andcastle Dreams
(Originally titled Land of the Misbegotten)
By Mark Holtzclaw
"For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face." ~ 1 Corinthians 13:12
Copyright 2013 Mark Holtzclaw
ISBN: 9781301088430
March 10
Dear Journal,
It's been two days since I arrived here. And where is here… this desolate strip mall on the edge of nowhere? With not another human in sight, I found sweet salvation in this blank journal. The journal, like this strip mall was empty and waiting for someone to come and fill it with life.
So here I am, with ballpoint in hand, beginning a new life at the end of the world. Looking out this window at a slice of ocean and a piece of sky; facing west. To that metal serpent that once was a rollercoaster. Resting near the seashore with its twisting coils tangled in the afternoon light. Then there's the mechanical fortune teller, sitting in a booth behind a cobwebbed window. The rusted trailers along the fairway with the forgotten attractions now choked and covered with weeds.
And at the end of the town's only street, there is a sign which reads, “Dawn Haven - Population 75". Except now there is only one... myself: Autumn Taylor.
Why should this small oasis become desolate? And how did it become my new home?
Well the second question, I can answer.
I lived with my mother in Mill Valley, fourteen miles from the Golden Gate Bridge. I don't remember my father at all. He left when I was a baby. My mother told me that he was never meant for marriage. We moved, my mother and I, from New Jersey when I was only a few months old. We spent the past seventeen years of my life moving from place to place. So I never experienced any relatives or friends. My only real companions existed in novels and stories that my mother read to me. Books I could take along with me each time we moved. Though I must confess that without my mother now, I was very lonely. You see, she died last month and I had nowhere to go.
And I did not want to be placed in some facility or home. With the little money I had, I purchased a Greyhound ticket that would take me as far as I could go. To the end of the line...
And this was the end of the line. A few empty storefronts on a solitary lane. A vacant cinema, with aging movie posters … a forgotten train depot with overgrown tracks… Everything surrounded by the sea, the sky, and nothing.
March 11
Dear Journal,
It's amazing that I found this place, this small apartment above Morton's Mercantile. There's some canned food left from the previous owner. And this journal was just waiting for me. I found it on the rack downstairs in the shop below. There's nothing better than the fresh smell of empty pages inviting you to fill them with dreams and landscape them with your life. It had the magic ability to vacuum my loneliness away. Where should I begin today?
I decided to wriggle my way into the abandoned Rialto Theater. The faded posters of movies gone by decorated the lobby of the cinema's foyer. Traces of water damage stained the carpet and curtains. Inside the dark auditorium, a silver screen tombstone waited for ghostly shadows to dance across it again. Flickering people from another time, destined to repeat the same pantomimes over and over.
I looked back for the unseen projectionist to appear, but no phantoms dwelled there now. So I sat and waited, but the only sound I heard was the scurry of rodents. Invisible legs, moving around in the dark reaches among the theater seats. The thought made me wince, cringe and exit as fast as I could.
Outside the morning sun peeked out from a sea of clouds as I drifted to the Lost Whistle Train Depot. There was a sign informing visitors of the neighboring villages of Harlow and Winfield.
I balanced myself on the tracks while imitating a train whistling mournfully across the trestles.
"Last Stop: Dawn Haven!"
I sat down on the wood bench in front of the depot. Could it be that this place was just waiting for me? Or was it just a rest stop along the way?
I brushed myself off and strolled down the lane. I spotted a woman's boutique shop. "Irma's Passion" it was called. Inside the store window a tall mannequin stood with an outstretched arm. The shop door was open, so I ventured inside. Most of the merchandise was gone now. Only this solitary statue remained.
"So Irma, how long have you been here?" I asked the mannequin.
"Twenty-three years? Well, that's a long time to stay in one place, don't you think? I've only lived seventeen years, and I've been just about everywhere."
I was growing hungry, so I ended my conversation with Irma and started back to Morton's Mercantile. There was a can of green beans in the cupboard waiting there for me.
Autumn Taylor finished writing in her journal. She sat up on the bed and stretched. The sea breathed out buffeting the lace curtains. As she tucked the journal back to its place under her pillow, she glimpsed something behind it. Had it been there before? And if so, why had she never noticed it until now?
She reached behind the pillow to grasp the mysterious object. It was an 8 x 12 black and white photograph of a young man about her age. His beautiful eyes smiled out from another time, reaching her across the years.
Autumn took the photo downstairs and looked for an appropriate sized frame and then placed it on the wall above her bed. His image would banish any monster that travelled the night skies. Yes, whoever he was, he would indeed protect her. Of this she was certain, gazing dreamily up at the photograph.
March 12
Dear Journal,
After almost one week, I finally decided to visit the seashore. Maybe I was a bit afraid of that old rollercoaster.
The empty fairway stretched between rusty rides and abandoned booths. I sat on a frozen stallion in the park's Merry-Go-Round. The sea wind whistled through its calliope. The next moment I was exploring the Fun House, and then lost in a maze of mirrors.
The sky began to darken, so I headed back to the lane. As I rounded the fairway, I looked towards the ocean one last time and saw something that made my heart stop. My feet immediately froze.
There was a silhouette of someone standing there on the shore. They seemed to be watching the sun set into the sea.
At first, I was frightened that I had compromised my secret place and would have to leave. But the person did not appear to see me at all, so I returned quietly to the Mercantile Store before I could be discovered.
But I realized now, that I was no longer alone. And "Dawn Haven" was now a population of two."
March 13
Dear Journal,
Will I have to remain indoors now, for the rest of my time here? And who knew how long that would be. But what if I am discovered? What then? Could I say that I was just travelling through?
And who was this other stranger? And what were they doing here between the middle of nowhere and nothing?
As I thought about these things, I was interrupted by a peculiar sound outside. The lilting music drifted through the window beckoning me. The lace curtains blew apart and there was that silhouette again. Standing on the seashore with what appeared to be a flute. It sounded vaguely like Stephen Foster's "Beautiful Dreamer".
Then the figure stopped and turned, waving a hand in my direction. I had been seen!
Instinctively, I dropped down on the floor hiding. Perhaps they had not seen me at all. Maybe they were just motioning to someone -- but to who or what?
"Hello?" a voice called out from beneath my window.
Startled, I got up and peered through the lace curtains down to the sidewalk below. A young man stood there waving up at my window. How could he possibly travel so fast? Or was this somebody else?
No, this person was holding a flute in his hand.
"Hello there?" He called again. "Are you alright? Can I come up? I promise not to bite."
I sank down the wall beside the bed wondering what to do next. I could no longer hide. This person must have perfect vision and be able to fly.
The next moment, I heard footsteps on the stairs and my heart stopped. My life was about to change, but I did not exactly know how. Fear throttled my throat and I could barely breathe as he entered the room.
He was quite beautiful, like an angel with bright golden hair that shimmered. His eyes, a radiant blue, pierced my very soul. With skin a perfect iridescent ivory. Though his clothes were unusual, and definitely out of style. It was at that moment, I realized that he was the young man in the photograph!
Offering his hand to me, I reluctantly reached out and touched him. A queer tingly feeling entered my body as he helped me onto the bed, sitting down beside me.
"You must be Autumn", he said. And with that, everything went black, for I
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