Plot Twist Challenge: "A Black Band of Pearls"-- Anne Leskey

A Black Band of Pearls

By Anne Leskey

(Plot Twist: The Chosen One—Until a secret identity ruins everything)

When the old king died, there was instantly a good deal of trouble in the kingdom. The problem was that King Zacharias had no children or siblings. So naturally, nobody was quite sure who should rule the kingdom.

There were two families that were connected with the king. Emily Stuart was a very great granddaughter of some grand uncle of Zacharias, but nobody was quite sure of the degree. Laurence Heberlin was some sort of grandson of several kings back, but neither of them wanted to take the throne, being well established with large families. Thus it would fall to the oldest children.

Walter Stuart was seventeen years old, bulky, and loud. Evangeline Heberlin was nineteen, squeaky, and immature. Neither were ideal candidates for the throne, but the laws said that they had to choose from the closest relatives of the deceased king.

But as nobody knew the closest one of the two, they decided that it would be necessary to consult the Prophecy. The Prophecy, as long as anyone could remember, had been around. It was at the top of the tall stone tower in the middle of the castle, and nobody ventured to disturb it unless if in great need.

The lack of a monarch seemed a situation that required the Prophecy’s wisdom. It was decided that High Duchess Emogene, the Stuarts, and the Heberlin family would turn up at seven P.M. on Monday night to consult it.

Walter was confident that he would be proclaimed king.

“Mum, when I’m king, can I do everything I want?” he asked, throwing his sword into the wall.

Mrs. Stuart winced anxiously, and shook her head, “Well, I think that the kings are restricted somewhat, you know.”

Walter pouted, “But…Mum…I never get to do what I want.”

Behind the couch, Lela covered her mouth to prevent an outburst of giggles which wouldn’t be taken well by Walter or Mrs. Stuart. Lela had been living at the Stuart’s house as long as she could remember, but she wasn’t sure exactly why. She was a servant, or rather a maid…something like that, anyway, and the reason that she was there was because she had been left on the doorstep. Which was odd in itself, seeing as there were guards all over. After all, Mrs. Stuart was descended from old kings.

“Lela!” bellowed Mrs. Stuart, loudly.

Lela crept out from the behind the sofa, before straightening up to her tall height of six feet. “Yes, ma’am?” she asked, pushing back her dark brown hair.

Mrs. Stuart stood on her tiptoes to be higher, but Mrs. Stuart was only five feet herself.

“You shall accompany us to the Prophecy, tomorrow,” remarked Mrs. Stuart.

Lela frowned slightly, “I will?” she said, confusedly.

“Yes. You might be useful,” said Mrs. Stuart, cheerfully.

Walter loudly thudded towards the refrigerator, mumbling something about chocolate, nerves, and fussing. Lela flew towards the refrigerator with a look of pity on her face. She endeavored to inform Walter that the chocolate was on the counter, and not in the refrigerator.

Walter yanked open the door, stuck his head into the fridge, bellowed about the chocolate not being there, and then the door slammed shut onto his neck.

“OW!” he roared, backing out of the fridge with a expression of shock on his rather unintelligent-looking face.

Walter had never dreamed the refrigerator would be so rude as to close on him. Lela managed not to roar with laughter, but she did have a rather obvious expression of amusement, which did not agree with Walter.

“How dare you?” he pouted, “Mommy, Lela’s being mean.”

“Shush,” Emily Stuart snapped angrily.

“Mama, mama, is it Monday night yet?” screamed Lila, the one twin, dashing from her bedroom.

“Dear, it’s still Sunday afternoon,” soothed Mrs. Stuart.

Lily, the other twin, pouted, “You said that if we went to sleep we’d get to Monday night sooner.”

“That doesn’t mean you’ll get there right away,” snapped Mrs. Stuart.

Gabriella, the fifteen-year-old sister of Walter, strolled into the room and grabbed a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator.“I wish I was the eldest,” she remarked, loudly.

Daisy and William, the other two children, demanded lemonade. And then all the children demanded lemonade, and finally Lela was practically a pouring machine. For of course, she was the one to get the job. Also she had to hand out gingersnaps. At the end, Mrs. Stuart, who meant to be kind to the girl, remarked quietly, “You may have a glass and a cookie, if you like, Lela.”

“Thank you,” said Lela, gratefully guzzling down her glass, and chomping merrily on a cookie.

Walter whined, “I need another cookie.” He grabbed five before anyone could respond, and rushed out, followed by the very ugly, overweight white bulldog, whose most inappropriate name was Rosebud Lollipop.

“Don’t feed Rose any of those,” commanded Mrs Stuart, bossily, but she was speaking to nobody, for Walter had vanished.

Lela had a feeling that selfish, spoiled Walter wouldn’t make the best of kings. However, she knew better then to say this. She sighed hopefully. Perhaps the Prophecy would choose someone else. Even the laws didn’t dare go against the Prophecy.

*****

The excited murmuring was like a buzzing insect in your ear. Both Walter, who was not given to comparing things much, and Lela, who was, felt this. But it all died away as the two contestants, Walter and Evangeline, came in front of the Prophecy.

It really was a silly little thing, thought Lela, to have so much power in its voice. It was square, and made of a solid green metal. If you looked closely you could see lights like red and golden flames in the very heart of it.

Not that Lela generally got this close to it; even now she was on the outskirts, with the Stuarts. Lila, Lily, Gabriella, Daisy, and William all held their breath. Bernard Stuart, Mrs. Stuart’s husband, did too, though he exhaled loudly once in awhile. Mrs. Stuart looked confident.

On the Heberlin side of things Evangeline’s parents looked nervous, and her six siblings were giggling and pushing each other most rudely.

High Duchess Emogene strutted forwards, and laid both her scrawny, grayish hands upon the green stone, and chanted:  “Green Stone Prophecy! Green Stone Prophecy! We come here, a favor to ask of thee, ask of thee! Green Stone, tell me now, once and for all, who is the monarch who shall rule over us all?”

The stone took a while to answer, but when it did, it was in a queer voice, like someone who had a sore throat and couldn’t talk very well.

Those who would the ruler be

Must go forwards, onto the sea

And then on high rock must find

The band of pearls, four of a kind

The oldest child, of the youngest daughter

Must journey to the cold water

And if you fail, then steal it back

If still the kingdom you lack

“That’s it?” said Walter, contemptuously, “Well, what is it all about, Mom?”

“Well, obviously, the ruler has to go to the sea and find the band of pearls. I recall now. If the leader is undecided, the band of pearls has to be found. Now, the oldest child of the youngest daughter. Well, seeing as Mr. Heberlin is hardly a youngest daughter, the oldest child is you, dear.”

“OHHH!!!! WOO-HHOOOO!!!” Walter leaped in the air, and stuck his tongue out at Evangeline, who looked to be on the point of tears.

“Don’t cry,” said Bessie Heberlin, sharply, “Let’s go.”

They left, and the Stuarts went home, discussing Walter’s journey as they walked.

“The sea would be lovely to view,” said Daisy, wistfully.

They had reached their house now, and went to the living room to talk everything out.

“Well,” said Mrs. Stuart, “I’m sure it would, Daisy, but you can’t go. I shall send Walter and Gabriella, and then Lela will go with them, because they’ll need a servant.”

“I DON’T WANT LELA TO GO!” screamed William, who was prone to tantrum fits, since they generally produced lovely little snacks.

Lela muttered, “So nice to be appreciated.”

Finally William and Daisy were comforted, and then they packed their bags, and Mrs. Stuart said that they would take the brown pony, April, for their luggage.

“Lela can’t carry it all,” pointed out Gabriella, reasonably, when William sulkily wondered why they needed a pony, “And we can’t be expected to carry all that luggage.”

Both looked properly horrified at the mere thought, causing Lela to again nearly choke herself in trying not to laugh heartily.

“When do we start, Ma’am?” inquired Lela, talking to Mrs. Stuart.

Bernard Stuart came into the house, holding a bucket of raspberries, “I’d say for them to start early tomorrow morning,” he remarked, sensibly, “It’ll take ‘em a full two days to get to the ocean. It’s no small distance away, after all. Emily, what do you think?”

“I think that tomorrow morning is an excellent idea, Bernard,” said Mrs Stuart, benevolently beaming at her two children, “You hear that, kids? Make sure you’re ready.”

“Oh, we will be, Mom,” assured Gabriella, squealing with delight, “I’ve never seen the ocean before.”

Lela laughed, “I guess you will now, Miss Gabriella.”

“Yes,” agreed Gabriella, delightedly.

The next morning started out badly, and went on worse. Starting was the fuss about getting dressed. Lela had been up since four a.m, and was already in her denim shorts, which came to her knee, and her short-sleeved green blouse, which made her bright green eyes even greener then usual. She tied on sneakers, and was ready.

But Gabriella insisted on wearing a long linen gown, with impractical white sandals. Walter, on the other hand, got his enormous foot stuck into one of his outgrown sneakers, and it took nearly half an hour for him to get out. Probably because he ran all over the place roaring about the pain.

The next incident was that April the pony refused to stand still as the luggage was tied to her, and no wonder, poor horse, thought Lela, but they eventually started off. After the goodbyes of course.

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you soon, sweeties,” said Mrs. Stuart, dabbing at her cold blue eyes with a silk and lace handkerchief.

“Yeah. Bye, Mom,” said Walter, unemotionally.

“Goodbye, King Walter,” sniffed Mrs. Stuart, “Goodbye, Gabriella.”

“Bye!” said Gabriella, cheerfully.

“Be good, Lela.”

“I always am,” muttered Lela, picking up the twist rope lead that was attached to April’s dark green halter.

They marched on during the cooler morning hours, but after nine o’clock, things started to get rather hot. Lela attempted to keep her temper under control, for being hot always made her snappish, and she couldn’t afford to be snappish with Walter and Gabriella.

“Let’s stop for lunch,” moaned Gabriella, finally.

Lela looked pityingly at Gabriella, who was three years younger then she, and therefore, quite a child, but she was much better then Walter. She was about to open her mouth and answer Gabriella, when Walter opened his mouth, and shouted out.

“Gabbie, it’s only eleven,” he pointed out, giggling.

When a beefy, idiotic seventeen-year-old boy giggles in a high-pitched way it is not pleasant, or so thought Lela, but Walter was pleased with himself. He sauntered forwards, enjoying himself enormously. It was easy to see that. Gabriella came towards Lela, and hissed,

“He’s such a conceited idiot!” she exclaimed, frustrated.

Lela was in entire agreement, and she sympathetically grinned at Gabriella, whom she got along with best of all the numerous Stuarts. About an hour after these events they stopped for lunch. Walter instantly opened up his pack, a neon green one with thick, fat red letters stitched on to it, saying

Walter Harold Stuart

“See that lettering, Lela,” pointed out Walter, cruelly, “That means that I’ve got a middle and a last name, instead of just a first one.”

“I can read,” snapped Lela, “I know perfectly well what that means, Walter Stuart!”

                  Gabriella peacefully took down her pale pink pack, with light blue lettering

Gabriella Berniece Stuart

Walter took out his water, first thing, and splashed half of it down his shirt in the attempt to drink. He stared at it and his half empty container in dismay.

“Why, what happened?” he asked, “What will I do for water?” he continued.

Lela pointed out a clear, ripply little stream that flowed past their resting area. “You could get some more from there, Walter.”

“I’m not drinking from that!” Walter looked scandalized, and drained the other half of his water into his mouth.

Lela sighed, and poured her water, which she hadn’t drunk from yet, into his bottle, and then strolled over to the stream, and scooped up a full bottle, before putting the lid back on with a satisfied ‘ahhh’.

“Hey, Lela, if you did have a middle name,” said Walter, spraying peanut butter sandwich and apple as he spoke, “What would you choose?”

“I don’t know,” said Lela, instantly.

Walter snickered unkindly, “Gabbie, she doesn’t even know her own mind.”

Lela stood up, and smacked her apple core at him, “I do know my own mind, I just don’t have useless speculations floating around it it, unlike some people I could mention. Now, if you’re not done, you can continue on your own. Come, Gabriella, let’s go find the sea.”

Walter, at that, was forced to heave himself up, before dragging himself across the fields as they marched relentlessly across the grounds that would lead them to the great ocean. They had a map of course, and Lela was in charge of finding the direction, as Gabriella didn’t like maps, and Walter was…well…stupid.

Lela took a deep breath, resigning herself to the fact that it would be a long time until they got to their destination. Of course, it would be made much longer by the fact that her two companions were complaining, and unused to journeys and journey food.

Walter was in a strange silent mood, but this was because he was upset over the fact that he was tired, hungry, and ready to stop, but nobody would listen to him. So he did what he hoped would be more effective. He was absolutely silent. Eventually this gained him something, if not much.

“Walter, are you ill?” asked Gabriella, curiously.

Walter’s eyes rolled up under his eyelids, exposing only the white part. Gabriella shrieked in horror. Lela smacked Walter on the arm, tired of his nonsense. His eyes rolled down with surprising haste, but Lela was calmly and innocently walking along, now.

Walter fussed for the rest of the day, but when nighttime came, Lela was able to settle down, wrapped in a lovely blanket, sleeping on the cool, dewy grass. Naturally Walter and Gabriella who were used to luxurious mattresses, were not contented.

“Oh, it’s hard,” whined Gabriella, looking up for sympathy.

“I know,” assured Lela, “But you’d better get used to it, Gabbie.”

“I don’t like it here,” grumbled Walter.

Lela, who had a bed so narrow that more often then not she fell off once she got to sleep, was entirely used to hard surfaces to sleep on, and said nothing. Eventually everyone managed to close their eyes, and begin to dream. When Lela woke up, it was to finding something clawing her leg suspiciously.

Frightened, but fully awake, Lela thought she wouldn’t wake the others. No use making them panic. She jerked her leg out, and pulled out a bright dagger, that shone in the moonlight. The dark beast moved back slightly, a snarl emerging from its red mouth.

Lela saw that the ashes of the fire they had lit earlier in the evening were dying down. Just a few red sparks remained. She flung a log onto the fire, and struck a match, tossing that too. It caught, and blazed brightly, revealing…horror.

A great black shape, that was a mass of fur…and fangs.

“Ah,” said Lela, quietly, “Well, if you’ll just be on your…oh help.”

The creature sprang at her. She did the natural thing for an untrained eighteen year old, dodged. It landed beside Gabriella, hissing and spitting violently.

“I’m sure there’s no need for all that, my dear animal,” hesitated Lela, “Oh, dear, what have I gotten myself into?”

The creature sprang at her again, and this time it deeply cut into her shoulder. Lela squirmed, biting her tongue to keep from yelling out. She didn’t need Walter and Gabriella being frightened out of their wits while she was trying to fight a shapeless mass. She slowly took out a large piece of salted fish from her pack, and dangled it it in front of the creature’s…well, where she assumed its nose would be. Its eyes lit up alarmingly, and she flung the meat far away.

It bounded after it, came back in three minutes, and lunged at her. If she had been thinking correctly she would have used the knife. She hated killing things, but in such a situation, it would have been justifiable. However, Lela was panicking, and panicking made her nervous, and being nervous was not good for her thinking. So, instead of using the knife, she punched it right in the head. Her shoulder was bleeding horribly, the skin shredded.

Like paper, she thought vaguely. “Alright,” she added, out loud, “Come on, creature, what are you wait…”

The creature, which had stumbled backwards from the blow, came forwards with a even more wild yell, and plunged its claws, yes, it had them, into Lela’s feet. “OW!” she roared, and grabbed its ear, and yanked it.

It emitted a huge roar of anger, and hissed at her. Suddenly a arrow flew into its shoulder, and it gained a dreamy expression, before curling up and falling asleep. A person came flying into the area…no, two persons, both riding graceful white horses, and with wild, long red hair.

“Good morning,” said Lela, ridiculously, considering the fact that it was the middle of the night. By this time Walter and Gabriella were awake.

Walter gulped when he saw the creature slumbering peacefully on the grass, and his eyes practically popped out of his head when he saw Lela’s shredded shoulder and foot, and he emitted a low groan when he saw the wild-looking man and girl.

Ignoring Walter, to his great indignation, the girl said, reassuringly. “My brother and I will take you back home for the night. You don’t want to be out when the cats are roaming. They get dangerous at nighttime, my lady.”

It didn’t occur to Lela to wonder why the girl called her ‘my lady’ until fifteen minutes after the speech had exited the girl’s mouth.

“Come,” said the man, “My name is Herbert Andrews. This is my sister, Ava Andrews.”

“Greetings,” said Lela, quickly, “Well, thank you for saving my life.”

“Oh, it wasn’t any problem. We don’t expect strangers around here, but when they come, we try to keep the kitties from killing them,” said Ava, casually.

“Oh…” Walter looked ill and faint, “Take me to the house!”

He looked around as they walked a good distance, and finally they came to a low door.

“Your house is built into a hill?” asked Gabriella, respectfully.

“Indeed,” Herbert nodded, and led the horses, and April, off to the stables, handing Walter his pack.

Walter frowned viciously at the pack, dropping it onto Lela’s already bleeding foot. She gave a gasp of pain. Walter smiled, and went inside. Ava was preparing bandages, which she used to help Lela.

“It’s morning now,” said Ava, glancing outside as birds started to tweet cheerily, “I shall make toast and eggs. Do you fancy cherry juice?”

“Quite,” said Walter, eagerly.

They had a good breakfast, and they explained the mission. Herbert offered to take them to the ocean in his wagon, and of course they accepted.

So it was that it was just three in the afternoon when they arrived. And the sight was enough to take all three of their breaths away. There was a long lot of curiously carved, huge rocks, that were fashioned by the sea. But beyond that, for they scrambled and maneuvered their way across the rocks, was the actual ocean.

Gulls and black ducks glided and swam over the water, or in the water. The sea, brilliant blue at the horizon, for it extended to there, was turning to a turquoise green, with white foam when it splashed against the rocks. At the sandy part of the shore, the water splashed over the edges, and Lela and Gabriella were entranced by the beautiful shells that dotted the beach.

“It’s lovely,” said Walter, when Gabriella rapturously gushed about it. “Now. Where are those pearls?”

“The Prophecy didn’t give any directions on where to find them,” remarked Lela, “They could be anywhere. This is a vast place. They could be in the ocean itself.”

“If I were you,” remarked Herbert Andrews, quietly, “I would try the pink rock.” He walked away, followed by his sister Ava. The three left strained their eyes, searching for the pink rock.

“There!” exclaimed Gabriella, pointing at a very large pinkish-hued rock, that was splashed heavily with waves as they rolled back and forth between sea and land. 

“Dear me,” said Lela, hopelessly, “Why…why…we’ll be drowned!”

“Not so,” declared Gabriella, “We must simply catch it while the waves aren’t hitting it.”

They went forwards. Lela grunted as she stumbled and stretched over the varying rocks, for they ranged in size, and there were cracks between them, more often then not. Some were like giant’s steps, and others were treacherously insecure. They reached the pink rock eventually, and there they saw it. A deep pit in the middle of the rock, right on the ocean side, revealed a tall gray pillar of stone, with a black bracelet encircling it.

The band was jet black, some sort of metal or gem, Lela guessed. But what caught Walter’s attention was the lovely creamy pearls. There were four of them, and they were spaced evenly on the top side of the band.

“Oooohhh,” breathed Gabriella.

“Stand back!” bellowed Lela, jumping backwards with a very dangerous move, considering the rocks behind her. The others followed her reckless jump, just in time to be only sprayed, rather then drowned by an enormous blue wave.

“Alright, let’s get it,” screamed Walter, barreling towards the rock, he reached his fist in before realizing the problem, “My wrist is too thick…”

They jumped back again, the wave roaring against the rock.

“Gabbie?” Walter glanced at his sister, who shook her head with a nervous gesture.

“Oh, no, Walter. I could never. Anyway, my wrists are thick too. Lela has such lovely thin arms…Lela?”

After the next wave, Lela jumped forwards and pulled the band over its cone-shaped rock, and then realized that the wave was coming, she had time to shout before it splashed over her, and she slipped the band around her wrist, and struggled to get back. When the wave retreated, a very limp, damp, and exhausted Lela struggled to her feet, and handed Walter the band, which she only know realized was a full circle. At the bottom it was broken off, so that it could fit onto ones hand. For some reason she hadn’t noticed that when she put it on.

Walter exultantly sprang away, and he was several feet ahead when Lela found that her foot was hurting, and she was exhausted. She stumbled forwards, but fell, scraping her hands and nose.

“Ooh,” she moaned, “Gabriella, can you help me up?” she implored.

“Sure…Hello, who are you?” Gabriella said.

Lela managed to get herself into a sitting position, leaning against a seaweed covered rock. A woman, tall, pale, dark brown hair, bright green eyes, dressed in a long turquoise gown, with a necklace of white seashells.

“Good morning. My name is Princess Sybilla Andrea Rose, as in, the last name Rose, not a given name…I am the daughter of King Zacharias Apple, and I am your mother,” this last was addressed to Lela.

Lela, for the first time in all her eighteen years, fainted. With some excuse, she had been cut up by a cat that desperately needed a hair cut, splashed about by the sea, bruised by rocks, and horribly shocked by Sybilla Rose.

When she awoke it was with the pleasant feeling that she was soaking in green light. This confused her until she realized that the glass across from her was of a blue shade, and the yellow sunlight made the room look green.

Sybilla Rose was standing beside her, “Good. You weren’t unconscious for more then ten minutes. Lela, my dear, I think we’d better go to the Prophecy. That is where Walter Stuart, who has the pearls, will be. There we can assert our right to the throne, but we need the pearls.”

“We need to take ‘em back, first,” said Lela, wearily, “We need to catch up to him, and we don’t have enough speed.”

Sybilla looked oddly at her, “Don’t we? Star! Moon!”

A beautiful white horse and a lovely golden, not palomino, but a solid golden shade, strode before Lela, her mother, and Gabriella.

“Girls, do you want to take the golden?”

Suddenly Lela registered what was wrong, “Um…your highn…I mean…”

Sybilla winked in a most unroyal fashion, “Call me Mum, or Mom, dear.”

“Oh…well, Mom, they are, well, winged!” shouted Lela.

“That’s sort of the point, darling, come along,” Sybilla swung herself onto the white winged horse, and said, “Chunky boy, thin hair of prickly type. Pony. Bags. Black Band of Pearls.”

Lela and Gabriella mounted the golden horse, and they took to the air. It was astonishing the gracefulness. The wings beat the air smoothly, and the legs moved at a speed quicker then they could gallop on the ground.

“Oh, my,” Gabriella shuddered, “Lelaaaaaaaaa! WE ARE GOING TO FALL OFF AND DIE!”

“I highly doubt it, Gabriella,” assured Lela, hopefully, “Oh, there he is.”

“DIVE!” Princess Sybilla roared into her horse’s ear.

Both horses dived for Walter, who looked extremely smug. In a few ridiculous moments, he was divested of his pearl band, and Sybilla hauled him onto the horse with her. They went slowly for the pony’s sake, but eventually they got to the castle. In fact, they got there at noon of the next day.

They instantly barged into the tower, where the Stuarts and High Duchess Emogene were gathered, doubtless expecting Walter’s arrival that soon.

“Well, well, well,” said Sybilla, “What a lovely welcome for your returning princess. See, I have the pearls, and I am Princess Sybilla.”

“Nonsense,” Duchess Emogene said, angrily, “Sybilla died when she was three.”

“That’s what father wanted you to think. There was a plan to murder me, you see, so he pretended I was dead for safety’s sake,” said Sybilla, “But I and my daughter Lela here are very much alive. Prophecy can prove it.”

“Oh yes. It only chats with royal blood. Direct descendants. Now you’ll be proven wrong, my dear impostor,” laughed Emogene, confidently placing her hands on the green stone.

“Oh, my dear Prophecy, how are you doing?” asked Sybilla, casually, “Lovely weather, isn’t it? Sybilla talking, of course.”

“Greetings, Queen Sybilla! Greetings Princess Lela Sybilla Rose! You have finally come…to take the throne. For a while I thought that nincompoop…what’s his name…was going to get to be king. Can you imagine?”

“Certainly not. You must have known that Lela could have handled him,” snorted Queen Sybilla.

“Ohhhhhhh, yess,” hissed the stone, and then seemed to fall asleep.

Queen Sybilla placed a black crown on her head, and slapped the band around her wrist, and the kingdom’s problem was solved, although as of yet, they didn’t quite realize it. Duchess Emogene was having extremely bad fainting fits, and smelling salts were brought into use. Queen Sybilla led Princess Lela to the courtyard, followed by the Stuarts, who looked rather stunned.

“Gabbie,” said Lela, suddenly, turning to Gabriella, “Would you like to live in the castle for awhile?”

“Sure,” said Gabriella, looking rather stunned, but exceedingly pleased.

Lela grinned suddenly, realizing how silly it all was. Of course she was the one meant by the prophecy. The oldest child of the youngest daughter. Well, Zacharias hadn’t any children but Sybilla, so she was the oldest and the youngest. And Sybilla just had Lela, so she was, too, was the oldest and youngest.

“That’s that, then,” remarked Walter, speaking to nobody.

                  Lela decided charitably that his statement was the first sensible one that she had heard him make in three months.

"The Ender Eyes"-- A Short Story by Hazel West

Author's Note: So this is a story that I wrote a while back when my youngest brother and I had a little writing challenge where we each gave each other a title and had to write a story from it. This one ended up being a rather Poe-esque horror story, and I thought it would be fun to post it on Halloween.

The Ender Eyes

By Hazel B. West

It was in the late fall, at the end of the year 1899 when I first moved to my great uncle’s estate in the north of England from my lifelong home in London. It had not been my first choice, but my great uncle had recently passed away and bequeathed its upkeep to me, so I felt a good deal of obligation to go up there and at least see that everything was well and good and handle the affairs that had been left.

            Having lived in the city, among many people of my own social class all my life, the move to the North was somewhat of a shock to my system. I had never even visited my uncle at his estate in my childhood and had never ventured farther than Brighton until that point. The town I came into on the train left little to be desired and even less so when I finally found a coachman willing to take me out to my newly acquired estate.

            “Please, I need to get to the Dorian Estate on Ender Moor,” I pleaded with the man who was hesitant. I finally resulted in pulling out my purse to show that I had money to pay.

            He eyed me with not a little trepidation. “No one goes out there, boy.”

            I couldn’t understand what he meant then, but oh, was I to know soon enough. At that moment, however, I was simply confused and rather indignant. “Sir, I have just been left this estate by my uncle who is dead these last three months! I must see to the estate’s upkeep, and I have no other way to get out there. I don’t even know where it is, precisely.”

            The man cast his gaze out to the moorlands to the north and finally consented. “Very well. But we leave in the morning. I ain’t going out there this late in the day.”

            He would take no more arguments, so I was forced to stay in a less than adequate inn for the night and find the man again as dawn rose in a gloomy cloud over the dim moorland and misty hills and valleys.

            As I rode in the cart toward my new acquisition, I couldn’t help a slight shiver than ran through my veins. London may have had the fog of coal and city life, but there was something about the dimness of the moors that chilled me to my very bones. A chill that had nothing to do with the fast approaching winter. Something just did not seem right out here, as if there were an evil on the wind itself.

            I was not the only one to notice, for my driver sat stiffly and alert and the horses too, were constantly skittish. This whole feeling made me even more anxious to be back home in London, but I couldn’t in good conscious leave quite yet. I was a man of integrity, after all, and I would do the duty my uncle wished of me.

            I felt no better when I saw the house. In fact, it almost made me beg an immediate return ride from the man. The place wasn’t very big when it came to estates, but it seemed to lower over the moors in a very dark and foreboding manner. It was made of dark stone, overgrown with ivy and some fixtures were rather crooked with age, giving the entire place a very rakish, evil look. I wondered how on earth my uncle could have lived here his whole life without going mad. But then, maybe he had. I had never known him, after all. Surely, anyone who stayed in a place like this couldn’t have been sane.

            I paid the man and he said something about sending weekly supplies before he dumped my baggage onto the stoop beside me and I was left completely alone, with nothing but the chill, howling wind of the moor for company.

            I carried my things inside, looking around with a depressed air. Cloths were tossed haphazardly over some of the furniture but most of it was left alone to gather dust. I heaved a sigh of frustration and perhaps a bit of self-pity. There were no servants to see to the clean up, or to make me a warm supper, and out here on the Ender Moor alone, I wondered how I would make it through just the time I needed to see to my uncle’s affairs. For surely, as soon as I was done with that, I was on my way back to London, never to return to this desolate, godforsaken place.

            I did perk up a little as soon as I realized there was tea and a pot to stew it in in the kitchen, and the warm drink did a bit to help with the chill of the house, which was almost unearthly frigid.

            But there was not only the physical chill in the house either; there was a chill like the one I had felt on the way here, that went further into my bones, crept down my spine. It was something that was bourn of the howling wind outside that the silent house did little to hide. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I quickly busied myself, trying my best to ignore it. At least I had a lot to do to keep my mind off of it.

            The solicitor was coming in a couple days to help me sort out my uncle’s affairs, and I had to find the proper paperwork before then so that I could see about the selling of the estate—though honestly now I didn’t know why anyone would want it. I spent the rest of the day looking through my uncle’s study, finding everything to be in a terrible mess, almost as if it had been tossed about. It took me longer to sort through things than it should have, and by the time I had put it into some semblance, I was ready to make myself a small supper and retire to bed, weary from my journey.

            My first night at the estate gave me some realization as to what it was really like there out on Ender Moor. The wind that howled across the barren hills constantly, only seemed to pick up its tune with more gusto as a harmony of wails came along to accompany it. I lay in my bed, shuddering uncontrollably. No matter how high I built the fire in the grate, I could not seem to get warm. The heat only seemed to be torn away by the wind and the desolate wail of it pierced something in my brain that made me instantly uneasy.

            Night birds of the moor sang unearthly songs, and there were howls of unnamed beasts that I was certain must be from another realm entirely. I had heard many stories of the northern moors, the otherworldly creatures that were said to roam them, why you should never go out on the moors at night—truly child’s stories, of course, but being here now, I was almost willing to believe. Or at the least understand how they came about.

            Needless to say I got little sleep, if any, and went back to my uncle’s study as soon as I had a pot of tea. Putting my mind to work again seemed the best thing, and I reminded myself that the sooner I got everything seen to, the sooner I could make it back to London and my comfortable flat and society as a whole.

            By the end of the day I had finally found everything I needed for the solicitor when he came tomorrow, and I was just tidying up the desk when I saw a book had fallen to the ground underneath of it. I bent to pick it up, seeing it was a plain, black journal that looked well worn. I flipped through the first couple pages and saw neat crimped handwriting that I had come to realize was my uncle’s. I tucked the book under my arm as I left the study, curious to see what my uncle may have written about out here in seclusion.

            I ate my dinner and went to bed, that second night, gladly taking my uncle’s journal with me to distract myself with what would likely be another very long night. The wind had picked up again and I knew sleep would likely be futile.

            I lit a lamp beside the bed and took up the journal, flipping to the first page. It was mostly just an account of day-to-day things, and I was somewhat surprised to find that my uncle was a bit of an amateur naturalist. The book contained his observations and some sketches of his findings. I suppose that if nothing else, the moor seemed an adequate place for someone with my uncle’s hobbies to live for he seemed to always find and record something different every time he made a trek out in the hills.

            I read happily for a while, feeling that perhaps the moor was not as sinister as I had perceived it to be, until his descriptions started to become a little strange.

            There were still the observations of birds and plants and other wildlife, but he kept mentioning something watching him. He never said someone it was always something. For some reason that choice of phrase sent a chill up my spine and made me feel uneasy. I wanted to stop reading, but found that I couldn’t.

            I turned the page and the first entry simply said: The Eyes are watching.

            I quickly read on with a few more descriptions of plants, but my uncle’s writings seemed short and abrupt as if he weren’t interested anymore. His handwriting started to get more and more erratic, hard to read, scrawling all over the page instead of staying in neat, precise lines. Some of it, I could hardly read, but most of it was the same sort of thing repeated over and over again:

           

They follow me wherever I go, it does not matter how far, I cannot escape them. Even in the house I am not safe. They are always watching. The Ender Eyes are always watching.

            His handwriting devolved even more to the point that it wasn’t even writing anymore, it was just scratches. Then as I turned several more pages, I saw the erratic scratches start to take a shape. A shape of two eyes.

            They were crudely drawn, but there was an intensity in them all the same. Something that told of wicked intent. I flipped several more pages and they were all filled with sketches of the same pair of eyes, big, small, all over the spread pages until they filled every corner, and then they just stopped.

            I hadn’t realized I was clutching the book so hard until I managed to pry my hands from the cover, my breath catching in my throat as I carefully closed it. I was left in no doubt now that my uncle had been very ill when he died. The solitary lifestyle had surely driven him mad, and I was even more determined not to allow the same thing happen to me.

            A bang made me nearly jump from my skin. I whipped my head around to see that the shutter on the window had been blown open with the howling wind that had only seemed to gain in intensity in the last few minutes. I leapt out of bed, shivering in the rush of cold air and ran to latch it tightly once again.

            As I leaned out the window to grab the errant shutter, I gasped at the biting chill of the moor wind that cut through my nightclothes. I finally snagged the shutter and was about to duck back inside when I caught something out of the corner of my eye.

            I whipped around, just in time to see what looked like two glowing orbs hovering over the moor, but as soon as I focused on them, they disappeared. I stood frozen, breath catching in my throat, before my senses came back to me and I ducked back inside, slamming the shutter closed behind me and latching it tight.

            What could that have been? My mind was filled with the horrifying sketches my uncle had made, but surely I was just seeing things. Probably due to the lack of sleep.

            Of course, now, I had even less desire to sleep than I had before. I stayed in bed, shuddering as I listened to the wails of the wind and the moor creatures until the dawn brought some thin light to the world.

***

The solicitor came at around ten a.m. and I felt that I had never been so glad to have another human being around. His presence instantly made the house seem less despairing and I fear I may have come off a bit too enthusiastic as I ushered him inside to the study and poured some tea for the both of us, but we were soon seeing to the business, and I had almost forgotten the terrible night that I’d had.

            But as we were wrapping up our discussion, and the solicitor was getting ready to leave, he said, “I am terribly sorry to hear about your uncle, by the way. It was a terrible accident.”

            I must have shown my confusion because he looked slightly taken aback. “Don’t you know?”

            I shook my head. “I’m afraid I was never given details,” I admitted. “I was never truly close to my uncle. I never even met him.”

            “Oh, well, they found him on the moor, drowned in one of the bogs,” the man said grimly. “It is a wild and dangerous place. You would likely do well not to wander too far from the estate.”

            Something cold crept up my spine at that news as I thought of all the nature observations my uncle had made, which must have caused him to wander the moor at length without a problem before he had simply become obsessed with the entity he called ‘The Ender Eyes’. But surely, he had just been turned to madness by solitude and old age and nothing more, forgot where he was going, and met his unlucky end in a bog he didn’t remember being there.

            “Thank you. I truly have no intention of wandering, or staying here for longer than needs must.”

            I saw the solicitor out, pulling my coat around myself in the biting wind. There was a nagging on the back of my neck, the kind that you feel when you know someone is watching you even if you can’t see them. That thought sent a shudder through me, and I found myself trembling, looking over my shoulder.

            “Are you quite alright, Mr. Dorian?” the solicitor asked me, a concerned look on his face.

            “I’m fine. It’s just very cold here,” I assured him.

            “It is that,” he replied. “But don’t worry. Two weeks at the most and we will have this all sorted out, then you can be back on your way to London.”

            I didn’t want to stay there two more days let alone two more weeks, but there was little I could do. Still, I felt a certain despair as I watched him drive away, leaving me alone once again.

***

That night, exhausted, I fell into a stupor in the library, unable to stand the thought of going to my bed again. But my sleep was not comfortable at all, interrupted by the howls of the wind that sounded more human than not, and the constant feeling of unease that had followed me all day without relent or explanation. I simply could not shake the feeling that there was someone, or indeed, something, observing me even though I could not see it, and rationality told me the idea was ridiculous.

            I was brought awake from an unknown interruption to my comfort. My hands shook, and I noticed the fire had gone down, but there was no more wood beside it. Terror overtook me as I realized I would have to step outside if I wanted more wood. I almost refused, but then thought how silly that would be, to freeze to death just because I was unnerved about my strange surroundings. So I grabbed the bucket and went outside to the woodpile just out back of the kitchen.

            The wind nearly froze me but I managed to heave several logs into the bucket and bring them inside before going back for more. I stacked a good amount in the kitchen that should last the night and went to retrieve one more bucket for good measure.

            I glanced out over the dark moor as I straightened up to head back inside and a cry caught in my throat.

            Two glowing orbs, like the ones I thought I had seen the night before, stared at me through the darkness. The eldritch light felt as if it pierced into my very soul, freezing my heart in my chest. I stumbled backward, gripping the door with white fingers before I finally forced myself inside and slammed the door behind me, barring it against the night and whatever unholy thing resided in it.

            It was a while before I realized I was crouched on the floor, panting with terror, my body freezing and in shock. As soon as my senses started to return, I pulled myself shakily to my feet and hurried back into the library where I piled as much wood as I could onto the fire until it was roaring with warmth. Even that didn’t stop my shivering though, because I realized it wasn’t all simply a result of the cold.

            Oh, how I wished I had never come out here. Surely this very house itself was making me as mad as my uncle had been. I could not truly believe that I had seen the same thing he had, or that it was anything at all. Surely it was not some otherworldly entity with malicious intent, but simply a product of the atmosphere or luminescent insects. There were such natural phenomena that could be explained by science, after all.

            But yet, I could not truly believe my own reassurances, because there was no accounting for the way I felt as if something was watching me, just as my uncle described, nor the pure animal terror that had come over me both times I had seen the orbs.

            I sank into the library chair and watched the fire until it burned out and then piled more wood on. One thing I knew was that I did not want to be left in the dark and the cold.

***

The next day, I went through the house and shuttered all the windows. I didn’t care if it made the house even more dour than it already was, I didn’t want to see outside. I couldn’t stand the thought of glancing out onto the moor and seeing those lights again.

            I busied myself cleaning the house, cataloging my uncle’s belongings, and that night I returned to the bedroom to sleep, and managed to fall asleep through pure exhaustion.

            The Eyes were in my head.

            I shot up from the bed with a cry, looking around for the source of my horror, but saw nothing, only the firelit glow of the room, as the flames cast dancing shadows on the walls. Still, I had seen the Eyes.

            No, they were just lights, I tried to tell myself. They were not the Ender Eyes my uncle had written of.

            And yet, whenever I tried to close my eyes there they were, glowing intently behind my eyelids, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

            Another sleepless night, more work the next day. I sat down to figure up some of the finances and paperwork and tried to focus my mind on that.

            I was able to work for a while, but I was so tired, that my mind drifted off and I startled myself by almost falling asleep at the desk. I shook myself and rose to get a fresh pot of tea when I happened to look down at the papers I had been working on.

            Two eyes stared back.

            I gripped the back of the chair in horror. My figures had turned from numbers into scratches that resembled the eyes that had covered the latter pages of my uncle’s journal. Quickly I snatched the paper from the desk and threw it into the fire, breathing heavily. I tried to calm myself, pressing my hands against my eyes, assuming this was all just the result of sleeping so poorly.

            But the Eyes were staring right back at me in the darkness of my own mind.

            I blinked my eyes open again with a cry. Would this torment never leave me? I must find a way to rest, for I knew the lack of sleep would only make it worse.

            That night I took some laudanum in the hopes that it would make me drowsy enough to sleep and it did, but it also made it impossible for me to wake from my nightmare. The eyes haunted me continuously, I could not escape them. I tossed in my bed, unable to move.

            I woke on the floor by the window, which was open and horror struck me at the thought of what I might have done had I not woken. Would my madness cause me to throw myself out onto the moor? Was that how my uncle had perished in the bog?

            I vowed never to take the laudanum again. It hadn’t helped anyway. I knew the only thing that would help was getting out of that house, away from that haunting moor. I made my decision then to write to the solicitor and tell him I could not stay another day. I would have to handle the affairs long distance from back in London.

            I went to my uncle’s desk and took up pen and paper, writing as quickly as I could. I blinked tiredly, my body, my mind, so exhausted…

            I came to, scratching my pen against the desktop. I looked down in horror as I saw that I had sketched more of those terrible eyes onto the paper before covering the entire thing and moving on to the desk itself. I had dug the pen into the wood, making crude outlines of the two eyes staring back at me.

            I leapt up, throwing the pen away from me and fled the study entirely. I ran to my room to pack my things. I didn’t know how to summon the coachman at short notice but I didn’t much care. I would walk from the house to the village if I had to, but I was not staying here another minute.

            As I came into the room, a cold wind shocked me and I looked to see the window shutter had flown open again. I hurried to close it but as soon as I looked out toward the open moor I saw Them.

            I let out a scream of terror and fell back against the wall, cowering into a corner. I could not stop seeing the Eyes. They were always watching me. It didn’t matter what I did, I couldn’t stop seeing them!

            “No!” I screamed, tearing at my hair in pure terror. 

            I was too petrified to move, I could do nothing but sit there and tremble, not knowing how much time had passed, when I next became aware of my surroundings, it was only to find thousands of eyes staring back at me from the wall, from the floor, from the bed.

            I screamed, looking down at my hand and seeing a knife that I must have used to carve them there myself, all around me. Just the sight froze me in horror and I could not move. All I could do was scream.

            I was barely aware of other voices coming towards me until I spun around to see three men, the coachman, the solicitor and another, standing there in the doorway of the room.

            “The Eyes!” I screamed, trying to warn them away, as I held the knife in my trembling hand. “They are always watching! I can’t get away from Them!”

            “Saints preserve us,” said the coachman as he crossed himself and then made some other gesture.

            They drew me from my corner, telling me they were taking me out of there but I could hardly hear them. I was not consoled. I knew it wouldn’t do any good now. The Eyes already had me in Their thrall.

            “Just like his uncle,” the third man said grimly, shaking his head.

            They dragged me outside as I continued to scream. I didn’t want to go out on the moor, I couldn’t go there, the Eyes would see me. I tried to tell them that but they wouldn’t listen.

            “Get him into the cart. The doctor will sort him out once we get back into town,” the coachman said as they manhandled me out the door.

            I looked around, short of breath, terror clutching my heart as I waited for the inevitable. And then…

            “There!” I cried, pointing a shaking finger toward a spot on the moor. “There They are! The Ender Eyes!”  My voice trailed off. I could scream no more, I could only stare into the unnatural glow that was all I could see now. The infinite depth of the soulless orbs pierced into my being, locking me into an inevitable knowing terror, and I knew nothing else.

            Just the Eyes.

Copyright 2018 by Hazel B. West

Challenge Time: Ghost Story Challenge

It's time for another writing challenge! This one is one that I know several of you have been looking forward to for a while, and I thought since next month is October and Halloween this would be the perfect time to do this challenge!

Rules

So this one is pretty straight forward. Write a ghost story! Or really, a story involving a ghost in some way, it certainly does not have to be the classic 'ghost story'. It can be scary, or funny, or cute, or whatever you want it to be. 

And every type of ghost is welcome, revenant, vengeful spirit, ancestral ghost, whatever. Use your imagination!

When

I'm thinking by December 1st, but if you guys need some more time than that, you can just let me know.

As always, try to keep it under 10,000 words :)

Good Luck, Writers!