A Shadow of Time (Free Read Chapter One)
http://crescentmoonpress.com/Authors/LCarroll.html
Free Read: Chapter One
“Shit,” Kellyn O’Brien complained as the Honda Prelude sputtered. She’d worried the entire way, but the engine had served her well in her three-hour journey from the Bay Area. She drove up Main Street then climbed higher into the foothills. At the five-mile marker, she found the turn off to Reservation Road. A quick left then a quick right brought her to a wrought iron gate that barred her entrance. She shut off the engine and glanced back at her son. Scott slept with his sippie cup clutched in his hand as if his life depended upon it.
As his blonde hair danced in the breeze of a partially opened window and his cherub cheeks pressed against a Sponge Bob car seat, she thought of her late husband. Was it just three months ago he had left for work, kissed her on the cheek, and asked for hamburgers and coleslaw for dinner? Was it just ninety days ago she had taken out the hamburger and set it on the counter?
One week after Michael’s death, a sickly sweet odor reminded her of the meat’s decay. As she picked up the package and held it over the garbage can, she had wondered for one brief moment if her husband had the same smell.
Kellyn turned away from Scott and back toward the gate, sickened at her thoughts. She got out of the car and approached thick wrought iron. The gate stood at least six feet high and was topped with heavy spikes. Grabbing the rigid metal, she gave it a good shake. The lock held while dry oak leaves and pine needles fell on top of her like rain. Dismayed, she glanced around, unnerved by thick pine trees and underbrush. It looked as if the gate hadn’t been opened in ages. All was dark gray and green, spider webs dancing in spiky boughs.
A razor-sharp wind picked up, blowing her scarf across her face. She whipped it away as she stumbled over a rock. Without notice, her stomach gave way to a morning sickness that only occurred in the afternoon and she retched painfully.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she approached the Prelude where a newly awakened Scott babbled at an invisible presence in the back seat. Her heart sank as she realized he was up to his tricks with his invisible friend, Man. She opened the driver’s side door and entered.
Scott smiled and pointed toward the empty seat beside him. “Man!”
Covering her weariness, she smiled and played along. “Man?”
“Yes. Nice man.”
“Very nice man.”
Kellyn’s hands shook as much from the cold as from exhaustion. Closing the car door, she peered out the window. The solicitors had promised her the gate would be unlocked for her arrival. The lawyer had given her a set of twelve skeleton keys that looked as old as mankind and worst of all, only one was marked.
“Cain I hep ya?” a tobacco thickened voice asked from outside the car.
Startled, she glanced up, instinctively clutching her purse as she rolled down the window. A disheveled elderly man dressed in filthy corduroy pants with a too small stained gray T-shirt that read “See the Grand Canyon Today!” stood before her. His coat was at least two sizes too large and hung on a skeletal frame. The old man scratched his beard then sucked on his teeth.
“You Kellyn?” he asked, sticking his head toward the opened car window.
She stared back at large canine-like yellow teeth, chipped, and stained. “I’m Kellyn O’Brien. Are you Henry?”
He nodded and his glasses slipped down his nose. He pushed them up with a gnarled blue-veined finger. “Sorry ‘bout keeping ya out here. I was busy up at the house. I just made it to the gate.”
“Can you let me in?”
Needles crunching underfoot, the air perfumed with pine, Henry muttered to himself as he fumbled in his pocket. He withdrew a thick iron key and unlocked the gate. The gate swung outward before coming into contact with a large pinecone.
“Widdamaker,” Henry said, puffing. Visibly distressed, he pulled the pinecone out from between the gate and the dirt. His legs shook with the effort.
“What?” With her head poked out the window, she shivered in the cold and almost missed his last remark.
“Widdamaker cone,” he yelled. His large fingers curled around the heavy seedpod as he walked toward the car. “No good for nothing, ‘cept to hit ya on the head and knock ya out.”
Concerned, she clicked the shoulder harness into place and relocked the car door. Scotty opened and closed his pudgy hands as she glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
“I see, Mommy?”
She shook her head, catching his eye. “No, Scott. It’s dirty.”
The old man continued, “You watch out for these things, missus. They can kill a grown man. Or woman.”
She grimaced.
The caretaker smoothed back what remained of his gray hair then spat onto the ground. He threw down the pinecone, brushed his hands together, and backed up, allowing her to maneuver the car around the pine trees and through the open gate. The little car sputtered as she drove down the drive.
In her mind’s eye, the phone rang. She had just finished feeding Scott and the newspaper want ads splayed out on the kitchen table, a coffee stain smudging an ad for a caregiver. “Hello?”
“Good day, Mrs. O’Brien. This is Shauna from Liberty, Bell, and Law, Attorney’s at Law. I’m calling to inform you that your son has inherited Michael O’Brien’s family home located just above Jackson, California.”
“What home?”
“Why, Shadow Ley. In the California foothills.”
She paused for a moment as Scott banged his tray with a spoon. Her patience shattered, she said, “You must have the wrong person.”
“No, Mrs. O’Brien, I don’t.”
“But Michael was adopted.”
“Adopted? Michael was born at Shadow Ley to Robert and Marion O’Brien. The home has belonged to the O’Brien family for generations.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She remembered thinking it couldn’t be true.
“No, Mrs. O’Brien, I am not kidding.”
Michael, it turned out, had been the perfect liar. Not only was he not adopted, but his family was seriously wealthy. Two weeks later, a Mr. Shaw from Liberty, Bell, and Law sent a copy of the O’Brien Family Trust accompanied by a contract in the mail. She’d taken both documents to a local lawyer who went through them line by line. Fortunately, the trust paid for the visit
Both the trust and the contract were explicit in that she occupy Shadow Ley with her son until he reached the age of majority, even if she remarried. After that, she was free to do what she liked and a part of the trust, a cool one million would belong to her. She’d signed the contract with relief, knowing that finally she would have a place to raise her son in safety.
She’d spent countless hours imagining what it was like to be wealthy. She envisioned shopping at Macy’s, eating at fine restaurants, and buying Scott every toy imaginable, and while leaving San Jose, a city she was comfortable with was unnerving, she was determined to make this work. She didn’t want her son neglected in any way. For him, she would do anything.
Just a few days ago, she’d ordered a moving van, had them pack up the items she wanted to keep, and sold the rest at a garage sale held just yesterday. She’d made a little over two hundred dollars, which paid for the van. After that, she had fifty dollars to get her to Jackson, California. Good thing the Prelude was gas friendly.
Mr. Shaw informed her that once she arrived at Shadow Ley there would be a debit card and a checkbook with a balance of five thousand dollars waiting for her. She planned on arriving today and hitting the bank tomorrow. After that, it was shopping for them both. Scott needed new pants and his shoes were too small. Besides that, she glanced up at an angry sky, they’d need warmer clothing. It snowed in the foothills or so she’d been told.
The Honda shuddered as it took a deep rut, forcing her to focus. Globs of mistletoe hung from twisted branches scraping the car’s roof. Glancing in the rearview, Scott gazed at her with concern. Another half mile and she began to wonder if there was a house.
She downshifted to climb another hill. As she crested the top, she gasped then pulled over to the side of the road. On a knoll overlooking the city, pines and oaks surrounded the hillock where Shadow Ley reared a gargantuan head. Sunlight streamed onto white clapboards and a meandering front porch. The only part of the house that wasn’t white was the slate gray roof that seemed to go on forever.
Shocked, she stared at the monstrosity. Where was the Victorian she had envisioned: the turrets, tiles, and warm colored paint? Where were the windows shining in the sun and the overgrown garden she was going to lose herself in? This isn’t a house. It’s a giant deformity! It’s huge, off center, and more work than I’ll ever be able to handle.
She’d grown up in a Catholic orphanage where large spaces meant work, scary echoes, and saints staring down with heavy -handed authority from their perch upon the wall. Her childhood was filled with imaginative beings coming to life, following her everywhere. For a while, she’d taking to hiding under her bed, but even that didn’t work to allay her fears. Sometimes the other children would laugh at her, but she didn’t care. From that experience was born a love of small spaces where everything was visible and no one could hide.
She cocked her head, examining the architectural monstrosity while trying to make sense of the situation. A rabid shadow shimmered around the periphery of the house that made the creation look ugly, unwanted, and somehow, soiled. She studied the house, perplexed. Are those gargoyles on top of dormer windows?
Scott giggled in the background with his best friend, Man. Her stomach plummeted as she contemplated rambling around the interior, her fear of large spaces overwhelming her. Long and low slung, the porch hugged what looked like a Colonial mansion with a Georgian flair—a miserable gothic mess.
The boarded over windows were dark and lifeless, the lawn out front brown and uncared for. Three chimneys sprang from the roof and reached for the sky two in front, one in the back, red brick and clapboard hidden by pines and furs and only revealed by the whistling wind.
“Man,” Scotty shouted. “Come here.”
Even though Shadow Ley shined in the sunlight, a familiar echo returned to spoil any hopes of moving beyond the past.
“Man!” Scott cried.
Turning in her seat, she gazed at Scott, perplexed. His imaginary friend was as real to her son as she was.
“See Man, Mommy.”
One chubby finger pointed to the empty seat next to him. Scott’s blue eyes shined with excited anticipation as he desperately wanted her to see his invisible friend, but as usual, nothing was there. Man was a figment of his imagination, brought on by the stress and pressure of the death of his father, an opinion espoused by his pediatrician.
Exhausted, she gazed at the dirt littered floor of the automobile. Animal crackers decorated the space in-between the door and the seat and she sighed, a strange longing coming over her. I want to go home. I just want to go home.
Free Read: Chapter One
“Shit,” Kellyn O’Brien complained as the Honda Prelude sputtered. She’d worried the entire way, but the engine had served her well in her three-hour journey from the Bay Area. She drove up Main Street then climbed higher into the foothills. At the five-mile marker, she found the turn off to Reservation Road. A quick left then a quick right brought her to a wrought iron gate that barred her entrance. She shut off the engine and glanced back at her son. Scott slept with his sippie cup clutched in his hand as if his life depended upon it.
As his blonde hair danced in the breeze of a partially opened window and his cherub cheeks pressed against a Sponge Bob car seat, she thought of her late husband. Was it just three months ago he had left for work, kissed her on the cheek, and asked for hamburgers and coleslaw for dinner? Was it just ninety days ago she had taken out the hamburger and set it on the counter?
One week after Michael’s death, a sickly sweet odor reminded her of the meat’s decay. As she picked up the package and held it over the garbage can, she had wondered for one brief moment if her husband had the same smell.
Kellyn turned away from Scott and back toward the gate, sickened at her thoughts. She got out of the car and approached thick wrought iron. The gate stood at least six feet high and was topped with heavy spikes. Grabbing the rigid metal, she gave it a good shake. The lock held while dry oak leaves and pine needles fell on top of her like rain. Dismayed, she glanced around, unnerved by thick pine trees and underbrush. It looked as if the gate hadn’t been opened in ages. All was dark gray and green, spider webs dancing in spiky boughs.
A razor-sharp wind picked up, blowing her scarf across her face. She whipped it away as she stumbled over a rock. Without notice, her stomach gave way to a morning sickness that only occurred in the afternoon and she retched painfully.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she approached the Prelude where a newly awakened Scott babbled at an invisible presence in the back seat. Her heart sank as she realized he was up to his tricks with his invisible friend, Man. She opened the driver’s side door and entered.
Scott smiled and pointed toward the empty seat beside him. “Man!”
Covering her weariness, she smiled and played along. “Man?”
“Yes. Nice man.”
“Very nice man.”
Kellyn’s hands shook as much from the cold as from exhaustion. Closing the car door, she peered out the window. The solicitors had promised her the gate would be unlocked for her arrival. The lawyer had given her a set of twelve skeleton keys that looked as old as mankind and worst of all, only one was marked.
“Cain I hep ya?” a tobacco thickened voice asked from outside the car.
Startled, she glanced up, instinctively clutching her purse as she rolled down the window. A disheveled elderly man dressed in filthy corduroy pants with a too small stained gray T-shirt that read “See the Grand Canyon Today!” stood before her. His coat was at least two sizes too large and hung on a skeletal frame. The old man scratched his beard then sucked on his teeth.
“You Kellyn?” he asked, sticking his head toward the opened car window.
She stared back at large canine-like yellow teeth, chipped, and stained. “I’m Kellyn O’Brien. Are you Henry?”
He nodded and his glasses slipped down his nose. He pushed them up with a gnarled blue-veined finger. “Sorry ‘bout keeping ya out here. I was busy up at the house. I just made it to the gate.”
“Can you let me in?”
Needles crunching underfoot, the air perfumed with pine, Henry muttered to himself as he fumbled in his pocket. He withdrew a thick iron key and unlocked the gate. The gate swung outward before coming into contact with a large pinecone.
“Widdamaker,” Henry said, puffing. Visibly distressed, he pulled the pinecone out from between the gate and the dirt. His legs shook with the effort.
“What?” With her head poked out the window, she shivered in the cold and almost missed his last remark.
“Widdamaker cone,” he yelled. His large fingers curled around the heavy seedpod as he walked toward the car. “No good for nothing, ‘cept to hit ya on the head and knock ya out.”
Concerned, she clicked the shoulder harness into place and relocked the car door. Scotty opened and closed his pudgy hands as she glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
“I see, Mommy?”
She shook her head, catching his eye. “No, Scott. It’s dirty.”
The old man continued, “You watch out for these things, missus. They can kill a grown man. Or woman.”
She grimaced.
The caretaker smoothed back what remained of his gray hair then spat onto the ground. He threw down the pinecone, brushed his hands together, and backed up, allowing her to maneuver the car around the pine trees and through the open gate. The little car sputtered as she drove down the drive.
In her mind’s eye, the phone rang. She had just finished feeding Scott and the newspaper want ads splayed out on the kitchen table, a coffee stain smudging an ad for a caregiver. “Hello?”
“Good day, Mrs. O’Brien. This is Shauna from Liberty, Bell, and Law, Attorney’s at Law. I’m calling to inform you that your son has inherited Michael O’Brien’s family home located just above Jackson, California.”
“What home?”
“Why, Shadow Ley. In the California foothills.”
She paused for a moment as Scott banged his tray with a spoon. Her patience shattered, she said, “You must have the wrong person.”
“No, Mrs. O’Brien, I don’t.”
“But Michael was adopted.”
“Adopted? Michael was born at Shadow Ley to Robert and Marion O’Brien. The home has belonged to the O’Brien family for generations.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She remembered thinking it couldn’t be true.
“No, Mrs. O’Brien, I am not kidding.”
Michael, it turned out, had been the perfect liar. Not only was he not adopted, but his family was seriously wealthy. Two weeks later, a Mr. Shaw from Liberty, Bell, and Law sent a copy of the O’Brien Family Trust accompanied by a contract in the mail. She’d taken both documents to a local lawyer who went through them line by line. Fortunately, the trust paid for the visit
Both the trust and the contract were explicit in that she occupy Shadow Ley with her son until he reached the age of majority, even if she remarried. After that, she was free to do what she liked and a part of the trust, a cool one million would belong to her. She’d signed the contract with relief, knowing that finally she would have a place to raise her son in safety.
She’d spent countless hours imagining what it was like to be wealthy. She envisioned shopping at Macy’s, eating at fine restaurants, and buying Scott every toy imaginable, and while leaving San Jose, a city she was comfortable with was unnerving, she was determined to make this work. She didn’t want her son neglected in any way. For him, she would do anything.
Just a few days ago, she’d ordered a moving van, had them pack up the items she wanted to keep, and sold the rest at a garage sale held just yesterday. She’d made a little over two hundred dollars, which paid for the van. After that, she had fifty dollars to get her to Jackson, California. Good thing the Prelude was gas friendly.
Mr. Shaw informed her that once she arrived at Shadow Ley there would be a debit card and a checkbook with a balance of five thousand dollars waiting for her. She planned on arriving today and hitting the bank tomorrow. After that, it was shopping for them both. Scott needed new pants and his shoes were too small. Besides that, she glanced up at an angry sky, they’d need warmer clothing. It snowed in the foothills or so she’d been told.
The Honda shuddered as it took a deep rut, forcing her to focus. Globs of mistletoe hung from twisted branches scraping the car’s roof. Glancing in the rearview, Scott gazed at her with concern. Another half mile and she began to wonder if there was a house.
She downshifted to climb another hill. As she crested the top, she gasped then pulled over to the side of the road. On a knoll overlooking the city, pines and oaks surrounded the hillock where Shadow Ley reared a gargantuan head. Sunlight streamed onto white clapboards and a meandering front porch. The only part of the house that wasn’t white was the slate gray roof that seemed to go on forever.
Shocked, she stared at the monstrosity. Where was the Victorian she had envisioned: the turrets, tiles, and warm colored paint? Where were the windows shining in the sun and the overgrown garden she was going to lose herself in? This isn’t a house. It’s a giant deformity! It’s huge, off center, and more work than I’ll ever be able to handle.
She’d grown up in a Catholic orphanage where large spaces meant work, scary echoes, and saints staring down with heavy -handed authority from their perch upon the wall. Her childhood was filled with imaginative beings coming to life, following her everywhere. For a while, she’d taking to hiding under her bed, but even that didn’t work to allay her fears. Sometimes the other children would laugh at her, but she didn’t care. From that experience was born a love of small spaces where everything was visible and no one could hide.
She cocked her head, examining the architectural monstrosity while trying to make sense of the situation. A rabid shadow shimmered around the periphery of the house that made the creation look ugly, unwanted, and somehow, soiled. She studied the house, perplexed. Are those gargoyles on top of dormer windows?
Scott giggled in the background with his best friend, Man. Her stomach plummeted as she contemplated rambling around the interior, her fear of large spaces overwhelming her. Long and low slung, the porch hugged what looked like a Colonial mansion with a Georgian flair—a miserable gothic mess.
The boarded over windows were dark and lifeless, the lawn out front brown and uncared for. Three chimneys sprang from the roof and reached for the sky two in front, one in the back, red brick and clapboard hidden by pines and furs and only revealed by the whistling wind.
“Man,” Scotty shouted. “Come here.”
Even though Shadow Ley shined in the sunlight, a familiar echo returned to spoil any hopes of moving beyond the past.
“Man!” Scott cried.
Turning in her seat, she gazed at Scott, perplexed. His imaginary friend was as real to her son as she was.
“See Man, Mommy.”
One chubby finger pointed to the empty seat next to him. Scott’s blue eyes shined with excited anticipation as he desperately wanted her to see his invisible friend, but as usual, nothing was there. Man was a figment of his imagination, brought on by the stress and pressure of the death of his father, an opinion espoused by his pediatrician.
Exhausted, she gazed at the dirt littered floor of the automobile. Animal crackers decorated the space in-between the door and the seat and she sighed, a strange longing coming over her. I want to go home. I just want to go home.
A Shadow of Time - Coming Fall 2011 www.CrescentMoonPress.com
Consumed by a childhood filled with terror and pain, Kellyn O’Brien strives to create the perfect family.Then, disaster strikes. Her husband is dead. Three weeks later, she discovers her son is heir to Shadow Ley, a nineteenth century estate located in the Sierra Nevada foothills.
Still reeling from Michael's death, Kellyn moves to Shadow Ley. Soon after her arrival, the ordinary becomes the extraordinary: broken drinking glasses repair themselves, stair rails that were once old are now new, and suddenly the estate of Shadow Ley is not what it seems. Frightened for herself, her son, and her unborn child, she seeks to understand.
She turns to the local historian and hears the tale of Sha' na ho bet, the angry fire god, forced from the sky and bound forever to Earth. Native Americans tell her about Coyote, the Dreamer and Trickster who creates order out of chaos and chaos out of order. Then the dreams begin with windows into past lives, hints of multidimensionality, and the promise of life beyond death.
Legends abound and so Shadow Ley, the home Kellyn had hoped would bring peace to herself and her children, becomes mired first in doubt, then in terror, and finally in love eternal.
Still reeling from Michael's death, Kellyn moves to Shadow Ley. Soon after her arrival, the ordinary becomes the extraordinary: broken drinking glasses repair themselves, stair rails that were once old are now new, and suddenly the estate of Shadow Ley is not what it seems. Frightened for herself, her son, and her unborn child, she seeks to understand.
She turns to the local historian and hears the tale of Sha' na ho bet, the angry fire god, forced from the sky and bound forever to Earth. Native Americans tell her about Coyote, the Dreamer and Trickster who creates order out of chaos and chaos out of order. Then the dreams begin with windows into past lives, hints of multidimensionality, and the promise of life beyond death.
Legends abound and so Shadow Ley, the home Kellyn had hoped would bring peace to herself and her children, becomes mired first in doubt, then in terror, and finally in love eternal.
