Addendum to the author's note: Actually, I don't really have much to say. Just seemed like tradition.
But while I'm here, I'll just let you all know that though it didn't win, "Roads Less Traveled" DID get nominated for the Walk With Heroes awards! Wheeeeee! Thanks for anyone who voted, and thanks for all you feedbackers, you all rock my world so hardcore.
In other news, I got bored and blocked (in a writerly kind of way) and so set about making some title images for each of the stories in RLT. So if you head your way down to , you can check those out.
Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Story 7: Foresta
Part three
Down in the stairwell, the old broken grandfather clock continued to chime. In the exhibit room, time seemed to almost stand still, as Foresta stared, open mouthed, at her ghostly namesake, and Dawn and Xander watched Foresta.
The ghost hovered in the doorway, not seeming to be looking at any of them. As the clock completed its twelfth chime, she jerked back into motion, fleeing toward the neighboring bedroom. Dawn and Xander immediately followed after it, while Foresta moved more hesitantly.
The ghost swept through the bedroom to a doorway on the opposite side, down a couple steps, and then into the smaller, back hallway, toward the slave quarters. She drifted through the velvet rope that blocked the entrance to the tiny room, through the black stuffed manikin at the spinning wheel, then finally stopped by the small fireplace, staring at the wall.
Dawn, in the lead, leaped over the barrier and skidded to a stop at the spinning wheel, leaving Xander and Foresta to slam lightly into her. Xander mentally rolled his eyes for a moment at the completely Scooby Doo-y accident, then stepped forward to stand at Dawn's side, his hand seeking out Foresta's.
"What do we do now?" Foresta leaned in close to Xander, squeezing his hand. "Perform an exorcism?"
Xander shook his head. "That's too dangerous without proper training. We need to figure out what her pattern is. Usually ghosts relive the moment of their death, trying to resolve whatever problem is keeping them from rest."
"Problem?"
"Sometimes they need forgiveness, or to avenge their killer. We'll need more information on her."
"There isn't any. Just the portrait, a wedding announcement, and stories people tell."
"That. . . might make things more difficult."
"Are we in any danger?"
Dawn glanced quickly toward the frightened slayer, and smiled stiffly. "Probably not? She hasn't been said to have any violent tendencies, has she?"
Foresta shrugged.
Xander frowned. "She has?"
"Um, no, but I was afraid saying that would jinx us again."
As though she'd heard them, the ghost turned back toward the doorway. All three of them stiffened, and moved into battle positions. For Foresta, this meant bending her knees and gripping Xander's arm in an effort not to fall over.
Xander winced. Foresta obviously wasn't used to her slayer strength yet. He was definitely going to be bruised.
The ghost's mouth moved in a silent denial, and her hand raised to her chest. She seemed to gag for a moment, then faded from sight. Foresta's grip relaxed, and Xander rubbed his arm.
"Oh." Foresta blushed. "Sorry about that."
"I've had worse." Xander walked to the fireplace, running his hand over the wall where Foresta had been peering. "This was the slaves' room?"
"Servants', after the abolition."
"Why would Foresta come here?"
The slayer shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she was running away from something?"
"Or to something," Dawn moved to stand next to Xander. "What's on the other side of this wall?"
Foresta shrugged. "The outside, I think. We're on the second floor, I'm not sure of how the rooms fit together."
Xander peered closer at the wall. "Do you have a flashlight?"
Foresta nodded. "In my house. But there might be one downstairs." She turned toward the door. "I'll go get it."
"I'll go with you." Dawn followed Foresta toward the door. "You probably shouldn't be wandering around alone."
Foresta paused. "But what about Xander?" She turned to him. "You're going to stay up here, after that?"
Xander shrugged. "I've handled ghosts before," He puffed his chest in almost-real bravado. "This one hasn't tried to yank me into a locker or shoot Dawn, so I think I'm probably safe." He smiled softly at Foresta. "But you're creeped out. Dawn's right, you probably shouldn't wander around alone."
Foresta's eyes narrowed. "I'm a slayer, right? That means I'm supposed to be able to handle this."
"And I'm sure you can." Xander raised his hands. "It's up to you, I could probably use Dawn's help checking this wall."
"Right then." Foresta turned and stalked out of the room.
"Oooooh," Dawn smiled. "Faux pas. Made her feel like a swooning lady."
Xander grimaced. "She's new to this. I didn't mean to imply she wasn't an independent woman."
"Well, I'm going to have to officially revoke your status as a lady killer." Dawn tapped lightly on the wall. "What are we looking for?"
"I don't know. Anything." Xander ran his hands over the spot where the ghost had been looking again. "The texture of the paint changes here, like it was redone at some point. In Buffy's house, I'd say that meant someone put a fist through the wall, and I had to spackle it. But I'm pretty sure this house predates spackle."
Dawn tapped again, her knuckles echoing a solid clack against the wood. She kept tapping, letting her hand drift closer and closer to where Xander's rested. Xander lifted his hand, and Dawn's knuckles thunked down on the spot.
They exchanged a look.
"Well, it's definitely hollow, here. . . ." Xander started tapping to the other side of the spot, making a mental note of where the hollow sound gave way to wood again. He tapped up and down. "About a foot and a half square." He tapped the wall near the window, picking new spots at random. "This isn't drywall, either. It's mostly solid wood."
"Secret compartment?"
"Wouldn't surprise me."
Light suddenly slammed into Xander's eyes as Foresta clicked on the flashlight. "Found it!"
"Oh, good." Xander grimaced, shielding her eyes. "Come shine it on the wall over here."
Foresta marched over, a smug look on her face. "You two okay up here alone?"
"Well, Xander got a little weepy, but. . . ." Dawn smiled. "We're fine. No more ghosts."
Foresta relaxed infinitesimally. "Well, good then." She aimed the flashlight at the wall, where Xander was gesturing. He outlined the hollow space with his finger, then directed her to aim it from an angle. He frowned, then indicated the opposite angle.
A tiny crack became visible.
"Here we go." Xander pressed on the wall, looking for the catch. "You guys ever find any secret hiding places in here?"
"We haven't really looked, as far as I know." Foresta frowned. "You think that's what the ghost was looking for?"
"I think we found one, anyway." Xander continued pressing for a moment. "Dawn, check the fireplace. See if the catch is over there somewhere."
Dawn moved to obey.
Foresta, not having a duty at the moment, leaned against the wall next to the window, occasionally flicking the flashlight to the doorway as she kept an eye out for spooks. She rested her head against the wall, then began tapping her fingers in a nervous rhythm against it.
Her index finger met with something soft.
A foot and a half square panel opened up with a creak of its hidden hinges, catching Xander in the temple.
"Ow," He stepped back, then peered into the small square of darkness. "There's something in there." He reached out for the small shape.
Foresta grabbed his hand. "Don't."
"I'm sure it's fine. I think she wanted us to find it."
"Be that as it may," Foresta kept a hold of his hand. "When is the last time you washed your hands?"
"Um, after dinner?"
Foresta nodded. "Whatever's in there is old. I don't want your dirty hands damaging it. I just washed mine downstairs, I'LL pull it out."
Xander stepped back. "By all means."
Foresta nodded, again, took a deep breath, and reached into the hole. She pulled out a small leather journal. She frowned.
"Fine, not that old, then." She opened the book delicately, scanning the first page. Her eyes widened. "Oh. 1843." She turned the book over in her hands. "This is remarkably well-preserved, I wouldn't have said it was any older than about twenty years."
Dawn leaned over. "Well, it doesn't smell like any of Giles' old books,"
Foresta turned a few more pages. "It's definitely a journal. Looks like it might have been Foresta's father's. The dates are right, and he's talking about her getting ready for her wedding."
Xander peered over her shoulder. "At least now we can get a better idea of what the ghost is doing here."
Foresta nodded without looking up. "I'm going to have to read this."
Dawn yawned. "You do that. I, however, want to go to bed."
Foresta nodded again.
"Hold on a minute," Xander peered back into the space. "There's something else in here."
Foresta nodded again.
"It looks like a box."
Nod.
Xander glanced at her. "I'll have to sully it with my dirty, oily hands."
Nod.
Xander shrugged. Foresta was obviously deeply absorbed in her book. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.
"Oh!" Foresta started back slightly. "What?"
"Something else in the hole."
Foresta raised her eyebrows. She tucked the book under one arm and reached back into the space with the other. She pulled out a small, coffin-shaped wooden box, sealed with bees-wax. Dawn gently took the flashlight from her, and aimed it at the box. It had a glass window on the top of it, through which they could see a lacy, beige material.
Xander blinked. "What the hell?"
"It's an embalmed dress." Foresta's eyebrows drew together. She pointed to a bit of engraving. "Look, it was Foresta's. Her wedding dress."
"They embalmed dresses?" Dawn's nose wrinkled. "Like they do with dead people?"
"Sort of. It's a rare tradition, helps keep the dress in good condition as a keepsake. See, there's her name, and the date of her wedding."
Xander looked closer. "They usually post dire warnings on embalmed dresses?" He pointed to a second engraving.
"For personal safety, it is best not to open this box."
Foresta shrugged. "Some of the chemicals they use can be harmful if inhaled. I didn't know they did this back then."
"Maybe someone embalmed it for her later?" Dawn poked at the box.
"After she died?" Xander frowned.
"Who knows?"
"Oh." Foresta turned the box slightly in her hands. "Crap."
"What?" Xander stiffened.
"I broke the seal." Foresta pointed to a small crack, where the beeswax had flaked off.
Xander shivered as a small cold draft drifted through the room. "Let's, um, put that back." He took the box from Foresta's hands, holding it out at arm's length. "Just in case. We should all probably go to bed."
Foresta blinked. She clutched the small journal tighter. "Yeah. Good idea."
Tbc. . . .
Addendum to the author's note: Yes, people really do embalm dresses, and yes, the boxes really do have warnings on them. I have no idea when this tradition might have started, but it's so bizarrely macabre that I had to include it.
But while I'm here, I'll just let you all know that though it didn't win, "Roads Less Traveled" DID get nominated for the Walk With Heroes awards! Wheeeeee! Thanks for anyone who voted, and thanks for all you feedbackers, you all rock my world so hardcore.
In other news, I got bored and blocked (in a writerly kind of way) and so set about making some title images for each of the stories in RLT. So if you head your way down to , you can check those out.
Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Story 7: Foresta
Part three
Down in the stairwell, the old broken grandfather clock continued to chime. In the exhibit room, time seemed to almost stand still, as Foresta stared, open mouthed, at her ghostly namesake, and Dawn and Xander watched Foresta.
The ghost hovered in the doorway, not seeming to be looking at any of them. As the clock completed its twelfth chime, she jerked back into motion, fleeing toward the neighboring bedroom. Dawn and Xander immediately followed after it, while Foresta moved more hesitantly.
The ghost swept through the bedroom to a doorway on the opposite side, down a couple steps, and then into the smaller, back hallway, toward the slave quarters. She drifted through the velvet rope that blocked the entrance to the tiny room, through the black stuffed manikin at the spinning wheel, then finally stopped by the small fireplace, staring at the wall.
Dawn, in the lead, leaped over the barrier and skidded to a stop at the spinning wheel, leaving Xander and Foresta to slam lightly into her. Xander mentally rolled his eyes for a moment at the completely Scooby Doo-y accident, then stepped forward to stand at Dawn's side, his hand seeking out Foresta's.
"What do we do now?" Foresta leaned in close to Xander, squeezing his hand. "Perform an exorcism?"
Xander shook his head. "That's too dangerous without proper training. We need to figure out what her pattern is. Usually ghosts relive the moment of their death, trying to resolve whatever problem is keeping them from rest."
"Problem?"
"Sometimes they need forgiveness, or to avenge their killer. We'll need more information on her."
"There isn't any. Just the portrait, a wedding announcement, and stories people tell."
"That. . . might make things more difficult."
"Are we in any danger?"
Dawn glanced quickly toward the frightened slayer, and smiled stiffly. "Probably not? She hasn't been said to have any violent tendencies, has she?"
Foresta shrugged.
Xander frowned. "She has?"
"Um, no, but I was afraid saying that would jinx us again."
As though she'd heard them, the ghost turned back toward the doorway. All three of them stiffened, and moved into battle positions. For Foresta, this meant bending her knees and gripping Xander's arm in an effort not to fall over.
Xander winced. Foresta obviously wasn't used to her slayer strength yet. He was definitely going to be bruised.
The ghost's mouth moved in a silent denial, and her hand raised to her chest. She seemed to gag for a moment, then faded from sight. Foresta's grip relaxed, and Xander rubbed his arm.
"Oh." Foresta blushed. "Sorry about that."
"I've had worse." Xander walked to the fireplace, running his hand over the wall where Foresta had been peering. "This was the slaves' room?"
"Servants', after the abolition."
"Why would Foresta come here?"
The slayer shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she was running away from something?"
"Or to something," Dawn moved to stand next to Xander. "What's on the other side of this wall?"
Foresta shrugged. "The outside, I think. We're on the second floor, I'm not sure of how the rooms fit together."
Xander peered closer at the wall. "Do you have a flashlight?"
Foresta nodded. "In my house. But there might be one downstairs." She turned toward the door. "I'll go get it."
"I'll go with you." Dawn followed Foresta toward the door. "You probably shouldn't be wandering around alone."
Foresta paused. "But what about Xander?" She turned to him. "You're going to stay up here, after that?"
Xander shrugged. "I've handled ghosts before," He puffed his chest in almost-real bravado. "This one hasn't tried to yank me into a locker or shoot Dawn, so I think I'm probably safe." He smiled softly at Foresta. "But you're creeped out. Dawn's right, you probably shouldn't wander around alone."
Foresta's eyes narrowed. "I'm a slayer, right? That means I'm supposed to be able to handle this."
"And I'm sure you can." Xander raised his hands. "It's up to you, I could probably use Dawn's help checking this wall."
"Right then." Foresta turned and stalked out of the room.
"Oooooh," Dawn smiled. "Faux pas. Made her feel like a swooning lady."
Xander grimaced. "She's new to this. I didn't mean to imply she wasn't an independent woman."
"Well, I'm going to have to officially revoke your status as a lady killer." Dawn tapped lightly on the wall. "What are we looking for?"
"I don't know. Anything." Xander ran his hands over the spot where the ghost had been looking again. "The texture of the paint changes here, like it was redone at some point. In Buffy's house, I'd say that meant someone put a fist through the wall, and I had to spackle it. But I'm pretty sure this house predates spackle."
Dawn tapped again, her knuckles echoing a solid clack against the wood. She kept tapping, letting her hand drift closer and closer to where Xander's rested. Xander lifted his hand, and Dawn's knuckles thunked down on the spot.
They exchanged a look.
"Well, it's definitely hollow, here. . . ." Xander started tapping to the other side of the spot, making a mental note of where the hollow sound gave way to wood again. He tapped up and down. "About a foot and a half square." He tapped the wall near the window, picking new spots at random. "This isn't drywall, either. It's mostly solid wood."
"Secret compartment?"
"Wouldn't surprise me."
Light suddenly slammed into Xander's eyes as Foresta clicked on the flashlight. "Found it!"
"Oh, good." Xander grimaced, shielding her eyes. "Come shine it on the wall over here."
Foresta marched over, a smug look on her face. "You two okay up here alone?"
"Well, Xander got a little weepy, but. . . ." Dawn smiled. "We're fine. No more ghosts."
Foresta relaxed infinitesimally. "Well, good then." She aimed the flashlight at the wall, where Xander was gesturing. He outlined the hollow space with his finger, then directed her to aim it from an angle. He frowned, then indicated the opposite angle.
A tiny crack became visible.
"Here we go." Xander pressed on the wall, looking for the catch. "You guys ever find any secret hiding places in here?"
"We haven't really looked, as far as I know." Foresta frowned. "You think that's what the ghost was looking for?"
"I think we found one, anyway." Xander continued pressing for a moment. "Dawn, check the fireplace. See if the catch is over there somewhere."
Dawn moved to obey.
Foresta, not having a duty at the moment, leaned against the wall next to the window, occasionally flicking the flashlight to the doorway as she kept an eye out for spooks. She rested her head against the wall, then began tapping her fingers in a nervous rhythm against it.
Her index finger met with something soft.
A foot and a half square panel opened up with a creak of its hidden hinges, catching Xander in the temple.
"Ow," He stepped back, then peered into the small square of darkness. "There's something in there." He reached out for the small shape.
Foresta grabbed his hand. "Don't."
"I'm sure it's fine. I think she wanted us to find it."
"Be that as it may," Foresta kept a hold of his hand. "When is the last time you washed your hands?"
"Um, after dinner?"
Foresta nodded. "Whatever's in there is old. I don't want your dirty hands damaging it. I just washed mine downstairs, I'LL pull it out."
Xander stepped back. "By all means."
Foresta nodded, again, took a deep breath, and reached into the hole. She pulled out a small leather journal. She frowned.
"Fine, not that old, then." She opened the book delicately, scanning the first page. Her eyes widened. "Oh. 1843." She turned the book over in her hands. "This is remarkably well-preserved, I wouldn't have said it was any older than about twenty years."
Dawn leaned over. "Well, it doesn't smell like any of Giles' old books,"
Foresta turned a few more pages. "It's definitely a journal. Looks like it might have been Foresta's father's. The dates are right, and he's talking about her getting ready for her wedding."
Xander peered over her shoulder. "At least now we can get a better idea of what the ghost is doing here."
Foresta nodded without looking up. "I'm going to have to read this."
Dawn yawned. "You do that. I, however, want to go to bed."
Foresta nodded again.
"Hold on a minute," Xander peered back into the space. "There's something else in here."
Foresta nodded again.
"It looks like a box."
Nod.
Xander glanced at her. "I'll have to sully it with my dirty, oily hands."
Nod.
Xander shrugged. Foresta was obviously deeply absorbed in her book. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.
"Oh!" Foresta started back slightly. "What?"
"Something else in the hole."
Foresta raised her eyebrows. She tucked the book under one arm and reached back into the space with the other. She pulled out a small, coffin-shaped wooden box, sealed with bees-wax. Dawn gently took the flashlight from her, and aimed it at the box. It had a glass window on the top of it, through which they could see a lacy, beige material.
Xander blinked. "What the hell?"
"It's an embalmed dress." Foresta's eyebrows drew together. She pointed to a bit of engraving. "Look, it was Foresta's. Her wedding dress."
"They embalmed dresses?" Dawn's nose wrinkled. "Like they do with dead people?"
"Sort of. It's a rare tradition, helps keep the dress in good condition as a keepsake. See, there's her name, and the date of her wedding."
Xander looked closer. "They usually post dire warnings on embalmed dresses?" He pointed to a second engraving.
"For personal safety, it is best not to open this box."
Foresta shrugged. "Some of the chemicals they use can be harmful if inhaled. I didn't know they did this back then."
"Maybe someone embalmed it for her later?" Dawn poked at the box.
"After she died?" Xander frowned.
"Who knows?"
"Oh." Foresta turned the box slightly in her hands. "Crap."
"What?" Xander stiffened.
"I broke the seal." Foresta pointed to a small crack, where the beeswax had flaked off.
Xander shivered as a small cold draft drifted through the room. "Let's, um, put that back." He took the box from Foresta's hands, holding it out at arm's length. "Just in case. We should all probably go to bed."
Foresta blinked. She clutched the small journal tighter. "Yeah. Good idea."
Tbc. . . .
Addendum to the author's note: Yes, people really do embalm dresses, and yes, the boxes really do have warnings on them. I have no idea when this tradition might have started, but it's so bizarrely macabre that I had to include it.