Shades In A Silver Bowl

     Full Moon. Again, some strange power compelled to do something he didn't understand. Robban didn't know much about scrying. His compulsion to do this served as additional evidence he may be losing his mind. 

     The genesis took the form of a melody playing in his mind, over and over. One of those sticking, unidentifiable refrains which demands a name. Soon words followed the notes so the refrain became a chant. Anytime Robban sat alone the chant comprised of unfamiliar and meaningless words soon took over his thoughts. After a couple weeks Robban's life began to change. His boss gave him a promotion. A new friend entered his life who soon grew into a significant other. The couple moved together into a new, larger home. As Robban's connections grew, he became more content with his life. 

     Now he planned to look into silver bowl filled with fresh water by the light of the Full Moon and a single candle. His lover went out of town on business, so Robban wouldn't be interrupted. He sighed with the hope the activity would be self explanatory. 

When the Moon rose high in the sky, Robban lit the candle and placed it on a table behind where he would sit. The silver bowl filled with spring water rested on the floor in front of him. He sat cross-legged on a cushion and rested his wrists palms up on his thighs. Eyes closed, his breathing began to slow. After a few minutes his body relaxed. He opened his eyes and looked into the silver bowl. 

     'A silver bowl with some water. Now what?' 

   There was movement in the water. He glanced around the room, but nothing outside the bowl moved. He returned his attention to the bowl. A white cloud formed in the water like milk spilling in. In an instant, the cloud dissipated. 

     A curtain drew back and Robban looked into a room. A chamber with stone walls. Someone laid on a bed and people stood at the foot and on both sides. The man on the bed appeared to be asleep. The people lining the bed held candles. Robban inhaled the aroma of herbs burning, a blend of sage and cedar. Something else, too, Robban couldn't name. The identity of the person on the bed mattered to him more than the fragrance of some burning herb. 

     'Come back to us, Majesty.Your people need you. I need you.' The young man standing next to the bed who spoke looked crestfallen and tired. The same moment in which the man held the hand of the unconscious man on the bed, Robban sensed pressure of a grip on his own hand. The startling realization caused him to almost kick over the silver bowl. An old woman standing behind the others came to Robban's attention now. She said nothing, but seemed to smile at him in recognition. The corners of her mouth turned up with such subtlety he didn't trust his eyes. She turned her attention to the young man in the bed and back at Robban. He understood. 

     Numbness traveled up Robban's legs. The body on the bed stirred. Robban leapt up to stomp his feet to prevent leg cramp. As he did, the bowl overturned and the candle flame guttered. 

     

     

Nothing Under The Bed

     The bib necklace sparkled in the midmorning light. 'Oh, yes, indeed. I like this one.' She spoke only to her reflection in the dressing mirror as she held the platinum and mine-cut diamond creation over her dress. She considered the fish scale design lent a certain femininity to both the stones and the wearer. 'I deserve this.'
     The unexpected turn of the the doorknob caused her to drop the necklace. The master's presence in the doorway prevented its retrieval.
     'Where is my wife?'
     'Luncheon with Mrs. Talbot.'
     'Why are you in my wife's room?'
     'Doing a little straightening up, sir. Making sure everything is in place as the Missus likes.'
     'Very well. Would you be so kind as to tell cook I'll take my meal in the garden. I assume you are finished in here?'
     'Yes, sir.'
     As she turned to leave she gave the necklace as swift kick under the bed. The Master waited for her to leave, glanced around the room, and closed the door as he left.
     Later on when her mistress' car came up the drive and rushed to the bedroom to put the necklace back in the jewelcase. However, the necklace vanished. The maid recalled the precise spot where the necklace landed on the rug and panicked at finding nothing. She looked in the jewelcase hoping the master spotted and returned the stray piece to the case. No luck.
     The butler greet the mistress at the front door as the maid dropped to her knees and with nervous fingers searched the carpet at the edge of the bed. A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled under the bed. The maid tried to scream, but all efforts to resist failed.
     'Celia? Celia?'
     'Madam?'
     'Jonathan, have you seen Celia this afternoon?'
     'Yes, madam. She came in here as your car approached the house. I assumed to prepare for your afternoon rest.'
     'Well, she isn't here. She didn't do anything in here during my absence. Find her for me, will you?'
     'Of course, madam.' The butler left closing the door behind him.
     The mistress sat at her vanity and took off the earrings she wore to lunch. She opened her jewelcase to put them away. Next she removed her shoes and slipped out of her dress to lie down. As she did so, she stubbed a toe on the solid mahogany bed frame.
     'Yeow, Sweet Mother of God!'
     A knock on the door preceded Jonathan's voice. 'Madam, are you all right?'
     'Come in, Jonathan. I may be maimed for life, but I'm fine. I stubbed a toe on the bed again. Do you think you can get someone to switch this one with the bed in the green room?'
     'Of course, madam. After your rest or before?'
     'Come back in an hour. I need to get off my feet for a while and let the swelling in this tow go down. Did you find Celia?'
     'No, madam, but staff is still looking for her. She can't be far.'
     'Send her to me when she is found. You may go now.'

     Celia was never seen again. Staff swore to hearing her weep at night, but they never brought this to their employers' attention. After a while, the weeping became one of many night sounds of a quiet house. No one mentioned her name.

Friends Without End

     The locks on the front door activated without a human hand. No amount of effort deactivated them. No amount of pulling on the knob forced the door to open.
     'Damnit. Open.'
     'Sorry. I can't let you leave.' The familiar voice did nothing to calm Damian's nerves.
     'This apartment isn't mine anymore. I have to finish moving into my new apartment.'
     'I want you to stay with me here.'
     'There is no here here. The owners are making extreme renovations. I must leave, so open this door. Now.
     'I can't let you go. You are the only person in decades to acknowledge me. You talk with me.'
     'Come with me if you want. I invite you to haunt my new place. We can still talk. I can't stay here. Please, unlock this door.'
     'I can't leave with you. I can, however, make it possible for you to remain here with me.'
   
     Days later several of the other tenants of the building complained about a terrible odor coming from the apartment. When the super entered the apartment, Damian's body lay on the floor.
     'See, Damian. I told you everything turn out for the best.'
     'So what shall we discuss?'
     The super cocked his head as though he heard something, shook his head and called 9-1-1 from his cellphone. 

String Dream

     Such a bizarre dream I woke from. Without a moment's hesitation, I phoned my friend Laurie to describe the events while fresh in my memory to get her interpretation.
     'Laurie, I dreamt I worked as a switchboard operator in a clothing store.'
     'Switchboard? You mean one of those old-timey things with multiple lines like in old movies?'
     'Something similar, I guess.'
     'In your dream did you enjoy doing this?'
     'Not at all. The stupid thing kept ringing and I couldn't escape it.'
     'Well, darling, my first thought is you having to work for someone else is no dream. This is a nightmare best forgotten. Tell Cook you don't want her to make whatever you ate for dinner last night ever again.'
     'That's all? No other insight you can offer?'
     'Get out of bed. Get dressed and take your dogs for a walk around your estate. Appreciation for what you possess should set your mind straight again. Come to mine for luncheon when you're finished. I'll tell Marie make one of your favorites.'
     'Fine, Thank you, Laurie. I'll see you later then.'
     'The very idea of you with a job? And in a shop no less is too ridiculous. Push those thoughts right out of your mind.'

* * * *

     I woke from this dream, made coffee, and prepared to go to my job as a switchboard operator in a clothing store.

Riparian Meditation

    Blustering chill winds imprisoning most people in their homes howled one man's name urging him to the river. Aron put his daily chores on hold . Pulling two pairs of jeans over his longjohns, a flannel shirt and thermal vest layered under his coat, he left his cottage for the river.
     'This weather isn't so bad,' he told himself as he sat on his favorite bench. An icebreaker plowed a path through the ice for other boats making their usual upriver journey. Huge chunks of ice left floating, bobbed in the wake. Fog lifted from the surface of the water presenting an odd scene. Aron marvelled at the three forms of water on display. 'Does the river, ice, and fog recognize themselves as dimensions of their being?'
     Aron never experienced the like in his eighty-some years of life near the water. He thanked the winds for bringing him to the show.
     As he continued to contemplate the scene, a kind of steam or fog rose from the top of Aron's head like a genie escaping he bottle. Aron somehow witnessed this also and smiled. He understood while the river, its ice, and fog are comprised of the same hydrogen and oxygen atoms they did not interact with each other. They couldn't if they wanted to because not one of them possessed the power to cross over from one dimension to be with another. Fog would condensate and ice would melt, rejoining them to their source. The fog rising from Aron grew and grew until it dissipated.
     Soon a young man walking his dog approached Aron's bench. The dog sauntered over to be petted by Aron say hello, but Aron, still smiling, reunited with his source.

Mirror, Mirror (Finale)

     Mateus Dyrbar made daily deliveries of newspapers to Heidi's front porch. Sometimes the door stood ajar with an invitation to enter attached. The visits didn't last long, but Mateus became more comfortable with the woman perched in a wheelchair in the shadows each time. The young man even began to image her face. He didn't find her ugly, at least not as he thought she appeared.
     He purchased a hand mirror  to bring Heidi as a surprise present. He thought showing her how she appeared to him would help her to like herself more. He intended to make her happy, but that is not what transpired.
     He opened the daily newspaper to conceal his surprise gift. He went inside, careful to close the door behind him as usual. He sat in the same chair he always sat in with the newspaper and mirror on his lap.
     'You opened my paper.'
     'I brought you something.'
     'Yes, you opened my paper. Why?
     'I brought you this.' With a flourish he produced the hand mirror.
     'You idiot. Why do you insult me with such a thing when the mirror over the mantle is blind? After I told you I don't care to face my ugliness? How dare you!'
     'I want you to show you the woman I visit every day; a woman who is not ugly at all.'
     'Give me that and get out.'
     Heidi lunged forward out of her chair. Mateus, caught off-guard, dropped the mirror. The glass missed the carpet and shattered on the aged mahogany floor. Shards of broken glass exploded into the air. One of the larger pieces rocketed its way to Mateus and stabbed him in the neck. The severed carotid artery became a geyser of blood. Some splashed on Heidi's face as Mateus fell dead to the floor.
     Heidi stood in apparent shock at the scene playing out in front of her. She bent down to pick up one of the larger pieces of mirror and gazed at her reflection.
     'Mateus, you were right. I am quite beautiful. Thanks to your blood I should remain beautiful for a year or two. Oh, my precious friend, you certainly took your time bringing this mirror. My other young gentlemen callers were much faster in presenting their gifts.

Mirror, Mirror (Part Three)

     'All I can see of you are your lapis eyes.'

     'Are you uncomfortable?'

     'Not at all. Your eyes are beautiful, rather like the Cheshire Cat.'

     'The Cheshire Cat's were green as I recall. Would you like me to smile so you can check my teeth?'

     'Do you make a habit of turning the slightest compliment into something rude?'

     'I don't get many visitors.'

     'I can understand that. I'm sure not many people are willing to sit with you in the shadows without being able to look at you.'

     'But you are? Willing to sit in the shadows with an old lady?

     'You voice doesn't sound old. Something metallic glints on either side of you. Are you in a wheelchair?'

     'I am. You detect more than you thought possible.'

     'The result of an accident?'

     'An accident of birth. You see, someone raped my mother.'

     'I'm sorry for your mother, but something good came as a result.'

     'Something good?'

     'Well, yes. You.'

     'My mother never missed a day to remind me I am the hideous result of a hideous crime committed by a hideous man. She delighted in using the word for me. She named me Heidi as some sort of sick joke.'

     'What a cruel way to treat an innocent child. Did she care for you otherwise?'

     'By way of a nanny, a governess followed by a ladies' maid. My mother's money allowed her to keep her distance.'

     'How do you keep yourself now? Do your friends visit and bring you groceries?

     'Friends? What sort of friends visit and allow newspapers to gather in the front yard? As for groceries, what little I need comes to me, as you did with my papers.'

     Heidi's implication she expected his service to continue caused the young man momentary discomfort. Unsure of what to sat next, he blurted out, 'Mateus.'

     'I beg your pardon?'

     'My name is Mateus Dyrbar.' 

     'Precious. Odd surname for a Swede.'

     'I suppose.' Mateus glanced around the room in an effort to discover some object to change the direction of the conversation. 'Your room is filled with a lot of things I wish I were able to view better. Why is the mirror over the fireplace mantle blacked out?'

     'Why gaze upon Hideous Heidi. Would you want to face your ugliness every day?'

     'I think I so.'

     Heidi laughed. 'You think so. You're handsome is why. I bet you stop by shop windows to check yourself out. You can't begin to comprehend the impact of deformity.'

     'Humans have feelings regardless of their appearance. I think I should leave. I've taken enough of your time.'

     'Will you come again tomorrow?'

     'You should call whoever throws your paper to ask him to make sure the paper hits the porch. He'll do that, you know.'

     'I see. Another life lesson taught me. Yes, I think you should go.'

     Mateus started to approach Heidi to take her hand, but she spun her wheelchair to face the wall, leaving him with nothing else but to let himself out. 

     He determined to take a different route to work in the future. Still, he was sad for Heidi and the life she lived. He sensed her watching him walk to the street, but he never looked back.

     Two weeks later, he walked his former route to his office without thinking and happened to pass Heidi's house. As expected the newspaper rolls tracked the days of his absence. He stopped to pick them up and chucked them like pebbles against the front door. 

     The door opened wide enough for the familiar hand to appear. This time, however, the hand wore no glove. The gnarled and twisted fingers grasped each roll like a talon with a twig and drew them inside one after the other. He shamed himself for his impatience. Perhaps tomorrow, he would deliver the paper to the door and ring the bell. The hand did not acknowledge him as usual before the door closed. 

     'Then again, the best thing may be to leave things alone.' 

     He would think about it some more.