The Other Door (short story)

    The bond with her great-great-great-grandfather Walwyn Randal Norvin Kenrick (well chosen first names) was very strong.
Most likely because they shared a strong will and stubborn and brave character, something that had been missing for generations of offspring; not my words but those of Walwyn. Yet I agree with him, I served many generations of this family whose history goes back to the Vikings.

   This great-great-great-granddaughter was the first female descendant of the old Walwyn and I expected him to be disappointed it was a girl who inherited his warrior genes. But he wasn't, he was over the moon when he saw her soft blond hair with the red glow. He almost howled like the wolf in his coat of arms. He ran through the castle, kissed every female (who still wonder where the light touch came from) he passed and returned to the nursery where he looked in great admiration to mother and child. He loved the mother from the moment she set foot in the castle. Unfortunately he could not pet himself on the shoulder for arranging this marriage – it was outside his restrictions – but someone somewhere must have arranged it from above. One day he was going to thank this Angel.

   And now this useless, lazy, ignorant great-great-grandson and his wife produced a female copy of him. And lo and behold, one of the names of the child was the female version of his own Randal: she was named Edrea Randall Bedelia.

Little Edrea and old Walwyn developed a bond from the very first moment; even before she saw him, the little child was aware of his existence. Her mother knew there was something in the nursery where her daughter reacted to but it did not feel bad and with her Welsh roots, she knew there was more between heaven and earth.

   The father who was mentally not fit to cope with the character of his wife, let alone that of his daughter, spent more and more time elsewhere; hunting, gambling and drinking with his friends. His wife who tried everything to keep her husband at home and who learned to hate his lifestyle, gave all her love to her daughter and it was no surprise to everyone in the castle that there were no other babies.

   It was a very strange household: the mother with her beautiful child and enough staff to serve 10 times more people. Life centred in a few rooms, all others were closed until the guests for the annual hunting games arrived; the one and only time his lordship was at home.

    When Edrea (who was a curious and studios girl) grew up, she explored the castle.
A few rooms were closed and in others the furniture was covered in white sheets against the dust. Her interest in the previous use of the rooms was touching, it was as if the history made her blood boil. Holding her favourite doll tightly in her arms, she told it she was going to bring the castle back to its original glory but that her father had to die first as Mummy once cried that he was spending all the money and if there came no end to it, they would be poor as a church mouse in no time. Not that Edrea ever saw a church mouse but with Mummy being so very sad, it must be extremely poor.

   The little girl did not know what she was thinking and wishing, yet her wish was fulfilled when she was 10 years old and riding her pony during the hunting event. For the first time her father showed some interest in his daughter who looked so self assured in her riding outfit. Everybody who looked at her saw what a beautiful woman she was going to be. Father and daughter guided their horses in a slightly different direction than most of the hunters. No one could tell why they did it, who's idea it was because after the accident Edrea did not say a word about what happened.
   She came back alone, a straight back and no emotions when she told one of the footman to get some help while she was going to see her mother to tell her “father was thrown of his horse and not breathing any more”.

   Edrea nor her mother cried a tear about the loss. They never spoke about it either, at least not in front of other people. The mother took over the finances and after a year of sleepless nights, paying creditors and talking to all staff members she managed to save the castle from it's downfall. We all admired her for her effort and our loyalty to her was stronger than ever.

    It was around this time that I decided it was the right moment to arrange a meeting between Walwyn and Edrea. Yes, you are right, they knew each other already but they never met in his world.

    At one day Edrea found the door of one of the rooms that was always closed, open. You might think it was odd that she never asked why it was closed, to whom it belonged or what was in it. She only tried the doorknob once and never again in the following 6 years. But today she walked into the room as if she knew it was open and waiting for her. In a sense it was, I arranged it.

    She looked round and walked to the large chest that stood open. She closed the lid and sat down on it; her feet crossed and her hands folded. Very much at ease she absorbed the atmosphere in the room where the family stored old belongings that were not used any more. She looked at her pram and smiled raising her hand if she wanted to touch it but she was to far away.

   “Hello grandfather Walwyn”, she spoke. “I am glad it is time to meet you. Will you guide me?” Walwyn smiled, opened his arms and looked at me for approval. I nodded, it was indeed the right moment.

    The two people with so many generations in between but so alike, walked hand in hand in my direction. I opened Edrea's eyes and the door and bowed when they passed me. I carefully shot the door and waited for their return.

   The old man dressed in a purple velvet jacket, a white blouse with lace collar and sleeves, trousers just over his knees, white stockings and shiny black shoes with silver buckles, his long grey hair held together with a beautiful purple ribbon, watched the young girl that looked like a little princes in her white dress with also a purple ribbon at the back. He was so proud of her and made a promise that the man who would hurt her was going to have a miserable and timely death; he did not hesitate a year ago and he would not hesitate doing it again. Particularly with this precious descendent at his side; they proved to be a good team.......


   I stand here in reflection, my heart full of melancholy.

When I think of Edrea I have to admit I fell in love with her. She was not only beautiful but also kind and generous. The people who were honest to her, knew they found a very loyal friend. She was never tired of looking after them in any way she could think of. They were always welcome in the castle and there was always food and a bed available to those who made a long journey to see her.

Photo: @marshallubx (Instagram)

  
   She did keep her promise to restore the castle to it's former glory. I can not tell you how she did it but somehow it happened, probably with the help of Walwyn who knew the castle so well and who revealed all it's secrets to her.
   Walwyn kept his promise to protect Edrea who's marriage only lasted a few months before her husband died. There were no children.
  
   Edrea moved permanently to Walwyn's world a very long time ago. And to you it might look if the caste is abandoned but you can be very mistaken. Maybe you are related to the two people I loved most in my life, who knows. I hope so!

   Try.... stand in front of me and tell me if you too see in me the light behind the other door to the other world.....

Word of thanks: the photo of @marshallubx (Instagram)) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you Marshall!

Links: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of @marshallubx

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen

Little Doors (short story)

"Are you like me? Orderly, introvert, tidy, easy going, laid back?
Oh, and not to forget handsome, rich, well dressed, wealthy! Idyllically the perfect son in law!

You might think I am exaggerating; thinking too much of myself. You will say: "Nobody is all that...."
But my dear, I am all that! I really am....
Your next question will be: "Than you are already taken....". No sweetheart, I am not.
Yes, I know, you are astonished aren't you? No one can be all that and still not taken.
Well, I am your living example, it is possible. I have to admit that it is not my free choice, I met many women I wanted to share my life with but although I have so much and beyond to offer, they never wanted to share their lives with me. Strange isn't it?

As soon as I invited them home, the relationship changed. Yes, I have a home, quite big really. I am not telling you secrets if I say it is a very, very big Estate with woodlands, fields and a long drive way with a gate guarded by big statues of lions. And of course a gate keeper as I prefer to keep the gates locked as often as possible. Maybe this scares my female visitors off? Being locked up? Why would they if they have all my money to spend, an Estate, the most handsome man on earth and many servants?
Indeed, if you and I will get along and marry, you will have servants; people who keep the Estate in good order, who look after you. I even have doctors and nurses, a bookkeeper, gardeners.
You look surprised.... this is not what you expected, isn't it?And they are all yours.

Of course I am wealthy enough to pay all the staff, I just told you that. And do you know that I know them all by name? Each one of them. And they appreciate that, they respect me, you can tell by the way they talk to me, with low voices, kind and patient. They know that they should not upset me, not to make me angry. Am I a violent person you ask me? No, I am not. I am always kind and calm.
No no, this is not true. I agree I can be upset if the bookkeeping is not in good order, I hate disorderly paperwork. Oh yes, this can annoy me so very much!!! But please keep this as a secret.

I think I am going to tell you another secret, are you ready for it? And will you promise me not to leave me?
Promise!!! Yes... good girl!

All the staff I just mentioned; there are not as many as I want you to believe. Somehow they don't stay here for long. I replace them for others but sometimes, when I stayed in my room for too long, again staff members left. And lately I can't find new members as easily as I used to. And the new ones are often not as polite as the ones of who I thought were loyal to me.
Do you think they are jealous? Jealous of my status, my money, my good looks?

Another secret is that I do not trust my new staff any more. I think they are betraying me.
In what way, you ask me? I suspect them to add pills to my food. Not that I need pills of course, but I am almost certain they try to poison me! Yes, that frightens you too, doesn't it? Poisoning, mind you!!!
And they avoid me as well, I see less and less people walking around. They don't talk to me as they did before, they avoid me. Now I come to think of it, yes, they avoid me!! How dare they!! I pay them very good wages and want to be obeyed!!

Oooohhh.... now I am getting angry, very angry!!
Are you listening to me? Where are you? You walked away from me, come back!! Come back I tell you!!
Where is everybody? Where are you? Where is the other staff? Why am I on my own? Nobody told me that they were going to leave the Estate, to leave me....

Photo: @glory.of.dispair

Did you leave a note? Whatever note? Are your notes in the cupboard? The large cupboard down the hall?
The one with all the little doors, doors that thrive me sick....... little doors that remind me of all the little doors in my head. Doors with hidden thoughts that disappear every time I open one.
I want to know what is behind those doors, I want to understand but all I see is paper, sheets, files, prescriptions, names of other people..... I am angry, I do not want papers, I want my thoughts back....!!"


        The lamp dangling from the ceiling didn't shed a light any more at the enormous chaos, found by a visitor of a long forgotten Estate.
The man looked around, his hand protecting his nose against the damp smell. His eyes watched the chaos of passed times and he tried to get his head around the memories of hundreds of spirits that never followed their troubled owners who left the Estate for good.


Word of thanks: the photo of @glory.of.disrepair (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you Mathias!

Link: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of @glory.of.disrepair

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen

Are writers / authors normal people?

Before I will try to answer that question, let me first define the word 'normal'.

Normal:
adjective -    conforming to the standard or the common, usual, not abnormal, regular, natural

psychology - approximately average in any psychological trait, as intelligence, personality, or emotional adjusment.

If I hear some one say "I am just a normal guy" my first thought is "Oh dear, I am so sorry!" because 'normal' sounds sooo boring to me! I do not know about you though. Maybe you love 'normal' because it is predictable, no unexpected surprises or actions. You marry a normal person and know it will be like that for the next 60 odd years or so. You know what time the other person wakes up, goes to bed, the newspaper he or she reads, the things you talk about, the job, the holiday destination, the same camp site where other normal people stay each summer again, the same beach, towel and suntan lotion. Just to name a few but here of course, my assumption of 'normal' might be completely wrong.
Maybe you are brought up 'normal' and find happiness, shelter and comfort in 'normal'. And there is nothing wrong with that if it works for you.

But it does not work for me.
In many ways I am not brought up 'normal' which does not mean I was brought up 'abnormal'.
I come from a family not being afraid to look for and find unexpected things in life. But also things that happened to us without looking for it, were hugged to make the best of it.
No, my life has never been and still is not boring, thank goodness.
I am afraid I haven't inherited normal genes from both sides of the family. Changes of directions in life were often more common than uncommon (here is a contradiction! :-)

So... is a writer / author a normal human being?
To me, everybody who is creative is not (quote)conforming to the standard or the common, usual, not abnormal, regular, natural (unquote). If you have the gift to create something from nothing, whether others like it or not, there is a little door in your brain which opens to show you what you can do, create or achieve.
And if you are not afraid to open that door even wider, you can achieve or create more then you imagined at first. Said that, I understand that not everyone is gifted with doors or the same amount of doors. Who cares, you only need one to do something creative.

I also understand that the fear for failure is lurking around the corner and if you fail, what would others think of it. Can you cope with the feeling of failure, are you afraid that people point at you saying you are a looser. Afraid loosing friends.... Oh yes, I can think of many reasons why you prefer to keep the doors in your brains shut.
But does this not stop you from being creative? Exploring your gifts, even if you think you don't have one, is an adventure for life. And you know what is truly beautiful? Your gifts are not all visible at once. It is not so that at the age of  let's say 20, all your gifts suddenly pop up. No, sometimes and more often than not, they are there when something happens in your life. What ever you think of life, one thing is certain, you can not predict it! Fortunately you can't, it would kill all your skills and gifts.

Writers are 'fairly normal' people like you and me. Most of them live in houses, have family and friends, appreciate good food but they have a skill of making stories from scratch. Short stories, novels, poems. They play with words, sentences, chapters. They create people who don't exist who do things that they have never done before because the are invented by the writer. Maybe that is not normal. But definitely not abnormal!

Writing does not always come natural. Of course you must have the drive to write. Not everyone is a writer (or sculptor, photographer, marathon runner, back packer, bungy jumper etc).
It does not matter what you write and it does not always have to be published! If writing is just a way to express your self without offering it to the world, that is fine too. That is not abnormal.

Have I answered the question if writers are normal people? Is it abnormal when I confess I don't know?

Wishing you a wonderful weekend!

Helen