The Wicker House

No one would know that the Wicker House is any different from those on the same street. On the outside, it is the same as any other. Unless you happen to have a very particular eye.

For if you go to the backyard that has no fence, you would not know that there is a door. In fact, there is no way to even distinguish a door unless the stars are out. And even then, unless you knew what to look for, all you would see is a perfectly solid and impermeable stucco wall of a seemingly normal house.

However, whenever you walk past the house in the evening, you may just feel a cold breeze brush the back of your neck. Or if it is a new moon, you may hear a tortured scream coming from the complete darkness of the backyard.

If you choose to investigate the sound because of the tugging in the pit of your stomach, you will find that the backyard is empty. That there is no one there who could have uttered such a horrible noise.

And yet… you are sure the scream came from the ground you happen to be standing on as it continues resounding in your ears.

For Beans

You… are a cow.
You, the cow, have a story to tell.

*   *   *

He pets me every day,
feeding me corn and whey.
He calls me Milky-White;
he named me that one night.

I love you, he mutters,
as he gently squeezes my utters.
I try to give him milk so sweet
that he’ll give me a grainy treat.

Sometimes my milk comes out,
sometimes there’s nothing but naught.
He starts to weep and wipe his eyes,
and I want to reach out to tell him not to cry.

His mother doesn’t like me though,
she has said many times so
but he defends me every time,
saying he wouldn’t sell me… even for a dozen dimes.

But one day, they lost everything
and he came to me, once again crying.
I’m sorry, Milky-White, he said
shaking his sorrowful head.

He tied a rope around my neck
as he led me on a long trek.
We went to a village of means
where he sold me for some magic beans.

Now I think he was a fool to sell me
for something less than money.
I wish I could wish him happiness high,
but I hope he is crushed by giants in the sky.

The Favorite, Pt. 1

The subtle hint of leather lingered in the air as Timothy ran his round brush across her bottom lip in a maroon sweep.  A tremble shook through her little body so Timothy eased up his pressure.  Teak may be the strongest of all wood but when it is not balanced well, teak will falter just like any other timber.

After one more swipe, she was that much closer to being finished.  Stepping back, he wiped his hand across his perspired forehead to admire his work.

She was indeed one of his very finest creations. The deep brown marbles–surrounded by what used to be the remnants of his old fan brushes that he had dyed black–reflected the dancing flames of the wooden candle chandelier.  Small and perfect, her little wooden body was donned in a blue lace gown.  The teak was firm, shape-able and obtained the desired golden glow which radiated from her cheeks.

It was his first time creating a doll with that kind of wood.  Teak wasn’t the easiest timber to come by or afford, least of all for this purpose since carpenters usually got the first bid. Luck is what got him this particular stock.

“Daddy!”

The call of Timothy’s young daughter snapped him out of gazing at his new creation.  Her arms clasped around his knees, nearly knocking him flat.  He could distinctly feel a small wooden body bounce against his calf, one he was sure he had made specifically for her.

“Can I see her yet?”

Timothy scooped up his little angel into his arms. “You know we’re not keeping this one, right Stella?”

Before Stella could respond to her father, she caught a good look at the doll he had just finished.  The doll in her arms nearly fell to the ground reminding Timothy of his reasons for making wooden dolls rather than porcelain. He lithely caught the doll, whom he recognized as one of his older creations, and placed it on his work table.  Stella squealed with delight.

“Daddy, she’s so pretty!”

She eagerly reached out for the wooden doll, but Timothy held her back.  He knew that if she took his new creation into her arms, he wouldn’t get the commission because, odds were, she’d never let the doll go. That had happened with one too many dolls already and their family needed the money.

“Sorry, sweetie. She’s still drying,” Timothy said putting his daughter down.  She ran to his work table, her eyes barely able to see above it. As she hopped to keep the pretty doll in her sights, Stella accidentally trod on her father’s toes.  “This one’s not for you.”

“But I just wanna see her,” Stella said all-too-innocently.  Timothy chuckled at her before grabbing her hand.

“Let’s go,” he ushered her out of his workshop. “Your mother’s probably waiting for us to have dinner.”

Bouncing on her toes, Stella responded, “Yeah! Mama made ham!”

As soon as their footsteps disappeared into their cottage, a slap of wood echoed through the workshop.

The doll Stella had been holding, the one she affectionately called Penny, lifted herself upright with help from the tools on Timothy’s work table. She turned to look at the newest addition to their collection. A sneer formed on her fading painted lips as she turned to look at the perfect, newly created doll.

*   *   *

This is the first part of a story I started writing a few months back… Let me know if you want me to continue and I can put more up. 😉

One Thing I Know

Free Write Friday Prompt~
You wake to find yourself in a strange house and you cannot remember your own name. You roll over and see a letter by the bed. Is it for you? Who is it from? What does it say? Does it explain where you are and why?

Rolling over, I breathe in deeply. I’m comfortable but I can’t think of what on earth I’m doing here. Why I’m laying in this somewhat chilly room that is void of any sort of decoration. The only thing I notice is an envelope. I cautiously test out my fingers’ strength as I pick it up, flip open the flap and pull out a sheet of paper. This is what it says.

You are free now. You may not remember anything but you’ll be that much better for it. You won’t have to worry about me. You won’t have to feel that pain anymore. The doctors took care of that. Unfortunately, I can’t handle the pain anymore. That’s why you are free. Free to live a new life. Not many people get second chances, but you do. You will look different. That was part of the deal. Memory wiped and different appearance. Now they won’t find you and neither will I. It’s better this way. I can’t risk you being found. Farewell, my love. Perhaps we’ll meet in another life.
<

A tear has leaked out of my eye so I wipe it away, unsure of what I should be thinking. I know that sideways V is incomplete, that there should be a 3 next to it. I may not know my name, who wrote this or why anyone would be looking for me in the first place… this one thing I do know.

Somewhere by someone, I’m loved.