It was morning, and the sun was just starting to rise above the quiet village. The only sounds were of birds chirping, and mechanical whirring that came from a small cottage on the far edge of town. And from that cottage appeared a beautiful young woman, loose brunette locks swaying with the wind. Quietly, she sang to herself as she followed the path into town, ready to start her day just like she always did: with a visit to the library.
It was just an average day in town. Like every day, the woman waved to the passing baker, bread tray in hand. There were shoppers and storekeepers, townspeople milling about. Despite the day being ever uneventful, the woman smiled. It wasn't like the town was known for big news, anyway, so she begrudgingly accepted it in spite of her boredom.
It was a little town where everybody knew everybody. Even so, no matter what the size of the town was, everyone would still know Rachel.
As always, everyone said hello to her as she walked towards them, then whispered about her as she passed. They thought her odd; an odd girl raised by an even odder man. Rachel tried to pay them no mind. She'd tell herself that they were all just jealous because she had ambition and was destined for something great, and her father was a brilliant inventor. They thought her and her father were crazy for wanting more than the simple, provincial life.
And, yes, she talked to some sheep, once, but it was simply out of excitement from hitting her highest note yet, and nobody else wanted to hear about it.
Rachel got to the library at her usual time, and started browsing her frequented shelves. When she grew tired of her usual fanciful tales of adventure and epic love, she would read books about her first true love – music. Seeing such a book in the stack of new additions brought Rachel out of her dreary disposition. After shared pleasantries with the old librarian, Rachel thanked him and went on her way. With her nose thoroughly buried in the book, she started to make her way back home. That is, until, on this rather ordinary day, a rather unordinary thing happened.
When she got to the edge of town, Rachel felt a presence start to follow her, and then walk right beside her, towering over her and blocking the sun. She was about to say something when a rather large hand plucked the book from her grasp. With her field of vision no longer blocked, she could see that it was Finn who had been following her, along with his trusty, and much shorter, sidekick, Blaine.
"Good morning, Rachel," Finn greeted with a lopsided grin.
"Good morning, Finn," Rachel replied in a polite tone, eyeing the man as he flipped through her book.
Most of the people in town considered Finn to be the most handsome and most eligible bachelor the town had. Rachel could certainly see the appeal, in fact she always had. She could admit to admiring him from afar a few times, and even fancying the idea of becoming his wife. But it would never do. Rachel wanted adventure, she wanted to experience life to the best of her abilities, and Finn…Finn wanted three or four children in a cabin full of dead animals. Besides, there was always something about him that irked Rachel.
When Finn finished flipping through the book, he scowled at it. "How can you read this? The words are too long, and I think some of them are spelled wrong," he muttered.
Yes, that was it.
Rachel rolled her eyes as she grabbed the book from his hands, "Those words that are 'spelled wrong,' as you put it, are in a different language, Finn. This is a book about music, and a lot of the terminology happens to be in a different language. It's just one of the many reasons why I find music so…inspiring."
She could have gone on, but when she looked up she noticed that only Blaine was half paying attention, whereas Finn was completely gone and had developed a glazed-over look in his eyes. Instead, she lightly cleared her throat, and that seemed to bring the man out of his stupor.
"I don't see the point in reading unless you absolutely have to," Finn said, furrowing his brow. "Like recipe books. That's what women read, right?" he turned to Blaine, who merely shrugged.
"You are positively primeval, Finn Hudson," Rachel gave a small huff.
"Uh, thanks…I think," Finn accepted the…compliment, his face taking over a semi-constipated look. Rachel was about to continue on her way when Finn wrapped his arm around her, "Listen, I know I don't normally talk to you all the time, or ever, but I noticed you in town today. And I don't agree with everybody who says you're too short or too loud, or too annoying or anything else like that."
With that, Rachel quickly removed Finn's arm and started walking down the path, once again.
"I would really love to continue this conversation, Finn," she lied, "but, you see, I promised my father I'd help him with work."
"I wouldn't waste my time trying to help that flamboyant old bat," Finn mumbled, eliciting a too hardy laugh from his friend.
Rachel spun around and glared up at the men, and was about to deliver a diatribe (that Finn would undoubtedly ignore), but before a word could pass from her lips, an explosion rang out from her cottage. In fear for her father's safety, she raced home, leaving the laughing men to their own devices.
She followed the trail of smoke billowing from the small window in the cellar, eventually getting to the door and calling out for her father as she tried to make it through the debris of failed experiments.
"Everything's fine, I just had a little…mix up," her father replied, and Rachel nearly tripped over his body while gawking at the so-called mix up. She hopped over her father and retrieved a pail of water, then dumped it over the small fire that somehow started by his latest invention.
With a groan and a cough, Hiram brought himself from underneath the machinery and stood to greet his daughter. His hair was graying and his glasses were thick, but he seemed spry for his age. Rachel still worried, though, since her other father seemed spry for his age, too.
"If I wasn't so sure of my remarkable intellect, and ability to fix this piece of junk, this thing would be in the scrap heap in the corner," Hiram said while giving the invention a little kick, causing it to splutter and groan.
Their family had gone through some troubles, recently. While Hiram was once considered a wise inventor, things started to go foul over the past year. Machines kept busting, and his ideas were starting to jumble. While the villagers thought he was losing his mind, Rachel knew his faults came from losing his love.
Leroy had been a kind man who treated Rachel as his own. He started out as solely Hiram's assistant, and to the people outside of their home, that's all he ever was. But over the years he grew to be a good friend to Hiram, and then a lover. He was the calm to Hiram's storm and both his and Rachel's rock. He fell ill one winter's night, while transporting one of Hiram's inventions to a convention in the next town. He never got better.
Now, Rachel helped Hiram whenever she could, which really just meant handing him various tools. She wasn't quite the handy type. Hiram got back under the contraption, wrench in hand, and as always, Rachel stood by the tools, ready to help whenever.
"Dad, do you…do you think we're odd?" the woman asked after a short while.
His voice, along with the struggle of metal against metal, echoed under the contraption, "Odd? Well, no. I mean, except for the obvious things," he chuckled, "Why do you ask?"
Rachel seemed to fade off into her own world, leaving the toolbox behind as she started to pace the cellar as she went into a small rant, "The townspeople were talking again, and I try my best to ignore them and tell myself that they're wrong. But sometimes I just can't help but think that they're right, and we are different, and-"
"Hold on, wait, wait," Hiram interrupted his daughter, "of course we're different. Rachel, honey, there's nothing wrong with being different. This family has prided itself on being different."
"Maybe. I just feel lonely, like there's nobody for me to talk to."
"Well, what about that Finn boy? He seems…well intentioned."
"Well intentioned or not, whenever that man opens his mouth, he always puts his mud-covered boot in it," Rachel rolled her eyes. "This town might worship the ground he walks on, but he's not the one for me. I just feel like there's something better for me."
The last of her sentence was drowned out by the strange machine sputtering back to life. Hiram jumped to his feet and the both of them partook in a hopping sort of dance as they cheered and the device chopped logs of wood. Rachel helped her father attach the invention to the family horse, and after a long goodbye, he rode off into the sunset, map in hand and dreams of a wonderful future for his daughter flooding his mind.
The night was an inky black when Hiram discovered that map reading wasn't one of his strong suits. He had been lost for hours but, being as thick-headed as he was, decided to keep moving forward. And perhaps he should have listened to his horse's animal instinct when they came to the fork in the road.
The trees of the forest towered over him, tall and hollow, and he would have felt threatened if they weren't merely dead wood. Even though he had a lantern, he could barely see three inches from his face. His horse was no better, and they both shivered with every twig that cracked under a hoof.
From the depths of the woods, a howl sounded out. And then another. The sound of paws thumping against the cold ground came closer and closer, and the horse bucked and whinnied and galloped in whatever direction he could. No matter what the old man tried, he couldn't calm down his steed. The howls grew louder, and the horse grew wilder. Eventually, he crashed into a wrought iron gate and threw off his master, running off before the wolves could get him.
Hiram watched his horse abandon him before quickly scrambling to the fence. Luckily it was unlocked, and he barged in before any other creature of the night could find him. With a heaved sigh, that quickly transformed into a choked cough, he turned away from the gate, and saw a grand castle in the distance. When he noticed the long, crumbling bridge he had to cross to reach salvation, Hiram almost turned tail and tried to make it back home, but he figured a wolf attack would be more painful than falling to his death. So, with shaky legs, he carefully made his way across the bridge. At the halfway point, he made the mistake of looking over the side and nearly passed out from his ragged nerves. The bottom was nearly pitch black, but even Hiram's old eyes could see the sharp rocks that lie there. He paused to take a couple calming breaths, and then continued onward.
With every step closer, Hiram could see the castle in greater detail. Stone pillars were cracked, the surrounding garden was overrun. Fearsome creatures, gargoyles possibly, stood tall upon the castle, the only things that seemed to be untouched by weather. It appeared as if only crows were brave, or foolhardy, enough to cross the castle's gates. The sight alone charged his nerves, but the shelter of the castle was more than Hiram could turn down.
Once inside, though the castle was shrouded in darkness, Hiram could tell the walls were richly decorated. The slightest step produced an echo, and Hiram hoped that whoever lived here – if someone lived here – was a friendly soul. He wandered down one of the hallways, and didn't know if he should be grateful or nervous when he started to hear whispers. They were unintelligible murmurings at first, but the further he walked down the hall, the easier he could hear.
"We should at least see if he's all right," someone argued in a hushed, ambiguous tone.
"You're really hard up for conversation, aren't you?" came an obviously male, and equally as snarky, reply.
No matter where he looked, Hiram couldn't find a door to where these voices were coming from. He reached over to a table in the hall and picked up the small candelabra that rest there to help him better see in the darkness.
"Hello? I don't mean to intrude, but I was passing through the woods, and some wolves came around. My horse suffered a terrible fright and accidentally left me here. Either that, or he's been plotting against me for months, after that time I tried to use him for farming…"
"I hate to think what her majesty will do, if she finds out you let somebody into the castle," the snarky man whispered.
Hiram twirled around in the hallway, trying desperately to find the source of the voices, "The weather is rather atrocious. I only ask to stay the night and-" his voice cut out as a coughing fit overcame him.
"Oh, you poor man," the high-pitched voice called out seemingly right beside his ear, "of course you may stay the night!"
The other voice groaned while Hiram jumped from surprise, "Hello? Where are you?"
"…Beside you," was the tentative reply, and Hiram turned his head to see nothing but the candelabra.
"Good evening," said the…candelabra. And Hiram passed out.
He awoke shortly afterward in the comfiest chair he had ever sat in, placed in the middle of an elegant parlor. The parlor was dark, like the rest of the castle, save for a small amount of light that came from the floor next to the chair. Where the candelabra stood.
Hiram just stared at it for a moment, almost begging it to move (or to stay perfectly still, he wasn't sure which he would prefer). He inched forward to the edge of the chair and tapped it with his foot, causing the candelabra to hop backwards and bluster out, "I beg your pardon!"
Hiram, too, jumped back, and was enveloped by the cushiony softness of the chair. He warily inspected the candelabra as it stared back at him, "You can talk."
"Yes, I can," the candelabra unnecessarily affirmed. He tried to take on a patient tone, but this strange man was wearing on his patience. Perhaps his friend was right, and they should have just dragged him outside when he passed out.
"Yes, he talks, you talk, the chair would talk if that wouldn't lead to awkwardness and embarrassment for all of us," the snarky voice from before remarked, and before Hiram could reply, the chair started to move. He decided standing would be for the best.
The owner of the voice stepped into the candelabra's light. It was a small grandfather clock, with a dark mahogany finish. His face had a…face, and one of his eyebrows was raised at Hiram, "Now that that's covered, you need to leave."
"Nonsense," the candelabra interrupted. "Don't mind him, sir. Jesse always lacked a certain compassion for others."
"I'm sorry I'm being realistic. I just don't want to be thrown in the dungeon when Miss finds out we've let someone into the castle. Remember the last time you let someone into the castle? That certainly didn't end in our favor."
Hiram watched in astonishment as the two should-have-been inanimate objects bickered with each other, until something came to his attention, "You have names."
The candelabra turned to the man and gave him a small smile, "I don't believe we've properly introduced ourselves. My name is Kurt, and this wretch is Jesse."
"Charmed," Jesse drawled.
There was a squeaking that echoed from the hall outside the parlor, and soon a tea set came in on a rolling cart.
"Oh, splendid, the tea is ready! Thank you, Ms. Jones," Kurt gushed and the teapot nodded as best as she could for being a teapot.
"I heard you've had a nasty night," Ms. Jones said while pouring a cup of tea for Hiram, and he nodded as he experienced another coughing fit. "Well you just drink up and try to get some rest. You're welcome to consider this place like home…at least until Miss wakes from her nap."
"You two need to stop being so overly dramatic," Kurt huffed with a roll of his eyes.
"Says the boy who goes into a frenzy whenever his finish is scuffed," Ms. Jones muttered to Jesse.
Hiram was understandably put off by the tea, but he drank it anyway in a show of politeness. Despite his wariness, the beverage tasted delicious and even helped him relax. At least for a short while.
There was a low growl and a strong breeze came out of nowhere. The objects in the room started to tremble, and before Hiram could ask what was happening, he was lifted off the ground by his neck. It was too dark to see specific details, but Hiram knew that whatever had him wasn't human.
"What are you doing here?" the beast shouted at the man.
Hiram stuttered and coughed, and Kurt tried to explain the situation, "You see, your majesty, he lost his horse while traveling in the woods, and he came upon the castle. He has a terrible cough, and I just thought-"
"Enough!" the beast roared, and everything stood as still as death.
"Please, let me go," Hiram choked. "I didn't mean any harm! I Promise I'll leave as soon as you let me go."
The beast gave a sickeningly saccharine smile, made all the more menacing by the glint of candlelight on sharp fangs, "No, if you want to stay, I'll be happy to house you." The beast bounded out of the parlor, the old man still captured in her paw, leaving a protesting Kurt and Ms. Jones, and a slightly smug Jesse.