Title: Necromancer
Author: Squeezynz
Chapter One: The End and a Beginning
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Authors Note:
This is a ghost story, of sorts - I read an article that put forward a theory that Peter Pan was actually not alive at all, but a ghost of JM Barrie's dead brother, so tragically taken at a young age. The idea obviously intrigued my muse because she threw this at me while I was in the shower last night, then made me sit down and put digits to keyboard and get it all down. Needless to say I had a very late night. Fluff and poignancy abound.
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The house in Bloomsbury, with its ornate, stained glass windows and its neatly swept steps was unusually quiet for a Sunday afternoon. There was none of the running and pattering of youthful feet, nor the cries and shouts of energetic boys about their playful business. The curtains were drawn and the lamps lit despite the hour being still early and the sun still bright. The occupants moved slowly about the house with exaggerated care, their eyes downcast, their mouth's turned down. Once in a while a glance would be met, but the welling of tears quickly broke the connection and the eyes once more turned to stare blindly down at the carpet.
A figure garbed in black descended the stairs with a heavy tread, his lined face drawn and tired. His worn hands held a small, rounded bag, his initials stamped in scratched gold against the side. As he reached the bottom step he released a sigh, his eyes glancing up to meet those staring out of the parlour at him. He had no words to comfort them, only a shake of his head before resuming his course to the front door and the world beyond.
The house seemed to sigh with him as he left, the door clicking shut with a finality that seemed to shake the occupants, their minds trying to comprehend the magnitude of the sorrow to come.
In a pretty bedroom upstairs the recipient of all this parlous grief lay thin and pale against her pillows, her once bright hair, her crowning glory, limp and dull where is lay, spread in a halo around her head. Her face was turned to the window, her once rosy lips curved into a sweet smile, her ocean blue eyes unfocused as if the owner had stepped out of the room and would return soon.
She sighed, her chest rising only slightly to accomplish the feat, her wasted body barely managing to disturb the covers, so slight the breath needed to fill her lungs.
Faintly she could hear people moving about the house. She wished they wouldn't be so quiet, she was tired of being quiet, she wanted noise to fill the room, to fill the long minutes between breaths, to give her something other than her heartbeat to listen to. But she wished in vain, her family too shocked at the appalling speed of events to think straight or ask the dying what they really wanted, really wished for before they died.
For she knew she was dying. It was there in the eyes of the Doctor who tried to smile and pretend it wasn't so. It was there in the eyes of her mother who bravely smiled and pretended there was hope. But she knew, she knew it was all pretend.
To her way of thinking, she was one of the lucky ones. She at least was to be allowed to die in her own bed, in her own home. Others that had been afflicted by this latest influenza outbreak had been shipped to the local hospital and put into isolations wards, in a hopeless attempt to stem the epidemic. It had proved useless. She had caught it from a school friend, had quickly succumbed and now lay, mere hours, maybe minutes from the end of her life.
It was a shame she would never get to have her eighteenth birthday after all. She had been looking forward to it, had planned her gown, had written out the invitations in her careful hand, the small pile even now sitting in her desk drawer, never now to be posted. The dress she and her mother had so carefully created hung inside her wardrobe, the dress too big for her now, its beautiful lace never made into the fichu for the neckline, instead that too languished, unwrapped, a forgotten bundle under the bed.
Closing her eyes, she daydreamed that she was whirling around the flagstone courtyard outside the dining room, the old tree hung with gaily flickering lanterns, her partner whispering sweet compliments quite improperly in her ear about her beautiful eyes and elegant gown. As the dream progressed the music for their dance seemed to well up and surround them, her partner twirling her in his arms, her hand warm in his, her eyes almost closed as she relaxed into his arms. She could almost feel the hard steel of his muscles as he pulled her in closer, the music swelling and becoming louder, the dance faster until she was breathless, her heart pounding.
Feeling giddy, she opened her eyes, blinking up at the ceiling of her room, the images still so vivid in her mind. The sun outside her room had gone, replaced with the chill darkness of the evening, her window shut but the curtains left open. She had insisted on that small detail, hating not to see the sky, even if it was just stars. Someone had come in and seen to the lamps, their soft glow bathing her in imagined warmth, her skin a pale gold in their forgiving light.
As she lay there she became aware of a figure standing in the shadows of the corner by the window. She tried to lift her head to see who it was, but even that small effort was beyond her, her head barely able to turn to the side.
"Who is there....please come forward to where I can see you?" Her softly spoken words, so quiet the listener had to strain to hear them, reached out to the figure, drawing him inexorably to the bed and its occupant.
As he slowly padded across the thick carpet, his eyes caught and held hers, their colour still a mixture of green and blue, as changeable as the ocean and as clear as the sky.
"I've come to take you with me to Neverland.....are you ready?"
Wendy Darling stared up at the golden haired angel standing beside her bed and smiled, her eyes twinkling up at him, disbelief and resignation fighting for dominance, both losing to the feeling of relief that swept over her.
"I have wished that I could see you one last time....hoped and prayed that I wouldn't die before looking upon you again. Now that you are here...I don't believe my eyes.....I think I must still be asleep, dreaming that you are here.....or maybe I am already dead and you are my angel come to guide me to heaven."
Peter Pan looked down at the girl in the bed, his eyes skimming over her well remembered features, disregarding the changes wrought by her illness, only seeing the girl he'd left behind so many years before. Rising into the air, he floated above her bed, just as he had when he'd visited her room all those years before. Wendy looked up into his face and marvelled that she could have such a vivid dream, that her imagination could supply such detail and such changes. For she remembered Peter Pan as a boy, a rascal and rogue who charmed and cajoled, who wheedled and won her heart with his courage and a butter-melting smile. The young man that impudently floated a scant few inches above her bed was no boy, his features more defined, older, his body certainly no longer that of a child, but of a grown man, the shoulders broad, the arms sleek and corded with muscle. Only his eyes remained the same, thickly lashed with a hint of mischief lurking in their depths.
"I'm not your angel Wendy....but I have come to take you away....it won't be long now...you'll be free of this world soon, free to come to mine....to stay there, forever if you want to."
"For a dream you are remarkably rude to mock someone when they are dying...for that is what I am doing here. If you had a crumb of decency you would not tease me so cruelly."
"I'm not teasing you Wendy.....I have come to take you with me...you only have to wish it and it's done."
"Only have to wish it......wouldn't that be a nice dream...to only have to say the words and everything would be as it once was....but no, I would not go back to being a girl...even if there was the faintest chance of doing so....you are impertinent to suggest it."
As she lay there frowning up at the youth hovering over her, she wondered anew how her dream could be so real when his mobile lips parted and formed a cheeky grin, his teeth gleaming whitely in the lamplight, a chuckle issuing forth, washing over her and making her skin prickle with awareness.
"You really don't believe I'm here....do you?"
"I believe that I am delirious, dying, and that I have wished so hard for this to happen that my mind has finally succumbed and given in to my demands...." She smiled wistfully, her eyes half closed, their brightness dimming as she retreated into herself.
"Give me your hand,"
Ignoring the apparition, Wendy turned her head to the side, closing her eyes completely. It made the shock of his touch that much greater. She could feel the roughness of his palm, the calluses from the sword handle, the dry rasp of his skin against her as he entwined his fingers through hers and tugged her limp hand up from the coverlet, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on her fingertips. Wendy's eyes flew open in surprise, not only at his being able to touch her, but at the press of his lips against her skin.
Peter still had her hand in his, his thumb stroking lazily against her palm.
"How can you do that.....you're not real, you're just a dream?"
"Get up Wendy......it's time to leave.....this world is finished for you....mine awaits......come with me!"
"I want to.....but I can't get up Peter...I'm too weak!"
"You're not weak Wendy.....you're strong.....you want to see Neverland again, don't you? The mermaids, the Indians, the Lost Boys?"
"The Lost Boys......but....they came back with me.....years ago."
"These are a whole new collection.....all excited to meet you."
"Meet me......but they don't know me."
"They know you from the stories I've told them.......so many stories of our adventures together......but they need new stories, new adventures......."
"I can't Peter......I'm too....." Wendy tugged her hand from his, covering her eyes as tears welled, her bottom lip trembling uncontrollably, her breath hitching as she fought back the lump lodged in her throat.
"You can Wendy......you just have to let go." Once more he took her hand, prising it from her face, tugging her upwards as he floated away from her. Blinking she let herself be pulled upright, Peter lowering his feet to the carpet, his arm outstretched, her fingers trapped in his. "Swing your legs out, don't worry, I won't let you fall.....get out of bed..."
Slowly she allowed herself to be coaxed and cajoled, Peter's eyes drawing her up, his hand holding hers so gently but insistently until she found herself on her feet, the tears that had swum on her lashes, spilling over and sliding down her face unnoticed. Now Peter reached down and took her other hand, pulling her towards him and the open window behind him, his face alight with laughter, his teeth flashing as he cast a glance over his shoulder before turning his head back to gather her bemused stare with a sparkling one of his own.
"You're nearly there Wendy....only a few more steps and you'll be free."
"I don't understand this Peter.......how can I be doing this....how can you be here?"
"Because you wish it Wendy........because this is what you've wanted to happen all this time......"
"Peter......." A whispering sound came from behind her, drawing her attention, one hand slipping from his as she turned to look back at her bed.
A pale girl lay against the pillows, her face calm and untroubled, her eyes closed, her hand hanging off the bed, limp and still. As Wendy stared in shock, the door of the bedroom opened and she saw her mother appear.
"She can't see you Wendy.......you have finally cut the strings of this world.....there is no reason to stay anymore..." Peter's voice washed over her, his lips close to her ear, his words making no sense. Rooted to the carpet, Wendy watched her mother approach the bed, her steps faltering as she neared the girl laying so still and quiet. She heard her mother call to the girl but the words were too soft for her to hear, her mother reaching out a hand to touch the girls face, drawing back sharply, then reaching again, this time to stroke the pale cheek with unbearable tenderness. Wendy watched as her mother gathered the girl to her breast, rocking the body in her arms, her face buried against the girls for a while before lifting her head, her face contorted in grief, her mouth open on a cry before lowering it and pulling the girl close again.
Too frightened to move, Wendy watched as the door flew open and her father entered the room, his eyes wild and staring, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as he stumbled across the room and fell to the floor by the bed, his face ghastly in its grief, his arms enfolding his wife and dead daughter, both parents engulfed in their unbearable pain of loss.
"It's time to go Wendy......come away with me.....to Neverland."
Like a sleepwalker, Wendy allowed Peter to pull her around and back towards the window, his arm firm around her shoulders, his fingers entwined with hers. As she stepped onto the sill, she glanced once more over her shoulder, her last view of the mortal world too bewildering to comprehend.
"Wendy...?"
She turned her head back to find Peter in front of her, his eyes gleaming darkly, his mouth for once not smiling but wistful and a little unsure.
"I'm ready Peter...take me with you..."
With a sweet smile and a quirk of his irrepressible eyebrow, he gathered her to him, her unresisting body pulled against his, her hand held as if in a dance, his arm around her waist, her hand rising to rest tentatively on his shoulder. Slowly they spiralled upwards, away from the window, out into the night, rising quickly above the smoke stacks and rooftops, their bodies invisible against the cloudless sky as they flew towards the brightest star in the heavens.
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(damn, did it again....made myself cry with my own story....I'm such a sap...anyway, take heart, brave reader, this is only the beginning, not the end.)
Author: Squeezynz
Chapter One: The End and a Beginning
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Authors Note:
This is a ghost story, of sorts - I read an article that put forward a theory that Peter Pan was actually not alive at all, but a ghost of JM Barrie's dead brother, so tragically taken at a young age. The idea obviously intrigued my muse because she threw this at me while I was in the shower last night, then made me sit down and put digits to keyboard and get it all down. Needless to say I had a very late night. Fluff and poignancy abound.
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The house in Bloomsbury, with its ornate, stained glass windows and its neatly swept steps was unusually quiet for a Sunday afternoon. There was none of the running and pattering of youthful feet, nor the cries and shouts of energetic boys about their playful business. The curtains were drawn and the lamps lit despite the hour being still early and the sun still bright. The occupants moved slowly about the house with exaggerated care, their eyes downcast, their mouth's turned down. Once in a while a glance would be met, but the welling of tears quickly broke the connection and the eyes once more turned to stare blindly down at the carpet.
A figure garbed in black descended the stairs with a heavy tread, his lined face drawn and tired. His worn hands held a small, rounded bag, his initials stamped in scratched gold against the side. As he reached the bottom step he released a sigh, his eyes glancing up to meet those staring out of the parlour at him. He had no words to comfort them, only a shake of his head before resuming his course to the front door and the world beyond.
The house seemed to sigh with him as he left, the door clicking shut with a finality that seemed to shake the occupants, their minds trying to comprehend the magnitude of the sorrow to come.
In a pretty bedroom upstairs the recipient of all this parlous grief lay thin and pale against her pillows, her once bright hair, her crowning glory, limp and dull where is lay, spread in a halo around her head. Her face was turned to the window, her once rosy lips curved into a sweet smile, her ocean blue eyes unfocused as if the owner had stepped out of the room and would return soon.
She sighed, her chest rising only slightly to accomplish the feat, her wasted body barely managing to disturb the covers, so slight the breath needed to fill her lungs.
Faintly she could hear people moving about the house. She wished they wouldn't be so quiet, she was tired of being quiet, she wanted noise to fill the room, to fill the long minutes between breaths, to give her something other than her heartbeat to listen to. But she wished in vain, her family too shocked at the appalling speed of events to think straight or ask the dying what they really wanted, really wished for before they died.
For she knew she was dying. It was there in the eyes of the Doctor who tried to smile and pretend it wasn't so. It was there in the eyes of her mother who bravely smiled and pretended there was hope. But she knew, she knew it was all pretend.
To her way of thinking, she was one of the lucky ones. She at least was to be allowed to die in her own bed, in her own home. Others that had been afflicted by this latest influenza outbreak had been shipped to the local hospital and put into isolations wards, in a hopeless attempt to stem the epidemic. It had proved useless. She had caught it from a school friend, had quickly succumbed and now lay, mere hours, maybe minutes from the end of her life.
It was a shame she would never get to have her eighteenth birthday after all. She had been looking forward to it, had planned her gown, had written out the invitations in her careful hand, the small pile even now sitting in her desk drawer, never now to be posted. The dress she and her mother had so carefully created hung inside her wardrobe, the dress too big for her now, its beautiful lace never made into the fichu for the neckline, instead that too languished, unwrapped, a forgotten bundle under the bed.
Closing her eyes, she daydreamed that she was whirling around the flagstone courtyard outside the dining room, the old tree hung with gaily flickering lanterns, her partner whispering sweet compliments quite improperly in her ear about her beautiful eyes and elegant gown. As the dream progressed the music for their dance seemed to well up and surround them, her partner twirling her in his arms, her hand warm in his, her eyes almost closed as she relaxed into his arms. She could almost feel the hard steel of his muscles as he pulled her in closer, the music swelling and becoming louder, the dance faster until she was breathless, her heart pounding.
Feeling giddy, she opened her eyes, blinking up at the ceiling of her room, the images still so vivid in her mind. The sun outside her room had gone, replaced with the chill darkness of the evening, her window shut but the curtains left open. She had insisted on that small detail, hating not to see the sky, even if it was just stars. Someone had come in and seen to the lamps, their soft glow bathing her in imagined warmth, her skin a pale gold in their forgiving light.
As she lay there she became aware of a figure standing in the shadows of the corner by the window. She tried to lift her head to see who it was, but even that small effort was beyond her, her head barely able to turn to the side.
"Who is there....please come forward to where I can see you?" Her softly spoken words, so quiet the listener had to strain to hear them, reached out to the figure, drawing him inexorably to the bed and its occupant.
As he slowly padded across the thick carpet, his eyes caught and held hers, their colour still a mixture of green and blue, as changeable as the ocean and as clear as the sky.
"I've come to take you with me to Neverland.....are you ready?"
Wendy Darling stared up at the golden haired angel standing beside her bed and smiled, her eyes twinkling up at him, disbelief and resignation fighting for dominance, both losing to the feeling of relief that swept over her.
"I have wished that I could see you one last time....hoped and prayed that I wouldn't die before looking upon you again. Now that you are here...I don't believe my eyes.....I think I must still be asleep, dreaming that you are here.....or maybe I am already dead and you are my angel come to guide me to heaven."
Peter Pan looked down at the girl in the bed, his eyes skimming over her well remembered features, disregarding the changes wrought by her illness, only seeing the girl he'd left behind so many years before. Rising into the air, he floated above her bed, just as he had when he'd visited her room all those years before. Wendy looked up into his face and marvelled that she could have such a vivid dream, that her imagination could supply such detail and such changes. For she remembered Peter Pan as a boy, a rascal and rogue who charmed and cajoled, who wheedled and won her heart with his courage and a butter-melting smile. The young man that impudently floated a scant few inches above her bed was no boy, his features more defined, older, his body certainly no longer that of a child, but of a grown man, the shoulders broad, the arms sleek and corded with muscle. Only his eyes remained the same, thickly lashed with a hint of mischief lurking in their depths.
"I'm not your angel Wendy....but I have come to take you away....it won't be long now...you'll be free of this world soon, free to come to mine....to stay there, forever if you want to."
"For a dream you are remarkably rude to mock someone when they are dying...for that is what I am doing here. If you had a crumb of decency you would not tease me so cruelly."
"I'm not teasing you Wendy.....I have come to take you with me...you only have to wish it and it's done."
"Only have to wish it......wouldn't that be a nice dream...to only have to say the words and everything would be as it once was....but no, I would not go back to being a girl...even if there was the faintest chance of doing so....you are impertinent to suggest it."
As she lay there frowning up at the youth hovering over her, she wondered anew how her dream could be so real when his mobile lips parted and formed a cheeky grin, his teeth gleaming whitely in the lamplight, a chuckle issuing forth, washing over her and making her skin prickle with awareness.
"You really don't believe I'm here....do you?"
"I believe that I am delirious, dying, and that I have wished so hard for this to happen that my mind has finally succumbed and given in to my demands...." She smiled wistfully, her eyes half closed, their brightness dimming as she retreated into herself.
"Give me your hand,"
Ignoring the apparition, Wendy turned her head to the side, closing her eyes completely. It made the shock of his touch that much greater. She could feel the roughness of his palm, the calluses from the sword handle, the dry rasp of his skin against her as he entwined his fingers through hers and tugged her limp hand up from the coverlet, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on her fingertips. Wendy's eyes flew open in surprise, not only at his being able to touch her, but at the press of his lips against her skin.
Peter still had her hand in his, his thumb stroking lazily against her palm.
"How can you do that.....you're not real, you're just a dream?"
"Get up Wendy......it's time to leave.....this world is finished for you....mine awaits......come with me!"
"I want to.....but I can't get up Peter...I'm too weak!"
"You're not weak Wendy.....you're strong.....you want to see Neverland again, don't you? The mermaids, the Indians, the Lost Boys?"
"The Lost Boys......but....they came back with me.....years ago."
"These are a whole new collection.....all excited to meet you."
"Meet me......but they don't know me."
"They know you from the stories I've told them.......so many stories of our adventures together......but they need new stories, new adventures......."
"I can't Peter......I'm too....." Wendy tugged her hand from his, covering her eyes as tears welled, her bottom lip trembling uncontrollably, her breath hitching as she fought back the lump lodged in her throat.
"You can Wendy......you just have to let go." Once more he took her hand, prising it from her face, tugging her upwards as he floated away from her. Blinking she let herself be pulled upright, Peter lowering his feet to the carpet, his arm outstretched, her fingers trapped in his. "Swing your legs out, don't worry, I won't let you fall.....get out of bed..."
Slowly she allowed herself to be coaxed and cajoled, Peter's eyes drawing her up, his hand holding hers so gently but insistently until she found herself on her feet, the tears that had swum on her lashes, spilling over and sliding down her face unnoticed. Now Peter reached down and took her other hand, pulling her towards him and the open window behind him, his face alight with laughter, his teeth flashing as he cast a glance over his shoulder before turning his head back to gather her bemused stare with a sparkling one of his own.
"You're nearly there Wendy....only a few more steps and you'll be free."
"I don't understand this Peter.......how can I be doing this....how can you be here?"
"Because you wish it Wendy........because this is what you've wanted to happen all this time......"
"Peter......." A whispering sound came from behind her, drawing her attention, one hand slipping from his as she turned to look back at her bed.
A pale girl lay against the pillows, her face calm and untroubled, her eyes closed, her hand hanging off the bed, limp and still. As Wendy stared in shock, the door of the bedroom opened and she saw her mother appear.
"She can't see you Wendy.......you have finally cut the strings of this world.....there is no reason to stay anymore..." Peter's voice washed over her, his lips close to her ear, his words making no sense. Rooted to the carpet, Wendy watched her mother approach the bed, her steps faltering as she neared the girl laying so still and quiet. She heard her mother call to the girl but the words were too soft for her to hear, her mother reaching out a hand to touch the girls face, drawing back sharply, then reaching again, this time to stroke the pale cheek with unbearable tenderness. Wendy watched as her mother gathered the girl to her breast, rocking the body in her arms, her face buried against the girls for a while before lifting her head, her face contorted in grief, her mouth open on a cry before lowering it and pulling the girl close again.
Too frightened to move, Wendy watched as the door flew open and her father entered the room, his eyes wild and staring, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as he stumbled across the room and fell to the floor by the bed, his face ghastly in its grief, his arms enfolding his wife and dead daughter, both parents engulfed in their unbearable pain of loss.
"It's time to go Wendy......come away with me.....to Neverland."
Like a sleepwalker, Wendy allowed Peter to pull her around and back towards the window, his arm firm around her shoulders, his fingers entwined with hers. As she stepped onto the sill, she glanced once more over her shoulder, her last view of the mortal world too bewildering to comprehend.
"Wendy...?"
She turned her head back to find Peter in front of her, his eyes gleaming darkly, his mouth for once not smiling but wistful and a little unsure.
"I'm ready Peter...take me with you..."
With a sweet smile and a quirk of his irrepressible eyebrow, he gathered her to him, her unresisting body pulled against his, her hand held as if in a dance, his arm around her waist, her hand rising to rest tentatively on his shoulder. Slowly they spiralled upwards, away from the window, out into the night, rising quickly above the smoke stacks and rooftops, their bodies invisible against the cloudless sky as they flew towards the brightest star in the heavens.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
(damn, did it again....made myself cry with my own story....I'm such a sap...anyway, take heart, brave reader, this is only the beginning, not the end.)