A Sigh Through the Veil of Being E-Book

Aleksi Karvonen

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 106

Beschreibung

Three short stories connected to Whispers Through the Veil of Being.

Leseprobe

A Sigh Through the Veil of Being

Contents & Author's NoteThe Dream / Perpetual WinterChasm of DespairThe Essence of IsolationCopyright

Contents & Author's Note

 The Dream / Perpetual Winter

*

Chasm of Despair

*

The Essence of Isolation

*

Author's Note:

A brief gust of truth.

The Dream / Perpetual Winter

The Dream

*

As I entered the ballroom, the first thing I noticed was the impressive size and wealth of it – the entrance hallway had been intricate enough with the gleaming luxury of ornamental decoration, but even that was little compared to this. A large, indomitable hearth dominated the western wall, its blazing fire sending comfortable warmth into the area, reaching up to the doorway I was standing next to. On the eastern side there were several cushioned chairs with a center table in between them, made of old, dark mahogany wood, crafted with elaborate shapes and curves. The whole place was illuminated by numerous candelabra scattered about the area.

  I looked at the northern portion of the room. A set of tall, iron-framed windows covered most of the wall. In front of one such window an elderly man was sitting in a similarly cushioned antique chair that lay placed near the eastern side. The man was facing the window, his back on me, gazing out despite being certainly unable to see anything due to the raging storm outside.

*

When I was about to step further into the room, I heard a grandfather clock chime to my side. It stood next to the fireplace and was massive – an awe-inspiring, towering masterwork of wood, reaching up to great height. I couldn't make out the time as the clock's face was hidden in shadows, but the bell kept tolling multiple times, suggesting it might've been eleven or twelve - it was late, I knew that much.

  The servant next to me motioned me forward – same man who had answered the door - and led me into the ballroom from the entrance hallway. I nodded to him and stepped towards the man, who was still facing the window, not taking notice of my approach.

  I stepped next to him and peered outside through the window. It was dark, and I could only decipher running straits of water pouring down on the other side of the glass. I looked at the man and he finally noticed me, turning his head to face mine. He gave a smile that seemed genuine enough, although I noticed right away it being infused with a hint of sadness and age.

*

The man's features were deep with bony cheeks, lush beard and grey hair. He didn't seem old exactly, barely out of the his best years, only recently having stepped into the group one would call "elderly". My eyes were drawn to his broad shoulders - judging by his stature and general posture, I would say he was a man I wouldn't want to have a fistfight with, despite his considerable age.

  His eyes, which were behind a set of round spectacles, however, had deep, dark circles around them. He seemed tired, and when he started speaking his voice was that of an old man, much older than his outward appearance would suggest.

"Ah, so you've arrived."

He extended his hand. I removed my gloves and grasped it. The handshake was firm, his grip steady, yet I sensed muscles shaking underneath the facade of steadiness.

"I hope your journey went well despite the storm?"

I smiled and assured him that, despite the roads being muddy and the storm ambushing our carriage, there had been not much trouble. He seemed contented with my answer and continued;

"Let us go warm ourselves by the fire, it's much more comfortable there. This window is letting draft in, don't you agree? I must remember to get it fixed soon. These windows are like that, always letting draft in, I should get them all replaced... but I'm rambling."

He got up with a grunt, the chair underneath him giving a slight, squawking sigh as he lifted his weight. I was surprised as he stumbled and almost fell – perhaps he wasn't in that good of a shape I had assumed. I offered hand to give balance, and he accepted the help, saying;

"Thank you friend. My, uh, health hasn't been that what it used to be. These cold nights of late autumn are getting into my bones more and more each year and the manor, despite being build sturdy, is starting to show its age with its leaky windows and all that. But let us forget that for now and go warm ourselves by the fire."

We walked at the hearth. I sat down to one of the old but comfortable, cushioned chairs. This close the heat was much more prominent, though still manageable – I could already feel the chill of the journey beginning to melt, the warmth penetrating my very being, warming me from the inside. I smiled and extended my hands; the feeling of warmth was nice, and as I looked about the luxurious ballroom I couldn't help but envy the man's wealth.

  The man sat next to me with a sigh – it was as if the walk from the window to the fire had exhausted him, like he'd accomplished some great and challenging deed by the simple act of traversing across the room. I wondered what had reduced such a stern, stoic looking man into a state such as this. He gazed in the fire and said, not taking his eyes away from the flames while speaking;

"Ah, but where are my manners - James!"

The receptionist – a butler as well, I now assumed - walked in and positioned himself next to us by the fire.

"Yes, Sir?"

The man glanced at him, then me.

"Get me a whiskey. What would you like, friend?"

I motioned to him that anything would do, but then changed my mind and announced that a shot of whiskey sounded good indeed. The butler vanished with hasty steps and soon arrived back with a pair of glasses and a bottle on tray. He poured an exact amount of whiskey into both our glasses and handed them to us. I was impressed by his quick and precise movements – he must've been at the man's service for a long time, judging by his expertise.

"Ah, nothing like a shot of whiskey on a stormy October night."

The man had already downed the shot in one short gulp whilst I decided to savour the taste a bit longer. The whiskey was certainly of good quality, but being the amateur I was I couldn't recognize its exact brand. I thanked both the man and the butler, announcing my positive opinion of the drink at the same time. The butler filled his master's glass without saying a word, his face wooden, not taking my words into account. The old man started speaking;

"Yes yes, indeed. This," he motioned at the bottle on the tray; "is our old family whiskey. Produced by my very own father years ago, when I still was but a mere boy."

He continued while holding the glass up, examining its contents.

"Sadly I never learned the craft – father passed away too soon and he alone held the secret. Now all that's left are these old reserves that I must enjoy by myself - as you know, there's not many people to drink with around nowadays."

He added with a grunt of disdain;

"Not many decent people, that is. Even less I would call friends."

He then smiled, downed the shot with one smooth motion and continued;

"You, my friend, are of course an exception."

I smiled and drank the last of my shot. This time it tasted bitter, but I paid no mind.

*

I was gazing at the fire, listening to the cracking of the wood and whistling of the wind outside when he began;

"So, are you ready to hear about the dream?"

I jolted awake. The journey must've taken its toll as the warmth of the fire, coupled with the shot of whiskey, had almost made me fall asleep. I let out a small sound of approval, signaling for him to continue as I flexed and attempted to mask my yawn.

"Well then, I shall tell you about it – I'm sure you're eager to hear it, as it's the reason why you are here, after all."

The man adjusted his round spectacles and continued speaking while I stared at the flames, trying not to fall asleep. I requested another shot of whiskey and the butler was there like a shadow, ready to fill my glass. I needed something to keep my mind occupied and the bitter taste of whiskey would have to serve the purpose – although I had to be careful not to drink too much or I might lose my focus... a fact I fast learned as I had already missed some of the man's words;

"...as they're getting more and more frequent. The details of the dream seems to be getting sharper each night, and I can remember even the smallest things now with the most disquieting clarity."

I glanced at the man, trying to determine if he had noticed my absent-mindedness, but he seemed absorbed in his own words, speaking as if not conversing with me at all but residing thoughts out loud.

"I guess I should start from the beginning, describe the dream as best I can. There's not much to tell, however, as the dream itself is rather short – most of the... gist, of the essence, lies in the feeling rather... in the physical as well mental aberrations it has left in me."

The man drew breath and continued. I took a sip of whiskey.

"So I find myself in this small room, or a chamber more precisely. I cannot be sure of its exact measures as I am surrounded by darkness. Now, this darkness is not exactly darkness in the typical sense, you must understand. It's... it's rather difficult to describe, but I shall try."

The man motioned for the butler. He stepped in with the tray and the man grabbed the bottle and poured a shot for himself.

"You see, this darkness is more than mere absence of light. It is black and dark, of course, but there's a more concrete substance to it. Like a thick cloud, a densely packed body of various gasses, it shifts around constantly like liquid. It's not the fact alone that one cannot see through it, one cannot hear nor feel through it – if one were stupid enough to reach for it with his own hand, that is."

The man drank the shot and promptly poured himself another. He must've downed four or five shots by now, and I wondered how many more he could handle without getting intoxicated - though so far they seemed to have bothered him little. He continued;

"Now you might ask, my friend, that if I am surrounded by this impenetrable darkness one cannot even feel through, then how, exactly, can I even be there? Well the answer is simple – I am, indeed, surrounded by it, but I'm being protected by a small halo of shimmering light. This light comes from a... hole, in the ground, one I'm standing next to. To be precise, it's not just a hole, its a well."

Hearing that last word woke me up from the slumber I had been slowly succumbing into, despite my best efforts. I shifted my body in the chair, straightened my back and requested another shot of whiskey. The man handed me the bottle and I poured myself a drink. As I looked around the butler had vanished into the shadows, seemingly having fulfilled his purpose and seen he's not needed anymore. I could hear the grandfather clock turning gears as my host continued;

"Yes, it is an old well. I understand this as I step next to it and peer down into the darkness – except that there's no darkness, as I have already explained to you. I'm being surrounded by this faint halo of silvery light coming from the well. As I look down I see that the light is far away, deep in the well, a tiny circular ball shining up from some unfathomable depth, barely reaching the surface. Yet it is enough to shield me from the darkness."

The man sighed deep, and now for the first time took his gaze away from the fire to look at me. His eyes looked even more tired and he seemed a bit drunk, although it was still hard to tell. He motioned in the air, was about to speak, but then noticed the servant no longer in the room.

"James has left, hm? Well, no reason to yell for him and make the man run back again. Could you please do a favour for an old man and add some more wood into the fire?"

I nodded and stood up. To my surprise the whiskey had gotten into me as well, and I felt slightly light-headed. I stumbled at the hearth, took a few pieces of wood that lay next to it and threw them in. A shower of sparks and flames erupted from the waning pile of embers. The wood appeared to be dry and of good quality - old birch, most likely.

"Thank you, friend. Please sit down and I'll continue - if you're not feeling too tired yet?"

I assured him that I was very awake and in good spirits, eager to hear what he had to say. After I had sat down and taken a sip of whiskey, he continued, looking at the newly-ignited fire with the same tired, hollow eyes;

"So, here I am, every night, standing next to the well with the darkness surrounding me. Nowhere to go. Usually at this point I understand I have two, or perhaps three, depending on how you count, choices presented to me."

He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, then continued;