Pleading Echoes
Mask of Twilight
Summary: Thirteen years after her experience in the Labyrinth, Sarah returns to the home where she spent her childhood years. Her father and stepmother have passed away, and Toby is long gone, leaving the house abandoned. No one has purchased it for years, which leads Sarah to question the possible reasons why. Perhaps it's because of the rumours spread about town, rumours of voices and odd noises echoing through the hallways and bedrooms of the small, two-story house. Perhaps it's because of the "ghost owl" which frequently taps on the windows. Sarah's investigation leads to a discovery that not even her wild imagination could conjure. A series of Labyrinth vignettes.
Rating: PG
Chapter I:
The old woman drew back the curtain tentatively to peek outside. Her gray eyes squinted as the bright sunlight trickled through the opening, her mass of wrinkles and bags causing her eyes to practically disappear. The bleary form of a woman stood upon the front doorstep, shifting from foot to foot nervously. The old woman sighed and slowly rose to a wobbly standing position. Stretching out her bony fingers, she reached for a nearby cane. Grasping its head, she gradually made her way to the door. Ding dong! "Aam comin', aam comin'," she croaked. "Don' get yo' pantehs en a waad." Steadying herself with the cane, the old woman slowly opened the door and peered her head outside. "Wat do ya' want, misse? Ya' don' hafta disturb an ol' ladeh waal' she's restin' naw, do ya'?"
The young woman attempted a smile. "I'm very sorry to wake you, Mrs. Stafford. You probably don't remember me, but I used to live next door. My name is Sarah Williams. I'm moving back in and was told you have the house key."
Mrs. Stafford frowned. "A wasn't asleep, A was restin'," she grumbled. "A rememba' ya' well, Sarah. A rememba' wat a lil' scamp ya' was, aalways deggin' up ma flowas ta plaant beans. Thawt they'd graw inta magic beanstawks." She shook her head at the ludicrous notion.
Sarah looked sheepish. "I'm very sorry about that, Ma'am. I was rather silly as a child."
The old woman nodded her grizzled head. "Mowst chillen' awe." She lifted a hand and gestured for Sarah to come inside.
Sarah sipped a cup of tea while Mrs. Stafford searched for the house key. She had offered to help the woman, but her elder had insisted on finding it herself. "A was tha one who lost it, so Aa'll be tha one ta fin' it." As Mrs. Stafford shuffled through papers and looked under crocheted blankets, Sarah looked about the dim room in which she sat. The yellowed, floral wallpaper was mostly covered up by black-and-white photographs from long ago. A table across the room supported a yellowed cloth doily on which stood an antique vase full of aged silk flowers. More small, framed photos were placed upon the table, depicting stern faces and straight posture. Littered at Sarah's feet were a dozen or more cassette tapes, and an old tape-player sat nearby. Curious, Sarah bent down and picked up one of the tapes. She read the bold letters, The Wind in the Willows. Smiling, Sarah picked up another. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer greeted her eyes, followed by another which read, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. They were books on tape, most of them books Sarah had read herself as a child.
"Ah! A knew it'd be he'ah somewhe'ah," Mrs. Stafford's voice filtered in from another room. Sarah quickly sat back up and resumed sipping her tea. She reacted so quickly, however, that more tea was drawn into her mouth than intended. Sputtering and choking because of the hot drink, she frantically spat some back into the cup, simultaneously reaching for the cloth napkin which had been brought out for her use.
Mrs. Stafford slowly creaked into the room, frowning at the sight which greeted her eyes. "A don' know haw yo' goin' ta manage livin' alone in tha' hawse ahl by yoself if ya' can' even drink tea withou' chokin'."
Sarah looked sheepish once more. Wiping her mouth daintily with the napkin, she tried to regain some composure. "I'm sure I'll be fine, Mrs. Stafford. I've lived alone ever since college, and I haven't killed myself yet," she said with a forced smile.
The old woman raised her eyebrows, obviously unconvinced. A small grunt broke from her throat as she sat down in an armchair near to Sarah. The younger woman reached out an arm to help, but Mrs. Stafford waved it away. "Aa've mastuhed tha awt of livin' alone," she grumbled. "So don' even think ya' can boast abou' yo' accomplishmens." She picked up her own cup of tea with trembling hands and carefully stirred a lemon slice into the golden-brown liquid.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment as Sarah watched the old woman savor her tea. The young woman never knew quite how to act around...well, older people. They always seemed to move so slowly, as if they had all the time in the world to enjoy life. It seemed that as soon as Sarah stepped into this abode, time decided to take the day off. Only the soft, rhythmic tick of the dusty-faced clock on the wall told her otherwise.
"Naw," Mrs. Stafford said. It wasn't that loud of an utterance, but in the confined room it seemed to be ten times louder. Sarah tried to cover up her startled jump by reaching for her napkin as the woman continued her sentence. "Aa've gawt the key fo' ya' right he'ah," she patted a shiny, silver key sitting on the end table which stood between the two armchairs.
"Oh, thank you," said Sarah, reaching for the key. Her hand was stopped, however, by the old woman's veiny fingers.
"Naw, wait just a minute, the'ah," she croaked. "The'ah's somethin' A want ta tell ya' abou' tha' hawse."
Sarah's forehead wrinkled. "Yes, Mrs. Stafford?"
The old woman sat back and took a long sip of tea, as if reaching for the key had exhausted her. After a moment she spoke, "Naw, Sarah, A know yo've lived en tha' hawse befo'ah, but it's...a bit differen' naw."
Sarah nodded, suddenly understanding. "Oh yes, Mrs. Stafford, I've already been informed about the new plumbing and heating system--"
"Stupid girl," the old woman muttered. "A wasn' goin' ta tell ya' abou' the daam plumbin'."
Sarah quickly shut her mouth. She'd obviously upset the woman, and didn't want to annoy her any further.
"A was goin' ta tell ya' abou' the voices."
Sarah blinked. Voices? What was this woman going on about? "I, uh, I'm not quite sure what you mean, Ma'am."
"Oh, ya' he'ah et awl tha time around he'ah. Kids sneakin' en ta see tha 'haunted hawse.'" She laughed throatily. "They alwas come screamin' an' yellin' out of it like the devil hiself were afta them. 'Cowse, no one believes 'em but me, an' A only do because A live next do'r an' can he'ah it maself."
Despite herself, Sarah couldn't help but become intrigued by the woman's words. "Hear what exactly, Mrs. Stafford?"
"Ahl sorts of things. Whispahs an' screams, lotsa laughin'. Not happy laughin' eitha'. Sometimes A he'ahs strange chatterins', like birds en a way. Sometimes the'ahs glass shatterin', but no real glass to be foun'. Oh, an' then the'ah's tha owl," she said, sitting up slightly. "It's tha only thing ya' can actually see. It's alwas ou'side tha hawse, peckin' on tha windaws. A use' ta think it was a real, regular owl, but then A saw it liked ta disappe'ah ahl a sudden."
The woman took another sip of tea. She looked at Sarah over the rim of her teacup, gray eyes sparkling. "Oh, don' worry," she said grumpily when she saw Sarah's frown. "A don' just he'ah bad things." She looked in the direction of the window facing Sarah's house. "Sometimes at night, A he'ah a lovely man's voice singin'. Jus' like a lullaby, it is."
Sarah closed her eyes. She recalled distantly the most beautiful voice she had ever heard. One she would never hear again. She called herself back to reality and opened her eyes. She couldn't waste her time on dreams and wishes. She had realized long ago that once you grow up, they never come true. Just like Mrs. Stafford's "haunted hawse" was nothing more than a fairy tale.
"Thank you for the warning, Mrs. Stafford," she said swiftly, placing her drained teacup upon the table. "I'll keep that in mind." Reaching for the key, she was relieved that this time the old woman didn't stop her from retrieving it. "I enjoyed chatting with you," she said jovially. "I'll stop by again sometime."
The old woman laughed her throaty laugh once more. "No ya' didn' and no ya' won'," she said cynically.
Sarah didn't bother to contradict her, but waved and stepped out into the bright afternoon sunshine. "Mission accomplished," she said to herself, looking at the key. She then walked a short distance down the sidewalk towards the house where she had spent her past, and where she would now spend her future.
Mask of Twilight
Summary: Thirteen years after her experience in the Labyrinth, Sarah returns to the home where she spent her childhood years. Her father and stepmother have passed away, and Toby is long gone, leaving the house abandoned. No one has purchased it for years, which leads Sarah to question the possible reasons why. Perhaps it's because of the rumours spread about town, rumours of voices and odd noises echoing through the hallways and bedrooms of the small, two-story house. Perhaps it's because of the "ghost owl" which frequently taps on the windows. Sarah's investigation leads to a discovery that not even her wild imagination could conjure. A series of Labyrinth vignettes.
Rating: PG
Chapter I:
The old woman drew back the curtain tentatively to peek outside. Her gray eyes squinted as the bright sunlight trickled through the opening, her mass of wrinkles and bags causing her eyes to practically disappear. The bleary form of a woman stood upon the front doorstep, shifting from foot to foot nervously. The old woman sighed and slowly rose to a wobbly standing position. Stretching out her bony fingers, she reached for a nearby cane. Grasping its head, she gradually made her way to the door. Ding dong! "Aam comin', aam comin'," she croaked. "Don' get yo' pantehs en a waad." Steadying herself with the cane, the old woman slowly opened the door and peered her head outside. "Wat do ya' want, misse? Ya' don' hafta disturb an ol' ladeh waal' she's restin' naw, do ya'?"
The young woman attempted a smile. "I'm very sorry to wake you, Mrs. Stafford. You probably don't remember me, but I used to live next door. My name is Sarah Williams. I'm moving back in and was told you have the house key."
Mrs. Stafford frowned. "A wasn't asleep, A was restin'," she grumbled. "A rememba' ya' well, Sarah. A rememba' wat a lil' scamp ya' was, aalways deggin' up ma flowas ta plaant beans. Thawt they'd graw inta magic beanstawks." She shook her head at the ludicrous notion.
Sarah looked sheepish. "I'm very sorry about that, Ma'am. I was rather silly as a child."
The old woman nodded her grizzled head. "Mowst chillen' awe." She lifted a hand and gestured for Sarah to come inside.
Sarah sipped a cup of tea while Mrs. Stafford searched for the house key. She had offered to help the woman, but her elder had insisted on finding it herself. "A was tha one who lost it, so Aa'll be tha one ta fin' it." As Mrs. Stafford shuffled through papers and looked under crocheted blankets, Sarah looked about the dim room in which she sat. The yellowed, floral wallpaper was mostly covered up by black-and-white photographs from long ago. A table across the room supported a yellowed cloth doily on which stood an antique vase full of aged silk flowers. More small, framed photos were placed upon the table, depicting stern faces and straight posture. Littered at Sarah's feet were a dozen or more cassette tapes, and an old tape-player sat nearby. Curious, Sarah bent down and picked up one of the tapes. She read the bold letters, The Wind in the Willows. Smiling, Sarah picked up another. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer greeted her eyes, followed by another which read, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. They were books on tape, most of them books Sarah had read herself as a child.
"Ah! A knew it'd be he'ah somewhe'ah," Mrs. Stafford's voice filtered in from another room. Sarah quickly sat back up and resumed sipping her tea. She reacted so quickly, however, that more tea was drawn into her mouth than intended. Sputtering and choking because of the hot drink, she frantically spat some back into the cup, simultaneously reaching for the cloth napkin which had been brought out for her use.
Mrs. Stafford slowly creaked into the room, frowning at the sight which greeted her eyes. "A don' know haw yo' goin' ta manage livin' alone in tha' hawse ahl by yoself if ya' can' even drink tea withou' chokin'."
Sarah looked sheepish once more. Wiping her mouth daintily with the napkin, she tried to regain some composure. "I'm sure I'll be fine, Mrs. Stafford. I've lived alone ever since college, and I haven't killed myself yet," she said with a forced smile.
The old woman raised her eyebrows, obviously unconvinced. A small grunt broke from her throat as she sat down in an armchair near to Sarah. The younger woman reached out an arm to help, but Mrs. Stafford waved it away. "Aa've mastuhed tha awt of livin' alone," she grumbled. "So don' even think ya' can boast abou' yo' accomplishmens." She picked up her own cup of tea with trembling hands and carefully stirred a lemon slice into the golden-brown liquid.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment as Sarah watched the old woman savor her tea. The young woman never knew quite how to act around...well, older people. They always seemed to move so slowly, as if they had all the time in the world to enjoy life. It seemed that as soon as Sarah stepped into this abode, time decided to take the day off. Only the soft, rhythmic tick of the dusty-faced clock on the wall told her otherwise.
"Naw," Mrs. Stafford said. It wasn't that loud of an utterance, but in the confined room it seemed to be ten times louder. Sarah tried to cover up her startled jump by reaching for her napkin as the woman continued her sentence. "Aa've gawt the key fo' ya' right he'ah," she patted a shiny, silver key sitting on the end table which stood between the two armchairs.
"Oh, thank you," said Sarah, reaching for the key. Her hand was stopped, however, by the old woman's veiny fingers.
"Naw, wait just a minute, the'ah," she croaked. "The'ah's somethin' A want ta tell ya' abou' tha' hawse."
Sarah's forehead wrinkled. "Yes, Mrs. Stafford?"
The old woman sat back and took a long sip of tea, as if reaching for the key had exhausted her. After a moment she spoke, "Naw, Sarah, A know yo've lived en tha' hawse befo'ah, but it's...a bit differen' naw."
Sarah nodded, suddenly understanding. "Oh yes, Mrs. Stafford, I've already been informed about the new plumbing and heating system--"
"Stupid girl," the old woman muttered. "A wasn' goin' ta tell ya' abou' the daam plumbin'."
Sarah quickly shut her mouth. She'd obviously upset the woman, and didn't want to annoy her any further.
"A was goin' ta tell ya' abou' the voices."
Sarah blinked. Voices? What was this woman going on about? "I, uh, I'm not quite sure what you mean, Ma'am."
"Oh, ya' he'ah et awl tha time around he'ah. Kids sneakin' en ta see tha 'haunted hawse.'" She laughed throatily. "They alwas come screamin' an' yellin' out of it like the devil hiself were afta them. 'Cowse, no one believes 'em but me, an' A only do because A live next do'r an' can he'ah it maself."
Despite herself, Sarah couldn't help but become intrigued by the woman's words. "Hear what exactly, Mrs. Stafford?"
"Ahl sorts of things. Whispahs an' screams, lotsa laughin'. Not happy laughin' eitha'. Sometimes A he'ahs strange chatterins', like birds en a way. Sometimes the'ahs glass shatterin', but no real glass to be foun'. Oh, an' then the'ah's tha owl," she said, sitting up slightly. "It's tha only thing ya' can actually see. It's alwas ou'side tha hawse, peckin' on tha windaws. A use' ta think it was a real, regular owl, but then A saw it liked ta disappe'ah ahl a sudden."
The woman took another sip of tea. She looked at Sarah over the rim of her teacup, gray eyes sparkling. "Oh, don' worry," she said grumpily when she saw Sarah's frown. "A don' just he'ah bad things." She looked in the direction of the window facing Sarah's house. "Sometimes at night, A he'ah a lovely man's voice singin'. Jus' like a lullaby, it is."
Sarah closed her eyes. She recalled distantly the most beautiful voice she had ever heard. One she would never hear again. She called herself back to reality and opened her eyes. She couldn't waste her time on dreams and wishes. She had realized long ago that once you grow up, they never come true. Just like Mrs. Stafford's "haunted hawse" was nothing more than a fairy tale.
"Thank you for the warning, Mrs. Stafford," she said swiftly, placing her drained teacup upon the table. "I'll keep that in mind." Reaching for the key, she was relieved that this time the old woman didn't stop her from retrieving it. "I enjoyed chatting with you," she said jovially. "I'll stop by again sometime."
The old woman laughed her throaty laugh once more. "No ya' didn' and no ya' won'," she said cynically.
Sarah didn't bother to contradict her, but waved and stepped out into the bright afternoon sunshine. "Mission accomplished," she said to herself, looking at the key. She then walked a short distance down the sidewalk towards the house where she had spent her past, and where she would now spend her future.