Well, she has a key...what will she do with it?
Autumn Moon and the Book of Secrets
by Bob Freeman
Chapter Four
“Aunt Astrid’s Attic”
There were few things in this world worse than the knot of fear that grips your stomach. That’s the way I should have felt that day in Aunt Astrid’s attic, but I was too young to realize what I was getting myself into. The hard lesson was still months away and to this day I can still feel its sting. Life is a string of mistakes and failures that infuse in us a sense of right and wrong. If only the fates could be less cruel when delivering its lessons.
“Don’t I look fabulous?” Cassie had asked, twirling clumsily in the center of the dusty old attic. She had dressed herself in oversized heels, a wide-brimmed hat trimmed in lace, and a mink stole, all carefully culled from an old paper grocery sack. I wasn’t overly amused. As much as I loved Cassie’s company, she seemed somewhat younger than her years and often came across as a pint-sized Pollyanna.
“Quit goofing around and give me a hand,” was my retort. I was elbows deep into a thick menagerie of ancient cobwebs and struggling to pull an old steamer trunk into the light. It was large enough for Cassie and I to both lie within and have plenty of head room. I was convinced some great treasure was bound to lie inside. I could almost hear it whispering to me, beckoning for me to free its contents from their inanimate slumber.
“No way, Autumn,” she stammered, “that’s gross.” I could smell the fear on her as surely as I could smell the reek of mothballs that clung to her makeshift wardrobe.
“Don’t be such a sissy,” was the best response I could muster.
“But what if there are spiders?” she squealed. Ah, the truth revealed. Yet another phobia that plagued the princess of hypochondria. Even at such a young age I was skilled in the ways of psychology.
“Fine,” I said smugly, “then you play dress up and leave whatever goodies there are in this trunk to me.”
“What kind of goodies?” she asked, taking the bait.
“I guess you’ll never know, now will you?” I said with as straight a face as I could muster as her head dropped in resignation.
“Oh, all right,” she said, kicking off her high heels. She came to my side and the two of us pulled with al our might, dragging the behemoth into the center of the room so that it could catch the maximum amount of sunlight that was streaming in from the window overhead.
I popped the latches and with Cassie’s help we struggled to lift the heavy lid that barred us from the mysterious treasures that lie within. We strained and struggled, grunted and cursed, and then at last the top gave way and we fell forward, tumbling into one another, striking our heads together in the process.
If I remember correctly our response, in unison, was a resounding, “Ow!” We sat dumbfounded and giggling half-heatedly while rubbing our respective foreheads. We would both wear knots there for a week, but, being young and adventurous, we dusted ourselves off and set ourselves to the task at hand.
I rose slowly from the ground and peered into the gaping maw of the steamer trunk noticing that the trunk was “on it’s back and the reason the “lid” was so heavy was that it was filled with drawers. It was my introduction to this wondrous form of luggage. It was like a compact wardrobe or chest of drawers. With Cassie’s help we righted the massive impedimenta. Sometimes in the early morning hours and I feel that little twinge in the small of my back, I swear it’s because of that damnable trunk.
Properly aligned, the steamer trunk was a beauty. It towered over the both of us as we had yet to reach five feet in height. On the right were a series of six drawers, with a rich paisley like pattern covering it from head to foot. The drawer knobs were lion heads with wings spreading out from behind. I was sure then, and know now, that they were solid gold.
The left side of the trunk housed a metal rod that allowed clothes to be hung. It caught my attention first and foremost because of the beautiful piece of fabric that hung there. It was silky smooth, like velvet and seemed to be black and purple at the same time, sort of like the fur of a cat might look when it’s wet and the sun hits it just right.
“What is it?” Cassie asked. She reached out to touch the fabric and a smile carved itself into her pretty little head. “Ew,” she giggled, “it tickles.”
And she was right. The fabric was charged with what I would have then called a type of static electricity, but now know to be more esoteric, for it reverberated with magical residue. I pulled it from the confines of the trunk and allowed it to unfurl. There was no mistaking its purpose.
“It’s a cape,” I said.
And it was beautiful. A silver broach marked by an arcane symbol pulled the cape together at the neck allowing a matching hood to fall away. The inner fabric was a matte black while the outer material with the oily sheen heralded its true majesty.
“A cape,” Cassie mused, “you mean like Superman?”
“No silly,” I said in awe of the piece, sweeping it up and overhead and allowing it to settle over my pre-teen body. My whole body coursed with the residual energy that was entwined in it. “It’s more like something for Halloween, I think. Like something a witch might wear.”
“Oh boy, maybe there’s some face paint inside.”
“Maybe,” I said, not at all interested in finding face paint, but to search the trunk more thoroughly was definitely on my agenda. “Let’s have a look.”
The trunk unlocked many more secrets and would lead to paths both dark and cold. Little did I realize, once I opened up the first of the drawers and removed the item inside the wonders that would be revealed… and the terrors that would seek to possess us all. Cassie and I would meet in secret many times over the course of the next two weeks, studying the various artifacts within. It all seemed rather innocent and harmless until the start of school and the slip of a tongue… well, not really a slip so much, I guess.
by Bob Freeman
Chapter Four
“Aunt Astrid’s Attic”
There were few things in this world worse than the knot of fear that grips your stomach. That’s the way I should have felt that day in Aunt Astrid’s attic, but I was too young to realize what I was getting myself into. The hard lesson was still months away and to this day I can still feel its sting. Life is a string of mistakes and failures that infuse in us a sense of right and wrong. If only the fates could be less cruel when delivering its lessons.
“Don’t I look fabulous?” Cassie had asked, twirling clumsily in the center of the dusty old attic. She had dressed herself in oversized heels, a wide-brimmed hat trimmed in lace, and a mink stole, all carefully culled from an old paper grocery sack. I wasn’t overly amused. As much as I loved Cassie’s company, she seemed somewhat younger than her years and often came across as a pint-sized Pollyanna.
“Quit goofing around and give me a hand,” was my retort. I was elbows deep into a thick menagerie of ancient cobwebs and struggling to pull an old steamer trunk into the light. It was large enough for Cassie and I to both lie within and have plenty of head room. I was convinced some great treasure was bound to lie inside. I could almost hear it whispering to me, beckoning for me to free its contents from their inanimate slumber.
“No way, Autumn,” she stammered, “that’s gross.” I could smell the fear on her as surely as I could smell the reek of mothballs that clung to her makeshift wardrobe.
“Don’t be such a sissy,” was the best response I could muster.
“But what if there are spiders?” she squealed. Ah, the truth revealed. Yet another phobia that plagued the princess of hypochondria. Even at such a young age I was skilled in the ways of psychology.
“Fine,” I said smugly, “then you play dress up and leave whatever goodies there are in this trunk to me.”
“What kind of goodies?” she asked, taking the bait.
“I guess you’ll never know, now will you?” I said with as straight a face as I could muster as her head dropped in resignation.
“Oh, all right,” she said, kicking off her high heels. She came to my side and the two of us pulled with al our might, dragging the behemoth into the center of the room so that it could catch the maximum amount of sunlight that was streaming in from the window overhead.
I popped the latches and with Cassie’s help we struggled to lift the heavy lid that barred us from the mysterious treasures that lie within. We strained and struggled, grunted and cursed, and then at last the top gave way and we fell forward, tumbling into one another, striking our heads together in the process.
If I remember correctly our response, in unison, was a resounding, “Ow!” We sat dumbfounded and giggling half-heatedly while rubbing our respective foreheads. We would both wear knots there for a week, but, being young and adventurous, we dusted ourselves off and set ourselves to the task at hand.
I rose slowly from the ground and peered into the gaping maw of the steamer trunk noticing that the trunk was “on it’s back and the reason the “lid” was so heavy was that it was filled with drawers. It was my introduction to this wondrous form of luggage. It was like a compact wardrobe or chest of drawers. With Cassie’s help we righted the massive impedimenta. Sometimes in the early morning hours and I feel that little twinge in the small of my back, I swear it’s because of that damnable trunk.
Properly aligned, the steamer trunk was a beauty. It towered over the both of us as we had yet to reach five feet in height. On the right were a series of six drawers, with a rich paisley like pattern covering it from head to foot. The drawer knobs were lion heads with wings spreading out from behind. I was sure then, and know now, that they were solid gold.
The left side of the trunk housed a metal rod that allowed clothes to be hung. It caught my attention first and foremost because of the beautiful piece of fabric that hung there. It was silky smooth, like velvet and seemed to be black and purple at the same time, sort of like the fur of a cat might look when it’s wet and the sun hits it just right.
“What is it?” Cassie asked. She reached out to touch the fabric and a smile carved itself into her pretty little head. “Ew,” she giggled, “it tickles.”
And she was right. The fabric was charged with what I would have then called a type of static electricity, but now know to be more esoteric, for it reverberated with magical residue. I pulled it from the confines of the trunk and allowed it to unfurl. There was no mistaking its purpose.
“It’s a cape,” I said.
And it was beautiful. A silver broach marked by an arcane symbol pulled the cape together at the neck allowing a matching hood to fall away. The inner fabric was a matte black while the outer material with the oily sheen heralded its true majesty.
“A cape,” Cassie mused, “you mean like Superman?”
“No silly,” I said in awe of the piece, sweeping it up and overhead and allowing it to settle over my pre-teen body. My whole body coursed with the residual energy that was entwined in it. “It’s more like something for Halloween, I think. Like something a witch might wear.”
“Oh boy, maybe there’s some face paint inside.”
“Maybe,” I said, not at all interested in finding face paint, but to search the trunk more thoroughly was definitely on my agenda. “Let’s have a look.”
The trunk unlocked many more secrets and would lead to paths both dark and cold. Little did I realize, once I opened up the first of the drawers and removed the item inside the wonders that would be revealed… and the terrors that would seek to possess us all. Cassie and I would meet in secret many times over the course of the next two weeks, studying the various artifacts within. It all seemed rather innocent and harmless until the start of school and the slip of a tongue… well, not really a slip so much, I guess.
posted by Bob Freeman at 6:55 AM
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