Oracle in the Mist
Linda Maree Malcolm
Published by JoJo Publishing
First published 2012
‘Yarra’s Edge’
2203/80 Lorimer Street
Docklands VIC 3008 Australia
Email: [email protected] or visit
www.jojopublishing.com
© Linda Maree Malcolm
All rights reserved. No part of this printed or video publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
JoJo Publishing
Designer / typesetter: Chameleon Print Design
Edited by Ormé Harris
Converted to ePub by Winking Billy
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Author: Malcolm, Linda Maree.
Title: Oracle in the mist / Linda Maree Malcolm.
ISBN: 9780987410399 (ePub.)
Subjects: Detective and mystery stories.
Magic—Fiction.
Dewey Number: A823.4
My gratitude to my husband Sandro for generously recognising my needs and providing me with all of the tools and enthusiasm and encouragement that were necessary for my development as a writer and to my children and grandchild, for motivating me to write and for being the inspiration for my characters. My beautiful Italian family opened up my mind, accepting and supporting me with love and taught me about their culture. They provided the safety net to my tightrope and always will.
When I became too serious, my wonderful homeschool community, especially the lovely Melissa, Paula, Rachel, Lisa and Lee, were there for me with their strength, understanding and fun.
Thank you to my mother Doreen, who also loved to write, for teaching me that to follow a dream is a very sacred thing. My father, Stan, and my brothers and sisters and their children have always encouraged and believed in me. Memories of my two late grandmothers inspired some ideas used in the book. Bobby is named for my paternal grandmother.
I would like to acknowledge my writing teacher, the late Jenni Overend – an angel in life and in the hereafter and also my Year Nine English teacher, Mrs Harris for telling me I had a talent for writing.
My professional friends, Marisa, Frank, Lou, Barry, Jo, Duncan and Katie and all of my other friends and family members have been very supportive. Thank you.
My gratitude to the psychics and mediums and all of the people who have taught and guided me over the years and to my Spiritual Advisor, who has been with me for every step of this journey.
For my family, Sandro, Thomas, Amy, Zac, Madeline, Reuben and Isabela.
I continue to be amazed and inspired by their poetic, musical, artistic and writing abilities and feel blessed to be a part of this group.
I hope that we will always be united by our desire to live mainly in our imaginations.
Linda Maree Malcolm worked at a wide variety of jobs before deciding in 2008 to make writing her main focus. The homeschooling mother of four has been completely absorbed in a world of imagination as she has read aloud hundreds of books to her children.
She was raised in the Dandenong Mountains and then moved to the beautiful Yarra Valley where, as a single mother of one, she married her husband, whose heritage is Italian. Linda has a deep understanding of the esoteric world.
Linda has drawn on some of her own experiences when writing this book, loosely basing the characters of Oracle in the Mist on people she has met via homeschooling as well as on her own children, but her main inspiration comes from Beatrix Potter, Enid Blyton, JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis and LM Montgomery.
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter 1: The dance of the fairies
Chapter 2: The crystal ball and the Oracle
Chapter 3: Sharing family secrets
Chapter 4: The mystery of the oak tree
Chapter 5: Decision to act
Chapter 6: Bobby takes the plunge
Chapter 7: Professor Lambert and Sebastian
Chapter 8: Mystery of the eight revealed
Chapter 9: The evil Oracle
Chapter 10: Henry, Ina and the island paradise
Chapter 11: The eight return home
Chapter 12: Cousins
Chapter 13: Bobby and David compare notes
Intuition told Bobby that she should wake up as there was something going on that she should know about. She sat up in her bed and listened — yes there it was, beautiful music that seemed a great distance away. Who would be playing music at this time of the night? Certainly not her mother who was probably asleep in her own bedroom, just down the hall.
Bobby did not feel frightened as she threw back her quilt to go and investigate. It was extreme curiosity that drove her and as she tiptoed down the hall she noticed that the music was becoming louder:
“We come, softly through the night, as evening falls behind us. Our footsteps leave no mark upon the snow.
Let your spirit go it will find us.”
Bobby descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen, listening for the melodious singing again. It had become far away again and she realised that she had somehow taken the wrong direction:
“We come adorned in spider web and dew, through woodland to the meadow. We come luminous and bright, dancing with the light and the shadow.
“The summer moon is calling us to play, a sacred light to guide us. The wild music leads us in a trance, spinning to the dances inside us.”
Bobby climbed the stairs again and holding onto the old banister looked around her. This didn’t make any sense. She could hear the singing, it was all around her and yet it seemed to be coming from nowhere. She went to the bathroom and noticed that the sounds became closer:
“The air is warm and echoes with the sound of laughter rising higher.
With drums and bells we sing into the night dancing in the light of the fire.”
She looked above her and the realisation dawned on her. It wasn’t in her home at all. Or at least not on this level or the one below. It was in the attic. It had to be — there was no other explanation. Bobby suddenly remembered that there was a pulldown ladder from the attic in the walkin linen press which was located right next to the bathroom. She tiptoed quietly into that room so as not to wake her mother and, without turning on the light, felt about above her for the string that would pull the attic ladder down. There it was. She gave it a gentle tug but it didn’t move. It was quite stuck and the thought occurred to Bobby that it had not been used in some time. She ignored her logical side asking the question, how did whoever is in the attic get in? This was no time for logic.
She used all of her strength to pull at the string and just when she thought it would never budge, it came open, just a crack at first pouring years of dust and goodness knows what else onto her upturned face and into her eyes, nose and open mouth. While she brushed and wiped at herself Bobby became aware of two things. The light that now emanated from the crack in the ceiling was almost as bright if not brighter than ordinary daylight. The singing and music was very close now and she had been correct in her assumption that it was from the attic:
“We weave a music curiously pure, a crystal song suspended.
We fly on wings diaphanous as light, dancing till the long night is ended.”
Even if Bobby was afraid, which she wasn’t, to see what was above her, there was no way she could resist the magnetic pull of the music. She had become completely entranced by it. The leading voice was the richest and purest she had ever heard.
“We come, ancient as the moon, as new
as every season.
We come as fire as icicle and leaf; suspend your disbelief and your reason.”
Bobby pulled at the ladder which became straightened out in one smooth action. Quietly climbing the rickety stairs she took a deep breath to prepare herself for what she might see above her. As her head entered the blinding light emanating from the attic, Bobby squinted to adjust her vision. She gripped the top rung tightly and just in time too because what she saw took her breath away to the point of making her almost topple back down the ladder. In the centre of the enormous attic was what at first glance seemed to be a massive bonfire that stretched at least three metres high. So this was what was creating the light in the room.
But even more astonishing than that was what Bobby saw either dancing or relaxing around the light. It was impossible; it couldn’t be true! Dozens of tiny incandescent beings, all with long lustrous hair and floating garments, some with wings and some without but nevertheless all flying about and also frequently stopping to dance with one another; a dance that was simple enough but seemed to somehow have them all laughing in unison. Their laughter was the loveliest of sounds and right then and there Bobby decided that a sound such as that could only come from fairy creatures, of which she had read but never before actually seen.
Then another sight leapt before her eyes. On the floor were many other types of beings that Bobby supposed would be referred to as elves, all with long pointed ears. There were also leprechauns, pixies and brownies. Some were playing instruments, some were dancing. Others were making shoes with tiny steel hammers and still others were talking with one another or singing or simply watching and laughing to themselves. But the grandest of all of the creatures were the tall forest elves. Clothed in only leaves and twigs sewn together and with golden hair streaming down their backs and reaching to their knees, these elves were involved in a more formal kind of dance. Half of them male and half female, they held hands with one another in a circle around the fire. Then the men would drop their left hands and the women their right hands and the men would lead the women under their arms. Then, holding their joined hands to their faces would step in a most dramatic fashion, circling around each other. They would then swap hands and circle the fire and every so often drop hands and then change partners. The men would give a slight bow and the women a little curtsy.
It was only now that Bobby noticed that these elven creatures were so unreal as to be almost transparent and indeed she suddenly realised that each of them was completely hollow in the back, just like a hollowed out tree. Another character caught her eye. He was very small, only about one and a half metres tall and had curly ginger hair with a matching beard. He wore green clothes that were quite ragged and on his head he wore a red cap. He looked halfstarved and overworked and he stared at Bobby and then smiled at her and gestured for her to come into the circle. Bobby thought it odd that he was the only one that had noticed her so far. Would the others notice her if she stepped forward? She walked toward the fire, feeling quite magical and mythical also, her long white cotton and lace nightgown billowing out behind her. She thought she would like to dance and sing as well and wondered if she were under some kind of enchantment. All thoughts of the real world, her mother and moving house, had completely vanished from her mind. Right then all of the singing, dancing and flying about came to an abrupt halt. It was replaced with screams of terror and with the blink of an eye the whole party had vanished, a long thin stream of light exiting through the window.
“Don’t go, please come back. I won’t hurt you!” Bobby called out but it was too late and before she knew it she found herself in the middle of an ancient and massive attic, all alone except for the forgotten furniture and piles of dust. Bobby awoke with a start. She sat up in bed and noticed that she was pulling at her own collar. She stared around her to try and get her bearings. Yes, that’s right — new room, new house, new town. But there was something else on the edge of her memory; what was it …
Oh yes, she remembered now, a magical place full of beautiful music and strange elemental creatures. But where was it? She tried to remember for a moment but then heard her mother calling her name from down the hall. It was just a dream, anyway, she thought to herself. And dreams usually meant nothing at all.
She bounced out of bed feeling quite light and excited, although she had no idea why. She bounded into the kitchen to greet her mother and they chatted away about what was coming up for them for the day. Her mother asked her to get a tablecloth that was kept in the linen press. As soon as Bobby opened the door of the walkin cupboard she remembered her dream from the previous night.
A fairy dance in her attic, that’s right. She looked up and sure enough there was the string to pull the ladder down just like in her dream. But it was only a dream, she told herself. Stuff like that did not happen in real life, did it? Still, she thought to herself, later, when her mother was doing the reading for a client she would come back to the linen press, pull down the ladder and explore the attic.
Bobby pulled the ladder down easily enough and was relieved that there was no dust emptied onto her face. Before she knew it she was standing in the exact same spot as in her dream looking at the exact same attic full of knick knacks and old furniture. The only difference was that in the centre of the room, rather than there being a bonfire, there was a pillar of concrete with a length of red fabric draped over it. She was disappointed to say the least. She had hoped to find some hint of what she thought she had seen here last night. Still, this was a good opportunity to explore her new house. She longed to find some clue as to the life of her grandmother, who had lived here before her for decades.
All she’d noticed so far was cobwebs, dust and mouse droppings. Bobby’s grandmother had been a woman of mystery; she lived like a hermit, rarely venturing out and Bobby had only met her a couple of times in her life. The last time Bobby had seen her was six years earlier. Bobby remembered that she still had those eyes that seemed so full of sorrow, as if they were the keepers of some terrible secret. But her grandmother was such a warm and loving person who talked easily to people and made them feel at home by getting them laughing at all kinds of things, usually her own shortcomings. Her ability to make you feel at ease almost made you forget the fact that she seemed on the verge of tears a lot of the time.
Now that Bobby was twelve she was getting curious about the people in her family. She couldn’t help feeling that there were a lot of secrets being kept from her and she now realised that all adults were very good at keeping things from children. They did it out of love of course; they didn’t want their children to experience too much too soon for fear that it would make them grow up before their time. Bobby had worked this out by watching her own mother, Daphne. Whenever a client came for Daphne to give an angel card reading, Bobby had to be completely out of ear shot. Bobby understood that the client’s privacy had to be protected too but there was also a feeling of protecting Bobby from knowing all of the things that happened to adults and Bobby could never quite figure out what those things were.
It was frustrating and she repeatedly told Daphne to stop treating her like a little girl but Daphne only answered her questions to a point which left Bobby to find out the rest by herself. If she could only find some sort of clue as to her grandmother’s life here in the attic, she might come closer to knowing what kind of person her grandmother was and why the fairies had led her here in the first place.
There was an assortment of floral boxes stacked one on top of the other in the corner of the attic. Bobby looked through each one but found nothing except bits of old fabric, buttons, cottons and dressmaking patterns. Next to the boxes was an antique dresser but the drawers were empty. She was about to leave the attic but something made her walk towards the pillar in the centre of the room. She pulled the red fabric off it and there sitting on the pillar was a large crystal ball. She knew it was a crystal ball because one of her mother’s friends was a clairvoyant who used a crystal ball to tell the future. This one
was different though because on it were written the words “Oracle in the Mist” in very fancy gold print.
It really was the largest and most important looking crystal ball she’d ever seen. Underneath the crystal ball were three newspaper articles that were quite ancient and that had been taped together with sticky tape that was now yellowed and curled and that had almost lost its ability to stick. Bobby gently eased the newspaper out from under the crystal ball. Something told her this was not a ball she would want to break.
She replaced the ball and unfolded the newspaper. She saw that the largest article was dated 19th November, 1930. There was a picture of eight children all dressed in oldfashioned clothes such as overalls and longwaisted dresses. The girls’ hair was cut into short bobs and the boys had bowl cuts.
The headline read: “A miracle. Eight children missing for six days return home safely.” The article went on to explain that the parents and police still had no clue as to where the children had been because the children had no memory whatsoever of the incident. Apparently the parents just woke up one day to find their children at home and sleeping in their beds again, much to their utter relief but also shock.
Bobby noticed the newspaper was called Queensborough Times which confirmed that this had happened right here in this little country town. She looked at the names of the children pictured and recognised her own grandmother’s name, Robina Fairweather.
She studied the picture. Her grandmother appeared to be staring at the gap next to her as if wondering at the absence of someone. And there were those huge sad eyes, thought Bobby, even in this picture when her grandmother was only a child. The article said that the children all told exactly the same story; they had no idea where they had been but were happy to be home and eager to be getting on with their lives.
Bobby read the next article: “Locals talk of alien craft sighting on night of 19th November, 1930.” The next article after that read: “Mr and Mrs Game have finally become proud parents after adopting a bonny, blackhaired baby boy.” Bobby folded the newspaper and put it into her jean pocket. Instinct told her she would be referring to it again. She read the words on the ball out loud to herself: “Oracle in the Mist.” What does it mean, she thought to herself? And why has it been left up here with these articles for so long. She picked up the ball and held it in front of her face.
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