Chapter 1: Lit by Candle Light

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Reads: 293
Comments: 1


 Our story begins in the 1840’s in England, where I was born. Father had just put us to sleep- us being my sister and me.  I was restless from our day at the carnival, and that’s where this all happened. Father, Mother, Emily, and I were in the buggy when the driver stopped to let us off on Ninth Street. I saw the great lights and the colors were so vivid, the candy apple reds and sea turquoises. Emily wanted to go to the carousel with Father and let Mother and myself go on the wheel. My mother’s fear of heights and of misplacing my sister overpowered the fight over Mother and Father. My sister went and sat on a bench as the rain began. We traveled back through the alley-way and called upon a buggy to retrieve its caravan of wet-coated, sloshy-booted passengers on their way to a small village home with no supper.

 When we were inside the home, our dog (a purebred German shepherd named Scotty) jumped onto my stomach and began begging for his treats. “Oh… sorry boy no treat,” I told him, “We didn’t get supper either because we went to the carnival today.” Scotty whimpered away, and Emily helped me. “Boy, Alexis you got Scotty upset,” Emily said mockingly to her brother. “QUIET EMILY,” I yelled at her furiously. “Alex, Emily, come to the kitchen! We have a surprise for you.” Our parents called us.  As we finally put our autumn coats away and took our galoshes off, we saw a small twinkle of light in

the kitchen - almost that of a candle in the street lamps leading to the library. The twinkle was a candle on our birthday cake. I said “our” because Emily and I share a birthday. We scrambled to get to the glimmer of light and ended up hitting our heads on the wall. “Watch it!” she says. “Be careful!” I complain. We got up and walked carefully into the dim room in unison.


  Mother and Father waited for us to straighten ourselves out. The spice cake Mother made was set on the ebony table. Every other year I got to blow out the candle and have the present. Emily said it wasn’t fair, but she is only nine - I wouldn’t expect her to think it was. I blew out the candle wished for a perfect birthday. They handed the present down to my seat, and I carefully unwrapped the magnificent parcel. “What’d you get! WHAT’D YOU GET!” Emily yelled franticly in the still light of the moon through the window. The light glistened off the metal of the Swiss Army Knife.

  I pulled it out and told her what it was. “OH MY GOD!” She was ecstatic for some reason or another. It was just a pocket knife, nothing new. Everyone she knew had one.

 She and I went to bed and just forgot about the whole thing.  Until 2:30 am that is. I was petrified by a scream and crash. “Hello? Anyone down there?” I shouted down through my door. No reply. Second by second, my heart sprinted and then seemed to skip a full minute of beats. I grabbed my new knife and crept out of the hazy room.  I feared the creaking of the rungs down to the hallway would startle the mysterious sound, and it would flee.

 I was correct. The apparition had fled. I lit the table lamp and was startled by the object on the floor. It was my own mother’s body and a bloody knife. The blood seeping into the wooden floorboards.

 I stepped back horrified by what I had seen. I ran to the police station as hastily as I could. I told them everything I knew. They hurried me along into the coach and sped off! 

 Just as we got back, the knife was right side up on the table and had a note on it. That was very peculiar, I thought. I took the note and got the police out of the coach.  The crime scene was as horrendously violent as the first time I had seen it. They took the body to the morgue and took my dad into custody.  Then they apologized for my loss.

 Emily (still being of no use) had begun to sob and weep and roused the whole vicinity. A discharge of violent, screaming anger and fury ran to the sad little room she called her “domain.”

 Emily was so distraught that not even a cake would revive the poor, demolished delight. My almost heart-attack shock made me senseless enough to knock on the door and ask her to open it. A ferocious scream of anger and what sounded like ‘GO DIE’ sent me back to my room.

 I removed the note from my pocket. It read “If you wish to continue to see your sister you will comply, Alexander S. Sanders,” and the letter was signed Jack in poor penmanship. As if a six year old had written the letter. Hmm… the letter, the murder, the mention of my sister what could this mean. What, What, What?! The questions burning, singeing inside my head. They ran and ran like small children in the peaceful meadow

near my father’s shop. The police, Emily, and I left to the police station and I had the bravery to talk to my father. I asked “Di-did mom h-have any ene-ne-mys?”

 “Only a man from college that she had a bad meeting with.”

 “Oh O-O-OK.”

 “If I can remember correctly his name was Jacob something, what was his name?’

 My father pondering the name gave me time to reflect on what went wrong that night. Nothing. Absolutely nothing from my perspective. The police opened the door to our home and we walked in then to my shock…there was no knife anymore just a blood stain on the wooden tiling of the kitchen and the table.

 Then I walked up the creaking, crackling set of sagging rungs and then Emily to my surprise ran out of her room and called my name.

 “What is it Emily?”

 “Alex! ALEX!” –she said.

 I walked in and saw her teddy bear hanging from the rafters by a noose.

 “He’s not lying. I can’t let him kill again.”

 “Who, Wait what are you talking about,” she questioned.

Submitted: September 17, 2014

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So I've seemed to start to regress, I've gotten less reads and less everything. I may die off soon. Sorry for the ones who liked my first writing of No Mouth, looks like the revisit isn't coming anytime soon.

Wed, September 17th, 2014 11:33pm

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