Jun 27

Jun 27 Bloodstone

Bloodstone - book excerpt

Prologue

Most people would call our existence strange, but this is more than that; this deserves a headline. We’re not spectacular enough to feature on the national or international news, but we warranted a column in the local newspaper headed by seven not so lucky words: Missing Father Returns After Weird Aging Phenomenon. I’m glad that our short-lived fame died and the paparazzi, (what a joke,) got bored with us. Now we can get back to the day to day living if you can call it that.

We live in a typical suburb of Cambridge in an untypical house. It’s no bungalow, the floors just go on and on, and so do the rumours about us. When I say we, I mean our strange extended family comprising mature, tantrum-prone Mum, Dad (alias: old man before his time), teenage me, the most stable of us all (I think), and self-harming Esme, who isn’t my sister but might as well be. I could write a whole book devoted to her alone. Oh, and I forgot to mention our permanent house guest, Shadow, a black cat of indeterminate age and parentage who arrived one day and never left. The rest of the inhabitants of our household (except perhaps for me and Shadow, although his status is open to debate) are dysfunctional, weirded-out characters.

I have to cope with a lot (and that’s an understatement), so I resort to painting, rock-and-roll, collecting crystals, and writing songs and poetry. I enjoy writing haiku, a Japanese form of poetry with three lines and some syllables to count. It soothes me. I write Tanka too; adding two longer lines at the end, which soothes me more. Each poetic puzzle I jot down serves as a clue for less afflicted folk to decipher what the hell I am talking about.

So, what am I talking about? The trouble is I don’t know; I’m still muddling through. Although I expect it’s a cry for help (a yell), combined with me dissecting the details about Mum’s life, Dad’s existence and his disappearance, Esme’s imprisonment, and Shadow’s ability to appear and reappear at a moment’s notice. And that’s saying nothing about living in a house that feels like a living being!

Yes, I joke to stay sane. That’s a lot to process (sorry), and it’s only a fraction, a haiku tidbit, so let’s keep it simple but poetic and start with a view.

Puzzle Piece 1: The Invitation

Opportunity,

An unexpected invite,

Such a mystery,

To explore and discover,

A hidden cottage of light.

I found it to be a mystifying situation. An unnatural stillness seemed to linger after many days of storms. Today, the sky reminded me of a painting. It appeared too perfect, too bright, too still, a picture landscape with no beginning or end. Instead, the vault of heaven spread out toward an endless grey forever, as if seeping around the edges of an untamed watercolour bleeding into the rest of the day. Even so, the sight filled my heart with promise, a ray of hope in an otherwise dull morning.

The quietness of my contemplation came to an abrupt end. I heard the sound of an envelope crashing through the mailbox. I jumped at the clatter. The letter landed on the floor as the sound of a thousand crystal chandeliers echoed throughout the house. I rushed to retrieve the envelope and turned it this way and that. I couldn’t find an address label and wondered if the note had been hand-delivered. Who could this message be for?

I stood puzzling over this peculiar circumstance when out of nowhere my name: Amelina Scott appeared in bold writing. I watched wide-eyed as the final character of my surname was spelledout in a delicate font. I tore the dispatch open and inside I discovered a cardprinted on the finest paper with gilt edges and embossed calligraphy. There were few details, just an instruction to visit:

Crystal Cottage, River Walk, Cambridge, and the following added at the bottom as an afterthought: R.S.V.P—Not required. We promise to be welcoming when you arrive. When you’re ready, you’ll discover us.

I shook my head in disbelief. Nothing good ever happened to the Scotts, so this invitation might have looked magical, but surely it must have been nonsense. Weird messages from unknown sources counted as dubious junk mail, the way I looked at it.

I grabbed the envelope and attempted to rip it into pieces, but it wouldn’t tear. With a mind of its own the envelope curled its edges in protest. I searched in a drawer until I found scissors and tried to cut the invite. That didn’t work either. My hand ached, but the invitation endured intact as if mocking me.

Frustrated, I tried to cut the invitation again. A sputtered cursing sound filled the room even though I was alone. On my third attempt, I tore into the card with success. (I think it let me.) And once again, I perceived a noise, an angry murmur, and then nothing. Quiet descended in the room, so I threw the torn parts into the bin.

Finally satisfied that the annoying issue with the strange invite would no longer plague me, I brushed my hands together and picked an apple out of the bowl on the kitchen counter, polished it on my jumper and then took a bite. In no time my hunger had abated, and as I chucked the core towards the bin, I registered a chuckle. I stopped, my feet rooted to the ground as a feeling of certainty filled my soul. I knew what to expect. I have no idea how I did, but I could see the image in my mind, the invitation had reformed. The invitation was playing games with me! I peered in the rubbish, and there I saw the envelope, connected in one perfect, unblemished piece.

‘What the heck?’

I picked up the frustrating item. This time I took no chances. I cut it into tiny postage stamp-sized bits and left it on the counter. I didn’t have to eat another morsel of fruit to observe what happened next. The invite laughed. It knitted itself in quick succession in front of my eyes. My heart hammered a staccato beat in my chest. Even though I lived with weirdness every day of my life, this strange envelope and its contents had begun to faze me.

Fazed or not, I decided I’d had enough, so I threw the wretched invite across the room. It responded by doing a merry jig in my lounge. It sang: ‘You can’t rip me up! I’m alive. Open up your laptop! Open up your laptop!’

I tried to squash the irritating envelope with my foot, but it kept dancing around me singing the same refrain over and over again. By now I could have throttled the envelope and its companion the invite in my urgency to get them both to shut up. I ran upstairs to my bedroom to retrieve my laptop. As I stumbled up the steps, I glanced over my shoulder. I couldn’t believe it, but the card and the envelope pursued me, cartwheeling up the stairs.

I sat on the edge of my bed and warily opened my computer. As if the card and the envelope recognised my actions, they collapsed into a crushed silence on the floor. Remembering the specified address, I typed in an internet search looking for the name, River Walk, but before I could find the location, a bunch of strange hieroglyphics appeared on the screen, followed by a more detailed message:

You’ve been chosen to visit the Crystal Cottage. Please bring an open mind. Be Patient. The cottage will find you. Follow your dreams, R.S.V.P. Not Required. The Crystal Cottage, River Walk, University of Cambridge, City of Learned Magic and Gifted Spirits.

I scratched my head. What an extraordinary message. I didn’t know what to make of it. The envelope answered by dancing another jig as if it already knew my answer. In a split second, the card folded itself into an assortment of shapes and pointed an origami finger at my bedroom door.

‘Go! Go!’ it yelled. ‘You’ll find magic and Krystallos light in the mighty cottage, thrilling power and answers aplenty!’

‘You better not be teasing me, Mr Origami Finger—magic, thrilling power and Krystallos light sound exciting and fun!’

Bursting with curiosity, I hurriedly dressed. I had to discover more about this Crystal Cottage business. Shadow trailed after me, slinking toward the stairs, twitching his whiskers, knowing something had excited me. I patted his sleek black fur. He rubbed himself around my legs, purring with delight.

Slipping into the kitchen, I snatched an energy bar and placed it in my pocket. I rushed, throwing my coat and scarf on without a second thought. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied my camera hanging in the closet. I grabbed it as I slammed the door behind me, leaving my soulless home behind. With sure footsteps, I followed the pathway that led to the river, leaving Shadow alone.

As I walked and half ran down the path, my mother’s words of advice flooded back to me, ‘Don’t walk along the river on your own—it’s dangerous.’ I knew it was an unlikely thing to say in such a quiet suburb of Cambridge, and yet it made me shiver. I chose to ignore the echo of my mother’s shrill voice pounding in my thoughts, yammering nonsense. In fact, her bossy arguments made me even more determined to go. For months, I’d dreamed that I might escape. I welcomed this chance to find this mysterious Crystal Cottage. Nothing could stop me.

With each step forward, I sensed that the promise of the morning had been met; it couldn’t have been a more delightful day. The sun shone, with a stunning brilliance. I guessed my escapade would prove to be one of those magical days that would inspire the darkest of spirits.

At first, my footsteps were marked with a heavy tread, but they became lighter the further I roamed away from my home. After a short while, I thought I heard footsteps behind me, but each time I looked around, I could see and hear nothing. My mother’s words of warning drummed in my head, becoming louder and louder. I screwed my eyes tight, gritted my teeth, and continued forward.

The footfalls started again, coming closer and closer. Picking up my pace, I rushed ahead. By now my breath escaped in brief bursts of rising panic, catching in my rib cage. I knew I had to face it, to confront whatever dared to tail me. I swivelled and my body turned, but my vision refused to follow. Peering down at ground level I sought the source of the sound. There, twisting around my legs, I found the welcome sight of Shadow’s gleaming green eyes.

I laughed a thankful giggle of relief, stroking Shadow’s glistening fur. ‘Shadow, you rascal, you’re spooking me. I thought you’d stayed in.Go,’ I said, pointing down the path toward home.

Shadow gave me a disapproving look but followed my advice and turned tail, emitting a short, sharp meow. I gazed at him guiltily. No wonder he didn’t want to go home. I didn’t blame him. I yearned to escape the confines of my home too.

I paused and smiled. The momentary interlude with my cat had reassured me for a moment. But those heavy footsteps kept playing on my imagination. My senses continued to work at a fever pitch, picking out every single rustle of grass, and each whisper in the breeze. I walked all the way down the narrow pathway to the river, listening and searching for the Crystal Cottage, but no sign of it transpired.

Mr Origami finger hadn’t told me I’d have to wait, but the words of the message, ‘be patient, the cottage will find you,’ repeated in my thoughts. It was odd, but I sensed that the cottage preferred to remain hidden today, concealed from the maker of those strange footsteps. I sighed. I had no choice—I would have to be patient. I walked on, accompanied by my frustrated thoughts.