Welcome to Spooky Season, the most wonderful time of the year when all things ghost and unexplained take a front row seat. In today’s Skylark Special episode, we’ll hear the eerie tale of The Cemetery Ghost, in which our listener had an uncanny experience at a nearby cemetery that not only scared her, but also the friend she was communicating with at the time.

So, get settled in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

STORY TRANSCRIPT:

It was a picture-perfect summer morning; slightly cool, lovely breeze, bright sunshine... nothing to indicate what was to come.

I had been taking daily morning walks for several weeks and was tiring of the same scenery, so on a whim decided to visit the large cemetery a short drive from my house. I had heard it was a lovely place with miles of walking paths, mature trees, sculptures, statues, and a lake, and thought it would make a good change of pace. The cemetery is a prestigious place to spend the afterlife and boasts the graves of several local people of note including internationally successful businessmen and politicians.

I parked my car by the side of the path, not far from the entrance so I could find my way out easily when it came time to leave. Just inside the wrought iron gates of the cemetery was the visitor center. Next to it was a large crematorium which spanned the length of 3 interconnected buildings, each surrounded by manicured gardens with fountains and impeccable landscaping.

Across from the crematorium, a few paces behind my parked car, was the chapel. The chapel featured a domed roof and ornate tile work, it was absolutely beautiful, a true work of art. 

As I was exiting my car a friend pinged me with a good morning note. I replied, explaining where I was, as we both share a deep love of cemeteries and nature. We began messaging back and forth and I spontaneously filmed a quick video of the chapel to send to them. I then turned and began walking in the general direction of the lake, as that was the portion of the cemetery, I was most interested in. 

As I was making my way down the path, I continued to share photos and videos of the area with my friend. They marveled at how expansive the cemetery was, and how beautiful the mature trees and landscaping were. I eventually came around a bend in the path and saw the lake in the distance. The cemetery was rather hilly, and downhill from the path I was on was a separate path that made its way around the lake. The quickest way to get to the lake path was to cut through the section of gravestones in between the upper path which I was on, and the lower path. I eyed a tentative trail between the graves, some perpendicular to the ground, others flat stones, some of which were slightly overgrown and difficult to see. I then snapped a quick photo of the lake in the distance to send to my friend.

The moment my foot touched the grass I felt them. It was instantaneous. The feeling is hard to describe. I’ve felt it before, it’s familiar to me... I can absolutely distinguish it from simple daydreaming or an overactive imagination. It’s a very physical sensation, an instant tightening of the stomach. Next is the instant “knowing” – again, hard to explain. I’ll just know that the entity near me is from a certain era, or is a certain gender, sometimes I’ll sense what they’re wearing, on rare occasions I’ll know an age, or a name, or a profession, or even get a sense of their personality. In the past some of these experiences have later been confirmed with facts, it’s incredibly strange and creepy...

This time, I felt a crowd. It’s challenging to explain how this works, because I myself don’t understand it all that well, and I have no control over it. I suddenly just knew there was a crowd of people surrounding me. I would compare it to walking into a crowded restaurant and hearing loud chatter without being able to distinguish words, except instead of sound, it was the vague, silent presence of several people. It felt like they were rushing in to see who this stranger was in their midst. I didn’t feel threatened whatsoever, but I definitely felt uncomfortable, so I walked faster.

I quickly wound my way between the graves to the path below, then started filming as I walked across another small stretch of grass to the lake so I could show my friend. The tightening in my stomach continued to linger. I made brief mention of what had just happened in my video, and that the feeling seemed to be staying with me in the pit of my stomach. A few deep breaths later and a few feet farther down the path the feeling finally began to ease up... but something lingered in mind. A woman. 

I walked around the entire lake, marveling at the wildlife; the cormorant lifting off the surface of the water, and the heron soaring overhead. I stood under the expanse of two large willow trees whose low-hanging branches dipped into the water, all the time sharing photos, videos, and messages back and forth with my friend who was thoroughly enjoying the virtual visit.

I made my way around the lake and returned to the bottom of the hill I had walked down earlier. This time, I began filming a video as I made my way back up the hill to the path that would take me to my car. I could feel the woman’s presence getting stronger as I neared the rows of gravestones that lay flat on the ground. As I walked past one row in particular the sensation became very strong, and I turned back to revisit the specific spot. I would compare this feeling to hearing a high-pitched noise and trying to pinpoint where it’s coming, except instead of sound it’s emotion. Another thing that happens to me besides suddenly “knowing” things, is suddenly “feeling” things... often emotions that aren’t my own. This is without out a doubt the most challenging part of these experiences. 

As I neared a collection of gravestones the feeling became overwhelming, like a sound becoming too loud... The woman was incredibly upset, devastated, agitated... I felt a terrible weight fall on my shoulders, a heaviness settle into my body, and had to step away. If I’d stayed longer, perhaps I would have been able to get a name, or an era, or some kind of identifying information... but the weight of her emotions became unbearable, so I had to walk away and leave her behind. Thankfully, after taking a few paces up the hill I felt the strength of the emotion coming from her begin to wane. I ended the video and sent it to my friend.

I got back on the upper path and felt renewed energy now that the heaviness of the woman had lifted, so I decided to go the opposite direction from my car and visit other parts of the cemetery. I walked for some time, continuously taking photos and videos to share with my friend. I noticed a message from them asking if I was okay, and replied that yes I was fine, and told them that the eerie feeling brought on by my encounter with the woman had passed. 

I proceeded to walk among many more gravestones and felt nothing out of the ordinary anywhere else in the cemetery or during the course of my walk. 

As I was making my way back to my car, I saw another message from my friend saying they were scared. I asked why they were scared and reassured them the experience I had was very brief and had ended about half an hour ago, and that I was completely fine. I filmed one last video of the crematorium gardens next to my parked car and sent it off to my friend with a note saying I was leaving the cemetery and would continue our chat when I got to my next stop. 

I drove about 3 minutes to a nearby lake and parked my car on a side street. It was here, while still sitting in my car, that I noticed my friend was only just now reading my messages. I scrolled up and saw they had actually left several panicked messages asking if I was okay, if someone else was there, telling me they were scared... I quickly sent a new message asking if they’d received all the photos and videos I’d sent. They replied they had received everything up until the video where I encountered the woman, then the conversation went radio silent, with no other messages going through for over 30 minutes. 

Needless to say, my friend had gotten worked up into quite a state of worry and was pondering whether they should send someone out to look for me. They would have found me happily traipsing through the sunny cemetery snapping photos and videos, completely oblivious to the terrifying feeling of helplessness my friend was experiencing at the other end of the chat.

At first, I thought perhaps I had walked into a part of the cemetery with poor cell reception... but then I remembered that when I first arrived at the cemetery, I had sent a video of the chapel to my friend after I parked my car, and that video and accompanying message had gone through just fine. The last video I sent was also filmed next to my parked car... cell service that had been sufficient to send my first video should have ensured the last one would go out as well... but nothing went through until I’d exited the cemetery gates.

While I was parked nearby the name Hannah came spontaneously into my head. I made mention of it to my friend, then slowly made my way home.

Exactly one week later I returned to the cemetery to see if I could replicate the experience. I walked down the grassy hill, not exactly sure of where I had felt the woman, feeling only slightly nervous but nothing more. I stopped at a row of flat grave markers... but it didn’t feel right. I carried on and as I approached the next row, I knew I was in the right place. I began slowly walking down the row, looking at the different gravestones, and one in particular caused that same strange tightness in my stomach... I had found her. Rose Shadbolt. I continued to walk down the row to test my theory, and sure enough the feeling immediately began to subside. I came back to Rose’s grave, and the feeling returned.

I went home and did some research. It took some doing because I didn’t know Rose’s maiden name... but I finally found both her and her husband. I immediately began looking for a connection to someone named Hannah, perhaps a daughter... The first thing that caught my eye was that Rose’s husband had a sister named Hannah. This seemed to fit, but for some reason I wasn’t quite satisfied, I kept digging. I felt like the Hannah connection had to be with Rose, since that’s who I tapped into at the cemetery... Then I saw Rose’s mother’s name, Johanna... Coincidence? Perhaps... but Hannah is not the most common name, what are the odds there would be two variations of it affiliated with the family?

I don’t know how to explain this... sensitivity... to things other people don’t see or feel. But I have noticed something about myself that may explain it on a small level. When I was crouched under the willow trees by the lake, I turned to look behind me because I felt something was nearby. It was a fly, landing on a leaf, several feet away. There was quite a bit of activity going on peripherally; airplanes overhead, people talking while doing landscape work, the wind in the trees, birds... amidst all that, I noticed the presence of a fly landing on a leaf several paces behind me.  I believe, at its core, this ability, for lack of a better word, is simply hyper-awareness, to a degree that allows me to detect emotions, imprints, energy, sounds, movement, shifts, changes in air pressure, that others have no awareness of.

Many of the women on my mother’s side of the family seem to share this ability on some level, so perhaps there is a genetic predisposition to it. Whatever the case may be, I like to think that someday science will be able to provide an explanation, or at the very least a working theory. But, in the meantime, I will simply continue to share my world with people that others will never know are there...

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Today's episode was created as part of a collaboration with the Boopod network of true crime and paranormal podcasts. In it, we explore a deep, dark tale pulled from the folklore of my native French Canada: La Corriveau, a favourite of Ranconteurs in Quebec’s oral storytelling tradition.

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

STORY TRANSCRIPT:

Marie-Josephte Corriveau, later dubbed La Corriveau after her execution in 1763, is synonymous with tales of witchcraft and hauntings in French Canadian folklore. Stories of La Corriveau terrorizing visitors to the area of Old Quebec where her body was hanged in a metal cage have been told for centuries, and persist to this day in the minds of many Quebecers.

The discovery of her cage in 1851 at a local church cemetery revived people’s imaginations and inspired stories that appeared in several print books, both as novels and as part of short story collections at the time. Since then, the character of La Corriveau has appeared in songs, films, theater productions, and artwork such as sculptures and paintings.

In the oral storytelling tradition of Quebec La Corriveau has been depicted as a murderous witch who killed up to 7 husbands. In more modern times, starting in the 1960s and 70s, with both the feminist movement and the Quebec Nationalist movement, Marie-Josephte Corriveau became both a symbol of English Oppression and a victim of a Patriarchal Society.

THE FACTS

Born in 1733, Marie-Josephte Corriveau had 10 siblings, all of whom died at a young age. She married a man named Charles Bouchard at age 16 and had 3 children before becoming a widow 11 years later. Just over 1 year after Charles’ death, she remarried. Her second husband, Etienne Dodier, was found dead in his barn a year and a half later, with extensive injuries to the head. Initially, it was concluded the injuries he sustained were from a horse’s hooves, but suspicion and rumours of homicide quickly spread through town due in part to Mr Dodier being at odds with both his father-in-law and his wife.

At this point in history, Quebec was known as New France, and had recently fallen under British rule. Upon hearing the rumours, the British Military, who was in charge of maintaining order, opened an investigation into Dodier’s death. At the conclusion of this investigation, Marie-Josephte Corriveau and her father Joseph are arrested. They are brought before a military tribunal composed of 12 English officers and presided over by Lieutenant-Colonel Roger Morris. The court finds Joseph Corriveau guilty of murder and condemns him to death, while Marie-Josephte is found guilty of being an accomplice and condemned to 60 lashes and having the letter M branded onto her hand. 

On the eve of his execution, Marie-Josephte’s father allegedly confessed to a priest that he was only an accomplice to the murder, and that his daughter was the actual perpetrator. Marie-Josephte Corriveau was brought back to court, where she confessed to killing her husband with an ax while he was sleeping due to his poor treatment of her and his abusive ways. The court found her guilty of murder and not only condemned her to death, but specified that after her execution her body should “Hang in Chains” – this was the actual verbiage used at the time. This punishment was new to the inhabitants of New France as it did not exist while the area was still under French rule. Joseph Corriveau, Marie-Josephte’s father, was retried, found not guilty, and released.

Marie-Josephte Corriveau was executed on the grounds where the Quebec Parliament now stands near the Plains of Abraham, the battlefield where the French lost to the British. Her body was placed in a metal cage and put on public exhibit for 5 weeks after which a British commander gave the order for her body to be taken down and buried “wherever they see fit” was the quote.

THE LORE

Marie-Josephte Corriveau was one of the first people in New France to have their body exhibited in a metal cage. This lit the imaginations of the population which spun legends that have lived on ever since in Quebec’s oral storytelling tradition. The trouble with oral storytelling, though, is that it turns into a game of telephone, and over the years La Corriveau’s body count went from one husband to seven, and her character went from being a simple murderess to an evil witch with supernatural powers.

The discovery of the cage that had contained her body in a local cemetery in 1851 sparked newfound interest in her story and reactivated the legends and lore surrounding it. Authors created fictionalized accounts of a supernatural Corriveau hanging in her cage, terrorizing passersby as she pleaded with them to take her to a witch’s den on the neighbouring Island of Orleans. She was also depicted as having a deep knowledge of poisons, and was rumoured to be a direct descendand of Catherine DesHayes – better known as La Voisine – an infamous serial killer in France in the mid-1600s.

It was rumoured that La Corriveau had also killed her first husband by pouring molten lead into his ear while he slept. She was said to have been a very jealous woman and found her husband to be too much of a libertine, and so doled out her punishment. She was depicted as a psychopath and said to be without feeling or remorse when, first, her father was prepared to take the fall for the murder of her 2^nd husband, and eventually when she herself was found guilty of his murder. 

As the legend goes, La Corriveau, from the very first night her body was put on exhibit, would leave her cage and follow passersby. Other iterations suggest she would visit a nearby cemetery to feast on freshly buried bodies. It was also rumoured that anyone who passed by her cage and stopped to gawk would then be cursed with either accidents, psychotic breakdowns, or death.

Accounts from local inhabitants tell stories of hearing a woman screaming, as if being tortured, along with the terrible, macabre sound of iron creaking, even long after the cage had been taken down and buried.

THE CAGE

Upon its re-discovery in 1851, La Corriveau’s cage was exhibited in Montreal, Quebec City, and even on Broadway in New York City where it was purchased by non-other than PT Barnum. Damaged in a fire at Barnum’s American Museum, the cage made its way to the Boston Art Museum via an associate of Barnum’s named Moses Kimball. Upon Kimball’s death in 1899, the cage was donated to a Museum in Salem, Massachusetts. It wasn’t until 2013 that the cage was rediscovered and finally returned home to Quebec when it was acquired by the Quebec Museum of Civilization. It is still stored there today in a controlled environment to prevent its decay, and is occasionally put on display for the public. 

Perhaps, in those times, La Corriveau, once again put on public exhibit, comes out of hiding to follow an unsuspecting visitor who has lingered and stared just a little too long for her liking...

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In today’s episode we read the chapter 27 – Trial by Fire – in which a betrayal has devastating consequences.

This week's podcast partner is Shittin' Bricks: https://linktr.ee/shittinbricks

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

The Skylark Bell on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 27 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode we witnessed the creation of The Skylark Bell per instructions provided by the Ancient Oak.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 27 – Trial by Fire – in which a betrayal has devastating consequences.

Today’s podcast partner is Shittin Bricks, proud members of the Boopod Network who hail from Australia. Kat and Dom lend a hilarious perspective to true crime and the unexplained, you won’t regret giving them a listen. Just check the show notes for a link to their podcast.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

The elixir.

I think it was part of the plan.

I don’t know what was in that elixir. I did not prepare it, and I don’t believe Cailleach did either, but it was the first step in someone’s master plan.

Let me go back a few steps. After the ceremony, the festivities truly took off. The booming thud of the drums resonating inside my rib cage as I danced and spun around the fire with the other tribe members. Erskina painted my face in the same warrior pattern Cailleach decorated me with when I first met her. We threw herbs in the fire to burn off negative energy, we sang, we feasted, saluted the bounty of nature. We laughed, and we loved, and we communed with the elements; fire, water, earth and air. 

It was a dizzying blur of sounds, shapes and colours. As I recall it now, I can’t remember specific details, who did what, who was where, it’s like the tribe and the ceremony itself were all melded into one, all moving together as one force. It was the most powerful, most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed.

It occurred to me, some time into the celebrations, that I hadn’t seen Corbin since I noticed his strange behaviour by the fire. I decided to try and find him, despite feeling slightly unsteady from the effects of the elixir. I walked around the clearing, checked inside his work tent, then his living tent. I should have noticed right away that most of his belongings were gone, I should have realized what it meant, but my head was clouded by that blasted drink.

After circling the encampment for some time, I ended up next to the Ancient Oak. “Climb up,” I heard it say. So, I did…

~~~~~~

Despite the effects of the elixir, Farfalla expertly climbs up to her preferred branch in the Ancient Oak and leans her head against its trunk. “Hello, old friend,” she whispers, conjuring a memory of Marius greeting Cormorant in the barn at Meadow Lane. She breathes in the fragrant sage-tinged tendrils of smoke wafting up from the fire below and closes her eyes.

“They’re coming.” The Ancient Oak’s words cause her to open her eyes immediately. 

“What? Who’s coming?” she whispers. Farfalla looks around in the fading light of the setting sun. From this vantage point she can see the fields surrounding the forest and make out some of the forest paths through the canopy of the trees below. Once they’ve adjusted to the light, her eyes catch glimpses of movement through the trees. She squints down, trying to understand what she is seeing. Between the branches of the Ancient Oak, she sees a man on the edge of the clearing. He is wearing heavy armor and holding a sword in his hand at the ready. Soldiers. Their encampment has been found. Farfalla feels her heart racing as she watches the soldiers circle the clearing, barely visible through the shadows of the forest. “Cormag!” she shouts down to the crowd below, “Cailleach! Soldiers! Soldiers are here!” her words are drowned out by the beating drums, stomping feet, and singing of the celebration. “I have to warn them!” whispers Farfalla.

“Stay here,” commands the tree.

Before Farfalla has a chance to debate, the soldiers descend violently on the tribe. Farfalla turns away, crying openly at the screams and shouts below. “I can’t abandon them!” she says to the tree.

“There is nothing you can do; this is their fate. Our fate,” replies the tree.

Farfalla, determined to at least try to help, begins to climb off her branch when something below catches her eye. Corbin. He is standing in the clearing, scanning the area, looking for something. Why isn’t he running? Wonders Farfalla. Suddenly he looks up and sees her. Farfalla beckons for him to come up. Perhaps if he joins her in the tree, he’ll be safe!

Corbin lifts his arm and points to her. “Up there!” he shouts. Farfalla’s brow furrows in confusion. Who is he talking to? She needn’t wait long for an answer. Within seconds two soldiers appear by his side. Farfalla feels her heart sink and her rage rise. It was Corbin. He betrayed the entire tribe. He knew everyone would be together for the ceremony and distracted by the ensuing celebration. The elixir! He must have put something in it to weaken their senses, turning the entire tribe into easy targets! Furious, Farfalla looks toward the large branch hanging over their heads. “FALL!” she shouts with all the air in her lungs. There is a mighty crack as the branch breaks free from the Ancient Oak and crashes onto Corbin and the two soldiers, instantly throwing them to the ground, where they remain, unmoving. 

A nearby soldier turns to look, then glances up at the tree. His eyes meet Farfalla’s, and a shiver runs down her spine. His gaze is filled with power, arrogance… and hate. He marches decisively to the fire and pulls out a long branch. He signals for the other soldiers to do the same, and together they circle the Ancient Oak. The first soldier counts down in his language, a language Farfalla doesn’t understand or recognize. He reaches the end of the countdown, and the soldiers push their burning branches toward the Ancient Oak. Farfalla, crushed, realizes this is what her dream was foreshadowing. Another dream, nightmare, becoming a reality. First there was water, now there is fire. 

Farfalla sobs as she hears a painful cry emanate from the tree. The flames lick at its dry leaves and eventually spread to its branches. She stays in place, frozen in fear, until she feels the bottom of her robe singe. She climbs above the line of fire and looks down. The flames are spreading quickly. She looks around desperately, unsure of what to do. There is no way for her to climb down and has climbed far too high to jump. Even if she did jump, the soldiers ransacking the encampment below would be on her in a matter of seconds. Unfortunately for her, but fortunately for the forest, there are no other trees nearby for her to jump into. 

Suddenly Farfalla sees flames stretch like long glowing fingers and grasp the bottom of her robe, determined to consume it. She quickly pulls her arms out of the sleeves and slips out of the robe, watching as it drops then gets caught on a burning branch. The beautifully embroidered birds, flowers, and deer disappear within seconds as the flames tear through the fabric. Mesmerized by the sight, Farfalla barely notices as the flames reach the branches just below her. She eventually feels the heat beneath her feet and scurries up as high as she can to get away from the rapidly spreading fire. There is no escape. There is nowhere to go. This is the end.

“The bell,” says the Ancient Oak, its strained voice barely above a whisper, “use the bell.”

Farfalla lays her hand against its trunk and fishes the bell out from the folds of her gown. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have protected you; I should have protected all of them!” The words spill out between heaving sobs.

“This was our fate. It was written long ago. I will live on, you know that. You know the entire story. You may not remember it, but it is there, deep inside of you,” whispers the tree. “Now, use the bell, you only need to get to tomorrow. Then the work will begin. You remember my instructions?”

“Yes, I remember,” whispers Farfalla. She holds the bell in her shaking hands and closes her eyes as the Song of the Oak Tree softly surrounds her like a warm blanket. She feels the strange sensation of her mind and body separating. Then everything goes dark.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 28 – Under the Same Sky – in which Farfalla picks up the pieces after the devastating attack on the camp.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. Leaving a rating or a review on your preferred podcast platform is incredibly helpful in helping the podcast gain visibility so others can find and enjoy the story of The Skylark Bell, it’s a quick, easy, and free way to support my work. If you’d like to support me further,  you can also subscribe to Patreon, where you’ll get early access to ad-free episodes as well as digital downloads of my music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! And be sure to follow me on social media for updates, I love to connect with listeners... Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast.

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In today’s episode we read the chapter 28 – Under the Same Sky – in which Farfalla looks back on the path that brought her here as she picks up the pieces.

This week's podcast partner is Certainly Strange: https://open.spotify.com/show/1stSYQC9Sqox9TwbU48Dof?si=ct4_QX_NQh6hHZHxZ9eyVA&utm_source=copy-link&nd=1

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

The Skylark Bell on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 28 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode the camp suffered a devastating attack that left Farfalla as the last one standing.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 28 – Under the Same Sky – in which Farfalla looks back on the path that brought her here as she picks up the pieces.

Today’s podcast partner is fellow Boopod network member Certainly Strange. An attempted murder on a ghost, cursed paintings burning houses down, and lighthouse keepers disappearing without a trace. The world is filled with astonishing stories that will make you think "I don't know what’s going on here, but it is certainly strange!" Join host Nemo on a journey through the strangest parts of our history. Check the show notes for a link to the Certainly Strange podcast.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

Embers.

When I opened my eyes, it was daylight. The bell was still clutched in my hands. I couldn’t believe the scene before me. Everything was gone. Again. All that was left of the encampment, the roaring fire, the celebration, was embers.

It feels like my life is an endless loop of loss and betrayal.

All around me, around my singed boots and the frayed hem of my gown, smoking embers from the fire, and devastation. Most of the tribe members were taken away, their hands tied together behind their backs with rope. The lucky ones were left behind, their bodies sprinkled throughout the clearing that, only a few hours ago, was a scene of joyful celebration. The tents are gone, burned to the ground, or ransacked and torn apart. All that I have left is the Bell. Thankfully, the Bell. 

It took me a long time to find the courage to turn and look at the Ancient Oak. I wept, then, at its blackened, bare branches. Its trunk marked with black soot, scarred from bottom to top. I trembled as I let my eyes climb to its towering height, remembering its final instructions to me. 

I walked to its base and placed my hand on its trunk, desperate to feel its heartbeat, to hear its voice, its song, but the Ancient Oak was silent.

“I can’t do it,” I remember saying out loud, my words echoing around the clearing, bouncing off the piles of ash and debris.

The Ancient Oak remained silent.

Finally, I dug deep inside myself and walked slowly across the clearing to the other side, a safe distance away from the tree, before fulfilling the tree’s final requests.

~~~~~~

Farfalla’s gaze glosses over what is left of the encampment. Her eyes land on the crumpled bodies of the few tribespeople who were left behind. She recognizes Cormag and Cailleach, their bodies laying next to one another, the feathers from their headdresses scattered around them. She pulls a smoldering branch from the embers and uses the blackened end of it to draw an Ouroboros on the backs of their robes. She then takes a small pouch from the pocket of her gown and delicately sprinkles a mixture of herbs in a circle on their backs. She bends to place a hand on each of them, and softly sings the song of the oak tree. Birds begin to gather in the surrounding trees, quietly watching her strange ritual. Her small, private ceremony finished, Farfalla stands and gives her teachers a moment of silence before speaking her first command. “To dust,” she says, a single tear falling down her cheek. The fabric of Cormag and Cailleach’s cloaks sinks to the ground as the bodies they once covered instantly disintegrate. “Now fly, sweet birds,” whispers Farfalla as she lifts their robes into the air to release the ashes piled beneath them. She circles the encampment, repeating the ritual for each of the fallen while the birds watch quietly from the edge of the clearing.

Her task complete, Farfalla lifts her tired, tear-stained face toward the top of the Ancient Oak. She notes that the gray sky is now visible between the tree’s bare branches. Farfalla walks to the tree and places a hand on its trunk. There is no pulsing heartbeat, or song, or instruction today. The Ancient Oak stands in silence. 

Once again, Farfalla finds herself alone, but this time she is not vulnerable, not lost. No one will ever hurt her again. Now she is the one in control. A coldness washes over her and she feels her heart harden. She walks across the clearing and turns to face the tree, then inhales deeply before launching her next command. “Fall.” She pronounces the word forcefully, her voice void of emotion. 

A tremendous, thundering sound fills the air and echoes through the forest and surrounding fields to the sea on either side as the tree begins its slow-motion fall to the ground. Farfalla watches as it lands, its massive expanse of branches covering the entire encampment. Dust and soot lifts into the air as the Ancient Oak’s trunk crashes into the earth. Farfalla stands perfectly still as the cloud of debris floats around her. Once it has settled, she gives her next command. “Break.” Within seconds, the branches of the tree separate from the trunk, falling to the ground. 

Farfalla gets to work, collecting the branches into piles, organizing them by size. She works for hours, never noticing the night fall, and the sun rising again the following morning. She works in the dark, like something not quite human, with eyes like those of a nocturnal creature. Finally, her task completed, she looks at the tree’s tremendous trunk, and gives her third and final command. “Split”. Again, a deafening cracking sound fills the air. Farfalla watches as the trunk splits lengthwise, like a lightning bolt has struck it, then another strike, this time cutting the trunk into quarters, then on and on until the tree’s trunk has been broken down into an endless pile of logs. Farfalla goes to work piling the logs in the center of the clearing where, only one night prior, there had been a raging fire around which she had danced. Again, she spends hours working, somehow adorned with superhuman strength. 

It is dusk by the time her task is complete, and Farfalla lights the fire with a flick of her fingers. She doesn’t even think twice about the inner workings of her new abilities, her full command of nature and the elements. The orange glow of the flames flicker across her emotionless face.

Farfalla tosses the robes of the tribespeople into the fire and watches them disintegrate before she finally lays on the ground and allows her body to give in to sleep. She sleeps straight through the night and through the next day, finally waking in the wee hours of the following morning. She stands and stretches, preparing for the monumental task ahead. She runs the Ancient Oak’s instructions through her mind. She circles the clearing one last time. There is nothing left here now. No tents, no people, no fire, no tree. Only piles of branches, and dirt, and ash. 

Farfalla begins with the largest branches, and twists them together, securing them with vines that she uses like ropes. She wipes the sweat off her brow as she works, threading the branches together to form a wide arch laying on its side. Next, she weaves the smaller branches between the larger ones, building onto her frame and making the arch wider and stronger. She continues this way, working most of the day, adding more and more to the arch until it spans across a large portion of the encampment. 

Finally, daylight begins to fade, and Farfalla stops to rest. She forages for berries and mushrooms in the forest, and dips her cupped hands into the cool, clear water of the creek nearby and drinks in quick, desperate, thirsty gulps. She returns to the encampment and sits in the center of the clearing. Ru the red deer appears at the edge of the forest and stands perfectly still, quietly assessing the damage. “Hello, old friend,” she whispers. The deer walks to her and bends its head down, so they are eye to eye. “Tomorrow I will need your help. Tonight, we rest,” she says. The deer snorts in acknowledgement, then turns and saunters back into the shadows of the forest. Farfalla lays down on her back and looks at the sky above. Through the empty circle in the forest canopy that had once been filled by the massive spread of the Ancient Oak she can see the moon, only a small shard away from being full, and a scattering of stars twinkling with varying degrees of brightness. Somewhere, some time, Elisabeth is under the same sky. Paloma, Mama, Papa… Marius. They are all under the same sky. Farfalla waits for the thought to warm her heart, but the only thing she feels is cold, firm resolution.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 29 – Embers to Ash – in which Farfalla learnes the agonizing truth about The Ancient Oak, and herself.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. If you are enjoying this story, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon or Ko-Fi, where you get early access to episodes as well as MP3 downloads of the music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! You can also find The Skylark Bell exclusive merch on my website, www.theskylarkbell.com. Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. Leaving a rating or a review on your preferred podcast platform is incredibly helpful in helping the podcast gain visibility so others can find and enjoy the story of The Skylark Bell, it’s a quick, easy, and free way to support my work. If you’d like to support me further, you can also subscribe to Patreon, where you’ll get early access to ad-free episodes as well as digital downloads of my music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! And be sure to follow me on social media for updates, I love to connect with listeners... Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast.  

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

In today’s episode we read the chapter 29 – Embers to Ash – In which we discover the secret behind both The Ancient Oak, and Dealan-dè.

This week's podcast partner is Horror Roulette: https://horrorroulette.com/

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

The Skylark Bell on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 29 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode Farfalla bid goodbye to the people of the camp and began to pick up the pieces of The Ancient Oak.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 29 – Embers to Ash – In which we discover the secret behind both The Ancient Oak, and Dealan-dè.

Today’s podcast partner is fellow Boopod Network member Horror Roulette. This podcast takes a unique approach in that topics are chosen by spinning a wheel of random words. You won’t find a more unique format or set of topics than this one! Be sure to check the show notes for a link to the Horror Roulette podcast.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

I have called upon Ru to gather the herd.

They are like counterparts to the tribe that was here. Like Cailleach, there is a wise old female that the other deer look to for guidance. Then there is a tall proud male that they turn to for leadership, safety, planning - just like the tribe looked up to Cormag. The rest of the herd works together, each individual having a role to play. Then there is Ru; always walking on the outskirts, different than the rest of the herd, but still accepted within their ranks. Despite being younger than the two leaders, he is equally powerful, perhaps even more powerful, in his own right. Ru is like me.

I used vines and bits of rope left behind by the soldiers to attach the arch to the deer, then I instructed them to pull. I am grateful for their help, there is no way I could have lifted this magnificent work of art myself. Once the arch was set in place, I released the deer and shared with them the berries I picked that morning. Ru stayed behind when the others left, clinging to my side like he was afraid I would disappear. If I am honest with myself, I am also afraid I will disappear. But I think I have better control now. I think I can choose where, and when, I go.

Ru and I spent the afternoon together wandering the woods. He told me how sad he is that the tribespeople are gone. We shared our heartache and our memories. I told him the archway will help keep all of them and their teachings alive for all time. I think he smiled then, in his way. Finally, we parted ways at the edge of the forest, and I walked back to the clearing. 

I dug deep holes at either side of the arch to anchor it to the ground. It only occurred to me after I was finished that perhaps I could have commanded the ground to make space for the arch, so instead I commanded the ground to cling to the arch for all time. There is no way to know for certain whether it worked, but I figured it was worth a try.

The arch is a thing of beauty, hovering over the stump from which the Ancient Oak once towered. I have collected several acorns that scattered to the ground when the Oak fell. I will plant them in the clearing, so the forest can fill in once again. Perhaps I will keep one, as a memento. As I collected the acorns I found other artefacts, remnants of the encampment; metal cups, spoons, tools, and jewelry. I tied them to thin leather strips and hung them from the top of the arch. I also collected the feathers from Cormag and Caileach’s headdresses and hung those from the arch as well, which reminded me of the dreamcatcher that Isadora Finch gave me as a birthday gift, three lifetimes ago. Lastly, I threaded flowers throughout the arch, and made it look a bit like the Skye Lark Belle’s crown from my youth, back when I didn’t realize what I was wishing for.

Now the arch stands at the ready.

The question is, am I ready?

~~~~~~

Farfalla stands to admire her handywork. The arch is a thing of beauty, gracefully lifting over the tree stump, whose surface she painstakingly smoothed down to make it even with the ground around it. She has marked the place where she planted the pocketful of acorns she collected then planted each with a twig on which she threaded a leaf, like a little flag indicating where, someday, a majestic oak would rise.

Finally, it is time to take a break. She decides to walk down to the beach to clean herself up and scrub her gown, ridding herself of the streaks of soot and dirt on her arms and legs. Beneath the layers of dirt her arms are wrought with scrapes and scratches from the branches she used to make the arch. The cool water is soothing and Farfalla takes her time bathing in it. Once reasonably clean, she steps out of the sea and lays the gown on a sunny patch of grass in the sun, then she lays next to it while they both dry off. She lets her thoughts drift to the monumental task she just accomplished. Her arch is not simply a decoration, it is a gateway. The Ancient Oak told her the arch would be infused with its wisdom, its power, its magic. That the arch could be used to travel not only to a different time, but to a different place. A specific place. But the Ancient Oak did not have time to elaborate, so she doesn’t know where that place is. 

Farfalla is just slipping her gown back over her head when she hears the sound of stones being thrown into the water a little farther up the beach. She walks across the sand to the stony part of the shore. “Hullo,” says a little voice. Farfalla stands in shock. It is the small boy with the large blue eyes, the one from the cliffside, the son of the mayor. Ash. “I told you I would see you again,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. 

“How…?” begins Farfalla, unable to create a cohesive thought.

“I’m not sure how, exactly,” says the boy, skipping another rock across the surface of the sea. A tall slim man dressed all in black comes into view at the top of the grassy hill that overlooks the rocky beach, a woman with wild red hair pinned atop her head at his side. “It’s time for me to go,” says the boy, turning to run up the grassy hill.

“Wait!” shouts Farfalla, taking a few steps in his direction, but the boy, man, and woman quickly disappear behind the crest of the hill. Confused and a little thrown, Farfalla makes her way back to the forest.

As she nears the clearing Farfalla hears a faint pulsing sound. She can feel warmth emanating from the bell in her pocket as she gets closer to the arch. She hesitantly steps onto the stump and looks up at the arch stretching above her head. A breeze picks up, and the faint beginnings of the Song of the Oak Tree reach her ears. Farfalla can’t tell which direction the sound is coming from; she is surrounded by it. The bell grows hot in her hands, and she drops it with a small shout. The wind picks up and swings the trinkets hanging above her head, so they clash into one another, creating a cacophonous symphony. 

Farfalla feels panic quickly rising in her chest. She tries to step off the stump, but she can’t. It is like invisible hands are holding onto her feet. She looks down and sees the stump has begun to regrow around her. Now in full-fledged terror Farfalla begins to move her body, trying desperately to free herself, but the trunk only keeps growing taller and taller, surrounding her. Within seconds it has reached her waist. “Stop!” she shouts, her voice cracking in fear, “What are you doing?! You didn’t tell me this would happ-”. Farfalla’s words are cut off as the trunk grows around her head. Farfalla feels her mind separate from her body, the same sensation she had when she and Cailleach stepped under the arch and found themselves back at the encampment. Without explanation, she suddenly finds herself standing next to the Ancient Oak, its trunk and branches restored to their former glory, reaching high above the canopy of the surrounding trees.

“What just happened?” asks Farfalla. The words echo both inside and outside her mind. Farfalla needn’t wait for an answer, as she looks at the tree, she can also see herself from the inside of the tree. She is in both places at once. “How can this be, I don’t understand!” Again, the swirling echo all around and inside her. Farfalla suddenly feels faint and drops to the ground. 

“Dealan-dè,” the familiar voice comes from behind Farfalla’s back. She turns and sees Caileach standing a few paces away, smiling at her.

“Cailleach?! But you… you… I saw you! You turned to dust! How can this be?” asks Farfalla, the words once again bouncing across the inside of her head and the trees around the clearing.

“I told you, someone would come to us who could ensure our teachings would never be lost. That someone was you, my dear. The voice of the Ancient Oak, it was your voice. You gave yourself the instructions to climb the tree, to use the bell to escape the soldiers, to build the arch. You are Dealan-dè, the powerful one, the wise one, the eternal one,” says Cailleach.

“If I am inside the tree, then how am I here?” asks Farfalla, trying to sort everything out.

“You are not really here, only part of your consciousness is here. Without a physical body to carry around, you have the capacity to travel anywhere, any time. It is a tremendous honour to hold such power!” says Cailleach.

“But I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for any of this! All I wanted was to go home to my daughter!” cries Farfalla, reeling at the impossibility of it all.

“It was the only way to ensure our tribe, our culture, our teachings, would not be lost,” replies Cailleach, laying a hand on Farfalla’s shoulder.

“So, you did this,” says Farfalla, suddenly feeling rage rising in her chest. They had used her! Cailleach, Cormag, Corbin, all of them! They had used her, trapped her inside this tree forever, sentenced her to burn and be cut up and shaped into an arch, to have her consciousness separated from her body for all eternity! “YOU did this!” she says again, rising to her feet, stepping close to Cailleach, rage twisting her face.

“I had forgotten how angry you were the first time,” says Cailleach, unfazed.

“The first time? What do you mean?” asks Farfalla.

“Remember the Ouroboros. The endless loop. Every lifetime you remember a little more. Every lifetime you are a little more resigned to your fate. But this is your first time, and you are angry,” replies the old woman. “I warned you not to harden your heart, I was hoping to spare you the first few cycles, the ones where you cause great harm, the ones where you seek revenge. No matter, it will all find its way in time,” she says, turning to walk away.

“Don’t you walk away from me! I need you to fix this! Get me out of this tree!” says Farfalla, as desperation quickly replaces the anger she is feeling. She puts her hands up to her ears, the echoing sound from inside and outside her body is dizzying and she’s not sure how much longer she can handle it.

“I suggest you travel to a time when the tree is no longer standing, it will eliminate that dreadful echo in your head,” says Cailleach, disappearing into the shadows of the forest and leaving Farfalla alone with the tree… with herself.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 30 – Back to the Cliffside – in which Farfalla returhns to a pivotal point in her life.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. If you are enjoying this story, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon or Ko-Fi, where you get early access to episodes as well as MP3 downloads of the music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! You can also find The Skylark Bell exclusive merch on my website, www.theskylarkbell.com. Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. 

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

In today’s episode we read the chapter 30 – Back to the Cliffside – in which Faralla travels back to a pivotal point in her life.

This week's podcast partner is Murder Roadtrip: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/shannon-quinn6

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

The Skylark Bell on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 30 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode we learned that Farfalla was the voice inside the Ancient Oak, which also left her transformed into Dealan-dè.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 30 – Back to the Cliffside – in which Faralla travels back to a pivotal point in her life.

Today’s podcast partner is Murder Roadtrip, also members of the Boopod Network of paranormal and true crime podcasts. This podcast takes listeners on a weekly roadtrip across the US to discuss true crime and the occasional spooks through each of the 50 States. Check the show notes for a link to the Murder Roadtrip podcast.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

I am trapped in a tree.

How did I go from a blissful childhood of running through fields, to living with half of me eternally trapped in a tree? It sounds completely preposterous when I spell it out like this. 

They all knew. They all knew this would be my fate, and none of them stopped it. 

Did you know too?

I wandered aimlessly after that encounter with Cailleach. Finally, I picked up the bell, and laid a hand on the Ancient Oak. My prison. The process of travelling to a different time is much faster and easier than before, perhaps because it is only my consciousness that is travelling now. However, this also means I cannot live, love, and interact with people the way I did when I was a complete person. I came to this heart-wrenching realisation when I, at long last, managed to peek in on Elisabeth. I only did so one time. She was sitting in a rocking chair in Paloma’s old apartment in the city, which she presumably inherited. She was holding the tiniest baby, a girl. I heard her speak softly and lovingly to her baby, Lilian. My heart broke over and over watching them, knowing I couldn’t speak to her, or hold her, or meet my grandchild. I suffered through a few hours of wistful observation, the made my private, silent goodbyes before leaving them.

I stand here now with the arch above my head, struggling to understand. Am I still inside the wood from which it is built? I didn’t see my body when the trunk of the tree split. Where am I? Have I died? Am I a ghost? I don’t understand. Perhaps I am not meant to. I have these amazing, superhuman abilities now, I can control the elements, travel through time, speak to plants and animals. But I have paid dearly for these gifts. I have lost everything I ever loved, I have been betrayed time and time and time again. Betrayed by people, betrayed by time itself. And if I have understood correctly, this will happen to me again, and again, in a cruel, endless loop.

The Ouroboros.

Someone has to pay.

~~~~~~

Farfalla takes a moment to adjust to the darkness of her surroundings. Is it night already? She wonders. She looks around. The Ancient Oak is gone, in its place she sees the gateway arching over her head. The clearing is also gone, and she is standing on a narrow path deep in the forest. Of course! The acorns she planted have grown into trees, they look like they are hundreds of years old. The canopy formed by their leaves filters out most of the daylight.

Farfalla tentatively steps out from under the arch, unsure which direction to go. The sound of cracking twigs nearby causes her to spin around quickly. “Ru!” she gushes as the deer steps out from under the arch and walks up to her. “I’m so happy to see you,” she whispers. Farfalla throws her arms around its neck and leans her head on it. “I don’t recognize the forest anymore,” she whispers into its soft fur.

“I can show you the way,” Ru’s words echo in her mind. Farfalla leans back and nods, thankful to have a friend in this strange time. Ru walks in front of her, and Farfalla follows. The path winds and twists through the forest and they walk for what feels like hours before finally stepping into the light of day. Farfalla gasps as she recognizes the scene before her. Stretching as far as the eye can see are fields, and in the distance, the outline of Carnifex House. To her right is the large rock that separates Carnifex land from the neighbouring farm. “This is where I leave you,” Ru’s voice shaking her out of her shock, “but you may call on me any time,” he adds. Farfalla lays a grateful hand on the animal’s cheek, then steps back as it turns and gracefully runs back into the forest.

“Hullo,” says a small, familiar voice. 

Farfalla turns to see the small boy with the large blue eyes peeking from behind the rock. “Hello, Ash,” she says.

The little boy’s eyes widen in shock. “How do you know my name?!” he asks.

“I heard your father call you at the cliffside,” she says. Farfalla takes the boy’s furrowed brow and look of confusion to mean this is the first time he has met her. “I am…” Farfalla considers which name she should provide, but decides on her most recent one, “Dealan-dè”.

“Pleasure to meet you,” says the boy, a slightly nervous edge to his voice. He’s a sweet boy. How such a sweet boy could come from such a horrible man as his father I will never know, thinks Farfalla.

“Well, I must be on my way now,” says Farfalla, smiling. “We’ll meet again,” she adds, turning to look over her shoulder before wandering back into the forest. 

“You shouldn’t go in the forest,” says the boy.

“Whyever not?” asks Farfalla, slightly amused. 

“Because of the vanishings,” he says, “people go in there and never come out,” he adds.

“Do they now?” she says, “well, I know for a fact that I will return. You’ll see,” she lets the words trail behind her as she walks into the shadows cast by the trees. Behind her she hears the boy’s footsteps as he races through the tall grass as fast as his little legs will take him.

The fear in the boy’s voice sparked something in her. Fear. She has felt it so many times now. In the water when the boat fell to pieces. As she was being thrown off the cliff. As the Ancient Oak was being lit on fire. As the tree regrew around her, keeping her trapped inside. It is time for other people to feel fear. If they fear the vanishings, then she will make them happen. 

Now Farfalla knows what she must do. Now she has a plan. She will go to the cliffside.

Everything looks essentially the same when Farfalla opens her eyes and steps out from under the arch. She expertly navigates the path Ru showed her just yesterday, somehow having mapped it in her mind. She steps out of the forest and, sure enough, she sees the crowd gathered up ahead. She quickly steps behind the large rock so as not to be seen. 

“Alright, then the accused is found guilty. Take her to the cliffside!” she hears Mayor Sandpiper shout triumphantly. She watches as lifts Ash into his arms. The boy looks in her direction, then nods to someone in the crowd. Farfalla scans the crowd and sees herself, her younger self, hands tied behind her back with a gag tied around her head, and she feels equal parts sadness and rage. Her younger self turns to look, and they make eye contact. Farfalla quickly disappears into the forest to compose herself. This is harder than she thought it would be.

“I need to go to the cliffside,” she whispers to herself. 

“I will walk with you,” she hears Ru’s voice enter her mind. A sigh of relief escapes her lips as Ru appears by her side. They walk together, just inside the limits of the forest. Farfalla can hear the sound of the crowd as she and Ru approach the cliff.

“Any last words, Siren?” She hears Mayor Sandpiper’s arrogant question and recalls the joy on his face in that moment. She remembers her final words to him, telling him to hold his son close that night, and how she had struck him where it hurt.

Farfalla steps out of the forest then, and stands just under the jutting branch of an oak tree. Her younger self makes eye contact, and Farfalla nods. “It will be okay,” she whispers. There is no way the softly spoken words can reach the ears of her younger self over this distance, but she remembers somehow hearing them nonetheless, and the words had brought her comfort.

“Sink the siren!” comes a shout from the crowd. Farfalla looks on, the most comforting smile she can muster spread across her face. The chant from the crowd grows louder, and she hears the mayor instruct the men to do it. She watches as they push her younger self off the edge of the cliff and her breath catches in her throat. It takes everything in her power not to shout. She remembers the freefall, and looking up at the mayor’s gleeful face, and speaking his son’s name. The last word off her lips. Ash.

Farfalla steps back into the woods where Ru is patiently waiting. “Let’s take a walk,” she says, her heart heavy. They wander aimlessly until nightfall. Then, Farfalla walks in the darkness to the caretaker’s cottage. She lets herself in and prepares some food. She wanders around the space that had been hers all those years ago, the space form which she was ungraciously pulled and tossed away. In the bedroom, she finds her chain, the one Paloma had given her, with the tree charm on it. The feather ring and key from Marius are both still looped onto it as well. Farfalla picks it up and clips it around her neck. “This is mine,” she says out loud, asserting herself. These are the last remnants of her old life, her real life. The only items that have survived this inexplicable cycle of endings and beginnings.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 31 – Skipping Stones – in which Farfalla begins to devise a plan for revenge.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. If you are enjoying this story, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon or Ko-Fi, where you get early access to episodes as well as MP3 downloads of the music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! You can also find The Skylark Bell exclusive merch on my website, www.theskylarkbell.com. Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast.  

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

In today’s episode we read the chapter 31 - Skipping Stones – in which Farfalla begins to devise a plan for revenge.

This week's podcast partner is Volsteadland: https://linkin.bio/volstead_land

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

The Skylark Bell on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 31 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode Farfalla returned to the moment she was thrown off the cliff by the residents of Pocaid.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 31 - Skipping Stones – in which Farfalla begins to devise a plan for revenge.

Today’s podcast partner is Volsteadland. Hosts Amy and Heather take you to the deepest, darkest recesses of prohibition era Minneapolis while exploring the fascinating real life story of famous Twin Cities mobster Kid Cann. Even if you aren’t familiar with Minneapolis, or Kid Cann, this is a fascinating tale that you won’t want to miss. Just check the show notes for a link to Voslteadland.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

The last time I woke in this bed was the morning they took me away and threw me off a cliff.

I didn’t intend to sleep so long, but it is early morning still. I should be able to sneak away unseen. Before falling asleep I made my way into Carnifex House, and I watched Frannie and Felix as they slept. I hold no ill will toward Frannie, she didn’t know what would happen when she told her parents about what I did to Nurse Betsey. Had I known she was there that day, watching, I never would have carried out my plan. But that is all in the past now… 

It’s a funny expression, isn’t it? “All in the past”. As if the past is a set thing, an unmovable point on a line. I suppose to most people it is, but not to me.

Today I set a new plan in motion. The Vanishings. I haven’t even started, yet the stories have been told for generations. I can only conclude that this will not be the only time I make someone “vanish”. From what I can gather, I have quite a reputation to live up to.

Well, I can hardly become the stuff of legend looking like this. It was painful glancing in the mirror this morning. I hadn’t seen my reflection since the day before I was pulled from this cottage. Was it 5 years ago? Longer? I’ve lost track of how much time I spent with the tribe. My hair has grown so long and so tangled I had to find shears to clean it up after the comb broke in my hand. There are small creases at the corners of my eyes and mouth now that weren’t there before. My dress, despite my best efforts to clean it, looks dingey and worn, so I took a fresh gown from the wardrobe. I remember wearing it to one of the fancy dinners Donald and Isabella Carnifex put on. It’s a beautiful, crisp white gown with lace along the cuffs and neckline. I think this will be a good look for Dealan-dè.

The sun will rise soon, it is time for me to go.

I will wait for him on the beach.

~~~~~~

The cool breeze whips Farfalla’s fiery hair around her face. The white dress billows around her legs as the waves lick her feet. She is looking out at the sea, still dreaming of her daughter on the other side. She has tried repeatedly to let go of that dream, but somewhere deep inside here it remains, surfacing when she least expects it. However, this deep desire to be with her child may help her in her quest today.

“Hullo again,” says the small, now familiar voice. 

“Hi Ash,” says Farfalla, turning to the boy. She scans the beach behind him and is relieved to see he has come alone. “I told you I’d see you again,” she says, winking at him. 

Ash grins and nods. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two flat stones. He tosses one of them across the water and it skips 6 times before sinking. “Would you like to try?” he asks. Farfalla nods and grabs the stone from his hand. She holds it up to her mouth and whispers something before launching the stone across the water. The rock skips at least a dozen times before disappearing from view.

Ash turns to her, his large blue eyes even wider than they already were. “How did you do that?” he says, incredulous.

“I kindly asked the rock to skip,” she answers in a very matter-of-fact tone. “You could do it to,” she adds slyly.

“Really?” asks the boy, still in stunned disbelief.

“Sure! I can teach you everything I know,” says Farfalla, crouching down to the boy’s level.

“Would I have to go into the woods?” asks the boy, getting suspicious.

“Well, yes. That is where my school is,” says Farfalla, choosing her words carefully. “It’s a beautiful place, with tall trees, and my friend Ru would love to meet you. He’s a red deer,” she adds, hoping to win over the boy with the promise of a new pet.

“A real red deer?! Does he let you pet him!” asks Ash, no longer trying to hold back his excitement.

“More than that, he speaks to me,” says Farfalla, reeling the boy in. “In fact, he told me he would wait for me at the edge of the woods, I bet he’s there right now, by the big ancient rock, do you know which one I’m talking about?” she asks.

“Yes, it’s the one I was hiding behind the first time we met,” he says. “I was playing hide and seek with Felix. I told him I saw you, but he didn’t believe me, and he never wanted to play with me after that. Everyone thinks I’m strange,” he adds, sadness in his voice.

“Well, I think you’re perfectly wonderful and I would love to play hide and seek with you, or any other game you choose. But I need to get back home soon. Ru will be waiting for me,” she says, standing up. “It was nice seeing you again, Ash,” she says, turning to leave.

Ash hesitates as Farfalla takes a few steps up the beach then shouts “Wait!” Farfalla smiles, then turns toward the boy, an innocent look on her face. “I’d like to meet Ru, and I’d like to learn how to skip stones clear across the bay like you can,” says the boy. 

“Then all you need to do is follow me,” she says, reaching down to grab the boy’s hand. 

They walk across the beach and through the fields. At the edge of the woods Farfalla calls to Ru who appears almost immediately. “Ru, this is my friend Ash,” she says to the deer. The deer looks suspiciously at her, as if it is questioning her motives more so than assessing the small stranger.

“Hullo Ru!” says the boy with a tinge of intimidation in his voice. He reaches a hand up and gingerly pets the deer’s face.

“Ru says he’s very pleased to meet you, and he says he will lead the way through the forest,” says Farfalla. The boy doesn’t hesitate for a moment and falls in line behind Ru. Farfalla walks behind them to ensure they are not followed. They walk for nearly an hour before Ash begins to tire. Farfalla picks him up in her arms and carries him the rest of the way, relishing the feeling of once again holding a child in her arms. By the time they reach the gateway the boy has fallen asleep. She places him gently on the ground with a rolled-up blanket beneath his head.

Farfalla calls to the birds and ask them to bring her feathers and soft grass to make a bed for the boy. Within minutes a flock of birds drops off the requested materials and Farfalla gets to work building a cot for him. Her task complete, she gently places the boy on his bed and covers him with the blanket. She sits back and watches him sleep. The sharp pain of nostalgia hits her in the chest as she recalls watching Elisabeth sleep in her bed at Paloma’s city apartment the night before she and James left for Scotland. Farfalla stretches out on the ground next to the boy and falls asleep, dreaming of her old life. For so long she called it her real life, but now she isn’t quite sure what is real anymore.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 32 – Her Prison, Her Fate – in which Farfalla requests of favour from an old friend.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. Leaving a rating or a review on your preferred podcast platform is incredibly helpful in helping the podcast gain visibility so others can find and enjoy the story of The Skylark Bell, it’s a quick, easy, and free way to support my work. If you’d like to support me further, you can also subscribe to Patreon, where you’ll get early access to ad-free episodes as well as digital downloads of my music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! And be sure to follow me on social media for updates, I love to connect with listeners... Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. 

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

In today’s episode we read the chapter 32 – Her Prison, Her Fate – in which Farfalla finds herself in a predicament that forces her to ask for help from someone she thought she’d never see again.

This week's podcast partner is Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

The Skylark Bell on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 32 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode Farfalla tricked Ash into following her into the forest as part of her plan to gain revenge on Mayor Sandpiper.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 32 – Her Prison, Her Fate – in which Farfalla finds herself in a predicament that forces her to ask for help from someone she thought she’d never see again.

Today’s podcast partner is Cannelle Music. Full disclosure, Cannelle is my stagename. I write and record all the music you hear in the The Skylark Bell, most of which is available on major streaming platforms on the album Songs from The Skylark Bell. I also record other unrelated music which you can find on streaming services and bandcamp. Just check the show notes for links to my website and related social media accounts.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

I only meant to keep him with me for a few days, initially. Just long enough to give his father a scare and make him think about what he did to me, and probably to others before me. I wanted to ensure he wouldn’t do it to anyone else. 

As much as I have tried to harden my heart, my mother’s instinct has resurfaced, and I am finding joy in having Ash around. I bring him all the best things I can find. Toys, chocolate… He loves Ru, they take long walks through the forest. 

I eventually stopped fooling myself into thinking I would ever bring him back.

We spend our days together, learning and laughing. I’ve taught him to read and write, to make elixirs and salves, to coax plants into growing, to commune with nature. I’ve taught him geography, told him stories of my time at Meadow Lane. I’ve told him about trains and automobiles, to his great delight. 

We have raced through the forest by moonlight. We’ve gone swimming in the ocean with the sea creatures and sea birds for company. We’ve danced in the fields beneath a stormy sky letting the rain soak through our clothes and spinning wildly as water whips off our wild hair. 

Not once has he asked for his parents. In fact, he never speaks of them at all. I was surprised by this initially, as his father did seem to care for him a great deal that day by the cliff. But I have come to understand, the rare times we’ve broached the subject, that the kindness his father showed him that day was all for show. Behind closed doors, their relationship was very different. 

I told myself I had saved him from a terrible fate. 

I didn’t know his terrible fate was me.

~~~~~~

Farfalla’s face is washed with worry as she leans over the boy, his body seeming even smaller than usual as he shivers under the blankets she has piled on top of him. His face is porcelain white, and beads of sweat are accumulating on his brow. She wipes some salve onto his forehead with her fingers and tries to get him to drink some of the elixir she made using herbs and oils just as Cailleach taught her all those years ago. She lifts the boy’s head and puts the cup to his lips, but he is too weak to drink.

“Ash, darling, I need you to fight. I need you to be strong,” she whispers. The boy moans softly and his head lulls to the side. The situation is dire. Without some kind of intervention, the boy won’t survive the night. Farfalla scoops him up in her arms and carefully navigates the path between the trees to the arch. A moment later, a breeze picks up, and Farfalla starts singing the song of the Oak Tree as she rocks the boy back and forth in her arms. She feels the familiar dizzying feeling of her mind and body separating and closes her eyes. She feels the boy stir slightly in her arms as the sound fades away. 

“Coigreach!” Farfalla’s eyes spring open. She sees a young girl pointing at her, eyes wide. Coigreach. Farfalla recalls the word from her time with the tribe. It means Stranger. 

“Help!” she says, nodding toward the pale boy in her arms, “Cuideachadh!” she adds, remembering the word for help in their language.  The girl turns and runs toward a tent at the back of the encampment. Farfalla recognizes it instantly and walks purposefully toward the structure. A young woman with jet-black hair steps out of the tent just as Farfalla is about to burst through the opening. She is much younger than the last time Farfalla saw her, but still recognizable. Cailleach. Farfalla thrusts the boy’s pale, limp body toward the woman and the woman takes him in her arms without hesitation, then disappears into her tent. Farfalla is about to follow her when she feels hands on her shoulders pulling her back. She turns to see a tall man, his gaze fixated on her, his eyes filled with distrust. “Cormag!” she says, smiling. How amazing to see him so young, decades before he would become the leader of the tribe. At this, the man takes a step back, his brow furrowed. Farfalla seizes the moment and scurries into the tent.

Inside, young Cailleach is tending to Ash, her expert hands applying salve to his chest while her assistant swirls a bowl of burning sage around the room. Farfalla sits quietly in the corner, letting the woman do her work. Farfalla may have grown more powerful than her teacher, but even at this young age, Cailleach is wiser and more knowledgeable when it comes to healing. The woman turns to Farfalla and speaks. It takes Farfalla a moment to translate: Now we wait.

The hours flow at a glacial pace. Farfalla never leaves Ash’s side, constantly staring at his small pale face which shows no sign of improvement. At long last Cailleach returns, runs a hand along his cheek, and shakes her head. There is nothing more she can do. Farfalla weeps. She lets the wave of grief wash through her and eventually lays flat on the dirt floor, void of emotion, void of energy, void of hope. She finally gives in to sleep, holding Ash’s tiny hand in her own.

Farfalla wakens as the early morning light filters into the tent. She sits up and checks on Ash. He is breathing short, shallow breaths now. His time is running out. Farfalla feels the swell of hopelessness and grief rising from the pit of her stomach when a thought occurs to her. A horrible though. A brilliant thought. 

She scoops the boy back up in her arms and rushes out of the tent to The Ancient Oak. “I know you can hear me,” she hears the words echo in her head. “Ash is going to die, I need you to help us,” the swirling echo of her voice is almost unbearable, but she feels a shift in the breeze that gives her the strength to continue. Farfalla starts humming the familiar tune. She can feel heat emanating from the Skylark Bell in the pocket of her gown. The notes rise and fall through the air, surrounding them like an invisible cloak.

Finally, the world goes silent and Farfalla is left standing in the clearing, her arms heaving from the strain of holding Ash tightly against her chest.

“Welcome back.” The voice startles Farfalla and causes her to spin on her heels. To her great relief she sees Cailleach standing just a few paces away, her long grey hair tumbling down her shoulders. It takes Farfalla a moment to reconcile this woman with the younger version of her she was with only a few hours ago.

“Cailleach, I need your help,” she begins.

“The boy’s time has simply come.” Cailleach cuts her off.

“You owe me,” Farfalla swallows her anger, but the words still come out forcefully and her eyes narrow to slits.

Cailleach remains silent a moment, assessing the situation. “Fair enough,” she sighs, “which tree shall we use?”

Farfalla feels the stress fall from her shoulders. She looks around the clearing and spots a tree a few paces away. Its tall straight trunk and bright leaves give promise of a long life. “This one,” she says to Cailleach, nodding in the tree’s direction.

“Very well,” replies the old woman. “You know what to do.”

Farfalla gently lays Ash on the ground, noting that his lips are losing their colour. There isn’t much time. She turns to the tree and shouts “Fall!”. With a thundering crack the tree tips and comes crashing into the clearing. Farfalla rushes to the jagged stump jutting out of the ground. The trunk of the Ancient Oak had been smooth when it was her turn, but there is no time to smooth this one down. “Pick up the boy and take my hand,” says Cailleach. Farfalla hesitates for only a moment, then does as she is told. In a flash, she feels the earth move under her feet. She instinctively closes her eyes and tightens her grip on Ash. “Put him down, quickly,” comes Cailleach’s voice. Farfalla opens her eyes and sees the tree’s trunk has been smoothed down. The tree itself is neatly stacked in pieces nearby. It’s like they’ve travelled a few hours into the future and all the necessary work has been done. Farfalla wonders about the inner workings of what just occurred, but there is no time to waste. She carefully places Ash on the stump and takes a few steps back. Cailleach’s lips start moving. Farfalla can very faintly hear a few words, but the secret spell isn’t meant for her, so she gives Cailleach the space to do what is necessary to save Ash. Or, at the very least, the essence of Ash. 

At long last Cailleach goes silent. The air remains perfectly still, not a breeze nor a bird. Then it begins. The tree begins to grow around Ash’s small body. A process that should take years, decades, centuries even, occurring in the blink of an eye. It is quite the sight to see, especially after having lived through the experience from the inside. Finally, the tree has regained its full height and canopy.

“Hullo,” comes a small voice from behind Farfalla. She spins around and her heart soars at the sight of Ash’s large blue eyes, sparkling like his illness had never happened. “I feel funny,” he says.

“Yes, my darling, I know,” she replies, pulling him close. “Let me take you home, and you will feel much better,” she adds. 

Farfalla feels a hand clutch her arm, the strength of the grip sending searing pain all the way to her shoulder. “In a few years two people will come upon you in the forest. They will have been sent there at my command. They are to be his guardians. You will show them kindness and respect and let them do the task I have assigned to them,” says Cailleach, her tone leaving no room for discussion. “We are even now. Don’t ever come back here again.”

Farfalla nods, then walks hand in hand with Ash to the Ancient Oak; her prison, her fate… and asks it to send them home.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 33 – The Vanishings – In which Farfalla begins to live up to the stories about Dealan-dè

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. If you are enjoying this story, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon or Ko-Fi, where you get early access to episodes as well as MP3 downloads of the music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! You can also find The Skylark Bell exclusive merch on my website, www.theskylarkbell.com. Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. 

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

In today’s episode we read the chapter 33 – The Vanishings – in which Farfalla fully steps into her role as the infamous Dealan-dè

This week's podcast partner is The Haunted UK: https://linktr.ee/hauntedukpodcast

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

The Skylark Bell on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 33 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode Farfalla found herself in the vulnerable position of needing to ask Cailleach for help to save Ash.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 33 – The Vanishings – in which Farfalla fully steps into her role as the infamous Dealan-dè

Today’s podcast partner is fellow Boopod Network member The Haunted UK. You may recognize the name from past collaborations in season 2 of The Skylark Bell such as The Redheaded Hitchhiker, The Cellar, and Return to Manor Ridge Farm. The Haunted UK is a brilliant podcast that explores both the paranormal AND the unexplained. Be sure to check the show notes for a link to their podcast.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

The years following Ash’s illness have flown by. He’s never questioned why he stopped growing, instead approaching the world with an eternal childlike wonder. It is sad and sweet all at once. I didn’t realise, when I had Cailleach put him in the tree, how unnatural it is to be a parent to a child with no expectation of evolution or growth. I sing him the same lullabies, we play with the same toys, play the same games… It is like an endless loop. I think Caileach knew. That’s why she sent Mr. and Mrs. Barnaby. 

It happened one spring day. It was very early morning and Ash was still asleep. I had just finished washing my hair and was rubbing some fragrant oils into it when they stepped out from under the arch. I remember the look on their faces. Not surprise, exactly. Perhaps Cailleach had explained to them what was going to happen. But a look of gentle shock nonetheless, as if they couldn’t quite believe everything had actually happened as described. I stood still, quietly assessing them. Rowan Barnaby was a tall, slim man dressed entirely in black with a mass of wild hair billowing atop his head. He appeared more timid than his counterpart, who stood one or two steps in front of him, prepared to take on the task at hand, her auburn hair piled atop her head barely held together with a scattering of pins. Mandalina Barnaby. I didn’t realise at the time how grateful I would be for their existence.

I would learn, much later, that they had lost a child. Cailleach hand-picked them to be Ash’s eternal caregivers, and they embraced the assignment with all their hearts. I presume she has trapped them inside trees in that strange place that perhaps doesn’t even really exist, the time purgatory, where people are split in two, half of them trapped inside ancient trees, and the other half, a sort of consciousness with a semi-solid body, left to roam the earth. At least they had a choice in the matter…

After a few weeks, Mr. and Mrs. Barnaby announced that they had chosen a time and place where they would like to live with Ash. My heart broke into fragments as I watched them disappear under the arch. Luckily, I still see Ash occasionally, he likes to come to visit, and take walks through the forest with Ru. I still don’t understand how Ru has lived so long, perhaps there is a tree somewhere with him in it. I don’t question these things anymore, I’m simply grateful for the company. Especially now that I once again find myself alone. I had put the stories of the vanishings out of my mind after Ash was saved. I thought we would be together forever. Now I understand I haven’t changed anything at all, the entire story is playing out exactly as it was written.

Who am I to argue?

It is time for another child to vanish.

~~~~~~

“Ready or not, here I come!” the girl’s shout echoes across the vast fields. 

The boy hunkers down behind the giant rock, stifling his giggles. He’s certain his sister will never find him here, she’s too afraid of the woods. Farfalla stands just inside the edge of the forest, hidden in the shadows, Ru standing steadfastly by her side. She watches as the girl runs through the tall grass in search of her brother.

“Now,” whispers Farfalla to the deer, never taking her eyes off the girl. Ru steps into the sunlight, just behind the line of trees but within the girl’s line of sight. The girl stops in her tracks and stares at the deer, mesmerized. Farfalla begins to sing, ever so softly, willing her voice to carry on the wind to reach the girl. The girl begins to walk toward the deer, one foot in front of the other, her eyes staring straight ahead.

From behind the rock, the boy sees his sister walking toward the forest. He squints into the darkness and sees a red deer standing at the edge of the tree line. The girl is clearly heading straight for it. “Shelta!” he shouts, waving his arms over his head to get her attention. The girl keeps marching forward, completely oblivious to his call, almost like she is sleepwalking. “Shelta, over here!” he shouts again, this time with a tinge of desperation in his voice. Still, the girl keeps her steady pace. She has almost reached the line of trees.

The boy begins to feel slightly dizzy and lays a hand on the rock to steady himself. He can hear singing, similar to a woman’s voice, but not entirely human either. The sound swirls around him, its dizzying effect causing him to curl up on the ground behind the rock. His eyelids get heavy, and his body goes limp, and finally he gives into the temptation to sleep.

Farfalla leads the way, maintaining her hold on the girl through song. Ru follows behind her, and the girl walks behind Ru. Finally, they come to the clearing, though it isn’t much of a clearing anymore. A collection of young trees has sprung from the acorns Farfalla planted after the Ancient Oak was felled. Farfalla stops singing, and the girl blinks. Farfalla turns to Ru. “Thank you,” she says, laying a hand on the deer’s cheek. The deer snorts in reply, then turns and disappears into the darkness of the forest.

“Where’s Lachlan?” whimpers the girl as she comes to her senses. She scans her surroundings and looks back at Farfalla, her face filled with fear and uncertainty.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” says Farfalla. “What’s your name my darling?” she asks, crouching to be at eye level with the girl before laying a hand on her cheek.

“Sh-Shelta,” stammers the girl through chattering teeth.

“My name is Dealan-dè,” says Farfalla. “I live here in the forest with my friend Ru, who you met earlier. Isn’t he beautiful?” The girl nods. “I bet he would love to walk with you sometime, he likes to have a companion to go on his walks. Would you like that?” The girl shrugs, then nods.

“I think it’s my bedtime, I should go home,” says the girl hesitantly.

“Oh, it’s quite dark, I think it will be nearly impossible to find your way home right now. It would be much safer for you to stay with me. I even have a soft bed for you to sleep in, and some toys…. and chocolate!” says Farfalla, opening up her hand. The girl looks at the pieces of wrapped candy in Farfalla’s palm and smiles.

“May I have two?” She asks. 

Farfalla laughs. “You may have them all!” she announces, to the girl’s delight. Shelta carefully unwraps each candy and sits happily on a log, eating each one and licking her fingers clean. Finally, darkness settles and Farfalla guides her to the tent with a lantern. “You’ll be safe and comfortable here, Shelta,” she says, guiding the girl to the cot. The girl is too tired to make a fuss, and falls asleep only moments after her head hits the pillow.

Back in the field, the boy wakes up, disoriented by the night sky and the rock towering next to him. Finally, he remembers watching his sister go into the woods. “Shelta?!” he shouts, desperately looking in every direction. “Shelta! Where are you?!” he yells, but no one replies. Panicked, he stands up and races across the field toward his house.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 34 – Shelta – in which a new addition to Farfalla’s life becomes instrumental in her plan.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. Leaving a rating or a review on your preferred podcast platform is incredibly helpful in helping the podcast gain visibility so others can find and enjoy the story of The Skylark Bell, it’s a quick, easy, and free way to support my work. If you’d like to support me further,  you can also subscribe to Patreon, where you’ll get early access to ad-free episodes as well as digital downloads of my music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! And be sure to follow me on social media for updates, I love to connect with listeners... Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast.  

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

In today’s episode we read the chapter 34 – Shelta – in which Farfalla has an unexpected encounter that will stop her in her tracks. 

This week's podcast partner is Paranormal Exposed: https://linktr.ee/paranormalexposed

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

The Skylark Bell on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 34 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode we finally got answers about the mysterious disappearance of a child on the outskirts of Carnifex Land that Magpie had a vision about in Book 2 – Wingspan.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 34 – Shelta – in which Farfalla has an unexpected encounter that will stop her in her tracks. 

Today’s podcast partner is fellow Boopod Network member Paranormal Exposed – you may recognize the name from our past collaboration about haunted objects released for Halloween of 2022. Paranormal exposed takes a look at eerie and unexplained events from a sceptic’s point of view. Be sure to check the show notes for a link to their show.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

She stopped asking for her parents after a few weeks.

The first morning she woke up whimpering a bit, but I had Ru take her for a stroll and the distraction was just what she needed. I provided more sweets and a warm meal, then sang her to sleep. The second morning she woke up crying again. This time, I coaxed a rabbit into her tent. She couldn’t resist the soft, sweet creature, and spent the rest of the week cuddling and talking to it. Things kept on like this for a while. Luckily, I had several tricks up my sleeve. 

Eventually, she grew attached to me. I rocked her to sleep most nights and sang her Audrey Tourtereaux’s French lullaby. When she grew older, I taught her to cook, to sew, to build a shelter, cut firewood... Things I felt she would need in life. She made the most beautiful dresses and coats and became quite adept at foraging for food and creating delicious meals for us. The years went by in the blink of an eye. Before I realized what was happening, she became a teenager. I didn’t want to admit to myself that it would soon be time to let her go. I had grown to love her almost like a daughter. But I would often find her pining for love, companionship, and peers her own age. It wasn’t fair for me to deny her that joy. I questioned myself daily whether the time was right, then one day fate stepped in.

We were walking along the beach. I stopped to look out at the ocean, my mind always turning to Elisabeth. Shelta continued on, collecting seashells into her hand-woven basket. She had taken to making jewelry out of them. I stared at the rolling waves, dipping my toe in the sea, hoping those specific drops of water would someday grace the shores on the other side of the world where, perhaps, Elisabeth would encounter them. 

Suddenly, Shelta cut into my daydream with an excited shout. “Look! Look what I found!” she called, waving her arms at me. My heart stopped when the object in the sand came into view. All these years later… The Skylark Bell. Shelta picked it up and turned it over in her hands. I stood frozen in shock. Of course, I still have the bell I created during my time at the druid encampment. The one whose powers were forged that fateful night when the tribe was decimated and the Ancient Oak was burned, but I never expected to see this bell again, the one that flew off the cliff with me that day, then sank with me into the sand at the bottom of the ocean before slipping out of my hands.

“How old do you think it is?” Shelta had asked, her voice filled with enthusiasm. I told her it looked like an ancient artifact, perhaps even from Druid times. I knew then what I needed to do. The bell would protect her. It was time to let her go. The process was gradual. I cautiously guided her to places and times where she would encounter the right kind of people so she could reenter the world. Finally, one day she announced she had met a man who owned an antique shop and they had fallen in love.

I wouldn’t see Shelta again for years.

There were others. Many others. I found some at the beach, some in the fields, some by the woods… Each one plucked from a different time then returned to a time other than their own so as to keep my mystique intact, but always ensuring they would continue their lives safe and happy. After Shelta, I crafted a special elixir that I would administer on the children’s last day with me, so they would forget our time together. The last vanishing was Charlie. He was a friend of the boy who lived at Carnifex house, the caretakers’ son. After Charlie left, I took a break. I hadn’t found myself alone for several years, and I took some time to revisit my life. My thoughts always went first to Elisabeth, then to Marius. I bathed in it for years, the endless circle of Elisabeth and Marius, love and broken hearts.

Then one day, I saw him.

~~~~~~

Farfalla stands frozen in place at the edge of the woods. She blinks several times, unable to believe her eyes. Walking through the fields of Carnifex House on the back of a black horse with a white mane and tail is Marius. She watches as he awkwardly coaxes the huge animal in figure eights, then practices stopping and going a few times. Eventually, he turns and heads back toward the paddock. Farfalla stays at her post until darkness sets in, unable to comprehend what she has just seen. How could Marius be here? Now?! Marius would be 120 years old by now, the scene she witnessed today is an impossible one!

Farfalla spends the next few days observing the Carnifex fields from the edge of the forest. Sure enough, she sees Marius and Cormorant riding through the tall grass, the wind blowing those familiar dark curls. She’s run her fingers through that hair countless times, she would recognize it anywhere. 

On the fifth day Farfalla sees something that makes her heart sink. Once again, she sees Marius and Cormorant, but this time they are accompanied by a woman on a dark bay mare. As the woman approaches, Farfalla’s breath catches in her throat. It’s almost as though she is staring at a younger version of herself. She watches as they talk and laugh. She sees the way he looks at the woman, the depth of his love for her is evident. On the breeze she hears the woman call him Lucas, and her brow furrows. She’s certain she is looking at the same man, and not a descendant or relative. Why is this woman calling him Lucas? 

A moment later he responds by calling the woman’s name. Magpie… Each echo of the word inside Farfalla’s head feels like a nail being hammered into her heart. Magpie. The very first time they met, when he glanced up and saw her in the apple tree, the first word out of his mouth was Magpie. Now Farfalla understands why. He thought she was this woman. A wave of painful comprehension washes over Farfalla. Marius hasn’t met her yet. Somehow, some way, he will time travel back to her youth and they will meet and fall in love. Then he will disappear. 

But… perhaps it doesn’t have to be this way! Perhaps she can change things. Farfalla turns and walks swiftly back to her forest home, ready to set her plan in motion. She keeps an eye on him from a distance, waiting for the right moment. Finally, one day she hears him tell Magpie he and Cormorant are going for a long ride. 

Farfalla ponders how she can possibly send Marius to 1920s Pocket. It dawns on her suddenly that she needs the Skylark Bell. Not hers, but the old one, the one Shelta found on the beach. Shelta’s husband passed away shortly after they married, but she has carried on with the daily task of running the antique shop. Shelta is an old woman now, and she is startled when she sees Farfalla looking the same as she did decades ago. Farfalla strikes a deal with her; Shelta will receive a trunk full of antiques and relics, and in exchange she is to give the Skylark Bell to the young man with the dark curly hair. Shelta agrees with little hesitation, she still feels a deep nostalgia about her time with Farfalla despite all the years they’ve spent apart, and the additional merchandise will help her shop stay afloat.

The first part of her plan put in place, Farfalla heads back to the forest to speak to Ru. She instructs him to lead Marius into the forest. She will take care of the rest. 

Farfalla is on pins and needles the rest of the day. Finally, the sun begins to set, and she watches from a distance as Marius walks into the antique shop. He exits quite some time later, and he and Cormorant begin ascending the winding hill that leads to the top of the cliff above Pòcaid. Ru races onto the road as instructed, and Marius follows him back into the woods. Now it is Farfalla who has a role to play. She follows Marius and Cormorant as they walk the winding path in the woods. Finally, they come to the arch. She sees him hesitate, but he eventually moves forward. Farfalla waits for the precise moment Marius and Cormorant are under the arch then begins to sing the song of the Oak Tree. She watches as he looks around, an expression of uncertainty on his face. The breeze picks up, swinging the trinkets she attached to the arch back and forth. The metal spoons, cups and bells collide and create a cacophonous symphony. Farfalla begins to sing more loudly, and she feels the elements shift. She sees Marius squeeze his eyes shut before, just a moment later, he simply disappears.

Farfalla heaves a sigh of relief. Now the next step is to warn her younger self, to prevent Marius from ever disappearing. She isn’t entirely sure how to go about it, but she will find a way.

She and Marius will be together, no matter what it takes.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 35 – Roadblocks – in which Farfalla learns that her powers as Dealan-dè have limits.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. If you are enjoying this story, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon or Ko-Fi, where you get early access to episodes as well as MP3 downloads of the music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! You can also find The Skylark Bell exclusive merch on my website, www.theskylarkbell.com. Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. 

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

This week's podcast partner is Paranormal Exposed: https://linktr.ee/paranormalexposed

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

The Skylark Bell on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 35 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode Farfalla finally saw Lucas, known to her as Marius, her long-lost love, and began devising a plan to reunite.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 35 – Roadblocks – in which Farfalla learns there are limits to Dealan-dè’s powers.

Today’s podcast partner is The Activity Continues, which started out as a recap of the television show The Dead Files, but has expanded into other areas of the wild and wonderful unexplained phenomena. You may recognize their name as they are also members of the Boopod Network and have participated in collaborations which The Skylark Bell was part of in the past. Be sure to check the show notes for a link to their podcast.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

I didn’t know I wouldn’t be able to warn myself.

I feel an endless stream of frustration every time I try. Some unknown force prevents me from appearing face to face with myself. The best I can do is project myself into mirrors. I have tried time and time again to shout my warning and have failed every time. Finally, I watched in horror as my younger self sang the song of the Oak Tree while dancing around her bedroom, with the Skylark Bell ringing outside her window, effectively sending Marius back in time. Or, as it turns out, forward in time. I let out a cry then. It was like living through his loss again. 

Once I came to terms with the fact that the only time I would ever spend with Marius were those short years in my youth, I put everything in place to ensure the events would happen exactly as I remembered. 

First, I arranged for Magpie to come into possession of the feather key that opens the box where I hid the Skylark Bell at Meadow Lane. I disguised the key as a blackberry to entice a blackbird, then commanded the bird to drop the berry into Magpie’s lap. I knew the spell wouldn’t last long, by the time Magpie got home the key would have returned to its rightful form, ready to be found.

Next, I ensured Marius came into possession of the Feather Ring so he could use it to propose to me in the apple orchard behind Meadow Lane. It pained me to remove the ring from the chain around my neck where I have kept it all these years, but it was what needed to be done. This time I called upon a crow to drop the ring at his feet while he was standing alone by the side of the road. Sure enough, he picked it up and tucked it into his pocket.

Finally, I came to the last point on the timeline. Magpie in her old age, preparing to warn her younger self not to go to Scotland with Marius, or Lucas as she calls him. I intervened and burned her letter. If Marius never goes to Carnifex House, he will never travel to 1920’s Pocket and he and I will never meet. I admit I was surprised when she grabbed my arm and time traveled a few paces into the future in one last, desperate attempt to warn her younger self, but of course her attempt failed, and her time ran out.

Despite having my plan in place, I still went back to Carnifex House regularly, hoping to see him again. For years I checked, and all I ever found was her. There she was, pining away for him… well at least for the first year. Then she gave up on him and eventually married the caretaker’s son, the one whose friend I made vanish all those years ago. I had no interest in them, so I entertained myself by visiting some old childhood friends. More specifically, I went to The Aviary School Finishing School for Girls of Distinction and paid a visit to Sadie Rhodes and Priscilla Ponceroy. I did manage to spot my younger self in the dark hallway and gave her a wink. It’s the closest I’ve gotten to myself, but even that brief moment of proximity nearly did me in. I’m not sure what balance of nature is thrown off by our paths crossing, but it has an effect of nearly unbearable physical pain on me.

I continued entertaining myself by spooking people who were unkind to their children or treated others unfairly. I would give them unsettling experiences, make them question what is real and what is imagined… I had an especially delicious bout with Agnes Sutherland! It only lasted a few weeks. I visited at night and made my face visible through her second story bedroom window. Just long enough for her to wonder if she had truly seen what she thought she saw. After a string of sleepless nights, she effectively lost her mind. Don’t worry, it was a temporary situation. But that’ll teach her to take my belongings and throw me in the back of a cart!

I also paid a few visits to younger Magpie. I find a certain thrill in making the girl uneasy. At first, I made an appearance in the window at Meadow Lane, waiting for her to catch a fleeting glimpse of me before disappearing. Then, to my delight, I discovered that I am capable of not only imparting visions on her, but also inserting myself into those visions. I followed her to London and appeared to her on a cobblestone street. There, I told her that the silence at Meadow Lane had not even begun. Oh, you should have seen the scared, confused look on her face! It was positively delightful!  Now, now, don’t get cross with me, I was just having a little harmless fun!

Anyway, I eventually lost interest in playing the role of the avenger, and settled into a humble routine in the forest, occasionally checking on the inhabitants of Carnifex House through the years. Frannie turned into a beautiful, independent young lady. She became passionate about writing and literature. She married a local man named Preston Maxwell, and they moved into Carnifex House after Donald and Isabella passed on. I visited her one night as she slept and saw a book on her nightstand. I just about fell over when I saw its cover: The Skye La rk Belle, by Frances Annabelle Maxwell. All those years of Mama reading the book to me, and I’d never thought to make note of the author. Frannie, the little girl who was indirectly responsible for my being thrown off a cliff, had written my favourite childhood story. Only it wasn’t a story at all, it was a biography, I just didn’t know it at the time.

Felix grew up and moved to the mainland, excited to get away from the tragedy and strange occurrences that hang over Carnifex House. He became a successful businessman, then married and had a son, George Archibald. James’ uncle, who must have, at some point, returned to live out his days on the island, then passed the property down to James. Poor, sweet James.

Finally, one day, Marius returned. I saw him stumble into the house. I’m not sure how I missed his arrival, he would have appeared under the arch in the forest, but perhaps after all those years I finally let my guard down somewhat. Finally gave up hope. Of course, he went straight to her, but I smiled knowing he would find her now nearly twice his age.

A few weeks later they ventured into the woods. They talked about their plan as they walked. She would go back in time to prevent him from ever going for a ride that fateful day, and everything would be made right. I giggled inwardly at their naivety. There’s no way I will ever let that happen. Despite his disappearance, the time I spent with Marius in my youth was the most beautiful time in my life. I will not let anything alter the past, nor the future I envision for us now. I watched as she stepped under the arch, then I sang the song of the Oak Tree and sent her on a wild goose chase through time. I was quite pleased with myself that day!

I figure I will give him a couple of days to decompress before coming to him. 

Finally, at long last, we will be together.

~~~~~~

Farfalla watches from afar as Marius winds his way through the woods. She pulls her last acorn from the Ancient Oak out of her pocket and directs a squirrel to drop it at his feet. As expected, he stops in his tracks and takes a moment to bend and take it into his palm. He tucks it in his pocket before moving on, just as he did with the feather ring all those years ago. Farfalla assumes her position under the arch, quivering with excitement, and waits for him to round the bend. She takes a deep, nervous breath. She is certain he will recognize her, being trapped in the Ancient Oak has caused her body to remain frozen in time, the years having no effect on her outward appearance. Farfalla feels her heart pounding, she and Marius are mere moments away from being reunited and fulfilling their destiny together. He will shout with joy when he sees her and spin her in his arms like he did that night in the apple orchard when he asked her to marry him. They will hold each other, and laugh, and cry, and tell stories of their years apart. They will celebrate the holidays with music and dancing like they did at Meadow Lane. They will go for rides on horseback and race through the fields, the wind whipping their hair across their joyful faces…

Farfalla peeks over her shoulder. Marius is taking an awfully long time, perhaps he has made a wrong turn. She begins softly humming the song of the Oak Tree, both to pass the time, and to help guide him. Within minutes, she hears his boots scraping the dirt path behind her. She feels Marius’ gaze land on her back and a smile stretches across her face.

“Magpie! I knew you’d come back!”

The words, the name, pierce through her chest like a dagger made of ice. She feels her entire body stiffen, her fingers curl into fists. Of course, he is expecting her, hoping for her! What a fool she was ever thinking he would hope for anyone other than his precious Magpie! From the beginning it was always about Magpie! Did she, Farfalla, ever mean anything to him at all, or was she simply a convenient replacement when he could no longer have the real thing?! What a fool she’d been, all these years, thinking he was ever in love with her.

Farfalla spins on her heel, rage boiling from her toes to the top of her head. She stares him straight in the eye, shouting the thought straight from her mind to his: I. Am. Not. Magpie! She continues her singing, but somehow it turns into a high-pitched, chaotic whistling sound. She watches as recognition washes over his face. “Farfalla?” he whispers. Immediately Farfalla corrects him in her mind. Dealan-dè. Farfalla is no more. There is only Dealan-dè now. In a blind rage, she grabs the Skylark Bell from the folds of her robe and holds it high above her head. She somehow simultaneously continues to sing while letting out a shriek as she violently throws the bell to the ground, causing a blinding flash of light. The earth heaves under her feet, she can feel the motion in the air around her.

Once the movement subsides, she opens her eyes to look around. 

Marius is gone.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 36 – Time Loops – in which Farfalla devises a plan to preserve the time in her youth when she and Marius were together, no matter the cost.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. Leaving a rating or a review on your preferred podcast platform is incredibly helpful in helping the podcast gain visibility so others can find and enjoy the story of The Skylark Bell, it’s a quick, easy, and free way to support my work. If you’d like to support me further, you can also subscribe to Patreon, where you’ll get early access to ad-free episodes as well as digital downloads of my music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! And be sure to follow me on social media for updates, I love to connect with listeners... Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. 

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

In today’s episode we read the chapter 36 – Time Loops -  in which Farfalla devises a plan to preserve what little time she had with Marius, no matter the cost.

This week's podcast partner is Something, Rather Than Nothing: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/something-rather-than-nothing/id1473313040

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 36 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode Farfalla made a failed attempt to reconnect with Marius.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 36 – Time Loops -  in which Farfalla devises a plan to preserve what little time she had with Marius, no matter the cost.

Today’s podcast partner is Something, Rather Than Nothing. Host Ken Volante does a phenomenal job of bringing art philosophy to the forefront and finding unique perspectives through his roster of guests. You can find an interview with me on the Something Rather Than Nothing podcast on my website, just check the link in the shownotes. 

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

After Marius disappeared, I stood in the same spot for ages. 

I couldn’t believe what I’d done in a moment of blind rage. I wasn’t even sure exactly where I’d sent him. Eventually my legs grew tired and gave out from under me. I crumpled to the ground like a rag doll, and lay there, scratching at the forest floor with my fingernails, asking the earth why it must be this way. She didn’t provide an answer, but I think I may have felt her shrug. Even the earth doesn’t know …or doesn’t care.

What was it all for then, gaining this power, these abilities? Talking to trees, controlling the behaviour of animals, hypnotizing people with my voice so they do my bidding, being able to transform objects so they appear as other objects, moving through time and space… what was it all for if I am only to end up alone again and again?

I am tired of the vanishings. I am tired of heartbreak. I am tired of being hurt and angry. I just want love, and joy, and hope. I miss hope most of all. With half of me trapped inside a tree, there is no end in sight to this misery, no hope of ever returning to my real life. No hope of ever holding those I love most in my arms. All I have left are the joyful memories of my youth. My time with Marius, my time with Elisabeth. 

The memory of those times is what I must focus on.

I don’t know how much time I spent there, my face pressed against the soil and fallen leaves, but at one point a thought entered my mind. I started thinking about the bell. The night the bell was granted its powers was the night the entire druid tribe was massacred, the bell was in my hands when I awoke on the beach in 1700s Scotland and found myself centuries away from my beloved Elisabeth, the bell was in my hands when I was thrown off the cliff and went even farther back in time, the bell was in the window at Meadow Lane when Marius disappeared during the terrible winter of 1925… and just now, smashing the bell to the ground sent Marius… I don’t even know where! 

But every time it’s the bell, the bell, the bell! 

~~~~~~

Farfalla sits up and wipes the tears from her eyes with the back of her soiled hand. She wipes her palms on her dress and picks up the Skylark Bell. She stares at it for a long time, analyzing. The more she thinks about it, the more she realises the bell is to blame for all her troubles.

Farfalla tucks the bell back into her pocket and expertly navigates her way through the forest. She reaches the fields, turns, and marches decisively toward the cliff. The tall grass sways on either side of her as she forges a path through the field, her eyes staring straight ahead. Once she steps out of the grass, she feels the wind lift off the ocean and whip her hair up. Farfalla begins to run. She races full speed on the slick dewy grass straight toward the edge of the cliff without hesitation. She stops at the very last moment, her toes practically hanging off the edge, and abruptly swings her arm back as far as it will go. She heaves a deep breath, and with all her might, she channels her heartbreak and devastation into the bell as she catapults it above her head and over the edge of the cliff. The sun reflects off its silver metallic surface as it spins through the void as if in slow motion, cutting through the air on its way down. Farfalla watches its descent with a strange mix of satisfaction, disdain, fear, and uncertainty. She should never have created that cursed object in the first place, even if it means she and Marius would have never met! The bell has caused too much heartache for too many people. She watches as the bell hits the sea, breaking through the surface of the water with a violence she didn’t expect. Farfalla feels a strange sensation, like a ripple in the air surrounding her and in the ground beneath her feet. The sensation is vaguely familiar, and she digs through her mind to recall where and when she felt this way before, but the memory is too distant to resurface, and she can feel a dizzying darkness closing in.

What Farfalla fails to realise, is that the bell hitting the water both closes and opens her time loop. It sends her younger self flying off the boat and into the sea, causing her to wake on the beach in 1700s Pòcaid. From there she is eventually thrown off the cliff, where that bell is lost until Shelta finds it and gives it to Marius. In the meantime, Farfalla creates the original Skylark Bell at the druid encampment where she eventually finds half of herself locked inside a tree while the other half throws the bell off the cliff. At this point the loop repeats itself.

~~~~~~

An ocean away and trapped in her own time loop, Magpie has come to a realisation. As the story repeats itself, remnants of previous iterations, and even pieces of Farfalla’s time loop, are present in her mind in the form of memories. At first, they are vague, almost like a dream or psychic vision, but as she lives through the cycle over and over, they become more and more concrete until finally she can recall her entire life before having lived it. At long last, Magpie is now fully aware of the time loop, and she has a plan to close it once and for all.

Magpie’s sneakers scrape against the gravel road as she races toward town. Today is the day. Tomorrow morning, she and Lucas will go to The Early Bird where Mrs. Kestrel will inform them that Farfalla passed away the night before. That’s tonight. 

Magpie woke up this morning with the memory of the woman, the real Farfalla, appearing in her room just before she took her last breath. She remembers Farfalla burning the letter Old Magpie had written to try and stop her younger self and Lucas from going to Scotland. She then recalls grabbing Farfalla’s arm and using Farfalla as a conduit to time travel a few paces into the future to try and warn her younger self by scribbling I. Am. Not. Farfalla. on the back of a sketch. She remembers failing. She remembers dying. But today will be different...

The dust settles behind her as Magpie turns the corner toward Farfalla’s little house with the blackberry bushes and bird feeders. This is her first time coming here... again. Luckily, she knows her way around. Despite being a teenager, she’s lived here for decades, multiple times. Magpie walks up the steps with an air confidence she’s not entirely sure she feels on the inside and lets herself in the house.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 37 – Here’s the Plan – in which Farfalla and Magpie finally come face-to-face.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. If you are enjoying this story, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon or Ko-Fi, where you get early access to episodes as well as MP3 downloads of the music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! You can also find The Skylark Bell exclusive merch on my website, www.theskylarkbell.com. Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. 

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

In today’s episode we read the chapter 37 – Here’s the Plan – in which Magpie and Farfalla finally come face to face.

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 37 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode Farfalla creates a time loop to ensure she and Marius will meet in her youth, regardless of the heartbreak and chaos doing so will cause.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 37 – Here’s the Plan – in which Magpie and Farfalla finally come face to face.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

I’ve done this so many times now it has practically become routine. That’s why I was so surprised when she walked in the door.

We stood facing one another for a moment, like we were frozen in time. I don’t think either one of us quite knew what to do. The story had played out the same way so many times. So many lifetimes. What now?

~~~~~~

Magpie and Farfalla stand face to face. Even the air seems to stop moving for a moment. Finally, Magpie speaks, breaking the eerie stillness.

“I know how to behead the Ouroboros,” she says. 

Farfalla’s brow arches and she looks at Magpie, quizzically. At the very least, this should be entertaining. “Continue,” she says.

Magpie glances into the other room, and sees her older self in the rocking chair, eyes trained on the situation at hand despite being feeble and mere minutes from passing away. “I know the exact moment your time loop opens and closes,” she says, meeting Farfalla eye to eye.

Farfalla snickers. “I don’t have time for this nonsense...” she says, waving a hand at Magpie nonchalantly despite the fact that the girl’s words substantially increased her heart rate.

“Aren’t you tired of this? Aren’t you tired of the heartbreak, the loss, the grief, the pain? Tired of the same story over and over? The predictable lifetimes one after the other? It’s not natural! We’re not supposed to know how it ends; we’re not supposed to know everything that will happen along the way!” Magpie is now shouting. From the corner of her eye, she sees an ever so small, proud smile creep up the corner of her older self’s mouth.

Now it’s Farfalla’s turn to shout. “Know what’s not natural?! The love of your life disappearing in a snowstorm, or being centuries away from your child, or... how about this... being locked in a tree for all eternity! You want to talk to me about things that are not natural?!” at this she lets out a bitter laugh that chills Magpie to her core.

“What if I could change all that?” asks Magpie softly.

Farfalla sinks into a dining chair, folds her arms on the table, then leans her head on it and closes her eyes. “Then I would never see Marius again...” she whispers, almost like she is talking to herself. A single tear falls down her cheek, hidden from Magpie’s view by Farfalla’s thick mass of red hair.

Magpie takes advantage of the moment to scurry toward her older self in the next room. “I’m going to fix this,” she says softly. The old woman nods and mouths the words Thank You. Magpie gives her hand a squeeze, causing a light electrical current to pass between them. Magpie walks back into the kitchen and sits down across the table from Farfalla.

Farfalla sizes her up for a moment. Perhaps all these lifetimes she had misjudged Magpie. There is strength and courage emanating from the girl before her. Yet she is not hard, she is not bitter or angry. If anything, her expression is one of empathy. Farfalla is surprised to feel a sense of admiration rise in her.

“Elisabeth was my great-great-grandmother,” says Magpie. She pulls a photograph from her pocket and slides it across the table.

Tears immediately spring to Farfalla’s eyes. She looks at the photograph; an old woman in a rocking chair, knitting. Elisabeth. Elisabeth who lived an entire lifetime without her. Farfalla looks back at the girl in front of her, studying her face. She’s never taken the time to notice before, stopping only at the resemblance between them, but if she looks closely, she can see echoes of Elisabeth around her cheekbones and her upturned nose. Farfalla feels her strength and resolution fade, and finally she gives in and begins to weep. “All these years, all these lifetimes...” she says, clearly running through every painful moment in her mind, every love, every loss, “I have made your life, our lives, so hard, so unbearable... I’m so sorry. I’m so very, very sorry,” the words come out muffled between heaving sobs, “all this time, lost... all those lifetimes... I was just so lonely, and so hurt. I wanted someone else to hurt! It was wrong, I was wrong,” she whispers. Magpie isn’t sure whether Farfalla is addressing her or the photograph of Elisabeth, but at this point it doesn’t much matter, she knows she can capitalize on Farfalla’s feeling of regret.

Magpie reaches across the table and takes Farfalla’s hand. “I think I know how to fix it. All of it,” she says, “but I’m going to need your help.”

“Whatever you need, whatever I can do,” says Farfalla, finally lifting her head up. She wipes aggressively at the tears on her cheeks, a newfound look of acceptance on her face.

A moan from the next room grasps Magpie’s attention. “I have to be with her right now. Once she is gone, we will sit down together and make our plan, okay?” Farfalla nods, and Magpie walks into the small room with the sketches on the walls. She points at the sketch of the two of them coming face to face at The Early Bird diner and laughs. “Remember that look of surprise on your face when you saw me?” she asks the old woman. A weak smile stretches across Old Magpie’s lips, and she nods faintly. Magpie continues, pointing to a sketch of her and Lucas having a picnic at the library, “Remember this day? You sent a bird to give me the feather key!” she says. The old woman shakes her head and, with a considerable effort, lifts her hand slightly to point at Farfalla.

“I’m afraid she’s right, that was my doing,” says Farfalla from the doorway. She steps hesitantly into the room and leans in to look at the sketch. “Even at this young age, his love for you is evident,” she says, wistfully. 

Magpie places her hand on Farfalla’s shoulder. “I know you love him too,” she says gently. 

Farfalla turns toward her and nods.  “I did love him, yet I hurt him most of all,” she says, her voice filled with regret. “But we’re going to change all that. Tonight,” says Farfalla, giving them a hopeful look before stepping out of the room.

The old woman motions for Magpie to lean closer and whispers “Plan.... dangerous...” 

Magpie nods. “I know, but I can’t let Lucas end up at that convent in Brighthaven. I can’t let you, us, spend all those decades alone in this tiny little house. I can’t let Grandma Gemma die without ever knowing what happened to Lucas... I can’t let things keep happening. Not when I have knowledge of them and a chance to stop it,” she says.

“If you fail... you will die, we will die” says the old woman, tears springing in her eyes.

“I won’t fail,” says Magpie with a confidence she isn’t feeling. She has studied every memory, analyzed the time loops from every angle, and she truly feels like she has a chance. But her older self is right, there is a chance her plan could fail, and if it does, she will not survive.

Magpie sits on the floor, holding her older self’s hand. She can feel the electrical current between them weaken, and eventually it is gone. She wraps the green shawl around the old woman’s shoulders and runs a hand through her hair before stepping out of the room and closing the door. She walks to the dining room where Farfalla is sitting and regains her seat at the table. She takes a pen and paper and expertly draws a series of lines and points, then adds a few handwritten notes. Her task completed, she slides the page across the table to Farfalla, who looks down at it with great interest.

“Okay, this is the plan...”

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 38 – Skye Dive – in which Magpie and Farfalla’s plan is set in motion.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. Leaving a rating or a review on your preferred podcast platform is incredibly helpful in helping the podcast gain visibility so others can find and enjoy the story of The Skylark Bell, it’s a quick, easy, and free way to support my work. If you’d like to support me further, you can also subscribe to Patreon, where you’ll get early access to ad-free episodes as well as digital downloads of my music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! And be sure to follow me on social media for updates, I love to connect with listeners... Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. 

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

In today’s episode we read the chapter 38 – Skye Dive – in which Magpie and Farfalla's plan is set in motion.

This week's podcast partner is Cozyland: http://www.cozylandpod.com

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 38 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode Magpie and Farfalla came face to face and devised a plan to end the time loops once and for all.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 38 – Skye Dive – in which their plan is set in motion.

Today’s podcast partner is Cozyland. Hosted by my dear friend Amy and me, Cozyland takes peek at those movies that make us feel warm inside. The ones that often have predictable plots and character traits that repeat from one film to the next. From Hallmark Holiday movies to films about food, fashion, and travel, to the cozy mysteries we like to dive into both in book and TV format... cozyland has all your comfort needs covered. Check the show notes for a link to the Cozyland podcast.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

We didn’t get up from that table until every step of the plan was clear to both of us. 

She really thought this through. She’s brilliant. Like Elisabeth. Like me.

Part of me is afraid this won’t work, that I am going to lose her like I’ve lost everyone else in my life. I would take on the task myself, but it is impossible. I cannot cross my own timeline in this form. She is our only hope. We can’t keep going on like this, something needs to be done.

We waited until it was night, then walked to Meadow Lane hand in hand. It pained me to see the house so disheveled. The place where Paloma and I laughed and played, where Papa spun us in the air at the end of his arms, where Mama would shout to us that “Dinner’s ready!”. I thought back to the days when Cousin Bruno and Auntie Freda would come to visit, he would whip out his camera to photograph the trees and animals, and Auntie Freda would throw apples from the porch, too afraid of the wildlife to get any closer. 

Strangely, after I left Meadow Lane it seems as though I thought it would stay the same forever. Yet, unbeknownst to me, time slowly ravaged it, and I found myself shocked that it wasn’t in the same condition today, nearly a century later, as the day I left. It is nonsensical, I know, but nostalgia is a matter of the heart, not the mind.

Magpie had to remind me that time was of the essence, or I would have fallen deep down the rabbit hole of memories. We noted the gentle breeze that was thankfully swinging the Skylark Bell back and forth on its hook where Magpie had placed it mere hours ago. I did allow myself a moment to stare at it and think back to the day Marius gifted it to me. I must admit I had a brief moment of doubt knowing that what we were about to do would all but ensure Marius and I would never meet, but I swallowed it down. The most I can hope for is that I will not remember any of these lifetimes, that I will have no recollection of Marius at all. Once cannot pine for something one has never known.

We walked to the Oak Tree, and I circled my arms around its massive trunk. The tree was even larger than I remembered. I felt its life pulsing beneath the bark and smiled. Finally, it was time for me to play my part in this plan. I held Magpie in my arms for a long time before instructing her to place her hand on the Oak Tree. She told me she thought she could feel a heartbeat and I smiled. I asked if she was ready and she nodded, so I started singing that mythical song, and something strange happened, the tree started singing along, its harmonies weaving in and out, cresting and falling, sending Magpie to a different time and place. 

She disappeared about 3 minutes ago, and I have been sitting here with my head leaning on the tree, listening to our synchronized heartbeats, wishing, and hoping for only one thing: To forget.

~~~~~~

Magpie stares in awe at the archway that stretches over the forest path. She remembers if from her previous lifetimes but seeing it in person gives it whole new meaning. It is truly a work of art. She gives herself a moment to get her bearings, unsure of which direction she should take. Suddenly, a red deer appears on the path ahead.

“Hello Ru,” she says, smiling. Farfalla had mentioned she would do her best to somehow send him to guide her. The deer turns and takes quick, graceful strides along the path between the trees. Magpie scurries to follow it, hoping it isn’t tricking her into going deeper into the woods.

Finally, they reach the tree line and Magpie sees the fields that stretch to Carnifex House, and the large rock that separates their property from the neighbouring farm. Magpie turns to the deer. “Thank you,” she whispers, leaning close to its face. The deer’s soft, knowing eyes tell her all she needs to know. If she succeeds, she will somehow be helping it live a better, happier life too. Somehow it has gotten trapped in these endless time loops with her and Farfalla. Magpie watches as the deer disappears back into the forest.

“Hullo,”

The small voice startles Magpie, who spins on her heel to look behind her. A small face is peeking out from behind the rock. “Hi Ash,” she says, smiling at the boy. 

The boy’s big blue eyes light up for a moment, but quickly find themselves filled with concern. “You need to hurry, she’s almost at the cliff,” he says, pointing to an area beyond the field. 

Magpie gives the boy and encouraging smile and nods. “Thank you,” she shouts over her shoulder as she begins her race against time. She can feel the slick wetness of the morning dew coating the grass beneath her feet as she races toward the cliff. Everything feels surreal. She has had so many visions, so many dreams... It’s hard for her to distinguish between those and reality. But this is the plan, this is where she is supposed to be, and she knows exactly what she must do. Real or not, this is her only chance.

Magpie sees Farfalla ahead, white gown and red hair both blowing in the wind as she races toward the edge of the cliff. Magpie remembers seeing her before, from a vantage point down below, perhaps in a boat. Was that real? Was it a dream? She’s almost certain it’s a memory.

To Magpie’s dismay, Farfalla stops running and stands at the edge of the cliff, her arm stretched back in preparation to fling the bell over into the sea.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” shouts Magpie at the top of her lungs, but her words are instantly carried away on the wind. She recalls that the earth, the water, the air... the world!... had heaved when that bell hit the crashing waves below. Whether it was a dream or a vision or reality, she knows she has to stop that from happening. This is the only way to close both Farfalla’s time loop and her own. If the bell never hits the water, young Farfalla won’t travel back in time and will never create the bell in the first place. There won’t be a silence at Meadow Lane, Lucas will never disappear, Marius will never exist... 

Magpie keeps running, as fast as her feet will take her, and watches in horror as Farfalla’s arm swings forward and the bell is released from her hand. Magpie sees a shard of sunlight reflect off it as it soars into the air, as if in slow motion. She keeps running to the edge, not slowing down, not stopping. She keeps running even though she can no longer feel the ground beneath her feet. She stretches out her hand as far as it will go and grasps the bell, her fingers closing tightly around it. She brings it in close to her chest and heaves a sigh of relief, but the feeling of joy is short-lived as she comes to the realization that she is falling, falling, falling…

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for Chapter 39 – Nothing – in which Magpie finds herself at a crossroads.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. If you are enjoying this story, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon or Ko-Fi, where you get early access to episodes as well as MP3 downloads of the music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! You can also find The Skylark Bell exclusive merch on my website, www.theskylarkbell.com. Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. 

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

In today’s episode we read the chapter 39 – Nothing – in which Magpie finds herself at a crossroads. 

This week's podcast partner is The Boopod Network of true crime and paranormal podcasts, which includes the following:

The Activity Continues: https://bit.ly/m/TACpod

The Nightcap Nebula: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-nightcap-nebula-podcast/id1672430903

The Paranormal Truth: https://linktr.ee/paranormalexposed

Mums, Mysteries, & Murder: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/mums-mysteries-murder/id1578866284

Generally Spooky: https://linktr.ee/generallyspooky

Shittin' Bricks: https://linktr.ee/shittinbricks

Horror Roulette: https://horrorroulette.com/

Certainly Strange: https://open.spotify.com/show/1stSYQC9Sqox9TwbU48Dof?si=ct4_QX_NQh6hHZHxZ9eyVA&utm_source=copy-link&nd=1

Haunted or Hoax: https://linktr.ee/HauntedorHoax

Spilling the Crime: https://linktr.ee/spillingthecrime

Murder Roadtrip: https://www.instagram.com/murderroadtrippod/

Dark Tales from the Road: https://linktr.ee/darktalesfromtheroad

The Skylark Bell: http://www.theskylarkbell.com

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: Chapter 39 of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

In last week’s episode Magpie stopped The Skylark Bell from causing the boating accident that set Farfalla’s time loop, and consequently Magpie’s,  in motion.

In today’s episode we read the chapter 39 – Nothing – in which Magpie finds herself at a crossroads. 

Today’s podcast partner is The Boopod Network – a collective of independent True Crime and paranormal podcasts which includes The Skylark Bell. There have been several fantastic collaborative projects featuring various members of the Boopod network over the past year or two, and each individual podcast is fantastic in its own right. Just check the show notes for links to podcast that are part of the Boopod Network, and be sure to give them a listen, you won’t regret it.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

At first there was nothing. 

I remember my thoughts swirling. Is nothing something? How can I have thoughts if there is nothing? Thoughts are something. 

I could quickly feel myself losing my grip on reality when suddenly there was something. A spark. A flash of light. A reflection.

I turned my gaze to it, and gradually the light grew bright enough to illuminate the woman. She had long silver hair and was dressed in a somewhat shapeless white linen gown with colourful embroidery on it, birds and flowers and animals. I remember being fixated on the stitches, like focusing on them would help keep me grounded in this strange, frightening instance.

I looked down at her hand and found the source of the light to be the bell. The one I had grasped in mid-air as Farfalla hauled it off the edge of the cliff. So the bell still exists. That wasn’t part of the plan. 

I glanced at our surroundings, but there was only darkness. Darkness as oppressive as the silence at Meadow Lane. Again, nothing. We were surrounded by nothing. Nothing but darkness. Perhaps darkness is something? The swirling thoughts again.

Finally, I chose to speak, my words echoing in the emptiness around us and cutting through the madness attempting to claim my mind.

“Where are we?” I asked the woman. 

“We are in Between,” replied the woman, a slight smile on her face.

“In between what?” I asked her.

“In Between. Between everything and nothing, between fire and water, between earth and sky, sound and silence. Between the head and the tail of the Ouroboros,” she replied. “In every opposite, there is always a small sliver, a place called Between. Most people never succeed in finding it, but you have,” replies the woman.

“How do I go home?” I asked her, not entirely sure I’d grasped the full concept of what she had just told me.

At this the woman laughed quietly, “There is no home. There is no you or I in Between. Come, take my hand,” she added then, reaching her free hand out to me.

“Who are you?” I asked her, suspiciously.

“I am Cailleach, the keeper of Between. There are not many of us here. Farfalla joined us for a time... but, things have changed now,” she replied. 

I hesitantly grabbed her hand, and we were instantly transported to a clearing surrounded by a mass of thick forest. In the center of the clearing was a large oak tree, taller and more massive than any tree I’d ever seen before. “This is Darragh,” the old woman said, laying her palm on the trunk of the tree. “Darragh has been here,” at this she waves her hand around to include the forest, the air, and the earth in her description of ‘here’, “longer than anyone or anything else. Darragh is the beginning, the end, and the in-between.”

At this point I had no idea where I was or what this woman was talking about, the entire experience felt dizzying, and I started to think perhaps I had simply fallen off the cliff and was in the process of having one last wild dream before dying.

“You did not die,” says the woman, as if reading my mind, “but you did not live, either.” 

At this my head whipped up toward her. “What do you mean? Where am I?” I asked, my voice cracking with palpable fear.

“As I told you, you are in Between, and you have a choice to make. You can go to what was before, or you can go do what comes after. Or you can stay here in Between and experience it all...” says the woman.

I remember the precise moment realization hit me. I was standing at a crossroads, my path branching off into three. I could choose the Before, and go back to my time loop, to how things were, and repeat the lifetimes of losing Lucas. Or I could choose to stay in Between, trapped inside an oak tree like Farfalla; eternal, shifting back and forth through time, but living as only half a person, half a consciousness. Or I could choose the most frightening of all. The After. The Future. The unknown. Would I be dead? Would I be a baby again, born with a fresh start? Would I disappear altogether, no one remembering that ever existed? I had lived my lifetime so many times, I had grown accustomed to knowing what was to come. The thought of the unknown was the most terrifying thing I could think of.

“I want what comes after,” I said.

“Very well,” said Cailleach, smiling.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for the final chapter of The Skylark Trilogy – and epilogue that will end all 3 books: Meadow Lane, Wingspan, and SkyeDive.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. If you are enjoying this story, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon or Ko-Fi, where you get early access to episodes as well as MP3 downloads of the music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! You can also find The Skylark Bell exclusive merch on my website, www.theskylarkbell.com. Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast.  

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

Today we read the final chapter of the Skylark Trilogy, the epilogue to SkyeDive, in which we catch a glimpse of the world after the timeloops have been closed, and get a hint at who was truly pulling the strings all along.

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: The Epilogue of The Skylark Bell, Skyedive. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.

In last week’s episode Magpie found herself at a crtossroads in a place called Between, and made the choice to travel to what comes After the pivotal moment she jumped off the cliff to stop The Skylark Bell from creating hers and Farfalla’s time loops.

Today we read the final chapter of the Skylark Trilogy, the epilogue to SkyeDive, in which we catch a glimpse of the world after the timeloops have been closed, and get a hint at who was truly pulling the strings all along.

Before we dive into the story, I want to give a special mention to my dear friend Amy, without who this podcast, and the last two books in the Skylark Trilogy, wouldn’t exist. Amy is the one who sparked me into releasing a story I had shelved for the better part of a decade, as a podcast. She lit a spark that turned into a roaring fire in the form of 2 additional novels. From the bottom of my heart, thank you Amy for this incredible adventure. 

Just like Magpie, I don’t know what comes After, but my hope is that it involves publishing The Skylark Trilogy in print, digitial, and audiobook format, so you can enjoy the full story without interruption and at your own pace. I am also working on a brand new book, which may turn into a series, called The Tales of Ledia Roy, that I am very excited to share with you. All these projects take a lot of time, effort and funds. If you are able to support me either through a donation, or by subscribing to Pareon or Ko-Fi, know that every penny will go directly toward moving this and future creative projects forward. I am excited for all of us to discover what lies ahead – in the After.

Now, for the last time in the Skylark universe, it’s time to get settled in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

“Phew, I think this is the last one!” says Mrs. Phaeton, setting a large box on the dining room table.

“We did it!”  says Magpie, her bright blue eyes twinkling and a proud, excited grin on her face. She looks around the main floor of the house, taking in the vintage wallpaper, the wooden beams on the ceiling that support the second floor, and the old stone fireplace. She sets down her box next to her mother’s and walks over to the fireplace to take a closer look at a framed photograph on the mantel. “Is this Great-Great-Grandmother Farfalla?” she asks, pointing at the photo. 

Mrs. Phaeton walks over with a glass of water and hands it to Magpie before squinting at the photograph. “Indeed, I believe it is! And that is her husband, James, standing next to her, and the little girl at their feet would be my grandmother Elisabeth!”

“Isn’t it amazing that our family has such a rich history with this place?” breathes Magpie. 

Mrs. Phaeton wraps her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “So, I’ve been thinking about a name...” she begins. Magpie turns around, a look of doubt on her face. In the past, her mother has thrown out some rather... unconventional... ideas to say the least. “It came to me in a dream, believe it or not!” she laughs, “Okay, ready?” she asks. Magpie nods and rolls her forearms one over the other to indicate she is ready for her mother to get to the point. “Drumroll please....” Mrs. Phaeton pats her palms against her thighs “How about, The Lark and Bell Artist’s Retreat?!”

Magpie’s brow furrows. Why does the name sound so familiar?

“You don’t like it,” says her mother, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.

“No, I love it, mom! It’s perfect,” replies Magpie, hugging her mom. A sudden knock at the door startles them both. “I’ll get it,” says Magpie, “You see if you can find some dishes and napkins.”

Magpie opens the massive wood door. Behind it stands a boy about her age. He’s somewhat shyly holding his hands behind his back. “Hi, I’m Lucas,” he begins, “I live across the road with my grandmother. She asked me to bring you these and wants to know if you need anything,” he says, handing Magpie a box wrapped with a purple ribbon.

Magpie takes the package and motions for Lucas to come in. She places the box on the counter and gently unties the ribbon. Inside she finds a few jars of blackberry jam, a hand-knitted blanket, some cookies, and a book wrapped in tissue paper. She gently releases the book from its wrapping and reads the title: The Skye Lark Belle. An inexplicable shiver runs down Magpie’s spine, and she does her best to shake it off before turning back to the boy.

“My grandmother says Farfalla gave it to her years ago when she was young. Farfalla said it was her favourite book growing up. Grandma said she felt like you should have it,” explains Lucas.

“What is it about?” she asks, her curiosity piqued.

“Here’s some money, why don’t you go find us some supper?” interrupts Mrs. Phaeton as she walks in from the kitchen.

“Mom, this is our neighbour, Lucas. He and his grandmother live across the road, and he brought us a welcome gift,” explains Magpie.

“How kind! Thank you, and it’s lovely to meet you,” says Mrs. Phaeton. “I’d better get back to work, I’ve unpacked four boxes and so far the most useful thing I’ve found is a spatula!”

“Well, I’ve been assigned a mission. Which restaurant in town would you recommend?” asks Magpie, turning back to Lucas.

At this, a smile teases the corner of Lucas’ mouth. “There’s only one restaurant in town, it’s called The Early Bird, but if you want something from there, we’d better hurry, they close in an hour. I’ll tell you the story of The Skye Lark Belle along the way,” he says, turning toward the door.

Magpie shouts goodbye to her mother and she and Lucas step outside into the warm evening air. The orange glow of the setting sun wraps itself around them. Lucas turns to look at Magpie as they amble down the main road, gravel crunching under their feet. “So, The Skye Lark Belle had red hair and blue eyes, just like you,” he begins, “they say she had a beautiful voice that could calm even the most frightened child, almost like she could hypnotize them. No one is quite sure how she arrived in their village, but after she arrived, she never left and lived to the ripe old age of 105!”

“That’s amazing!” breathes Magpie.

“After she died, the villagers decided to honour her memory by holding an annual festival and crowning a new Skye Lark Belle each year. Some say the original Skye Lark Belle was a mystical creature, that she came from the ocean, and that’s why she had such healing powers.” 

“What an amazing story!” says Magpie, intrigued, “I can’t wait to read the book.”

Lucas glances at his watch and says, “Enough about that, it’s getting late, we’ve gotta fly!”

Magpie and Lucas keep chatting as they make their way down the gravel road toward town, leaving a cloud of dust trailing on the breeze behind them. 

~~~~~~

Across the ocean, in the middle of a vast forest, an ancient oak tree reaches for the moody, grey sky. The wind picks up, blowing through its rusting leaves and causing them to spiral to the ground. A flock of birds lifts from its multitude of branches, forming a blanket of moving wings that temporarily blocks out the daylight before scattering off toward the ocean.

From deep within ground, at the tip of the tree’s roots, a melody begins to form. The sound travels upward through the oak’s trunk and out through the tips of its branches. It soars over the forest toward the fields, valleys, and mountains until it blankets the entire island. The melody stretches across the ocean like a hand reaching for something it desperately wants, crossing over the shore on the other side. Just as the sound is about to wrap itself around Magpie like fingers clutching a precious, coveted item, a woman with long silver hair steps forward to intervene. 

She stoops down to place something at the base of the tree, then stands and lays her hand flat against its trunk. “You must be patient; it is not yet time...” she whispers, the blue streaks painted on her face moving with each word. The melody retreats, reluctantly retracting back across the ocean, through the branches, and down the trunk to the roots before dissipating back into the earth. “Don’t worry, her time will come,” adds the woman before vanishing into thin air, leaving her gift behind.

At the base of the tree sits a small silver bell, its outside etched with a spiral of skylarks swirling into infinity.

Thank you so much for listening.  Sharing The Skylark Trilogy with you has been an incredible, inspiring adventure. It has given me the opportunity to connect with amazing, creative people and create both partnerships and friendships. 

Thought the story of The Skylark Bell is over, I have many more stories to tell, and one of my favourite things in the world is working Easter Eggs into my work, so plan on hearing from some of the Skylark characters in future stories and books. There are several Easter Eggs hidden within The Skylark books themselves, I will share a document detailing them on my Patreon page. 

Please consider following me on social media so we can stay in touch – I keep active accounts on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter, as well as occasional postings to TikTok – I would love to connect with you, and you can stay updated on what the future will bring to The Skylark Bell podcast.

The Skylark Bell has been brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle, which is my stage name. You can find all the music from the podcast on major streaming platforms and BandCamp, I’ll provide a lin in the show notes.

 Creating and sharing The Skylark Bell trilogy has taken a lot of time, effort and funds. If you are able to support me either through a one-time donation, or by subscribing to Pareon or Ko-Fi, know that every penny will go directly toward moving this and future creative projects forward. Patreon and Ko-Fi subscribers get access to bonus and exclusive material, and will be the first to receive an complimentary copy of The Skylark Trilogy in Audiobook format once available.

Remember that leaving a rating and a review helps boost the The Skylark Bell’s visibility on podcast platforms, which allows others to discover the story – why not help share the joy?!

Lastly, if you’d like to sport some Skylark Bell merc, head over to my website, www.theskylarkbell.com – there you’ll find links to two print-on-demand sites with various designs that can be applied to everything from stickers, posters, clothing, mugs, notebooks and more.

I’ll be sure to include a list of all necessary links in the show notes.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, host and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast, and I will be back very soon with more magical, mystical stories to share.

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

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The Man with a Storm in His Eyes – Volume 1

Happy holidays dear listeners. I know it’s been some time since I released a new episode of The Skylark Bell, but I believe you’ll feel it was worth the wait as you listen to what I have in store for you over the next few weeks. 

Over Thanksgiving I spent a few days house- and cat-sitting for a friend. The moment I met Russell the cat I was completely charmed by the milky cloudiness of his eyes. What fascinated me most was that he appeared to be able to see just fine... to the point where sometimes he appeared to be seeing things that I myself couldn’t see. I found myself inspired and fully credit Russell with breaking through my writer’s block. 

And so begins the first of 4 installments of what was supposed to be a short story, but ended up being much longer, and far more meaningful than I could ever have imagined.

NOTE - This story is available in written form in its entirety exclusively to Patreon Supporters, visit the link below to join.

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

FULL TRANSCRIPT

Things with Wings Productions presents: The Man with a Storm in His Eyes - A Skylark Special Miniseries written exclusively for The Skylark Bell podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

Happy holidays dear listeners. I know it’s been some time since I released a new episode of The Skylark Bell, but I believe you’ll feel it was worth the wait as you listen to what I have in store for you over the next few weeks. 

Over Thanksgiving I spent a few days house- and cat-sitting for a friend. The moment I met Russell the cat I was completely charmed by the milky cloudiness of his eyes. What fascinated me most was that he appeared to be able to see just fine... to the point where sometimes he appeared to be seeing things that I myself couldn’t see. I found myself inspired and fully credit Russell with breaking through my writer’s block. 

And so begins the first of 4 installments of what was supposed to be a short story, but ended up being much longer, and far more meaningful than I could ever have imagined.

So, dear friends, it is my pleasure to suggest that you get settled in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… because we’re getting started.

I was standing on the brink of the holiday season with nothing but my own company to look forward to. Off work, no family or friends to visit, not enough money to whisk myself away from my mundane life... things were looking rather bleak. Then I saw the advertisement in my town newspaper: “In search of responsible adult to assist elderly man Dec 22^nd-27^th”. I stared at the phone number on the listing, and let the scenario run through my head: Christmas with a stranger... what could go wrong?! I laughed out loud, then dialed the number. I had nothing to lose... or so I thought.

A pleasant woman answered the phone with a jovial, “This is Florence!” 

“Hello Florence, my name is Marie. I saw your advertisement in the paper looking for someone to help with an elderly man over the holidays...” My voice sounded insecure; I wasn’t entirely sure I’d dialed the right number.

“Ah, yes...” Florence’s voice took on a more somber tone. “Our upstairs tenant is quite elderly, my sister and I check in on him daily to help with tidying up and cooking, but we’re going out of town for the holidays and don’t feel comfortable leaving him alone.”

“I see...” I replied, curious about the dynamics of the two sisters and the old man living upstairs. “Are you looking for someone to visit a couple of times a day or...”

Florence cut in, “Well, ideally, we’d love to find someone to stay overnight in our flat to keep an eye on things and assist our tenant when necessary. Unfortunately, we can’t offer much in the way of financial compensation, but you could help yourself to anything in the fridge or pantry, both are well-stocked, and we have plenty of books and movies to entertain you.” She paused then, leaving the static air between us hanging for a moment before tentatively carrying on. “If that sounds agreeable, perhaps we could meet tomorrow for introductions?”

I thought it was strange she didn’t ask me for any references and that she was so quickly and easily willing to hand over access to both her home and the well-being of an elderly man to a complete stranger. Lucky for her, I was a kind, honest, trustworthy person. We agreed to meet at her flat for lunch the next day, the address was less than a mile from my apartment, very convenient if I needed to zip home for anything.

I easily found the 2-storey row house at the end of a cul-de-sac after following a long stretch of nearly identical brown brick buildings down a hill. My mother had always insisted I should never go to anyone’s home without bringing a token of appreciation, so I shifted the bag of pastries I had brought into my left hand and used my free hand to tap the door knocker against the heavy wooden door. I heard the sound reverberate on the other side, followed by a quick succession of echoing footsteps. A moment later I was standing in a long dim hallway with a petite woman who appeared to be in her 70s. Her appearance was quite striking; dressed all in black with chalky white makeup on her face and garish red lipstick swiped across her mouth like a child’s crayon mark on a blank page.

“Hello, you must be Florence?” I asked, noting that she hadn’t said a word of welcome to me after opening the door. Her irises and pupils were almost the same colour, making her eyes, which were fixated on me, look like two dark, bottomless pools. This, coupled with her completely static facial expression began to make me squirm. I shifted nervously from one foot to the other waiting for her to say something.

“This is my sister Winifred, she doesn’t speak much,” came a voice from the room to my left. My gaze quickly shifted to the doorway where a woman, identical to the one standing next to me, but with a much warmer countenance and more relaxed clothing style, was standing in the doorframe wiping flour from her hands onto a maroon apron. “I am Florence,” she added with a warm smile that put me only slightly more at ease. 

“I’m Marie, it’s lovely to meet you both... Oh, these are for you,” I said, awkwardly handing the bag of pastries to Winifred. The entire situation, identical twins, one apparently mute and very inept at applying makeup, an elderly man upstairs... it was all quite bizarre, and I began to question why I ever thought this would be a good idea. Winifred sniffled in acknowledgment then shuffled away, disappearing into the shadows of the endless hallway.

“Why don’t we begin by going upstairs to meet Mr. Holcomb,” suggested Florence, gently but purposefully laying a guiding hand on my shoulder and turning me toward a doorway to our left. We walked down a short hallway to a narrow set of wooden stairs leading up to an even narrower door with a brass number 7 hanging on it slightly askew. Florence marched up the stairs ahead of me, the ribbon of her apron bouncing back and forth as she made her way up. I followed closely, preferring the creepy narrow stairs to the company of her creepy sister Winifred.

“Mr. Holcomb? It’s Florence, I’ve got the caregiver here with me,” shouted Florence through the door. Caregiver? I was surprised to hear her coin the term as I had never insinuated I had any kind of caregiving experience. We waited a moment, Florence on the tiny landing and me a couple of stairs below her. Slow, shuffling footsteps grew louder on the other side of the door and the sound of the bolt slipping out of its casing echoed down the stairs behind me. The door creaked loudly as it was pulled open, and Florence walked through. I came up the last few steps and stepped into the flat. The man was already several steps ahead, his back to me as he walked toward the back of the apartment. 

Florence and I followed him, she more at ease than I by a long shot. The hallway was lined with mirrors streaked with gold, like something straight out of the 1960s. I peered into the adjacent rooms, and each one also appeared frozen in a similar era. We finally arrived at a small kitchen, bright sunlight pouring in through the small window above the sink. It was only then that I realised every other room I had seen had the curtains drawn and was bathed in darkness. The man finally turned to face me, and the sharp intake of my breath caused Florence to put a hand on my arm.

“Mr. Holcomb can see much more clearly than his appearance would suggest,” she leaned in to whisper in my ear.

“My hearing is quite stellar as well,” said the man, with no hint of banter in his voice. 

I stood transfixed. The man’s eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen before. When I was young our family dog’s eyes had become milky as it grew older, but this was something entirely different. The clouds in his eyes weren’t static but rolling, like an impending storm, a mixture of white, grey, and charcoal. 

I shook my head and cleared my throat. “It’s lovely to meet you Mr. Holcomb, my name is Marie. It sounds like we’re going to be spending the holidays together!” The words were strung together as though someone else was speaking them, the voice coming out of my throat unrecognizable to me. I couldn’t believe I was listening to myself agree to stay in a strange building owned by strange sisters to look after a strange man. It felt like I had no control over my body or my mind in that moment.

Somehow or other, arrangements were made. It was like an out of body experience, and before I knew it December 22^ndarrived and I found myself standing in front of 51 Dimly Court with an antique key in my hand that had been slipped into my postbox by Florence the day before along with instructions on how to ensure the furnace was running, how to use the antique stove, and how to reach her in case of emergency. Scribbled in a shaky hand at the bottom of the note, as though added in haste, were words that left me perplexed: “Do not drink the tea in the canisters above the cookbooks.” It must have been a collection of very rare, expensive teas for it to be their only rule! I decided then and there I would have a cup before my stay was over.

I let myself into the flat and slowly made the rounds, exploring every room. Each one was filled top to bottom with knick-knacks and antique furniture. Cluttered didn’t even begin to describe it. I could tell which space belonged to which sister. The tell-tale sign in Winifred’s room was the dusty black swath of lacey fabric draped across the top of her four-poster bed. Florence’s room on the other hand featured a vintage floral bedspread with matching curtains. I had already decided to simply sleep on the couch, a luxury I could afford at my age without having to concern myself with stiff joints or a sore back. I found the bathroom and kitchen, and immediately thought of the tea. My eyes scanned the space, and I saw a shelf lined with cookbooks on the far wall. Above it was another smaller shelf with a set of 3 glass cannisters each filled with loose-leaf teas: One gold, one black, and one purple. Bingo! I reached up to grab the gold canister, but just as my fingers closed around it, I was startled by a crash above my head. 

My heart raced as I scurried down the hall, through the doorway, and up the narrow stairs to Mr. Holcomb’s flat. I knocked on the door and shouted “Mr. Holcomb? It’s Marie, is everything alright?” I stood nervously listening to the wave of silence behind the door, and almost fell backwards down the stairs when it suddenly creaked open. Mr. Holcomb’s silhouette blocked what little light was emanating from the kitchen at the end of the hall. “I- I heard a loud crash, is everything okay?” I asked in a shaky voice.

Mr. Holcomb nodded and motioned for me to come in. “Yes, I do apologise, I’m afraid I sent a houseplant crashing to the floor. Sometimes the greenery and I have disagreements,” said the old man. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking about arguing with houseplants, his face seemed to remain expressionless much of the time, but I was surprised by his offer to make me some tea, and by the warmth of his tone, as he hadn’t been all that friendly when I’d first met him. I nodded and followed him to the kitchen where he set about preparing tea and a plate of biscuits. “If I may ask, Mr. Holcomb, what sorts of tasks does Florence help you with? She wasn’t very specific if I’m being honest...” He was sitting across the table from me, and I was finding it rather difficult to focus with those rolling storm cloud eyes of his, but decided to simply look at his forehead instead and hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“The truth is Miss, I don’t need help with anything at all, but I know it pleases Florence to visit, makes her feel useful. Did she mention she was a nurse during the war? She and her sister both, but that was before we met...” he said. We carried on chatting, and I found myself surprised at how easy it was to converse with him. By the time we were done I hardly even noticed his unusual eyes and was happy I had taken on the job after all. Little did I know...

The next couple of days were uneventful. I spent much of my time reading, napping, and visiting with Mr. Holcomb. He insisted on making us Christmas Eve dinner and handed me a shopping list of ingredients in preparation. Not wanting to arrive empty-handed, I also grabbed ingredients to make dessert. I spent most of Christmas Eve sorting out the antique oven, and somehow managed to bake up a decent batch of shortbread. It was my Nan’s recipe and I had made it so often I had it memorised. We sat down to a traditional holiday meal and chatted back and forth. 

I was hoping Mr. Holcomb would touch on how his cloud eyes came to be, but he never broached the subject, and I didn’t dare inquire about it. He mentioned being sent to war, but strayed from providing any details of his experience, instead speaking of the bravery and brilliance of Florence and Winifred who saved countless lives with very little means as nurses in the war zone. He talked about his childhood Christmases in the poverty-stricken area of the city, and how his mother once saved all the money she could to buy him and his brother each an orange and a mincemeat pie the Christmas after their father had passed away. His stories were like relics of a time gone by, and I soaked them in like a sponge, leaning in to gaze upon every crevice on his weathered face, and eventually getting lost in the swirling mist of his eyes.

The conversation flowed naturally, easily, and I found myself rather enjoying Mr. Holcomb’s company, but as the night wore on, I noticed he began to shift in his seat and appeared to grow increasingly uncomfortable. Before I knew it the antique clock in the next room was chiming midnight. Almost simultaneously, a roll of thunder rattled the windows of the tiny kitchen.

“Oh, dear...” Mr. Holcomb turned toward the window. “It’s best that you go,” he said, turning back toward me. There was an expression on his face that I couldn’t read, and the clouds in his eyes began to roll, not unlike the low-lying swirl of an incoming fog, except they were the colour of slate. 

“Yes, it is late. Time flies!” I said a little too loudly, suddenly uncomfortable myself. I began to gather up the dishes as a distraction.

“Never mind that, you need to go,” commanded Mr. Holcomb again, this time with a sharper tone. He abruptly rose from his chair and disappeared down the hall.

I quickly placed the dishes on the counter and scrambled after him, but he had already vanished. I tentatively peered into the first room off the hallway. “Mr. Holcomb?” I spoke into the darkness of the room. My eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light, and I saw the room was empty. I could make out a set of built-in bookshelves and large oak desk with a worn brown satchel sat atop it. I took a few steps into the room and noticed a collection of picture frames on the wall, and a certificate awarded to Russell J. Holcomb, but I couldn’t see what it was for. 

Through the doorway at the opposite end of the office I saw Mr. Holcomb in the room across the hall. He was seated in a brown leather wing-back chair, the kind with brass studs around the edges. The sight of him made my breath catch in my throat; he was wearing a blindfold and sitting rod-straight and perfectly still, his lips pressed tightly together in concentration. I opened my mouth to ask if he was alright but was cut off by a monstrous clap of thunder and subsequent flickering of the apartment lights. I stood in the hallway, transfixed, like my feet were glued to the floor. Out of nowhere I heard the front door to Mr. Holcomb’s flat creak open of its own accord. That did it, I felt my fear take over the mechanics of my body, and quickly scurried toward it.

Just as I was about to exit, the phone on the narrow table by the door began to ring. I stopped to stare at it, unsure what to do. I looked down the hall, but didn’t dare approach Mr. Holcomb, blindfolded and unresponsive in his chair. I tentatively reached down to grab the receiver, it was an old-style phone with a curvy silhouette and a turn-dial. I put the phone to my ear and heard a voice come through the static on the other end. It sounded like Florence, but with a deadpan, monotonous tone. “Go back... ...stairs... ...and... ...door.” 

“Errrmm... I’m having trouble hearing you, would you mind repeating?” I hoped my voice carried through the receiver, but I was shaking so much it wasn’t quite lined up with my mouth anymore.

“Go downstairs... lock... door... ...should’ve warned y-” 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the shadow of a hand slam down onto the top of the phone, effectively disconnecting the call. I didn’t wait to see who or what it was, turned on my heels and raced down the narrow stairs to the sisters’ flat, closing and locking the door in one swift move. I leaned my back against the door to catch my breath, and only then did it dawn on me whose voice it was on the other end of the line... It had sounded like Florence, but darker... it had to be Winifred! But... what was she going on about? 

I eventually gathered my wits about me and made my way to the sofa. I made a fire in the fireplace, letting its warmth, light, and gentle crackling sounds calm my nerves. I piled a few blankets on top of me and lay staring at the ceiling, wondering what on earth was going on in the flat upstairs. Winifred’s voice echoed in my head as I drifted off to sleep: “Should’ve warned you...”

Thank you so much for listening, I truly hope you enjoyed the first installment of The Man with a Storm in His Eyes.

Be sure to check in next week for the next part of the story!

If you enjoyed this episode, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon. Patreon supporters get early access to ad-free podcast episodes, digital downloads of my music, and so much more. It’s the first place I share my creations. However, if you prefer not to subscribe, but would like to make a one-time contribution, you can do so via your podcast platform. Any and all financial support is greatly appreciated.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, composer, and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast.  

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

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The Man with a Storm in His Eyes – Volume 2

NOTE: If you have not listened to Volume 1 of this 4-part miniseries, please pause this episode, and go listen to the first installment, otherwise the story won't make much sense.

Over Thanksgiving I spent a few days house- and cat-sitting for a friend. The moment I met Russell the cat I was completely charmed by the milky cloudiness of his eyes. What fascinated me most was that he appeared to be able to see just fine... to the point where sometimes he appeared to be seeing things that I myself couldn’t see. I found myself inspired and fully credit Russell with breaking through my writer’s block.

This story is available in written form in its entirety exclusively to Patreon Supporters, visit the link below to join.

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: The Man with a Storm in His Eyes - A Skylark Special Miniseries written exclusively for The Skylark Bell podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

Before I begin, if you haven’t listened to the first installment of this story, I strongly suggest you hit pause on this episode and go listen to volume 1 or the story won’t make much sense. 

In last week’s episode, we met Marie, who agreed to take on a job house-sitting for twin sisters Florence and Winifred over the holiday weekend and will help care for their elderly tenant, Mr. Holcomb who lives upstairs. When we left Marie, she had just exited Mr. Holcomb’s apartment after Christmas Eve dinner went awry as a thunderous storm rolled in. 

Now, get settled in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s dive back into the story, shall we?

I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next time I glanced at the fire it had been rendered to a pile of glowing embers, and a small stream of sunlight was coming through a crack in the floral chenille fabric of the drapes. I got up, neatly folded, and piled the blankets, and pulled the drapes open to let the full force of the sun shine into the room. A cloud of dust lifted from the drapes and swirled into the air before slowly settling onto the surrounding surfaces. In the bright light of day, the space didn’t seem nearly so threatening, and I began to feel ridiculous about overreacting to the phone call the night before. The line was crackly, I probably misheard. In all likelihood it was a wrong number, or a prank call. 

“Merry Christmas, Marie,” I said out loud to the empty flat as I padded down the hall to the kitchen. I cooked some eggs and toast, poured myself a glass of orange juice, and put the kettle on for tea. I eyed the tea canisters on the shelf above the cookbooks but decided to save that for the evening. I washed up my dishes, changed clothes, brushed my teeth, then decided to go upstairs to check on Mr. Holcomb. 

I climbed the narrow stairs and was about to knock on the door when it swung open, revealing Mr. Holcomb’s silhouette in the hallway. “I told you my hearing was good,” he uttered before I could ask how he knew I was there. “Merry Christmas,” he added without any merriment in his voice. He looked exhausted.

I opened my mouth to ask what had happened the night before, but he had already started walking down the hallway on velvet feet. I followed him to the kitchen where two cups of steaming coffee and a plate of biscuits sat waiting on the table. “How did you...” I let the question trail, unable to wrap my brain around his impeccable timing.

“My senses are above average, I knew you were coming upstairs before you did,” he replied with a wink. I noticed with wonder that when he winked the clouds in his other eye swirled faster for a moment as though a gust of wind was passing through.

We sat at the table in silence. I became self-conscious of the crunching of biscuits in the quiet little kitchen and was about to begin a conversation when Mr. Holcomb beat me to it. “I have a gift for you,” he said out of the blue. I stared at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion. I had never seen him leave his flat, how in the world did he manage to find a gift for me? He turned to take a small box off the counter and handed it to me. I freed the box from the blue velvet ribbon wrapped around it and gently lifted its lid. Inside was a fine china teacup with matching saucer, both white but painted with a black floral pattern that bordered on ink blots. There was something very Winifred-esque about them and I briefly wondered if this was a re-gift situation, but it didn’t matter to me, I was touched by the thoughtfulness of his gesture.

“This is lovely Mr. Holcomb, and so very kind, thank you. I’m afraid I have nothing to offer in return, I didn’t realise...”

“Not to worry dear, I wasn’t expecting anything at all, I simply wanted to show some appreciation for keeping me company at this time of year,” he replied. His stormy eyes took on a darker tone then, almost like the deep, heavy grey of a rain cloud about to unleash its tears on the world. “Well, I shall leave you to your own devices for the rest of the day. Nothing personal, I simply prefer to be alone at Christmas.”

I frowned but acquiesced with a polite nod as I rose from my chair. “I insist on bringing you a tray with Christmas dinner though, I’ll leave it by your door around 6pm, okay?” I asked. He smiled and gave me a nod, understanding my need to reciprocate the kindness of his gift. “I shall see you tomorrow morning then?” my question was tentative; I still hadn’t sorted out what had happened the night before.

“Yes, I shall cook us a nice Boxing Day breakfast. Now go on, enjoy your time downstairs, there is much to read, much to discover, much to learn...” he said. Had his eyes been clear, they’d have been staring into my soul then. I looked at him intently, his eyes suddenly seemed lighter, almost white, and feathery, there was a calm to them, and I got a shiver down my spine as I realised he was attempting to convey a message.

I took the box containing Mr. Holcomb’s gift and made my way back to the sisters’ flat. I gently pulled the cup and saucer out of the box and placed them on the counter. It was here that I finally noted the black flowers were painted in a swirling pattern eerily reminiscent of Mr. Holcomb’s cloudy eyes.

I was intimately familiar with the kitchen and sitting rooms already, so I decided it was time to explore the rest of the flat. I first went down the hall and hesitantly stepped into Winifred’s room. I perused the items on her dresser, they were few; an empty perfume bottle, a hairbrush with long strands of dark hair tangled into it, a collection of multicoloured glass bottles and vials that appeared to contain various tinctures and what looked like animal teeth... Curiouser and curiouser! Winifred was definitely the creepy sister. Laying askew atop her nightstand was a copy of Daphne DuMaurier’s The House on the Strand. I picked up the book and read the synopsis on the back, it had to do with time travel and such. I placed it back down, making a mental note to get myself a copy, I found the idea of time travel fascinating!

I exited Winifred’s room and let myself into Florence’s living quarters. Her space was much larger and included a sitting area. I ran my hand along the wood of her antique loveseat, then down its striped salmon-coloured satin fabric. I walked to her dresser and noticed the top drawer was slightly open. I peeked in and saw it was filled with handwritten notes and illustrations on various bits of paper. I was about to pull it open further to explore the contents when I heard a commotion outside the window. “What was that?” I asked the empty room. I walked to the window and looked out to see a group of boys running down the street at breakneck speed. My eyes followed them until they were out of sight, then darted back to the sidewalk. Sitting just outside the window, quietly staring up at me with stunning yellow eyes, was a kitten, its velvety grey fur covered in mud. Clearly the boys had been mistreating it. 

Concerned for the kitten’s safety, I rushed down the hallway, grabbing the antique key to the front door off the entryway console as I whizzed by, and flew down the steps to the sidewalk. Thankfully the kitten was still there. From this proximity I could see it had a blue velvet ribbon for a collar, with small silver tag dangling from it. I approached cautiously, not wanting to scare it away, and crouched down while reaching my hand out. The kitten immediately got up and walked toward me, pushing its little head against my palm, its friendliness completely unhindered by the abuse it had just suffered at the hands of the unruly boys. “Hello there small friend,” I cooed, running my hand down the softness of its back. I used my other hand to grab hold of the tag. “Jones,” I read, “is that your name, or your family’s name?” The kitten remained silent; its amber eyes transfixed on me as I carefully bent down to scoop it up.

I cradled the kitten in my arms as I made my way back into the sisters’ flat. It took a few tries opening various cupboards, but I eventually found two shallow bowls. I filled one with water, and placed a few pieces of cooked chicken from the fridge into the other one. “There you go, Jones, Merry Christmas,” I told him as I placed the bowls on the tile floor. He meowed at me, and I told myself he was wishing me a merry Christmas in return. I didn’t know then it wasn’t going to be a merry Christmas for him at all...

I gave Jones a bath as best I could in the large porcelain sink, then settled him on a pillow by the stove to dry. I spent the rest of the day in the cozy kitchen cooking and baking. First, I prepared a hearty vegetable soup with cheddar and chive biscuits, then some lentil fritters using my nan’s recipe from memory, and finally a rum raisin cake with homemade custard for dessert. I also made a point to prepare a little Christmas meal for Jones using odds and ends I found in the fridge. I put together a tray for Mr. Holcomb and left it by his door, promptly at 6pm, as promised, then came back downstairs to eat. I found a festive tartan tablecloth and some tapered candles with accompanying pewter candle holders on the bottom shelf of the pantry. “It’s just you and me, Jones,” I said to the cat, “might as well make the most of it!” I spooned a bit of custard onto a plate for him. His golden eyes glowed with gratitude as he lapped it up.

We finished dinner and I tidied the kitchen, then wandered aimlessly about the flat, eventually landing in the reading room.  I perused the books housed on the multitude of shelves, and finally chose Alice in Wonderland. I plopped myself in the leather chair stationed in front of the massive oak desk in the center of the room and lost myself down the rabbit hole alongside Alice for a couple of hours. Eventually, I tore myself away from the pages to give my eyes a break. I set the book down on the desktop and pushed the chair back slightly to take a look at the drawers. The top drawer had a keyhole, which of course made me desperately want to open it. I scoured the items strewn on top of the desk and eventually found a small key with a black satin ribbon tied in a bow around the top of it. I turned the key in the lock and heard the satisfying click that meant my curiosity would soon be satiated. Alas, behind the barrier of the lock, the drawer contained only an assortment of pens and blank notepads.

I moved onto the top right drawer and found a collection of folders detailing much of the history of the building including the original owners and a collection of past tenants. Fascinating! I had done so much reading already though, I decided to save this for the following day. I shifted to the left and pulled that top drawer open. At first, I thought it was empty, but just as I was about to close it, I noticed there was a black folder laying on the very bottom, almost imperceptible. The folder was wedged so tightly into the bottom of the drawer I had to use my thumbnail to pry it free. I didn’t immediately realise it, but the mystery I was about to discover would call into question everything I thought I knew about Mr. Holcomb and the twins.

I lifted the folder out of the drawer and a series of newspaper clippings fell out onto the desk. I turned on the antique desk lamp, picked up one of the clippings, and held it under the light to get a better look. “Young Salesman From Edgewick Goes Missing” read the headline. Despite my tired eyes I dove in, completely enthralled by the mystery. It wasn’t long before my breath caught in my throat. The article went on to explain that a young man had gone missing after leaving for work the Tuesday morning prior. He was last seen dressed in a charcoal-coloured wool suit and carrying a brown satchel. His name? Russell James Holcomb. 

I let the piece of paper fall from my hand to the surface of the hardwood desktop. I stared at the portrait of the young man; with a little imagination it wasn’t hard to see the resemblance with the old cloud-eyed man living upstairs. My brow knit as I tried to come to terms with this discovery. Mr. Holcomb had gone missing as a young man, was anyone aware of his whereabouts now? I sifted through the other newspaper clippings in search of answers. Most of them were from the same era as the first one, days to weeks after Mr. Holcomb first disappeared, but one of them stood out. It was written nearly a decade later and was part of a collection of stories about people who had mysteriously vanished without a trace, never to be seen or heard from again. 

I had half a mind to march upstairs and ask Mr. Holcomb what this was all about, but it dawned on me then that perhaps he didn’t want to be found, perhaps he had good reason for never speaking up about his whereabouts. From the news articles it didn’t sound like he was the type to have done anything nefarious. I was desperately curious about his story but knew better than to go charging in asking questions. The grandfather clock in the corner struck twice, it was 2am already, and I had promised Mr. Holcomb I would join him for breakfast in a few hours. I wandered back into the living room and settled on the sofa with my trusty pile of blankets. Jones hopped onto the couch as well and curled up on top of my feet. I fell asleep to the steady rumble of his purring as the fire in the fireplace slowly waned to embers.

Thank you so much for listening, I truly hope you enjoyed this second installment of The Man with a Storm in His Eyes.

Be sure to check in next week for the next part of the story!

If you enjoyed this episode, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon. Patreon supporters get early access to ad-free podcast episodes, digital downloads of my music, and so much more. It’s the first place I share my creations. However, if you prefer not to subscribe, but would like to make a one-time contribution, you can do so via your podcast platform. Any and all financial support is greatly appreciated.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, composer, and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast.  

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

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The Man with a Storm in His Eyes – Volume 3

NOTE: If you have not listened to Volumes 1 and 2 of this 4-part miniseries, please pause this episode, and go listen to the first two installments, otherwise the story won't make much sense.

Over Thanksgiving I spent a few days house- and cat-sitting for a friend. The moment I met Russell the cat I was completely charmed by the milky cloudiness of his eyes. What fascinated me most was that he appeared to be able to see just fine... to the point where sometimes he appeared to be seeing things that I myself couldn’t see. I found myself inspired and fully credit Russell with breaking through my writer’s block.

This story is available in written form in its entirety exclusively to Patreon Supporters, visit the link below to join.

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: The Man with a Storm in His Eyes - A Skylark Special Miniseries written exclusively for The Skylark Bell podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

Before I begin, if you haven’t listened to the first two installments of this story, I strongly suggest you hit pause on this episode and go listen to volume 1 and volume 2, otherwise this episode won’t make much sense. 

In last week’s episode, Marie rescued a kitten named Jones, and made the startling discovery that Mr. Holcomb had been labeled a missing person decades prior.

Now, get settled in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s dive back into the story.

I didn’t need to worry about waking the next morning as Jones took it upon himself to serve as an alarm clock when he felt it was time to be fed. “You little rascal, you’re just loving this aren’t you?” I teased as I placed a bowl of turkey pieces with a strong pour of gravy in front of him. I was about to go take a shower when the phone on the kitchen wall rang so loudly I was sure the neighbours three houses away could hear it. I grabbed my chest with my hand and waited a moment to catch my breath before lifting the receiver off the hook. “Hello?” I asked tentatively. 

“Oh, hello Marie dear, this is Florence,” came the voice on the other end of the line. “I was simply calling to let you know we plan on returning home early tomorrow morning. I trust things are going well?” she asked.

I could still feel my heart beating out of my chest, but I managed to compose myself enough to reply. “Yes, everything is great. Mr. Holcomb is quite lovely. Oh, I should probably tell you, I found a stray kitten that I’m caring for, I hope that’s okay?” I figured I should probably make mention of the fact that I’d brought an animal into their home.

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line, and I grew nervous that Florence was displeased. “That’s quite alright dear. I’m sure Jones is thoroughly enjoying spending the holidays with you,” she eventually replied, and I heaved a sigh of relief. “Right then, we’ll see you in the morning,” she added before promptly ending the call.

I put the phone back in its cradle. Something about the conversation was bothering me... I stood barefoot on the cold ceramic kitchen floor running the conversation through my head again, then it finally hit me: How did Florence know the kitten’s name was Jones? On cue, Jones wandered into the room and rubbed up against my legs. I picked him up and held him at arm’s length. Of course! Jones had a name tag, perhaps Florence had seen him before, maybe he even had a reputation for visiting neighbourhood homes and getting a few extra meals out of it. “I knew you were a rascal!” I giggled. I pulled him in and bumped my nose against his, mesmerized by those unearthly amber eyes, before gently placing him back on the ground.

I showered and put on a festive sweater and some dressy trousers before heading upstairs to join Mr. Holcomb for Boxing Day breakfast. I told him about the rowdy boys and the kitten, and how Jones and I had eaten Christmas dinner by candlelight before I spent a couple of hours reading Alice in Wonderland in the reading room. I was itching to ask him about the newspaper clippings, but something about his expression stopped me. His brow was knit, and his eyes had turned that stormy charcoal grey again. I realized then that I’d been speaking non-stop since we’d sat down, so I quieted myself and waited for him to speak.

“So... Jones is here now,” was all he said. I nodded but wasn’t sure if he noticed as he seemed to be staring off into space. I let the quiet linger between us, hoping he would elaborate, but his lips remained tightly pressed together.

“Mr. Holcomb...” I began, unsure of how to broach the subject. 

“Your questions will all be answered in due time, my dear Marie,” he said, sparing me the trouble of asking. “There are things that should not be known before one is ready to know them...” he mused obscurely, still with that faraway, stormy look in his eyes. I didn’t dare ask him to elaborate, I would just have to be patient. We spent the rest of breakfast speaking of innocuous things; childhood Christmas gifts, funny stories about relatives falling off chairs or spilling food and drink on one another at holiday parties. Though we only talked about surface things, the conversation was merry, and Mr. Holcomb’s eyes progressively morphed from steely grey to an appealing feathery white.

It was past noon by the time I got back downstairs to the sisters’ flat. Jones meowed at me in greeting and climbed up my shin to be picked up. I curled him into my arms like a baby and stared into his eyes, bordering on chartreuse in the midday light, while feeling the soft rumble of his purring against my chest. I felt the weight of the world disappear then, there was such comfort in the softness of his fur and his desire for companionship. 

A sudden chill passed through the air causing Jones and I to shiver in unison. “I think I’m going to run a bath,” I said, lowering him to the hardwood floor. “Don’t worry, I have no expectation that you will want to get anywhere near the water,” I laughed. “Why don’t I make a fire in the fireplace for you, and you can wait for me on the sofa with a blanket?” I suddenly became aware that I was speaking to Jones as though he were human and felt simultaneously ridiculous and grateful that there was no one around to hear. I got Jones settled then made my way to the bathroom. I took the time to admire the vintage Art Deco tile pattern on the floor and walls before turning the hot water faucet on the claw foot tub to its maximum, then adding a bit of cold water and two capfuls of green apple bath bubbles. I placed a thick fluffy towel and a bathrobe on a nearby wooden stool in preparation for the aftermath of my soak, then draped my clothes over the edge of the sink before carefully slipping into the steaming hot water. I closed my eyes and breathed in the sweet, fruity fragrance while listening to the crackling of the bubbles.

I sat quietly in the tub, keeping thoughts of cloudy eyes and mysterious disappearances at bay, choosing to think instead of what I would prepare for dinner and which tea from the three forbidden tea canisters I would brew first. Eventually the water grew uncomfortably tepid, and the skin on my fingers began to wrinkle. I used my toe to pull the chain attached to the bathtub stopper and let the water drain a moment before standing to step out of the tub. The towel and bathrobe were both luxuriously plush, and I relished the warm, cozy feeling of being wrapped in them. I walked to the living room and rooted through my weekender bag for a fresh change of clothes. Jones was fast asleep on the sofa, curled up on a throw pillow with the glow of the fire reflecting off the sheen of his velvety fur.

I made my way to the kitchen and perused the pantry and refrigerator contents for inspiration. I grabbed some zucchini, carrots, peas, and broccoli from the fridge and a box of pasta out of the cupboard. With a little butter, cream, and spoonful of flour I could whip together a mean pasta primavera, there was even a block of fresh parmesan cheese in the fridge to top it all off. I still had leftover rum raisin cake and custard for dessert. “That will pair perfectly with a cup of forbidden tea!” I chucked to myself out loud in the empty kitchen. I set to work making a roux and roasting the vegetables. My mum had always loved my pasta primavera; the secret was roasting the vegetables rather than boiling or steaming them, the caramelization added a lovely depth of flavour to the dish. 

“Jones, time to eat!” I called as I placed a bowl of shredded turkey with a dollop of cream sauce at his place setting across the table from me. I set my plate on the table as well, then gave each of us a generous sprinkle of parmesan. “Now I don’t want you to think this is what you get to eat every day, this is a Boxing Day special, okay?” I said to him as he hopped onto the table. I patted the top of his head then sat down to eat. A flood of memories of suppers with my mother came to me as I took my first bite. I could see her smile, hear her laugh... what I wouldn’t do to see and hear her again...

Jones finished his meal long before I did and stretched out in front of the stove, rolling onto his back to let its warmth tickle his belly. I cleared the table and quickly did the washing up, then put the kettle on. While waiting for the water to boil I unwrapped the rum raisin cake, cut a generous piece and placed it onto a plate. “Perfect timing!” I exclaimed as the kettle sounded its whistle. I turned off the stove, then stood in front of the shelf with the three glass tea canisters, I hadn’t yet decided which one I was going to brew. I noticed a label at the bottom of each one, and squinted to read the ornate cursive handwriting in hopes it would help inform my decision. I started with the canister to the left, the tea inside was black and appeared rather nondescript. “Dark Moon, sounds like something Winifred would come up with!” I said, laughing at my own humour. I moved on to the next canister, the tea inside was shades of purple with delicate dark pink rose petals mixed in, its label read “Violet Storm”. Intriguing! The last canister was filled with a mixture of gold tea leaves, yellow and orange flower petals, and citrus rinds, the label on that one read “Golden Sunset”. 

I pondered a moment longer, and decided Violet Storm sounded like a good accompaniment to rum raisin cake. I gingerly lifted the canister off the shelf and placed it on the counter. I popped open its lid, and the aroma of lavender, elderberry, hibiscus, and a strange sickly-sweet smell I couldn’t pinpoint rose from its contents. I found a scoop in the utensil drawer and placed three spoonfulls into the infuser part of the teapot, then poured the boiling water in and stepped away to let it steep for a few minutes. I walked to the stove and crouched next to Jones, running my hand over the sleek fur of his body. He looked up at me with those amber eyes and blinked that slow blink cats do when they’re rather satisfied with their circumstances; a full belly, a warm napping spot, and a human to do their bidding. I finally admitted to myself that I’d grown unusually attached to this kitten over the past couple of days, as though we were kindred spirits from the start.

“Tea time!” I said as I stood up. I poured tea from the pot into the teacup Mr. Holcomb had gifted me. I left the teacup on the counter while I brought my plate of cake and the little pot of custard to the table. Then I grabbed the saucer with the teacup precariously balanced on it and held it up to my face, breathing in the steam. The unidentified sweet smell was even more pungent now, and I desperately wondered what it would taste like. I shifted the saucer to my other hand and grabbed the teacup by its delicate handle, slowly lifting it to my mouth. 

Suddenly, a loud slam came from behind me. Startled beyond belief I jumped and spun on my heel. Before I could wrap my brain around what was happening the teacup flew out of my hand and went crashing to the floor, leaving the echo of a shattering sound ringing through the kitchen. I stared in shock at the purple streak of tea spreading across the black and white tile of the floor.

“I told you not to drink the tea!”

I gathered my wits about me and looked up. Standing a few paces away was Winifred. She had a small cut on her hand, presumably from when she slapped the teacup out of my grasp. It took me a moment to notice Florence was standing directly next to her. “Oh dear,” breathed Florence, looking at something behind me with sadness in her eyes. I turned and saw Jones voraciously drinking from the puddle of tea on the floor.

“Oh Jones, that’s not for you!” I said, bending to pull him into my arms.

“It’s too late,” croaked Winifred. I instantly recognized the voice on the phone that stormy Christmas Eve night in Mr. Holcomb’s flat. What in the world was going on?!

“I- I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” I stumbled over my words, both nervous and embarrassed. 

“Winifred felt strongly that we should come home early,” said Florence. “It’s probably best that you go home now, Marie,” she added. Her voice was neutral, neither kind nor unkind, neither soft nor stern. I sheepishly bent to clean up the mess of broken porcelain on the floor. “Leave it,” she said. I kept my gaze glued to the floor and withdrew to the living room to tidy up and pack my things.

As I made my way into the hall Jones sauntered over and looked up at me with those glorious glowing yellow eyes. I pondered whether I should scoop him up and take him with me, but Winifred came through the doorway to the right and stood between us, her inky eyes piercing into my soul, and slowly shook her head no. I muttered an apology and made a swift exit.

I wallowed in self-pity and embarrassment for a few days, then decided to leave the confines of my flat to take a walk. I wandered through the woods where the crows cawed to one another as though saying “Look at that ridiculous girl, a guest in someone’s home and doing as she pleases with no regard for them!” I felt disgraced, and disappointed in myself. Making a cup of tea seemed like such a small, innocuous, harmless thing at the time, but clearly it wasn’t, clearly there was a valid reason why the sisters had forbidden it... and I should have respected their wishes.

I wandered aimlessly, stopping at one point to select a drink at the local café. I stared hopelessly at the menu board, unable to make up my mind, and finally settled on some iced tea, then chuckled bitterly at the irony of my selection. My walk eventually took me to the top of Dimly Court. I looked down the street past the brick row houses and perfectly manicured shrubs, hesitating. Would it be out of place for me to walk by? The sisters were hermits, the odds of one of them seeing me were rather low. I decided to take my chances and turned onto their street. 

Every window covering at 51 Dimly court was drawn, but I could see Jones’ silhouette sitting on the windowsill, the patterned chenille of the drapes hanging behind him like backdrop. I stood in front of the window, admiring the velvety sheen of his coat. “Jones!” I whispered as loudly as I dared. The kitten turned his head and I gasped. I instinctively took a step back and nearly tumbled off walkway. In the place of those glorious golden eyes that I had stared into just days before were two orbs filled with a swirl of thunderous grey clouds. The cat’s head suddenly darted back and forth as though watching something behind me. I turned to look but there was nothing there. I stood on the empty street watching him get increasingly agitated. “Oh Jones, what happened to you?” I choked. Suddenly, the curtain was pulled aside and Winifred’s pallid face came into view, that eternal streak of red lipstick still across her mouth. Her carbon-coloured eyes locked firmly on me as she pulled the kitten into her arms, then she quickly stepped back into the shadows from whence she came. The curtain closed behind her, a supple but effective barrier between us.

I trudged back home in slow, plodding steps, my head hung low. My mind, however, was in overdrive. Jones’ eyes were now in the same condition as Mr. Holcomb’s... what on earth could have caused it? I let different scenarios play out my head, then stopped dead in my tracks as it hit me: The tea! It had to be the tea! That would explain why the sisters had instructed me not to drink it. Jones had lapped it up after it spilled on the floor, and now he had a storm in his eyes. I let the swirling thoughts keep coming; perhaps Mr. Holcomb had ingested some of the tea as well, and that’s how he ended up the way he did. I suddenly remembered the glimpse of him I’d caught the night of the storm when he’d sat rod-straight in his chair, a blindfold strapped across his eyes. My next thought sent a shiver down my spine... What was it he was avoiding looking at that night? What was it, exactly, that Jones and Mr. Holcomb were able to see with those cloudy eyes that I apparently could not? I shuddered as I realised how closely I had come to joining their ranks.

I spent the next few days alone, only going out for the odd walk in the woods and to do a bit of shopping at times when I was least likely to encounter other people. Thankfully, I didn’t have to return to work until after the holidays. I rang in the new year by myself in my dark living room, doing my best to ignore the cacophony of the festivities outside the walls of my apartment. I simply wasn’t in a celebratory mood, and other people’s cheer was the last thing I needed.

I woke at the crack of dawn the first day of the new year with the unsettling feeling that something was amiss. I heard the sound of a car door outside my window, and got out of bed, tugging my twisted nighty back into place. I slid into my fuzzy slippers, then walked to the living room so I could look out the front windows. My stomach clenched instantly. There, standing immobile on the walkway to my apartment building, a black 1940s style car parked behind them, were the twins. Winifred was dressed all in black with a black strip of fabric draped over her eyes, which made her white powdery makeup and smear of red lipstick stand out even more. In complete contrast, Florence was decked out in a floral dress with a long brown chequered coat draped over her shoulders. The sisters’ arms were laced together, presumably so Florence could guide Winifred who surely couldn’t see much, if anything, with the blindfold. Florence locked eyes with me, then carefully and deliberately bent down to place a brown leather-bound book onto the pavers of the walkway to my building. She gave me a small nod, then the pair turned and methodically walked back to the old-fashioned car. Florence helped Winifred get in her seat, then walked to the driver’s side, and eased herself behind the wheel. I watched, equally confused, and mesmerized, as the pair drove off.

Thank you so much for listening, I truly hope you enjoyed this third installment of The Man with a Storm in His Eyes.

Be sure to check in next week for the final portion of the story!

If you enjoyed this episode, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon. Patreon supporters get early access to ad-free podcast episodes, digital downloads of my music, and so much more. It’s the first place I share my creations. However, if you prefer not to subscribe, but would like to make a one-time contribution, you can do so via your podcast platform. Any and all financial support is greatly appreciated.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, composer, and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. 

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/theskylarkbell/exclusive-content

Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

Privacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

The Man with a Storm in His Eyes – Volume 4

NOTE: If you have not listened to Volumes 1, 2 and 3 of this 4-part miniseries, please pause this episode, and go listen to the first three installments, otherwise the story won't make much sense.

Over Thanksgiving I spent a few days house- and cat-sitting for a friend. The moment I met Russell the cat I was completely charmed by the milky cloudiness of his eyes. What fascinated me most was that he appeared to be able to see just fine... to the point where sometimes he appeared to be seeing things that I myself couldn’t see. I found myself inspired and fully credit Russell with breaking through my writer’s block.

This story is available in written form in its entirety exclusively to Patreon Supporters, visit the link below to join.

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Contact: theskylarkbell@gmail.com

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: The Man with a Storm in His Eyes - A Skylark Special Miniseries written exclusively for The Skylark Bell podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

Before I begin, if you haven’t listened to the first three installments of this story, I strongly suggest you hit pause on this episode and go listen to volumes 1, 2 and 3, otherwise this episode won’t make much sense. 

In last week’s episode, Marie broke the sisters’ one rule and brewed a cup of the forbidden tea for herself, but she was interrupted by their early return. Disgraced and embarrassed, she returned home... only for the twins to appear outside her window a few days later.

Today we conclude this wild and eerie tale... fair warning, the ending made me cry the first time I re-read the story in its entirety.

Lastly, I’d like to thank Lauren and Rachel for the use of their apartment over the Thanksgiving holiday. The opportunity to house and cat sit for them gave me the calm and space I needed to to start writing, and in the end, their cat, Russell, provided the inspiration for the story I wanted to write. The spark has grown into a flame, and there are more stories to come in the future, so stay tuned.

But for now, it’s time to get settled in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink... perhaps a handkerchief, just in case… and let’s read the conclusion of The Man with a Storm in His Eyes.

 

The spell broken, I shook my head and scurried down the stairs and out the front door to collect the book they had left behind. I ran my hand over the smoothness of its cover, and noted the leather was embossed with a collection of odd symbols. I clutched the book to my chest and hurried back up to my flat as quickly as my fuzzy slippers would allow, completely oblivious to the neighbours gawking at the sight of me outside in the cold wearing only a short frilly nighty. 

I threw myself onto the sofa and placed the book on my lap, puzzling over the symbols on the cover before unbuckling its leather strap and cracking it open. I flipped through the book haphazardly and was met with page upon page of tight cursive handwriting. Every so often I would land on a carefully drawn illustration with labels and notations. About halfway through the book I found a folded piece of paper tucked between the pages. I gingerly pulled it out, the ornate handwriting was different than the one filling up the pages of the book. I squinted in concentration as I began to read:

Dearest Marie,

You must have endless questions about the goings on at 51 Dimly Court. We did not mean for you to get pulled into the vortex of our stormy existence, and I apologise for our poor handling of the situation the day you left. 

Winifred and I have decided to share with you the story that is neither ours, nor Russell’s, nor even little Jones’. The story is our mother’s. Her name was Fiona Merriwell, and she was what many would, for better or worse, call... a witch.  

Our mother grew up in the “old world”, a time and culture filled with mystique and superstition. It would be easy to brush aside these traditions as hogwash, but as you now know, there was truth to at least some of it. 

Our maternal grandmother was a gifted seer and would warn people of things to come, or describe things that had happened long before any of them were born. Our mother was always envious of this gift, but her talents lay elsewhere. She was an expert healer and could create concoctions to heal most ailments common in her time. Her one wish, however, was to find a way to recreate her mother’s capabilities using her knowledge of plants, herbs, tinctures, and the like. She made it her life mission... and it cost not only her, but several of us dearly. 

The teas in the canisters were created by her, and she was the last one to brew a cup, until you came along, of course... but I’m getting ahead of myself. 

Our mother raised us on her own after our father passed away. She worked odd jobs and kept herself busy making salves and teas to sell at local markets. Behind the scenes, however, she continued to work on her plan to create a tea that would allow her to see through veils of time, and she eventually succeeded, but things did not go as planned. 

She had just finished perfecting a recipe one day when there was a knock at the door. A young man, sharply dressed in a grey wool suit, stood on our front steps, he was selling top-of-the-line cookware. Our mother, always willing to indulge young entrepreneurs, invited him in and put the kettle on. She was fully intending to simply listen to his presentation, but as their conversation wore on an idea crossed her mind. The young man mentioned that his brother had recently passed away, and that he missed his him terribly, and wished he could see him again, if only for a moment. The gears in our mother’s mind began turning; if she served her tea to the young man and it was effective, it might provide him with an opportunity to see his brother again, and if it failed, he would be none-the-wiser and would simply have enjoyed a nice cup of tea, no harm done.

I must say at this point that our mother was neither conniving nor cruel, she was entirely under the impression that the effects of the tea would be temporary, there was no way for her to know her spontaneous decision and, ironically, lack of foresight would change the course of all our lives.

And so it was that Russell J. Holcomb, luxury cookware salesman, came to sit at our kitchen table and drink the tea our mother had aptly named Violet Storm. He remained in our kitchen for a few hours, demonstrating his goods. Winifred and I came home our jobs at the hospital partway through his sales pitch and sat at the table listening to him, enthralled. Russell was very charismatic; he would certainly have had a successful career in sales if he had never had the misfortune of knocking on our door. Winifred was especially taken with him; she would later tell me it was his smile that won her over so quickly. Little did she know we would only rarely ever see that smile again.

We were there when the tea began to take effect. I remember it so clearly because, unfortunately for Russell, there was a storm brewing outside. Winifred and I had rushed home from work due to the dark, threatening clouds hovering in the sky above. We would later learn that stormy weather exacerbates the effects of this specific tea... but once again, I’m getting ahead of myself. 

Russell was just finishing a demonstration that involved cooking an omelet, he slid it onto a plate and placed it on the table for us to see. It was then that he stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. His eyes darted back and forth as a mist began to rise in them. He started to shake and pointed at something behind us. The three of us turned in unison, but there was nothing there. Our mother crouched next to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and asked if he was okay. Through rapid breaths Russell explained that he could see other people, dozens of other people, all semi-transparent, moving throughout the kitchen. Walking, cooking, sitting at the table... he could even see different furniture, and he could see grass on the ground as well as different versions of the kitchen floor, layer upon layer upon layer of the past all visible at once. He let out a scream that still echoes in my mind to this day, then squeezed his eyes shut and clutched his head in his hands shouting, “Make it stop! Please! Make them go away! Make it all go away!”

Distraught, our mother wrapped a dishtowel around his eyes and tied it at the back of his head, then lead him to the sofa to lay down and wait until the effect of the tea wore off. Once the storm passed the effects did diminish considerably, but the clouds never left Russell’s eyes, and he never stopped seeing relics of the past all around him at all times. 

Our mother settled him in the empty flat upstairs, no one had lived there for years, and it didn’t have much of a past to speak of, or see. The outside world was far too overwhelming for Russell, so he remained in the upstairs flat from that day forward. Because he had no family to speak of, Russell decided it was best to leave him flagged as a missing person to the outside world, it seemed simpler than trying to explain the reality of what had happened. The four of us agreed to never speak of that day’s events, and our mother immediately set to work trying to create a remedy.

Days turned into weeks and months. Winifred spent a lot of time upstairs keeping Russell company, and the two fell deeply in love. One day our mother announced she had come up with a remedy, a tea she called Black Moon. She brewed a pot, and Winifred volunteered to bring it up to Russell, promising to report back if it had any noticeable effects. But as Winifred was climbing the stairs to the apartment, a shadow of doubt came over her... What if this new concoction made Russell worse? Her heart ached at the thought of involuntarily harming him in any way, so she sat on the top stair outside his door and slowly drank the cup of tea herself to see how it would affect her before giving any to Russell. 

Russell never did drink any Black Moon tea, because within a short period of time Winifred came crashing down the stairs screaming and waving her arms in the air as though swatting away a swarm of bees. Unlike Russell, her eyes never clouded over, instead they turned into two deep, dark, inky pools. We came to discover that Winifred was now plagued with incessant visions of the future: Buildings being torn down, new ones being erected, wars, unrest, and the cacophony of centuries of living beyond anything she’d ever known... Her condition worsened during the new moon when the sky was at its darkest. On these nights, her existence became nearly unbearable. Layers of the future would wrap around her like a snake wraps its body around its prey, squeezing the air out of its lungs, and effectively crushing it. On these nights,Winnifred would wear a blindfold, which helped to alleviate some of the stress of her condition. 

I paused my reading then, thinking back to Christmas Eve dinner with Russell, and his odd behaviour as the storm rolled in. He must have been suffering through a similar experience, a ramping up of the effects of his condition... My heart ached for him, for Winifred who was similarly afflicted, for Florence who was tasked with caring for them both, and for Jones the cat who had now joined their ranks. I heaved a sigh, then dove back into the letter.

 

In our mother’s mind, the tea she had concocted to view the future would have cancelled out the tea Russell had ingested which gave him visions of the past, but after seeing what happened to Winifred, we didn’t dare let him drink any. It became difficult for Russell and Winifred to be in the same room, they were essentially living on different plains now, he in the past, she in the future, with only a bridge of present between them so small they could never stand on it long enough to truly be in one another’s company. Heartbroken, Winnifred stopped going upstairs to visit, and only rarely ever spoke.

Our mother, devastated by the tragedy she had inadvertently unleashed on our family, made one last attempt at setting things straight. She poured over her craft for several months, studying herbs and tinctures used by our ancestors. Some ingredients she foraged for herself, others she sourced locally or from overseas, until finally one day she came to us with the resulting Golden Sunset tea. This tea, she was certain, would fix both Winifred and Russell’s conditions, but she insisted she would drink a cup first to ensure there were no unexpected results. As you may have guessed, the results were, indeed, unexpected, and very tragic.

The last entry in our mother’s book was written moments after she drank the Golden Sunset tea. She detailed a scene from the future, of a young woman living in our flat, and a cat named Jones with glowing amber eyes. She said this woman would be instrumental to the future of our family history as she would carry on guarding the tea until she reached the age of 93. That is where the diary ends, there were no details beyond that.

After drinking her tea and writing in her diary, our mother walked out our front door and stood on the stoop. Winifred and I stood at the window, watching her back as she stared at the world outside, motionless. Perhaps a few minutes went by, perhaps a few hours, neither one of us could tell, but eventually our mother exclaimed “It’s all so beautiful!”, then she fell to the ground. Shaken out of our reverie we ran to her, but she was already gone. Presumably, whatever it was the tea caused her to see, it was more than the human mind and body could take.

In the decades that followed I continued to care for Mr. Holcomb and Winifred. Winifred would provide guidance on future events and occurrences, which is how we knew you were planning on drinking the tea, and that we were going to arrive just in time to stop you. We tried to change the course of history and arrive in time to also prevent Jones from drinking the tea, but as with every other time we’ve attempted to change the future, we failed.

From what Winifred has shared, and she only shares things she feels are absolutely necessary, I am to make you the beneficiary of our estate upon our passing, which, Winifred has assured me, is much farther away than anyone would ever dream. Perhaps our mother’s longevity tea worked better than her other ones.

 I wish you all the best Marie. We shall not see you again after today, but from what I can gather, someday in the distant future, you will once again see us. 

Take care,

Florence

I refolded the letter and placed it back between the pages of the book, then closed the cover, re-buckled the strap, and placed the book on the coffee table in front of me. There would be ample time to sift through its pages down the road, right now I needed to process the events of the past week.

I carried on with my life over the next few days. Those days turned into weeks, months, years, and before I knew it nearly three decades had gone by. In that time, I earned a nursing degree and used some of the knowledge from Fiona’s diary to help patients. I married and divorced, had two children whose careers eventually took them to opposite ends of the country, adopted and went through the heartache of saying goodbye to 3 different cats, all with glowing amber eyes, and... well... I grew older. 

Not nearly as old as the twins however, who died within days of one another at the ripe old age of 103. 

It was on a Wednesday afternoon a couple of weeks after the twins’ passing that my postman Gordy placed a small package on the stoop outside my front door. I happened to be looking out the window when he came and waved to him as he carried on to my neighbour’s house. He smiled and waved back; he was always such a pleasant young man. I reached into my post box and pulled out a small stack of letters, then bent down to pick up the package. I felt my stomach tighten when I saw the return address for the solicitor’s office on the parcel. I knew this day would come, this wasn’t a surprise per se, and I had only briefly met the sisters on two occasions nearly 30 years ago, yet I still felt the sting of tears in my eyes. 

Inside the package was a letter from the solicitor detailing the legal intricacies of the estate and the steps I needed to take to finalise things. The only other item in the box was an old antique key. I recognized it immediately as the key Florence had left for me that fateful day all those years ago. I placed the key in my palm and closed my fingers around it. If I focused enough, I could almost feel a low electrical pulse emanating from it.

My first time stepping back through the front door of 51 Dimly court was surreal. Everything was exactly the same as it had been the last time I was there. Every trinket, every book, every curtain and pillow and blanket, even down to the plush towel and robe set I had used after taking a bath that Boxing Day afternoon three decades ago. I walked through the flat in wonder, gently tracing my finger along the edges of the sisters’ belongings, the items strewn atop their dressers and vanities. Winifred’s copy of The House on the Strand was still on her nightstand, I understood the significance now, with her experiencing time differently than the rest of us. 

I stood at the bottom of the stairway to Russel’s flat for a long time staring at the off-center number 7 on the door. I’d read his obituary years ago, I’d lost track of how long it had been exactly, but I remembered it said he had passed peacefully in his sleep with his loved ones, presumably Winifred and Florence, by his side. Eventually I made my way up the stairs and let myself into Russell’s flat, which was also frozen in time. I stepped into his office, noting his satchel was still on the desk. I peered inside and saw a collection of marketing materials for cookware. This was the bag he was carrying the day he disappeared, that fateful day he met Fiona Merriwell and her enchanted, or cursed depending on how one views these things, collection of teas.

I stepped into the little kitchen; bright sunshine was streaming through the window. I smiled as I remembered sitting at the table sharing a meal with Russell, telling stories, and laughing together. He was a lovely man, lovely and lonely. His fate was not one anyone would have been envious of, unable to leave the confines of his apartment, destined to pine away for an impossible love just within his reach but never attainable... my heart ached for him.

I lived on in the flat for forty more years, keeping everything the same as it had always been. I eventually retired from my decades-long career as head nurse at a care home, and before I knew it found myself older than the twins were when I first met them. I surprised myself gravitating toward some of Florence’s dresses and coats. Winifred’s wardrobe, however, remained too gothic for my taste. As time wore on, I became rather uninterested in the outside world, preferring to focus on my own private little secret world inside the sisters’ flat. I never stopped thinking of it as the sisters’ flat. My children rarely visited and would only stay in town long enough for a meal, always at a fancy restaurant of course, before returning to their busy lives, and I was okay with that because they were happy.

And now we’ve come to today. 

Today is my 93^rd birthday. I am celebrating alone, and rather enjoying my own company. I finished my cup of tea 15 minutes ago; I can feel its effect taking hold. I see a warm glow around everything in the flat, as though every object has been wrapped in goldleaf and the setting sun is shining through the window, even though in reality today the sky is grey and loaded with a mass of storm clouds. 

I walk to the sitting room and lower my tired body into a chair by the window, turning to face the inside of the room. I watch as the past fades into view. I see Florence and Winifred as children with their mother reading stories by the fireplace, the same fireplace in which the contents of the tea canisters and Fiona’s diary are burning right now. I see young Russell looking dapper in his grey wool suit with his satchel strapped over his shoulder, he’s coming in to do a presentation of the luxury cookware he is selling, and Fiona is guiding him toward the kitchen. I see all the events Florence described in her letter unfold before my eyes.

Eventually I see myself walking into the flat for the first time, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other waiting for Winifred to speak through the garish red lipstick streaked across her mouth. I marvel at my youth, how naïve and innocent I was then. I watch the entire Christmas holiday unfold, cooking for Mr. Holcomb, rushing outside to rescue Jones, cuddling with him on the sofa, staring into his beautiful golden eyes. Then the fateful night when he drank the tea...

Layers of past begin to pile atop one another in rapid succession now, and I see events flash before me. First, I watch the twins grow old and eventually disappear altogether. Then I see myself, older, but still young by my current standards, returning to the flat after several decades away. I watch myself age at a breakneck pace and eventually see myself, dressed the way I am dressed right now, walk into the room. I gasp as I catch of glimpse of my eyes, now turned into two glowing orbs filled with a swirling mass of mauve, gold, coral, and burnt orange. Now I understand why Fiona named this tea Golden Sunset. I watch as I gingerly lower myself into the chair I am sitting in at this very moment. 

That’s when things truly take off, when past, present and future finally collide.

In a flash of amber, coral, and lilac everything sets off at lightning speed. I see the future, I see what happens to me, what happens in the decades and centuries beyond this moment in time. I see the people who lived here before the twins, before Fiona, and those who will live here after. I see the field that was here before the apartment building, and the structure that will be built after its demolition decades from now. 

I turn to look out the window, the view is breathtaking. I can see everything that has come before and everything yet to come, all awash in a swirl sunset colours. It’s chaotic, it’s heartbreaking, it’s electric, it’s inspiring, it’s... life...

...and it’s all so beautiful.

Thank you so much for listening, I truly hope you enjoyed The Man with a Storm in His Eyes. 

It has been my pleasure to write and record this story for you, and I am very much looking forward to doing it again. Stay tuned for more spooky and unusual tales in the future!

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a rating or a review, they are both greatly appreciated. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon. Patreon supporters get early access to ad-free podcast episodes, digital downloads of my music, and so much more. It’s the first place I share my creations. However, if you prefer not to subscribe, but would like to make a one-time contribution, you can do so via your podcast platform. Any and all financial support is greatly appreciated.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, composer, and producer of The Skylark Bell Podcast. 

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