Autumn Moon's third chapter has arrived...
Autumn Moon and the Book of Secrets
Chapter Three
“New Friends”
Aunt Astrid was often called away “on business” she would say. It was all very clandestine and hush-hush. My pre-teen mind didn’t know what to think, and truthfully gave it little thought. What I knew was that I was left alone in the big old house and that to occupy myself I had to do something, right? The truth of Aunt Astrid’s departures would eventually prove to be of great import, but in those first few months they were opportunities for me to explore.
I suppose I was an overly nosey kid and took great delight in pouring over the contents of Aunt Astrid’s sprawling Victorian. It was as crammed full of antiques and bric-a-brac as one could imagine. And the dust… well, an army of servants would have been hard pressed to stay on top of a house so cluttered. It was like a forgotten museum of macabre and interesting things. Severe House was just the sort of place for an adventurous mind, such as my own, to roam.
I dreamed up stories about obscure trinkets, and I devoured the dusty old books in the library. Authors like Burroughs and Howard and Lovecraft and Poe, esoteric manuals and bestiaries and rare editions of Hawthorne, Dumas, and Wells… It was all very surreal and for all my loneliness there was much to keep my attention, drawing me from my melancholy and giving me much to occupy my mind.
In all the house there were but two places to which I could not pass: my Aunt’s bedroom and the attic. Both were locked tight and I was never able to discern where a key might be hid. And I searched for one to be sure. What might lie beyond those two doors was a constant thought in mind. What secrets lay beyond the locked portals of century old oak?
It was these thoughts I pondered one lazy afternoon as I sat outside by the manmade lake called Mississinewa. Lost in thought I almost didn’t notice the sound of a young girl’s laughter, but I was lulled from my pensiveness and sought out the din of mirth. That is how I met my dear friend Cassandra Morrison.
Cassie was skipping stones across the still water of the Mississinewa. Three skips. Four skips. She practically did a back flip when she scored a fifth skip with the flat limestone she sent skimming across the water’s surface. This was a girl who knew what fun was, who knew that one could shake depression simply by being willing to scrape a knee or set sail a kite on a windy day. Simple pleasures. She sought them out and filled her heart with them and whenever she was around, her joy overflowed and entered my heart and gave me something to smile about.
Cassie knew about loss. Her father was a workaholic and she rarely saw him, save for certain holidays, and then only for the briefest of periods. Her mother had run off to be a hippy in San Francisco with her newfound girlfriend and the task of child rearing fell to Cassie’s older sister Tamara Lynn, who was far more interested in the backseats of the local boys’ cars than any type of mothering. It was good that we found each other. Cassie taught me how to have fun and I taught her that it was all right to cry. We were a perfect pair, flip sides of a bright and shiny coin that the fates would flip and determine fate with.
And Cassie would lead me to another friend, a young boy who would join us to form a triumvirate. Though he would not join us at Oak Hill Junior High come the fall (being home schooled by a doting housekeeper), Sebastian Cairnwood would be a constant companion over the course of our teen years. With Sebastian, Cassie and I would learn of love and stolen kisses underneath moonlight, of camping and survival in the woodlands that surrounded us, but most of all he was our friend and protector. Wise beyond his years, Sebastian was a bastion of strength and hope and we both owed him our lives more than once.
Strange that years later that he would be the one of us most lost and troubled and that his true love would be Cassie’s own daughter. But such are the ways of life, particularly when the paths you choose lead down sinister roads wrought with peril and the unexpected. When the agents of misfortune conspire against you, it was Cassie who lead into the dark with a smile and Sebastian with a snarl, and me… well, I was the steady one, the one who held tightly to the mysteries we would unlock and unfold, the one who would harness the power of the elementals and unleash their might upon the preternatural night.
That road to which I have been bound all these long years truthfully began that dark day when Sebastian bore to us a present. It came in a tiny box, much like an exquisite piece of jewelry might come in.
“What is it?” I asked.
Sebastian smiled.
“Open it,” he said.
I flipped the clasp and peeked inside. It was a silver chain and its charm was a key, a skeleton key, to be exact. Long and slender, it was decorated with a stylized “S” at one end.
“This will unlock the mysteries of Severe House, Autumn,” he said, staring to the ground. “If that’s what you want,” he added for punctuation.
“Where did you get it?” I asked. He wouldn’t meet my eye and I could tell that the key had come to him with a price.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. ”Do what you have to do and know that no matter what, I’m here for you both.”
I was thrilled… a key to unlock the last of Severe House’s mysteries. The question was, which room to tackle first? It really wasn’t a question at all. It spoke to me late at night when I tried to sleep. It whispered my name when I passed along the stair. It was my name that echoed across the back lawn calling me to it. Begging me to cross the portal and discover what lay behind its door.
No, there was really no question at all.
Chapter Three
“New Friends”
Aunt Astrid was often called away “on business” she would say. It was all very clandestine and hush-hush. My pre-teen mind didn’t know what to think, and truthfully gave it little thought. What I knew was that I was left alone in the big old house and that to occupy myself I had to do something, right? The truth of Aunt Astrid’s departures would eventually prove to be of great import, but in those first few months they were opportunities for me to explore.
I suppose I was an overly nosey kid and took great delight in pouring over the contents of Aunt Astrid’s sprawling Victorian. It was as crammed full of antiques and bric-a-brac as one could imagine. And the dust… well, an army of servants would have been hard pressed to stay on top of a house so cluttered. It was like a forgotten museum of macabre and interesting things. Severe House was just the sort of place for an adventurous mind, such as my own, to roam.
I dreamed up stories about obscure trinkets, and I devoured the dusty old books in the library. Authors like Burroughs and Howard and Lovecraft and Poe, esoteric manuals and bestiaries and rare editions of Hawthorne, Dumas, and Wells… It was all very surreal and for all my loneliness there was much to keep my attention, drawing me from my melancholy and giving me much to occupy my mind.
In all the house there were but two places to which I could not pass: my Aunt’s bedroom and the attic. Both were locked tight and I was never able to discern where a key might be hid. And I searched for one to be sure. What might lie beyond those two doors was a constant thought in mind. What secrets lay beyond the locked portals of century old oak?
It was these thoughts I pondered one lazy afternoon as I sat outside by the manmade lake called Mississinewa. Lost in thought I almost didn’t notice the sound of a young girl’s laughter, but I was lulled from my pensiveness and sought out the din of mirth. That is how I met my dear friend Cassandra Morrison.
Cassie was skipping stones across the still water of the Mississinewa. Three skips. Four skips. She practically did a back flip when she scored a fifth skip with the flat limestone she sent skimming across the water’s surface. This was a girl who knew what fun was, who knew that one could shake depression simply by being willing to scrape a knee or set sail a kite on a windy day. Simple pleasures. She sought them out and filled her heart with them and whenever she was around, her joy overflowed and entered my heart and gave me something to smile about.
Cassie knew about loss. Her father was a workaholic and she rarely saw him, save for certain holidays, and then only for the briefest of periods. Her mother had run off to be a hippy in San Francisco with her newfound girlfriend and the task of child rearing fell to Cassie’s older sister Tamara Lynn, who was far more interested in the backseats of the local boys’ cars than any type of mothering. It was good that we found each other. Cassie taught me how to have fun and I taught her that it was all right to cry. We were a perfect pair, flip sides of a bright and shiny coin that the fates would flip and determine fate with.
And Cassie would lead me to another friend, a young boy who would join us to form a triumvirate. Though he would not join us at Oak Hill Junior High come the fall (being home schooled by a doting housekeeper), Sebastian Cairnwood would be a constant companion over the course of our teen years. With Sebastian, Cassie and I would learn of love and stolen kisses underneath moonlight, of camping and survival in the woodlands that surrounded us, but most of all he was our friend and protector. Wise beyond his years, Sebastian was a bastion of strength and hope and we both owed him our lives more than once.
Strange that years later that he would be the one of us most lost and troubled and that his true love would be Cassie’s own daughter. But such are the ways of life, particularly when the paths you choose lead down sinister roads wrought with peril and the unexpected. When the agents of misfortune conspire against you, it was Cassie who lead into the dark with a smile and Sebastian with a snarl, and me… well, I was the steady one, the one who held tightly to the mysteries we would unlock and unfold, the one who would harness the power of the elementals and unleash their might upon the preternatural night.
That road to which I have been bound all these long years truthfully began that dark day when Sebastian bore to us a present. It came in a tiny box, much like an exquisite piece of jewelry might come in.
“What is it?” I asked.
Sebastian smiled.
“Open it,” he said.
I flipped the clasp and peeked inside. It was a silver chain and its charm was a key, a skeleton key, to be exact. Long and slender, it was decorated with a stylized “S” at one end.
“This will unlock the mysteries of Severe House, Autumn,” he said, staring to the ground. “If that’s what you want,” he added for punctuation.
“Where did you get it?” I asked. He wouldn’t meet my eye and I could tell that the key had come to him with a price.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. ”Do what you have to do and know that no matter what, I’m here for you both.”
I was thrilled… a key to unlock the last of Severe House’s mysteries. The question was, which room to tackle first? It really wasn’t a question at all. It spoke to me late at night when I tried to sleep. It whispered my name when I passed along the stair. It was my name that echoed across the back lawn calling me to it. Begging me to cross the portal and discover what lay behind its door.
No, there was really no question at all.
posted by Bob Freeman at 11:15 AM
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