Chained Melodies - The Portal

"Do you believe in witches, Jenny?"

"Hmmmm... I can't seem to get this green quite right. What did you say, Diana?"

I sighed. Whenever Jenny was in one of her creative moods, she lived in a world of her own. If I had realized that she was busy on one of her new paintings, I would have left her in peace.

"You know... witches. And magic. Real magic. Things that happen which have no logical explanation."

"Could you pass that cloth, please? Witches, huh? You mean like in Macbeth?"

"Well, sort of. But without the pointed hats, crooked noses and broomsticks."

"Hubble, bubble, boil and trouble," Jenny laughed. "No, not really. I think they were just women who knew a lot about herbs and natural cures and things. Damn, the light's fading. And I wanted to finish the background today."

I looked at what she had painted so far. She was a talented artist and had the knack of adding something of herself to her work. The pretty landscape took on a mystical quality under the influence of her brush strokes. It made the observer want to examine the scene more closely and give their imagination the full reign.

Wiping her hands on the cloth, Jenny asked, "Why the sudden interest in witches? I didn't know you were into that sort of thing."

"I'm not. It's just that there were some problems with the rent payments on the cottage. I had a meeting with the owners yesterday and the conversation just drifted around to witchcraft. It seems the place has got some strange legends circulating about it."

"Oh? You mean it's haunted? How exciting!"

"I'm not sure. But it appears that things happen there which are a bit out of the ordinary."

"What sort of things?"

"It used to be owned by an eccentric recluse. There were stories going around at the time that she was a white witch. When she died, a couple of her relatives moved in, but a few weeks later, they disappeared without trace. Then it was put on the open market, but the new owners never stayed for more than a couple of months. A man was supposed to have drowned in the nearby lake, for example, and his body was never found. And I don't know if you've ever heard of it, but there was a huge scandal here about twenty years ago." Jenny shook her head. "No, I hadn't heard anything about a scandal. But then, we haven't lived here all that long and the villagers are a pretty close bunch. I get the impression they think of Alan and me as some sort of foreigners! But don't keep me in suspense! Tell me about it!"

"A group of students was found dead in the local churchyard. The official explanation was that it was a drug induced orgy – but there was a rumor doing the rounds that it was some sort of black magic sect." *

"Wow! I'm surprised that I didn't read about it in the papers."

"Yeah, I was surprised, too. I would have thought that the press would have grabbed at the story, yet for some strange reason, it seems to have been kept quiet."

"Talk about a close knit community. No wonder they keep to themselves if that's the kind of secret they've got." "I've also heard that there are lights and noises in the cottage when it's supposed to be empty."

"Scary! And you're staying there on your own. Aren't you a bit frightened?"

"I must admit I didn't sleep very well last night. Of course, there's probably a logical explanation for it all, but that's easy enough to say in broad daylight. In the dark, it's a different matter. Every creaking floorboard and noisy pipe takes on a whole new meaning then!"

"You're welcome to stay over with me tonight, you know. Now that Alan's away, I get a bit lonely so would appreciate the company."

"It's a tempting idea, but I'm trying to see this as just another challenge of learning to cope on my own. Since Guy died, there's been a lot of those."

Jenny flashed me a sympathetic look, but I tried to ignore it. I'd had my fill of sympathy since the car crash that had deprived me of my husband and my looks in one fatal instant.

"Anyway, nothing bad has happened to me in the cottage so far. In fact, before I heard all the stories, I really felt at home there." The isolated cottage had been an answer to my prayers. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it. With its honeysuckle and ivy covered walls and thatched roof, I thought it the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I'd been astonished at how low the rent was, and had been expecting it to need a lot of work done on it. But it was perfect, both inside and out. I wonder now if the low price might have had something to do with the place's history.

After helping Jenny back to her house with her paints and easel, and sharing a bottle of wine, I returned to Avalon. Despite my anxiety, as I entered the cottage, I was aware of its welcoming atmosphere. It may have been fanciful of me, but it was almost as if the place was glad to see me back home.

Having slept so badly the night before, I decided to have an early night. The late evening twilight illuminated the four-poster bed standing in the middle of the lemon-painted room, and it looked very inviting. Slipping into my nightdress, I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. The cloth covering it had fallen to the floor and for once, I couldn't avoid my reflection. The scars on my face were healing, but I would never regain my former beauty. I remembered how I had teased Guy about it in the past, saying how he was a sucker for a pretty face and laughing at his attempts to persuade me that it was me he had fallen for, not my looks. If he had survived the crash, I might have known the truth. I wondered if I would have been pleased with it.

I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. I don't know how many hours later it was when something woke me. The room was in total darkness, and the only sound was my own heartbeat drumming in my ears. Everything seemed to be normal... except... there was a strange smell in the air. I couldn't place it at first, and then my heart began to race. I recognized the familiar scent of incense candles. Suddenly I was aware of a soft glow that appeared to come from the mirror. As it floated towards the bed, I held in a scream. The light stopped a few feet away from me and, straining my eyes, I could just make out a dark figure standing beside me, a candle illuminating deathly white skin and dark pools of eyes. I wanted to run... but there was no place to run to. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the apparition. And then it spoke.

"Diana, please don't be afraid. I mean you no harm."

The voice was dry and cracked, like a man who had traveled the desert without water for many days, but I recognized it. My eyelids flew open and I sat bolt upright, my hand groping wildly for the bedside lamp, my fingers searching for the switch. At last I found it. As the circle of light lit up the room, I stared in horror. The gaunt figure staring at me with haunted eyes was Guy.

I knew then that this had to be a nightmare. Yet, it seemed so real. I'd dreamed of Guy many times since the accident, but none of them had scared me as this one was doing. I ordered myself to wake up. Nothing happened. I pinched my arm... and the pain made me wince. The figure spoke again.

"Diana... please. Why are you trying to escape? You do still love me, don't you? Why do you want to leave me?"

My mouth was dry and I didn't know if I was capable of speech. If I couldn't wake up, I decided I'd have to confront my fear. I swallowed convulsively and managed to say, "Of course I still love you, Guy. But you're the one who left me, remember?" "Oh, Diana. I never left you. I've been with you all the time. Couldn't you sense my presence? It was I who guided you to Avalon. The portal between Life and Death."

I shivered. Could it possibly be that the safety I had felt here had emanated not from the building but from its ghostly inhabitant?

The image stretched out his hand and I felt ghostly fingers stroking my cheek. Tenderly they traced the raised scars on my skin and I pulled away in horror.

"P-please don't," I stammered.

I saw pity in his eyes and I turned away. I didn't want to be pitied by a figment of my own imagination.

"Those scars mean nothing to me," he said. "The marks and blemishes of age and pain cannot change true love."

I looked at him in amazement. Was this my unconscious mind answering my unspoken question? Was it really true that it wasn't my outer beauty that had made our love so special, but the person I was inside?

"The inner scars are far more important, Diana. And I have come to heal them. I shall love you throughout time, but you have to learn to love yourself again."

As he spoke, his fingers returned to my face, and this time I didn't pull away. He smiled and his hands traveled downwards to the curves of my breasts. I gasped as a familiar warmth filled my body – a feeling that I thought I'd never experience again.

Sliding my nightdress from my shoulders, he kissed my exposed skin and I shivered. For the first time since this dream began, I didn't want to wake up.

He began to undress and then, pulling back the covers, he slipped into the bed beside me. His fingers began to tease my erect nipples and I pressed myself against his hands. The dream was so vivid that I could feel his moist breath against my ear and smell his musty scent. I sighed as he removed my nightdress and our naked skins touched. He was hard against my thigh and I took him in my hand, stroking him gently. I could feel the blood throbbing through his erection as it grew in my hand. His hand cupped me between my legs and I rubbed myself against it, feeling wetness seeping from me. And then his fingers found my clit, and I pulled him on top of me. I had been starved of his body for so long that I didn't want to wait a moment longer. By now, I was terrified of waking before attaining the satisfaction I craved.

I could hear him groaning, and then he plunged into me, pounding into my body, his desire as strong as my own. One hand was clutching my breast, squeezing my nipple between his fingers, the other was moving ever faster on my clit. "I love you," he screamed as his sperm jetted into my body, triggering my own orgasm. As we lay spent in each other's arms, I felt myself relaxing into a deep sleep. My last subconscious thought brought a smile to my lips.

How strange, falling asleep in a dream.

The next morning I was awakened by the sun's rays streaming through the bedroom window. The thoughts of the dream were still vivid in my mind, and for the first time in a long while, I found myself actually looking forward to a new day. Even though it had not been real, somehow it had eased my sorrow. I found I could remember Guy without the anguish and guilt that I'd felt every day since my fatal lapse of concentration had sent the car hurtling into a nearby tree. As I got out of bed, I picked up the cloth to recover the mirror, but hesitated with it in my hand. I forced myself to stare at my reflection. Although the scars were still there, they seemed to have lost their power over me. They were no longer the instrument of my punishment, but just disfigurements that I would eventually learn to live with.

That evening, after eating the first meal I had really enjoyed since I'd come to the cottage, I made my way to Jenny's house. She opened the door and her first words were, "Hi, you look good today." Just the day before I would have been suspicious of her words. After all, how could I look good with my mutilated face? But today I just smiled and accepted it as the truth. Jenny, too, looked pleased with herself, and the reason for that was clear when she led me into her studio and pointed to her easel. The canvas was covered with a cloth and she smiled as she walked towards it.

"I'm so excited," she said. "I never thought I'd finish it so quickly, but I was really inspired today. I was up at dawn and I've been working on it all day. I think it's one of my best works. Tell me what you think." And, walking to the easel, she pulled off the cloth.

Forming words of praise in my mind, I opened my mouth to speak but they never emerged. In shock, I stared at the painting. Taking pride of place in the middle of the large canvas was an image of Avalon, every detail captured in vibrant paint. Yet, it was to the open bedroom window that my eyes were drawn. Clearly visible on the bed were two figures clasped in each other's arms. With an eerie certainly, I suddenly knew that last night had been no dream.

*See 'Avalon' by Lynne den Hartog

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