Autumn & Ash

Chapter 1 - Layla's sight

   She tucked one, loose, perm curl behind her ear and ran her free hand along the vanity table of dusty treasures, the tips of her fingers picking up dust as she did so.

   A silver handheld mirror with an intricate design framing it; a crystal vase with a nick in the lip, the glass cloudy from residue where an elaborate bouquet once reached it’s thirsty stems in to drink the water.

   At the back of the table were stacked volumes of leather bound books. All with worn, indistinguishable, engraved title lettering. Lettering which was once gilt and an indication of the wealth of the family that long ago resided there. Disturbing the tomes revealed a hidden treasure, tucked away behind them, which was exactly what Layla was looking for, although she didn’t know it at the time.

   The energy in the house had a story to tell, she could sense that much, but as a psychometric medium she needed a precise inanimate object which would reveal the history to her.

   The mirror revealed quick flashes of images to her, she caught sight of long blond hair, in loose waves resembling that of which would be seen on commoners during the renaissance period. Although, the overall energy of the girl suggested she lived in a later time period than that.

   She could not however pick up any emotions or memories and therefore knew this was not what she needed to read. As with the vase and books, an image of a boy smiling, of a seemingly lonely atmosphere echoing for a long period of time and a crackling fireplace consuming the roughly axed dry logs. None of these could satisfy the curiosity that was now overwhelming her in her bid to uncover the story contained in these walls.

   “What can you see?” An honest question with a hint of scepticism. The new owner of this grand house was a middle aged woman, who you could only describe as ‘pinched’. Her shrewd eyes watched Layla with humour and challenge, her lips screwed up with impatience.

   It was the woman’s husband who had called Layla to read the house before they started the renovations. It had been empty for a long time due to the previous owners’ last wishes in their wills.

   Owned by the same family for generations. None of them ever took residence here, yet none would let it go, or even spend much time here as was evident by the mostly undisturbed furnishings. It was a mystery as to why they would do such a thing. A house this beautiful, beneath the grime and dust, had such potential with a little loving care and a decorators dab hand.

   However, the most recent owner had died without making a will, with no other living relatives, the house was sold at auction. Layla couldn’t make up her mind about whether this was unfortunate for the building, a tradition broken, or whether it was finally time to break the cycle.

   "I see what the house wants me to see." She gave the woman a pointed look and continued following the magnetic pull of the most energy charged items. She reached a dresser and pulled open, not too gently, the top drawer.

   Inside was an ink well and quill, an unusual writing material for the time period and a family of that stature, the metal dip pen was a more modern and flashy device. Perhaps they preferred the gracefulness of a bobbing feather as they penned.

   Lifting the quill delicately between thumb and forefinger she twisted the feather in the stream of light pouring in from a smudge in the filth covered glass of the window. The waxy barbs shimmered and reflected the light hypnotically. First she heard the scratching. Then she saw the boy sitting at the desk writing frantically with his right hand and tousling his hair with his left as he did so.

   The story was starting to unravel itself to Layla, she closed her eyes and let the memories fill her sight, unaware that she was going to be faced with a reality she could never have expected.