by S London
DECEMBER, 2001
“’Something isn’t right…’ he thought to himself, nervously tapping his finger on the floorboard as he glanced around every corner of the empty room in which him and his young wife had donned the guest
bedroom. A guest bedroom with no furniture, but the furniture wasn’t necessary anyway, for the newlywed couple didn’t ever have company. No one approved of their plan to marry and neither had any relatives that ever visited the United States. In fact, they had eloped to the United States to start their new lives together. So there, in the gigantic beach house, the couple lived, all alone.”
“They didn’t need any guests anyway,” said a plump red hair girl with a face full of freckles. Lack of self-esteem was evident in the way she carried herself and the attitude she had about everything. She stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth, munching noisily, then took a long gulp of her soda and took the book from the hands of her twin sister, Rachel.
“Roxanna, you’re tiny mind is missing the point.” The twin sister said, also munching noisily on a handful of popcorn.
“So he just left her there?”
“He had to. I mean, wandering around the city with a dead girl in your arms isn’t exactly something that can be overlooked.”
“True. And how would he explain it?”
“He found her and she followed him home?” Rachel suggested, jokingly.
“I wonder why there’s not more to the story.”
“There has to be... it can’t end there. We have to find the rest of it.”
“I don’t think there is a rest of it. Look how charred the back of this thing is, Rachel.” Roxanna turned the book over, exposing the black and flaky back half of the book. It didn’t look like there had been much more to it, the spine was only missing several pages, it appeared, but there was no way to be certain.
“I wonder if he ever went back for her.”
The plump red-haired girl’s mouth dropped open, to match that of her sister’s. Her face glowed with all traces of an idea.
“Oh my goodness... maybe she is still there!”
END BOOK ONE.
Are you confused? Is your mind driving you crazy arguing with your brain? If you answered yes, consider yourself lucky, consider yourself alive. The story continues – so be on the lookout for Abyssinia Estate: Book Two; full of more adventures, more unexplainable experiences, more vengeance; and more unveiling of this dark, twisted comedic mystery.
EXCERPT FROM BOOK TWO:
Abyssinia Estate: Book Two: Letter Tell My Story
Copyright S. London
* * * * *
In the middle of the cold, dark room sat a grubby child with dark eyes and tattered clothing. At the wall she stared, unblinking, with a face incapable of showing any real emotion. Behind her a mist was rising from the floorboards; this mist, dense and musty, crept along the length of the room, getting higher as it got closer to the girl. The girl didn’t notice; her gaze at the wall remained steady. She was frozen, both literally and figuratively, physically and mentally. She was a being of human proportion trapped in a human’s body but unable to function as such. She was a human being trapped in a room; hidden from the world; buried from existence.
Beneath the girl, protecting her thin and bare limbs from the cold floorboards was a brown burlap sack. It had been ripped to make it cover a larger area, its new length allowing the girl to curl up in a fetal position when sleep fell upon her, or if and when she favored a rest.
The mist that had crept from the floorboards was now becoming a thick, dense fog; the girl’s respiratory system was responding to the sudden change in the atmosphere. She coughed, blinked out of her daze, her dark eyes now surveying the room. Nothing but blackness; nothing but a dark, cold, empty room; nothing was all the child knew.
* * * * *
Downstairs a woman was darning a musty, turn-of-the-century tapestry she had received during her time of grief nearly 40 years prior. 40 years ago it was a new, beautiful piece of art that adorned the wall in the grand foyer of her grandfather’s mansion. Today - well today there was almost nothing left of it. The pattern had become discolored and stale, the edges frayed and soiled from years of accumulated dust, grime, and human contact.
“Leonardo, Leonardo. Das, Das, Leonardo, please come hither, my love.” The woman with the tapestry in her hand whispered. “Das, Leonardo, mi amour.” She continued to prod and stitch the poor, worn out tapestry in a rhythmic fashion, seemingly an expert at such handiwork.
In the next room the telephone rang. A young colored woman wearing a black dress and a white apron rushed to answer it, catching it on the fourth ring.”Si, Madame?” She spoke into the telephone after listening intently to the caller's requests. ”Oh my, my. Si, Madame. Gracias.”
Outside the sky was blanketed with thick gray clouds, the sun trying to peek through at random intervals. A storm was in the forecast but was taking its time approaching the East Coast. Nearby waves could be heard fighting against the wind, wrestling to hold their position in the ocean.
It was near high noon but the blanket of clouds could have you fooled into thinking it was time to turn in for the night. Madame Margaret much rather preferred this atmosphere than one plagued with bright lights and.. well, warmth, and life.
Yet Madame Margaret was full of warmth and life; she valued her existence and believed herself to be an important person in, and to, society. Perhaps she was... but no one had yet learned this about her, and it was highly unlikely they ever would.
Madame Margaret was one whom rarely left her home unless it was to run errands, which she precisely planned her schedule around and determinedly kept to it regardless what obstacles were thrown at her.
* * * * *
The woman swayed her hips along with the rhythm of the music blasting out of the stereo speakers. Her hips seemed to know every beat as it came, as if made to accentuate the blonde woman as the melody.
Thaddeus watched from afar, wishing he had the courage to talk to the woman with the swaying hips. His eyes were following the curls bouncing among her shoulders as she tilted her head from one side and then to the other. She was lost in the song and didn't notice that the attention of every other person in the room was locked onto her movements. So graceful was she, the county sheriff's daughter; Rosangela Crook was her name.
“God, I wish to know her someday.” Thaddeus puffed to the gentleman standing to his left.
“That's a wish in a well that does not exist, my mate.” The gentleman answered rather bluntly.
It was true. Rosangela Crook, daughter of the county sheriff, was off limits. Not just to Thaddeus, but to all gentlemen who came her way expressing interest. From what the gentlemen in town had gathered, Rosangela had been promised to a man five years her senior. Apparently this man was said to come from old money, and was a “sure thing,” which was enough to make him eligible to become Rosangela's suitor when she became of legal age.
“That man Crook is such a crook alright. Robbing his only daughter of a lifetime of life-changing experiences.”
“I wonder what she is like when she is not under her father's supervision?”
“I doubt even she knows what she is like without his watchful eye upon her at all times.”
Thaddeus and his friend scoffed and turned their attention toward Rosangela's father, who was guarding the back door of the gymnasium. He seemed to be just as entranced by his daughter's gracefulness as was the rest of the crowd.
Momentarily the music stopped and all eyes went back on those of their original date. Seconds later a new song was on; this time a slow song, requiring everyone to hold their date close. Thaddeus and his friend went back to their dates who had just returned from the restroom.
“What did we miss, boys?” A freckled-face red-haired woman asked casually.
“Besides the Crooks.” The other woman chimed in. Both women rolled their eyes.
“Well, besides that, nothing much. We're glad you two are ba
ck. It was awkward without you.”
“Agreed. Shall we dance?”
“Sure thing; come on, Teddy. Spin me around a few more times.”
“You too, Thad. Couple more then we need be on our way to dinner.”
Oh, shoot. Dinner. Dinner meant reservations. Reservations Thaddeus had yet to make; reservations that somehow slipped the mind of the eighteen year old.
A not-so-discreet nervous look flashed upon Thaddeus' face. For a moment he thought his date did not notice. But a moment later he was brought back to reality that he was on a date with a woman who did not miss a thing.
“You did make the reservations, did you not, dear?”
Thaddeus was not sure how to answer his date's question. He was analyzing the words of her question 'You did... did you not...,' he thought. He chuckled at how silly this phrase sounded. It was the wrong move.
“And just what is so funny? I personally do not find anything funny about this. This is just like you to do something like this Thad! You always ruin what is to be a good, enjoyable evening!”The woman scoffed, rather loudly, before storming off back toward the restroom. Her girlfriend followed, and ensured she sent Thad a glaring look of intent harm.
Thaddeus' friend let out a hearty chuckle and scoffed, more sarcastically than necessary, “Yeah, Thad, way to ruin an enjoyable evening!”
Thaddeus rolled his eyes, but smiled at his friend's joke. “Don't know what I'd do without you, brother. These women might have driven me to the asylum by now if not for you.”
“Mom was smart to have me, eh?”
“That she was, smart indeed.”
* * * * *
Abby sat against the cold wooden slabs of the attic's east wall, her knees against her chest. Her dark eyes surveyed the room but there was nothing on which they could focus. Blank wall here, blank wall there; blank floor everywhere. The only thing visible was darkness; a darkness that seemed to swallow Abby whole.
Outside the wind beat relentlessly against the window. The emptiness of the room allowed Abby's mind to wander, and this time it was wandering to a place she feared – a place darker than the room itself. The more she allowed this fear to consume her the more absent from reality she felt.
Abby was a young girl with tan-kissed skin; her once shiny black hair was now a dark matted mess; her once bright, hopeful eyes were now dark and hollow. A simple glance at Abby's cold, emotionless face was enough for one to sense despair.
With each passing day – or hour, for that matter – the life was slowly but surely draining out of Abby. Whether she knew it or not her appearance had changed drastically since she left her Ethiopian home and was shipped to America years ago. How she managed to sustain existence in her new life as a recluse might never be truly known, but one thing for sure it was not her choice. In contrast and contrary to beliefs of modern-day societies – or at least to the minds of modern-day citizens – Abby much preferred her life of “arrangements.”
To America it was not the way of life as life should be – it was far from the norm to the Northern American culture, which deemed it as abnormal and thus it was deemed inappropriate and unrighteous. But it was her life; it was Abby's life and it was a life. It was a constant; everything owed to her was rightfully appointed to her – but not now, not anymore. Not in America. Now she was someone's property, without proper arrangement but with slightly the same force. Now she was an asset to an individual's estate; an asset that would forever remain a part of the estate in which she was forced to reside.
But it was not all bad. Sure she was cold and hungry and empty and drained of life; but every once in awhile a glimmer of hope was shined upon her. Every once in awhile, though these times were few and far between, the young child was more than a mere asset.
END BOOK TWO SAMPLE.
Book Two of the Abyssinia Estate Series will be available summer, 2013.
Thanks for reading – feedback welcomed!