Chapter 10: Trespassers
21 December, 2007 – 12:19 am
‘Do we tell anyone?’ asked Thomas.
‘Hmm?’ said Scarlet, half-listening. She was staring ahead, desperately trying to remember the way back.
‘I said, do we tell anyone?’ he repeated.
‘Hmm? Oh no. I can’t think of anyone who I’d trust to keep a secret do you? And I don’t think anyone in their right mind would believe us…’
Thomas shook his head.
‘No, I suppose when you put it like that–’
‘Look, don’t tell anybody about it.’ she said. ‘It’s our secret. Say nothing to no-one.’
Thomas nodded, but something seemed to be on his mind.
‘What about Rosemary?’ he asked, eventually.
‘Her? No idea. Maybe we’ll see her at school sometime?’ she said, squinting through the trees in the distance.
And then she stopped dead in her tracks.
Poking over the top of the trees, a white windmill, as tall as a lighthouse towered over them. It grew larger as they walked towards it, until they found the trees thinning out and they were finally at the edge of the wood.
* * * *
‘We must have walked all the way though the wood.’ said Thomas.
‘It looks a bit boggy though…’ Scarlet said, testing the soggy ground with her foot. She decided that it didn’t seem too treacherous, and walked off slowly. ‘You know, I’ve never seen a windmill before.’
A path trailed the edge of the marsh to the windmill. The gate at the end of the garden was unlatched and Thomas pushed it open. Scarlet wondered if it would be ok to knock on the door to ask the owner about the windmill. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt would it?
As they walked up the path to the front door, they couldn’t help but feel slightly self-conscious.
Scarlet went to knock, but instead the door creaked open fractionally, as if anticipating them.
‘It’s bloody opening by itself!’ she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.
But her words fell on deaf ears. Instead, Thomas was trying to peer through a gap in one of the curtains.
‘Don’t do that,’ she said, ‘or you’ll get us into trouble if anyone’s in there!’
‘No I won’t…’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘There’s no-one in anyway!’ he reasoned.
He bent down to squint through the letterbox. Scarlet had to look twice before she realised what it was he was doing, then looked in horror as Thomas began to lift the letterbox.
‘Hello? Is anyone at home?’ he shouted.
Scarlet wanted to slap her forehead in disbelief.
Thomas waited with his ear to the door listening intently, but there came no reply.
Gingerly, he pushed the door open further.
‘God, you’ve got a nerve’ she said. ‘You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.’ She nodded. Perhaps both, she decided finally.
He looked up and smiled smugly.
‘See? No-one at home. Easy-peasy.’
No, she thought. Definitely incredibly stupid.
As the door opened slowly, it revealed another door ahead, which again Thomas tried to open but this timed turned out to be securely locked. A stone spiral staircase to their left, instead curled upwards.
‘Want me to pick the lock?’ he quipped, turning to Scarlet.
She said nothing, instead she was feeling distinctly nervous, which was not a feeling that she liked.
Thomas pointed up the staircase. ‘Dare you to go up there…’ he challenged.
Scarlet gave him a short smile before shaking her head.
‘I’m not stupid. Unlike some people I could mention…’
‘Ok. Well, what if we both go up together then?’ he suggested.
Scarlet smiled.
‘No thanks! You first!’ she said, and pushed him forward so hard that he almost fell up the stairs.
Usually she wouldn’t let herself be led by Thomas, but somehow this time was different, and she couldn’t believe they were actually going through with this.
They both started climbing the steps, one at a time, tip-toeing further up and up, past dusty little windows decorated with flaking paint and brittle sun-dried flowers.
‘I don’t think anyone lives here you know…’ he whispered.
Scarlet ran her finger over the windowsill and looked at it with a raised eyebrow.
‘Really? Whatever gives you that idea?’ she muttered to herself and wiped a dust-caked finger across her top.
Eventually, there were no more steps to climb. Ahead of them was a white wooden door, which was slightly ajar. It struck a chord with Scarlet who stopped dead in her tracks. She took some time to think about it. First the gate was unlatched, and the front door wasn’t locked and now this door was open. It was most strange, almost as if someone had left them open on purpose. It was almost as if someone had wanted them to come in. She suddenly felt very silly. But they couldn’t go back now - they were both far too curious.
Thomas slowly reached for the handle. His heart was ready to burst as the door creaked open, rudely breaking the silence, and sounding loud enough to wake the dead.
They both held their breath and got ready to run, just in case there was anyone there.
But as it was, Thomas was right, there was no one at home. And so they both exhaled finally and crept in.
* * * *
The room at the top of the windmill was odd in that it was circular with a big wooden beam running through the middle vertically. It was light and airy with a polished wooden floor.
As Scarlet and Thomas stood there, they became aware of a sense of movement. The whole top floor of the windmill was turning into the direction of the wind - and the beam going through the centre of the room was turning round, or keeping still, depending on your point of view.
‘Can you feel that?’ asked Scarlet, steadying herself against the wall suddenly.
She walked to the window to check what was happening. The light from the window crept slowly across the floor as the room swivelled around, and all the while the timbers made an occasional creaking sound. It was indeed a most unusual feeling.
Thomas just nodded. He was far more concerned with the weird and wonderful items that were crammed into the room for a start.
A huge wooden globe of the world stood on elaborately carved animal legs to his left which, rather worryingly to Thomas, gave the impression that it could possibly creep off at any minute if you took your eyes off it.
Along the walls arranged on shelves was a multitude of old books all neatly filed and catalogued. On a table nearby were some antique statues and pottery, whilst further along, mounted on the wall in frames were various paintings, drawings, and photographs.
Thomas – on tiptoes - tried to look through the eyepiece of a long brass telescope on a tripod which looked over at the nearby wood below, but try as he might he just wasn’t quite tall enough to see where it pointed exactly. On the wall beside the telescope were some astronomy charts with various star constellations on it.
On the floor obscuring the far end of the room were a series of large terracotta pots which contained bizarre-looking tropical plants. All of them were at least as tall as the ceiling.
Over by the far side of the room, near the plant pots, sat a single writing desk, on top of which were some beaten-up old notebooks, a glass jar full of mint humbugs, a black dial telephone and a large ink pot with a rather theatrical-looking quill poking out of it.
In the centre of the room was an intricately woven rug. And nearby was a comfy-looking armchair besides which were a radio and an old television cabinet.
As Scarlet turned to look back at the colourful rug something rather strange happened: the harder she stared at it, the more complex and elaborate the designs became. She could see lots of different pictures in the weave. She was certain they’d started moving but was at a loss as to how to explain it.
She blinked.
It must have been a trick of the eye, she thought, and shook her head. The overall design was complex and geometric and the effort made her feel slightly dizzy and light-headed. Something about the rug was familiar, but try as she might, she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be discovered. It irked her.
And then in the background something made a faint noise.
It wasn’t loud, and it didn’t come from the room, but it was loud enough to indicate that they weren’t the only ones in the windmill anymore. And then, rather unnervingly, there was the sound of feet on stone steps.
They both froze.
‘Oh God! Did you hear that?’ she hissed to Thomas. ‘Someone’s coming up the stairs!’
Thomas looked alarmed.
‘What are we going to do?’ he fretted.
They both looked around as panic gripped them, and then Scarlet had an idea.
‘Follow me…’ she said finally and dragged Thomas off.
* * * * *
The children hid within the lush leaves of the largest potted plant.
Footsteps on the stairs were getting louder and louder, and then they suddenly stopped. With baited breath and an uneasy silence, they waited for the inevitable opening of the door.
After what seemed like an age the door slowly creaked open and the children both stared in horror as a tall hooded figure entered wearing black robes. Scarlet quickly clapped a hand over Thomas’s mouth. They both held their breath as the figure shambled in.
It made its way over to the library section and started emptying the shelves of books. When it had finished, it went over to the nearby writing desk and started rifling around on the desktop, before going through drawers and notebooks, flicking pages and discarding books as if it knew what it was looking for.
Finally, the hooded man left the room clutching a bundle of books and papers…
* * * * *
It took the children several minutes to calm down enough to pluck up the courage to climb out of the plant pot. When they eventually did, they looked around in astonishment at the mess. It was as if a tornado had hit the place – with books, pages and notes scattered all over the floor. They both stared at each other in disbelief before deciding that the best thing to do would be to get out of the windmill as quickly as possible.
Then they froze again. Was that the sound of a dog barking? And was that the sound of the door downstairs closing? Scarlet grabbed Thomas and they scurried to hide between the leaves of the large plant once again.
As they waited, the door creaked open again slowly, and a dog entered sniffing around, followed by a white-haired old man with a long beard. Scarlet instantly recognised him as the man from the carnival stall.
The old man’s gaze fell on the mess in the room and he held his hands to his head in desperation. ‘Good grief! What in the name of Jupiter has happened to my lovely books?’
The children both clambered out of the pot much to the old man’s surprise.
‘Well, well. It looks like I’ve had some intruders today…’ he said, ‘I hope you can explain yourselves.’
He looked at the children who instantly looked to the floor in shame.
The old man seemed alarmed, and hurried over to the desk and started to frantically search for something that obviously wasn’t there anymore.
‘Where are my notebooks children?’ he asked worriedly.
Scarlet was looking straight down at the floor.
‘Well… we heard a noise and we hid in your plant pot. Then a hooded man came in dressed in black and he took your books. It was very scary. He came in and started searching around like he was looking for something.’
And then Thomas piped up too.
‘Yeah. It wasn’t us. We promise. We only came here because we hadn’t ever seen a windmill before.’
Scarlet nudged Thomas with her elbow.
‘It’s the truth honest!’ he continued, frowning at Scarlet. ‘We wouldn’t have come in if you hadn’t left all your doors open. I mean, who leaves all their doors unlocked these days?’
‘Ok! Ok! I believe you! I believe you!’ said the old man.
‘A hooded man you say? How very peculiar…’
He looked around at the mess and sighed.
‘But where are my books though? No matter.’
The old man opened the window and muttered something under his breath. He walked back and traced a sign in the air that left a shining golden symbol floating and bobbing about that started to fade over the course of several seconds. As it faded from view the old man snapped his fingers.
After a minute or so, Thomas nudged Scarlet.
‘What?’ she mumbled.
‘What are we waiting for?’ he whispered.
‘Do you think I know?’ she replied, and rolled her eyes before looking back to the window.
Eventually, something flew through the window and landed on the writing desk with a flap. At first, Scarlet thought it was a small bird.
She blinked and looked again. Was she seeing things? No, it was definitely a book, no doubt about it.
Then came another, and another, until all the books that were taken were all back once more resting in a neat little pile on the table.
Scarlet and Thomas both looked on dumbfounded.
The old man sighed with relief.
‘Hmm, well at least they all seem to be present and correct.’ he said, counting his books and stroking his white beard.
When he finished he looked back at the children as if he was expecting some questions.
‘How did you do that?’ Scarlet asked eventually.
The man raised an eyebrow. ‘How do you think I did it?’ he replied, checking the condition of one of his notebooks.
‘By magic?’ she half-joked.
‘Exactly.’ he replied.
Scarlet thought that she had misheard him at first, but it quickly became apparent that she had not.
‘Magic? But everyone knows that magic isn’t real…’
The old man laughed.
Scarlet and Thomas stood there as if expecting a more thorough explanation, but it never came.
The old man waved his hand around dismissively.
‘Anyway, the point is that it’s more convenient for me to use it because I keep losing things.’ he said, putting his notebook down on the table. ‘You see it’s not easy trying to remember where things are when you’re my age.’
‘You don’t look that old to me.’ Thomas pointed out. ‘My granddad’s not that old and he looks way older than you. How old are you by the way?’ he asked finally.
The old man thought for a moment, doing some arithmetic on his fingers.
‘Erm, nearly seven hundred years old or thereabouts. I don’t keep track of my age as much as I used to, but even so, I’ve still got life left in me.’ he chuckled. ‘I’m not finished quite yet.’
Scarlet couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Seven hundred years?’ she spluttered in disbelief. Had she heard it wrong? ‘Who exactly are you?’ she gasped.
The old man smiled. ‘Hillary Bellock. Why, who else would I be?’
‘Are you a wizard then?’ asked Thomas.
The old man stroked his beard again and considered the question.
‘I suppose you could say that. Whatever that means.’ he said. ‘I’m a Watcher.’
He reached for his half-moon spectacles, which were on the writing desk and put them on.
Scarlet turned to Hillary. ‘A Watcher? What does that mean? I’ve never heard of that before.’
Hillary turned and sat down in his armchair with a sigh.
‘Well let’s see, how do we start? Indeed, where do we start? A Watcher is someone like a caretaker I suppose. Someone who has been charged with looking after something important and who makes sure that everything is ok.’
‘So what exactly do you look after then?’ asked Thomas.
‘Oh, something far more important than gold or any treasure.’ Hillary replied solemnly.
Scarlet couldn’t take it anymore. ‘What! What is it?’ she asked.
Hillary closed his notebook and took his spectacles off.
‘Well, if I tell you, will you promise to keep it a secret? Hmm?’
They both slowly nodded in unison.
Hillary’s face suddenly looked very serious as he put his spectacles back on. ‘Will you promise never to reveal to anyone or repeat what I am about to say? You see, it is a very serious oath and probably one of the most important secrets in the world.’
Scarlet and Thomas both continued to nod impatiently.
Hillary could feel himself begin to laugh, and he moved forward and whispered to them in a hushed tone. ‘My job is to look after a …dragon.’
He raised an eyebrow and looked over the top of his glasses at the children for a reaction.
Thomas couldn’t quite believe it. ‘A dragon?’ His face erupted into a grin. Scarlet looked towards Hillary. She wanted to smile, but Hillary could tell she was trying hard not to.
‘Exactly, by Jove!’ Hillary said, clapping his hands together. ‘A real dragon. A very special dragon actually.’
‘Why is it so special?’ Thomas asked.
‘Why? Because it is the last dragon in the world, and when it ceases to exist, so will magic. But that is something that I don’t wish to think about right now. I am one of two people who have been charged with protecting it. Although I haven’t spoken to the other person in a long time.’
‘Can we see the dragon? Please?’ Thomas pleaded.
‘Not now, but I’m sure you will have a chance to meet eventually. But only if you want to that is…’ Hillary went on. The children looked at each other, and nodded eagerly. ‘You see this dragon only likes nice children – and I don’t mean of the tasty variety.’
Scarlet and Thomas instantly put on the most innocent faces they could manage.
‘But for now, there are more important things to worry about, like who wanted my books I wonder? Hmm? I suspect the thief’s cursing me this very minute.’ Hillary leafed through the pages of his notebook. ‘I suppose some of these are quite valuable… Who would want these? And why?’
Behind them something made a tapping sound, and they all turned to see where the noise was coming from. There at the window, flapping its huge wings whilst trying to balance precariously on the guttering, was an owl.
‘Oh bloody ‘ell, it’s not ‘er…’
Thomas turned around quickly. The gruff voice came from behind him.
‘Who said that?’ he said looking around suspiciously, but there was only Hillary’s scruffy-looking dog Wendle there.
The dog looked up at the children and cocked its head to one side.
‘What? ‘Aven’t you ever seen a talkin’ dog before?’ it said, tilting its head in the direction of Thomas.
For the first time in his life Thomas was lost for words.
‘I bet you’ve seen loads of ‘em I dare say. But I bet you ain’t never ‘eard one before though ‘ave you?’ said the dog.
Thomas looked at the dog but all he could do was just shake his head slowly.
‘No? Thought so. I’ll ‘ave you know that I’m a very rare breed thank you very much.’ the dog pointed out sulkily, before turning back to the window and baring his teeth at the owl.
Scarlet and Thomas just stood there mouths agape. They’d tried to take in everything that had happened to them today, but it was difficult. Everything was coming thick and fast - too fast. First there was the box in the attic, then there were the faeries who told them about a goblin king, then there was a windmill and a hooded man dressed in black, then there was a seven-hundred year old wizard telling them about a dragon who lived in the wood and now an owl and a talking dog called Wendle. They were flummoxed, perplexed, confused and thoroughly lost for words, all at the same time.
‘Now, now, Wendle old boy. We’ll have no more talk like that if you don’t mind.’ said Hillary as he waved a finger at the dog before turning to open the window.
As if needing no further encouragement the bird scrambled in, hopped onto the floor in front of Wendle and fluffed its tawny feathers up. The dog lowered its head, beared its teeth and let out a quiet growl. The owl flapped its wings, but didn’t flinch.
‘Get out of my way dog-food face!’ the owl hooted irritably.
‘Huh! Charmed I’m sure…’ sniffed the dog, who slunk away to the confines of his dog basket and flopped down dejectedly.
Thomas pointed to the owl.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve got a talking owl too?’ he asked in disbelief.
‘What? Good heavens no!’ said Hillary with a frown. ‘It’s someone who I haven’t seen for a long time in fact…’
Hillary bent down with his hands on his knees and looked at the owl.
‘No, this is an old acquaintance of mine, but we grew apart and ended up on opposite sides of the wood. Why have you come back eh? I thought you’d sold your cottage? Don’t tell me, you’re home sick…’
The owl looked at Hillary with its big saucer-shaped head and blinked its eyes.
‘Don’t be idiotic!’ it said, with a flap of its wings. ‘Something’s happening. Something awful.’
‘Oh?’
Hillary’s smile instantly dropped. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘I know we’ve not seen eye to eye these last few years Hillary, but we have to put that behind us now. It’s difficult to explain, but my feelings usually turn out to be true. We’re on the cusp of something and I don’t know if it’s for good or bad. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. I feel it in my bones. An old evil has made its way here. And we need to do something.’
‘What do you mean old evil?’ Hillary frowned, trying hard to understand.
‘I mean Hillary, that the Brotherhood of the Fiery Brand have found their way to Blakeby.’
Hillary looked visibly shaken. ‘Impossible!’ he gasped. ‘But they don’t exist anymore. They died. I remember… all those years ago…’
The owl flapped its wings in frustration.
‘Well I’m telling you now they’re still around. I don’t know how, they just are, and they have been around for centuries. They’re looking for Torfang, Hillary. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what for, but they’re looking for Torfang.’
The owl hopped further along the floor, and turned around directing its round face upwards towards the children.
‘Would you be so kind as to cover your eyes for a few seconds?’
The children lifted their hands up to their faces without question. As they stood there, the owl muttered a series of words that were far too quiet to be heard properly. And then with their eyes tightly closed, their eyelids lit up with an intense orange glow that faded to black again after a brief explosion of white light.
When the children eventually lowered their hands they were surprised to find that there was now an old woman standing there before them in the place of the owl.
‘That feels much better…’ muttered the old woman, brushing herself down.
Eliza looked about sixty-five years old, and had her grey hair fixed up in a bun.
Scarlet stared at her. I bet you’re a whole lot older than you look, she thought.
Eliza turned to Hillary and continued.
‘It was the cards that told me. They said that special people would come to the village. And at first I couldn’t make any sense of it. But I wasn’t reading them right. After further readings and consultations it all became as clear as crystal.
‘They told me that a family would buy my cottage, but at the time it wasn’t for sale, so I decided to put it up for sale with a contingency in case anything happened. There was also something else: Two forces would come together, both from outside the village. But this didn’t make any sense to me until Halloween.’
Hillary frowned. ‘Six months ago? Why, what happened?’
‘A man dressed in black robes entered the cottage. I couldn’t see his face as it was covered with a hood. The stranger was very forceful and wanted to know where the dragon was hiding. It was then that I noticed the gold ring of the Fiery Brand on his finger’
Hillary nodded in realisation. ‘The same man has been here also…’ he said. ‘And yes, I know the rings very well…’ he muttered. ‘Indeed, they are very powerful…’
‘The Fiery Brand are looking for Torfang.’ Eliza said. ‘They know we guard the last dragon. Who knows what would happen if harm came to him? The world has been left in a precarious balance. More so, because we don’t actually know why or for what reason.’
‘So why didn’t you alert me earlier? If things were so bad, then why leave it six months to tell me?’
‘I couldn’t draw attention to the children… I didn’t want to make their presence obvious. I wanted the Fiery Brand to think that I’d really disappeared, that I’d gone away.
‘So I hid and watched from a distance guarding them.
‘Believe me if I thought that anything was going to happen, you would have been notified immediately.’
‘Nevertheless Eliza, you should have told me.’
‘I’ve been a bloody owl for six months now. I’ve been eating nothing but worms, insects and small furry animals – bless ‘em. But worse than that, I’ve been constantly thinking of nothing but cups of tea. Do you think I wouldn’t’ve changed back if I’d’ve had the chance? I didn’t dare change back just in case one of those maniacs found me!’
She looked back at the children.
‘You see, these children are very special, and there are some things happening which no doubt they are unaware of. I will say no more here and now to them, suffice to say they are hidden things.’
Scarlet’s mind was juggling all the information that she was desperately trying to come to terms with, when suddenly the word hidden triggered something inside her and she turned to face Eliza.
‘We know all about hidden things actually.’ said Scarlet.
‘Oh. Really?’ said Eliza, her eyebrows raised.
‘Yes, we found something hidden in our cottage. Sorry, I mean your cottage. It was in the attic, a box. We don’t know what’s in it, because it’s locked. Do you know what it is?’
Eliza’s eyes lit up and she nodded.
‘Yes, I hid it there before I left the cottage; let’s just say to keep it out of the way of certain prying eyes. You see, as a watcher – like Hillary here - I’ve kept the box and its contents hidden for six hundred years or more.
‘I hid it in the cottage in the hope that one day you would find it. It belongs to you now, and in a sense always has. You see I knew that you and your family would find it eventually. Therefore, I give it you back.’
The old woman took a small key from around her neck and presented it to Scarlet.
‘Be careful though. The contents of the box are unique.’
Scarlet looked confused. ‘But, I can’t remember ever owning a box before, so I can’t see how it could be mine… especially if it’s six hundred years old!’ she said.
‘Oh, the contents of the box are much older than that…’ Eliza whispered mysteriously. ‘Of-course, the box cannot be opened by normal means without the key because it is wizard-locked.’
Scarlet looked at the small brass key that lay there in the palm of her hand and shook her head.
‘What does it all mean? None of this makes any sense…’
‘It will do in time. The box and its contents are yours. A long time ago, when I was your age, I swore an oath to look after it until the time was right. Times have changed and certain events have come to pass. And the time is now right.’
Eliza turned to Hillary. ‘What are we going to do about the Fiery Brand?’ she said urgently, her voice tinged with bitterness.
For a moment Hillary stared through Eliza as if lost in a daydream and then he looked up at her and got up from the armchair, walked over to the children and knelt down.
‘Children, will you meet me here tomorrow?’ he asked.
Without much thinking, Scarlet and Thomas both nodded.
‘Good, good, now go home and get some sleep and be ready here first thing tomorrow morning.’
Eliza turned to Scarlet.
‘Bring the box with you, but do not open it just yet, I have something I need to tell you first before you do that.’
Scarlet looked at the little brass key in her hand again. She was so very tempted to just go home and open the box that she’d hidden under her bed, but she looked at the old woman and agreed. She knew that she would keep that promise, but it would turn out to be one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
* * * * *
Later on that evening sitting at his desk, Hillary scribbled away, making notes and occasionally looking out of his window. The sun was sinking below the horizon fast, painting the sky with vivid shades of red and pink. It was the most fantastic view.
He reached for the jar on his desk and popped a striped mint humbug into his mouth then looked back to his notebook and continued writing, making tiny scratching noises and flourishes with his quill which he dipped every so often into an inkpot on his desk. He wrote in a broad flowing script, with sections of text interspersed with strange little symbols.
Outside, in the cool evening air, the mist from the lake drifted and swirled across the garden again as it had done on the morning of the carnival. This time though, rather unusually, it started to coil itself around the windmill, winding itself around and around, tighter and tighter as if trying to get a grip, trying to inch its way further up the outside of the old building.
Eliza was asleep in Hillary’s armchair snoring, much to Wendle’s disgust.
The dog cast his mind back to the last time she was here: Urchins had set the thatched roof of her cottage on fire in 1727 after rumours persisted in the village that she was really a witch. The dog sat by the antique rug, resting his head on his paws, entranced by the magical pictures in the weave. He looked up at Hillary, who was sitting at his desk engrossed in his writing.
It was then that several tendrils of mist drifted in front of the window, looking for all the world like ghostly wizened hands trying to desperately grasp for the window latch.
Wendle growled.
‘The mist! It’s alive!’ he barked, bolting for the stairs.
Startled at the shape in the window, Hillary slammed his notebook shut and looked out of the window.
The mist withdrew from view almost instantly.
As quick as he could, he ran down the staircase, after Wendle.
The mist retreated at a running pace across the marsh and out towards Blakeby. All they could do was both stand by the open doorway helpless, watching it roll back across the countryside, almost as if it was somehow being reeled in…
Hillary didn’t move until the mist had completely disappeared from view, and then finally turned to Wendle.
‘I think it’s time we went to see on old friend… go and wake Eliza.’
* * * * *
Scarlet lay in bed clutching the small brass key tightly in her hand.
She was far too excited for sleep. She kept thinking about what could be in the box. She turned to look out of the window at the trees of Bracken Wood, with its boughs slowly swaying in the wind and the moon shining brightly above. Her eyes were wide open, and her imagination sparked frantically.
Eventually, hours later, sleep would get the better of her and she would drift off into a dream world full of dragons, wizards, faeries and goblin kings…
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9 Responses to “Chapter 10: Trespassers”
I think for someone who identifies themselves as “not a writer” you’re doing an admirable job. It’s something we all learn the hard way, and you should keep it up. There’s lots of good stuff to work with here, and if I helped at all I’m glad of that.
The best advice I can give you, because I’ve received it recently myself, is to slow down with passages and really show the reader what you see in your head. I rushed, to my story’s detriment, and now I’m going back to fill in the blanks as well. If you give things more time, you’ll improve as a writer because you’ll be looking for detail, showing more, and practicing more. Rushing does you a disservice, because you get less practice, and your readers a disservice as well — because they’re enjoying what they’re reading, and you can give them more to enjoy.
By The Cloaked Stranger on Jan 6, 2008
The kids say, “Well… we heard a noise and we hid in your plant pot. Then a man came in dressed in black and he took your books. It was very scary. He came in and started searching around like he was looking for something.’
Then the man says, ‘A hooded man you say? How very peculiar…’
But the kids never mentioned he was hooded.
Clicked the banner link from Tales of MU - was a little put off by all the descriptive phrases in the first few paragraphs, but got over that by the end of the chapter and was hooked with wanting to know what happened next. The sudden jumping of scenes between chapters is disconcerting sometimes, but on the whole I’m enjoying the weaving of the separate tales in one big story so far.
By Silverai on Feb 28, 2008
Ahh. Bugger.
By Rob on Feb 28, 2008
Thanks for pointing that out. I’d better go and amend it …
By Rob on Feb 28, 2008
I love the descriptions. They make the story more substantial, gives it a tone, a background so you can actually imagine being there. Without them, a story is nothing more than an outline.
By Hoboe on May 7, 2008
Hoboe: many thanks for the comment. I really like describing things, especially when it adds something to the story. I find that sometimes though I can be a little too blatant in my use of description, and so I’m making a conscious decision to be a little more ‘concise’ :)
By Rob on May 8, 2008
Are you a fan of Hilaire Belloc, by any chance?
By Chris on Jul 28, 2008
Chris: I wouldn’t say I’m a fan, although some of his work is enjoyable, in particular his poetry about southern England.
And, although his politics are questionable, I don’t think that should detract from (some of) his work.
The only part that I based the character of Hillary on was the anglicisation of his name, and the fact that Belloc lived near - but not in - a windmill (Shipley Mill in fact - the same place that the UK television series Jonathan Creek was filmed)
http://www.shipleywindmill.org.uk
By Rob on Jul 29, 2008
I too love the descriptions and am very comfortable with your writing style.
I have been reading quite a few stories since I discovered the Web Fiction Guide and this one is the most comfortable to read. I enjoy a good tale and I believe this is turning out to be a great one :-D
That is all for tonight, I shall return for more tomorrow.
By Miladysa on Oct 7, 2008