/ phantom /
a figment of the imagination
"She was like a dark wave crashing upon the bright shores of his horizon."
Anne Wheeler. An outcast. A loner. A street orphan. A disregarded, disgraced child born out of wedlock. A broken girl waiting for a s...
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The soft sound of Anne's booted feet, creeping quietly down the creaking timbers of the passage that was lined with rows of polished oak doors, echoed throughout the evening husk which was lit up by the eerie glow of the outside moon.
Hitching the strap of her bag higher up on her shoulder, a small smile played around Anne's lips as she followed Barnum through the darkening shadows that were being cast across the floor.
"Sorry about the poor welcome," Barnum called out in a loud whisper as he stopped in front of one of the many doors. Shuffling around in his pocket for the keys, he continued, "Usually, everyone's up and out to meet a new member of the team but rehearsals this week were quite draining so they all wanted to turn in early."
Anne nodded understandingly. "It's okay. Thank you for taking me in, Mr. Barnum. You're very kind."
Barnum chuckled as he tossed Anne the key ring for her door. "No, thank you for your contribution to my show. I can't wait to see what you can do. I've never met a trapeze artist in person so, as you can tell, I'm pretty stoked."
Anne ran a nervous tongue over her lips. "Well ... er ... I wouldn't call myself an artist ..."
"Nonsense!" Barnum waved her away. "Anyone skilled enough to jump around on ropes is an artist, my dear. Now come, come, you should rest up. You must be exhausted. You'll need the sleep too. Tomorrow will be a long day."
Anne gave him an appreciative nod before turning and pushing her way into the room. Quietly, she closed the door behind her, set her bag on the floor and did a full 360 as she surveyed her new surroundings.
The area was almost as large as her entire house combined! A soft, springy mattress mounted on a polished bedstead had been set up in a corner of the room. A chest of drawers and a few roughly-hewn shelves, upon which a stack of linens and undergarments laid, graced the opposite end of the wall. A large, floor-length window, decorated with beautiful floral curtains, cast its face over the gravel street below.
Anne wanted to twirl around and laugh and giggle like an immature little child. Never had she experienced such luxury!
Seizing her bag, Anne set to work and in a matter of moments, she had rearranged her things on the shelves and made up her bed. As she shrugged off her shawl and pulled her cream-coloured blouse up over her head, she heard a flitting noise whoosh by her ear.
Startled, she dropped her blouse onto the floor and allowed her eyes to trail searchingly across the ground.
Then, she spotted it.
A piece of paper.
Anne knelt down to retrieve it, confused as to its sudden appearance. As soon as her fingers made contact with the smooth substance, she flipped it over and paused, realising that W.D had slipped it beneath her shawl earlier that day.
