We Came to Say Goodbye [Working title]

[Saint]

Updated Wednesdays!

It's been a while since I had an idea, but alas, this one struck me out of nowhere. Don't count on there being anything more to this, I've given up expecting myself to write.

I've spent a long time trying to answer a question, and the best answer I have is that maybe I don't want to know. It's going to chew away at me for possibly as long as I can think, and whenever it rears its head, I'm paralysed internally by paranoia. Noone would know, of course; with all eyes on me I learned very quickly to only show what people are comfortable with seeing.  Just because they can’t see it though, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

There are weird things going on in this town.  I don’t know if noone else has noticed, or if we’ve all just agreed silently to not talk about them, but one thing I know for certain is the first day I noticed them.  It was the day I met her.  The day I met Narcy.

And there’s the question.  I didn’t know it at the time, but those two events would eventually be the most important ones of my life, and they happened on the same day.  I’m sure you've figured it out.

That can’t be a coincidence... Can it?

Contents

Oddity One - The Big Bad Wolf - Part 1 | Part 2
Oddity Two - The Moving Door - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
With Narcy - One. - Part 1/x
With Mr. Newman - One. - Part 1/x

[Saint]

Oddity One – The Big Bad Wolf. - Saturday October 13th 2001

Part 1

After that intro, I suppose there’s only one place I can start.  That day in October, two months after my seventh birthday.  I should preface this a little first, though.  I live in a pretty small town, the everybody-knows-everybody, only-one-school, nothing-could-ever-go-wrong-in-our-community kind of small town.  You know, the ones that end up on CSI or Law and Order when inevitably someone that everybody knows shoots up the only school, leaving all the inhabitants devastated because something went wrong.  I’m getting ahead of myself here.  By the way, that doesn't happen.  At least not in this story, I promise – we have much better gun control in England.  The point I’m trying to make is that it wasn’t out of the ordinary for seven-year-old me and my best friend Sam Twining to ride our bikes around the town with no supervision.

To say it was cold would be an understatement.  It didn’t help that the wind beat into my fingers as it shot past the handlebars, but I didn’t want to stop because I was seven, having fun and didn’t have to be home for a few more hours.  I stopped anyway, if only to nurse my fingers into some degree of warmth before something hit them and they shattered into a million icy pieces.

“If you’d brought gloves like your mom said,” gloated Sam, a know-it-all grin cutting his face in half, “We’d have already found the perfect spot.”  I could count how many teeth were missing.  (Five, if you were curious.)

“Shut up Momma’s Boy.”

“Don’t care, I have gloves and you don’t.”

We bickered for a while, but it didn’t take much hand-rubbing for the topic to shift a few times and then I was ready to go.  We’d gone about three quarters of the way along our planned route – the same route as the town’s namesake parade was due to take in just a few hours time. 

Don’t worry, I’ll explain that for you, because I don’t think I’ve ever heard of another place having anything similar.  Once a year, the whole town would get together and hold what it liked to call our namesake parade.  Literally no-one in the town could tell you honestly why we held it or why it was called that, but it had become a deep part of our tradition and like it or not, it came back every year.  The most prevailant story was that our town actually began as two neighbouring towns and one day someone in one half stole a donkey from someone in the other half.  He rode it across the border and a mob followed, but they all had so much fun chasing him down that the two sides forgot their differences and united.  Adults tell that story to kids as a freindship-can-fix-all-woes kind of thing, I guess.

There were always three floats prepared by the school as class projects, and then there was always one by the town’s local artist which outshone the paper mache and poster paint by miles.  He spends almost all year on it.  I shouldn’t go into too much detail on that just now because he’s important later.  For now, just remember the name William Newman.  When he shows up further down the story, feel free to shout “A-ha! I remember him, he’s apparently important!”  His float leads three or four others along the same route every year, and volunteers from the community follow along and shake charity buckets at you until you throw in whatever coppers you have to hand and join in with the procession.  The whole thing ends up in the high street where the local businesses have a ‘carnival,’ though calling it that would be like calling a ravenous tiger ‘kitty.’  It was a collection of market stalls with games, goods, and terribly prepared food.  I hope you were paying attention throughout that, because the parade features a few times in this tale too.  It’s not as important as William Newman will be, but if you really want, everytime it shows up you can still exclaim something anyway.

Most people would either join the parade as it passes near their house or just go straight to the high street and wait for it to arrive there.  That year, Sam and I had decided to give the  a miss and just watch the parade, which was why we were out searching for the perfect spot to watch it pass from.

We’d picked out a few spots already, but we’d eventually decide on the one we were about to pass.  That would be the place my life changed.

Sam rode ahead.  The route so far had been mostly residential streets with the odd main road, but at this point it opened out into the town’s main throughfare into the high street.  The road wrapped around a small green with the town’s larger, more extravagant houses on the other side.  There were some trees scattered and in a few years time there’d be some playground equipment installed when a new member of the council wanted to make a good impression on parents.  For now though, it was a pretty drab area of grass, but it had undoubtedly the best view of the longest section of the route.

On the edge of the green, Sam set down his bike.  We’d found our spot.

I don’t remember much of what we did for the next hour or two, sitting on the grass.  My hands weren’t as cold without the wind pelting them, so Sam didn’t mock me any more on that.  For as far back as I can remember, I’ve known Sam, and even today he’s barely changed from that seven year old boy I used to know.  He has the same toothy grin, same told-you-so attitude, same strong natural leadership, and the same murky blonde hair, although he changes up the style every few years.  We probably told stories, we used to love that.  There was one of his I liked about his big brother trying to impress a girl by doing a trick on his BMX which ended with a broken nose and, as Sam told it, ‘an explosion of blood like a firework trail.’

It was when the sun was beginning to set that the parade pulled up into our sightline and whatever we were talking about muted itself.  William’s float came first, and what a beauty it was.  This year he’d prepared a chinese dragon, wrapping its humungous tail over itself so intricately that you’d swear by looking at it that it was a million feet long.  It seemed to be entirely woven, probably over a wire frame to give it shape, from a thread that seemed to be a brilliant and powerful fiery red, a harsh and luminous icy blue, and the most expensive gold, all at the same time.

Behind that came the regular three.  Lucklustre, juvenile, and very obviously not designed by a professional who dedicates his entire year to the craft.  There was a set of drama masks, you know the ones, one happy and one sad. Second came what I think was supposed to be two boys fighting; underneath was the text “NO BULLYING.” Behind that was a big Christmas tree that looked more like an upside down ice cream cone.  And then...

This is the point where I need you to believe me.  I tried for many years to convince people, but I was always written off.  I “definitely didn’t see it” they’ll tell me.  I was “too young to remember” is another popular one.  My favourite denial so far has to be “Are you sure you could even count properly, I mean, come on, you were just seven...”

Were you paying attention when I was explaining the parade?  Every year there are four floats; William’s one followed by three others.  Well I’ve only ever made two people believe what I’m about to tell you.

This year, for just thirty seconds, there was a fifth.

[Phoenix]

Ooh! Well I'm intrigued!
What's on the fifth float? 
Really liking the style in this one, it's a little all over the place but you really get a feel for the confusion the main character has. (Which I'm guessing is what you were intending?  )

One thing I spotted though;

That year, Sam and I had decided to give the  a miss and just watch the parade,

Looks like you missed a word out here.

[Saint]

Part 2

As it came over the hill, I remember a feeling of pure terror chilling me through much further than the already cold October climate.  A huge black wolf, twice the size of the other floats, seemed to pounce into view, teeth bared and snarling.  I looked beside me to Sam, who was staring straight at it.

“Whoah!  That is so cool!” he declared.  I didn’t think so.  It was an impressive feat, that was for sure, but the sinister nature of the whole thing threw me.  I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

I stood up to get a better view.

Nothing surrounded the float.  All of the others had quite the crowd around them who’d gathered to follow the parade, but not the wolf, almost as if it should never have been there.  That was the impression I got as I looked it up and down.  The limbs moved independently of each other, the tail curled up aggressively behind it, and even the lips seems to quiver as he growled.

I was fixated on this float, but looking back to Sam, I could see his gaze was already waning to the others.

“Mrs. Lebanon’s class did the tree, right?  That looks pretty lame.”

I wasn’t really listening to him.  I stared the wolf in the eyes, which seemed to stare right back at me.  The float turned.  It began to move towards me.  I remember wanting to move, but being rooted to the spot until:

“HELP!”

That’s when I saw her, walking in front of the wolf.  The car supporting it was driving at only a few miles per hour, barely enough to move her if it hit her, but that’s not the feeling I remember.  The memories I have of what I saw and the memories I have of what I felt were worlds apart: Even though I saw no danger, I remember knowing this girl was about to die.

She calmly walked towards me, and I heard her screams.

I walked towards her to find out what was the problem, but I felt my lungs pounding inside my chest.

The float was a little off course, so I remember the panic so, so vividly.

I reached the girl’s side and took her hand, guiding her away from the float.

She collapsed on top of me, her hands were bloody, her eyes were red, and she was covered in sweat as the wolf bounded past, snapping at her legs.  His teeth sunk in, and the girl screamed out so ferociously that all fear drained from me.  I had to pretect her.  I kicked the wolf’s snout as hard as I could and he squealed and turned his attention on me.

...Wait.  None of that happened.  Did it?

I don’t remember any of that.

Until I think about it…  But… Yes.  Yes that happened.

Was it actually a float?  Are my memories trying to trick me out here?  Has it finally happened, have I gone insane?

I’m trying to think of the rest of the events, but I can’t.  That passage, small as it is, is all that comes to me.

I’m not sure what’s going on here, but now I know that I have to finish this story.

I have to find out what really happened.

Sam was nowhere to be seen, but I think I remember talking to the girl.  Her name was Narcissa.  She had dark hair back then, and wore a t-shirt and jeans.  I look down in my memory and the jeans are intact.  The float which had veered towards us had marooned onto the grass near where Sam and I had been sitting.  No, it was gone.  It never crashed.  It was never there.

As I’m telling you this story, the details are changing in my mind.  This is what always happens.  Whatever I tell anyone, it's different every time.  I’ve never had it fluctuate so strongly within one sole telling of it though.  It’s definitely never been that… vivid.

One thing I know definitely happened.  I met Narcissa that day.  That day was a good day.  Nothing bad happened that day.

And yet the other thing I definitely remember.  No matter how many times I tell the story and how varied it gets, there’s one common element in all of them.

Narcissa looked at me, directly into my eyes.  I normally don’t like eye contact.  Until that point, I’d been a timid little boy.  This experience changed me.  I gained confidence.  I grew bold.  I was calmed by those grey eyes.  “I think you just saved my life,” she whispered.

[Phoenix]

 

This is a really an interesting take Spark- ... Wait..what?

I'm really intrigued to find out how this all plays out, and to find out who Narcissa is too. I don't know why, but it sort of reminds me of the Silence(?) In Dorctor Who, with the whole memory thing. Where the main character cant really be sure on the details and that.

Would be interesting to see if the wolf is actually a neutral character/figure. I don't know why, but with your sense of humour, I'm half expecting Narcissa to be a bad character(going to some sort of jail) and the wolf to be a protector or form of guard/officer taking her somewhere. Either way, looking good so far!

[Araell]

I'm really like the take on this story here. Loving the tone and the way you're telling the story. It's very different and keeping me intrigued.   

I'm also getting a Stranger Things vibe here but I have no idea why  Still need to watch Season 2 of that one 

[Saint]

I've not actually watched stranger things but I feel like I may need to, to make sure there are no crossed wires.

[Saint]

Oddity Two – The Moving Door. - Monday September 17th 2007

Part 1

I won’t bore you with the details of how I tried to make people believe me about the float.  In fact, after a few years even I began to doubt myself.  Suffice to say  I learned not to mention it after my mom suggested I ‘talk to someone’ about my delusions.  Instead, I’ll skip forward in time to the next strange thing I noticed.  I’m not taking you to the first time I saw it, however; I’m taking you to the third.  The first time, you see, I didn’t realise anything was off about it.  It was just a pretty cool looking door.
 
The second time was a neat coincidence.  What are the odds a door that strange looking would be chosen by two different people?
 
The third time, however, I began to realise it was following me…

It wasn’t an easily mistakable door, so it’s not like I saw it when I thought I didn’t.  It was slightly thinner and lower than a normal door  by perhaps four or five inches.  An adult could walk through it without banging their head but every time I see it I get the impression that it’s designed for a child or perhaps a teenager.  The wood was a warm, rich, expensive-looking brown, which seemed older than possible.  It would belong in your wealthy great-grandparents’ house if it weren't for the sigils.

Five sigils, about the width of your palm, were centred on the door in a pentagon, each connected to the other four by a carefully bevelled line.  The sigils were five different colours in a shallow glass dome, no more than an inch out from the wood.  Inside each dome was a texture that looked like a starry night sky, but the glass covering it was vibrantly coloured, and walking past gave the illusion that the contents were moving.

Now when I say the door followed me, I don’t mean like there one minute, gone the next.  I mean it was a permanent feature in almost every building I’ve ever had to spend long amounts of time in.  The first time I saw it was in the basement of my first house.  It wasn’t hinged, just a door that had once, according to my dad, separated the living room and the stairs to the first floor.  They hadn’t really liked it when they moved in, so it got taken down and stored down there, never to be thought of again.

The second place I found it was my primary school.  Don’t worry, we’ll be returning there at some time later in my tale, but for now, we’ll simply glaze over it and say that the door lead into the caretaker’s cupboard.  As I mentioned, it was just a weird co-incidence to me at that point.

When I began secondary school, I found the third one.  It was for the science department’s chemical storage room, which was off-limits to students for very obvious reasons.  Now it was starting to become strange.  Not this-town-is-fucked-up strange, like  a murderous wolf that might have been a float or a car or not existed, but definitely hey-that’s-pretty-freaky strange.  It got worse, however, on the day Narcissa and I tried to open it.

[Araell]

*looks around*

What did I do with that chair?

 

[Phoenix]

Am I the only one thinking about doors now?

Getting interesting Saint, you'll need to post more up soon. 

[Elsza]

I really like the narrative voice in this piece, I like writing that isn't afraid to break the fourth wall to make witty asides to the reader. I wonder what all the oddities this character notices are leading up to?