Autumn

by Lisa Ann Brown

  “Thank you,” Arabel said to Shelaine, kissing her on the cheek, “and I will see you tomorrow, nightfall!”

  Whipsie graciously allowed Arabel onto her back and Arabel joined the dark haired young man at the paddock. Arabel guided the horses east to Magpie Moor and luckily, the rain eased off, making the journey much more enjoyable. Whipsie seemed delighted for the adventure and Arabel felt suddenly lighter than she had in days. Even before the discovery of Lady X, Arabel realized she’d already been under the spell of melancholy and sadness. The grey swirling energy.

  As Arabel and Eli moved farther away from Blue Jay Hollow, Arabel’s mood escalated until she felt almost euphoric, and this she did not trust either. Whipsie seemed indifferent and maintained a graceful canter along the clean, well ordered paths. Other traffic was slight and they encountered only one elegant carriage racing by and one couple on foot.

  The wind was a soft, humid balm and Arabel noticed magpies collecting overhead. They were beautiful. Their white, black, and blue plumage looked especially bright and their chatter blended in nicely with the sound of the horse’s hooves.

  Eli was slightly behind Arabel as they rode and neither of them spoke for a long time.

  “They say she was running from her husband to her lover,” Eli finally said, breaking the silence.

  “Who? Lady X?” Arabel returned.

  Eli smiled again; he had a disconcerting habit of doing so, and Arabel found herself smiling back, despite the darkness of the subject matter.

  “Yes, your Lady X, whose dress you found.”

  “I had to give her a name,” Arabel defended, quite unnecessarily.

  Eli crooked an eyebrow. “Of course you did,” was all he said.

  They rode in silence once more and Arabel stole glances at Eli sideways when he didn’t seem to be looking. There was something familiar about him, something soothing, but beyond the feeling of safety, Arabel realized he was a stranger she’d just met and protocol -for what it was worth- demanded that she be no friendlier with the Murphy’s newest stable boy than she would any other young man.

  “It’s quite alright you know,” he said suddenly.

  Arabel questioned Eli with a look; she tried for ambiguous, but failed most miserably.

  “I won’t tell anyone what we’re doing,” Eli continued.

  “You don’t know what we’re doing!” Arabel countered, but Eli smiled again, a knowing, slow-as- molasses kind of smile that seemed to be doing something to her insides.

  “I know more than you think,” Eli said cryptically, “and probably more than I ought!”

  Arabel decided to stay silent. There were hours ahead on the journey still, and much time for disclosure if she so desired.

  Half way to their destination they stopped for a brief cold lunch of pasties and fruit. Arabel shared her rations with Eli as he’d had no time to procure his own food before setting off on their journey.

  “Where are you from?” she asked him. “I thought I knew everyone in Blue Jay Hollow.”

  “I was born in Ravenswood Glen,” he returned amiably, munching on a bright red apple, “but my folks are Gypsies and didn’t fare well in town.” Eli shrugged, as if this was inconsequential. “They moved around a lot. We spent some time up north and my brothers and sisters were all older than me, so once it was only me and my parents, we camped out in the Copse for the last few years.”

  A Gypsy, so that would explain his colouring and features, Arabel thought.

  “Did you go to school?” she asked, before realizing perhaps it was rude to ask.

  Eli grinned at her. “For a time. But mostly I was home-schooled.”

  Arabel was silent; she’d never known any of the Gypsies as they kept to themselves.

  “I wanted more than that, living in the camp with no way of removing myself from it,” Eli said quietly, “so I asked Old Man Murphy for a job. Luckily for me, I know my way around horses and mucking out a stable is an honest way to earn my keep. Plus, I get to live at Murphy Estates.”

  Again, that smile, the slow honeyed grin, full of even white teeth and generous lips. “There are far worse destinations,” he added.

  “Do you see your parents?” Arabel wanted to know.

  “Yes, quite often,” Eli replied. “They don’t always understand what I’m about, and why I don’t follow the traditional ways, but they love me enough to accept what I want.” He finished the apple absently and took a large swig of water. He passed it to Arabel and she accepted it from him. Their hands touched, briefly, but it was long enough for a connection.

  Arabel felt as if someone had jolted her with lightning. Vivid colours which moved and danced erratically appeared in front of her eyes - blue, green stripes and a warm rush of bright, deep red tinged with pink. Arabel closed her eyes, her hand shook slightly; the colours persisted.

  When Arabel looked at him again, Eli was quite sober.

  “I’m a lot like you,” he spoke softly. “I know what you saw.”

  “Really? Then what am I thinking now?” Arabel demanded somewhat querulously, feeling unbalanced and off-key in an unfamiliar and vaguely unpleasant way.

  Eli replied slowly, a hint of sadness tingeing his words. “You don’t know if you should trust me and you don’t know why you want to. But we’re much the same, you and I, and I mean no disrespect.”

  Eli paused and Arabel looked away from his gentle brown eyes. For someone so young, he looked like he had witnessed all the ages of man, and it seemed to her it was a look she had seen in her own reflection.

  “I see them too,” Eli said and Arabel understood he meant the spectres. Eli gestured to the dark forest they were secluded within. “And I can feel the woods here. I can feel the energy of what lives here, what dies here, what evil lurks and goodness screams.”

  Overhead a magpie mocked them, breaking the eerie mood which had fallen.

  “There’s a killer out there,” Eli continued. “We need to find him. Stop him. I think you need my help.”

  Eli got to his feet and offered Arabel his hand. She took it, with some reservation, and stood beside him. Luckily the contact this time brought no disconcerting flashes of colour.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Arabel said.

  For the life of her, it was all she could say. Something was hypnotizing her and she was fairly certain it was not the grey swirling energy.

  Strangers at the Inn

  The Rosewood Inn was a large, rambling, brick and wood structure of pale pink paint and tidy white trim. A lovely bridge over a small, crackling stream invited them to cross and after seeing the mounts to the stable, Arabel and Eli ventured within the Inn. Despite the size, it was warm and cozy. Thick rugs covered the knotted pine floors and the walls were covered in oil paintings of various flowers and fauna. A double sided fireplace roared in the centre of the lobby and sofas and chairs were placed generously around it.

  A large reception desk graced the side of the room and here it was paneled in oak, giving it a distinguished air, much like the proprietor of the inn, a small older fellow with greying hair and a matching grey suit with a fancy top knot. He smiled at them in greeting.

  “Welcome to the Rosewood Inn,” he said. “Are you looking for lodging or have you come for supper?”

  “Both please,” responded Arabel. “Two rooms and a meal would be perfect.”

  The gentleman removed two curlicue shaped keys from the wall where numerous others hung on bright copper hooks and passed them over the desk. He gestured to a slight young bellboy who sprang to attention and immediately relieved Arabel of her small haversack.

  “This way please,” the bellboy said and proceeded to lead Arabel and Eli down a narrow hallway. They moved past the aromatic dining room and into a larger oval space with a thickly curving stairway and enormous windows. They climbed the stairway to the second floor and Arabel’s room was first at the landing. The bellboy opened the door for her and deposited her bag on the chair inside.

  “May y
our stay be comfortable,” he said and led Eli off down the hall.

  “Meet you downstairs in half an hour?” Eli asked, looking back at her, and Arabel nodded her assent.

  Once inside her room, Arabel let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding in. There was a pressure on Arabel’s chest and she wasn’t certain why. She took a moment to look around the room to distract herself and was pleased to note that the room, while not overly spacious, was clean and the furniture and bed were well appointed. The room was painted a light green with white trim and thick, dark green velvet coverings adorned the double set of windows. Arabel went over to the windows immediately and opened one side to let in the fresh evening air.

  Arabel could see the small bridge from here and she could almost hear the laughter of the stream it covered. Voices of other inn occupants drifted up and a horse whinnied from the stables. Arabel heard the crickets calling and felt somewhat relieved as the tightness in her chest dissipated slightly. A basin of water sat upon a rosewood dresser and Arabel washed her face and hands.

  A ghostly face appeared before Arabel – a woman in a simple grey shift, crying silently.

  Arabel was privy to the feeling of distress the spectre radiated, and could see her copious tears, yet was powerless to do anything but watch as the woman walked to the window, peered anxiously into the night and then glided solemnly back to the door. The crying spectre repeated this four times before Arabel decided she could no longer sit and stare at the ghostly show. Arabel changed out of her riding habit and into a simple but elegant sapphire blue gown that matched her eyes perfectly for dinner.

  The haunted woman paced the room.

  “I am sorry for your pain,” Arabel said, but the woman ignored her. Not all of the spectres could hear her, she knew, and it was rare for any to actually interact with her, especially to the degree to which her dead parents had.

  “Are you going to do this all night?” Arabel asked, but the ghostly woman peered out the window and did not answer.

  Arabel left the room and made her way to the dining room, leaving the dead to their darkness.

  The dining room was busy, so busy that it took Arabel a moment to see Eli, who was perched on a stool at the bar counter, waiting patiently for her arrival. He jumped up when he saw Arabel and gave her a little bow.

  “You look lovely,” Eli said, his almond eyes lingering on Arabel’s bright blues just a fraction of an instant too long.

  “Thank you,” Arabel replied, feeling oddly unsettled by his admiring gaze. She was relieved when a friendly hostess came over to them and led them to a table.

  The dining room boasted a fireplace and the room was warm with both conversation and firelight. Candles burned in wickets on the walls and on the tables, and overtop the blue cloths, white linen napkins and silver utensils waited to be useful. Arabel realized she had more of an appetite than she’d thought she’d had and found herself telling Eli about the woman in her room as they waited to be served.

  “She couldn’t hear me,” Arabel said ruefully, after she’d relayed the ghostly sequence of the woman’s actions.

  “I don’t think they ever do,” Eli replied. “No ghosts in my room,” he added, “but I venture the stable is ripe with them.”

  Arabel hadn’t felt anything outside of the stables but she knew most spectres loved to be around animals so she didn’t doubt Eli’s assumption. Arabel didn’t relay to Eli that sometimes the ghosts did hear her and did interact with her; that was still her own private, personal matter and she did not yet feel open to sharing it.

  Arabel was distracted from her thoughts as a disagreement suddenly broke out in the far corner of the room between two inebriated gentlemen. A woman sitting with the arguing men was pulling on the arm of one of the men while the other man was trying to go for his opponent’s throat.

  A server rushed over to the disturbance and was quickly joined by two other servers. It was quite a frantic melee and the woman with the two gentlemen began suffering hysterics. The hostess moved the overwhelmed woman quickly away from the table and the two gentlemen were ushered out in a loud and boisterous manner, still attempting to grapple with one another.

  It hit Arabel suddenly and distinctly. It was because she’d just seen the man going for the throat of his companion that she realized Lady X had been strangled. Arabel’s own breath caught unsteadily within her throat and she suddenly felt as if she were choking.

  The grey swirling energy appeared instantly in front of Arabel’s eyes and as it moved closer toward her, Arabel’s hand moved to protect her throat instinctively. Arabel could feel invisible, angry hands upon her body, exerting pressure with insistent fingers bruising her flesh. Harsh, bony fingers, digging deeper, deeper, deeper, and seeking to close off Arabel’s breathing passages, the energy was grey, swirling, and vicious.

  Eli grabbed her hand, peering anxiously into Arabel’s unseeing eyes.

  “Come back,” Eli said, rubbing Arabel’s hand lightly. “Arabel! Come back!” Eli put his hands on Arabel’s shoulders, to shake her, and her glazed eyes stared back at him uncomprehendingly.

  And then suddenly, it was over.

  Arabel was trembling. Her eyes grew slowly accustomed to the candlelight. She came back to the present moment, to herself, to the dining room at the Rosewood Inn. Arabel felt lightheaded and strangely buoyant within her body, as if she were a floating bubble.

  “Here,” Eli shoved a glass of water into Arabel’s hand, moved it to her mouth, and watched her drink.

  The liquid eased the burn in Arabel’s throat but she could still feel the remnants of the fingers, digging, and digging. Tears formed in her eyes.

  “She was so afraid,” Arabel whispered.

  Arabel’s appetite had fled and when the succulent dish she’d ordered was placed before her, she found it hard to swallow. Arabel had never really wondered what death felt like before and now it seemed it was all around her.

  What was she doing here with this Gypsy boy, she wondered, and how did she think she could help poor Lady X? The grey energy had Arabel momentarily locked within its cold, malevolent grip and Arabel could feel a dark stain spreading upon her very soul.

  Eli peered closely at Arabel. For someone he’d not even known a day, he already felt a deep kinship with her. Maybe because they were both odd fellows, he reasoned, not like the others in town, although the Gypsies did boast a staggering number of highly intuitive people. Eli could see a swirling energy centered around Arabel’s head but when he brushed his hand over it, it dissipated immediately and her colour returned.

  No one in the dining room had noticed the incident and Arabel was glad. She was tired of people staring at her, fussing over her, ignoring her and then whispering cruelly behind her back. It was hard to bear sometimes. Arabel glanced at Eli.

  He was strange, but no longer a stranger. She gave him a tremulous smile.

  “It’s watching me, you know.” Arabel said, and Eli regarded her solemnly. “It knows I can feel it.” Arabel looked away, no longer able to bear even Eli’s kind eyes upon her. Arabel felt as if he could see right into her core and it was disconcerting.

  “I don’t know how to stop it.”

  “We’ll find him tomorrow,” Eli promised. “We’ll go to every door if we have to.”

  Arabel didn’t answer. She was already afraid it would be too late.

  The Dreaming

  She could see the man in front of her, he was walking briskly. She struggled to keep up. She was carrying a large bag and it was heavy, so heavy that she wanted to put it down and forget about it. Leave it behind and continue on, faster, faster, and catch up with the man. She was losing him! He was running, his legs so much longer than hers. And then someone else, coming up from behind to drag her down. On the ground, the russet leaves a faint cushion, the earth cold and unyielding. The second person, choking her. Hands on her neck, tighter and tighter.

  She was screaming with no sound. Her throat was constricted. The contents
of the heavy bag lie all over the forest floor. Apples and peaches and carrots and potatoes. She struggled in horror, staring wildly at the shiny red apples as they rolled away. Her legs kicked out uselessly and her hands and nails clawed at the person behind her. She tried to turn, she tried to breathe. Grey and black overcoming her. Laughter. There were two of them and they were laughing, jeering at her.

  “Thought you were so clever, didn’t you?” one of them said, his voice guttural, deep, and fully without conscience. “Teach you for meddling!”

  More laughter, more tight fingers upon her throat, someone grasping her dress, the sound of ripping material. Horror and unspeakable pain. Under her nails, skin and blood. And then –

  Arabel awoke with her heart pounding. She didn’t know where she was. The room was dark and she was in bed, but the horror remained although she knew she was alone. This wasn’t the first time Arabel had encountered the dream but this time it had gone further. It usually ended with the apples rolling away from her, her transfixed gaze upon the shiny red skin. Now she knew more of the story.

  But Arabel didn’t know if it was her own personal tale or the channelled vision of an unknown woman. Arabel could never see herself in the dream, so she didn’t know if she had become Lady X, or if it was a product of her own subconscious imagination. Or if it was a nightmare still headed toward her.

  The heavy velvet draperies concealed the dawn and Arabel could not stand the darkness any longer. She crept out of bed, slowly, tiredly, feeling the adrenalin finally slowing down within her veins. Arabel brushed the curtains aside and stood at the double windows, staring down into the courtyard of the Inn. A few people were scurrying about in the early morning light and the day was officially beginning.

  There was no time to lose, Arabel realized. Last night they’d learned nothing, though they’d questioned the staff and perused the other dwellers at the Inn.

  The most common consensus was the rumour Eli had already spoken of: Lady X had been leaving her husband for her lover and she’d been caught and choked to death. It was a grim tale but many who spoke of it seemed to relish the dark details in the way that only the small minded and cruel can do. Arabel had met no one who appeared to have any connection to the man with the dull grey eyes, nor was he the figure in her nightmare. It was all too confusing, really, and Arabel felt a deep sadness engulf her.