Silver's Corner

Soon, My Dearest Love

It was a dark and stormy night. The rain was lashing down hard and fast, while thunder roared across the sky and lightning flashed down from the heavy black clouds. Villagers huddled around blazing fires, wrapped in blankets to ward off the damp chill.

In the small castle high up on the hillside, the Lord's only daughter, Sasha, stared out from the window of the tallest tower. Sitting alone she watched the wind tear at the trees and the storm raging all around them. Although there was no glass for protection, her mink cloak, thrown hastily over her night robes, kept her warm. A single candle – placed carefully in a corner sheltered from the wind – provided her with a small flickering light. Apart from that and the stool upon which she sat, the tower room was bare and empty. It had been a library when she was a child, but some strange events had occurred and some accidents took place. The servants whispered that it was haunted. Eventually all of the books had been moved to another wing and the tower had been shut up.

But Sasha knew where her father kept the only key. On stormy nights when everyone else slept, the girl would slip out of bed, unlock the door and venture up the steep stone steps. There she would gaze out over the dark fields for an hour or more until the small flame flickered and died.

It had been a year, but still she waited. Ever hopeful that one day her lover would return to sweep her up in his strong arms and carry her away – just as he had promised. Although she knew it was risky, she had not been able to bear destroying his last letter, and had kept it carefully hidden away. But she remembered the words by heart anyway – Soon, my dearest love. Soon I shall return to your embrace and never again will anything ever separate us. One the darkest and most violent of nights, watch for me from the north tower. I will return for you, my love, and we shall be together forever.

There had been no more letters. Winter had passed into spring, spring had blossomed into summer and autumn had once again returned. But still Sasha could not stop the ritual, could not let go of the tiny hope that still sparkled in her heart.

The candle flickered its last, plunging the room into darkness. Sighing wearily, Sasha got up to go. Suddenly an odd sound reached her ears; the high-pitched whining of a stubborn horse, and the clattering of hooves striking cobblestones. Could it be? Hardly daring to hope, she rushed back to the window.

Far below her, a shadowy figure in a green soldier's uniform sat astride a black stallion, guiding the beast along the road to the castle with a steady hand.

“Earnest!” she cried out. Despite the noise of the elements he somehow heard her, and looked up towards her voice. Her cry of joy became a shriek of fear as she found herself looking not at the handsome face of her lover, but at a white grinning skull with strands of black hair clinging desperately to it. Half of his chest was missing, there remained only a gaping hole and a few ribs poking through.

“I have returned for you, Sasha. Come and be with me forever,” he pleaded, reaching his arms towards her.

Screaming, she fled from the window, the awful sight burned into her memory. But it was so dark and everything looked the same in her terror. Grappling for the door, aware of the hooves approaching, Sasha lost all sense of reason. She had to find her father, tell him everything... he would be so angry... but he would protect her.

“Sasha!” the voice called, mournfully. “I love you, dearest. I came back for you. Come and be with me, my love.”

Finding the exit at last, she stumbled down the stone steps... back to safety...

--------

The next morning, the maid was alarmed to find Sasha's bed empty. The blankets were rumpled and some clothes were missing, but the girl was nowhere in sight. The servants searched the whole castle but found nothing. When the cook ventured out into the courtyard, however, the mystery was solved.

Her beautiful young body lay battered at the bottom of the grey stone steps of the tower, her neck having been broken in the fall. The doctor was summoned, who concluded that death had been almost instant. Just a sad accident, everyone agreed, a stumble on the wet steps in the dark. But there were two things that no one could explain.

Why her glazed blue eyes held an expression of utter terror, or why – clutched in her tightly closed fist – were a handful of black hairs.

“So you are from London?” Sarah asked casually, as the two of us were washing up in the small kitchen of her little cafe. “It must be quite a change moving down to our little town.”

My heart started to beat faster. Sarah – a large, cheerful lady in her mid-forties – had taken me under her wing a few weeks before, when I had arrived in the cafe with nothing but a single suitcase to my name. Unsure of what to do and with nowhere to go, I had spent hours sitting by the window nursing a mug of hot chocolate... and at closing time she had approached me. She offered me the empty flat above the cafe for a few nights, and in return I helped her out during busy periods, and we had become friends. The living accommodation was basic and she could not afford to pay me much, but it was a new start. A chance to start afresh.

“My life there was very different,” I agreed evasively. That had been an understatement. My job there had been well paid and I had enjoyed the finer things in life. I had been close to my employers and had had a large group of friends, eaten in expensive restaurants, frequented art galleries and spent the weekends drinking and clubbing. I had been happy, or so I thought.

“Do you miss it?” Sarah wasn't a nosy person, but I could tell she was curious about the circumstances that had led to me being jobless and homeless in the middle of the countryside. It was hard; I felt guilty keeping things from her when she had been so kind to me, but I knew her opinion of me would change when she knew what I was running away from.

It still haunted me every night, but I needed to make a new start. My sister, my only living relative, had disowned me, and the people I had thought to be my friends had all disappeared. Why would a near stranger – even a friendly one – react any differently? No, I had to keep my secret and build a new life for myself.

“Sometimes, but things change. It is peaceful here.”

It was a nice little town. People knew each other and always said hello, though I held back from socialising. Sarah often tried to get me to go to the little pub on the corner in the evenings, but it felt too intimidating. Instead I spent a lot of time walking on the nearby beach, which was quiet most of the time. I could settle here, I often thought to myself while walking in the twilight. A new name, a new job, a place to live – surely everyone deserves a second chance?

Perhaps in time I could erase the past mistakes. Perhaps I could be happy again.

That was until I came down to open the cafe early one morning, still half asleep, and found the windows covered in pieces of paper. Unlocking the door, a cold chill spread through me as I saw the dozens of copies of a small newspaper article dated from the year before. The words Evil Bitch had been sprayed in red paint across the front of the door.

Someone had discovered my secret.

The newspaper article told how a twenty-four year old childminder had been charged with child endangerment, after her three year old charge had fallen down the stairs and suffered a broken arm and a head injury. The story went on to explain how she had been having sexual intercourse with her male employer at the time the accident occurred, and was suspected of neglecting the child on several other occasions to be with her lover. She had had her license revoked and received three months in prison.

My photograph was neatly displayed there for all to see. I had since dyed my hair brown and no longer wore make-up, but it was still unmistakably me. The childminder had been me. Young and naïve, I had been flattered by his attentions and allowed it to cloud my judgement – but there were no excuses for my actions. The result had been a badly injured child whom the doctors said had been lucky to escape brain damage, a devastated wife and mother, and a brutal and messy divorce.

I could recall the last words that Jessica – the woman I had regarded as an older sister – had ever said to me: “I will make sure that what you have done to me haunts you for the rest of your life.” I had no doubt that she meant every word. I had ruined her life, why would she not retaliate?

My only hope had been to start over, but how could such a thing ever be obliterated?

With tears leaking from my eyes, I turned around and went back upstairs, where I threw my few belongings into my battered suitcase. There was just enough time to slip out and get to the bus stop before Sarah arrived and saw the posters.

It was time to move on again. Maybe one day I could find the forgiveness I didn't deserve.

Written for Second Chance Idol. A very small piece of fiction. Prompt used: High Wire Act


Edward shivered, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on his coat, as he slowly shuffled down the lane. It was going to be a lovely spring day, for there was not a single cloud in the sky, but it was still early enough for there to be a sharp chill in the air. Maybe he should have waited, let the day warm up a bit, but his errand was far too important. In any case, a little cold never hurt anyone.

The lane was completely deserted – though that was hardly unusual. Apart from the tiny farmhouse he shared with his wife, there was nothing but fields for miles. Even the nearest village was five miles away. Once a month a cart came bringing supplies, but apart from that and the occasional rambler, he often saw no one for weeks at a time. But that was all right with him, he enjoyed the isolation and the freedom of his own company. And anyway, he always had his Lizzie.

Whistling cheerfully, he continued on his way. Walking long distances had become somewhat difficult recently – he was no longer a young man any more – but he did not complain. Turning a corner, he smiled at the sight before him; hundreds of marigolds dancing in the breeze. It was beautiful, a field full of red and gold and orange. Perfect, just what he needed!

It was hard for Edward to bend down to pick the flowers, but he persevered. The thought of his wife's face when he presented them to her kept him at his task. They were her favourite flowers, and what could be a more loving gift to give her on their 50th wedding anniversary? Neither of them had ever had much use for physical things, but flowers... flowers were different. He could put them in a vase near the window. She would like that.

His Lizzie... she was still as beautiful to him as she had been on their wedding day. Their whole relationship had started under odd circumstances - she had been a circus performer, a tightrope walker and a trapeze artist, delighting in performing daredevil stunts in front of a crowd. Born in the circus, for twenty years it had been the only life she had ever known. But then he had come along, and he had fallen deeply in love with her, and had been determined to make her his. It had taken some persuading, but he had been persistent and eventually she had consented to marry him and had left her old life behind... but he knew deep down that she always missed it. Even as the years passed, she never quite forgot. Edward had always done his very best to make her happy, but it was never quite enough.

The other problem was that there were no children. There was no way of knowing why exactly, or if anyone was to blame... eventually he accepted that it just wasn't meant to be. But Liz, she had found it hard to cope, and it made her ill, in her mind. That was when he had moved them both to such isolated parts, where he could take care of her and spare her from the pointing and stares and cruel remarks of the people who didn't understand. They were safe in their isolated existence. He didn't care how strange she behaved, or what she said or did, he loved her anyway. She was his whole world. Without her, he was nothing.

The house was still quiet when he returned. One of the cats, a little grey tabby, sat on the porch step, watching as he opened the door. Clutching the marigolds close to his chest, he shuffled across the small, bare kitchen. “I'm home, Lizzie,” he called out, as loudly as his feeble voice would allow. “And look, I brought you a present.”

His wife sat in the living room, in a chair in front of an empty fireplace. Her sunken dead eyes stared straight ahead. A few wisps of hair still clung to her skull. Her skeletal hands rested neatly in her lap, her wedding ring still on one bony finger.

Edward placed the flowers in the vase on the table. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

As he collapsed into the second chair, the cat sat and watched them out of piercing green eyes.