Sleuthing

Isaac and I left and wasted no time in booking home, where we ended up sitting on my front porch for a while, chatting dully about things.  I could see the disheartenment that ached inside mirrored in his hazel eyes.  Aunt Kat was thrilled to see him again�"she always loved Isaac since the time he and Mariellen brought me back to the house after I had been nearly killed by vampires for a second time, not that she knew the details of what actually happened that night.

            He left after we ran out of things to say and the sound of crickets echoed loudly in my ears, and that’s when I decided to go to bed.

            It was another rough night, to say the least.  Lying bed I tried concentrating on anything besides what had just happened, or even the events I were sure were about to happen.  Such as Owen and I growing to the point of completely loathing each other, or Mariellen and Owen falling in love.  And Brady…well, being Brady.  And never going away.

            The more I thought of everyone and all the ridiculous scenarios, my stomach grew more and more upset and nauseas, and oddly enough the more paranoid I started to feel.  Like someone was waiting out in the grassy fields.

            I swore I heard something breathing.

            Propping myself up quickly, I peered out my window towards the dark garden, but there was nothing there except the occasional firefly.  Wrinkling my eyebrow, I lay back down stiffly and starred at the circling fan blades at my ceiling.

Turning over on my side, I tried to find a comfortable position to rest.  I closed my eyes tightly, but there was still a feeling of paranoia, as if someone were watching me.  I pulled my comforter up closer to my face, just nearly covering it completely.  I remained rigid like a block of ice, listening to the quiet all around me.  Crickets were chirping somewhere in the fields around my property.  The sound of air escaping my nostrils as I breathed was the loudest sound of all.

            Creak.

            My heart jumped a little within my chest at the sound coming from my door.  Had I closed it before I went to bed?  I was almost certain I did.  And the sound could not have been mistaken for anything but the doorknob twisting open.  But how could it have opened itself?

            Maybe I was only imagining the sound coming from my door.  The house was old, after all.  It could have been coming from the window pane, or the walls simply straining in their old age.

            I curled up tighter within myself, like I was in the fetal position.  I closed my eyes again and breathed in and out patiently.

            Creaaaaak.

            I jumped up and leaned against the bed frame, wrapping the blankets around me tighter.

            My bedroom door had opened a fairly good amount by itself, and I swore to myself I had seen a white hand flash in the darkness of the hallway.  Frantically, my first instinct was to look out my bedside window to the grounds below again.  I could just make out a large multi-hued wolf making his rounds on the moonlit grass now, and a few seconds after he passed, I saw an even bigger brownish looking wolf with the same golden glowing eyes pass by.  A few moments later another big wolf passed.  I was basically on lock down, there was no way a vampire could have gotten through their defensive line…could they have?  No…they would have smelled a bloodthief a mile away, anyways.

            But then I thought…if it really were a vampire in my house, I highly doubted they wouldn’t have charged straight to my tiny bedroom and take my life as fast they could.

            The next sound I heard overtop my beating heart was soft, gentle footsteps on the floorboards outside my room.  And then I heard another doorknob begin to turn, and then another creaaaaak.

            Flinching at the sound, I thought maybe Aunt Kat could’ve been the cause of the noise.  Perhaps she was just checking up on me in my sleep, and maybe she was heading back to her room.

            But the creaking sound was much louder than it should have been if Kat was heading back to her room, all the way across the other side of the staircase.  This noise sounded as though it was right outside my door�"it was either my bathroom, the guest room, or the attic door that was always locked.

            I looked outside my window once more, saw the multi-hued wolf pass again, and then shakily brought myself to my feet.  Grabbing the closest thing beside me that could be used as a weapon, I picked up the heavy flashlight I stored in my bedside drawer ever since the night I first explored the garden outside.

            Cautiously, I made my way to my bedroom door, flashlight in hand and heart in my throat, and peeked out into the hallway.

            The door straight across from my bedroom was slightly ajar, nothing but black emitting from the other side.

            It was the doorway to the attic, which had never been opened before.

            Curiously, I stepped out into the hallway, tapping my fingers gently against the door.  It pushed open, the hinges crying stubbornly in protest.  There was a rush of cold air the seemed to stream across my face, and I felt my long brown waves of hair flutter backwards behind my small shoulders.

            Stepping over the threshold, I turned my flashlight on and directed the beam in front of me.  There was a flight of about ten or so steps, and then more darkness.

            Gingerly, I placed a black fuzzy slipper covered foot onto the first step, and pulled myself up despite the groaning and disagreeing even the steps seemed to scream.  One by one I climbed the steps before me, shining the light up ahead of me as I went.  It was as though I was being propelled forward by a curiosity even I didn’t know I possessed.  Because a small part of me was scared by what I was doing, and the other part said keep going.

            As I reached the top, I shone my light into the darkness all around me, the hair along my arms rising to a stand still.  There were many typical attic things in here I could see, such as an old, dusty mannequin for hemming dresses, armoires, and various things covered by layers of snow-like dust and white sheets.

            But I was mostly attracted to something I saw gleaming in towards the left center of the attic, deeper in the clutter of the larger objects.  Moving closer and maneuvering around things that were scattered on the floor, I could see that it was an aged mirror, coated in a thick layer of grime.  However, I could still just make out my reflection.

            Only it wasn’t my own.

            With a startled gasp, I jumped backwards, dropping the flashlight to the floor beams with a loud clank.  The light went off.  Feeling around for the flashlight in the pitch dark, my mind was frantically trying to recreate just exactly what I had seen.  It was not my own reflection.  Although the person looking back at me through the mirror appeared to have the same face as me, it looked slightly older and more experienced, and the long, wavy brown hair had been longer.  And she wasn’t wearing the flannel PJ pants and gray tank top I had on, but instead was wearing a white, off-the-shoulder dress with a white corset around her waist, clearly.

            I knew exactly where I had seen that woman before.  In The Rose and Two Thorns book which was still in concealment under my bed in a shoe box.  It was Eloise Branchen I. 

My breathing was quickening and becoming ragged as my shaking hands fumbled around in the darkness for the damn flashlight.  I was just seeing things, I told myself.  And then, as my frantic fingers groped along the floor, I felt something flesh like, something cold, and bony.  Like a small hand.

Shrieking, I leapt backwards across the floor, my butt landing on none other than the runaway flashlight.  Urgently, I grabbed its handle, hit the button to turn it on, and shone the light in the direction of where I felt the hand.  Breathing hard to keep up with the rhythm of my heart, I held the flashlight out before me like it was a weapon, shining it in every nook and cranny before me as I remained seated, my back against the mirror.

Still, I saw no one.

I rubbed ferociously at my eyes.  I must have been hallucinating, probably because of the lack of sleep I was receiving lately.  Owen himself told me time and time again it was possible for me to have sleep deprived hallucinations.  That was the only logical answer.  I scooted backwards again to push myself up by the help of a withered looking rocking chair, when something scooted forward which was sitting innocently on the seat, like it was just waiting to be found.  It was a fairly large-sized cigar box, with swirly, feminine handwriting written across the top: Memories.

Needless to say, I recognized whose handwriting this must have belonged to.

With a great muster of strength I snapped the lid open, while a cloud of dust blew out into my face, causing me to cough out loud a few times.  There were lots of pictures, envelopes, and small pieces of paper with writings on them.  There were even a few dried and pressed flowers.

As my fingers shakily fumbled over the old parchment and pictures, I realized I should just take the entire box with me back down into my basement, where I would be able to better root through its contents and analyze everything.  The hair along my arms and the back of my neck were still standing up in fear.

Without hesitation, I tucked the cigar box under my left arm, held the flashlight sturdy in my right, and proceeded in striding out of the room towards the stairs.  Just nearly missing the first step, I swung my hands out for balance, dropping both the cigar box and that flashlight down the wooden steps with a frighteningly loud series of Boom,boom,boom, clank!

I cursed my clumsiness under my breath, seeing that the cigar box had opened along the way down, the contents spilling out all over the steps and landing by the door as it tumbled.  The flashlight had somehow landed right in front of the door, shining up the stairs at me.  In the glow of the flashlight, I could clearly see my large shadow against the door…but there was something else�"another twin shadow of someone behind me.

Tearing down the steps, I tried my best to pick up every picture, note, and letter there was, my finger nails digging spastically into the wooden steps as I tried to pick up each item.  Nearly falling down the stairs again in the process, I finally reached the landing, my heart racing loudly in my ears, not even daring to look behind me.  I grabbed the flashlight, twisting the door knob frantically to let myself out.

It wouldn’t budge.

“HELP!” I screamed at the top of my voice, pounding recklessly on the door with an opened palm.  “HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP!”

I couldn’t hear anything over the sounds of my own screaming, but for some reason I had the strange sensation someone was literally standing right behind me.

Suddenly, the door opened and I fell to the floor on the other side, Aunt Kat starring down on me in her black thermal night gown and bed hair.

“What the hell were you doing in there, Sophia?” She said groggily, starring down on me with squinty eyes.  She jiggled the door handle a few times from the other side I had just came out of, then closed the door and jiggled it again from the other side.  Then she locked it with a key.

I sat myself up, turned the flashlight off, and stared at the items I was holding in faux shock.

“I…I-I don’t know, the last thing I remember was lying in bed!” I whimpered, not having to fake the fact my entire body was convulsing like it was -2 degrees in the hallway.

Kat flicked on the hallway light and glared more intently on the items I was smuggling.

“What is that you’re holding?  And where did you get that flashlight?” She barked, crossing her arms across her chest.

“I don’t remember,” I cried weakly, holding onto the cigar box engraved ‘Memories’ especially tight.  “Can you help me back to bed, please?”

Kat opened her mouth as if she were going to retaliate, demanding that I give her a better answer as to what I was holding.  But then she closed her mouth and scratched the back of her head, yawned, and declared, “I’m too tired for this crap tonight.”

Bending over, she reached down to lift me up, and then stuck her hand out expectantly. “Give me that stuff.”

I froze.  I needed to look through that box tonight, and I was afraid she would take it and put it back in the attic where it came from in the morning.

“Here,” I said, handing her the flashlight.  She stared at me again with another strange look, and then shook her head quickly, flicked the hall light back off, and turned to head slowly back to her own bedroom.        

Once inside the safety of my own bedroom, I closed and locked my door, then sat down on the middle of my bed, turning the bedside lamp on.  Opening the box again, I could see the papers and pictures were not all in the same order they were in before the fall, but I decided it shouldn’t matter.

The first item was a stack of photographs, all bound together by a piece of ribbon.  The pictures were clearly of Eloise I, the reflection I swore to have seen in the mirror instead of my own.  They looked like old pictures of tea parties with her friends, and some were shots of her and her family.  Every picture displayed the same look on her face: I have a secret.  There was a picture it looked like of her and her husband, who I knew had been her cousin.  The back of this photo said Eloise and Reuben Branchen.  It had to have been from their wedding day. 

But then, there were several pictures of her and someone…else.  I quickly had to do a double take as I examined the picture, because for a second I swore it had been Brady.  It honestly looked exactly like a photo of Brady and me, only the man in the photo’s hair was of course slicked back and older fashioned looking. 

Completely weirded out, I took one last look into the eyes which looked exactly like Brady’s smirk of a smile, and set the pictures down, prodding around for my next inspection.

I pushed the dried up roses aside�"they smelled awful now, and grabbed a withered, yellowed from old age envelope with had the name ‘Eloise’ printed in thick, beautiful calligraphy.  Inside was the edge-worn letter addressed to my ancestor, in the same, thick handwriting.

 

My Dearest Eloise,

            I cannot wait to see your beautiful face again tonight.  Isn’t it wonderful we can finally be together? Even if it is confined to privacy, it’s a blessing to be able to share at least five minutes with you.  The bridge is a perfect spot for star gazing, but even more suited for gazing into your handsome hazel eyes. When I look into them, I can stare into the depths of your soul forever.

It’s understood you shall be married off to your cousin very soon.   I know Reuben is very wealthy and can provide well for you, whereas I cannot.  Your family may think of me as the yokel country boy living at the rat hole of a barn across the bridge from you, but I can assure you the love I have for you cannot be contained.  I will love you forever.  I will love you when you marry Reuben, and I will still love you when you have children with him.  I will love your children, too.  My love for you is unconditional, dear Eloise.  I promise to always let you know how strong my love is for you, even when you no longer need it anymore.

This may be the last note I will be able to write you for a while, seeing as you and Reuben will be spending a great deal of time together.  I just wanted you to know how strongly I feel for you, if I have not made it known yet.  And most importantly, I want you to know if your ‘sleeping’ problems continue, I will be here for you, praying for you nightly.  I know you spend a lot of time writing to make you feel better, but if you need to talk about it, remember I’m always here.  And I know you say your dreams tell you we can’t be together, and I don’t want you to cook your own goose, but those beastie dreams have�"

 

The right side of the page from this point on was missing, and it looked as though it had been burned away in a fire.  It was a fairly large chunk.

 

All my love forever and always,   

Josiah A. P.

 

I looked the letter up and down a few times.  Did this answer any questions?  Or, on the contrary, did it create more?  I stared long and hard at the thick black signature.  Josiah A.P.  This must have been the man who resembled Brady pictured with Eloise in the other photographs�"the ones without her husband.  I looked them back over again.  In each picture, there was clearly an awkward separation between the two, and of course in every shot, neither was completely smiling.

There was such an eerie resemblance between Brady and Josiah it frightened me.

Digging through the rest of the box, I picked up other things like smaller notes from Josiah.  Most were only three to four sentences long.

 

I hope you like the roses.  They’re almost as beautiful as you.

Your babe is wonderful; I see her everyday playing in the field.

I believe her name is Rose? You can give her the next one I send you.

All my love forever and always,   

Josiah A. P.

 

Your family was surprised to see me married and with child.

We’re naming him Jeremiah.

It was Virginia’s pick.

All my love forever and always,   

Josiah A. P.

 

Please don’t leave him. Don’t abandon your family, your child.

She’ll need to learn your ways in order to be as strong as you.

I’m sorry for your miscarriage.

All my love forever and always,   

Josiah A. P.

I was confused after the last short letter, thinking back to the story of The Rose and the Two Thorns, trying to possibly connect any of it together.  The next item I picked up was an obituary clipping in a very, very old and faded newspaper article. 

 

JOSIAH ALFORD PALMER

1827-1856

Josiah Alford Palmer, son of the late Mr. and Mrs. Lyman Palmer was born in Kneeland [Humboldt Co., CA] October 29th, 1827.  There he lived until he was 25, where he moved to Larrabee [Humboldt Co., CA] with his family working on their farm.  He was a Christian man.

He was married to Virginia Wilcox on May 22^nd, 1852, where they made home in Larrabee and Palmer’s child was born.

He was stricken with influenza which later progressed to pneumonia.  He later died on his birthday, October 29^th, 1856 at the age of 29 in Larrabee [Humboldt Co., CA].

He leaves to mourn an expecting wife and son Jeremiah aged 3, a sister, Jane, and a brother, Joel, besides other relatives.

He was a very loving husband and a patient father, and the grieving ones will miss him dearly. They have sympathy from all the community.

Thus passes a hardworking, loyal, and loving man.

 

 

A note behind it was from him:

 

Dearest Virginia, Jeremiah and baby Eloise. I am sick, think got the flu. If I don’t come out of it, make the best you can yourselves. Stay with our home and cows till you can do better. Keep the kids together. God be with you till we meet again. Love, Joe Palmer.

 

On the other side, it read “He loved you more,” In girlish script.

I sat there gawking at the piece of information before me.  Palmer.  Josiah A.P.  Josiah Alford Palmer.

Brady Palmer.

Brady Palmer’s ancestor had been madly in love with my ancestor, Eloise.

And as far as I knew, Brady Palmer very much so was in love with me.

It felt as though I had just blown the lid off of something very ground breaking.  Could this be what Owen was trying to shield me from?  Is this what he was referring to all along?

I reached in the cigar box for the next piece of parchment.  It was another envelope, only this one was not addressed to Eloise or Josiah or any of my other ancestors.

Suddenly, the room spinning around me became very distant as I starred long and hard at the envelope shaking in my hands, the pretty, dainty cursive hand writing which was unmistakably from Eloise herself.  A large lump formed in my throat.

She’d known.

 

I read the letter as though it was a time-bomb and could possibly blow up in my hands at any moment.

 

My Dear Sophia Lewis,

 

I hope with all of my power that you find all of the secrets left to be discovered about our past, present, and future.  We share many the same secrets that no one else in the history of the world can say they possess.   I already feel so very connected to you, even though I do not know you at all.                  

If you have already found the story, ‘The Rose and Two Thorns’ that I wrote, you might have already expected I am writing this letter now before I go sacrifice myself to the beasts.  This is true.  I want you to know I have thought long and hard after this decision, but I know it is ultimately what I must do.  I have seen the future and I know that you are well on your way, with powers possibly stronger than my own.  I cannot wait for you to come and take my place.  There is so much more that you can offer to this prophecy that I cannot.

There are many parts of myself I feel will be instilled in you, however.  We will be alike in more ways than just one, meaning you will possibly share my weaknesses, my fears, my limitations, but most importantly, my strengths and desires.  I feel that you will be ten times the woman I could ever be.

I want you to be brave, Sophia.  Be confident in your visions and yourself.  Your powers will only get stronger, if they have not already.  I am trying to send you clues in your journey to this self discovery, but there is only so much I can do for you.  When all is said and done, you must be the one who unlocks these mysteries yourself.  You must be the one to end this long, tiring Battle of the Beasts.

It’s not a question of ‘if’ we succeed with our combined efforts over the hundreds of years, but a question of ‘when’.

Know you are loved by many, and know that I love you with all my heart.

 

-Eloise Almira Branchen

Reviews

[Jess.]

Hmm. . .more clues and secrets coming out. Interesting!