The Chronicles of Widget (Phoenix Rising)

by Angela Timms

  As he stepped through the slightly open door a voice made him jump. “What are you doing here imp?” Wizel bowed to the taller elf who stood in front of him. She was three times his height and nearly as tall as the kitchen cabinet. Her hair was plaited, her ears pointed, her eyes big and her dress tattered rags tied together to make clothing. “Greetings oh guardian of the house. I have come to fulfil a task set on me by the Red Queen.”

  The elf physically shuddered. “If Her Majesty wishes it then we will help. I can feel it is true, her mark is with you. So what do we have to do?”

  Wizel smiled. “I came with a record which must be played. It is a song which was recorded by a human artist but there is something in the words and music which will wake up the Weaver of Dreams. If mankind can dream again of magic then magic will return to the world.”

  The elf looked confused. “How will that help? Mankind is a selfish and opinionated race which disbelieves what is true just because they can.”

  Wizel coughed. “So you don’t like mankind much?” The elf smiled. “I don’t like what mankind has done to such a beautiful and magical world. I don’t like the chains and bindings of the mundane that keep us hiding in the shadows. I don’t like that mankind no longer fears the dark or respects nature’s ability to fight back. I don’t like it that nature can no longer fight back. I think you get the message.”

  Wizel smiled to himself. “So if the music is played and magic returns to this realm then all the Old Ways can return too. The magical creatures will awaken, the rifts will be open. Magic will be real again and no amount of using group disbelief will banish it again.”

  The elf smiled. “We must play the record.” In the darkness the owner of the house awoke. She looked around the darkened room and felt something she had not felt for a very long time. She could smell blackcurrants and there was a strange light in the room as three tall white people walked through the wall.

  She smiled. “Am I dreaming?”

  They bowed their heads and the first one spoke. “Are you sleeping?” The woman looked up. “I was. Am I still sleeping? Am I dreaming?”

  They smiled in unison. Then one spoke. “Do you remember us?”

  The woman nodded her head. “It has been years. Was I dreaming then? Am I dreaming now?”

  “In this world there is a boundary between dream, illusion and reality. We cannot be physical but we need to speak with you. This is important. We need you to go to your shed, open your mother’s record tin and bring down a record. We would like you to play the record. We would like you to go to the TAVERN tomorrow and pick up the key your father used to own that you have kept in a wooden box. Pick it up and put it back on its hook. We must go now but do these things for us.”

  The woman sat up in bed and her bare feet touched the cold wood of the floor. She slipped her feet into her slippers and slipped on her silken gown and walked downstairs. Her partner was still sleeping, he had not been awoken by the creatures, his head was firmly under the covers.

  She walked downstairs accompanied by Teal, her faithful hound and unlocked the front door. She put on her boots and coat, then stepped out in the chilled moonlight night and walked as if in a dream to the shed where she found the record in the silver tin.

  She carried it back to the house, carefully but bemused and opened the big wooden stereogram that her mother and father had played their records on so often and turned the big round knob which turned it on. It sprang into life with a loud electronic sound as the power ran through it and the light of the radio illuminated the room.

  She selected 78 and put the disc onto the bar which stuck up from the turntable, pulled the arm across and flipped the needle on the record player arm over to 33rpm. Her fingers hesitated for a moment on the plastic switch then she pulled it towards the front of the gram, felt the resistance as it clicked the machine on and let it slip back into place.

  The turntable revolved. The arm of the stereogram picked up, the automatic bar let the disc drop and the arm swung across and settled the needle into the groove.

  The music filled the air, the room and the world. It reached out and touched every part, every dark cave, every nook and cranny, searching. Every place where magic lay hidden and buried it touched and woke it up. It arose as a silent crescendo and filled the world with its magic.

  A Weaver of Dreams by Nat King Cole filled the air. It filled the senses of all who had senses to fill and at that moment everything changed but nothing changed. The world was still the same, people were still the same, well they looked the same but inside them something reawakened.

  All around the world people began to dream. They dreamed good dreams of hope and creativity. They dreamed of people lost to them now and the advice they had given. They awoke with pride in themselves and in what they could achieve.

  In the morning those who dreamed set forth to make those dreams a reality. I found the same record in the silver tin beside the stereogram. I then found out that two of the pixies in the band were not androids. One of them is the pixie Wizel and he now lives in the shed with his own furniture but he still visits the rest of them. I have written about it as it is important that you know. I have a feeling it Wizel’s adventure is the first of many adventures we are all going to have.

  I remember the dream so clearly. I thought to myself. “So, I have the stereogram and I have the record. I could play it like it was played in the dream.

  I could wonder if it was the right thing to do but I’m a Frixian, I can’t resist it.

  So I’ll play it.” I climbed off of my chair and pulled aside the fire guard which keeps us clean and safe from the dogs. I ran quickly across the room, casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure that the door to the upstairs was safely shut. I always do that part quickly as I don’t want one of the dogs to mistake me for a toy. It was shut.

  I remember it quite clearly, I lifted up the lid of the stereogram and turned it on. It made the loud sound it always made when it was turned on and I froze, hoping that Teal hadn’t heard me, especially now that I knew who he really was.

  All was quiet.

  So I took the record, lifted the arm back, put it on the peg, put the arm back and flipped the switch so it turned on. It spun and the record dropped. It played. The music filled the air and just as it had in her dream it filled the world with magic.

  Somewhere in a cave in North Wales, under Dynas Emrys, something stirred. Something woke up. In the cavern a woman lay on a table in a glass coffin. The coffin was surrounded by eternally living red roses which grew out of the stonework. Her lips were as red as the roses. Her face was young and her dress was hand sewn from deep red velvet. Her eyes were shut until the music filled the cavern.

  She opened her eyes and reached up and pushed the lid off of the coffin. It was hinged and opened easily. She sat up and looked around the room, her eyes blinking as candles lit around her. She pulled herself up and got to her feet, stepped over the side of the coffin and jumped down onto the dusty floor. Her tiny red satin ballet shoes becoming instantly covered in dust.

  She looked around and she felt the magic filling the air and she heard the music. Music that hadn’t been played for a very long time. She staggered slightly, her legs weak. She felt dizzy and sick after so many years asleep. Then she remembered, she was the Weaver of Dreams. That was her job, what she did and who she was.

  She whispered though she knew there was nobody there to hear her. “I am the Weaver of Dreams. I call on you dream mares, come and take my dreams to those who need them.”

  There was a moment when she wondered if things had changed but her call was answered by the thunder of hooves. Horses appeared everywhere. They came through the walls, leapt down from the ceiling and came up through the floor. The dream mares were made of smoke. They drifted and shifted and circled her. She put her hand out and the nearest mare nuzzled it with her velvet nose. Her coat was pure white, not a grey or black hair in sight. The mare to her right was a steely grey. The mare to her le
ft jet black.

  The white mare bowed her head and then shook it. The mares turned with their backs to her and waited. Their backs sprouted feathered wings and their hooves small wings and they stamped and pranced, waiting impatiently.

  The Weaver smiled. “My friends, I have been asleep a long time. I can’t remember what to do.”

  The head mare turned and faced her, she reached her head forward and put her nose on the Weaver’s shoulder.

  It was quiet, all she could hear was the drip, drop of water dripping. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve forgotten.”

  The mare shook her head and stamped her foot. “I will try to remember.” She looked around the cavern and saw a wooden goblet standing in an alcove on the wall. “Is that important?”

  The mare nodded her head and looked at the goblet. The Dream Weaver stepped towards the goblet. Her legs nearly gave way beneath her as she had been sleeping so long. The head mare was there beside her. Walked beside her and helped her to walk across the stalagmite covered floor to the goblet.

  She reached for it, it was empty. She turned and noticed the stream which ran through the cave. She then looked at the goblet. “Well I suppose I could put the water in the goblet that might be a start.”

  The water was icy cold as she scooped it from the stream. It sparkled as the fresh spring water filled the goblet. It seemed to glow. It enticed her and she took a deep breath and took a long drink of the water from the goblet.

  Then she remembered. She opened her hand and touched each of the mares before they leapt forwards and disappeared through the walls.

  Through the morning they galloped, finding all those who were still asleep. The rest circled their charge until it was time for them to sleep that night so that they could deliver their dream.

  That night everyone dreamed. The night air was full of it. I saw all this as an image when I closed my eyes. I feel like I know. I feel like The Weaver of Dreams is an ancient dragon who creates and sorts out the dreams which she then gives out to those who are asleep.

  I can only hope that she will help us too. I think that things are happening and they are going to happen more and more. Bringing magic back to the world would be wonderful. Giving people magnificent dreams of ethereal creatures will be equally wonderful.

  I’m now sitting here typing and wondering what will happen next. What I have seen has changed me. There is something in the wind, I can smell it. The dull and stinky smell of Goblians, our old enemy. They are nearby but they cannot touch us here. Well at least I hope not.

  I hadn’t forgotten them, I had just chosen to ignore them but I do know that they are everywhere. Not here of course as we have magic on our side. But I don’t know how long that will last.

  If the scent is on the air then they will be nearby. That is a sobering thought. But, we have The Weaver of Dreams now. She will know what to do and she will send us dreams.

  All we can do is dream when all but dreams subside. This world may be dark but with hope, who knows?

  Insert chapter four text here. Insert chapter four text here. Insert chapter

  5

  PART 2: MAYHEM ON THE VALE OF RHEIDOL RAILWAY

  ALL ABOARD THE GHOST TRAIN Why does time go so slowly when you want it to go fast and fast when you want it to go slow? Today we wanted it to go fast so that we could get out on our trip. The tickets had been bought ages ago so we didn’t miss out and Gadget had checked the receipt almost daily to make sure it wasn’t lost. Now it was packed in Angel’s handbag and our basket sat there on the table waiting for us to get in and go on our great adventure.

  It is Halloween today and again the year has passed by so quickly. It is a time for reflection but this year we have all decided to do something positive towards building a future. We can’t wait forever for things to change and they won’t change unless we make them. This is the first step.

  I’m very excited as it does involve me. I visit somewhere, meet interesting people and then we write stories like this one. This is our first working adventure where we will go on the Railway so that we can write about it. I think that is a fabulous idea and Gadget does as well. We can get to meet people and they can meet us. Of course as they do not know about Frixians we will have to do this as puppets but we can still see what is going on and we can also communicate with Angel so she can ask any questions we want to ask.

  Angel came home from a shopping trip. She put the shopping box on the table and swung her shopping bag onto the table. It bounced slightly and came to rest on the glass tabletop. Niall came in with another box and put that one down too and they set about putting the shopping away. Widget was watching them. Inanimate, but still able to see what was going on.

  When the shopping had been put away Angel pulled a purple dress out of the bag and a red one for Gadget. “Well my little friends, you are going on a great adventure. Every adventure needs special clothes and I hope that these will fit the bill.” She pulled the clothes off of the puppets and replaced them with the new ones she had purchased from the recycling shop.

  Niall looked on, watching what she was doing and nodded his approval when the puppets were dressed and looked at their best. “Looking good.”

  Angel smiled. “Yes, I hope so. I wouldn’t want them to look shabby on their first trip out to meet people. I hope these dresses will be ok. Well, at least they fit.”

  I looked up at Angel and would have smiled if I could. Later that day I was sitting on my chair with Gadget in their little hideaway under the stairs. I was dressed in my new dress, my tiara was in place, my hair was brushed and I was ready to go. Angel left the room and I brushed down my dress. I looked around the room and spotted a cuddly dog watching me. It was an inanimate object, no Frixian in there but I turned and faced it and addressed it. “Angel and Niall are taking us on the Vale of Rheidol Railway. We are going on a Ghost Train. I can’t believe it, I’m going out into the world and I’m going to be able to see lots of people in one place.

  Now, pardon my ignorance but if it is a Ghost Train would we have to be dead to go on there? How can a Ghost Train work? Surely the passengers, being dead and all, wouldn’t be able to pay for a ticket.

  So I looked it up on the magic box that tells me stuff. Angel’s laptop is a real source of amusement for me when she goes to bed. It isn’t a train of the dead, it is a train dressed up in celebration of Halloween. That sounds fun and less terminal.

  The Railway is what they call a narrow gauge and the engine is powered by steam. Someone in the front has to put coal in a box which makes heat, which makes steam, which makes pistons move, which moves the wheels, which pulls the boxes, which gets people where they want to go. Ok, that I understand now.

  Once a year they decorate their train and people can go on it and be scared. If we aren’t too scared to eat they will give us a hog roast when we get to the other end. Now that sounds good. I bet I don’t get any though.

  How can a day take so long? I’ve been sitting here waiting to go all day. My costume is ready, so is Gadget’s. Her dress is red. My dress is purple. This is so exciting.

  The time went slowly, the day passed and once Angel and Niall had gone out and seen that the animals were fed, watered and tucked in safely everyone could concentrate on getting ready. Then time went really fast.

  Tick, tock the racing clock and it was time to be going. Time was of the essence. Time was now ticking far too fast even though it actually ticked no faster and slower than it ever did. It just felt like it.

  Sarah was visiting. She is a friend I first met when she visited for Christmas a few years ago. Now she visits occasionally still and Halloween and the Ghost Train are one of those times. She has been in her room getting ready and emerged looking very elegant in her long blue dress.

  Now that the animals were fed we could all get ready too and that meant that we had a quick dash to get to the railway before the train left without us. That would be awful after waiting so long to go. It had been months since Angel had bought the
tickets, now we were going to get to use them, if we got there on time.

  So we all got into the car. Sarah was driving and it was her car. She put the key into the lock and turned it and the car pulled away. Cautiously at first, it was dark and she was not used to the terrain. The car streaked through the darkness. Green leaves and trees and fields flashing past. It was dark so I couldn’t see much.

  White fluffy sheep looked up lazily and contemplated us with a combination of curiosity and boredom once they realized we weren’t going to hurt them. They had seen cars before and they weren’t going to leave their grass to run around pointlessly.

  The road streaked out in front of us, captured in the headlights. Nobody was about, it was as if the whole world had been abducted by aliens. It wasn’t that late, it was just late in the year so it was dark early. There were no cars on the road and nobody walking around. The rain fell and the tyres turned at a reasonable speed on the damp road.

  Lights were on but who knows if anyone was home. What if a Zombie Apocalypse had happened and we had missed it? Meeting Zombies on the road would be inconvenient as they don’t move fast and they would get in the way. What a strange thing to be thinking as well. It must be the time of year, the Halloween bug. The road rolled on, but still no people. Were they all on the Railway and as we were late and probably the last were we going to be left behind?

  I haven’t been out before but I would guess that we were taking the road they always did. It twisted and turned, on and on. It seemed to take forever even though it was only about twelve miles. On and on we drove and I was worried that we’d miss out. Our car pulled into the car park with four minutes to spare but we weren’t there yet. We had to get out of the car and get to the train. It was raining of course so as well as our basket we were carried in, our keepers had to cope with umbrellas and dresses and cloaks and wet pavements and not knowing where they were going.

  They didn’t run, they walked as we had a minute to go. The train was still there, so we were going to go on our trip.