Little Lotte's Tale
Chapter 1: A hopeful promise
To be honest, I cannot tell you how or even when it happened quite clearly. It all happened, so fast, a blur which I cannot explain. I am lost and have no idea where to begin this twisted tale, so I will start here.
The year was 1861. I was seven years old. I stood by my father's bedside and watched as he lay dying, his life soon to be taken by the influenza that had struck with dreadful force that year. He pulled me closer to him so I could hear his hoarse last words. His breathing hard, each breath rasped in his chest. Beads of perspiration slowly rolled down his face from the terrible pestilence.
"My dearest petite Christine," he managed to say slowly, "You know I love and care for you, and I regret having to leave you hear like this."
I could not stand him talking like this. Stay strong, I told myself. It will be all right in the end, just keep it all together. My mind kept telling itself that, yet I knew in my heart it was all a lie. In my mind, I knew my heart had finally won. My eyes started to burn and my vision blurred as large tears formed in my eyes and began to make their way down my cheeks.
"My precious child," he started again, taking my tiny hand in his own cold, clammy one, "Do you remember the stories I told you, the stories of the angel of music?"
I looked into his pale sea foam green eyes, now losing all their lust and joy as death slowly grasped him more and more, turning his eyes dull and hardly recognizable. I nodded, and tried to look away, yet there was something about his gaze that kept my eyes fixed on his, I simply could not bring myself, no matter how much pain it caused me, to look away.
"Do not fear, Christine, I will send the angel of music to you once I am in heaven, child, as I have promised you throughout our lives together. He will come and care for you. Do you believe me?" he asked pleadingly.
I nodded my head and managed to whisper to him, "Yes, Papa."
He reached up weakly and touched my cheek. "Do not fear my little Christine. I love you."
Hot tears streamed down my cheeks as the life departed his weak body. I felt his hand go limp and rest beside him on the bed. This couldn't be happening. My world, my life, shattered before my young eyes. My friend and father, one companion, gone. Forever.
A hand came to rest on my shoulder. I turned around to see one of the nuns from our parish, Sister Mary Elizabeth. She offered me a warm smile as a solemn priest walked in and stood over my father's pale corpse. I tried to return her smile, but my eyes remained glued to my father's body lying stiff on the bed.
The priest opened a small book worn with years of use. He found the page he was looking for and began to read off a psalm. He then proceeded to say a prayer, asking to forgive my father for all of his sinning and take him into heaven. When he was finished, I crossed myself reverently like I had been taught to do when I was very young.
I looked out the small window that was in my father's bedroom. I silently walked over to it. I folded my arms and rested my chin on the old wooden ledge. The sun had already gone down now, and twilight was settling in. People rushed home from the small streets in Perros to the warmth and shelter of their homes. Lamplighters started making their rounds, illuminating the old whale oil lamps and drawing moths to the eerie light. I recalled the many stories my father had told me of fairies and other mythical creatures that came out at dusk to dance on the horizon before twilight took over. I remembered when my father had brought me out at night to look upon the fascinating little creatures, and as he pointed them out, I imagined in my mind's eye that I saw them.
"Dear," came a gentle voice from behind me. I had entirely forgotten that the nun was still there, standing behind me. I glanced over to the bed where my father's body had been. Sister Mary Elizabeth read the look on my face and seemed to read my mind. "They took his body down to the mortuary to have it prepared. It's getting late now. Father Brian has already gone back to the church to arrange for your father's funeral."
"Funeral?" I echoed horrified, in a barely audible whisper. My hopes until now were that this was just a terribly horrid dream and nothing wrong, but through this woman's words, my hopes were smothered like a candle's flame in a fierce wind.
"Yes. It should be tomorrow. You should get some rest, it's been a hard day for all of us and we are all exhausted."
With that she led me out of the room and showed me down the hall to my own bedroom. I had lived here my whole life, yet the room seemed strange and alien to me. She helped me out of my daytime dress and into my nightgown. She did this all in silence. Then she walked me over and sat me down at my dresser in front of the small oval mirror. I looked at the few things I had on top of it: a few shells I had found at the beach, a small gold bracelet, a couple of hair ribbons, my hair brush, and a picture of my mother and father with me as a small child. I couldn't remember, I couldn't have been more than two years old. I fingered the picture. I looked every bit like my mother, except for her long, golden blonde hair. My hair was curly and chestnut brown, like my father's. It pained me to look at the picture. My mother had died when I was three years old, yet I can't remember how she went. I barely remember her. My father used to tell me stories, and sometimes I imagine what life would have been had she not died. Now I was alone in the world. I had no one, not even close family. Mary Elizabeth took my hair out of the tight ribbons and brushed it gingerly. She picked up the washcloth out of the water basin and began to wipe my dirty face. I had dirt all over me. I hadn't taken a bath in ages. She led me over to my bed when she seemed satisfied and tucked me under the warm covers and kissing me on the forehead.
"Good night, love," she whispered to me, "I'll be back in the morning to check on you. Sleep well, and don't forget your prayers." With that she shut the door behind her after extinguishing the oil lamp. I lay in bed for what seemed an eternity staring at the ceiling before I slipped into a restless sleep, a world full of unrelenting nightmares.