Fri 31 Oct, 2008
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Prologue
I have no other escape
The house is already my prison
I know it will be my tomb
A woman’s hand crumpled the written words. She stood rigidly silent, trembling. Her heart pounded beneath the black bodice of her gown, for she started to hear voices in the house—frightened, sorrowing, murmuring in the halls. Something more had happened, something they were afraid to tell her.
And the voices were approaching.
She clutched the paper to her chest and faced her own reflection in the bureau mirror. Flickering candlelight pecked at her gaunt features. It did nothing to soften them, or to warm the paleness of her skin. Her dark, feverish eyes burned with an anguished question:
What had she done?
The bedroom door swung open, and men entered. Each carried a lantern, as if light could be a talisman against the night and the evil that had stained it. The tossing illumination sent hideous shadows scurrying into the corners.
She did not turn to look at the men–instead, her eyes shifted to their reflections, picking out, one by one, the faces she knew. Her husband, gray and stricken, no more than a haunted impression of the man he had been that morning. Their nephew, white-faced; impossibly youthful next to the rest. Another young man, the son of friends; his attire was neat and well-groomed in comparison to the disarray of the others. She had never seen him otherwise. Inwardly, she had been accustomed to praise him for his appearance.
But at that moment, she detested the sight of him.
He was the first to speak. “We have found her.”
There was a grating hoarseness in his voice. Some would have called it deep feeling. She thought she heard anger. As his words sank into her consciousness, the shaking consumed her. “And?”
“Your daughter is dead.”
She gripped the paper in her hand until her nails dug into her skin and drew blood. “You are mistaken,” she whispered.
“If only I was. There is no mistake.”
“You cannot be sure.”
His expression darkened. “Mrs. Morton, I am quite sure. Your daughter has been murdered.”
My heart is heavy with sorrow
Goodbye
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(c) 2008 Christine Taylor & Stacy J-M Taylor, all rights reserved
Zack "The Mothman" Daggy says:
So far so hooked.
Heading on to Chapter 1
Keith Burtis says:
Awesome! I want to record this. I’m no actor but the words are moving! On to Ch. 1!
Love you two.
Keith
Journey to Rosewood House | Magic Woodworks says:
[...] The Prologue and First Chapter are now available for viewing on their blog! Christine and Stacy are using their new media talents and expertise to display their new literary accomplishment. I could go on and on gushing about the work, but the fact is I really want you to go to their site and begin the story. However, I will end this post with a little compilation video of the painting and art of Christine Taylor. Watch the short video and go immerse yourself in the story that is Journey to the Rosewood House. [...]
Steaders says:
No time for comments, need to read the next bit…
Tessa says:
Christine and Stacy, I’m absolutely blown away. I know from having read your blog – and from posts in the ACEO forums & our Blood:Water campaign – how well you write, Chris. This is fantastic – I’m so impressed and delighted and excited and thrilled! It’s easy to tell that you are an artist as well because of the masterful way in which you paint word pictures. For example, this sentence: “Flickering candlelight pecked at her gaunt features.” Beautiful writing. I truly can’t wait to read more – you have me totally hooked!
mousewords says:
((Hugs)) Tessa! Thank you! That’s an amazing compliment coming from a talented writer such as yourself!
William Baranowski says:
Great start. Hope you include lots of Ventura County stuff in the rest. Looking forward to reading the whole work.
mousewords says:
Thank you! People don’t often mention the location, that’s very cool! And yes, there’s definitely plenty of Ventura County in the story–we tried to take the readers on a visit to that beautiful part of the country.