Knock On Wood

Summary: They say you should knock on wood for good luck. But all Susan receives is regret.

Susan Pevensie stared grimly at the coffin in front of her. She was unsure of how she felt. She supposed she should feel sad, a deep morose for the forever sleeping body encased inside of it. Perhaps even a little angry that whatever higher power there may be allowed such a travesty to happen. It would also seem like she should feel lonely. She felt none of that. Instead, she felt a deep, despairing regret.

What she regretted, Susan was unsure of. She was confident of where she would find the answers…but she was afraid of what she would find. She wished – not for the first time since that fateful train wreck - her siblings were here with her. Peter would be able to comfort her, tell her just the right things. Edmund would try to cheer her up – and fail miserably despite his admirable attempts. Lucy…Lucy would know how to solve the problem. Lucy would put everything into action, make Susan believe.

Believe what?

Then, as if Lucy was actually standing beside her, Susan knew the answer. It was like a faint whispering across her soul; so subtle Susan doubted it for a moment. She wanted to ignore it, and she would have – she had no reason to enter the big house on the hill – if it hadn't been for the rain.

It didn't start as a quiet drizzle like normal, instead coming down by the gallons. She picked up her billowy black skirts and ran to the house. The door was locked, and she knocked for what seemed like hours before a maid finally opened the door. Susan barreled past the maid and ran through the hallways and up the stairwells until she reached the top floor.

She slowed only when she reached the last hallway. Her run slowed to a jog, her jog to a walk, her walk to just barely putting one foot in front of the other. She stopped in front of the second door and hesitantly put her hand on the handle. She cautiously opened the door and stepped into the room. A flood of memories washed over her, almost making her turn and leave. Feeling out of place in such a simple room she shed her fancy and overpriced shawl and shoes so that she only wore her plain black dress. She tentatively walked forward, still feeling she was intruding on something bigger and larger than she could ever imagine.

At the end of the room was a tall piece of furniture, covered in a heavy sheet to protect it from dust. She pulled the sheet off without hassle and before her stood a magnificent wardrobe with several scenarios carved into its wood. She looked up in awe at the wardrobe. Susan raised her head in defiance of the memories that flooded her mind at the sight of the wardrobe (or perhaps she was only trying to seem regal once more) and confidently opened the door and stepped inside. She was surrounded by many coats, mothballs, and boots. She hugged one of the furs to her chest and breathed deeply – relishing the familiarity. She released the coat from her grasp and pushed it and others to the side, walking to the back of the wardrobe. She met a wooden wall.

She hesitantly raised a petite fist and knocked on the wood. Nothing happened. She knocked again, and again – they said the third time was the charm. Still nothing happened. She let out a cry of despair and anguish and slid down the wall to the dusty floor. Clouds of dusts rose around her, irritating her already teary eyes. She laid her head on her knees, sobbing.

"Lucy, the only wood here is the back of the wardrobe."

Her father had always told Susan to knock on wood for luck. Her inner-child had always believed it – but no more. Not when knocking on this wood – one cherished and treasured – only brought her regret. Regrets of never believing, of forgetting, of being swept off her feet by things that could never sustain her.