by M. J. Mallon
I shook my head. ‘I haven’t got the key, Mum. I promise.’ The lie pricked my conscience as if I’d just been stuck by a rose thorn. I hated lying after Mum had bared her soul to me, but I couldn’t help it. Right now, lying was a necessary evil.
Mum shook her head in disgust. She had to guess I was lying, but she gave me the benefit of the doubt. Shadow knew I’d won. He preened himself, his tongue licking his shiny black fur in readiness for the coming battle.
The spirit had given me the courage and determination to accept my abilities and stamp out the curse. I knew I would not let anything stand in my way. I could do this.
Puzzle Piece 38:
The Bloodstone
They say that it’s true,
Blood is thicker than water,
About to find out,
If wizard stone can pummel,
Dad’s curse into submission.
While Mum showered, I crept back upstairs into Dad’s study and polished his guitar until it gleamed. It glowed with a warm intensity. I traipsed downstairs and hid the guitar in the cubbyhole at the bottom of the stairs near the front door.
A short time later, I heard Dad making his way down the stairs. Seizing my chance, I pulled the guitar from its hiding place and walked towards him. Today, as always, he looked pale and thin, deprived of sunlight and sustenance. The clothes he wore hung on him as if they were a physical manifestation of his daily suffering.
Dad’s eyes alighted upon the guitar. He turned the other way, struggling to get his emotions under control. He sneaked another peek at the object of his desire. The expression on his face said it all, and I imagined a painful furrow slicing into his heart.
Dad tore his eyes away from the guitar, cleared his throat and drew out his trembling voice. ‘Amelina, how could you?’ A long, drawn-out sigh slipped from his chapped lips. ‘My study is off limits to you! What have you done? Put the guitar back, right now.’ Dad staggered and reached out to grab the wall to balance himself.
‘Play it for me, Dad.’ I ignored his request to return the guitar to his study. He’d said guitar as if he hated the instrument and it didn’t belong to him, but it did.
Dad fiddled with his collar like it was a tourniquet tightening around his neck. When his muffled voice spoke, he resigned himself to failure. ‘I can’t do that, Amelina.’
‘Why not, Dad?’
‘You wouldn’t understand if I told you,’ he replied, his face paling.
‘Try me.’
‘Let’s say I have an, um… addictive personality. I find it hard to put it down when I play.’ Dad bit his fingernails.
‘Take control of your desire, Dad. The guitar is crying for you to play it.’ I held the instrument out to him and beckoned for him to follow me.
Dad’s shuffling steps followed me into the lounge. I had a plan and had stuck the bag holding my crystals into my jeans pocket earlier, ready to battle Dad’s demons. I didn’t know which crystal to try first, but I sensed the Wizard Stone was the one. Leanne’s advice flooded into my brain, and I heard her whispered voice explaining the properties of the Bloodstone. It’s a powerful cleanser, a binding force in family love, and a powerful tool in weather magic. I knew to place the Bloodstone crystal on the coffee table, on top of a cushion I had grabbed from the settee to protect the stone.
The gem began to speak in a booming voice that rushed through me like the blood of life. ‘A blood child is received and stands before her sixteenth birthday. Rejoice, all will be well.’
My tears flowed freely. The Bloodstone had claimed me as the one it was waiting for. I celebrated the comforting words, knowing deep in my heart I could save my dad.
‘This crystal is the stone of courage, Dad. It will help wash your anxieties away. This magical stone will let the guitar be a part of our family life once again. It will rid you of the curse.’ I pointed to the stone and watched my dad’s response.
An intense light of desire glowed in Dad’s eyes. He stared at his guitar and licked his lips. His fingers reached out and tentatively touched the wooden frame. Dad blinked, frightened to let the overwhelming emotion in, but he did. His eyes filled with the dancing light of harmonies he’d long forgotten.
Dad grinned a tender, sweet smile. Moving over to the settee, he placed the instrument on his lap. The guitar nestled close to his chest as if it belonged there. The wood shone and warmed to his touch. I could see the expression of desire on his face, and his desperate need to play was apparent by the shaking of his hands. The first chords he strummed were silent. A haunted expression crossed his face. I imagined the ghosts of his past music floating around him, jeering, and goading him to play.
‘I have no desire to play the music of the dead,’ he said, confirming my thoughts.
‘Dad, move closer to the Bloodstone.’
He put down the guitar, and leaving his past ghosts behind, he stood up. He hesitated and picked up the Bloodstone and held it in his hand. I walked over to him, and we held the Bloodstone together, clasped inside our joined hands. The crystal glowed, and the blood-red colour flashed around the room, shining like a pulsing heart. We both felt a tremor of hope wash into the room.
As Dad stood there transfixed by the luminosity of the Bloodstone, I witnessed a change in him. The spooks of his past sorrow dispersed, terrified of the pulsing, blood-red heart that rushed through their cold, broken spirits. An intense power flowed into his soul, rejuvenating him. Dad’s shoulders lifted, and his face softened. His fingers moved and came alive.
The notes of the guitar filled the room, yet no one had touched the strings. The sound reverberated as if playing from a distant long forgotten shore. The melody rang out, a tune full of anger, fear, and reproach. By the sound of the melancholy tune, I wondered if the guitar was punishing Dad for deserting it.
Dad began to play, strumming long-forgotten notes. The more he plucked at the strings, the more he wept, tears of frustration cascading down his cheeks. Absorbed by the controlling power of the instrument, a fearsome fight to win began. Dad’s fingers flew fast and furious. His chords thrashed until his fingers bled.
When I’d almost given up hope, Dad’s body language changed. His eyes fixed on the Bloodstone, and I saw his pleading look as if he was asking for forgiveness. The crystal answered his pleas, and a sense of calm washed over him. His playing slowed, allowing the bleeding to stop.
Dad appeared like a dead man jolted back to life by an immediate life-giving transfusion. Maybe the Bloodstone had filtered his blood. I didn’t know for sure what had happened, but I knew a new man sat before me. Dad’s hands were no longer driven by a misguided force. Instead, he strummed the guitar with great tenderness and love.
Dad and I shared this moment together, my father playing, me listening. It was a brief respite in time, yet it seemed to last an eternity. After he finished playing, he gently placed the guitar down. When Dad spoke, his voice choked from years of suppressed emotion.
‘Amelina, thank you so much, I feel alive once more.’
I hugged my father close for the first time in years. No longer a stranger, my much-loved father had returned. He cried great, wracking sobs, and I did the same. At that exact moment, Mum walked into the room, and her hand flew to her mouth when she spotted us. Her eyes travelled from the Bloodstone to the guitar, then back to Dad and me. Dazed, Mum struggled to comprehend what had just occurred. Nervous, she ran her fingertips over the length of the mantelpiece.
‘Immaculate, just as you like it,’ she said in a faraway voice as if she was still a child speaking to her mother. Staring at her hands, she addressed her long-dead mother. ‘Look at your handiwork; my hands are so rough and dry.’ Mum opened her mouth to say something then decided against it. She walked to the table and picked up the Bloodstone and turned it over in her hand. The Bloodstone shone and hummed, radiating joy. A serene expression descended upon her face as she glanced at the Bloodstone. ‘See, my hands are fine, no longer rough and dry.’
Dad and I had st
opped crying by then. Our mouths gaped at Mum’s admissions and her recent transformation. We looked at each other and then back at Mum.
Without another thought, Mum placed the Bloodstone Crystal back in its place on the cushion. She had a smile on her face and skipped over to the magazine rack, where she grabbed a neatly folded newspaper. She struggled for a moment as if she was unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, Mum ripped the paper to shreds and scattered it on the floor. A wild expression settled into her eyes, and she reached for the wastepaper basket. In one swift movement, she tore and threw the contents up into the air. On cue, Shadow sauntered into the room. His whiskers twitched in excitement when he saw the mess. He went amok. The cat played like he was a kitten again, attacking those torn papers and wrappers.
Mum spun around and shifted, rearranging her lounge. I gazed in wonder at the expression on her face. I had forgotten that look—such abandon. Mum and Dad turned and caught each other’s eyes. They roared with laughter, and I joined in too. The slumbering house spirits awakened and released a thousand emotions within us all. Our humble abode appeared to share in our happiness, and an abundance of sunlight poured into the lounge from the bay windows, illuminating everyone with a liberating joy.
It was then that I heard the faint sound of clocks ticking. What a wonderful sound it was. Running around the house, I checked each clock in turn. The ticking became louder and echoed throughout the rooms. The clocks were working again and shedding layers of imaginary dust with each passing second. I couldn’t believe it. I had just witnessed a perfect moment. I watched my parents in stunned silence. The steady, ticking rhythm of the clocks announced that life as we knew it had been restored.
Both of my parents’ faces were bright and flushed. The paleness had now disappeared, replaced with the healthy glow of those among the living. Mum’s hands flew to her cheeks, and she rushed to the mirror. A warm glow shone from the centre of the glass casting a brilliant beam of light in her direction. A different reflection stared back. Mum’s face appeared smooth again, her lips full, her eyes bright and shining. Dad looked renewed. He dashed to Mum’s side and put his arm around her waist. His withered looks restored to a youthfulness that nobody could have ever imagined if they hadn’t witnessed it themselves. I smiled. It was the kind of grin that travelled from my lips, up to my eyes, and back again. I joined Mum and Dad at the mirror and knew my smile shone with Krystallos light.
Puzzle Piece 39:
Epilogue
Even if we’re free,
Perhaps we’re all prisoners,
This is no ending,
There may never be—who knows?
Patience and time will answer.
I ran upstairs to my bedroom, eager to share the good news with Esme about the curse’s demise. Esme remained in her regular spot, stuck behind the glass. She beckoned, and I approached the mirror. Esme glared at me with a worried expression on her face. I waited for her to speak. ‘He’s playing with you, a cat with his prey. He won’t dirty his own hands with stealing your crystals. You wait and see.’
She hesitated for a moment, and then her tiny hand slipped out of the glass. She didn’t look too happy, as her hand only extended so far. It dangled like a lost limb.
She swore.
In the far corner of the mirror, I thought I recognised a reflection. At first, it blurred and smeared as if I’d just rubbed my fingers across the glass. Then it became apparent. It was the grasshopper of the Corpus Chronophage clock like I’d never seen him before.
The grasshopper now dominated the full width and height of the mirror, his eyes gleaming red like two devil’s torches. He smirked, apparently amused by Esme’s inability to free herself. She saw him smirking. Terrified, Esme pressed harder against the glass, creating a pattern of hazy condensation filled fingerprints.
A beam of light shot from Esme’s fingertips, releasing a sparking fire that grew within the grasshopper’s eyeball. The creature morphed into an enormous whirlwind of red heat, and its eyes exploded into smouldering pupils of smoke-filled shadows. The grasshopper’s golden eyed shutters opened and closed with a mechanical clanking sound until with one last motion a crack formed across the mirror.
With a great burst of energy, Esme tumbled out through the opening; a dappled shadow traced its way across her face. One minute she was standing next to me with this anxious smile on her face. The next second, Esme vanished. She had suffered bound to the mirror, saved whilst on the verge of dying from her self-harming wounds, but that was now history. Esme’s prophecy regarding Ryder had disturbed me, but I was so glad she had found her freedom. But where had Esme disappeared to? I couldn’t believe she’d left before sharing a hug with me or joining in with our family celebration.
Shadow meowed and stared into the mirror. The grasshopper blinked. One smouldering eye opened, revealing the silhouette of the two young men who had frightened me down the river path. Both of the grasshopper’s eyelids closed tight, locking Will and Mitch’s shadows into the clockwork dungeon of his eyes. When he reopened his eyes, I saw Will and Mitch at a party, in the future, laughing and joking with everyone, as if they were my dear friends who might help me fight against evil. Then the clockwork dungeon opened again, and this time I saw Kyle. The dreadful sight made me gasp in shock, a foreshadowing of some terrible episode still to come. In this foreshadowing, I lay sprawled across the floor, and Kyle tried his utmost to rescue me from a dreadful illness that racked my prone body. I witnessed Kyle imploring Ryder to help me. Kyle’s kind green eyes were moist with tears. A scowl drifted across Ryder’s face; he ignored Kyle’s pleas but answered me with these chilling words: ‘I cannot help, nor do I want to. Unlike my friend Kyle, I have a shadowed heart. I am not whole, and I am not kind.’
I blinked and returned to the present. The sound of clocks ticking continued. Shadow stretched and arched his back. The cat didn’t make a sound or preen himself. He sat, watching the empty space that Esme had occupied. I glanced away for a second, and when I turned back, the grasshopper had vanished, taking the truth with him, leaving my mirror with a giant crack etched into the glass.
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Acknowledgments
First of all, a huge thank you to Dr John C Taylor, OBE—the inventor of the Corpus Chronophage clock for permission to use his photographic images of his incredible chronophage and grasshopper in my book and blog: http://www.johnctaylor.com/
Cambridge Writers and SCBWI — The Society of Children’s Writers and Book Illustrators — have been such a wonderful source of help and support.
The blogging community have been awesome. It has been fantastic to ‘meet’ so many supportive bloggers both on-line and in person. Particular thanks go to awesome authors Colleen Chesebro and Debby Gies (Author D G Kaye,) Sally Cronin, Ritu Bhathal, Adele Marie Park, Sally Cronin, Richard Dee, Lizzie Chantree, James Cudney, Sarah Northwood plus many more too numerous to mention.
I’d like to say a huge thank you to author Colleen Chesboro who has gone beyond a beta read to a full-scale developmental edit with the original version of the manuscript. I owe her a massive debt of thanks.
A big thank you to my friends and family for your encouragement, love and support. Particular thanks go to my mum and dad for reading my less than perfect early drafts, to my bookish daughter Natasha for her enthusiastic beta reading, and to my youngest daughter Georgina for her fabulous suggestions about character names.
I’d like to mention the kind help of my first draft beta reader, author Graeme Cumming: http://www.graemecumming.co.uk/ A sterling bloke who helped m
e take my first steps out of my early draft muddle!
Thank you to authors Rachael Ritchey and Jack Eason for their considered and helpful edits following on from reading an early copy: https://rachaelritchey.com/ and Jack Eason’s blog: https://havewehadhelp.wordpress.com/
Thank you to artist Carolina Russo for creating wonderful artwork for two of my characters: Esme and Eruterac, the Creature. You can see these and discover more about Carolina on my blog: https://mjmallon.com/2018/09/16/a-huge-welcome-to-artist-carolina-russo-art-music-nature-creativity/
Thank you to my husband David for his generous financial support, and continued hard work funding the family, without which I would not have had the time to devote to this novel. Thanks to my sister-in-law Lorraine Mallon for her advice on artistic aspects and her guidance about developing the mirror girl, Esme, who has since become one of my favourite characters!
Self-Harm Disclaimer and Help
Disclaimer: This novel does not encourage or endorse self-harm; on the contrary it hopes to facilitate discussion. Mental Health issues should never be hidden. There is no shame in being depressed, or anxious. Sadly, self-harm is a growing problem in our young:
https://www.selfharm.co.uk/get/facts/self-harm_statistics
https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/self-harm/
https://www.selfharm.co.uk/
https://www.nspcc.org.uk/preventing-abuse/keeping-children-safe/self-harm/