A Light Through the Darkness

Friday, December 9

Lily normally enjoyed school, but today, the clock seemed to move at half-speed all day. She spent most of her afternoon staring out the window, watching the wind blow the swings and hearing the whisper of the promise of freedom. The weekend seemed so far away.

Finally, however, the last bell rang, releasing her from the school for two whole days, and Lily raced out to meet Jack, Schrodinger, Kaylee, and Gideon, who were waiting with Pavel to take them all to his house.

And his grandmother.

Even though they had only met Brynna last year, when she and her daughter were reunited with her grandson after his grandfather’s death, Kaylee and Lily had come to adore the feisty sea captain, who still traveled with her own ship when she wasn’t out with Pavel. Her husband Paul lived in the Cove now; he and Ella, Pavel’s mother, kept the large house the two captains had bought while Pavel and Brynna wandered the Realms using the Sea Roads. To hear that she’d come home in time for Christmas had been a wonderful gift, especially since Brynna had promised that perhaps in the summer, Lily and Zoey could travel with her. Without Kaylee.

“Pavel, did you get the castle?” she asked as she joined them.

“Of course I did,” the pirate responded, not looking offended at her question. “How could I forget it, since Molly and Schrodinger had it waiting for me?” He waved his hand at the sleigh, which had a large box lashed tightly to the back. The reinforced black box was more than big enough to keep the castle safe. “Mother and Brynna can’t wait to see it.”

They all piled into the sleigh, and his driver shook the reins, sending the horses off with a smart slap on their withers. The house that Pavel had bought was down by the waterfront, of course, and this was Gideon’s first trip to the harbor portion of Carter’s Cove. Kaylee, Jack, and Schrodinger were telling him all about the ships, and Pavel’s ship, and Lily couldn’t help but remember the first advent calendar, when they were introducing Zoey to the Cove. That seems to be the theme, she thought. Someone new comes to the Cove, and we show them the magic. I just wish Zoey was here to help us.

Then again, next year, think of the fun we will have! And I can tell her that tonight, when I write in my journal. She touched the spot in her bag where her little notebook sat. She and Zoey had decided to do a second Christmas Day in February, when they were reunited, and Lily knew what she was going to give her friend. The notebook, of course. That way, Zoey will still have a Carter’s Cove Christmas.

She caught Schrodinger looking at her strangely, and smiled at him.

Are you okay? He nosed her a little. You’re thinking very hard.

I’m good, she assured him. Just trying to remember it all for Zoey.

Is she having fun in Pennsylvania?

Yes, but she misses everyone. Lily sighed. She says there’s not really magic there.

Tell her to look harder. There’s magic everywhere.

And then they were pulling into the driveway in front of Pavel’s grand house. It was one of the old captain’s houses that had survived nearly two centuries of winter storms on the Maine coast: built of solid stone, complete with a widow’s walk at the top, where countless captain’s wives had waited for their husbands to return from their voyages. This particular house had a large front porch, where Ella and Paul had put out rocking chairs and several small tables. This past summer, Lily, Kaylee, and Zoey had spent countless days there, playing checkers with Paul and helping Ella string peas from the garden behind the house. Next to her own grandparents’ house, it was one of Lily’s favorite places.

Now, there was a light dusting of snow on the front porch, and no one was sitting in the rocking chairs. But as they all piled out of the sled, the front door opened, and there was Ella, all smiles in her green and yellow striped apron, her dark hair (streaked with silver strands that glistened in the sunlight) wrapped in braids around her head. “My darlings!” she cried, opening her arms wide as they piled out. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“Grandma Ella!” Kaylee shouted gleefully as she ran over to her. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Kaylee!” Ella told her, snuggling the little girl close. “Are you ready to help us decorate today?”

“Yes!” Kaylee said, and then reached out and grabbed Gideon’s hand. “This is my friend Gideon! It’s his first Christmas in the Cove, and he’s helping us with the Advent calendar!”

“Hello, Gideon, nice to meet you,” Ella said, offering him a hand. He shook it solemnly, and then smiled at her when she smiled at him. “Are you having fun this year?”

“Oh yes!” he said, nodding. “This has been the best Christmas, and it isn’t even Christmas Eve yet!”

Ella started to answer, and then she caught sight of the castle as Pavel lifted it out of the locked box at the back of the sleigh.

Isn’t it amazing? Schrodinger said, sitting on the porch. His mental voice was just a bit smug.

“Yes,” Ella said. “The Snow Queen’s magic never fails to amaze me.” She stood up and moved everyone to the side, so that her son could take the castle into the house. The others followed him, shedding their coats in the hallway before they joined him in the living room.

He set the structure on the low table in the middle of the room, and they all clustered around it. “There are windows, and the numbers are by the windows,” Lily said, as they started looking for the little number 9. “When we find the right one, the window opens and shows us a scene.”

“How wonderful,” Ella said, and looked up as her mother and stepfather came in from the kitchen. Lily had smelled something spicy and sweet as she’d come in, and more of the same smells came wafting in with Brynna and Paul.

It was easy to see that Ella was Brynna’s daughter, even though Brynna’s hair was now solid grey, and the weather lines on her face were deeper. But they shared the same smile (Pavel’s smile, Lily realized, although it was one of the few physical features he had inherited from the women in his family), and radiated the same calm certainty. If ever there were people who were rocks in her world, Lily thought, these women were two of them.

Paul was taller than Brynna, but just as weather-worn; fitting, since he had been her first mate for years before he’d decided to retire. Now, he was happiest keeping house, and since he and Brynna had sold their cottage and moved to Carter’s Cove, he had fit into the community well, using the skills he’d mastered on board the ship as a carpenter to make some of the finest furniture Lily had ever seen.

“Brynna! Paul! Come help us find the 9!” Kaylee said, waving them over.

“Wow, look at this!” Brynna said, coming and kneeling down next to Lily, who moved to make room for her. “Did this truly come from the Snow Queen?”

“And Jack Frost,” Lily said, nodding. “It’s their castle.”

And there’s the nine! Schrodinger said triumphantly, stabbing a paw out. Right here!

It had been hiding on the very front of the castle gate, in a small window above the gate. He touched one claw to it, and the window opened.

It was a small, narrow room, as befitting a small, narrow window. Inside, there was piles and piles of greenery, and Lily could almost smell the piney aroma rising from them. In the midst of the greens were two small people, gnomes perhaps, who were busy braiding the boughs together into a long, massive plait. The braid was being fed out of another window, and through the open window, they could see others hanging the completed garland around the inner courtyard.

There were pine needles everywhere as the gnomes worked, and one of them sailed out of the window and into Pavel’s living room. It transformed into a long curl of ribbon with green writing on it and landed on the table next to the castle.

Decorations are the spice of life. Make someone smile today! Schrodinger read.

“Well, having you here and letting me spoil you all makes me smile,” Ella said. “And the fact that you’re going to help make this house decorated for Christmas is even better!”

“What are we doing?” Lily asked her. “Did you bring ornaments from your old home?”

“Some,” Ella said, and sighed. Then she brightened. “But Paul and Mother brought some too, and we’ve gotten more here. So we have plenty!”

“Indeed,” Paul said. “Pavel and I are going to bring them down now, and you guys can help the ladies decide where everything is going.” He winked at them. “There’s even a garland, although not quite as elaborate as the Snow Queen’s.”

“Not yet, anyways,” Brynna said. “Wait until we’re done.” She looked at her husband. “Bring that box down first, and we can get working on that, while you bring the other ones down.”

“It’s going on the porch, right?” he said. “Why don’t I bring it out there, and you can be decorating it while it’s up?”

She gave him a smile. “And this is why you made such a good first mate. Are you sure you won’t come back out on the ship with me next time?”

“Sorry, dearest, but if I did that, who would make the furniture I’ve been commissioned to do?” He kissed her lightly on the cheek and then he and Pavel went out of the room.

Brynna laughed and looked at the rest of them. “Okay, if we’re decorating outside first, we’ll need to stay warm! Let’s get our coats and everything back on, and we can decide how this garland will go.”

The box that Paul and Pavel brought out was huge, and Lily’s eyes weren’t the only ones that widened. It was actually a massive sea chest, and as Brynna threw the lid back, the combined smells of pine and salt wafted up into the cold air. Inside, coiled like a giant snake of green, was a braided garland.

“What is it?” Gideon asked.

“It’s the garland that Paul and I put together when we were first married,” Brynna told them. “There was a wise woman on our ship who married us, and she cast a spell that as long as we were together, the garland would never fade. It’s an integral part of our decorations. I’m happy that it will finally have a home here.”

“What do you mean?” Lily asked her. “Didn’t it have a home before?”

She saw Brynna start to say something, and then the older woman paused, looked at Schrodinger, and then smiled down at Lily.  “Of course it did,” she said. “But now, it’s a permanent home. Paul and I aren’t going to live anywhere but the Cove.”

Somehow, Lily knew that wasn’t what she had been going to say, and wondered what Brynna had been about to tell her. She looked at Schrodinger, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. What aren’t you telling us?

He didn’t answer her, which meant he was keeping secrets. Again. But what kind of secrets was he keeping around Christmas? That was a mystery that she found herself really wanting to figure out.

“So how do you want to do this, Mother?” Ella asked, pulling Lily’s attention back to the present.

Brynna was surveying the porch, looking at the area and then back to the garland, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. “Well, I think honestly, I want to wrap it around the railings,” she said finally. “We can run it from one end to the other, and have Pavel and Paul help up put it up around the entrance. And that way, we can show off the bows that I have to go on it.”

So that’s what they did. The garland was not as heavy as Lily had originally suspected – most of the weight was in the trunk itself, which Brynna told them was enchanted as well, to protect the garland from the sea when it was on the ship. Paul came out with a short ladder, and carefully hung the greenery up and over the entrance.

Underneath the garland was a small sailcloth bag. Brynna opened it and pulled out some stunning bows that she handed to the children to attach at intervals along the garland. Lily fingered the one she was handed, feeling the silky softness of the ribbon and marveling at the colors. The bows were in watercolor shades of blue and green and white, shot through with silver and gold threads. “Where did you get these?” she asked Brynna, as she used the small copper wire on the back to affix the bow to the railing.

“The wise woman who married us gave me the ribbons, and my cook made the bows,” Brynna told her. “Aren’t they lovely?”

Stunning, Schrodinger agreed. But there’s more needed. He backed up and looked at the front porch. Lights, I think.

“Lights? Like these?” Paul asked, coming out with an armful of what looked like ship’s lanterns. These particular lanterns, however, had blue and green glass in them, instead of clear ones, and were small, barely the size of a can of soda.

Perfect! The CrossCat agreed.

Once the lights had been set at intervals along the edge of the porch, and Paul had showed them how to turn them on (they were an ingenious little magical gadget, with a crystal inside that glowed when you blew on it), Lily had to agree that the unorthodox decorations made the front of the house look amazing in the setting sun. Once the front yard was dark, it would look spectacular.

“The rest of the decorations are in the living room,” Paul said, ushering them back inside. “But first, I think the stew is ready!”

Is that what I’m smelling? Jack asked eagerly. Stew?

“Indeed,” Paul said, beaming. “It’s a fish stew from my native lands. I hope you like it!”

<><>

May I join you?

The voice was low, not threatening, but Caliban recognized it immediately, even before he looked up and saw the emerald green eyes of the Librarian looking calmly at him. The great CrossCat stood in front of him as he sat on a bench, not moving to jump up next to him until he nodded.

You’ve been doing some walking, she noted, picking up one paw and washing it delicately. And some thinking?

“Yes,” he said, not bothering to reply mentally. The park was empty except for them, not surprising, considering it was snowing rather heavily at the moment. He still had no idea what Realm he was in, and found he didn’t much care. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

About?

“What I want,” he said, stretching out his legs and looking at his boots. “And where I want to go.” He pulled the little brown leaf with its edging of silver frost on it from his coat pocket and regarded it. “And if I want to deal with this.”

What do you mean?

“Well, it’s obvious who sent it,” Caliban said, tracing the edge of the leaf with one gloved fingertip. Even after several days in his pocket, it hadn’t crumbled or melted, proof of its magical origin. “But I can’t figure out why he or she would want to see me. Unless it’s to hand me back to my father.”

The Librarian stopped her washing and looked squarely at him. And is that the only reason you can think of?

“At the moment,” he said, returning the leaf to his pocket. “I might think of more later.”

What if I told you I knew who sent it?

Caliban considered that for a moment, watching the snow fall through the trees that surrounded the park, falling in and melting in the little stream that still burbled merrily over ice-coated rocks. “Who else would, though?” he asked her. “What point would there be?”

Perhaps someone wanted to point out to you that there are other things in life other than power, she said. Things like friendship, love, happiness. She paused, and added, Change.

He pulled the leaf out again and looked at it, wondering how much Jack Frost had had to change in order to win the Snow Queen’s heart.

He thought he would have to give up everything he was, the Librarian said, also looking at the leaf. And yet, in the end, he found that having her there made him whole again. Isn’t that what you’ve been looking for? Something to make you whole?

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, looking over at her for the first time. “I thought I did, and when I left Nadine’s, I was sure that I wanted to go and find them, ask them why they were tormenting me by sending this. But then I got out on the Roads, traveling as someone ordinary, and you know, I rather enjoy it.”

Oh?

“No one knows who I am,” he said, leaning back and putting the leaf into his pocket again. “I’ve never really been anywhere where no one knows who I am. It’s always been pomp and ceremony, and people bowing and scraping and plotting against me.” He waved a hand at the empty park. “Caliban the prince could have never stolen a moment like this, with no one in sight, and knowing that there is no one hovering in the background, watching and waiting for me to need something. It’s so…” he paused, looking for the right word.

Refreshing? She suggested, and he nodded.

“Yes. I’m dependent on myself, and the small bit of money in my purse. When that is gone, I shall have to think of something else, but that’s okay.” Caliban shook his head. “You’re the first person who has recognized me since I left Nadine’s.”

She gave him a feline smile. In all honesty, Caliban, I have been watching you since you broke out of your father’s prison.

He wasn’t all that surprised. “Why?”

Because prison wasn’t the right place for you anymore, she said. I realize your father may not agree with me, but that is because he is not objective enough. You’ve been punishing yourself for your brother’s death for years, even if you didn’t let anyone else see. I have seen. She jumped down from the bench and started off, pausing only to look back at him and say, Perhaps whoever sent you that leaf meant for you to start looking forward, instead of back. To look to the future, and what you want to do with your life, rather than living it in the shadow of past misdeeds.

“Can misdeeds like that ever be forgiven, though?” Caliban said wistfully. “Ever?”

Almost everything can be forgiven, the Librarian said. Then she walked off and vanished into the falling snow.

Caliban sat there for a long time, looking out into his past and wondering if that were true.

And what he was going to do next.

>Activity: Put up a garland or wreath and decorate it. Greenery takes all sorts of lovely decorations well!

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.

I wasn’t.  I just got home, after a long day at work, and staring at the computer was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially since I would have had to unpack it and then write.

So I went upstairs instead, fully intending to sleep. But that voice in my head, the one that’s been convinced we could make a living writing since I was a child, said, “250 words. You can do that on your phone.”

So I’m writing. True, it’s a blog post and not fiction, but it’s words before I go to bed. It’s a promise to you and to me that I will get up and clean off enough of the dining room tomorrow that I can leave my laptop set up. I need to treat this like the second job it is or I’ll keep making excuses rather than stories.

And that’s not acceptable any more.

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.

Edited to add: This was supposed to go up on May 21, when I was over at her blog. It’s been a rough week. – Val

Today, while I’m over at her blog posting about how my next book wasn’t supposed to be Molly, Lai Zhao is here! Talking about a demon common to a lot of authors and artists I know, sadly: Depression.

Depression’s Creative Power

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hi, Everyone,

Thank you, Val, for letting me contribute a post here! It’s an honour. 🙂

So, while here I am, she’s over at my blog. 🙂

We both deal with an often-debilitating darkness at every moment: Depression. The darkness affects each individual differently, and the way it’s handled varies by person. But the common aspect is its destructiveness. It’s a disorder with no cure, although there are plenty of management tools and skills. And one of those is creativity…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Storm clouds amass overhead and the viscous fog of the encroaching maelstrom closes in. Escape routes sunder the clouds; some too fast for action, others too slowly to believe they are real. And the thundering gyre descends.

All around is grey darkness. It smothers light, obliterates all paths. It whispers and magnifies statements of truth, which you know are true; they are your reality after all. It tallies the points, but you already know the score: You’ve lost. You always lose. This is the fact you must always bow to.

But depression slips up: Facts are not truth; they just are. And because they just exist, they’re a perpetual light in this vortex of dark improbabilities.

Fact is: Depression lies. It designs its exaggerations to worm their way in, then hook and drag you into its oblivion.

But it uses energy you can harness.

You poke awake the fury buried deep within. It wells up, rising in the narrow vertical tunnel you’ve created for it. It gathers momentum, power, as it climbs seeking a way out. It will help you because it wants freedom, and it hates its cage, but despises the suffocating nothingness even more. It surges upwards. You hold on, riding, observing, noting. The height of the channel is negligible. The fury explodes, incinerating the tunnel, sending growls and roars rolling through the chaos.

The grey void shudders, realising its mistake too late.

The fury lunges and slashes and sinks its claws into the unwieldy vacuum. It shreds the depression, rending, destroying, rebuilding.

Atop the rage, you sit and observe, jaw dropping as it annihilates the blackness only to reshape it into energy that accumulates, swirling and bubbling; it’s energy you can use now. And it’s looking for a home. The sliver of an opening winks at you. It’s the door to your creativity, the one thing that always keeps you going.

You yank open the door, grab the reconstructed energy and fling it into the chasm. The abyss hungers for more, driving you to feed it faster and faster. It’s almost full. It needs time to digest. You exploit the lull and tangibly realise thoughts and ideas, working at lightning speed for the gulf now fills as quickly as you empty it.

Some time later, your stamina begins to run low but the once-void is full and simmering. You are both sated. Even the fury has gladly returned to its cage to rest. You nap, too. When you open your eyes again, the storm has passed and calming sunshine gently warms you. You smile. Your victory has brought riches that the darkness cannot touch. They are shiny new facts:

• New novel drafted

• Thousands more story ideas and novel plots created and implemented

• Articles written

• Plushies designed and made

• Millions of ideas for more of everything written down; tangible and practicable

• Patreon page created

• Facebook community page set up

• Friendships strengthened

And…

• Depression beaten once more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

© May 2016 Lai Zhao. Editor by day, writer by free time, and by night, a designer and maker of cute fluffy things.

Cute fluffies play at her Patreon page: Snitchcat’s Tiny Carriers of Light.

Writing travails prefer her blog: Dreams of a Broken Phoenix.

And the shy, fledgling Facebook page resides here: Depression in Hong Kong.

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.

Sunday, December 14

Molly glanced around the room, making sure everything was in order. The armchairs had been moved aside to make room for the large white chair, almost a throne, covered in ivy and red ribbons, that would very shortly be claimed by Santa himself. Schrodinger, Lily, Jack and Zoey were down in the tea room, finishing up their letters to the great man himself and chattering excitedly. Or at least, that’s where they were supposed to be. Which is why Molly was surprised to turn around and see them all standing behind her, holding their letters in their hands.

“What’s up?” she said, frowning at their expressions. They ranged from outrage (on Lily and Zoey) to worry (on Schrodinger). “Did someone say something to you? Were you being too loud?”

“No,” Lily said defiantly. “We weren’t.”

“Then what’s wrong? Are you done with your letters?”

“No,” Zoey said, shaking her head and making her purple bows on the ends of her braids dance with anger. “But there was a man that told us to…”

Caliban’s servant is back, Schrodinger said to Molly, cutting Zoey off. And he wants to see you. He wasn’t polite about it this time.

“Does he, now?” Anger blossomed up in Molly. “I wonder why.”

Because his master is angry? Schrodinger guessed. I can’t think Caliban is happy with us at this point.

“He hasn’t begun to see how unhappy I can make him,” Molly snapped, then remembered the two little girls looking at her wonderingly. “Stay up here and finish up, guys. I’ll take care of our unwanted guest.”

She made sure that the four of them were set up at the table that was set up along one wall, and that they had everything they needed, before she went downstairs. If Caliban’s servant couldn’t be polite, then he could bloody well wait for her.

Finally, Molly took one last look around, then went down the stairs to the main floor. Caliban’s man wasn’t in the tea room; to her annoyance, he was lounging in her kitchen. “What do you want?” she said abruptly.

“My master has a message for you,” he said, standing up from the stool he’d been sitting on, and setting down the tea ball he’d been holding in one hand.

“I don’t really care what your master wants,” Molly informed him. “You are not allowed in this kitchen.” She stepped to one side and pointed into the tea room. “Out. Now.”

He raised one eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you want to do this? This message isn’t for public consumption.”

“I said out. Now.” Molly glared at him. “You are not welcome in my kitchen.”

“That seems fairly clear,” said a new voice, as Jack and Pavel stepped out from the pantry. “I’d leave now,” the pirate added, as Jack scowled. “Molly can get physical when she gets angry, and you’re making her angry.”

“And what can a simple kitchen witch do to me?” the servant scoffed.

“Have you ever had scalding tea thrown at you?” Jack asked. “It’s not pleasant. Besides, if you make her angry, you make me angry, and I’m perfectly fine with sending you back to your master in pieces.” He looked over at Molly. “We’ll keep the blood to a minimum.”

“I’d appreciate it,” she said. “I hate cleaning it up.”

The servant looked from one to the other, his bravado deflating like a punctured balloon. “I will go,” he said finally. “But after I give my master’s message.”

“I’m listening,” Molly said, crossing her arms over her chest. “What does Caliban have to say?”

“That you should have stayed out of this,” the servant said. “That now that you have decided to defy my master, so you will pay for your disobedience.”

“Disobedience?” Molly all but hissed the word, and her fingers curled around her elbows. “Disobedience? What does he think I am, some prize dog that he can order around?” She stalked over to the servant and said very softly, “Tell Caliban that if I see him in my Cove again, I’ll make him wish he’d never heard of me.”

“You and what army?” scoffed the servant, but he shrank back from her.

“You don’t want to see her army,” Pavel told him, and for once, there was no humor in the pirate’s voice. “Trust me. And neither does your master.”

The servant ducked around Molly and scurried out. After a moment, she took the tea ball that he’d been playing with and flung it viciously into the trash.

“Molly? Is everything okay?” DC stuck her head around the door frame, her hazel eyes wide. “Did that guy actually come in here? I told him to wait in the tea room!”

“I’m fine,” Molly assured her, forcing herself to calm down. It wasn’t DC’s fault, after all. “He won’t be back.”

“Good.” DC nodded to Jack and Pavel, then went back out front, calling back, “Don’t forget that Santa will be here soon!”

“Santa is coming here today?” Jack asked, blinking at the sudden change in subject. “Why?”

“He’s coming to collect the letters upstairs,” Molly told him, going over to the stove and pouring herself a cup of tea water. Then she concentrated briefly, and smiled as the filled tea ball settled into the mug. She didn’t use her powers like that very often, but she had too much energy right now, and it needed to go somewhere. Otherwise, she’d be burning anything she tried to cook for the next day.

She turned and looked at the two. “Thank you for coming in when you did,” she said, holding up the mug in a silent question. Both of them shook their heads. “It was fortuitous.”

“It was planned,” Jack told her. “I assume you know what Schrodinger brought us yesterday.”

Molly nodded. The CrossCat had filled her and Drew in when they’d come back to the bookstore, and Drew had had to hold her back from rushing off to wreak her own vengeance on the summer spirit. “Thank you for taking care of it,” she said now. “What would it have done?”

“Influenced you,” Jack said. “Subtly, but he would have poisoned your mind, and made you his. Old Man Winter said he’d tried the same with Jade.”

“Which is how you knew how to destroy it?” she guessed.

Jack shook his head. “I’ve seen him use it before. I was expecting it.”

“Did you think that maybe you might have mentioned it to me, then?” Molly heard the edge creep back into her voice. “So that I could be on the look out for it?”

The fall spirit started to answer, then stopped. “I didn’t think of it,” he admitted. “I should have, though. I’m sorry.”

The apology knocked the wind from her sails. “You are?”

“Yes,” Jack said, then looked slyly at her up through his downcast lashes. “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, though.”

That made her laugh, and chased away the last bit of her anger. “I assumed so.”

“You’ll have to be careful now, though, Molly,” Pavel said, coming over to her. “Caliban doesn’t take lightly to being stood up to.”

“Which means what?” she asked warily.

“Which means we,” and Pavel nodded at Jack, “would feel better if you’d let us set some guards here and at the farm. Just to make sure Caliban doesn’t try to…” He hesitated, and looked over at Jack.

“Caliban might kidnap you or Schrodinger to force Jade to let him in to her lands,” Jack said, and Molly blanched. “We won’t let him.”

“What kind of guards?” she asked, and one small part of her brain screamed that she was having to even think about it.

“Me,” Jack said. “And some of Pavel’s men, but mostly me.” He looked determined. “If you don’t mind. I just feel bad that I pulled you into this.”

Molly looked at him, then at Pavel. “Do you really think he’d try that?”

Pavel nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Then I guess I have a guest,” Molly said, sighing. “Well, at least Schrodinger will be able to sleep again.” She looked over at Jack. “He stayed up as late as he could last night, to make sure we were safe.”

“He’s a loyal friend,” Jack said. “Tonight, he will be able to sleep.”

Molly just wondered if she could.

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.

This is a story I wrote for Every Photo Tells – it was their episode 115, and you can listen to it here.  If you aren’t familiar with the concept, it is a podcast where they post a photo every month, and invite folks to write short stories around it.  Then Katharina and Mick read it and podcast it.

I saw this picture, and knew I had to write a ghost story for it.  I’d been toying with the idea of writing a story about Lance when he was just starting out as a ghost hunter for a while, and it just all fell together.  Since he’s one of the main characters in Into Thin Air, which comes out tomorrow (squee!), I thought I’d bring this back.  Also, it’s Halloween tomorrow, and what better time to give a ghost story?

Without further ado, here you go.

Every Photo Tells:

What’s Past is not Always Past

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Lance sighed, even as he squinted into the darkness within the building. “As opposed to what?” he asked, shining his flashlight down the hall. “It’s a good place to hunt for evidence, Gwen. That’s what we’ve been looking for.”

“It’s also a good place to fall and break a leg,” Gwen said, but she followed him through the open doorway readily enough. Gwen liked to worry about everything. By now, Lance was used to her grumbling.

“Just don’t fall,” he said, as she came up beside him. Her flashlight beam joined his, highlighting the hallway.

Not really a hallway, he corrected himself. More like an elongated entryway, spreading out from what must have been the admissions desk. The building had originally been a home, then it had briefly been an exclusive “retirement” home in the 1970s before being abruptly abandoned. No fire, no high-profile death or suicide, no malpractice – just sent the patients to other homes and shut its doors one day.

“This place was pretty exclusive, right?” Gwen said, playing her flashlight over walls suspiciously devoid of graffiti. Lance could still make out the faint impressions where paintings must have hung.

“Yeah. Dr. Miller catered to the Hollywood set,” he said, after the silence had stretched for a bit. “Mostly his wife’s friends.”

“Cordelia Stanton, the sixties’ starlet.” Gwen had read the files too. “Injured in a freak accident on the set of her last movie that severed her right leg at the knee.”

Lance nodded. “She went into a deep depression, so he renovated the house into a hospital and populated it with her friends.”

“I think I would have preferred a spa, in her spot. With a pool.”

“There are three pools, actually.” Lance dug into his backpack and pulled out a copy of the floor plans he’d gotten from the library. He spread the pages out on the marble tiles as Gwen knelt beside him. “Warm indoor, private lap indoor pool, also warm, one would assume, and an outdoor pool overlooking the ocean. Cordelia was an avid swimmer, even after she lost her leg.”

A crash from somewhere deep in the abandoned building had them both on their feet, peering into the darkness. If Lance hadn’t known the building was empty, he would have sworn someone had thrown someone else against a wall. Or a desk, or something.

Nothing else moved – time crept, as both Lance and Gwen strained their ears to hear anything. Nothing. They were alone.

“Well. That was interesting,” Gwen said. She looked at her watch. “It’s still only 5 pm. This place really is rocking.”

“I can’t wait to see what it’s like when the sun actually goes down,” Lance said, kneeling back down and running his fingers over the floor plans. “Let’s figure out where we want to go. I don’t think splitting up would be a good idea.”

“No, me neither.” Gwen knelt beside him, playing her flashlight over the floor plans. “But I think we definitely need to hit the private lap pool. Isn’t Cordelia supposed to be haunting it?”

“She and her husband vanished after the place closed,” Lance confirmed. “No more credit card payments, no nothing. They just vanished.”

“And you think they died here,” she guessed.

Lance shrugged. “It’s as good a theory as any,” he said, reaching into the backpack again. He handed her one of the two video cameras they’d brought with them. “Do you have the digital recorders?”

“Yes.” Gwen reached into her backpack and pulled six silver digital recorders out. “Where do you want to put them?”

He frowned as he considered the floor plans. “Keep two for us to use as we walk,” he said finally. “We’ll leave one at Cordelia’s pool, one here,” and he stabbed a finger on what had once been a grand ball room.

“Are you planning on hitting the basement?” Gwen asked.

“We probably should,” Lance said, nodding. “We can leave one there as well.”

“Which leaves one more.”

Lance looked at the floor plans, but nothing leapt out at him. That was the problem with a location like this – they had no idea where the activity was. No one had ever investigated the old hospital, which boggled his mind. After all, it was a perfect location. Something, or someone, had kept them away. “We’ll hold it and if we find a place with a lot of activity, we’ll set it up,” he said finally.

“Sounds good,” Gwen said, pulling a roll of masking tape and a pen from her bag. She labeled the recorders in her neat handwriting, then handed him two of them.

He stuffed them into his pockets and said, “Now, let’s go–“

Another crash cut him off, and both their heads snapped up. “Same area?” Gwen asked.

“I think so,” Lance said. “What the hell could be causing that?”

“Meth-addicted squirrels?” When Lance stared at her, she shrugged. “It’s possible. Not probable, but possible.”

“You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” he said, and rolled up the floor plans.

“That’s why you like me.” Gwen slung her bag back onto her shoulders and picked up her camera. “Ready?”

Lance finished stowing the plans, picked up his own camera, and took a look outside through the door they’d come in. It had been bright sunshine when they’d come in, less than ten minutes ago; now, the late afternoon sunshine was muted, as if clouds had rolled in.

“Ready,” he said, flipping to the nightvision setting on his camera. The old building was dark as night inside. The windows had been boarded up long ago, when it was abandoned. “Let’s go this way.”

As they made their way deeper into the old hospital, heading towards the grand ballroom, they came across other evidence that the building had been suddenly abandoned. One room looked like the patient had just stepped out, except for the thick dust that carpeted everything. The bed was even made, and there was a small table with a gooseneck lamp on it, the light trained down onto a small wingback chair. Another held old monitors, still plugged into wall sockets.

“This place is seriously creepy,” Gwen commented, shining her flashlight over a bookcase full of dusty tomes in what looked like an office or a study. “They didn’t take anything, did they?”

“Not anything that didn’t belong to the patients.” Lance wandered over to the bookcase. “These look ancient.”

Gwen started to answer, then paused. He looked back over his shoulder at her, but neither of them were moving. Which meant that the footsteps coming down the hallway were either another person, or the evidence they were hoping to find.

Moving very slowly and trying not to make a sound, Lance fished one of the digital recorders out of his pocket and turned it on. He and Gwen stared at each other as the footsteps (boots, with hard heels, his mind whispered) come closer. Were they about to be tossed out on their ears?

The door they had come in was still open. Without moving her feet much, Gwen twisted her body so her camera was facing the door.

“What are you seeing?” Lance hissed. His torso wouldn’t let him turn as completely around as she could.

“Not a damn thing,” she whispered back. The footsteps went right by the open door, and continued on down the hall.

“Let’s go!” Lance bolted out of the room, Gwen hot on his heels. The footsteps were ahead of them, not hurrying, but not going slow. And they saw…nothing. No form, no figures, no people. Just footsteps.

And then, as they burst into what was obviously the grand ballroom, the footsteps stopped. Lance and Gwen stopped, more than a bit confused and at the same time, exhilarated.

“Tell me you got that on the recorder,” she said, and when Lance held up the recorder, the red light still blinking, she whooped triumphantly. “Evidence!”

“The cameras should have caught it too,” he reminded her.

“Now what?” Gwen swung her camera around in a wide arc, looking at the remains of the grand ballroom.

“Let’s leave the recorder in here.” Lance imitated her, looking to see what they could find to leave the recorder on. There was a large dust-cloth covered object in the far corner, which turned out to be a piano when he peeked. “We’ll come back later and collect it on the way out.”

“Sounds good.” She wandered through the room, looking at the bare marble walls. “Can you imagine what this place looked like when it was open?” She began to waltz to music only she could hear, twirling over the floor with an invisible partner.

“No,” Lance admitted, watching her twirl around, one hand outstretched as if it held a skirt. “You’re such a girl sometimes, Gwen.”

“Bite me,” she said, continuing to twirl. “Trust me, some day you will be happy I’m a girl.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he said, grinning. “It just surprises me sometimes. You seem to enjoy being a tomboy.”

Gwen stopped in the middle of the room and trained her camera on him. “The two are not mutually exclusive.” She started to say something else, but stopped as they both heard the footsteps again.

Definitely men’s footsteps, Lance thought, looking around to see where they were coming from. Gwen pointed to an open doorway across from both of them. He nodded, training his camera on the door as she filmed him, so they could document that neither of them were moving as the footsteps approached them.

And then his shoulders sagged a bit in disappointment as an older man came into his view.

“I thought I heard voices,” the man said, walking into the ballroom. Gwen and Lance both sighed and walked over to him. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

“We’re paranormal investigators. We thought this place was abandoned.” Lance pulled one of their brand-new business cards and handed it to him. “I’m Lance, this is Gwen. Are you the caretaker?”

The man looked at the card with interest, then laughed softly and tucked it into his breast pocket. “Yes, I suppose you could call me that.” His face crinkled into a mass of amused wrinkles. “Why would you come here to investigate?”

“Because we were curious.” Gwen shrugged. “It’s an abandoned hospital, with a mysterious past. We figured it must be haunted.”

“Good thought.” The man nodded. “I don’t blame you. Have you caught anything?”

“Well, we thought we did, but it might have just been you,” Lance said, and they told him about the footsteps.

“This old place has a lot of ghosts, my boy, but they may not come out for you,” the caretaker said. “Would you like a tour?”

“Yes, please!” Lance could hardly believe his own ears. “Do you mind if we tape it?”

“Not at all.”

The caretaker (who said his name was Charles) proved to be an amazing tour guide. He took them all over, and agreed to let them leave the digital recorders for the night, but he refused to let them stay. “The house is not really in a good condition where I would feel comfortable with that,” he said, and although Lance didn’t see any evidence of disrepair, he didn’t push the point. Especially given where he was about to take them.

“This was the private quarters for Dr. Miller and his wife,” Charles said, opening a large wooden door. “It’s almost a separate wing.”

“Wow,” Gwen whispered, as they walked in. “It’s like it’s still being lived in.”

Unlike the rest of the hospital, these rooms had open windows, and a fresh breeze, with just the faintest hint of spring chill, touched their faces. There was a fire burning in the brick fireplace in the mammoth living room, and there was no dust anywhere.

“Do you live here now?” Gwen asked Charles.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s the only part of the building I usually go in, though. I leave the rest to memories.” He turned to Lance. “I haven’t changed anything since the Doctor and Mrs. Miller, as we knew her, left.”

“You knew them?” Lance asked, not believing their luck.

“Oh yes. I was an orderly here at the hospital.” Charles smiled. “Why else would they have asked me to stay?”

“What happened, Charles? Why did they leave?” Gwen asked. “No one seems to know, but something had to happen.”

“Not necessarily,” he said. “Sometimes, it’s just time to close things down. We’re too enamored of the bad things in life, I think, so we assume there was a bad ending to everything. Sometimes, there is just an end.”

“But it was so sudden,” Gwen protested, as Lance filmed them. “The papers said they just closed the doors and moved the patients out!”

“That’s because that’s what people wanted to hear,” Charles said. “In reality, there was no real removal. We just stopped accepting folks.” He looked out the window. “We weren’t a real hospital, you know. More like a spa, to be honest. As the patients left, we let them know that they couldn’t come back.”

“But we saw medical equipment!” Lance said. “Monitors, and things like that.”

“Yes, some of our patients were in fragile health,” Charles said, nodding his head. “Dr. Miller was an excellent general practitioner, and he and the nurses and we orderlies had our patients’ care well in hand. But they were never here to stay long. The average stay was about three months – long enough to rest, not long enough to get on Mrs. Miller’s nerves.”

“Did anyone die here?” Gwen asked.

“Yes,” Charles said. “But not violently. There were…” He paused, obviously looking back through his memories. “Six, that I remember. Three were terminal cancer patients who asked to hospice here. One was a freak accident, and two others succumbed to illness while here. That was it.”

“What was the accident?” Lance said.

“One of Mrs. Miller’s brothers, Nathan, died here when he fell off the cliff. He’d been out walking and strayed too close to the edge. It crumbled underneath his feet. His body washed up on a beach about six miles away two days later. Mrs. Miller was inconsolable for about a year.”

“Wow.” Gwen shook her head. “And it was just an accident.”

“Yes. We’d all been warned about the cliff edge. After that, Dr. Miller had a fence put up.” Charles looked at his watch. “Dear me, it’s getting late. Come, children, I need to get you out before 9 p.m.”

“Why?” Lance asked, as they followed him out into the darkened halls and back to the front door they’d come in a few hours before.

“Because those are the rules,” Charles said, as he ushered them outside. “No visitors after 9 p.m. Now, you can come back tomorrow after 10 a.m. to get your recorders.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said, smiling at the older man. “This has been wonderful. And thank you for letting us leave the recorders.”

“Yes, thank you,” Lance added. “Do you want to know if we find any evidence?”

“If you wish,” Charles said, and he smiled back at them. “Good night.”

The two watched the heavy door close, and Lance sighed as they heard the unmistakable click of a lock.

“Well, that was weird,” Gwen said, turning her camera off and stowing it in her backpack. “Why didn’t you mention there was a caretaker?”

“Because I didn’t know,” Lance said. “No one ever said there was.” He stowed his camera as well. “Oh well, let’s go back and look at these tomorrow, when we have the recorders too. Pizza?”

“Sounds good to me.”

The next morning dawned bright and cool, with a fresh breeze. Gwen had to work, so Lance took himself back to the abandoned hospital to get the recorders. He wondered if Charles would let him look around a bit more, since it was now daylight.

Soft smells of daffodils and growing grass tickled his nose as he walked up the driveway towards the hospital. It was good to be outside again in the spring, he thought. Winter is always so dreary.

Lance climbed up the front steps, wondering if it would be open. I hope so, he thought. I doubt the bell works, and there’s no way Charles will hear me banging.

The front door was open, though. He pushed his way through and then paused, looking at the door itself.

Charles had locked it last night. He and Gwen had both heard the latch click. But the door he now held in his hand had no latch.

At all.

Staring at the door, at the broken lock, Lance felt a frisson of…something sneak down his back. Coincidence, he thought, letting the door shut. Just coincidence.

The dust was still thick on the floor, but he could see the footprints from the night before: his sneakers, and Gwen’s moccasins. That was it.

Two sets. Not three.

His mind spinning, Lance went down the dimly-lit hall towards the grand ballroom. There, sitting on the covered grand piano, was all four digital recorders they had left in the hospital, lined up in order.

“And there was no one there?” Gwen asked later, when Lance told her what he’d found.

“No one,” Lance confirmed. “Not to mention the fact that I went over to the county clerk’s office. There is no caretaker. The estate has been abandoned for over thirty years.”

“Then who did we interview?” Gwen demanded.

Lance laid a newspaper article on the table. “I did find this.”

She picked up the article, which included a picture of the old man they’d talked to, his arm around a smiling older woman. “Dr. Charles Miller and Cordelia Stanton-Miller, at her niece Jennifer’s wedding,” she read out loud, then looked up at him. “We interviewed a ghost?”

“I’m not sure,” Lance said. “I want to see those tapes.”

“Me too.”

They watched the films in silence. Everything was there, everything they remembered – except the man that they had interviewed. Throughout all of them, Gwen talked as if she was holding a conversation…with thin air.

“He was there,” Gwen said at the end of it. “He was there.”

“Something was there,” Lance said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I’m just not sure what.”

“So now what?” she demanded.

“Now, we figure out what that something was.”

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.

Some people do spring cleaning.  Apparently I do fall cleaning, at least for the website.

Yes, I’ve updated it!  And I’ve gotten MOST of the books/short fiction on there (I know I have more to add, but I’ve been staring at this screen for almost 6 hours, and I’m going cross-eyed).  So take a look (especially if you are reading this from LJ) at the updated website!

I will be adding more.  There is no page currently for the Advent Stories – that will be changing.  But for now, this is what I have out.  Let me know what you think!

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.

I’ll try and fix the cut-tags when I get home, but it’s not letting me do it now.  Sorry!

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.

My newest short is done and off to the editor. 5499 words. Giant spiders. Wine barrels. Demons.

What’s not to love?

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.

Due to illness, the blog post will be delayed until this evening. Sorry.

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.