Amber—the death mask
Tom Raimbault
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © Tom Raimbault 2011
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Copyright © Tom Raimbault 2011
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This work is 100% fiction. All scenes and events within these pages have been an invention of the author's imagination, and to his knowledge never occurred in reality. Any resemblance to the reader's own experiences is purely coincidental. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
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Preface
If you've ever taken the time to visit my blog then you've probably noticed that it features short stories throughout the week, nearly all of them being my own peculiar writings. It was spring of 2009 when I wrote a fictional piece titled, The World's Strangest Collection of Antique Vases. It was this work that gave us our first introduction to the lovable fictional character, Mary. Mary had a terrifying experience with an antique vase. It was so terrifying that I felt that the small moment of horror should be developed into a short story.
Of course Mary's historic house needed to be described along with her fictional town that I named Mapleview. The story had become so elaborate that it was developed into a novel ultimately called, The Tree Goddess. It is currently available in some of your favorite catalogs.
STOP! DON'T PUT THIS BOOK DOWN! The Death Mask is not the sequel to The Tree Goddess! Although this book takes place in my fictional towns of Mapleview and Sillmac, the events detailed in this book take place nearly 15 years before those detailed in The Tree Goddess. In fact, the lovable Mary appears in a scene as a fourteen-year-old girl in this book.
The Death Mask is part one of the Amber trilogy, further adventures in my fictional town of Mapleview. The trilogy centers on a seemingly new horror, a strange woman named Amber. But before we understand the horror she overshadows Mapleview with, we need to acquaint ourselves with the woman. The pages in this book tell the stories of when Amber was a little girl and realized her powerful gift. We briefly watch her grow up, then ultimately fall in love and get married. It sounds like a simple story with a happy ending, but Amber has a little problem; mainly a gift in which anything she wishes for coming true. In the hands of a woman like Amber, such a gift is dangerous.
The second installment of the Amber trilogy is nearly complete and might be available as early as spring of 2012. If you enjoy The Death Mask and find yourself eagerly waiting for the next book, might I suggest reading The Tree Goddess? I say this because part two of the Amber trilogy continues where The Tree Goddess left off. Part two will be further adventures with Mary and her husband Daren who live in the historic Trivelli house. But there's a whole new collection of characters introduced to Mapleview, one of them being Amber.
The Amber trilogy has an interesting history of development. Bear with me in the paragraphs below as I attempt to describe how it slowly materialized through the months.
I often cringe when I read other authors mention that they have recently scrapped an initial draft to a story or deleted any files belonging to a work in progress. It isn't uncommon for a writer to begin a story and then decide, midway, that it's a lost cause.
Every story of mine begins as nothing more than a simple Notepad file and then saved until completion before it's revised. This very preface is being written on Notepad. I haven't even titled or saved it... Wait... There, now I saved it as a document in my Amber file as "Preface".
Halloween week of 2009 I featured a collection of fresh, new stories on my blog to celebrate the season with. One of these stories was a peculiar work simply tilted, Orb. It was a very, short piece that centered on paranormal activities in a family home that was often precursored by the appearance of ghostly orbs.
Some weeks after the Halloween celebration, all stories in this series were unpublished from the blog, further revised and then added to a story book titled, Freaked out Horror. It is currently available in some of your favorite catalogs for download.
But I was hesitant with adding Orb. Orb was a bit short and lacked some important ingredients; mainly a possible reason or theory behind the paranormal activity. No problem! I would simply write a backing story and blend it in the original. The additions to Orb were made in a file titled, Paulette. But Paulette lacked much; mainly a solid plot. For this matter, Paulette was placed in the archives and forgotten. Orb never made it in Freaked out Horror
Over a year later after Freaked out Horror and The Tree Goddess had been published, I began sketching up the plots for the next book in the Mapleview series. Oh, let me also mention that I heavily revised Freaked out Horror, added several more stories, but removed some of the original material to develop into Mapleview plots. It was one of these removed stories that will appear as part three of the Amber trilogy. In fact, part three was my original purpose of writing Amber.
Ah, but the reader would surely want more! And if the reader had previously read The Tree Goddess, he or she would want further stories of Mary and her historic Trivelli house along with Mary's psychotic husband, Daren. And of course we would need to introduce an array of new neurotic characters and then drop in that wild card, Amber. Where-as part three is an expanded version of a short story appearing in the original Freaked out Horror and then blended in the Amber trilogy, part two satisfies any previous readers who have been exposed to Mapleview by continuing where The Tree Goddess left off. But there's another element added to part two, an overall theme that was conceived while pausing at a peculiar statement made in The Tree Goddess. I mentioned somewhere in the book that strangers sometimes connect with one another through psychic means. I had to think about that statement. "Really? What sort of situation would strangers find it necessary to do this?" That statement and question nearly formulated the backbone to part two of the Amber trilogy.
But part two and part three still weren’t enough. We should understand who this Amber character is and where she came from. The solution required a visit to a museum on a family vacation where the wife, kids and I stopped at a display that contained a collection of death masks. I just had to write a story about a troublesome death mask, maybe even find a way to work it into Amber. And that's when I recalled the pointless story written nearly two years ago simply titled, Paulette. Finally, Paulette had the necessary elements needed to make her story a successful one. The teenage girl needed a troublesome death mask in the home along with a wicked stepmother. This tale serves as part one of the Amber trilogy.
Originally intended as a short story for the 2009 release of Freaked out Horror, The Death Mask is a perfect example as to why my fellow authors should not scrap or delete works that suddenly feel to be a lost cause.
***
In recent weeks, I've mentioned on the blog of having near lifelike encounters with the characters in Mapleview; in particular, Mary and Amber. Much of this surely to blame on my overactive writer's imagination, the phenomenon began by taking notice of women who reminded me of Mary and Amber—at least how they would appear in my mind while writing of them. I've sometimes confessed to have nearly fallen in love with Mary while writing The Tree Goddess. Perhaps it's a natural phenomenon for the mind to place in reality someone who is sorely missed. And perhaps without realizing it, I fell in love with Amber while writing of her.
But Amber is a bit more aggressive than Mary. It isn't enough for her to simply appear in the face of some other woman. She deliberately goes out of her way to interact with me. She'll smile or wave; sometimes nearly get in my face with a friendly greeting. It didn't take long for me to realize that the women involved in this phenomenon were not aware of those brief seconds. Rather, Amber has the power to briefly weave herself in another person for purposes of carrying out her simple will.
In short, I have succeeded in inadvertently conjuring up an imaginary spirit and then watching it possess other people. And if that weren't enough, the thing calls out to me through some telepathic means. I've sometimes been awakened at night from the assumed calling of Amber, wondering where I am at. Throughout the day I fight her invasion of my mental privacy. Amber is persistent. There's a heavy feeling of sadness as she begs me not to abandon her and just give her a chance. She's not as bad as I might believe. Amber urges that she is a really nice person.
Needless to say this is frightening for me. Have I lost my mind? Has writing caused me difficulty in differentiating fiction from reality? The solution was simple. Amber needed to be given her own, special place in the forest where I could visit her on a regular basis. Perhaps this would put a stop to weaving herself in nearby people or mentally calling out to me in the middle of the night, asking where I am.
So I found Amber a special, little landscape in the forest and dedicated it to her. A couple times a week I would visit and perform my secret calling. In addition, I would bring pieces of chocolate and leave it in the area so that Amber would feel all-the-more special.
Guess what? Amber was not satisfied with her landscape! Somehow she guided me to a place at the opposite end of the forest and urged me to dedicate that place as our special place.
"Oh, Amber; it's beautiful! I can see why you prefer this area."
I now visit her in this place and continue to offer my special calling along with gifts of chocolate. In recent days I have brought with wine and decorated the ground with it to intoxicate her spirit and hopefully ease her inhibitions. One morning in the not-so-distant future I will bring with a red rose, and kiss the petals that are surely as delicate as her sweet lips. The rose will be left in the forest along with the usual gifts of chocolate and wine. Perhaps these simple gestures of kindness will charm and invoke the imaginary spirit of Amber to oversee the success of her trilogy, maybe even ensure that it is all-the-more enjoyable for you.
Tom Raimbault
Frankfort, Illinois
September 5, 2011
Amber – the death mask
Chapter One
Distanced by 10.6 miles of a rural highway named Route 4, Sillmac has long been a neighboring community of the charming town of Mapleview. Mapleview was established in the 1830s, but it wasn't until 1872, precisely, that the town of Sillmac established itself. As originally described in The Tree Goddess, Sillmac is similar to Mapleview as it has its share of restaurants, shops and even small museums for the town's yearly tourists. But Sillmac is considered a prestigious area in comparison to Mapleview. Taxes are higher, housing with no set price. Whatever you ask for your home; it will definitely sell as no one can set a price on Sillmac.
The historical residences and places of business have been renovated to eliminate any appearance of decay and maintain that 1870s charm. And just like Mapleview, the town is surrounded by thick, forested wilderness. Many of the preserves have been improved to the point of qualifying as botanical gardens with paved, nature trails outlined in beautiful flowers; countless ponds with lily pads and meditational gardens at the center of flowing creeks.
Make no mistake about it; Sillmac is a town where the elite few reside. And it isn't uncommon for those with happy stories of success and extreme wealth to live in Sillmac. Take for example married couple, Michael and Linsey, and their daughter, Paulette. Michael was founder of the now nationwide chain of hardware stores called Dickly's Hardware. Merely opening his first hardware store in downtown Mapleview, Dickly's hardware soon grew at an exponential rate which rewarded Michael the ability to purchase and own an enormous region of wilderness at the outskirt of Sillmac. In that region of wilderness; he had an enormous, castle-like mansion built for him, his wife and daughter to live in. The very center of the estate is what could be described as a miniature, forested mountain with that castle-like mansion sitting buried under thick trees.
But despite their great fortune, Michael and Linsey would soon see much misfortune on a morning in 1987 when their nine-year-old daughter, Paulette, had a terrible accident that would change her and the family's life forever. Keep in mind that the family lived at the top of a miniature mountain. Paulette had the wild inclination that morning to coast on her bike down one of the sides.
On that morning, she ignored her instincts, feeling that overcoming her fears and venturing down the slope would have made her all the braver along with providing some much needed excitement. With only a gentle push over the edge, an overwhelming force of gravity pulled her faster and faster down the slope. There was no turning back for Paulette as the velocity rapidly increased. She maintained firm hold on the handlebars and stayed in control for a few seconds. But the child didn’t anticipate that the landscape would soon turn treacherous not more than halfway down the forested slope. A rocky formation with large, moss-colored boulders soon suggested a terrible danger. Naturally, she applied her coaster brake to avoid surfaces that could never be biked on—at least at a high speed.
Despite its reputation for a mild disposition, a timber rattlesnake was startled at the sound of Paulette's back tire that scraped along the soil, kicking up dust while rapidly approaching. The snake had no choice but to strike at whatever danger approached. Its fangs pierced the bicycle's front tires. Paulette had seen the snake's attack and screamed just as the tire popped. She toppled over the handlebars and continued her high-speed descent in the form of somersaults. The only thing on her mind at that moment was whether or not the ugly snake was near. Of course the sensation of branches, occasional leaves and anything else touching her on the ground were believed to be the snake coming to get her. The young girl screamed while desperately trying to get away. This only added to her rapid descent of somersaults.
In reality, the snake lay injured near the bike and was the least of Paulette’s worries. She continued to somersault herself out of control until spiraling over a small drop which landed in a region of boulders. This final smash that was fueled by such incredible momentum not only broke her neck and damaged an area of her spinal cord, but caused injury to the posterior inferior frontal gyrus of her brain—more commonly referred to as Broca's region (responsible for speech and language comprehension).
Young Paulette was a mangled up mess, unconscious and bleeding from the head. And how was she rescued in such an isolated area? Mothers have a keen sense of intuition. Linsey received an unusual surge of anxiety at the moment her daughter pushed off the hill. Within a minute her face flushed with a God-awful terror. She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Paulette was in trouble.
"Paulette? Paulette!" The frantic woman ran along the outside of the castle-like mansion, desperately searching for her daughter. Had someone hiked up the miniature mountain to hide on the forested property with the purpose of abducting the young girl? Ironically, the easiest and most logical slope to hike down while wondering this was the one Paulette descended.
Linsey nervously cried and wiped her tears while hiking down the slope, all the while just knowing that her daughter was in grave danger. Was she descending the right slope? Should she have turned around and looked elsewhere? But some distance down the slope could be seen Paulette's bicycle lying on the ground. Linsey quickly jogged downwards while calling out to her daughter. Finally reaching the bicycle, Linsey took notice of the injured snake that looked to have been run over by a tire. Maybe Paulette was bitten and now lay unconscious.
But no, it was far worse than that! Imagine the shock of seeing your child laying face-first on a treacherous terrain of boulders with a small pool of blood running near her head. Would you grab your cell phone and call for the paramedics? This wouldn’t have been possible in 1987, even for the wealthy. There were no cell phones in people's pockets in those days, especially in a deeply rural area. And although Linsey wished to run to her daughter, some part of her knew that every second counted! It was an adrenaline-fueled flight back up the slope that nearly caused a young woman a heart attack.
Broca's region is interesting. Although we label the area responsible for generating speech and understanding language, it really isn't. People who have sustained injuries and damage to this part of the brain have been able to resume speech some months later. It seems that other areas of the brain are capable of taking over whatever responsibility the Broca region has. And you would think that for such a young girl, Paulette would have restored this vital function of generating words. But nothing intelligible could be produced. With only grunts that soon turned to frustration, it was easier to maintain communication with the girl by playing charades and verifying a "yes" or "no" with one blink of the eyes or two, soon to be replaced with nods by the time she hopefully restored use of her neck.
As hoped, Paulette’s broken neck healed and regained the ability to move through therapy. But spinal cord damage from some apparent, blunt trauma during the descent had left Paulette unable to move from the neck, down.
Fortunately, Michael and Linsey's wealth allowed at home therapy and some schooling from the finest teachers who specialized in disabled children. But no matter how much therapy was provided for forming sound into talking, Paulette was unable to create intelligible words.
***
This tragedy took place only several miles from where Amber lived and grew up. On that morning, Amber would have been a teenage girl of fifteen years old. In Sillmac, many of the homes are independently seated on acres and acres of untamed wilderness, just like Michael and Linsey’s home. But Amber’s parents lived in the beautifully wooded subdivision of Settler's View that shared a street with other enormous homes that averaged a modest price of $950,000 to just over $1,000,000. This, of course, is being compared with much larger homes (like Michael and Linsey’s) that sat on thirty acres or more of wilderness that would go for... well; let's just say much, much more!
You and I can only dream of owning a home in the Settler's View subdivision. And people who live this sort of lifestyle must be very different from you and me. But don't think for one second that Amber grew up to be a spoiled, little brat. Mother made sure that her daughter was a down-to-Earth lady who would have an understanding of those intangible things that are most important in life, while at the same time having an appreciation for what is simple and true. There was, however, one small, negative quality of Amber. The girl had a relentless drive with a Hell-bent intent to get exactly what she wanted. But don't we all possess that quality of desiring what we want to some degree?
The word amber draws to mind a few things. One might think of a woman's name or the fossilized tree resin that makes the precious stone found in jewelry, or perhaps simply a radiant fire. Amber is an interesting color. You cannot precisely identify one color as officially being amber as it includes various shades of orange. And when we say that a woman has amber-colored hair, it could be anywhere from a dark blonde, to a light brown, or possibly a light red.
With a name like Amber, one would expect her to have been born with amber-colored hair. But she wasn't. Amber was born with strands of brown that grew into the most beautiful, long, flowing, light-brown hair that often changed shades throughout the years. Then again, I suppose at times that people might have considered her hair to be amber-colored, being that the color varies throughout different shades.
So just how did Amber get her name? While still in the womb; Amber would often accompany Mother for leisurely strolls through one of the forested paths in Sillmac where Mother had the lovely practice of talking to her soon-to-be newborn. She would stop to rest near an open creek and rub her abdomen while speaking out loud to the baby. This, she believed, would allow the unborn child to bond with her and maybe realize that there was a world outside. And maybe the child understood Mother. But Mother had so many questions—as many new mothers do during pregnancy. She knew the baby would be born a girl. But what would the baby look like? Who would she grow up to be?
One morning, Mother brought with a plastic bowl on the hike, and bent down to her special creek to fill it with water. The bowl was brought home, and the water saved for later that night.
While her husband slept in the late evening hours, she filled the water from the creek into a clear, quartz bowl; then brought it out to the backyard deck where it was set on the table with a candle behind.
An ordinary glass bowl filled with tap water would have been so unflattering in a moment of scrying. Aside from that, she wanted the water from her special creek where she and the baby shared a moment each day. Scrying, in case you are unaware, involves gazing into a crystal ball, or into water, with the purpose of seeking visions. Many find the greatest effect by gazing through the water at a candle flame, or observing the flame through the reflection in the water. It is the objective to put one's self in a trance while maintaining a fixed gaze.
Gazing at the candle through a quartz bowl that was filled with creek water would have certainly had the greatest effect for visions of her soon-to-be-newborn child. It was truly a powerful moment of scrying. But the only vision seen was the most beautiful, brilliant color of amber. At that moment, Mother decided that her daughter would be named Amber.
So many hopes for her daughter in that powerful moment: Amber would be a most-beautiful woman throughout her life. Perhaps her heart would be great, loving all those around her with a nurturing air, and yet a sense of untamed freedom that would enable her to pursue her dreams, even bring a certain magic into her own family as she would be the very source that kept the home alive. These were the hopes that Mother had for her baby while little Amber resided in the womb.
As a girl, it certainly appeared that Amber was growing up to be all that Mother hoped for. But despite her imposed modesty and earthly beauty, Amber had an unusual gift that was learned at an early age. Amber had the power to get anything desired. It wasn't like a young girl who begs mommy and daddy for that new toy, soon to be those expensive jeans or that new car. The world is full of these high-maintenance, bratty women who have learned to get what they want through badgering and rude behavior. No, Amber remained well-mannered in the face of Mother and Father while keeping knowledge of this unusual gift to herself. She found a true power behind fantasy in which she would harness and channel every emotion she could find and direct it towards her desire until it finally materialized in reality.
She learned just how powerful this gift was on a summer day at the age of eleven when thoroughly fed up with a girl her age who lived next door. Michelle was terribly envious of Amber and hated her to the very core. Being that she despised Amber, she often made critical remarks of just about anything Amber did and said. Amber would laugh and have fun with her friends and then suddenly close off and shut down once Michelle entered the picture. Nothing out of the ordinary could be done and said when in the presence of Michelle. And even while Amber remained still and quiet, Michelle found it appropriate to call out Amber's sudden disconnect.
On that summer day, Michelle's mother had taken the young girl to the beauty salon for a makeover and hair styling. Now these were merely girls who would enter sixth grade in September. And keep in mind that although it’s a common practice in modern times for those with extra money to take a child to a beauty spa for a makeover, it was a rare occurrence in 1983. But being that this was the prestigious town of Sillmac, it was appropriate for eleven-year-old Michelle to be treated to a makeover before a family barbeque that was to be held later in the afternoon.
Seeing Amber outside with a group of mutual friends, Michelle approached everyone with a lively greeting, and definitely showed off her styled hair.
Amber was polite as always and was sure to compliment Michelle's hair. “Your hair looks nice, Michelle.”
"What's that, Amber?"
Amber repeated herself. "I like your hair; it's nice."
Being terribly envious of Amber also included envy towards her natural beauty and her long, brown hair. Michelle's styled, fresh-out-of-the-beauty-salon hair was finally proof that she was superior. As the spoiled child that she was, Michelle harshly replied with a tone a voice that suggested her simple statement to have deeper meaning."Uh...Thanks!"
It was an indicator for Amber to shut down and close up before receiving a dose of verbal and critical abuse.
But Michelle felt her point hadn't been made clearly enough. "Hey Amber, why are you suddenly so quiet?"
"I don't know; I don't have anything to say, I guess."
"Don't have anything to say? Do you know what I think? I think you're jealous of my hair."
It was the most ridiculous thing Amber had heard. "What?" Although she was polite to compliment Michelle's hair moments ago, she secretly felt that it didn't look right on an eleven year old girl, not to mention the over-applied makeup.
"That's right; you're jealous. Who here thinks that Amber is jealous of my hair; just plain jealous of me?"
Somehow, Michelle swayed their mutual friends into her way of thinking as everyone took turns replying, "Me!" Then poor Amber would have to hear her friends proclaim how they truly liked Michelle, and if Amber wasn't a friend of Michelle's, no one would be a friend of Amber’s.
Now alone that summer afternoon, Amber angrily sat in her bedroom, gazing from a short distance through the open window that provided a clear view of the activities of Michelle's backyard. How she hated Michelle in that moment, feeling that punishment was long overdue.
Inside Michelle's home, her older brother by five years sat in his bedroom, listening to an audio assault of shrilling death metal that dictated all sorts of acts of violence. He lounged in his comfy chair while relaxing to the soothing music, and reading an article from Soldier of Fortune magazine that described how to make homemade C4 explosives. Where-as most teenage boys hide Playboy magazines under the bed, Danny maintained his hidden stockpile of controversial Soldier of Fortune magazines that were forbidden by Father.
Suddenly, Mother's voice could be heard from downstairs, "Danny? Danny!"
He softly cursed and quickly hid the magazine. Then he ran to the hallway. "What?"
"You need to go outside and start the barbeque!"
Start the barbeque? That was a terrible mistake! Mother was unaware that Danny had the nickname of "Pyro". He had a secret, makeshift shack in the woods where he stockpiled a collection of homemade napalm in old mason jars. Has the reader ever made napalm?—dropping Styrofoam into a jar of gasoline to make a flammable gel that sticks to walls and burns for a long time. Danny was the master of doing this. He would act out his soldier of fortune fantasies by sneaking a jar of napalm to one of the neighborhood parks after dark, and stick it to the playground equipment to be ignited and burned for hours. He once attempted the construction of a pipe bomb by filling a pipe with hundreds of match heads. Fortunately he lacked the technique of effectively sealing the pipe at both ends which would have caused a serious explosion if done properly.
Danny had no reason for his pyromania other than something to wildly decorate his reputation with. He was a rebel without a cause. And on that summer day, he was being asked to start a fire in the barbeque!
Danny cracked a most disturbing smile along with a terribly devious look in his eyes! "Sure Mom!"
Mother continued, "And use the big one, Danny. We've got a lot of guests coming today."
Watching through her window, only Amber was aware of the teenage boy who burst out into the backyard and quickly dragged the large barbeque near the pool where it was nearly overflowed with charcoal.
While this was happening, Danny's sister, Michelle, played a rowdy game with her friends as they chased each other around with water balloons. At some point, little Michelle called out, "Hey, you can't get my hair wet! I just got it done!"
At that moment, Amber thought to herself, "You're going to wish that your hair got wet!" Then she recalled every rude and mean thing Michelle had ever said. Amber let her emotions build up while remaining still and silent. To her, the emotions were flashes of energy that discharged in the air as she began to fantasize with all her heart, wishing for her thoughts to finally come true.
While this happened, Michelle's brother held two bottles of lighter fluid upside-down and heavily sprayed the charcoal, crisscrossing back and forth while calling imaginary people, who lived in the charcoal, obscene names and demanding that they die.
But Danny's game had to be briefly interrupted as the charcoal needed to soak up the lighter fluid. He would return several moments later and drop the bomb on the enemy village.
In the meantime, Amber sat completely motionless and absorbed in flood of harnessed, negative emotions. She maintained a fixed gaze on that little bitch, Michelle, while fantasizing the most horrific tragedy.
One could call the new game between Michelle and her friends, water balloon tag. For you see, Michelle found the perfect gool and it was located at the barbeque. No one could throw water balloons around the barbeque. Of course remaining on gool for too long was no fun! Michelle would soon run away to be further chased by rowdy girls with water balloons.
Sometime later, Danny ran out of the house with a box of matches. He was an expert of making what he called, "fireballs", which involved striking the match against the rough surface of the box while simultaneously flicking it into the air. The end result looked like a projected fireball that continued to burn as it hit the ground.
This "fireball" technique was going to be his missile launched at the enemy village. But before launching from the air, perhaps it was best to add more lighter fluid to ensure that those bastards scorched upon impact.
A responsible adult would have never taken lighting the barbeque to such an extreme measure. Even more, a responsible adult would have never stood six feet away while further drenching the charcoals with fluid. It was in this moment when his younger sister had run past to receive a heavy spray of lighter fluid to her hair.
Michelle was outraged, "Danny!"
"What? Get out of the way, stupid! What are you playing by the barbeque for?"
The other girls weren't outraged like Michelle, and instead whipped a couple water balloons at her. This resumed the desperate game of water balloon tag as Michelle looked for a place to escape. She was still concerned about the heavy amount of lighter fluid sprayed on her head. But she hadn't considered the danger it presented.
And then a "fireball" had been launched that glowed towards the sky and quickly returned to hit the target. While this happened, Michelle ran back to gool for safety. Although Danny may have been six feet from what was about to be an explosion, little Michelle stood one foot away from the barbeque, and was short enough to be even closer to the destruction.
The barbeque nearly exploded with a violent eruption of flames that reached four feet in the air. To make matters worse, upon initial explosion, a wind blew the flames in Michelle's direction so that her entire head and face became engulfed in flames. The combined lighter fluid on her hair and any chemicals used at the beauty salon served as an accelerant that quickly set her head ablaze.
Instinctively, she ran away from the explosion but was soon aware that her head remained on fire. And this wasn't a case of someone's hair simply burning; this was a roaring, twisting flame that violently danced around her head. She screamed in horror, all the while the sizzling and popping of her hair and scalp could be heard.
The brave soldier-of-fortune now ran towards the house in tears to get help. This wasn't supposed to happen! He was responsible for cooking his sister's head, and there would soon be Hell to pay.
But Father saw everything and ran outside. "Jump in the pool! Michelle, jump in the pool!" He ran towards his daughter who was horrified and in shock, obviously confused and not thinking of the sensible thing.
By the time little Michelle had been thrown in the water, her scalp was cooked and included many boils. Only patches of charred strands of hair remained. Finally, justice had been served!
Chapter Two
Amber told no one of what she had done, especially Mother! As Amber saw it, maintaining humility while at the same time radiating a simple beauty as Mother demanded, would sometimes make her a victim to cruel people like Michelle. Surely there would be many times in life that this power needed to be called upon. It was best to keep it a secret from everyone.
And she certainly used this gift plenty of times in high school. Once during a track meet, there was an equaled contender who was worried of losing to Amber. It was best for this girl, Molly, to approach Amber, directly, and let it be known that she would win—not Amber.
Being modest and down-to-earth, Amber merely replied, "Well best of luck to you!" Then she shook Molly's hand.
It wasn't the response Molly anticipated. She came from a family of winners and was full-aware of the winner's attitude. It was confidence that set a winner apart from a loser. This confidence needed to be established with her contender. "Well that's very nice of you to wish me luck. But you know, most people would agree that I have the winner's edge and you don't!"
That was a big mistake on Molly's part! Had she turned and walked away after Amber's wish, she probably would have won the race.
But for Amber, this sudden concept of being a loser, simply because she didn't have the winner's edge, was disturbing. What if Molly was right? Was Amber destined to go through life, losing and never coming out ahead?
Anxiety-driven fantasies of what people truly thought of Amber continued to invade her mind. It wasn't right to be trampled over by winners and then to be laughed at. Ill wishes against Molly that were fueled by ever-expanding, negative emotions were repeated in her mind again and again. It was Molly who did this to her. Molly needed to have something bad happen to her!
Running like never before, ready to take what was rightfully hers, Molly lost control and severely rolled her ankle; not just pulling the ligaments and tendons, but tearing them. It would require surgery and many weeks in a cast, and many more in therapy. Would Molly ever restore her ankle to what it was before? Hopefully her winner's edge would have maintained a positive attitude.
***
Holding boys captivated and spellbound is an easy task for any beautiful, young lady. Amber certainly had no need for the gift when it came to her love life. But after graduating high school, she found it very tempting to attract the right sort of guy with her magical charm. But she soon realized that imposing her will and captivating the perfect guy wasn't really true love. As soon as she eased the spell, a certain guy would become distracted and suddenly become attracted to another young lady.
Perhaps it would have been better to cast a milder spell on a desired guy, just enough to sway him into surrendering to his feelings. This is what Amber finally did, and then released the mild spell to test a certain guy's reaction. As luck would have it, the first subject to this experiment stayed with Amber, proving to be true love!
But in all life’s cruelty with its twists of irony, Amber’s true love left her in a most vulnerable time when Amber needed him most. She had been abandoned; left cold, empty and heartbroken at a most-challenging moment in her life. (More on that later.) Amber could have made him stay simply by focusing all her will until he was madly in love again. But it wouldn't have been true love. Amber knew this. And she suddenly grew tired of pursuing young men her own age.
In that moment, Amber believed herself to be some years wiser than other young women her age. And she was, really; just needed a little fine tuning and some life experience. With her true love gone and realizing that she deserved better, Amber began to call out to an older man who, somewhere, may have been experiencing heartache. Perhaps he was married to an unfaithful wife and was soon to receive divorce papers. Or perhaps he was about to lose his beautiful wife to a tragic accident or sudden illness. Whatever the case, Amber would enter his life with open arms and heal the heartache. He would never leave her, only love and adore Amber forever more.
Over a year passed as Amber played out this emotional fantasy night after night. And then she had awoken one drizzly, Saturday morning in 1994, truly feeling that she somehow bonded or connected with the man who needed her. She gazed out the window and softly whispered, "I'm here for you. Where are you?"
But this morning was not about Amber, despite what she would have believed. This morning was about a man named Michael, who sat in a chair, overlooking his beautiful wife, Linsey, who remained peacefully in dreamland. Her chest would slowly rise and fall under the blankets, a sight that Michael drunk in very deeply as he further imagined Linsey's life-radiating skin receiving circulation and oxygen. Every moment together was precious. In recent months they maintained the practice of sleeping closer than in previous years. They made love a little more, laughed and cried a little more and continued to reaffirm to one another how deep their love was.
Throughout her life, Linsey had natural, strawberry red hair that was worn straight and long below her shoulders. She had fair skin that was nearly transparent enough to reflect more of a pink color. Her eyes were the lightest and vibrant blue that could melt one from a distance just with a momentary glance. And through womanhood, her body had that deliciously curvaceous build to include a barely noticeable cinnamon dusting along the flesh of her chest, shoulders and upper back.
But in the course of a year, Linsey's body deteriorated to a state of being sickly thin and pale to the point of losing her once healthy, pink color. Her eyes remained blue, of course, but they lost the ability to melt with her warm and vibrant gaze. And her long, straight, strawberry, red hair had thinned in many parts, many other areas to be replaced by lifeless, split grays.
In just over a year, Linsey was dying of a mysterious, autoimmune disease for which there was no cure. Her body was aggressively attacking itself; destroying tissue, muscle, organs and even elements of her nervous system. If failing to identifying the cause was not frustrating enough, the typical treatment of immunosupression (medicines that shut down the immune system to prevent further destruction of the body) would only provide a temporary remission. It appeared that Linsey's immune system would build up a tolerance to the medications so that it rebounded with a fury, causing damage far worse than before.
Just like many who are dying of a disease, Linsey had an indomitable spirit that provided her the will to live each day to the fullest. She refused to lie in bed. The disease would certainly kill her, but as Linsey felt, she would not allow her condition to take those final moments of life away.
Although transformed from the woman that Michael once knew, he loved her all the same, and much more! As he sat over her bed that drizzly Saturday morning, Linsey stirred and opened her eyes.
Michael was the first thing seen for the day. "Good morning..." She greeted her loving husband.
"Good morning; were you dreaming?"
She stretched some, "Yeah..."
"I love sitting here watching you sleep. You look so peaceful, like you're having sweet dreams. Linsey, I really wish you would let me have a death mask of you made. I'm going to miss you so terribly when you're gone. The death mask could lie at your pillow and give me comfort, suggesting that you are merely sleeping beside me so peacefully."
Her blue eyes locked on his, "Michael, no! We've been through this before. I don't want a death mask of me made. That's so morbid. And besides; when I'm gone, I won't be laying in this bed. I'll be in a better place, watching over you and Paulette.”
Michael didn't want to discuss or be reminded of the times beyond his wife's death. It was better to live in the moment and cherish what they had in the present. He recoiled his wish and simply replied, "As you wish…"
Although possessing an indomitable spirit, Linsey wasn't capable of rising out of bed every morning. There were times when she could hardly move her legs. On a couple occasions, paramedics were summoned because of fear that Linsey was having a heart attack. Again, it was the mysterious, autoimmune disease. Any region of her body could have been under lethal attack. However, in recent times, she was under a state of remission. But like always, Linsey would slowly get out bed in a means to gauge her condition for the day.
Like often, Michael asked, "Are you ready to get up for the day? You can lay there if you want. I'll take care of Paulette and make breakfast for the morning."
"No, I'm fine." Linsey pushed herself up and removed the covers. "I think it'll be easy today." Linsey's feet touched the floor then she stood up.
Michael gently put his hands to Linsey, "Are you alright? Do you need help walking?" Michael would have walked every step if she needed it. He would give half of his life to keep his wife breathing when that sad day finally came.
But this was the line that totally annoyed Linsey. Although kind and sweet, his sappiness was a little overdone. "Michael, I'm fine! Thank you, but I can walk and get ready for the day. Make us some coffee. I'll get Paulette ready and make us breakfast."
By the time that drizzly, Saturday morning in 1994 arrived with Amber calling out to her long-lost lover, Michael brewing up coffee in the kitchen and Linsey entering her daughter's room for the morning; a computer provided much of Paulette's ability to speak. If she had something to say that pseudo-telepathy or charades couldn't communicate, Paulette could poke with a pencil at a keyboard in front of her face to form sentences to express her thoughts, ideas and feelings.
"Good morning!" Mother gave her daughter a warm greeting.
Paulette smiled in acknowledgement to her mother. The keyboard was unnecessary for simple gestures. Aside from that, Paulette was still in bed.
"Are you ready to get up for the day?"
Paulette nodded, yes.
"Okay, let's get you all cleaned up and dressed; then we'll go down to have breakfast." Linsey would never allow her daughter to be neglected. Paulette was not to be an invalid who was left unwashed and stinky for a couple days, wearing frumpy clothes with greasy hair and a stale, crusty mouth. Paulette’s hair was always beautiful! She was groomed daily from head-to-toe and she wore all the latest fashions, even had regular manicures and pedicures. Paulette was a beautiful girl and very, much loved by Mother and Father.
Much time was spent between Linsey and her daughter. Being a best friend to Paulette was best. Linsey read her daughter books, magazines of teen pop culture, and was sure to provide the latest music or movies that other teenage girls enjoyed. And although she had a large bedroom with every luxury a child could wish for, and a beautiful walkout turret balcony yielding a gorgeous view of the wilderness below, Paulette was never left alone for lengthy hours. Father was sure to install a wheelchair lift to bring her up and down the stairs.
Once groomed, dressed and ready for the day, Paulette was brought downstairs into the kitchen where Father greeted her, "Good morning, Honey." Then he kissed her softly on the cheek.
On that drizzly, Saturday morning in 1994; Linsey made her family a hearty breakfast of eggs, pancakes and bacon. Tomorrow would be church, followed by a breakfast in town. Saturday was the family's "laid back" day. But before eating, the family was sure hold hands around the table in a moment of prayer, giving thanks for another day together and the many blessings the family shared.
Chapter Three
On a cold, frosty, predawn morning in October, with only the soft glow of pastel ambers glowing in the eastern horizon, Michael stirred from his sleep and glanced at the clock on his nightstand. There was still an hour or so left to sleep. He rolled over to face his beautiful Linsey who lay on her back and deep asleep. It was too tempting not to lay his forearm over her shoulder and lay a kiss on her cheek while breathing in the smell of Linsey's sweet hair.
But then he had to whisper, "You're cold; you need some more covers?" Soon it became evident as to just how cold Linsey really was. She radiated no body heat under the covers and would not stir as Michael slowly rubbed his palm on her arms, her abdomen or thigh. "Linsey?" The slow caresses that were intended to warm and stir his sleeping beauty increased to a frantic diagnostic check. Now he spoke out in a regular tone of voice, "Linsey?"
Michael switched on his nightstand light and stood up. A flush of panic surged through his body as he quickly walked around to where Linsey lay. He violently pushed at Linsey's side of the mattress, "Linsey?"
Her chest did not rise or fall; nor was there the sound of deep, sleep-full breathing or twitching of her eyes to suggest being spellbound by a REM.
Still, Michael had to call out while attempting to shake his wife awake. "Linsey!"
She was stiff and very cold. At some point in the night her heart must have stopped beating. In recent weeks the summer's remission appeared to have ended as Linsey suddenly became gravely ill.
Although men certainly get choked up or glass at the eyes in an emotional moment, men rarely cry. And every man can recall the very, last time in boyhood that he attempted to weep or sob. But that moment often ends up in laughter as a young man asks himself, "What the hell am I doing?"
Perhaps the fact that men rarely cry is the reason why the sight of a grown man, who has fallen to pieces and weeps uncontrollably, can be disturbing. Michael kneeled before his beloved Linsey with his upper body draped over her chest in uncontrollable sobs. Then he raised his head as if gazing at the ceiling. But in those moments, one sees beyond the confines of walls and plaster and can gaze into the endless void where Heaven, somewhere, might be found.
He continued to sob until words were finally possible. "An angel must have taken you sometime in the night..." Warm, heavy tears ran down his cheeks. Then he looked back down at his lifeless Linsey, "But you look to be only sleeping..."
It was still so early in the morning. Paulette would surely be sleeping for another hour or two. It would give Michael the small window of time that was needed to keep a memory and reminder of those sweet moments when he watched his Linsey peacefully sleep.
Her long, beautiful hair was pulled back and a bandana from the lingerie drawer was slipped over the top of her head to protect it. Next, a thin layer of petroleum jelly was rubbed into Linsey's beautiful face and underneath her jaw line. The petroleum jelly would serve as protection to the skin, but needed to be a thin layer so that any natural lines or cracks that were barely noticeable of Linsey's mature face would be remembered.
In the garage, hidden in a dark corner of a cabinet, were a box of dry Plaster of Paris and two rolls of Plaster of Paris gauze strips. Michael quietly descended the stairs and carefully opened the exterior door to the attached garage to get those items that he thought would never be used. Back into the house, he softly entered the kitchen and filled two bowls with warm water, and then added the proper amount of dry Plaster of Paris. It was necessary to be extra quiet when ascending the stairs, as Paulette certainly could not be awoken!
Standing at Linsey's nightstand, strips of Plaster of Paris gauze were cut in equal lengths, dipped in the plaster mixture, and then added to the perimeter of Linsey's face. Once fully perimeter with the edges blended in, additional gauze strips were added so that her entire face was soon covered. The setting time would only take fifteen to twenty minutes. But while this was done, Michael checked to ensure that his daughter was sleeping.
In a rare occurrence, Paulette was awake! But she couldn't be alarmed of her mother's passing just yet. Father hid his grief and simply greeted his daughter, "Good morning, Honey. Are you up already?"
Paulette nodded.
"Your Mother is not doing well this morning. We're going to have to..." He closed his eyes in what could have been interpreted as a prolonged blink and then continued, "...let her rest and then see how she's doing."
Paulette stared at her father, which indicated a need for something.
"What is it, Honey? Do you need to use the bathroom? Of course; I’ll get your wheelchair.”
Paulette quickly shook her head, “no” while making grunts. Then she looked at the keyboard.
It was best for Michael to respect his daughter's wish and wheel the computer and keyboard over to her bed. He lifted and supported the paralyzed girl so that she could sit up and type a sentence into the keyboard by poking it with a pencil.
"I want to see Mom."
"Honey, your Mother is not awake. She's not doing well this morning."
Her eyes filled with tears. Then she poked a simple word into the keyboard, "Please!" Paulette knew the worse had happened. Maybe she heard her Father sobbing in the other room behind closed doors. Perhaps she was aware of the stirring around downstairs and some activity taking place in the bedroom. Whatever it was, Paulette knew something was wrong.
But Michael couldn't let his daughter see Linsey just yet. The Plaster of Paris had yet to dry. It would be another fifteen minutes before the mask set, and even longer to clean the petroleum jelly and restore her appearance to undisturbed. "Okay, Honey. Give me a few minutes and I'll bring you to your mother."
Every minute that passed while waiting for the plaster to dry was another moment of dishonesty to his daughter. The mask could not come off fast enough when finally set. But the petroleum jelly was quite a challenge to remove. Who sleeps with that mess applied to the face?
By the time Michael returned to Paulette's room, she wore a face of severe disappointment. She wasn't stupid. She knew that a few minutes shouldn't have evolved into nearly an hour. What was Father's problem?
"Okay, sorry for the holdup. Let's take you in to see your mother." Paulette was lifted out of bed and gently set in the wheelchair. Then Michael knelt before his daughter while holding her hands. "Paulette, there's something I need to tell you."
Paulette's eyes glassed, knowing what would be heard next.
"Your mother has passed away..."
Paulette let out a cry. Forming intelligible words is unnecessary when expressing such deep sadness. All creatures cry; it's instinctive.
"I'm so sorry, Honey. I needed some time; please understand."
The wheelchair was rolled out of the bedroom, down the hall and into Mother and Father's bedroom. There on the bed lay the lifeless body of not only the girl's mother, but a best friend who kept Paulette living and feeling like a real person in all those years existing as a vegetable. Who would Paulette have now? Father certainly loved Paulette, but who would replace the person who loved her in only the way a mother could?
Chapter Four
Small, rural towns like Sillmac and Mapleview often carry over traditions from the days when immigrant settlers lived closely like family. In those days, farming, hunting, gathering and building homes were often community projects. Together, the community of olden times learned to survive in the harshest of conditions. In those days, people needed one another. Independence and a need for solitude were never an option.
And when a member of the community passed away, the entire town gathered for the funeral and then a dinner. Everyone brought a dish to pass around. You certainly wouldn't expect the grieving family to cook for the entire town! In those moments, love and a shared meal were needed.
In modern times, Mapleview and surrounding areas maintain the old customs of funerals. The entire town gathers for a funeral and then meets for dinner at either the church hall, or a reception hall. Of course no one expects the grieving family to provide dinner for the entire town! People bring a sizable platter of their family specialties, a potluck dinner.
There is one thing that the grieving family provides during the dinner. It’s an unusual tradition in which the grieving family orders bacon from the popular Saulmon’s Meats of Mapleview. Saulmon’s is a family owned business that has been passed down for many generations. Originally a shack in the 1800s that cured meats and butchered kill from a hunt, the business grew to what it is today and now operates in a modern storefront. Saulmon’s Meats continues to provide butchering services; but the current owner in 1994, Curt Saulmon, Sr.—his son to be next in line to owning and operating the business—added to the establishment so that it sold various sausages, ham, bacon and jerky.
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