Disclaimer - I don't own Edward or any other characters featuring in the
film "Edward Scissorhands." However, Mike and any new characters belong to
me.
Thanks for the nice reviews! I wasn't sure whether to continue this story, but if people like it then who am I to argue. As promised, Edward appears in this chapter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Angel Tears
Chapter 3 - Legacy of the Angel
As Mike hauled himself up and over the brambles, he realised he had made a big mistake. The drop in front of him was 10 feet at least, and the plants ended abruptly at a wall too smooth to grip. It was too dark to see what lay on the ground, and the hard concrete behind him made going back a painful business. His climb had taken him several minutes, and the taxi driver had eventually given up and left him. He was alone.
Peering desperately at the ground, Mike caught a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. Turing, he managed to catch a glimpse of a figure, before he lost his balance and pitched forward over the wall.
Soft, powdery earth cushioned his fall, but he was still badly bruised. Now he was on the ground he could see more clearly the hill he must climb. Skeleton-like trees clawed their way up the hillside, and thorny bushes barred the path to the road that wound steadily upwards. Dry leaves crunched under him - It seemed no rain ever reached the ground. The shadows surrounded him, and a pale glow was all he could use to see by.
Staggering to his feet, Mike searched vainly for the light source. It seemed to come from everywhere at once: like moonlight, but colder and not able to reach very far into the shadows. A whispering sound filled the air - like the breath of wind through leaves, but the trees were bare, and there was not even a light breeze to move the branches.
"This place is definitely haunted!" He muttered, remembering the strange figure. "If I find this boy he will probably be scared out of his wits!"
The reminder of his purpose there gave him new strength. Rubbing his aching muscles, he started up the hill, pushing aside branches and wading through leaves. He stumbled often, his thin arms and small frame tired easily, and his scars burned as if they were filled with molten lead.
He was just a little more than halfway up the hill when the inevitable happened. Snagging his foot on a hidden tree root, he went sprawling into the leaves. His ankle twisted painfully and he dragged himself to a rock to rest. Looking back down the hill, he realised he couldn't see any of the suburban neighbourhood he passed on the way. All he saw were the stars, and the shapes of branches overhead. He knew he should be able to see something, and panic overcame him. He began to shiver, and his clothes were soon drenched with sweat. To him the temperature had dropped a good ten degrees, and his sweater clung to him like a restraint. Swiftly hauling himself to his feet, he tripped and almost fell in his rush to run down the hill, then staggered backwards as a figure barred his path. His ankle again gave way and he fell backwards.
Squinting up at the figure, Mike was relieved to find that it was strangely familiar. Blue, transparent and giving a light of his own, a young boy ("No, a young-looking boy." Mike reminded himself) with eyes older than his years stood before him. Unless you looked closely, you might miss the fact that his lower body went through the leaves and rocks to touch the ground. His face was unfamiliar to Mike, but his manner and presence were nothing but warm and peaceful. The boy stood still as mike tried to get to his feet, a slight look of regret his apology for not helping him to rise. When Mike got up, he offered his hand. The boy reached out, and soundlessly placed his hand around Mike's, the tips of his fingers passing through Mike's own. The feeling was cold, dead but both of their eyes were alive. The boys with reassurance, Mike's with hope.
"Have courage." The boy said. "You will reach your goal."
Mike looked puzzled as he stared at the boy, then he blurted out
"But you, you're glowing blue! Aren't you one of the newly dead? Why would you help me - "
He stopped, embarrassed. The boy looked faintly amused.
"New in our terms Mike, is a bit different in yours. I have been dead 411 years. In that time, I have never left this hill, but I have always sought to do good and protect. Not all spirits are bad. This is a great thing you have set out to do, and I intend to help you accomplish it."
Mike hung his head.
"I'm sorry - forgive me"
The boy chuckled, and signalled him to raise his head.
"There is nothing to forgive. I know Jonathan, and the thing you are doing means so much to him. You are giving so much. Can you not see that?"
Mike shrugged
"I'm not doing much. Its normal - what anyone would do: nothing special."
"Very well." The boy said. "Go and continue your "not very special" deed."
He smiled knowingly.
"Don't forget we are here to protect you, and if you see John tell him you met Gareth and he said to tell him to visit more often."
Gareth began to fade, and Mike bowed his head in acknowledgement. Once there was no trace of him left, Mike faced the slope of the hill once more. He reached the top 10 minutes later.
************* Finally on flat ground, Mike took a minute to catch his breath. The house towered above him, huge stone gargoyles hunched over the biggest set of gates he had ever seen. The plants were so thick here that only the stone pillars either side suggested it had once been an entrance.
Peeking over the gates were more stone creations, creatures carved from a smooth grey stone. Great stags and eagles reared from the walls, and more columns held animals too strange to identify. The ivy and tendrils covering the gate were thicker than those at the base of the hill, and seemed to Mike to be much more alive. Their stems were pliant, and many had green leaves. He tried to prise them apart but to no avail. Finally he rested, and prepared once more to scale the walls. It was dark on his side of the wall, but the mysterious light threw the house into sharp relief, no colours visible beyond the great shadows.
This time, climbing was easy. The plants made excellent footholds, and no thorns snagged his clothes. He dreaded a further drop to the ground so just before he got to the top he closed his eyes and turned, clambering down then landing quite lightly onto gravel on the other side. He turned round again slowly and opened his eyes.
A shock of colour met his eyes. Flowers of every shape and size crowded his vision. Sinewy paths criss-crossed and wove around sweeping flowerbeds; each filled to the brim with life. The tangy scent of the blooms filled the chilly air, and an eerie mist covered all with a blanket of dampness and cold. A series of dark shapes towered over the beautiful flowers. Looking closer, Mike could see that they were hedges, sculpted to look like all creatures under the sun, and some that he had seen only in books. Great dragons reared their heads over the flowers, and the exquisitely cut lines made them seem almost alive. The huge stone gargoyles above were mirrored in these great plants, a regal stag and its stone twin stood side by side, their heads turned to the point of the setting sun;
The centrepiece of this strange garden was the most striking of all. A great hand, reaching out as if to clasp the moon itself. The nails sculpted to precision detail, the muscle contours bunched as if to move at any moment, it loomed above the central batch of flowers as if in greeting, or perhaps even a warning.
Mike stayed rooted to the spot for a long time, the combination of these living marvels and the cold rendering him immobile. After what seemed like forever, he forced himself to take a few tentative steps. The silence was absolute, his footsteps seemed like hammer blows, muffled buy the cloying atmosphere. To his surprise, the mist did not impede movement, just sound. The cold did not penetrate his bones, but settled on his skin, sending trails of Goosebumps along his arms.
At the end of the path, he came to a great wooden door. The handle was of aged iron, and appeared to have no lock. The swirls of metal on the door almost seemed to move, and made Mike feel quite ill. He looked away, then remembered sombrely the child, and his desperate plea for help. He recalled his journey from the house this morning: fleeting shapes darted round corners at his approach, faint faces on the train melted into the shadows. He knew now why the train ride had sickened him. He was waiting for any one of those faces to cry out to him: to scream in a voice only he could hear. It had happened once before. The curses and threats had followed him for miles, the shimmering figure tailing him to his office, and tormenting him until he could stand it no longer.
With no sleep, and his waking hours haunted by the dead, murdered and tortured. He had been near the end of his own life. He knew that now. It may not have come that night, or the night after: but not far in the near future he was certain he would have joined those echoes of lives, cursing himself for caring, for crying and screaming, instead of distancing himself from the pain of others. Now there were no more angry ghosts, no more days spent running from death. Now he had somewhere to go, something to do. It was a gift that he had even come this far. His life was silent, his sleep untroubled.
With a silent wave of gratitude and promise to the only angel he had ever met, Mike pushed open the door.
*************
The door closed behind him, and cold was shut off as if cut with a knife. Mike stood in a cavernous room, the sounds of his entrance still passing from wall to wall, as if they would never stop. A fine grey dust coated everything in sight, or so it seemed. However, looking behind him there were no prints on the floor, and no sign of any disturbance.
Monstrous figures reminiscent of the gargoyles on the outside of the building loomed from distant corners, and stood as guards to the magnificent staircase, its wrought iron banister twisting up into the darkness. The shadows seemed to reach everywhere, and the light was stopped almost as soon as it entered one of the large ornate windows.
Mike's eye was drawn to the only proper source of light in the room. A window in the roof of the building allowed a pure shaft of white light to shine across the room, and rest upon a door at the far side. Mike didn't know how he knew, but there was no one in the house itself. It wasn't the aged feel of it, or the strange sensation on his skin, or even the door. He could just sense that nothing living was within. The answer lay behind the door, and whatever waited for him there.
He tried walking softly across the room, but as if scorning his attempts to remain unnoticed the house made the echoes still louder, until he could imagine his ears were ringing. He took the most direct path to the door, and tried his best to ignore the massive shapes on either side of him. His squinting eyes fancied he could see butchers hooks, and malevolent faces, their eyes shining in the dark. He kept his eyes stubbornly riveted on the door, and after what seemed like eternity he stood before it.
It was much simpler than the door at the entrance, solid wood, with a large iron lock. To his excitement, he saw that it had been left unlocked, and the lack of rust made it look as if it had been used recently. He rested his hand upon it, and the door swung open without making a sound.
He stood outside, in a narrow passageway the walls of which were covered from head to foot in trailing plants, their leaves intertwining and producing a seemingly impenetrable barrier. A faint light shone at the end of the passage, showing it to not be much more than a few metres long. Mike strode swiftly down the passage; his heart telling him he was about to reach his goal. The gravel crunched under his feet, but he was not aware of it, he rounded the corner at almost a run, and stopped dead when he ran into a figure.
The shock froze him where he stood, his mind racing, waiting for an attack or worse. When the figure did not move he realised what he had not before in his hurry: it was another of the great plant-figures. This one a life- size replica of a girl with long flowing hair. The details were picked out in astonishing detail, her dress was elaborate and adorned with flowers, and her blank face was perfect in every detail except for the eyes. Mike realised with a start that none of the sculptures had eyes.
*Perhaps that is the one area in which they failed* He thought to himself. Then he noticed something else odd.
Whereas the figures right arm was perfectly normal, the left joined in a curve of some sort, walking a few paces past the figure, he saw it was joined with a second, identical to the first. Their linked hands reminiscent of the paper cutouts he had made as a child.
He felt a breath of wind rustle his sweater. Twisting round, he realised he was in an open space. It was huge. Possibly bigger than a football field. It was impossible to see the end of it. It was mostly lawn, but around the edges, as far as he could see, were more flowerbeds, even more beautiful than those at the front of the house. The girl figures lined the high wall that ran around the length of the space, stopping where it met the house. On both sides they ran, a seemingly endless procession, each as beautiful as the last. Their legs poised as if for dancing, their faces though eyeless unutterably sad.
Mike drew in a deep breath. There was someone else there. Almost at the edge of his vision, the earth seemed to slope downwards. Crouched directly in the centre of the space was a figure, almost invisible in the faint light. The light seemed in places to swallow them up, in others to make them shine as bright as day. They had their back to him, but still Mike could not doubt who he was.
"Edward." He whispered.
The figure saw no sign of having heard, or even noticing he was there. Gingerly, Mike started walking towards him, felling like some sort of intruder, and ashamed to speak out. All words seemed meaningless here, their presence vile and dirty.
As he approached Edward, Mike became aware of a faint sound. It was like scratching, but harsh. As if the surface was abrasive and not meant to be touched. There was a faint scritching sound as if of metal, and the soft movement of material as Edward shifted his position and bent once more, intent on something in front of him. Mike drew closer and realised Edward was sitting on a massive slab of stone, directly in the centre. Probably once a patio, now it was worn smooth and completely bare. Edward had something metal in his hands, and was using it to chip away at the stone, where something was etched deeply. Before he could see what it was, however; Edward stood and turned to face him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sorry about the cliffhanger, but this chapter is long enough for me as it is! Anyway, Edward is in it, if only for a little while. Sorry it took so long to update but I wanted to get the description just right. Hope you all like it, and reviews/constructive criticism always welcome =)
Thanks for the nice reviews! I wasn't sure whether to continue this story, but if people like it then who am I to argue. As promised, Edward appears in this chapter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Angel Tears
Chapter 3 - Legacy of the Angel
As Mike hauled himself up and over the brambles, he realised he had made a big mistake. The drop in front of him was 10 feet at least, and the plants ended abruptly at a wall too smooth to grip. It was too dark to see what lay on the ground, and the hard concrete behind him made going back a painful business. His climb had taken him several minutes, and the taxi driver had eventually given up and left him. He was alone.
Peering desperately at the ground, Mike caught a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. Turing, he managed to catch a glimpse of a figure, before he lost his balance and pitched forward over the wall.
Soft, powdery earth cushioned his fall, but he was still badly bruised. Now he was on the ground he could see more clearly the hill he must climb. Skeleton-like trees clawed their way up the hillside, and thorny bushes barred the path to the road that wound steadily upwards. Dry leaves crunched under him - It seemed no rain ever reached the ground. The shadows surrounded him, and a pale glow was all he could use to see by.
Staggering to his feet, Mike searched vainly for the light source. It seemed to come from everywhere at once: like moonlight, but colder and not able to reach very far into the shadows. A whispering sound filled the air - like the breath of wind through leaves, but the trees were bare, and there was not even a light breeze to move the branches.
"This place is definitely haunted!" He muttered, remembering the strange figure. "If I find this boy he will probably be scared out of his wits!"
The reminder of his purpose there gave him new strength. Rubbing his aching muscles, he started up the hill, pushing aside branches and wading through leaves. He stumbled often, his thin arms and small frame tired easily, and his scars burned as if they were filled with molten lead.
He was just a little more than halfway up the hill when the inevitable happened. Snagging his foot on a hidden tree root, he went sprawling into the leaves. His ankle twisted painfully and he dragged himself to a rock to rest. Looking back down the hill, he realised he couldn't see any of the suburban neighbourhood he passed on the way. All he saw were the stars, and the shapes of branches overhead. He knew he should be able to see something, and panic overcame him. He began to shiver, and his clothes were soon drenched with sweat. To him the temperature had dropped a good ten degrees, and his sweater clung to him like a restraint. Swiftly hauling himself to his feet, he tripped and almost fell in his rush to run down the hill, then staggered backwards as a figure barred his path. His ankle again gave way and he fell backwards.
Squinting up at the figure, Mike was relieved to find that it was strangely familiar. Blue, transparent and giving a light of his own, a young boy ("No, a young-looking boy." Mike reminded himself) with eyes older than his years stood before him. Unless you looked closely, you might miss the fact that his lower body went through the leaves and rocks to touch the ground. His face was unfamiliar to Mike, but his manner and presence were nothing but warm and peaceful. The boy stood still as mike tried to get to his feet, a slight look of regret his apology for not helping him to rise. When Mike got up, he offered his hand. The boy reached out, and soundlessly placed his hand around Mike's, the tips of his fingers passing through Mike's own. The feeling was cold, dead but both of their eyes were alive. The boys with reassurance, Mike's with hope.
"Have courage." The boy said. "You will reach your goal."
Mike looked puzzled as he stared at the boy, then he blurted out
"But you, you're glowing blue! Aren't you one of the newly dead? Why would you help me - "
He stopped, embarrassed. The boy looked faintly amused.
"New in our terms Mike, is a bit different in yours. I have been dead 411 years. In that time, I have never left this hill, but I have always sought to do good and protect. Not all spirits are bad. This is a great thing you have set out to do, and I intend to help you accomplish it."
Mike hung his head.
"I'm sorry - forgive me"
The boy chuckled, and signalled him to raise his head.
"There is nothing to forgive. I know Jonathan, and the thing you are doing means so much to him. You are giving so much. Can you not see that?"
Mike shrugged
"I'm not doing much. Its normal - what anyone would do: nothing special."
"Very well." The boy said. "Go and continue your "not very special" deed."
He smiled knowingly.
"Don't forget we are here to protect you, and if you see John tell him you met Gareth and he said to tell him to visit more often."
Gareth began to fade, and Mike bowed his head in acknowledgement. Once there was no trace of him left, Mike faced the slope of the hill once more. He reached the top 10 minutes later.
************* Finally on flat ground, Mike took a minute to catch his breath. The house towered above him, huge stone gargoyles hunched over the biggest set of gates he had ever seen. The plants were so thick here that only the stone pillars either side suggested it had once been an entrance.
Peeking over the gates were more stone creations, creatures carved from a smooth grey stone. Great stags and eagles reared from the walls, and more columns held animals too strange to identify. The ivy and tendrils covering the gate were thicker than those at the base of the hill, and seemed to Mike to be much more alive. Their stems were pliant, and many had green leaves. He tried to prise them apart but to no avail. Finally he rested, and prepared once more to scale the walls. It was dark on his side of the wall, but the mysterious light threw the house into sharp relief, no colours visible beyond the great shadows.
This time, climbing was easy. The plants made excellent footholds, and no thorns snagged his clothes. He dreaded a further drop to the ground so just before he got to the top he closed his eyes and turned, clambering down then landing quite lightly onto gravel on the other side. He turned round again slowly and opened his eyes.
A shock of colour met his eyes. Flowers of every shape and size crowded his vision. Sinewy paths criss-crossed and wove around sweeping flowerbeds; each filled to the brim with life. The tangy scent of the blooms filled the chilly air, and an eerie mist covered all with a blanket of dampness and cold. A series of dark shapes towered over the beautiful flowers. Looking closer, Mike could see that they were hedges, sculpted to look like all creatures under the sun, and some that he had seen only in books. Great dragons reared their heads over the flowers, and the exquisitely cut lines made them seem almost alive. The huge stone gargoyles above were mirrored in these great plants, a regal stag and its stone twin stood side by side, their heads turned to the point of the setting sun;
The centrepiece of this strange garden was the most striking of all. A great hand, reaching out as if to clasp the moon itself. The nails sculpted to precision detail, the muscle contours bunched as if to move at any moment, it loomed above the central batch of flowers as if in greeting, or perhaps even a warning.
Mike stayed rooted to the spot for a long time, the combination of these living marvels and the cold rendering him immobile. After what seemed like forever, he forced himself to take a few tentative steps. The silence was absolute, his footsteps seemed like hammer blows, muffled buy the cloying atmosphere. To his surprise, the mist did not impede movement, just sound. The cold did not penetrate his bones, but settled on his skin, sending trails of Goosebumps along his arms.
At the end of the path, he came to a great wooden door. The handle was of aged iron, and appeared to have no lock. The swirls of metal on the door almost seemed to move, and made Mike feel quite ill. He looked away, then remembered sombrely the child, and his desperate plea for help. He recalled his journey from the house this morning: fleeting shapes darted round corners at his approach, faint faces on the train melted into the shadows. He knew now why the train ride had sickened him. He was waiting for any one of those faces to cry out to him: to scream in a voice only he could hear. It had happened once before. The curses and threats had followed him for miles, the shimmering figure tailing him to his office, and tormenting him until he could stand it no longer.
With no sleep, and his waking hours haunted by the dead, murdered and tortured. He had been near the end of his own life. He knew that now. It may not have come that night, or the night after: but not far in the near future he was certain he would have joined those echoes of lives, cursing himself for caring, for crying and screaming, instead of distancing himself from the pain of others. Now there were no more angry ghosts, no more days spent running from death. Now he had somewhere to go, something to do. It was a gift that he had even come this far. His life was silent, his sleep untroubled.
With a silent wave of gratitude and promise to the only angel he had ever met, Mike pushed open the door.
*************
The door closed behind him, and cold was shut off as if cut with a knife. Mike stood in a cavernous room, the sounds of his entrance still passing from wall to wall, as if they would never stop. A fine grey dust coated everything in sight, or so it seemed. However, looking behind him there were no prints on the floor, and no sign of any disturbance.
Monstrous figures reminiscent of the gargoyles on the outside of the building loomed from distant corners, and stood as guards to the magnificent staircase, its wrought iron banister twisting up into the darkness. The shadows seemed to reach everywhere, and the light was stopped almost as soon as it entered one of the large ornate windows.
Mike's eye was drawn to the only proper source of light in the room. A window in the roof of the building allowed a pure shaft of white light to shine across the room, and rest upon a door at the far side. Mike didn't know how he knew, but there was no one in the house itself. It wasn't the aged feel of it, or the strange sensation on his skin, or even the door. He could just sense that nothing living was within. The answer lay behind the door, and whatever waited for him there.
He tried walking softly across the room, but as if scorning his attempts to remain unnoticed the house made the echoes still louder, until he could imagine his ears were ringing. He took the most direct path to the door, and tried his best to ignore the massive shapes on either side of him. His squinting eyes fancied he could see butchers hooks, and malevolent faces, their eyes shining in the dark. He kept his eyes stubbornly riveted on the door, and after what seemed like eternity he stood before it.
It was much simpler than the door at the entrance, solid wood, with a large iron lock. To his excitement, he saw that it had been left unlocked, and the lack of rust made it look as if it had been used recently. He rested his hand upon it, and the door swung open without making a sound.
He stood outside, in a narrow passageway the walls of which were covered from head to foot in trailing plants, their leaves intertwining and producing a seemingly impenetrable barrier. A faint light shone at the end of the passage, showing it to not be much more than a few metres long. Mike strode swiftly down the passage; his heart telling him he was about to reach his goal. The gravel crunched under his feet, but he was not aware of it, he rounded the corner at almost a run, and stopped dead when he ran into a figure.
The shock froze him where he stood, his mind racing, waiting for an attack or worse. When the figure did not move he realised what he had not before in his hurry: it was another of the great plant-figures. This one a life- size replica of a girl with long flowing hair. The details were picked out in astonishing detail, her dress was elaborate and adorned with flowers, and her blank face was perfect in every detail except for the eyes. Mike realised with a start that none of the sculptures had eyes.
*Perhaps that is the one area in which they failed* He thought to himself. Then he noticed something else odd.
Whereas the figures right arm was perfectly normal, the left joined in a curve of some sort, walking a few paces past the figure, he saw it was joined with a second, identical to the first. Their linked hands reminiscent of the paper cutouts he had made as a child.
He felt a breath of wind rustle his sweater. Twisting round, he realised he was in an open space. It was huge. Possibly bigger than a football field. It was impossible to see the end of it. It was mostly lawn, but around the edges, as far as he could see, were more flowerbeds, even more beautiful than those at the front of the house. The girl figures lined the high wall that ran around the length of the space, stopping where it met the house. On both sides they ran, a seemingly endless procession, each as beautiful as the last. Their legs poised as if for dancing, their faces though eyeless unutterably sad.
Mike drew in a deep breath. There was someone else there. Almost at the edge of his vision, the earth seemed to slope downwards. Crouched directly in the centre of the space was a figure, almost invisible in the faint light. The light seemed in places to swallow them up, in others to make them shine as bright as day. They had their back to him, but still Mike could not doubt who he was.
"Edward." He whispered.
The figure saw no sign of having heard, or even noticing he was there. Gingerly, Mike started walking towards him, felling like some sort of intruder, and ashamed to speak out. All words seemed meaningless here, their presence vile and dirty.
As he approached Edward, Mike became aware of a faint sound. It was like scratching, but harsh. As if the surface was abrasive and not meant to be touched. There was a faint scritching sound as if of metal, and the soft movement of material as Edward shifted his position and bent once more, intent on something in front of him. Mike drew closer and realised Edward was sitting on a massive slab of stone, directly in the centre. Probably once a patio, now it was worn smooth and completely bare. Edward had something metal in his hands, and was using it to chip away at the stone, where something was etched deeply. Before he could see what it was, however; Edward stood and turned to face him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sorry about the cliffhanger, but this chapter is long enough for me as it is! Anyway, Edward is in it, if only for a little while. Sorry it took so long to update but I wanted to get the description just right. Hope you all like it, and reviews/constructive criticism always welcome =)