cat and St. X could be found, and not too far off, Windfall High. The boulevard led to Library Square—the heart of the town. Several streets fed off the square. Maple Avenue ran north and through a couple of middle-class neighborhoods. The home Bara sometimes shared with her mother was at the end of the avenue in the Garden District. Anything but middle-class, the Garden District had some of the largest homes in North America.
Just past Library Square and along the east end of Windfall Boulevard was a heavily wooded park, a forest really, and then finally the Grande Oaks District. This was where her father and his new wife, Courtney, lived. South of the square was the Business District and further south a rundown area known as the Tracks. Amy’s family lived there. She attended St. Cat on scholarship and so roomed with Bara in the dorms.
Before reaching Library Square, Bara veered off the boulevard and cut across a small park with a fountain—a shortcut. A chestnut fell from the sky and collided with her foot. She watched it skid to a stop at the base of its parent tree. Just then her coat pocket vibrated. She paused under the shade of the tree and took out her phone. Colin had sent a text.
Help! They’re either trying to poison or starve us. Save me! Send food.
Colin was forever complaining about the meals at St. X. Day-old cat food, he called it, spiced with kitty litter. Bara often brought him treats from St. Cat’s dining hall. I’ll see what I can do, she texted back and continued on her way.
She left the park and crossed Main Mall, a street of banks and a market. A rounded corner found the south entrance to Windfall Way. It was one of the town’s original streets and wasn’t much wider than a lane of traffic. Four hundred years ago this worked just fine for horse and carriage, but today’s large SUV’s would have taken out the potted plants and store signs hanging out into the way. Now it was pedestrians only.
Antique and curio shops dominated the lane. There were also two restaurants, French and Italian; a flower shop; a bakery; and the Tragic Sip Café, where without a doubt, they served the best coffee and croissants on the planet.
Windfall stopped way passed too-much when decorating for seasons and holidays. Strings of fall leaves and pumpkins filled every window. There were even a few black cats, skeletons, and other left-over Halloween ornaments. Bara smiled at the festive air and made her way down the cobbles and to the Tragic Sip.
The Goths were already at the café. They occupied two patio tables. For these girls, Halloween never ended. Under the bright fall sunlight, their pale faces glowed a healthy—if chalky—pink. They were quivering with excitement, not the usual state of being for this gloomy group. Bara listened in as she passed.
“He’s so gorgeous,” Drusilla, not the name her mother gave her, Barnaby drawled.
Vixen Rose, born Vivian Rothby, challenged back, “I saw him first.”
“Vinally a guy wert even tinking about in tis tupid town,” lisped a purple-haired girl through a false set of vampire teeth.
They were obviously not elocution class approved. Bara fought back a giggle.
“And his accent.” Drusilla chimed in her clear and fangless alto. “One thing for sure. We’re all going to need a lot more coffee.”
“I want a little more than coffee from him,” Vixen countered.
What kind of guy could get the Goths all a flutter? Images of tattoos and rings hanging from each and every orifice came to mind. Bara would see Mr. Dreadfully Wonderful for herself. She headed for the café door but then stopped in her tracks.
Ragman, the strangest resident of Windfall, sat at the table closest to the door. He stared with a smirk, a way-too-familiar smirk. They’d never spoken. Yet he always managed to irk her. He gave her the strangest feeling. The way he dressed didn’t help. His wardrobe consisted of torn pieces of cloth tied together to form a mesh. A little more skin than was decent peaked through. He wore sandals, even in cold weather. A dingy bandana covered his bald head. And it wasn’t just his head that was hairless. Except for his eyebrows, which were exceedingly bushy, he was as smooth as a porpoise. He had to wax. Swallowing her ill-ease, Bara passed Ragman—who never broke his glare—and entered the café.
The air rang with the tinkle of door chimes. Inside was as full as the patio. She looked around, trying to pinpoint the object of the Goth’s affection. Waiting tables was Mona, a thirty-something pretty brunette. Surly Bob staffed the counter. He wasn’t new. Bara scanned the dark wood and purple velvet interior one more time. It was mostly housewives taking a break from shopping and scrawny starving writer types, and absolutely no one capable of lighting a teenage girl’s heart on fire.
Surly Bob noted her standing in the middle of the café. He threw her an impatient glare and asked if she needed any help. The way he emphasized help made her think he meant mental help. Bara had been coming to the café since she’d been old enough to drink coffee. He still treated her like a stranger. She ignored his obvious disdain and ordered two Black Mountain Blends and a couple of croissants. While waiting for her order, she watched the backroom door for a sign of the new guy. It remained closed and any brooding teenage heart-throb hidden within and out-of-sight.
None too swiftly and like he was doing her the greatest of favors, Surly Bob poured the coffees and bagged the pastry. Bara paid and stepped over to the condiment table. She took her time adding cream and cinnamon, maintaining an eye on the backroom door. Chimes rang again. Drusilla came in and sauntered over to the counter. Incidentally, she also watched the backroom door. She hemmed and hawed for what felt like a painfully long time, even to Bara, so to Surly Bob it was truly excruciating.
Finally she said, “I’ll have a chai.”
“A chai what?”
Surly Bob rolled his eyes. Drusilla acted confused.
Letting out enough air to inflate a balloon, Surly Bob sighed, “A chai tea? A chai latte? A chai muffin? What do you want? We gotta a lot of chai.”
Drusilla pursed her mouth and put one hand on a hip. She’d had this planned.
“Then why don’t you chai being nicer, dude?”
Apparently no longer thirsty, she turned on her heels and flounced out of the café. Surly Bob’s face … priceless. Bara fought not to laugh. She couldn’t help smiling. He shot her another glare. Time to go. She took one last look at the backroom door. No dark teenage god appeared. She shrugged and went back out into the bright sunshine. The patio was empty. Both the Goths and Ragman were gone. Bara took a left and walked north, heading toward the tall clock tower looming ahead.
In the late afternoon sun, Windfall Library threw an imposing shadow across the cobbles. Constructed more than a century ago, with its marble columns and stone lions, its Main Hall inspired awe. Two stucco wings built decades later weren’t as awe-inspiring. Stucco hadn’t aged nearly as well as stone. The wings hung off the middle like two unsightly love handles. These were the stacks. Inside they were dusty and at times smelled a little rank, but it was where Amy and Bara always studied. There they’d be left alone.
The clock tower chimed as Bara climbed the stone steps. After taking a moment to hide the coffees, she pushed open the glass doors and passed through the entryway and under the portrait of Nelson Sedgewick. A Wall Street tycoon, Sedgewick had left his money to the library. His hair was on the brighter side of red, but he’d been attractive enough. There was a kind look in his warm brown eyes. He continued to watch over his beloved library even after death. Ms. Korey eyed Bara up as she walked by the checkout. Bara smiled back guiltily. It wasn’t just the coffee contraband. Ms. Korey made her nervous. Despite her petite frame, the librarian was as intimidating as a Rottweiler.
Bara entered the west wing. She found a rickety old staircase and descended creaky metal rungs. Another reason she liked the stacks: they ran deep. Underneath the three above-ground floors were still another two levels—a cellar of knowledge and fantasy. She reached the lowest floor. Somewhere down here she and Amy would find each other. They hadn’t said exactly where they’d meet. They didn’t need to. Bara headed for the far west corner—their usual spot.
Brynndalin watched Bara leave St. Catherine’s and walk down Windfall Boulevard. Her gaze didn’t flicker when Bara cut across the park with the chestnut trees. Patiently, she waited outside the café. She didn’t dare go inside for fear she’d be discovered by even more powerful eyes. She followed Bara across the square and watched her enter the library. Unseen by all, she pushed through the glass doors and pursued down into the stacks.
She had a plan, a plan for Bara. The air shook with the power of her dark intent. The eternal wait was all but over.
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Commentary
We saw with the last segments that Bara's life although privileged, also has its discomforts and cruelties, nightmares too. She is beautiful and wealthy, but her sleep is haunted by unknown spectres and dream demons, visited by handsome, dark-haired boys who just also happen to be great kissers. In the waking world, she is bullied and alienated but against the backdrop of the picturesque and charming town of Windfall.
I drew from my Alma Mater campus of the University of British Columbia for inspiration when creating Windfall. Visit UBC and recognize Main Library and its clock tower. The campus' plentiful and ancient trees gift the full splendour of Autumn. I wanted to color the horror of the Wisp with fantastical beauty, to contrast its terror with the ideal, to scare yes ... but also to create a world the reader looks forward to inhabiting.
And what's the world without coffee and colorful neighbors. Our cast of characters expand as Bara takes us on a walking tour through Windfall to arrive at the Tragic Sip Café, its moniker an allusion to my favorite Canadian Band and its frontman, the late Gordon Downie, one of the most gifted poets to ever come out of my country. I honor my inspirations and find more.
I hope this chapter leaves the reader feeling she is a resident of Windfall and with just the right questions: who is this mysterious boy the Goths are so enamored with and who is watching Bara without being seen. What will she find in the library as the reader turns the next page.
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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.
