Souls by the Sea Read online



  Souls by the Sea

  Jessie G. Talbot

  About This Book

  Text Copyright 2016 Jessie G. Talbot

  All Rights Reserved

  Kidnapped and held for ransom in a dream-town by the Witch Next Door, Burlie McLauren must somehow fight her way back to reality. Her family, her beloved little sister, needs her. But Fisk Iping is powerful. He's sure no broken, helpless girl can beat him. He's wrong.

  Acknowledgements

  I'm grateful to the members of the Writer's Cafe on KBoards for their generous advice whenever needed and to Rachel Aaron for her brilliant 2k to 10k ebook which should be required reading for all writers. Thank you to my front-line team of editors and beta readers, especially Jean Anderson, T.L. Martin, and Samantha Armstrong. Most importantly, I appreciate the encouragement and support of my friends and family. Ya'll rock.

  Chapter intros and quotes are excerpts taken, gladly, from the following works and artists: Who has Seen the Wind? by Christina Rossetti, Antigonish aka The Man Who Wasn't There by Hughes Mearns, Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley, The Vagabond, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Autumn by Robert Louis Stevenson, Asleep in the Deep by Arthur J. Lamb, The Small Hours by Dorothy Parker, Autumn Sonnet by William Shakespeare, O Autumn by William Blake, The Monster Mash by Bobby 'Boris' Pickett, The Pirates of Penzance by Gilbert and Sullivan, Dracula by Bram Stoker, The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde, The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells, Apocalypse by Emily Dickinson, and Queen Nefertiti by an unknown poet.

  Dedicated to my own big sister, Billie Nell. I love you, pardner!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One - Autumn Fires

  Chapter Two - Skeletal Hands

  Chapter Three - The Wind

  Chapter Four - A Dream Within a Dream

  Chapter Five - The Girl's Life

  Chapter Six - Go Away

  Chapter Seven - All Fall Down

  Chapter Eight - Bare Ruined Choirs

  Chapter Nine - Consolation

  Chapter Ten - The Thunder Child

  Chapter Eleven - All the Daughters

  Chapter Twelve - Who Sleep Unwisely

  Chapter Thirteen - Injected Eyes

  Chapter Fourteen - Asleep in the Deep

  Chapter Fifteen - Another Dawn

  Author Info

  CHAPTER ONE

  In the other gardens

  And all up the vale,

  From the Autumn bonfires

  See the smoke trail.

  Sing a song of seasons,

  Something bright in all.

  Flowers in the summer,

  fires in the fall!

  The Summer's skin was a leathery brown and his dreadlocks were bleached by the sun. He was dressed in turquoise shorts and a pink t-shirt that advertised AUSSIE AUGIE'S SURF SHACK. Flip-flops slapped against the soles of his feet as he followed the girls up the hill. "This is a bit extreme, eh? Innit?" he asked them.

  Lydia McLauren looked behind her. She saw nothing but her big sister struggling along. Lydia hugged an orange garbage bag full of dried leaves close as she ran down to the safety of Burlie's shadow. "Do you hear somebody?" she asked.

  Burlington McLauren stopped and listened. She also had a bag, decorated with a grinning ghost, full of leaves but she dropped it as if it were an anvil. She was tall and she stood even taller as she looked around carefully at the neat paths, the faded silk flower arrangements, and the grey headstones. Nothing. The Well Deserved Rest cemetery was empty.

  Empty of people inclined to talk anyway. "No one here but the two of us," Burlie said and her raspy voice choked off. She cleared her throat. "You're not getting spooked, are you? It's broad daylight." She tightened the band pulling back her dark, crooked hair. "Broad, muggy, buggy daylight," she went on, wiping her forehead. "Ugh."

  It was October 31st and North Carolina was still a swamp. Usually the deep, Southern heat breaks in September but this year was a miserably hot exception.

  "Uuuugh," Lydia agreed and shot up the hill again.

  "Will you slow down, Speedy?" Burlie called after the little girl, picking up her bag again. "Gravity is not my friend, today."

  Lydia kindly slowed so her creaking sister could catch up. "And I'm not spooked at all, by the way," Lydia proclaimed to anything that might be lurking and she threw back what was left of her own hair. Lydia was too young to defend herself from her mother's cost-saving home cuts. Her blonde waves had been hacked into a mockery of a vintage bob and the strong bones of her face made her look like a dustbowl orphan. But she glowed with healthy energy.

  "I'm spooked," muttered the Summer. "This place is old and creepy." He jerked around as if something had tapped him on the shoulder. There was nothing there. He moved closer to the girls as they continued uphill.

  "I'm not spooked either," Burlie said to her sister. "I love graveyards."

  Lydia stared up at her. "Ew."

  "Don't 'ew' me, turd," Burlie said. "It's like a peaceful park. And there's history in here. All sorts of good stories."

  All of Lydia's stories started properly with Once Upon a Time so she had doubt. "What stories? They're all dead."

  "End of story," Burlie said, smiling. "No, there's more than 'So and So was Born on this Day and Died on this Other Day,'" she said. They were leaving the modern granite markers on the outer edge of the cemetery behind and entering a field of marble. These were covered with moss and worn almost illegible by the years. "Let's look."

  Burlie noticed the grave of a woman who died on April 12th, 1954. Beside her was a tiny marker that just said 'Baby' and a date, also April 12th, 1954. Now that was a story, but she decided not to mention it. "Look at these Egyptian dancers. Pretty, huh? It belongs to a history professor. And over here..." She pulled Lydia away from the naked girls dancing for their Pharoah. "This is a picture of a whiskey barrel. Here lies the county's greatest moonshiner. He died in a drunk driving accident. There's a shock."

  They passed the Middle East, the Vietnam, the Korean, and the WWII memorials. And there, just beyond the WWI remembrance garden, was a large and long mound of earth topped by a single statue of an angel. She wasn't standing tall. She was collapsed on the ground in grief, the feathers of her stone wings scattered, her head buried in her arms. Burlie struck out in the oppsite direction. "Over here is...Lydia! Over here."

  Lydia was patting the angel's hair and Burlie groaned as she walked over.

  "She's sad," Lydia said and looked up expectantly.

  Burlie cleared her throat again. "It's a sad...it's a miserable story, actually. You sure you want to hear it?"

  Lydia hesitated but the grief of the memorial was too compelling. "Um. Yes. I want to know." She hugged her leaf bag and it crackled.

  Burlie reluctantly faced the anguish. "Well," she began, "During World War One," Burlie began and considered how much history her audience didn't know. "Which was a huge war that happened a long time ago. Even before granddaddy was born."

  "Oh, wow," Lydia said.

  "But not too long ago," Burlie said. "There are old people alive today who were alive then and they remember."

  "And they told us. Okay." Lydia nodded.

  Burlie took a deep breath. "What they called the Spanish Flu killed millions of people all over the world."

  Lydia flinched with surprise. "The flu?"

  "Yes."

  Lydia shook her head. "The flu doesn't kill people."

  "It certainly does."

  "It didn't kill you," Lydia insisted.

  "No, I just felt like I was going to die," Burlie said.

  "You coughed and pooped at the same time," Lydia snickered. The Summer snorted.

  "Fun times, yeah," Burlie
said.

  There was a pause and Lydia's face smoothed as she studied the angel again. "Millions?" she slowly repeated.

  Burlie put it into perspective for her. "Half the people in this town died. So imagine if half the kids in your class just went away." That registered. Lydia's eyes went wide. "And they died so fast, and there were so many, that they couldn't be buried in their own plots. So most of them are buried here. Together."

  "A grave! This is a big grave?"

  "Yeah. And see?" Burlie led Lydia over to a large block of hard stone set an unobtrusive distance away. It was shaped like an open book and minute but clear script covered the pages. "Here are their names."

  Burlie lingered over the names. So many names. Entire families. "Marvin and Melisande Allhope and their daughters Mary, Martha, and Violet Allhope," she read and Lydia listened. All hope is gone, Burlie thought. "Rachel Bliss and her sons Rudyard and Randolph. Here's Ada Love Coldwater right by herself. Anzo and Ardo Dahl, thirty year old twins. And so on."

  And on and on down through the alphabet. So many men and women in their prime. The 'Spanish Flu' was notorious for targeting the young and the strong unlike other flus that took down the weak. But every family lost someone. Burlie didn't mention any of that and she didn't point out all the children who were Lydia's age. The poor girl was still wrapping her head around 'half your class is gone.'

  One name stood out at the top of the sad list. "Who's that?" Lydia asked, stretching up to point at it.

  "Sheriff Wallace James Piggsbee," Burlie read. "He's the hero." She ran her fingers across his name, wiping away the drought dust. "He was the sheriff of Souls by the Sea. He kept the town running when the mayor and the entire council died. He fought looters and helped the sick. And when everyone was overwhelmed he ordered this..." she almost said death-pit. "...this dug. And he was laid here, too, at the end. They say he died of exhaustion and not the flu at all."

  "Oh," Lydia was going wall-eyed.

  Time to deflect. Burlie turned away and said, "But if he knew how his descendant turned out we'd hear him spinning. Wally Piggsbee the Third or the Fourth, I don't remember. What a dork."

  "Dork, dork, dork Piggsbee!" Lydia repeated, brightening, and waved her arms around as if she were conducting. Piggsbee taught high school choir and Burlie not-so-cordially hated him. "Duuuh!" Lydia sang. "Dah duuuuuh dah!"

  Burlie had to laugh but she changed the subject again. "See what I mean about stories?" she said. She motioned to Lydia and they left the heartbreaking tribute behind.

  "Tell me some more!"

  Burlie didn't know much more so she made up some whoppers as they walked on. ("This is where a Sasquatch was spotted.") Past the Spanish American War memorial. ("We went to war with Spain when Teddy Roosevelt was dumped by a Flamenco dancer.") Past the Civil War memorial. ("Don't get Uncle Venedict started on that subject. Just don't.") Past the Batt Family Mausoleum with its domed roof and ionic columns. ("Sometimes you can see Greek gods up there. Yes, really. Would I lie?")

  They finally reached the oldest monuments on the top of Well Deserved Rest's crowning hill. Burlie looked around at the leaning, jagged slate slabs with carvings that were still crystal clear after three hundred years. She loved them. There were no sweet little lambs, schmaltzy poetry, or wreaths of roses here. These were hard remembrances for a hard people, desperate to claw a home out of a new, hostile land and in the mood to pass on one last moral lesson. Beware, some said. There were crossbones on others. Hourglasses. Scythes. Effigies of grim English colonists. The end is nigh. Here was a skull, carved in deep. Repent ye sinner. Thou'rt next to dye. Another skull with bat wings was carved on the stone of Egregious Error Taylor and Burlie smiled down at the name.

  All Lydia saw was the skull. She wasn't unnerved at all, of course not, and she took her big sister's hand to comfort her.

  Burlie squeezed it. "How about we come back when it's dark and have a ghost-hunt?" She rattled her spooky bag.

  She felt Lydia's hand grip hers a little bit harder. "Oh, yeah, that'd be fun," Lydia said. "Except it's closed at night." She smiled.

  "Well, hell," Burlie said. "We'll just have to settle for the Carnival at Bathatch Castle, then. Hayrides and hot donuts?"

  Now that was something Lydia could get behind. "Yes!"

  "Trick or treating?"

  "Ohhh, yes."

  "And then we come home and watch Godzilla movies until you fall asleep."

  "I won't," Lydia said.

  "You always do. Black and white horror is your lullaby." Burlie looked at her sister in clownish disgust.

  "I'll make it to the end tonight," Lydia vowed.

  "We'll seeeee," Burlie said and her smile threatened to fade but she firmly kept it until her little sister was distracted by something else. Lydia might make it but Burlie certainly wouldn't.

  The girls continued to the very tip-top, bags swinging, and the gnats were attracted to their sweat. "Before we do anything, though, we get rid of the damn summer," Burlie said, swatting the air.

  The Summer had lagged behind to fry an earthworm but at that he ran to catch up. Targeting Lydia as the weak link he bent down to whisper in her ear. "Oy. You don't want the summer to end, really? Remember all the fun? Digging in the sand, swimming in the blue water? Fishing. Sunbathing. Barbecue?" He hunkered closer. Lydia's nostrils twitched. She could smell the faintest hint of coconut oil. The Summer went on, "And then, then, when your eyes and mouth are all tired and burning from the salt and the heat and the sweat..."

  Lydia licked her lips and swallowed.

  "Ice cream," he whispered. "Homemade ice cream, you love it."

  "I don't want to give up ice cream, though," Lydia said to Burlie.

  Burlie cleared her throat again. It wasn't enough. She coughed. The short, sharp hack that made people turn and stare at her.

  "Hairball!" Lydia shouted.

  "Hairball," Burlie nodded. "We can eat ice cream year 'round. We don't need summer for that," she rasped.

  The Summer started to jog around and around them. "And your dad. He hates the cold. Can't grow nothin'. With his leg he can't get to a greenhouse. Can't even force bulbs. Poor man, sittin' there in the dark."

  "What are we going to do for Daddy's birthday this year?" Lydia asked. "Those lamps?"

  "Those lamps," Burlie agreed. "The natural light lamps, yes. Mopey McLauren is going to enjoy the winter for a change."

  "Maybe they'll help you, too."

  Burlie shrugged. "Worth a shot."

  "And your mum," Summer went on relentlessly. "Think how much money she'll save your poor aunt if she don't have to cut the heat on? Heat is bloody expensive."

  "Gah!" Lydia shouted. "Burlie, I hear somebody outside of my ears."

  Burlie took that in stride. "What're they saying?"

  "I dunno. When I listen I can't hear anything."

  "Weird kid, I'm telling you," Burlie said. Lydia claimed that Michaelangelo the Ninja Turtle was her boyfriend so phantom voices weren't surprising. "Don't worry about it."

  The girls reached the highest point in the cemetery, a small scenic area with two wooden benches and an aluminum garbage can staked to the ground. "This is the place," Burlie said and dropped her bag. She sank onto a bench to rest. Every muscle she had was sore. From just one good walk. That wasn't right. Or fair. "You'd think the air up here would be cool at least." She looked out over the rolling brown land and the low lake and pulled up her shirt to wipe her face for the fifteenth time. "Look at all that," she said, waving her hand. "What a disaster. Souls by the Sea was made for fall but look at it now."

  "Made for fall?" Lydia asked.

  "No, it isn't. It's on the coast," the Summer insisted. "Every coast is mine. Souls was made for me."

  Burlie waggled her fingers towards the far off glints of the ocean. "There's downtown Souls. And Plum Tree is that way." She pointed at the East road leading to Soul's little one-horse offshoot. "And here's Linger Lake right under us. Every last bit of
it is covered in trees. What kind of trees?" she asked Lydia.

  Pop quiz. "Maple," Lydia said.

  "Yes. And aspens. Birch, oak, pecans, that big, beautiful linden in our own front yard. Everything should be red and gold and beautiful. But noooo."

  "Noooo," Lydia repeated and both girls went silent.

  Poor, ugly Souls by the Sea. A hot drought followed by sudden hard rains had destroyed the fall foliage leaving nothing but a nasty brown mash that stuck to their shoes. Burlie went on. "I'd give a lot for a cool mist."

  "Yeah," Lydia agreed. She pointed at the distant shore of Linger Lake. "There's Aunt Wylie's house."

  "And she's making popcorn," Burlie reminded her. "With butter."

  "With cheese. Woot!" Lydia whirled and pointed towards Souls by the Sea. "And there's Bathatch Castle." Her eyes went wide.

  They couldn't actually see the castle from where they were but they gazed longingly in its direction. Oh, the Batt family's Tudor-style bonanza castle, with its romantic red brick turrets and towers. The girls adored it right down to its last twisted chimney.

  "We're going to the caaaastle," Lydia sang. "Carnival at the caaastle!"

  "It's only a model," Burlie said.

  "Huh?"

  "Nevermind."

  "Sand castles!" Summer shouted in her ear. Burlie didn't even blink. No part of her was attuned to any part of him and never had been. She loved being out of school but otherwise summer was nothing but sunburn, yardwork, sweat, mosquitos, and jelly fish stinging her on the face. "Sand castles on the beach," he still insisted. "That's what you want."

  "I want Autumn," Burlie declared. "How about you, Sis?"

  "Me, too," Lydia agreed.

  "Let's do this thing." She stood up.

  "Let's do it!"

  Burlie snapped her fingers. "Break out the leaves."

  Lydia began to tear into her plastic bag. Burlie spared a grateful thought for her Aunt Wylie who'd thrown last year's Halloween decorations onto a top shelf in her storage shed and forgot them. They were the only leaves in town. Autumn gold. "No, wait, break them out over here," she said and led Lydia to the garbage can. Burlie took the lid off, pulled a newspaper out, then hefted the half-full garbage bag onto the ground. She tied a careful knot in the top and moved it to the side of the closest slate, Master Ezekiel Grigg's marker, complete with a chiseled hand pointing heavenward. "You're number one, Zeke," Burlie said. "Here, hold this for us."

  "Dump them in, Burlie?" Lydia asked, standing on tiptoe to look down into the empty bin. It was smelly in the stifling air and there was a squashed juice box stuck to the bottom.

  "Not yet," Burlie said. She balled up the newspaper a sheet at a time and threw them in. The last ball...Burlie looked around carefully for witnesses as she reached into her pocket. No one in sight. The last ball she set on fire with a flick of a lighter. She dropped it carefully in. The girls watched as the paper caught and curled. The fire grew and their faces glowed with the light and the beginning of heat. The garbage reek was replaced by the sharp scent of burning paper. "Ready the leaves," Burlie commanded. Lydia brought out a double fistful of beautiful, crispy leaves and held them straight up in the air. "Just a few at a time at first," Burlie cautioned. "We don't want to smother our autumn bonfire."

  "Stop, I'm serious," Summer's wheedling cheer was gone. "It'll get cold."

  "To every thing there is a season, turn, turn, turn." Burlie's voice broke yet again and she turned her head away before her little sister noticed her expression. She rallied and turned back. "Throw 'em in," she said.

  Lydia slowly released the leaves and they drifted down into the flames. She watched them flare, she could just look over the rim, and began to bounce up and down. "Look!"

  "Come to us, Autumn," Burlie called.

  She was playing a game but she was also entirely sincere. She was more than ready for the fall. She picked up a handful of red, orange, and proper leaves. She packed and straightened them until they were comfortable in her hand and then she flicked them one by one into the fire with her thumb as if she were dealing out cards. "Oogie boogie," she chanted. "Boom shakalaka, give us the fall, please. It's October. It's past time." Sparks flew up into the air.

  "Abracadabra," Lydia said. Then, "What's a good fall song?"

  "I...I can't think of a single one," Burlie lied.

  "But you know all the songs," Lydia argued.

  "I do not," Burlie said.

  Lydia had a bad habit of not giving up. "How about a New York song? You know them."

  "No," Burlie snapped. She put a clamp on herself before she ruined the good mood. "I mean...how about a Halloween song?" Lydia agreed, bouncing again, and Burlie smiled as she began to sing. "'I was workin' in the lab late one night when my eyes beheld an eerie sight...'"

  Lydia beamed. "Mash!" She began to dance around the can, "The Monster Mash!"

  "'The monster on his slab began to rise and suddenly, to my surprise..."

  "He did the Mash," both girls sang as smoke began to drift into the air.

  The scent.

  The scent.

  It was a graveyard smash. The smell of burning leaves floated up and up and caught in their hair. Burlie lifted Lydia so they could both lean over the can to draw in the strong, warm smoke. "There we go. That smells perfect. That smells right." It certainly did. It smelled of cool nights and full moons. It smelled of gold and scarlet and russet. It smelled of ease and crackling fireplaces. It smelled of the merciful end of things, of sleep, and of rest.

  It smelled like summer was over. "And it is over," she said and no great queen sounded more sure. The long, weary summer was done. Burlie felt it, she believed it, and that brought a relief so strong it was as if a knife was slowly and cleanly pulled from between her shoulder blades.

  "I like that smell," Lydia said, and sniffed, sniffed, sniffed like a ferret.

  "Autumn. Bring us Autumn," Burlie demanded, putting Lydia down again. "Dry air, cool air, Orion in the sky, and clouds across the moon," she sang. "Boogedy boogedy, whatever happened to the Transylvania Twist?"

  "It's now the Mash!" Lydia chanted as she danced after more leaves. She didn't know what the Mash actually looked like so she just wriggled and whirled around the flames, throwing in leaves at random. Smoke and bright sparks rose to heaven.

  The faintest breeze began to blow.

  "Autumn has arrived!" Burlie greeted it and opened her arms wide, the smoke wreathing through her fingers.

  The Summer jumped up and stomped both feet so hard onto the ground that the strap on one of his flip-flops broke. There was a rumble of distant, ominous thunder. "No, no, NO!"

  "Yes," said a new voice.

  CRACK!

  The Summer fell to his knees. "Crikey." His eyes rolled up. He keeled over and was gone before he hit the ground, brushed away by the leaf smoke.

  In his place stood a man with auburn hair, skin like cream, and a heavy rock in his hand. He wore a long, rust-red coat over simple homespun and there were buckles on his belt, his shoes, and even his hat. He tossed the rock over is shoulder and smiled with real affection at the girls, though they saw him no more than they'd seen the other.

  Lydia was dashing for more leaves. The fire was burning higher on one end than the other. Burlie reached out to shake the can. "Ow," She snatched her hand back and blew on her palm. "That was smart."

  Her new friend rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms up, up, reaching for the blue October sky, as if he'd awakened from a long, deep sleep.

  He had.

  He brought his arms sharply down. The sluggish breeze strengthened and became a cool, dry gust of wind. It caught the smoke and sent it swirling. The humid air was cut into shreds.

  Burlie came to attention, like a hunter hearing a faraway horn. "Hey, feel that?" The wind fanned her red face. "Ohhh, feel that." She breathed in deep and blinked her eyes against the smoke's sting. "Lydia, we did it."

  Lydia stopped still and gawked at her.
"It's working?"

  Coincidence was no fun. "Of course it's working," Burlie said and Lydia shouted for joy. The flames were high enough to flicker over the rim of the can. "Let's dump it all in, the fire won't go out now." They did and the orange flames shot up even higher. The heat drove the girls further away.

  Lydia let the breeze give her a spin. "That feels good," she said and finally stood still. Then she looked up at her sister with a serious frown. "Did we really do it?"

  Burlie had a sudden fear that Lydia was going to start making weird claims on the playground so she reversed gears, "No," she laughed. Lydia pouted. "Sorry. Not even the strongest witch a hundred years old could do such a thing. It was pure accident." Then Burlie laughed again. A weak but definite laugh and she didn't know why.

  If she'd seen the Autumn almost doubled over with amusement she'd have understood. Now there was an affinity.

  Lydia laughed, too, just to keep her company.

  Burlie pulled herself together. The clean, fresh wind cut through, lifting the dank oppression of a season that had gone on too long. What was that song? 'Cruel Summer.' Cruel, long, hot, terrible, stinking of bubbling asphalt... She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. It was over now.

  The Autumn calmed and came closer to her on soundless feet. He looked down into Burlie's face, as if memorizing it. Then he smiled and took off his hat, his auburn hair blowing off his shoulders. He leaned in. There was the briefest, lightest stroke of his grateful lips on hers.

  Burlie's eyes popped open as she had the strange impression of being kissed by the scent of ripe apples. She touched her mouth as she looked wildly around. There was no one there. "Hello?" she whispered.

  The Autumn didn't answer. He took one last look at her. Then he put his hat back on and disappeared into the golden light of the sun.

  He had much to do.

  Burlie decided she was imagining things (lovely things) and gathered up what leaves had escaped. She tossed them in and the flames crackled cheerfully.

  As the wind blew down the hill and across the town the relief spread. Everywhere in Souls by the Sea the people looked up and sighed. Oh, feel that, they said. It feels like fall, finally. And someone's burning leaves. Who had leaves to burn? Who cares? That smells wonderful. That feels wonderful.

  Think we might make it now?

  Yes. Autumn is here. Autumn is here at last.

  "Fall," Lydia sang and spun like a top, her short hair whipping out. Burlie decided to give it a try, too, but her spinning muscles were weak and she tripped on her own feet. She lurched upright with a groan and Lydia pointed and laughed some more.

  A big, blond man stood up from behind Ezekiel's grave and the flames reflected red from his silver badge. "Boo."

  Lydia screamed.

  Burlie was impressed.

  "You're both under arrest," Deputy Thorson Ulric said.

  CHAPTER TWO