Hello there.
While Blogger has been a nice enough home until now, the Museum and its various offshoots have kind of outgrown the available floorspace.
There is a new project afoot about which I am more than a little enthused and it needs a little more breathing space.
So, with a promise that offerings will be a little more frequent now that I'm less inclined to be randomly roaming, you are hereby invited to visit the Museum in its new home:
Museum of Fire - The Wordpress Experience
There will be tea and biscuits for the grand reopening, and possibly even balloons. Red ones. If you're quick.
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
Sunday, 13 June 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Eighty
Emily woke to a silent house. As she peered over the edge of her flower-embroidered bedspread, watching the patch of morning sunlight where it fell on the wall, she noticed a small shadow broke the straight lines of the orange box of light.
She turned slowly towards the window and saw that a little round bird had alighted upon her window sill. It appeared to be observing her quite intently with its beady black eyes, but as she watched it swing its tail feathers side to side another bird came, seemed to have a quick word in its ear and the pair flapped away as though they had been caught somewhere they shouldn’t be.
Emily had never seen such strange looking birds in her life and it took her some time to register what she had observed – the first bird was mostly green with a bright red chest, a green head and then a blazing red feather ruffled from the very top of its head. The second bird, which she saw only briefly, was the complete inverse; right down to the bright green feather poking off the top of its head.
But surely not.... Emily rubbed her eyes, deciding she must have imagined the whole thing.
Yet a moment later, as she watched the space on the open sill where the birds had been, another landed. From its long, sleek body, a shimmering silver-blue, she saw a pair of bright white wings emerge, then fold back in. She at first thought the bird was looking at her down its long straight beak, but realised that its eyes appeared closed.
As Emily watched the unseeing bird, a moment passed between them.
The bird began to sing.
She turned slowly towards the window and saw that a little round bird had alighted upon her window sill. It appeared to be observing her quite intently with its beady black eyes, but as she watched it swing its tail feathers side to side another bird came, seemed to have a quick word in its ear and the pair flapped away as though they had been caught somewhere they shouldn’t be.
Emily had never seen such strange looking birds in her life and it took her some time to register what she had observed – the first bird was mostly green with a bright red chest, a green head and then a blazing red feather ruffled from the very top of its head. The second bird, which she saw only briefly, was the complete inverse; right down to the bright green feather poking off the top of its head.
But surely not.... Emily rubbed her eyes, deciding she must have imagined the whole thing.
Yet a moment later, as she watched the space on the open sill where the birds had been, another landed. From its long, sleek body, a shimmering silver-blue, she saw a pair of bright white wings emerge, then fold back in. She at first thought the bird was looking at her down its long straight beak, but realised that its eyes appeared closed.
As Emily watched the unseeing bird, a moment passed between them.
The bird began to sing.
Fin
Friday, 11 June 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Seventy-Nine
Percy reached for the bag and suggested that in the circumstances it was perhaps best if he took care of the final act. But Emily insisted so firmly that it had to be her that Percy, with a great deal of apprehension, relented. He stood up and let Emily take his seat, while he took the space she had left vacant.
Squeezing Isabelle’s hand tightly, Percy kept his eye glued on Emily as she reached into the black sack and drew out the box. Whether or not it knew what fate had in store for it or not, the box seemed to be going to great lengths to avoid it.
It was pulsing with light and had never looked more beautiful, the green glowing against Emily’s white dress highlighting the delicacy with which every corner, edge and figure had been carved. Six eyes rested on the box where it sat on Emily’s lap. Six ears began to hear the music that swirled around them, that seemed to be the sound of every mermaid in the sea whispering to the sky, every angel in the sky opening its heart to the sea.
Both Percy and Isabelle reached as one towards the lid of the box, desperately keen to take one final look inside. Yet before they could reach it the box was gone, hurled as far as Emily’s strength would allow.
With a blood-curdling shriek the box broke the mirrored surface of the sea, then sank from sight.
The water where the box had hit bubbled and hissed, a cloud of steam forming above. But little by little the steam spread and lost its form until disappearing completely, the ripples spread in wider and wider circles but then abated, leaving only the still, watchful reflection in the quiet waters of Emily, Isabelle and Percy, staring at the place all their troubles now lay.
As Percy returned to his seat and took the oars, they began gliding back to shore in relieved, exhausted silence. Isabelle suddenly realised what had been so familiar about the day – she recalled with crystal clarity her dream in which Emily had stepped out into the sea and they could never quite reach her. And surely enough, as she turned to her daughter, who was wearing the very same white dress that had appeared in her dream, Isabelle watched her staring wistfully back towards where the box had sunk into the fathomless depths below. She placed her hand gently onto Emily’s leg, feeling how tightly coiled she was, as though ready to spring in an instant.
Squeezing Isabelle’s hand tightly, Percy kept his eye glued on Emily as she reached into the black sack and drew out the box. Whether or not it knew what fate had in store for it or not, the box seemed to be going to great lengths to avoid it.
It was pulsing with light and had never looked more beautiful, the green glowing against Emily’s white dress highlighting the delicacy with which every corner, edge and figure had been carved. Six eyes rested on the box where it sat on Emily’s lap. Six ears began to hear the music that swirled around them, that seemed to be the sound of every mermaid in the sea whispering to the sky, every angel in the sky opening its heart to the sea.
Both Percy and Isabelle reached as one towards the lid of the box, desperately keen to take one final look inside. Yet before they could reach it the box was gone, hurled as far as Emily’s strength would allow.
With a blood-curdling shriek the box broke the mirrored surface of the sea, then sank from sight.
The water where the box had hit bubbled and hissed, a cloud of steam forming above. But little by little the steam spread and lost its form until disappearing completely, the ripples spread in wider and wider circles but then abated, leaving only the still, watchful reflection in the quiet waters of Emily, Isabelle and Percy, staring at the place all their troubles now lay.
As Percy returned to his seat and took the oars, they began gliding back to shore in relieved, exhausted silence. Isabelle suddenly realised what had been so familiar about the day – she recalled with crystal clarity her dream in which Emily had stepped out into the sea and they could never quite reach her. And surely enough, as she turned to her daughter, who was wearing the very same white dress that had appeared in her dream, Isabelle watched her staring wistfully back towards where the box had sunk into the fathomless depths below. She placed her hand gently onto Emily’s leg, feeling how tightly coiled she was, as though ready to spring in an instant.
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Seventy-Eight
Isabelle and Emily sat side by side, watching as Percy pulled on the oars. The day was calm, the water impossibly still – the dip of Percy’s oars creating tiny little swirling whirlpools the likes of which you would only ever normally see appear on the most sheltered of lakes. The only sound was the creak of the oars in the rowlock and the light slap of the paddle in the sea.
Above them, the last of the gulls that had followed their passage, perhaps in hope of an easy food offering, gave one last twirl and took off back to shore; for whatever reason this was as far as they had decided to follow. The sun gently tickled their skin as a deep blue sky opened out above them. Now that they had all but left land behind, there was little but the blue above and the sea below, an inky purple perfectly reflecting the few tiny, puffy clouds that lazily drifted by like dandelion heads bobbing in a breeze.
This all seemed strangely familiar to Isabelle but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why, as they had never all been out to sea like this together before. Despite being a warm day, she could feel her daughter shivering at her side.
She discretely looked sideways at Emily, only to find her daughter’s gaze transfixed on the black sack that sat between Percy’s feet. Isabelle, too, had been having great difficulty taking her eyes of the bag, but was nevertheless worried to see Emily’s attention so drawn in this way.
Isabelle realised with a pang of shame the feeling that had just hit her – jealousy. On the walk down from the house to the harbour, Emily had told them everything. From the moment she had left her house, pretending to be off visiting Tabitha Tibbits, to the instant they had found her back in her room, finally back as Emily.
It had all sounded so unlikely, the over-vivid imagination of an 11-year-old. But when Emily had started to tell them about what she had seen in the forest, the incident with the wolves, she knew it had to be true. She still hadn’t told Emily about any of that, so she would have had no other way of knowing. Unless Percy had told her? But he had clearly read her thoughts, for when Isabelle looked over the top of Emily’s head at her husband, he simply shook his head and shrugged.
Although Isabelle was appalled and aghast at everything Emily had to say, there was still something about the music box that intrigued her. She felt that as she was older than Emily and would not fall so easily under its spell…
She looked up from the box to see Percy looking directly at her. She was once again ashamed at the thoughts that had been passing through her mind and felt Percy had followed every last one. He looked at her with his sad, wounded eyes and she realised that he must have thought it was somehow Aloysius that she wanted to see.
She tried to show him, merely via looking back into his eyes, that this certainly wasn’t the case. She loved Percy with all her heart, and Emily too. She loved her simple life here in Seaforth, she realised, and would never do anything that could upset Percy or leave him feeling anything less than her utter devotion.
The last trace of land had by now disappeared from view. Isabelle hoped Percy still knew which way the return journey lay, but trusted him to find their way home.
The moment they had been avoiding talking about all this time had arrived.
Above them, the last of the gulls that had followed their passage, perhaps in hope of an easy food offering, gave one last twirl and took off back to shore; for whatever reason this was as far as they had decided to follow. The sun gently tickled their skin as a deep blue sky opened out above them. Now that they had all but left land behind, there was little but the blue above and the sea below, an inky purple perfectly reflecting the few tiny, puffy clouds that lazily drifted by like dandelion heads bobbing in a breeze.
This all seemed strangely familiar to Isabelle but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why, as they had never all been out to sea like this together before. Despite being a warm day, she could feel her daughter shivering at her side.
She discretely looked sideways at Emily, only to find her daughter’s gaze transfixed on the black sack that sat between Percy’s feet. Isabelle, too, had been having great difficulty taking her eyes of the bag, but was nevertheless worried to see Emily’s attention so drawn in this way.
Isabelle realised with a pang of shame the feeling that had just hit her – jealousy. On the walk down from the house to the harbour, Emily had told them everything. From the moment she had left her house, pretending to be off visiting Tabitha Tibbits, to the instant they had found her back in her room, finally back as Emily.
It had all sounded so unlikely, the over-vivid imagination of an 11-year-old. But when Emily had started to tell them about what she had seen in the forest, the incident with the wolves, she knew it had to be true. She still hadn’t told Emily about any of that, so she would have had no other way of knowing. Unless Percy had told her? But he had clearly read her thoughts, for when Isabelle looked over the top of Emily’s head at her husband, he simply shook his head and shrugged.
Although Isabelle was appalled and aghast at everything Emily had to say, there was still something about the music box that intrigued her. She felt that as she was older than Emily and would not fall so easily under its spell…
She looked up from the box to see Percy looking directly at her. She was once again ashamed at the thoughts that had been passing through her mind and felt Percy had followed every last one. He looked at her with his sad, wounded eyes and she realised that he must have thought it was somehow Aloysius that she wanted to see.
She tried to show him, merely via looking back into his eyes, that this certainly wasn’t the case. She loved Percy with all her heart, and Emily too. She loved her simple life here in Seaforth, she realised, and would never do anything that could upset Percy or leave him feeling anything less than her utter devotion.
The last trace of land had by now disappeared from view. Isabelle hoped Percy still knew which way the return journey lay, but trusted him to find their way home.
The moment they had been avoiding talking about all this time had arrived.
Monday, 7 June 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Seventy-Seven
Drawn by the sound of her parents’ voices from the living room, Emily walked down the stairs. Her disturbing dreams had continued through the night and she had woken, if anything, more exhausted than she had been when she fell asleep.
Yet she had to know that everything had finished, that the music box had been destroyed.
Why had she been so selfish? How could she have put her family into this situation? Emily vowed she would make it up to her parents somehow, that she would win their trust again, whatever it took.
Reaching the doorway to the living room, Emily saw her parents talking. She stepped in and looked over to the fireplace as they turned, realising she was there.
Emily felt weak at the knees and would have fallen completely if Percy had not reached down and caught her as she buckled. The music box sat there, glowing against the white pile of ashes that surrounded it.
“We tried Emily,” her father said gently, running his hand through her hair. “We kept the fire going the whole night through, we have no wood left.”
“Your father and I have decided we must go and bury it in the woods,” said her mother, a consoling hand on her arm. But Emily knew this would not suffice, that the music box would find a way to be found.
“That won’t be enough,” she announced to her parents, feeling the energy return as she realised she would have to be strong. “There is only one thing we can do, and I must be involved. It must be cast to the very bottom of the sea, to a place so deep that it can never be found.”
Emily knew both her parents were very much against her being out of bed, let alone out of the house, but she was so resolute in her purpose that they soon understood there was little point in trying to resist any further.
Isabelle knew, too, that Emily had been right. Nothing happened in the forest without being seen. Before long the temptation to peek at what they had buried would grow too strong and it would be unearthed by some witness or other.
But more than this, she knew that she herself could not have a day’s rest, knowing it was there. Already, she had been feeling urges, stronger by the hour, to have just a tiny look inside the box, to see what could possibly be inside that could explain everything that had happened.
She knew that it would be foolish, madness to tempt fate, but it felt like something that was increasingly out of her control. She wasn’t sure how Percy felt, but something kept her from talking to him about it, which in itself she knew was a very bad sign. She knew, for everybody’s sake, that Emily was right. The sea was the only place it could be, the only place where whatever power it held over Emily, and now threatened to hold over her, could be laid to rest once and for all.
They must do this, and they must do it without waiting one moment more.
Yet she had to know that everything had finished, that the music box had been destroyed.
Why had she been so selfish? How could she have put her family into this situation? Emily vowed she would make it up to her parents somehow, that she would win their trust again, whatever it took.
Reaching the doorway to the living room, Emily saw her parents talking. She stepped in and looked over to the fireplace as they turned, realising she was there.
Emily felt weak at the knees and would have fallen completely if Percy had not reached down and caught her as she buckled. The music box sat there, glowing against the white pile of ashes that surrounded it.
“We tried Emily,” her father said gently, running his hand through her hair. “We kept the fire going the whole night through, we have no wood left.”
“Your father and I have decided we must go and bury it in the woods,” said her mother, a consoling hand on her arm. But Emily knew this would not suffice, that the music box would find a way to be found.
“That won’t be enough,” she announced to her parents, feeling the energy return as she realised she would have to be strong. “There is only one thing we can do, and I must be involved. It must be cast to the very bottom of the sea, to a place so deep that it can never be found.”
Emily knew both her parents were very much against her being out of bed, let alone out of the house, but she was so resolute in her purpose that they soon understood there was little point in trying to resist any further.
Isabelle knew, too, that Emily had been right. Nothing happened in the forest without being seen. Before long the temptation to peek at what they had buried would grow too strong and it would be unearthed by some witness or other.
But more than this, she knew that she herself could not have a day’s rest, knowing it was there. Already, she had been feeling urges, stronger by the hour, to have just a tiny look inside the box, to see what could possibly be inside that could explain everything that had happened.
She knew that it would be foolish, madness to tempt fate, but it felt like something that was increasingly out of her control. She wasn’t sure how Percy felt, but something kept her from talking to him about it, which in itself she knew was a very bad sign. She knew, for everybody’s sake, that Emily was right. The sea was the only place it could be, the only place where whatever power it held over Emily, and now threatened to hold over her, could be laid to rest once and for all.
They must do this, and they must do it without waiting one moment more.
Saturday, 5 June 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Seventy-Six
Emily experienced a dizzy sensation of spinning, with a sickening blur of colour swirling all around her, then a panicked moment of weightlessness. She was falling, where she could not say. Then suddenly, as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. But it took some moments before she realised where she was – back in her own room, lying on her bed.
Her tummy still hadn’t settled and her eyes were still adjusting when she realised she was being shaken.
“Where is she! What have you done with our Emily!” the voice cried, Emily slowly picking it as her mother’s.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s all okay. It’s me.”
“Hush Isabelle, step back and give her some air,” said her father, his blurred features slowly coming into focus.
“Okay. But remember, I told you, this isn’t Emily.”
“Oh mama, please!” Emily tried to sit, but fell back onto her pillow as it felt the room was still spinning around and around any time she moved. “I know it wasn’t me before, but I’m here now. Take my hand – you must know it.”
Emily felt a warm hand gingerly take her own icy fingers, then close around them tenderly. “Oh Emily, it is you! What has happened?”
“Shhh dear, from what you say we can’t begin to imagine what she has been through,” Percy said, taking Emily’s other hand in his own reassuring grasp. “We must not push her just now.”
“No, mother is right,” Emily said, trying once more to rise but not getting much further than up onto her elbows. “There isn’t any time to waste.”
“But you are not well. Your fingers are icy but your forehead is in fever. You just rest a moment, then when you have your strength back we can talk," Percy gently chided.
“Okay, but listen. You must do this. That box on the dresser-” Emily lifted a heavy arm and pointed over towards where she had last seen it, where it had been when she had lifted the lid and… but she must focus. “You must take it downstairs and throw it into the fire. We must do it now.”
“But Emily,” her mother began. “What’s…”
“I will explain,” Emily said, feeling herself slip out of consciousness, fatigue gripping her and refusing to let go. “But please, now…”
At this the last of Emily’s strength and resolve passed from her fragile, spent body. She slipped into slumber, a heavy, uneasy sleep in which all the events of the past few days swirled around her in a dreadful mix. She suffered terrible visions in which she was trapped in a glass bubble in a darkening forest, attempting to scream out but unable to utter even the hoarsest cry, watching helplessly as a wolf in a top hat leered at her, licking its lips, before dashing away with her mother under its arm.
Her tummy still hadn’t settled and her eyes were still adjusting when she realised she was being shaken.
“Where is she! What have you done with our Emily!” the voice cried, Emily slowly picking it as her mother’s.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s all okay. It’s me.”
“Hush Isabelle, step back and give her some air,” said her father, his blurred features slowly coming into focus.
“Okay. But remember, I told you, this isn’t Emily.”
“Oh mama, please!” Emily tried to sit, but fell back onto her pillow as it felt the room was still spinning around and around any time she moved. “I know it wasn’t me before, but I’m here now. Take my hand – you must know it.”
Emily felt a warm hand gingerly take her own icy fingers, then close around them tenderly. “Oh Emily, it is you! What has happened?”
“Shhh dear, from what you say we can’t begin to imagine what she has been through,” Percy said, taking Emily’s other hand in his own reassuring grasp. “We must not push her just now.”
“No, mother is right,” Emily said, trying once more to rise but not getting much further than up onto her elbows. “There isn’t any time to waste.”
“But you are not well. Your fingers are icy but your forehead is in fever. You just rest a moment, then when you have your strength back we can talk," Percy gently chided.
“Okay, but listen. You must do this. That box on the dresser-” Emily lifted a heavy arm and pointed over towards where she had last seen it, where it had been when she had lifted the lid and… but she must focus. “You must take it downstairs and throw it into the fire. We must do it now.”
“But Emily,” her mother began. “What’s…”
“I will explain,” Emily said, feeling herself slip out of consciousness, fatigue gripping her and refusing to let go. “But please, now…”
At this the last of Emily’s strength and resolve passed from her fragile, spent body. She slipped into slumber, a heavy, uneasy sleep in which all the events of the past few days swirled around her in a dreadful mix. She suffered terrible visions in which she was trapped in a glass bubble in a darkening forest, attempting to scream out but unable to utter even the hoarsest cry, watching helplessly as a wolf in a top hat leered at her, licking its lips, before dashing away with her mother under its arm.
Thursday, 3 June 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Seventy-Five
“…oof!”
Knowing there wasn’t a second to lose, Emily raced towards where Crouch’s voice had moments ago been taunting her. She willed an unlit torch perched on the wall to spring to life and its flickering light fell over the room just as she reached the tangled mess that was Crouch, Oscar and Bernard, all grappling on the floor. The lolly bag was just beyond the grasping clutch of Crouch and he was struggling to reach it and draw it to him.
Just as his fingers closed about it Emily stamped down onto his hand, causing him to cry out in pain, furiously spitting curses as his fingers lost their grip.
Once she had realised Crouch had been right about her not having any sway over him, she had realised there was only one chance left. She had pictured Oscar and Bernard creeping into the room and flying with full speed at Crouch, tackling him to the ground. It had been her only chance and they had not let her down.
Emily reached down for the bag, but as she picked it up Crouch grabbed hold of her ankle, clutching it in his vicelike grip. Pain shot right through her, but she heard a howl and felt his grip release, turning to see Oscar had poked Crouch in the eye. Bernard now pulled Crouch’s hat right down over his eyes, blocking his vision as he lashed out wildly.
“I can’t hold him forever Emily,” panted Oscar.
“Go – get out of here!” added Bernard.
“But I can’t! You shan’t be safe if I go.”
“And you are not safe if you stay, Emily.” This was Minerva’s gentle, warm voice. Emily turned to see that during the struggle Minerva had drawn herself up from the floor. “You must go, for your sake the sake of your family, and everyone here you hold dear.”
“But I can’t just leave Crouch here with you all.”
“It is true that there will be no life for us with Crouch in here,” Minerva returned, “but nevertheless we must never let him out.”
Emily choked back a sob, but knew Minerva was speaking the truth. She had to go and she had to do what she had earlier promised to do – destroy the music box.
“But how can I ever thank you?”
“You already have, Emily. You gave us a life worth living; you showed us that there is more in the world out there than evil. Whatever happens, I am sure, some day, somehow, we shall meet again, in happier circumstances. Farewell, brave Emily.”
Emily smiled sadly at Minerva, blew a quick kiss to the panting Oscar and Bernard, who each winked back in reply, reached into her lolly bag for a humbug and put it in her mouth.
Knowing there wasn’t a second to lose, Emily raced towards where Crouch’s voice had moments ago been taunting her. She willed an unlit torch perched on the wall to spring to life and its flickering light fell over the room just as she reached the tangled mess that was Crouch, Oscar and Bernard, all grappling on the floor. The lolly bag was just beyond the grasping clutch of Crouch and he was struggling to reach it and draw it to him.
Just as his fingers closed about it Emily stamped down onto his hand, causing him to cry out in pain, furiously spitting curses as his fingers lost their grip.
Once she had realised Crouch had been right about her not having any sway over him, she had realised there was only one chance left. She had pictured Oscar and Bernard creeping into the room and flying with full speed at Crouch, tackling him to the ground. It had been her only chance and they had not let her down.
Emily reached down for the bag, but as she picked it up Crouch grabbed hold of her ankle, clutching it in his vicelike grip. Pain shot right through her, but she heard a howl and felt his grip release, turning to see Oscar had poked Crouch in the eye. Bernard now pulled Crouch’s hat right down over his eyes, blocking his vision as he lashed out wildly.
“I can’t hold him forever Emily,” panted Oscar.
“Go – get out of here!” added Bernard.
“But I can’t! You shan’t be safe if I go.”
“And you are not safe if you stay, Emily.” This was Minerva’s gentle, warm voice. Emily turned to see that during the struggle Minerva had drawn herself up from the floor. “You must go, for your sake the sake of your family, and everyone here you hold dear.”
“But I can’t just leave Crouch here with you all.”
“It is true that there will be no life for us with Crouch in here,” Minerva returned, “but nevertheless we must never let him out.”
Emily choked back a sob, but knew Minerva was speaking the truth. She had to go and she had to do what she had earlier promised to do – destroy the music box.
“But how can I ever thank you?”
“You already have, Emily. You gave us a life worth living; you showed us that there is more in the world out there than evil. Whatever happens, I am sure, some day, somehow, we shall meet again, in happier circumstances. Farewell, brave Emily.”
Emily smiled sadly at Minerva, blew a quick kiss to the panting Oscar and Bernard, who each winked back in reply, reached into her lolly bag for a humbug and put it in her mouth.
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Seventy-Four
“Oh I can assure you that I have,” Crouch purred.
“You have not.”
“Emily, I just this very moment did exactly what I just told you. If I had not, surely Minerva could speak up for herself and suggest otherwise?”
“That is indeed the case, Aloysius, thank you for pointing it out.”
Emily felt a thrill of triumph as she heard these words, for they had not come from her. They had passed across the room from where Emily had only moments before seen a crumpled Minerva lay.
“Why this is preposterous,” Crouch thundered. “What’s happening here?”
“How easily you seem to forget what you once told me,” Emily said, the strength coming back into her as she felt she may, finally, have the upper hand.
“You may recall, as you were sending me into the box, cutting out my soul so you could steal my body, that this box would be a projection of my own self – my own wishes and dreams. Well I suspect you will find that is now coming back to haunt you. This is my box now and nothing will happen while I am here that will hurt my friends. I simply shall not allow it.”
“But you forget, Emily, that I know this place far, far better than you,” Crouch countered. “I devised it, I made it happen and I have been coming here for a long time now. I know it as well as I know the world out there and everyone and everything that lives in here knows me and knows that they must fear me.”
“Perhaps that is so, perhaps it is not. You thought you had silenced Minerva and you clearly have not. Explain that.”
“I made it up. It was a lie to shock you.”
“You did nothing of the sort. You believed it. You still believe you did it and you are afraid of what it must mean that Minerva is now speaking again.”
Emily was feeling nervous now, as though she was getting out of her depth. She knew she had to deal with Crouch immediately, but all she could think about was running away. The only thing that kept her there was knowing the safety of her friends inside the box depended up on her. As did that of her parents outside. If Crouch was ever able to escape, he would not rest until he had avenged himself – and this time he would make no mistakes.
“If I have no power here, how, then, am I able to do this?” Crouch demanded. Emily heard the sound of a heavy object rapidly dragging across the floor to the edge of the space and the muffled cries of Minerva.
“Stop!” Emily demanded, a fierce anger boiling within. “You will not hurt my friends.”
“Just go Emily,” Minerva pleaded. “Don’t think about us again. You must go while you can.”
Emily shook her head silently, more determined than ever to stay until she had finished what she must. But a sudden, sickening thought flashed into her mind before she could stop it. The lollies that she had placed in her pocket before lifting the lid on the box – now that she was back in her body, and Crouch in his, they were within his immediate reach. He need only put his hand in his pocket and…
“Haha!” Crouch cried triumphantly. “You should have watched what you thought more closely than that, Emily Button. You know lollies are bad for young teeth, but in this case they’re a lot worse for you than simply that! Well, look what we have here,” he teased, and Emily heard the rustling of the bag.
She had no chance of crossing the darkness in time to snatch them away, so willed Crouch to stop what he was doing.
“Oh you may be able to affect other things in here Emily, but you have no such control over me,” he sneered.
“I am not of the box, so I am beyond your reach. Wish all the harm you can muster, it shan’t affect me one little bit. Now if you will excuse me, I’m a little peckish and have unfinished business to which I must…”
“You have not.”
“Emily, I just this very moment did exactly what I just told you. If I had not, surely Minerva could speak up for herself and suggest otherwise?”
“That is indeed the case, Aloysius, thank you for pointing it out.”
Emily felt a thrill of triumph as she heard these words, for they had not come from her. They had passed across the room from where Emily had only moments before seen a crumpled Minerva lay.
“Why this is preposterous,” Crouch thundered. “What’s happening here?”
“How easily you seem to forget what you once told me,” Emily said, the strength coming back into her as she felt she may, finally, have the upper hand.
“You may recall, as you were sending me into the box, cutting out my soul so you could steal my body, that this box would be a projection of my own self – my own wishes and dreams. Well I suspect you will find that is now coming back to haunt you. This is my box now and nothing will happen while I am here that will hurt my friends. I simply shall not allow it.”
“But you forget, Emily, that I know this place far, far better than you,” Crouch countered. “I devised it, I made it happen and I have been coming here for a long time now. I know it as well as I know the world out there and everyone and everything that lives in here knows me and knows that they must fear me.”
“Perhaps that is so, perhaps it is not. You thought you had silenced Minerva and you clearly have not. Explain that.”
“I made it up. It was a lie to shock you.”
“You did nothing of the sort. You believed it. You still believe you did it and you are afraid of what it must mean that Minerva is now speaking again.”
Emily was feeling nervous now, as though she was getting out of her depth. She knew she had to deal with Crouch immediately, but all she could think about was running away. The only thing that kept her there was knowing the safety of her friends inside the box depended up on her. As did that of her parents outside. If Crouch was ever able to escape, he would not rest until he had avenged himself – and this time he would make no mistakes.
“If I have no power here, how, then, am I able to do this?” Crouch demanded. Emily heard the sound of a heavy object rapidly dragging across the floor to the edge of the space and the muffled cries of Minerva.
“Stop!” Emily demanded, a fierce anger boiling within. “You will not hurt my friends.”
“Just go Emily,” Minerva pleaded. “Don’t think about us again. You must go while you can.”
Emily shook her head silently, more determined than ever to stay until she had finished what she must. But a sudden, sickening thought flashed into her mind before she could stop it. The lollies that she had placed in her pocket before lifting the lid on the box – now that she was back in her body, and Crouch in his, they were within his immediate reach. He need only put his hand in his pocket and…
“Haha!” Crouch cried triumphantly. “You should have watched what you thought more closely than that, Emily Button. You know lollies are bad for young teeth, but in this case they’re a lot worse for you than simply that! Well, look what we have here,” he teased, and Emily heard the rustling of the bag.
She had no chance of crossing the darkness in time to snatch them away, so willed Crouch to stop what he was doing.
“Oh you may be able to affect other things in here Emily, but you have no such control over me,” he sneered.
“I am not of the box, so I am beyond your reach. Wish all the harm you can muster, it shan’t affect me one little bit. Now if you will excuse me, I’m a little peckish and have unfinished business to which I must…”
Sunday, 30 May 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Seventy-Three
The moment she opened her eyes Emily felt she had made a terrible mistake. How could she have been so silly? Finally reunited with her parents, out of immediate danger with Crouch now out of the picture, she had almost everything for which she could have dreamed. So what could have led her to do something so stupid?
Sitting here, back in the woods inside the box, Emily wondered whether Crouch had deliberately released the music that brought her here. If so, then he still had the potential to do harm. And if that was the case, simply having him trapped here in the box would not be enough. Emily was devastated she had been so easily lured back here, but knew there was no time to dwell. She had to think. Where would Crouch be?
Revenge. That would be first and foremost on his mind, even moreso than escape, Emily felt. Revenge upon those who had helped Emily to thwart his plans with Isabelle. Minerva.
Dashing through the trees, Emily raced towards what she felt must be the heart of the forest, keeping her ears primed for the slightest hint that would suggest she was near one of the entryways to Minerva’s underground dominion. The further she went the more she was certain she would never be able to find her way, until she stopped dead in her tracks.
“Of course I won’t find it if I think I won’t,” Emily chastised herself. “That’s exactly how this place works. Now if I turn around and look at that doorway that has just opened in that tree behind me…”
Emily slowly turned and was amazed to see a gaping doorway where only moments before there had been a solid tree trunk. So much had rested on this being the case, for she now knew what she must do.
Winding her way down the spiral stone staircase, Emily guided herself down through the darkness by running her hand along the cool stone wall. She stopped briefly to rest her burning forehead against the stone, knowing she must have all her wits about her. The stairs now opened out into a passageway, again unlit. Emily didn’t bother trying to produce any light, now trusting her way simply by deciding the passageway was wide enough not to run into anything.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she decided, knowing she had now emerged into the room where she had first met Minerva. She just hoped she had arrived in time.
“So lovely of you to join us,” came a voice from the dark, the unmistakable, bone-chilling tone of Aloysius Crouch. But how had he got his own voice back?
“Because I wanted it back,” he said. “I believe I have talked like a spoilt little girl quite long enough, don’t you Emily Button?”
“If you say so, Mr Crouch,” replied Emily, shocked to hear her own voice emerge. She put a finger to her nose and felt not the sharp, pointed thing she had expected but rather her very own.
“That’s right, Emily,” Couch cooed. “I no longer need it, so it’s all yours. Of course I now no longer need you at all in the slightest. In fact, it would suit me greatly for you to disappear entirely!”
At this came a sudden flash of light, so bright after all this darkness. While relieved to have escaped Crouch’s body – she still wasn’t entirely sure how – she was terrified by his sudden appearance across the room from her. He appeared to be standing over something, a huddled bundle on the floor. As quickly as the light had appeared, darkness closed back in.
“It was very valiant of you to come down here, Emily, but I am afraid you are too late. Minerva should have known better than to help you against me and she has now paid the price.”
“You vile beast!” Emily cried, tears welling up in her eyes. “What have you done?”
“Oh, not so much so far, merely removed her tongue. She may still be able to hear, but she won’t be able to tell you anything. She will certainly never sing again.”
Emily was lost for words. After all this time she was still shocked that anyone could be so heartless, selfish and cruel. Could this really be true? Emily tried to hold her feelings in check and see what might happen if she decided – truly convinced herself – that he had simply made it up to try and unsettle her.
“You’re lying. You may have wanted to do that, but you haven’t.”
Sitting here, back in the woods inside the box, Emily wondered whether Crouch had deliberately released the music that brought her here. If so, then he still had the potential to do harm. And if that was the case, simply having him trapped here in the box would not be enough. Emily was devastated she had been so easily lured back here, but knew there was no time to dwell. She had to think. Where would Crouch be?
Revenge. That would be first and foremost on his mind, even moreso than escape, Emily felt. Revenge upon those who had helped Emily to thwart his plans with Isabelle. Minerva.
Dashing through the trees, Emily raced towards what she felt must be the heart of the forest, keeping her ears primed for the slightest hint that would suggest she was near one of the entryways to Minerva’s underground dominion. The further she went the more she was certain she would never be able to find her way, until she stopped dead in her tracks.
“Of course I won’t find it if I think I won’t,” Emily chastised herself. “That’s exactly how this place works. Now if I turn around and look at that doorway that has just opened in that tree behind me…”
Emily slowly turned and was amazed to see a gaping doorway where only moments before there had been a solid tree trunk. So much had rested on this being the case, for she now knew what she must do.
Winding her way down the spiral stone staircase, Emily guided herself down through the darkness by running her hand along the cool stone wall. She stopped briefly to rest her burning forehead against the stone, knowing she must have all her wits about her. The stairs now opened out into a passageway, again unlit. Emily didn’t bother trying to produce any light, now trusting her way simply by deciding the passageway was wide enough not to run into anything.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she decided, knowing she had now emerged into the room where she had first met Minerva. She just hoped she had arrived in time.
“So lovely of you to join us,” came a voice from the dark, the unmistakable, bone-chilling tone of Aloysius Crouch. But how had he got his own voice back?
“Because I wanted it back,” he said. “I believe I have talked like a spoilt little girl quite long enough, don’t you Emily Button?”
“If you say so, Mr Crouch,” replied Emily, shocked to hear her own voice emerge. She put a finger to her nose and felt not the sharp, pointed thing she had expected but rather her very own.
“That’s right, Emily,” Couch cooed. “I no longer need it, so it’s all yours. Of course I now no longer need you at all in the slightest. In fact, it would suit me greatly for you to disappear entirely!”
At this came a sudden flash of light, so bright after all this darkness. While relieved to have escaped Crouch’s body – she still wasn’t entirely sure how – she was terrified by his sudden appearance across the room from her. He appeared to be standing over something, a huddled bundle on the floor. As quickly as the light had appeared, darkness closed back in.
“It was very valiant of you to come down here, Emily, but I am afraid you are too late. Minerva should have known better than to help you against me and she has now paid the price.”
“You vile beast!” Emily cried, tears welling up in her eyes. “What have you done?”
“Oh, not so much so far, merely removed her tongue. She may still be able to hear, but she won’t be able to tell you anything. She will certainly never sing again.”
Emily was lost for words. After all this time she was still shocked that anyone could be so heartless, selfish and cruel. Could this really be true? Emily tried to hold her feelings in check and see what might happen if she decided – truly convinced herself – that he had simply made it up to try and unsettle her.
“You’re lying. You may have wanted to do that, but you haven’t.”
Friday, 28 May 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Seventy-Two
Emily’s mother looked at her steadily, putting her hand out to take her own.
“How can it be?”
“It’s a long story, mother and I’m afraid I have put us in terrible danger. He wanted to find you, to have you, and I almost let it happen.”
The fear, the frustration, the exhaustion of everything that had happened since she had left home in pursuit of the music box welled up inside her. Emily broke down into a fit of sobbing, collapsing onto the bed beside her mother and putting her head on her shoulder. She felt her mother flinch and realised why. She may have believed her story, but she would still be appalled at having Crouch so close. Emily wiped her nose and rubbed her eyes and stood up again.
“He’s in there,” she said, pointing at the box. “He is using my body, but now he has disappeared into the box, but I cannot tell you how long we have. We must get rid of the box.”
“But what about you, Emily? We can’t just leave you like this.”
“I know, but I don’t know what to do about that.”
“Begin by telling me everything. No, wait. We must get your father too. Give me a moment to see him first, I have to explain the situation to him, little as I understand it myself. Wait here and I will be back.”
With that Isabelle strode from the room and Emily heard her cross the landing and head straight into her father’s study, something she would never normally do so abruptly. Emily made a point of sitting with her back to the box, studiously avoiding even looking at it. But in the newly silent room, it began. It was barely discernible at first and Emily thought she must be imagining things. But there it was again, that music gently wafting around the room, brightening everything and making her feel entirely at peace.
She smiled dreamily, gently stood and walked over to the box on the dresser. It was pulsing gently, a beautiful glow that spoke to her of the end of pain, the end of suffering and the promise of life back to how it had been before any of this had ever happened.
Extending Crouch’s long, cruel fingers, Emily reached down and lifted its lid.
“How can it be?”
“It’s a long story, mother and I’m afraid I have put us in terrible danger. He wanted to find you, to have you, and I almost let it happen.”
The fear, the frustration, the exhaustion of everything that had happened since she had left home in pursuit of the music box welled up inside her. Emily broke down into a fit of sobbing, collapsing onto the bed beside her mother and putting her head on her shoulder. She felt her mother flinch and realised why. She may have believed her story, but she would still be appalled at having Crouch so close. Emily wiped her nose and rubbed her eyes and stood up again.
“He’s in there,” she said, pointing at the box. “He is using my body, but now he has disappeared into the box, but I cannot tell you how long we have. We must get rid of the box.”
“But what about you, Emily? We can’t just leave you like this.”
“I know, but I don’t know what to do about that.”
“Begin by telling me everything. No, wait. We must get your father too. Give me a moment to see him first, I have to explain the situation to him, little as I understand it myself. Wait here and I will be back.”
With that Isabelle strode from the room and Emily heard her cross the landing and head straight into her father’s study, something she would never normally do so abruptly. Emily made a point of sitting with her back to the box, studiously avoiding even looking at it. But in the newly silent room, it began. It was barely discernible at first and Emily thought she must be imagining things. But there it was again, that music gently wafting around the room, brightening everything and making her feel entirely at peace.
She smiled dreamily, gently stood and walked over to the box on the dresser. It was pulsing gently, a beautiful glow that spoke to her of the end of pain, the end of suffering and the promise of life back to how it had been before any of this had ever happened.
Extending Crouch’s long, cruel fingers, Emily reached down and lifted its lid.
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Seventy-One
Isabelle reached the landing. Just as she was about to knock on Percy’s closed study door, she heard a muffled sound from Emily’s room. Gently stepping over to the door, she wondered why it had been closed. Slowly pulling it to, she was startled by a hulking shadow passing across the wall. A hand gripped her wrist and pulled her through, her heart threatening to jump from her chest as she caught in the mirror a glimpse of the dark-coated Mr Crouch.
She gasped a large gulp of air and was ready to scream when Crouch put a finger to his lips. He released his cruel grip on her wrist and for some reason she could never work out, Isabelle stayed silent. She saw, in his deep-set eyes, long body, sharp nose and the sleek, jet-black hair peeking from beneath his hat the familiar face she had recalled just moments ago.
“Aloysius”, she whispered.
But Crouch shook his head.
“Stay very still a moment, and please hear me out. I didn’t mean to grab you like that just now, I must have given you a terrible fright, but you scared me so.”
“Why would I listen to you? What are you doing here? And where’s my Emily?”
In the shock of finding Aloysius here, after all this time, and in the personage of a human, not a wolf, Isabelle had been so confused she had momentarily forgotten all about Emily.
But not now. “What have you done with her?” she growled, anger boiling her blood. Tell me now!”
“Please, I shall explain. Emily is safe, she is well; she is near.”
Isabelle glanced around the room to see if her daughter could be seen anywhere. Her eyes passed the sweets she had bought earlier that day, the tray with Percy’s tea on it and reached a small carved box she didn’t recognise. As she reached out to pick it up, Aloysius jumped towards her and wrested it from her grasp.
“Don’t open that,” he exclaimed, snatching it out of her reach. “I’ll explain everything, but please leave that be.”
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t scream now and get Percy in here,” Isabelle demanded.
“If you want to see Emily again, I strongly recommend you don’t. Please, just listen.”
Aloysius gestured to the end of Emily’s bed and Isabelle tentatively sat, though her body remained coiled, ready to spring. She glanced nervously at the door, wondering if she could make it if she needed to. Aloysius caught her line of thinking and moved further away, towards the window on the far side of the room.
“Let me just say you have nothing to fear. You did – you certainly did – but I assure you that you need worry no longer.”
“And what exactly is your assurance worth? You come here after all this time, and why? There’s something wrong with Emily, something has happened and I just know you’re involved. What are you doing in my home? How did you get here? What is going on? And why are you back, after all this time?”
Emily wondered what it must be like for her mother to be seeing Aloysius after all this time, and here, in her home, like this. But she pushed these thoughts to the side for the time-being and measured her words very carefully.
“As I was saying, Emily is well. You are right, there has been something wrong with her, and this box is a big part of that. I found it just now under this bed. Did you know it was here?”
“I’ve never seen it before in my life. What is it? How did she get it?”
“It’s a music box. It was built by Mr Crouch – Aloysius Crouch – to help him take on the forms of other beings, to lock them inside while he became them.”
“But you’re Aloysius! You’re the one doing these things.”
“I’m not. I know I appear to be, but you have to believe me – you must believe me – I’m not Aloysius Crouch.”
“Then who are you?”
“It’s me, mother. It’s Emily.”
She gasped a large gulp of air and was ready to scream when Crouch put a finger to his lips. He released his cruel grip on her wrist and for some reason she could never work out, Isabelle stayed silent. She saw, in his deep-set eyes, long body, sharp nose and the sleek, jet-black hair peeking from beneath his hat the familiar face she had recalled just moments ago.
“Aloysius”, she whispered.
But Crouch shook his head.
“Stay very still a moment, and please hear me out. I didn’t mean to grab you like that just now, I must have given you a terrible fright, but you scared me so.”
“Why would I listen to you? What are you doing here? And where’s my Emily?”
In the shock of finding Aloysius here, after all this time, and in the personage of a human, not a wolf, Isabelle had been so confused she had momentarily forgotten all about Emily.
But not now. “What have you done with her?” she growled, anger boiling her blood. Tell me now!”
“Please, I shall explain. Emily is safe, she is well; she is near.”
Isabelle glanced around the room to see if her daughter could be seen anywhere. Her eyes passed the sweets she had bought earlier that day, the tray with Percy’s tea on it and reached a small carved box she didn’t recognise. As she reached out to pick it up, Aloysius jumped towards her and wrested it from her grasp.
“Don’t open that,” he exclaimed, snatching it out of her reach. “I’ll explain everything, but please leave that be.”
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t scream now and get Percy in here,” Isabelle demanded.
“If you want to see Emily again, I strongly recommend you don’t. Please, just listen.”
Aloysius gestured to the end of Emily’s bed and Isabelle tentatively sat, though her body remained coiled, ready to spring. She glanced nervously at the door, wondering if she could make it if she needed to. Aloysius caught her line of thinking and moved further away, towards the window on the far side of the room.
“Let me just say you have nothing to fear. You did – you certainly did – but I assure you that you need worry no longer.”
“And what exactly is your assurance worth? You come here after all this time, and why? There’s something wrong with Emily, something has happened and I just know you’re involved. What are you doing in my home? How did you get here? What is going on? And why are you back, after all this time?”
Emily wondered what it must be like for her mother to be seeing Aloysius after all this time, and here, in her home, like this. But she pushed these thoughts to the side for the time-being and measured her words very carefully.
“As I was saying, Emily is well. You are right, there has been something wrong with her, and this box is a big part of that. I found it just now under this bed. Did you know it was here?”
“I’ve never seen it before in my life. What is it? How did she get it?”
“It’s a music box. It was built by Mr Crouch – Aloysius Crouch – to help him take on the forms of other beings, to lock them inside while he became them.”
“But you’re Aloysius! You’re the one doing these things.”
“I’m not. I know I appear to be, but you have to believe me – you must believe me – I’m not Aloysius Crouch.”
“Then who are you?”
“It’s me, mother. It’s Emily.”
Monday, 24 May 2010
The Music Box: Part V: Chapter Seventy
The moment Emily had seen Crouch swallow the licorice, he vanished from her sight. She made herself wait at least 10 seconds, but still nobody appeared, so she slowly opened the cupboard door. Stepping out into the room, she felt a momentary surge of triumph. She had done it! Crouch must now be back in the music box. But with the floods of relief came a troubling thought. How long could she be sure he would be there?
She was almost certain he would not have any food with him, so there was no simple way out for him that way. But perhaps he knew of other ways to escape. She herself had found at least one other way out with Minerva’s help, through the music, and she knew that Oscar had also passed out through other means. While this passed through her mind, she absentmindedly pocketed the remaining sweets from the dresser.
There still remained one aspect of her plan that Emily had never really worked out. She was still here in Crouch’s body and now had no idea where hers might be. As she considered all this, she examined the room for the music box. She knew it must be here somewhere, but where?
It had not been in the wardrobe, nor could she see it on the dresser. She thought for a moment longer then dropped to her knees, lifting the bedspread and peering beneath. And there it was.
Lifting the music box gently, she carried it over to the dresser and set it down. Here it was, the reason she had got into this mess, the reason her father had nearly died, for she was sure that it was poison she had seen Crouch slip into her father’s teacup, which sat just to the side on the tray, now cold.
Despite everything that had happened, Emily was still drawn to the box. As she ran her finger over its carved edges, she felt a warm, happy feeling pass through her body. Her head emptied of all other thought but for the box and she was on the verge of opening the lid when she heard footsteps at the door. Snapping from her reverie, she glided across the room and hid behind the door.
The moment had arrived and she must now explain all.
She was almost certain he would not have any food with him, so there was no simple way out for him that way. But perhaps he knew of other ways to escape. She herself had found at least one other way out with Minerva’s help, through the music, and she knew that Oscar had also passed out through other means. While this passed through her mind, she absentmindedly pocketed the remaining sweets from the dresser.
There still remained one aspect of her plan that Emily had never really worked out. She was still here in Crouch’s body and now had no idea where hers might be. As she considered all this, she examined the room for the music box. She knew it must be here somewhere, but where?
It had not been in the wardrobe, nor could she see it on the dresser. She thought for a moment longer then dropped to her knees, lifting the bedspread and peering beneath. And there it was.
Lifting the music box gently, she carried it over to the dresser and set it down. Here it was, the reason she had got into this mess, the reason her father had nearly died, for she was sure that it was poison she had seen Crouch slip into her father’s teacup, which sat just to the side on the tray, now cold.
Despite everything that had happened, Emily was still drawn to the box. As she ran her finger over its carved edges, she felt a warm, happy feeling pass through her body. Her head emptied of all other thought but for the box and she was on the verge of opening the lid when she heard footsteps at the door. Snapping from her reverie, she glided across the room and hid behind the door.
The moment had arrived and she must now explain all.
Saturday, 22 May 2010
The Music Box: Chapter Sixty-Nine
Emily watched in horror as the doorknob stopped turning. Before she even had time to think of what to do she realised she was wrenching open her wardrobe door, folding Crouch’s ungainly frame down to fit in the cramped space and pulling the door closed just as her bedroom door swung open. She put her eye to the keyhole and watched herself cross the rug, carrying something on a tray.
Emily saw Crouch carefully place the tray on the dresser. He seemed to take a few moments to decide what to do next, but she realised he was looking for something. Whatever it was he must have now found, for he was lifting a small glass vial up to the light. Turned side on to the window like this, she saw her own features break out into a smile that made her shudder. Crouch removed a cork from the top of the vial and emptied its contents into the teacup she could now see sitting on the tray.
Emily knew this was her father’s teacup and it took all the will she could muster not to burst out and confront Crouch. She weighed up the possible outcomes of such a sudden surprise move, but decided she should wait just a few moments more. She knew she could not allow Crouch to take that tea to her father, but knew that to appear now would be too dangerous to countenance.
Crouch put the stopper back into the vial, which he now placed back on the dresser. Emily held her breath and willed him to notice the sweets where they still sat. Whether through the force of her wishes or Crouch’s own volition – she was never to know for sure – he must have done exactly that for she saw him lift some of the licorice pieces to his lips and pop them in his mouth.
Emily saw Crouch carefully place the tray on the dresser. He seemed to take a few moments to decide what to do next, but she realised he was looking for something. Whatever it was he must have now found, for he was lifting a small glass vial up to the light. Turned side on to the window like this, she saw her own features break out into a smile that made her shudder. Crouch removed a cork from the top of the vial and emptied its contents into the teacup she could now see sitting on the tray.
Emily knew this was her father’s teacup and it took all the will she could muster not to burst out and confront Crouch. She weighed up the possible outcomes of such a sudden surprise move, but decided she should wait just a few moments more. She knew she could not allow Crouch to take that tea to her father, but knew that to appear now would be too dangerous to countenance.
Crouch put the stopper back into the vial, which he now placed back on the dresser. Emily held her breath and willed him to notice the sweets where they still sat. Whether through the force of her wishes or Crouch’s own volition – she was never to know for sure – he must have done exactly that for she saw him lift some of the licorice pieces to his lips and pop them in his mouth.
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Vinyl Diaries XXXVI: The Paradise Motel
choose your own way i will remain
as the ghost in fading pages
and the dust between the cracks
'Ashes',
The Paradise Motel
I can still recall the exact moment the bulk of my thankfully still nascent music collection was rendered unlistenable evermore. The night after my 18th birthday I caught the train up to Sydney to The Basement to see my first ever (legitimately attended) 18+ show. I was there to see the specialness that is Josh Haden’s Spain, supported by a new Australian band about which I had been hearing more than the occasional excitable murmur, by the name of The Paradise Motel.
Drifting out onto the tiny Basement stage, these sartorially splendid Tasmanian/Melbournian boys and girl seemed to my overly vivid imagination to have stepped straight out of a Great Gatsby cocktail party (further starkening the later, unexpected appearance of tracksuit pants during the Spain set). The boys took up their places with their assorted musical toys as Merida Sussex glided up to the microphone, gazed around the hushed, smoke-misted room, and it happened.
smiling from the page
lied about my age
now I’m lost forever in this town
I wasn't the only one in the hushed room to realise there was something a bit special happening here, quite unlike anything I had encountered in music up to that time. As the set continued, it was a near note-perfect lesson in what I have since come to seek in almost all my music-snooping meanderings – what the band themselves later described as ‘the violence and the silence’.
The set continually took us to the verge of a perfect storm, only to each time step back from the brink.
Instead of the longed for release, I was being wrapped ever more tightly in a cold, coiled menace. Pacing the stage like a wounded wombat, lyric penner and primary songwriter Charles Bickford was the most on edge, guitar slung low, foppish fringe dangling, bumping into his fellow members. But he wasn’t yet being let off his leash, and though a troubled rumble was swelling in the music, it was still being held at bay. The rhythm section was still keeping it all in check at this stage, along with the haunting voice of a gently swaying Merida Sussex, the rockingest librarian that ever there was.
danger all around
pulling me down
love for me is never to be found
Merida had a knack, never missing from a single show I went on to see, of convincing everyone in the room that she was singing directly to them. Her piercing, eye-locking gaze seemed a challenge, almost, daring you to suggest the songs were coming from anywhere but a place of utter musical integrity. It has always seemed to me a voice strangely free of emotion, yet in its icy detachment it is somehow altogether more convincing in the tales it tells.
During this particular encounter, the inevitable finally occurred. Everything, of course, had to tumble down. The drums finally let out some chain and nobody let their chance slip. The bass boiled over as the guitars crashed into a metallic, junked heap, while the Hammond – that ridiculous, hulking beast they insisted on dragging from show to show – stoically took one of its absolute beatings, thumped and kicked and thrashed into submission.
Standing solitary before all this, barely a hair moving from place,
Merida carried the whole thing through, the ice queen who could melt any heart.
From that moment I was hooked – not on ‘valium’s wishing bone’ as per 'Stones', but in this delicious noir web they so effortlessly weaved. They had moved me without whining at me, destroyed my resistance without numbing my resolve.
Caress before catharsis.
At this stage, 1996, The Paradise Motel had only released a solitary EP, Left Over Life To Kill, with the scattered scraps and remix outing Some Deaths Take Forever soon to follow. I managed to catch a generous handful of shows and their first (and only) two full-length albums over the next two years, following them into tiny caves in Kings Cross, corner pubs in Melbourne and RSL clubs in Wollongong.
One of the rewarding joys of this happy stalking was that no two shows was remotely alike – compulsive deconstructionists, there was no such thing as a definitive version of a song.
What may have been the incidental scraps and scrapings of one show became the lynchpin of the next, the beating heart of one night the shed skin of another. Their line-up would ebb and flow, with the occasional appearance of a string-quartet or brass section adding some lovingly textured layers, or an extra guitarist prompting tingling, scissors-on-strings, electrified terror.
But whatever the make-up, there was always a moving, living heart beating beneath Merida’s voice – a bass pulsing like blood through your temples, knife-edge metallic guitar jangling, strummed acoustic warmth and that mad old Hammond.
On the live stage The Paradise Motel was most certainly a collective effort. But behind the scenes, while Matt Aulich cobbled together some memorable string arrangements and always seemed the most proficient musician, one felt Charles was the mad scientist with the vision. And the boy certainly had an ear, turning his deft hand to producing an amazing album by my lovely school friends, those krazy Kiama kids Arrosa.
Charles helped hone the sublime, aching, fractured artistry of these then teens into a beautiful beast, but the album sadly never saw the light after the always fragile band imploded on the brink of… who knows what?
While I hadn’t heard anything quite like it before, The Paradise Motel wasn’t entirely without reference points. The dreamy, reverb-soaked miasma was not a million miles from Underground Lovers. The nattily suited, sideshow drama nodded to a certain incarnation of Nick Cave. Dirty Three, Low and Mazzy Star are all there too - maybe even a hint of Portishead or Lamb - but not in any easily discernible style or sound or obvious conceit. It is there and not there, in the way one may lazily group Faulkner, Steinbeck and Salinger – it’s fair and fruitless at the same time.
If a band can ever be summed up in a single song, it was, for The Paradise Motel, the two-act 'Men Who Loved Here (Grew Sadder)'. Opening with a jagged, wrenching slice of feedback and gentle if minor acoustic chords, the signs are more than a little ominous. Come the 36 second mark, viciously abrasive guitars slashing in like a rusty scalpel wielded by a deranged doctor slit the whole thing open. Merida’s reassuring view on the matter?
the agony
will set you free
There is precious little of their music floating around the webisphere, and I guess it's really not a vision that translates well to a little yootoobish box. But perhaps the closest clip to capturing the quintessence of The Paradise Motel would be bad light.
So, it’s a tad melodramatic and no doubt a little ostentatious. But it hit me there, in that spot, that only a select few have tickled since. And that’s perhaps the bittersweet twist in this tale. They ruined so much music for me that I had until then happily, mindlessly enjoyed.
Perhaps The Paradise Motel struck a lasting chord with me because at the heart of things they were not simply performers but also consummate storytellers; first and foremost as chroniclers of the disappeared. I didn’t realise this straight away, so it was somewhat curious to discover over time that my initial response to the music somehow picked up on this at some level. From those very first moments I had felt this was somehow a musical instantiation of Picnic Rock – both the haunting and haunted Victorian place of myth and mystery, shrouded as it is in mists real and imagined, and the classic Peter Weir film.
Which finally brings me to the point of this nostalgic little wander down musical memory lane.
The Paradise Motel left our shores in the late 1990s to try their luck in the UK and had disintegrated within two years. But now, 10 years on, they are finally about to release their third studio album. This latest musical outing is conceptially inspired by and entirely devoted to the mother of all Australian disappearances, that of Azaria Chamberlain. The unfortunate Azaria, whose purported disappearance-via-dingo remains officially unsolved, would have been 30 this June 11 - the date The Paradise Motel will release Australian Ghost Story. This thematic realm has the band back doing what they do best, delving back into their spiritual home - that of our most haunted country.
While there have been other great Australian bands before, during, and since The Paradise Motel, and allowing that there are the occasional moments that have dated a little more than ideal for a 'timeless' tag, my revisiting of these earlier recordings with fresh ears still leaves me with the softest of soft spots for these marvellous if morbid miscreants.Saturday, 15 May 2010
The museum reopens
Hello world out there.
A little while longer than intended it has been, but the Museum is about to pull off the dust cloths, cast back the curtains and throw open the doors in an attempt to return to its former levels of semi-regular sporadicity.
The curators have been busy behind the scenes and promise to take advantage of finally being in the one place for more than four days, although there is speculation afoot that they may still be dividing their time on imminent postings for that other place of tappings, a reawakening of the stolen-laptop hobbled Hobo Diaries.
Back soon... with a word from Emily B.
A little while longer than intended it has been, but the Museum is about to pull off the dust cloths, cast back the curtains and throw open the doors in an attempt to return to its former levels of semi-regular sporadicity.
The curators have been busy behind the scenes and promise to take advantage of finally being in the one place for more than four days, although there is speculation afoot that they may still be dividing their time on imminent postings for that other place of tappings, a reawakening of the stolen-laptop hobbled Hobo Diaries.
Back soon... with a word from Emily B.
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