Pleading Echoes
Mask of Twilight
Chapter III
Sarah's brown eyes opened with startling speed. She had heard something, but the sound was quickly fading into the realm of dreams she had just left. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. It was still dark outside, the moonlight swallowed up by a fringe of clouds. She glanced about, a hand bracing her aching neck, trying to set it straight. A yawn escaped her mouth. She tried to focus on where she was, what she was doing there, and why she wasn't asleep in bed. Finally her sleep-intoxicated mind allowed her to think properly as she remembered the past day's events.
She looked at the table which had served as a pillow. It was bare. Sarah scooted her chair back and ducked her head under the table, looking for the strange mask which had been there before she'd fallen asleep. It was nowhere to be found, even once Sarah's eyes adjusted to the darkness. A puzzled expression crossed her face. Where could it have gone?
Physical exhaustion overcame any questions that may have continued to plague her mind. She yawned once again and stretched, intent on heading up to bed. Picking herself up, she left the kitchen and ventured into the entrance hall. As she did so, her eyes glanced at the clock, checking the hour. Ten till 1:00am.
She trudged up the stairs, using the handrail to support her sleepy frame. She then entered her bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights. Stumbling into bed, she kicked off her shoes and pulled the covers over her head. A few minutes later, in the twilight of consciousness, she heard the distant toll of the clock downstairs chiming the hour. One chime. Then another. But wasn't it only 1:00am? More chimes followed, and Sarah counted foggily in her head. Three...four...five...six..seven..eight...nine...ten...eleven...twelve...thirteen... And then it stopped. Thirteen chimes echoed in her mind as she drifted over the edge of consciousness.
- - - - - - - - - - -
That night she dreamed. She dreamed of a dark place, possibly a room. It felt like a room. The air was close, enveloping her/him with its stale, musky scent. She/he was leaning against a wall, her/his head held in her/his hands. A trickle of blood dripped through her/his fingers, falling onto and blending into the black fabric that covered her/his legs. A thin stream of light flooded into the room from a grate in the ceiling. She/he knew it was no use to hope to use that as an escape route. It was blocked with more than metal.
He/she took out a crystal, seemingly from nowhere. A laugh echoed from its confines, a distorted face mocked him/her from its surface. He/she squeezed the orb within his/her fist, threatening to break it with a hatred so vehement it could hardly be contained. A feminine voice stopped him/her with a simple, Are you sure that's wise...? A grimace of pain and hatred crossed his/her face, aimed at the metaphysical voice. He/she knew he/she had no choice but to do what his/her captor wished, despite his/her almost equal hatred for the recipient of the task he/she was about to perform. He/she was used to this now, and besides, this was the only thing that allowed him/her to escape his/her prison. It was his/her window, even if the view tormented him.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Sarah woke up to sunlight stroking her eyelids. She blinked a few times and yawned, her mouth tasting like cotton. She rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Her grumpy face greeted her from the mirror. She unhappily flicked water in its direction before grabbing her toothbrush and scrubbing her teeth viciously.
Following a shower and a breakfast of cold cereal, Sarah headed outside to her car. She pulled her keys out of her jacket and stuck them in the lock. As she opened the door, she looked up at the house nextdoor. Mrs. Stafford sat on the front porch in a decrepit rocking chair, a pipe held precariously between her gums. She wasn't looking at Sarah, but at the top of Sarah's house. A tree was tottering near the attic window, its branches scraping the siding.
"Yeh migh' wanna pull that tree dawn," the old lady's voice crackled across the air. "We'ah fixin' to have a storm soon."
Sarah looked back at Mrs. Stafford with a polite smile. "That's a good idea, thank you. I didn't notice that tree was so close to falling down." She looked at the sky, which was as clear as it should be on a late spring day. There was no sign of rain, let alone a storm. She'd get to the tree within the next few days. Maybe Toby could help her once he arrived.
She waved goodbye to her neighbor and sat down in her car, turning the key in the ignition. Glancing behind her, she backed her car out of the driveway, then drove down the street.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
That night, a storm did strike the small community and its neighbors. Sarah sat at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich made from ingredients purchased at the store that afternoon. She ate steadily, paying no heed to the wind's howls, or the rain's beating upon the windowpanes. She did jump slightly at the first boom of thunder, and she smiled sheepishly at herself for doing so. She recalled being scared of storms as a child, but of course she was past all that now.
Finishing her sandwich, she stood up and emptied her plate into the sink. A garish flash of lightning startled her eyes. The storm was getting worse.
"Well, I guess ol' Mrs. Stafford was right," she chuckled to herself, mocking the old woman. "Naw, missy! Watch that ol' tree, ya he'ah?" She was still laughing when she heard a loud crack issue from the right side of the house, followed by an even louder crunch coming from the attic. Eyes wide, Sarah rushed upstairs, then to the even higher level of the attic.
Rain poured in through a considerable hole in the roof and the adjoining wall. The tree's topmost branches were now in the attic, dripping water and pine needles everywhere. Sarah's eyes scoured the room, searching for anything she could do to help the situation. An array of boxes and trunks sat in the middle of a puddle quickly forming on the attic flooring. Sarah frantically began picking them up and moving them out of harm's way. The wind flung rainwater in her face, drenching her and making it difficult to see. She, however, was not distracted from her task.
The boxes were finally pulled to safety, and it was to Sarah's good fortune that one of them contained an old vinyl tarp. Stretching it over the hole, she tacked it down with some difficulty, allowing little to no rain to enter the semi-flooded attic.
"Whoo!" Sarah wiped her face with her drenched sleeve, then sighed, realizing it didn't help. So, she resorted to twisting strands of her hair in her fists, causing water to drip onto the floor. She listened to the rain for a moment before making her way over to the boxes she'd just rescued. "Time to see if any of this junk was worth the effort." Opening the first one, she sorted through some wet clothes of her step-mother's. Luckily, they weren't damaged. The next box contained some old books of her father's, which, though a little water-wrinkled, were salvagable.
The third box which came into view she recognized as one of her own. It was an old wooden trunk she used to keep in her room. It hadn't been there since...oh, since her first year of high school. Curious as to what the trunk contained, Sarah shifted into a more comfortable position on the damp attic floor. She placed a stray lock of hair behind her ear before releasing the clasp. With some trepidation, she opened the trunk. A slight intake of breath slid past her lips as she peered at the contents. She hadn't even thought of any of this stuff (junk) in years.
Carefully, she lifted out a box, which made a slight rattling noise. She gently blew dust off the lid, revealing a faded picture of a maze. She opened the box, freeing the wooden game of pegs and passageways from its prison.
(Where is the door?...)
Placing the box to one side, she pulled out a thin storybook. She smiled, reading the familiar title, "Where the Wild Things Are." She had loved this book when she was young. Her father would always read it to her before bedtime.
(See? You're not so scary after all, huh, Ludo?...)
Her hand dove back into the box, taking out a stuffed animal of a fox dressed in medieval clothing. She hugged it briefly before moving on.
(You did it, Sir Didymus! You are very brave...)
Bookends reached her curious hands next. Wooden carvings stood on each of them, shaped like a dwarf, it seemed, though it was hard to tell through the warpings of time. Or perhaps they'd always been so distorted.
(And this is my friend, Hoggle...)
In putting the bookends back, she heard a iclang/i of metal, followed by a muffled tinkering sound. She searched through the trunk, looking for the source of the sound. A familiar music box touched her fingers. She pulled it out with a sort of reverence, reminiscing in the soft tune it struggled to play. Her eyes smiled lovingly on the little figurine twirling in the center, the girl in the white dress looking strangely like herself.
(But I'll be there for you...As the world falls down...)
She twisted the key in the bottom of the music box abruptly, leaving the room in silence. Complete silence, but for the distant raindrops. "But I could have sworn..." Her voice trailed off, sounding strange against the muffled air. A voice had seemed to accompany the music of the box, a sweet, long-forgotten voice.
Frowning, Sarah replaced the music box within the trunk, along with everything else she'd displaced. But her curiosity still kept her captivated with the treasures before her. An old medieval costume lay folded at the bottom, one she'd often played dress-up in. And beneath it...She lifted the little red book out from the trunk. She flipped through its pages, causing a tiny maelstrom of dust to swirl about her. She tried to keep from sneezing, as the book automatically flipped to the last page.
(Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great...)
"You have no power over me." Sarah's voice finished the sentence her memory had begun. But her voice sounded weak and broken, so unlike the resonating power and determination it had once held.