Tags
Drawings by Charles Robbins
29 Saturday Oct 2011
Posted Charles Robbiins
in29 Saturday Oct 2011
Posted Charles Robbiins
inTags
22 Saturday Oct 2011
Posted Shaylinda Danvers
inTags
The road ahead of us was littered with fallen leaves that were shaken from their homes atop the branches of the towering Redwoods. The ancient beings swayed somberly, dancing with each other on either side of the winding road. Red and yellow leaves stuck to the windshield and fluttered through the window as they fell from above. Leaves crunched softly under the car’s tires. Bright Honeysuckle flowers mingled in the undergrowth under a canopy of leaves and thick roots. Their pungent smell permeated the chilled autumn air. The dense forest thinned as we approached the gate to the main house. Excitement filled me; I hadn’t been to this place in a long while. Creaking open slowly to reveal the main house, the cast iron gate parted the family’s crest down its center. Little did I know the place I once called home would be a place of nightmares on this particular visit.
The soft crunch of the leaves disappeared and faded into loud popping and crashing as the car rode over the pebbles of the drive way. It didn’t matter how many times I’d seen this place, its splendor always managed to steal my breath away. The house in which I was born was a remnant of an old castle melded with bits of antebellum American architecture. Tall river stone columns sat atop thick stone stairs. From outside, the windows of the palace-like home seemed dark and daunting, their gothic arches and darkly stained glass were worthy of the most magnificent old church. Finally able to leave the car, I ran to the front doors and just stared at them. Made of thick oak, the hand carved masterpieces were priceless. They told the stories of our family. From top to bottom they were covered in depictions of scenes that had shaped my family’s history. Pushing the old, silver skeleton key into the lock, my Grandmother and I pushed open the heavy doors.
The inside of the house was just as magnificent as the outside suggested. Directly in front of the doors sat a grand staircase fitted with thick cherry marble banisters. A chandelier dangled above the foyer and tinkled as a gust of wind pushed past me into the home. The mix of elegance and grandeur played well in the home. Large portraits and painted statues covered walls and sat atop pedestals while thick carpets covered most of the floor. A fire place was in nearly every room as were mini crystal chandeliers. As I walked to my room, bags in hand, I passed the one room I never allowed myself to enter, Grandmother’s Dollhouse. Inside laid the bane of my existence. Multiple rows of porcelain dolls sat on shelves in a room with a wall of windows. Their lifeless, glass eyes terrified me the one time I allowed her to take me in there. I always ran past the room because the thought of those hundreds of painted smiles made my heart skip a beat.
My first day back in the house in two years proved to be very eventful. After arriving in the early morning Grandmother and I collected, prepared and ate a farm fresh breakfast. Fresh biscuits with strawberry jam and rich butter, bacon and sausage links, hash browns, fresh fruit and the most important part of our meal, homemade hot cocoa. After breakfast we visited the horses in their stables. I saw my babies, Dash, Midnight, Arrow, and Zana. We let them out and they played excitedly with Grandmother’s horses, Brit, Cass, Max, and Pugsley. Later, we made chocolate candies that would be delivered to Grandmother’s shop in the morning. She liked to make all special orders and important pieces in her kitchen. She said it made them more special. After a long day filled with horses, chocolate and visits to the lake we decided to head back to the house because of a storm that brewed overhead.
I said goodnight to Grandmother and headed to my room. I enjoyed the thought of lying in my enormous cherry oak, four poster bed. I was happy to find that my previous canopy had been changed from velvet curtains to sheer black ones. Floor to ceiling windows were treated with long, purple, velvet curtains. A plush, deep purple couch sat in front of my marble fire place. Reveling in the beauty of my room was interrupted by a loud crack of thunder and bright sheets of lightning. I decided it was time to shower and get off to bed.
Rain fell freely and drowned out the sound of my nervous humming. Preparing to lie down I sifted through the many chemise like gowns in my wardrobe. Passed down from previous generations, my Grandmother refused to throw away things she considered to be heirlooms and these things included clothes. I chose to dress in one of the shorter, silken gowns. It flowed nicely and felt like magic on my skin. Happy that Grandmother had finally invested in some modern technology I turned on one of the few televisions in the entire house. Soon after, it went out, as did all the power in the old house. Frightened by the thunderstorm, I opted to go to my Grandmother’s room. I moved swiftly down the hall to the set of stairs that separated my floor form hers. The once beautiful portraits seemed menacing and ominous and every doorway hid dark passengers in their shadowy frames. Thinking I had reached my Grandmother’s room I pushed open the doors. Just as the doors opened, lightening flashed and I saw a sight that made my heart stop completely. Not only had I gone to the wrong room; the room I entered was the Dollhouse. Glazed, lifeless eyes stared back at me and malignant smiles sent shivers down my spine. A loud noise invaded my ears and it took a few seconds for me to realize the noise was my own scream stabbing through the darkness. Once I regained feeling in my terror numbed legs I ran for Grandmothers room. Safe in her arms, she told me everything was okay and soothed the fear that hazed my mind. The rest of my night was spent in her room as I awaited the end of the storm.
22 Saturday Oct 2011
Posted Shaylinda Danvers
inTags
“I am confident that there truly is such a thing as living again, that the living spring from the dead, and that the souls of the dead are in existence.”
– Socrates
Raven colored coat shimmering blue-black and purple in the moonlight, greenish-gold eyes glowing, and standing at her full height of five feet, the timber wolf stared questioningly at me. She seemed to wonder what I was and where I had come from. Slowly, she moved closer, her paws left a trail in the soft winter snow. Without a sound, she crossed the clearing and studied me up close. Moving in a wide circle, the wolf sniffed the air around me before stopping in front of me and cocking her head. She sensed I was no threat and simply remained curious. I slowly reached out my hand with my palm turned to the sky and looked her directly in the eyes. I tried to mentally convince her that I was of no danger to her. Once again, she moved. This time she came even closer and sniffed at my hand before nuzzling it with her head. To not scare her, I sat down in the snow; she towered over me. Not too sure of what I was doing she hesitantly lowered herself to the snow covered ground and laid in front of me. Gingerly, I began to pet her. She never tried to attack me and she stayed for a while, until her cubs appeared in the distance on the other side of the clearing. She stood and barked at me once. I took it as a goodbye. I waved my fingers and she licked my face before turning and prancing over to her cubs. The wolf looked back at me before disappearing with her cubs into the darkness of the forest. In my next life, I want to come back as a timber wolf.
In a world of see and feel to believe, the thought of reincarnation, or any supernatural phenomenon, is heavily denounced.