Entry #6: Feedback Wanted
FIRST official story on LJ!
Actually, it's more for a story contest going on at school, but you know, same difference. The point is - I need some feedback on what you think of the story! For example, did you like it? What was your overall feeling of the story? Etc. Feel free to correct any grammar, or mistakes that I may have made.
Thanks for taking the time to read :]
The Nightingale
The first time I set my eyes upon the Nightingale was in a dream.
My aunt Lexa would often haunt me in my dreams. I had only met her once when I was six or seven years old, but her presence was unforgettable. My father used to say that he would often find me tucked in between him and my mother, in the mornings after Lexa’s visit. Being twenty-three years older than me, you can imagine the generation gap between us. I was only interested in my dolls and for a playmate, but Lexa was only interested in telling me stories.
Late at night, the exact moment when I am half-asleep, half-awake, I would remember a particular part of her stories. As soon as I wake up, I’d forget. My mother would always grudgingly tell me that even then, I, the embodiment of youth, was engrossed with Lexa’s tales.
I remember my mother’s fury that night when Lexa showed up to that Thanksgiving without an invitation. I remember sitting in the living room, and felt the cold bitter wind chill my face, when the door opened. Running to my mother was the first thought I had when I saw her. The word ‘creepy’ radiated powerfully from Lexa, with her red wiry hair plastered on her face from the rain, and her dark eyes that seemed to watch your every movement - even her short and skeletal frame added to the disturbing feeling.
As my mother retired upstairs to calm down, and my father left to ‘save the turkey’, I became intensely aware that Lexa and I were alone together. At first, I ignored her and performed a matrimonial ceremony with my stuffed toys while she watched closely.
I felt an oncoming chill when Lexa spoke for the first time. It was downright eerie, but her voice was quiet and musical - so unlike the one I imagined for her. She said my name, and asked me if I wanted to hear a story. I blatantly ignored her, but she continued nevertheless.
The first tale she told me was about a little girl around my age, who had gotten lost in the woods behind her house. The next one was about a family that mysteriously disappeared during their holiday. Another involved a heartbroken man who died alone in the basement of his house. What kind of stories were these?
It intrigued me greatly; I eventually stopped playing and paid closer attention to Lexa. She told me many tales. There were ones that would have intensified my mother’s displeasure if she had been in earshot, and ones that were too ridiculous to believe. Others just made me want to cry. The main attraction that her stories held was the fact that each story linked back to the “Nightingale Manor”, an ancient residence that still existed.
Her first tale was the one story that I cannot seem to forget. The one I only half-listened to. It seemed impossible as to how I can still imagine it so vividly in my mind, but I did - at least, in my dreams.
The little girl had foolishly wandered away from the Nightingale, to the backyard, where thick clusters of elder trees formed into an impenetrable fortress. Feeling adventurous, she had decided to play detective and look for clues that involved the mysterious disappearances at her new residence, the Nightingale Manor. Her parents had been arguing about it for the last half hour of the car ride, so how could it not be embedded in her brain?
It was only when she started feeling hungry that the girl had looked at her surroundings. The manor was nowhere to be seen, and only pinpricks of light could be seen from the foliage of the trees. The occasional rustle of her dress, and her padded footsteps pierced through the silence. She called out to her parents once. Twice.
No answer, not even a flutter of wings from a bird taking flight.
She started running, heart beating fast, and hoped to find her way back home. The branches violently pecked her dress like a swarm of crows, baring many holes as she tried to break free from the forest. A few times, she had stumbled, but her determination to find her parents grew stronger. Out in the distance, the girl saw the flickering lights of flashlights in the distance seeping through the thick foliage of the forest. She could hear the faint sound of their voices calling out to her. Getting closer and closer, the girl finally broke loose from the grasp of the menacing forest. She ran over to her parents and threw herself into their arms, immediately feeling warmth and comfort. The girl looked at the manor, and she could only see the hundreds of windows winking at her, as if it had played a prank on her.
At last, she was home.
Lexa’s parting gift to me that night, before she left, was a whispered assurance in my ear: Don’t worry. Everything will be okay… in the end.
The Nightingale manor was impressive at the most. It would have been magnificent in another life, but now, it was just slowly rotting. Despite its forgotten appearance, shabby exterior, and the ever-growing moss enveloping its massive substance, I felt a tingling sense of anticipation. I wondered again if Lexa had ever been to the Nightingale; could it possibly be where she learned the stories?
I lifted my feet, one by one, and I could feel certain impatience in every bone in my body. Rheumatism had indeed wrecked my once young body. The sinister forest was still there; in fact, it seemed infinite, as it enveloped the whole area with its dark, ancient trees. The red bricks were only faintly visible beneath the moss, and the windows had been boarded up even before I was born.
I remember the cold, bitter wind that day. To anybody younger, it would have felt refreshing; to me, it was awful and unfriendly. The path leading up to the Nightingale took me longer than I expected, as I avoided sharp stones and uncut grass, but finally I made it.
I looked up at the impending manor, the Nightingale, and gazed at its grandeur. I thought of the little girl, lost but then found her way home. I thought of Aunt Lexa, and how I thought she would have felt if she had stood where I was at that moment. I thought of Lexa’s parting gift, the musical voice that professed the words beneath.
I thought of them, and I smiled.
At last, I was home.
That's it! Thanks again for reading, and feedback is much appreciated =]
-joy