Dreams in the Shadows - The Book <dreamsintheshadows>Lancer un nouveau sujet
Chapter Two Sept. 22nd 2008Il y a 434 jours
 
Chapter Two
Providence, Rhode Island
December 13, 1984

The house was filled with heated conversation on the night of the accident. Only a few hours had passed before Victor was ordered to seek out Erica’s father. He had been given a copy of her birth certificate, a photo of a man, and a file of information on the father that did not share Erica’s last name.

When Victor first read the man’s name he smiled for just a moment. His mission was to locate a person named John Smith, a man who left Providence days after Erica’s birth. Victor found the commonality of the man’s name to be absurdly fitting but at the same time fitting. The man who was never spoken of had the name ghost or at least of a man who did not wish to be identified. The true irony was that John Smith was his real birth name; it was almost as if the man’s parents had known decades before that their child would want to disappear into the shadows of society.

There was a great sense of urgency in the household over the need to find Erica’s father. Erica was sleeping in a large bedroom which her grandmother reserved for her use in the grand house on Benefit Street. Victor looked in on the child before being summoned to the private chamber of Madame Pike. He found the tiny girl in a canopy bed which could have been built for a king. The room was slightly illuminated by the street lamps below which allowed him to see a darkened version of the small handmade furniture that her grandmother had so lovingly purchased for Erica during various trips to Europe and the Orient. However, it was not the small perfectly proportioned chairs and tables that interested Victor; instead it was the neatly arranged toys which he could see through the darkness. Erica’s toys were from a different age, wooden and cast iron playthings which seemed to belong in a museum rather than a modern child’s bedroom. The toys were assembled around a white rocking horse of hand carved wood with the noticeable horn of a mythical unicorn. He left without waking the child and went to discuss the father she had never known with his mistress.

Madame Pike’s receiving room was accessed by a long hallway which at all times was guarded by one of Victor’s fellow Templars. Victor nodded his head to his fellow as he passed without the traditional search that most guests were forced to endure. The hallway had no doors except for the large hand carved wooden double doors which protected Madame Pike’s private sanctuary. Victor slowly walked the long hallways taking in the many paintings of past Grand Mistresses of Ormus out of the corner of his eye. The portraits always filled him with a sense that he was not just a simple French peasant but a witness to history, a history which had been hidden from the world it had shaped. When Victor reached the doors he put his hand to the door knocker, a solid gold owl with a heavy ring held in its beak. As tradition dictated, he knocked three times before his mistress’ voice instructed him to enter.
 posté par Bill Hagan0 réponses 
Chapter One Sept. 22nd 2008Il y a 434 jours
 


Chapter One
The Diary of Erica Pike
January 19, 1997- Paris, France

It is not surprising that my earliest childhood memory is of my mother. This would not be strange if not for the fact that this is my only memory of her. Recollections of childhood memories are never clear or fully accurate; they are in fact little more than dreams. So in reality I have no memories of my time with my mother; I have only one brief dream that I keep locked away with the other heirlooms of my past.

The day which I remember is the day of her death. I was four years old at the time. In many ways, this was the day that I of my birth. The tension and the chaos of that day seems to have washed away any earlier life I might have had; a life that today only exists only in photographs and paintings. I don’t mourn these stolen memories as much as I am intrigued by them. I feel no connection with the little girl in the scores of photographs of my mother and me. Nor do I recognize images in the several oil paintings of our time together, which is why I had them moved into the attic after my grandmother died.

Throughout my life there has been an underlying current of sadness. I have never connected my mother’s death to these feelings. I have always simply accepted her departure from the earthly realm as a simple matter of fate. Long before her death, I was a child with a cold soul. I was never a real child; as such a state of mind completely goes against the nature of my being. Even when my body was that of child, my soul burned with memories of past lives that flowed back so far through time as to make any new experience a simple mundane act. The essence of my soul is so ancient that I am unable to truly feel any type of joy or happiness.

This cursed soul meant that I was born a stoic. The courtiers must have found my childhood amusing. I have never cried, felt disappointment, or expressed myself in a fashion which would be considered normal or even human. It is as if my soul coupled with the blood of my great ancestors to strip me of any true nature of humanity. My mother was not like this or so I have been told. She too was a sad person, but she was ruled by all too human emotions. It was these awful feelings that destroyed her mind and caused her to extinguish her physical existence.

Her last day has haunted me for seventeen years. She died when I was four years old, a death which raped my mind of all earlier memories. It was this day which provided me with my first memories. My Grandmother had sent a car to drive us the short distance to her house. When we arrived, the grand hall was filled with men and women wearing black robes of various designs. Some of the women wore veils; some wore masks; while others had their heads and faces exposed. It was a natural event. The Brothers and Sisters mulled around chatting like adults do at a cocktail party or church social. My mother and I were dressed in normal clothing but shortly after arriving, my grandmother’s bodyguard and closest friend, Victor, directed us towards one of the unused bedrooms. Inside was one of my grandmother’s dressers who had carried a rather ornate robe for my mother and a beautiful black dress for me to wear. I remember that my mother was very aggravated and confrontational with all of the servants. Despite being a child, I was very embarrassed by her behavior. She even spoke firmly with Victor who with his large frame and tough French features was not the type of man one would ever think to confront. Mother pushed Victor out of the doorway and he wordlessly gave way. I followed behind my mother taking a second to smile at Victor who leaned towards me and fixed the bow in my hair that my mother had ignored. His love made me happy. His was a powerful and protective love which reminded me that I was safe from the evils of the world. He even smiled at me before I ran towards the Great Hall and my mother.

When I arrived in the Great Hall I found that all the windows had been shut and the shutters were covered by heavy black drapes. While the others socialized, my mother simply sat alone in one of the old chairs which had been placed against the wall. I noticed that my grandfather was not present but this didn’t concern me. Even at this age I knew that he had no interest in our religion or its rituals.

I watched my mother from across the room. She wasn’t looking at me or anyone for that matter. Her eyes were empty and sad. I felt a moment of disgust before being distracted by a low table upon which I found several veils made of black silk. I took one of the veils and placed it over my head and around my mouth. Only my eyes were left untouched by the soft feeling of silk. Slowly, I walked across the room towards the Eastern Throne which had been moved into the great room for my grandmother’s use. The great chair captured my complete attention.

I began to separate from my body. I was alone in the room. The only object that remained was the Eastern Throne. The metal, stone and wood that made up the throne seemed to call to me. The lion’s paws carved from the wooden arms reached forward to me in an embracing fashion. I could feel a black power flowing forth from this now living throne. I heard it speak in a language that I did not understand. The words were a mystery as they flowed from the carved eagle at the head of the throne, but the message was clear. It was calling me to it. The chair was clearly communicating with me to become one with it. I felt no fear. I have never felt fear or guilt as these are foreign emotions; I understand these emotions only from literature. I felt warmth and power calling me forward. I could feel my blood, the blood of Lilith, burning inside my veins. I was one with her; I could feel her power calling me from another place. Every cell in my body filled with electricity.

When I reached the Eastern Throne its arms seemed to lift me up. I soon found myself back in a room filled will people but now I was sitting upon my grandmother’s throne. I felt a new sense of power within me. I watched my mother from across the room. Our eyes locked and I could feel her anger. She hated me at that moment. I could hear her thoughts. I knew what she planned to do but I was not sad. I had never really had a mother, so it would make no difference. I continued to stare until she rose from her chair and ran from the room. At that moment our minds separated and I could no longer share her thoughts or feelings.

I knew that my mother would soon be dead but I did not react to the (unfolding events. I was cold as I watched her leave the Great Hall. It seemed that many eyes followed her sudden departure. I could see in these eyes a sense of relief that she would not be taking part in the evening ritual. My grandmother cast a single glance before my mother made it to the door. Grandmother had a reserved expression on her face which seemed to indicate a general feeling of acceptance and calm. Moments later she instructed the Tyler to bolt the double doors of the hall.

Victor quickly came forward and lifted me off the Eastern Throne of Illumination. I was placed upon a smaller throne normally reserved for my mother; it sat about a foot lower than my grandmother’s throne and was on her right hand side along the eastern wall of the Great Hall. Four similar thrones had been placed in a geometric fashion along the Western, Northern, and Southern Walls. In the center of the room was an Altar carved from fine teak wood. It resembled sketches which I have seen of the Ark of the Covenant. The Altar was crowned by figures of otherworldly beings cast in solid gold. Two rods were attached to the crown which allowed the High Priests to remove the crown for the ritual.

Slowly people took their cues from the officers and were seated in the pews between the thrones in the North and the South. My Grandmother sat next to me in the East, while Victor took his place upon the throne in the West. Had my grandfather been at the ritual, he would have sat in the West. Victor was his second and therefore filled my grandfather’s role. The room became completely quite with the only interruption being the occasional cough from an elderly member. In retrospect I would imagine that many children would have been frightened by the strange costumes of the worshipers. This had been part of my life since birth so I felt no fear, only joy at the presence of Lilith among us. I could feel her strength. Lilith was not here in body but her energy filled the room. It seemed to come from the Altar as did the power of other sprits who resided under that golden crown. They were contained by the gold Angels of G_D which adorned the Altar’s crown. This cover or crown as we called it had been recovered by the Knights Templar from the ruins of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem sometime around the year 1119. After a series of religious chants and the burning of incense, four of the Eunuch Priests of Ormus came forth from the North and the South and approached the Altar with their heads bowed in reverence. The Priests were dressed in pure white and wore blue prayer shawls. Slowly they took hold of the poles and lifted the crown of gold. Other worldly energy filled the room and several relics of our faith were exposed for all to see.

After the most enchanting music and a series of rituals and prayers to Lilith, those members of Ormus who were young enough to stand did so with their right hands on their stomachs and their left arms behind their backs. I mimicked their behavior. Above the Altar upon the ceiling was a carving of a nonhuman head which represented Baphomet of Mendes. The figure was flanked by two other carvings which gave a more relaxed feeling to the horned Baphomet. In the North was a carved symbol of the Gevurah, which is from the Kabbalah, and is the fifth Sephirot of the Tree of Life. To the South was a Gold Owl which symbolism Lilith, the mother of Ormus and our common ancestor. I sat in complete silence. First they fell to their knees and lay prostrate before my grandmother. In an ancient language, they spoke to my beloved grandmother. With a wave of her hand she ordered them to their feet and they came towards her. Gently they took hold of her arms and supported her as she approached the Altar.

With great difficulty, my grandmother knelt before the Altar. An Eunuch came forward with a pitcher of wine and filled an ancient wooden cup with a small amount of the sacrament. My grandmother lifted the bowl to her lips and consumed the wine. She then read from the book and told the story of the gift from the Tree of Knowledge and the Morning Star’s love of humanity which helped fulfill our potential. It was then that the chants began and my grandmother was lead through the door which the Tyler had now unbolted. The ritual was over and the members of Ormus once again began to socialize amongst themselves as Victor and my grandmother departed the Great Hall followed by the Eunuch Priests of Ormus.

For a short time I wandered through the room but the faithful avoided me in a respectful fashion. Even at this age they knew that it was not their place to speak to me unless I first addressed them. Normally I would have been playful and enjoyed the gathering but I knew that my mother had died during the ritual. I was not sad at her passing but was filled with a respectful feeling of mourning for a woman I would never really know.

It was only a moment before they reached the home’s living quarters and could see that my premonition had been correct. In the dead of winter my mother had fled my grandmother’s home and ran into the middle of Benefit Street. She must have waited before running into the street because she was struck by a car which even under the best road conditions would never have been able to stop. The police had arrived outside the house as had an ambulance. It was clear that it was too late. From the front window I could see the twisted body of my mother covered in bloody snow. This would be my last memory of the woman who had given birth to me.


 posté par Bill Hagan0 réponses 

Lancer un nouveau sujet