Chimehour (The Faire Curiosities #1) - Sample Chapters

Chapter 1 - The Unseen

"From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were—I have not seen

As others saw—I could not bring

My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow—I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone—

And all I loved—I lov'd alone..."

Edgar Allen Poe, Alone

_

Drowning. Stanley was drowning.

Or at least he assumed himself so. It was difficult to make sense of these things in the dark. The bite of overrun lungs. A vile taste of old water. The horrible, thin hands that held him under. He couldn't move, and so couldn't fight. The darkness was soon lit with the faintest of glows, filled with the ovals of eyes and whites of hungry teeth.

From their shadows echoed a banshee-esque shriek.

"Stanley! For the last time, do sit up right! We're nearly at port!"

He jolted awake like soldier on watch, his glasses pressed against the pane of a porthole. Someone giggled from across the room, the noise dulled by his groggy senses.

Blasted nightmares. Stanley unhooked his glasses, digging sand out of his eyes. What brought that on?

The ship's cabin appeared in clarity as he re-placed his glasses. It was still a violent shade of white, paint peeling off every corner and edge. The door was a mismatched redwood and unfinished benches sat on either wall. Worn plush cushions were the only protection between the sitter and splinters.

Stanley soon found the voice's owner: his mother, her thin lips pulled tighter than her blonde hair, mostly due to the stuffy air, which had caused several of her frizzed curls to escape their pins. She stared at him a minute more before returning to the embroidery hoop in her lap.

Stanley looked through the porthole. A wave reached up, licking the glass.

He swallowed involuntarily, queasiness taking hold. He remembered now why he'd chosen to nap. Better to be asleep than seasick. He turned away, trying to keep the contents of his stomach stowed.

Isabelle appeared across the seat, sliding up from unknown shadows that he assumed little sisters came from. Her coat was ill-fitted from her last growth spurt, leaving periwinkle patches of her dress exposed. Her raggedy stuffed frog sat bundled in her lap.

"First you lull off and now you're sick again. Right stalwart." Her black tresses bobbed as she laughed.

He wrinkled his nose with a sniffle. He knew it wouldn't be fair sport to mention last year's incident on the switchback, which still kept her off of any sort of carnival ride since. Coupled with his mood though, the idea tempted him.

The cabin door swung open before he could make his decision. Stanley's father stepped inside, pulling his windblown dark hair from his face and glasses.

"Well, we've reached Dublin." he exclaimed, turning to his children. "Who wants to come on deck and see the city? I think the festivals have started!"