The Prophecy Writer

The Prophecy Writer

By Angela Fitz-William

Copyright 2013 Angela Fitz-William

Smashwords Edition

CHAPTER 1

For gifts to pass, one must write the other in

Final verse for the old, the start for the new

Write carefully or the world could fall

Write wisely for this Prophecy will be your last

I’m home! Bee shouted as she walked in the door. Bee was an independent, quirky fifteen-year-old wearing secondhand clothes and a confused look on her face.

No one replied, not even Jim who usually gave her a friendly bark from his favourite spot at the foot of the stairs.

Bee was expecting either or her Aunt or her Uncle to answer. Bee lived with them in an 1800s farmhouse that they had done almost nothing to, in a small town in the countryside. It was beautiful and only a little lonely.

When Bee felt like she wanted company she’d take walks in the countryside and draw pictures of all the things that grew there. Bluebells, wild daffodils and roses were the only company she needed.

Bee looked around and yelled to her Aunt and Uncle again. Once again, there was no answer. She started to get a little worried. They hardly ever went out. Bee walked into the kitchen to find the stove was on with a pot of soup waiting to be heated next to it.

Bee flicked the stove off and explored the rest of the house. Nothing. Unless they were playing some elaborate game of hide and seek, they were gone. She really didn’t know what to do. She thought about calling the authorities, but doubted they’d do anything after only a few hours of being missing.

There was really nothing to do but wait. Not something Bee was particularly good at, but she didn’t have a choice. Bee sighed. That was the way with most things you had to wait for, she thought. If you could choose to make time go faster, then you would.

The day before everything had seemed normal, at least as loosely as the word ‘normal’ could be applied to her Aunt Erica and Uncle Ron.

Yesterday evening they were having waffles for dinner, Bee’s all time favourite breakfast for dinner.

Hmmmm, Bee said as she breathed in the wonderfully sweet smell of caramelized sugar and batter.

We thought we’d better do something special tonight, Aunt Erica replied as she poured another spoonful of batter into the waffle grill.

Erica, Uncle Ron said her name like a warning.

What? asked Bee as she scooped a large creamy wafflely spoonful into her mouth.Is there something special about tonight?

Oh nothing dear, Aunt Erica reassured her.

How was school today? her Uncle asked. Learn anything particularly useless or pointless?

Have to memorise the periodic table of elements for science, Bee answered.

Her Uncle suddenly got very animated and threw his hands up in the air. Oh how pointless! Don’t they know you’re an artist, not a scientist?

I try to tell them, but they don’t believe you really know what you want to do in life at fifteen, Bee told him as she continued to devour her plate of waffles. She ignored the sick feeling in her stomach from all the sweetness and kept eating – you don’t get waffles for dinner every day of the week.

Of course you do, Erica chimed in. I knew exactly what I wanted at fifteen.

Which was? Bee asked.

To live in the country and garden, she replied. And marry your Uncle.

You wanted to marry Uncle Ron at fifteen?

Uncle Ron chuckled, I didn’t even know who she was. I was two years older – so she may as well have been invisible.

Plus I hadn’t developed my chest yet, Erica said as she walked her ample bosom and a plate of waffles to her husband.

Please… eating, Bee warned.

Anyway, I knew I wanted to marry your Uncle and we’ve been really happy. Suddenly tears pricked Erica’s eyes. Ron gave her hand a squeeze.

Oh you guys are so cute, Bee told him. Between you two and the waffles I think I need a cup of water.

Bee began to make herself some toast. Her aunt and uncle had always told her that you couldn’t deal with a crisis on an empty stomach.

She was just sitting down to eat her jam and buttered brown toast when she heard someone outside on the front porch.

Who’s there? she yelled and ran for the door.

Bee swung open the door to find that there was no one there. She was about to close the door when she noticed a package on the front door mat.

It was a box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. It had her name and address written on it and some postage stamps. But the postman didn’t deliver at seven pm at night.

Hello? Bee called into the night. No one answered her. Very strange.

Bee took the package inside to the living room and sat down.

The living room was wallpapered with samples, so it gave the effect of the patchwork quilt on the walls. Her Aunt and Uncle had purchased the samples at a car-boot sale for three pounds. Bargain.

She opened the package carefully and discovered inside the box was an old-fashioned ink pen, some black ink to refill it with, a blank leather notebook and an envelope. Inside the envelope was a letter. Bee skipped to the end and saw that it was signed by her aunt and uncle.

It read: Dear Bee, if you have received this box it means that what was predicted came true. We’re so sorry to leave you. We thought you might need these supplies. Our parting gift to you. Destiny comes for us all eventually. We love you so much and have been very happy to look after you while you grew up. Try not to learn to many useless things. Love, Erica and Ron.

They left me? Bee said, disbelieving. They can’t leave me! They’re my legal guardians.

She suddenly felt very afraid. Who was going to look after her now? Pay the bills? Sign her P.E excuse notes? Drive the car?

Bee noticed there was something else in the envelope and reached inside. It was a small scrap of newspaper, dated 1978. On the other side, in a blank space written in the sky of a photograph was a four-line note, in very small cursive writing. Writing that some part of Bee recognized as belonging to her mother.

She arrived, and after ten and five they shall leave.

Only just begun will have a new beginning.

When the rain falls and the thunder rumbles,

Beware the Stranger at the door

What does that mean? Bee said to herself.

She looked up as a raindrop hit the window, and then another and another. Then the flash of lightening and seconds later the low, heavy rumble of thunder..

Now that’s a little weird, Bee thought, as she looked down at the small piece of paper in her hand.

When the rain falls and the thunder rumbles, she read out loud. Just a coincidence….

She got up and walked towards the window as someone ran out of the darkness towards the house and right up to the window. Bee took a step back in fright as the person, if that’s what you could call it, pressed their hands and face to the glass.

Help me, the thing asked weakly and fell to the ground.

Bee looked at the note again: Beware the Stranger at the door. Well technically it was at the window, so she felt fairly safe in going outside.

Are you all right? Bee poked at the thing collapsed under her window with her finger.

She guessed it had to be human, it spoke English after all, but it didn’t look human, it didn’t really look like anything she’d ever seen before. It was small, like the size of a five-year-old child, but quite wrinkly. She guessed it was probably male although she had no idea if the abundance of hair on his hands, arms and feet were a male thing or a species thing. He was dressed rather nicely, very tidy and well put together in a little suit jacket and pants.

Bee also figured he was small enough that she could pick him up. He didn’t smell bad and rain was beginning to soak them both.

Okay, don’t bite me or anything, Bee told the unconscious form as she lifted him up and carried him inside. He was surprisingly light, even taking its small size into account.

Bee took it inside and put it on the sofa, covering him with a blanket. Maybe a warm cup of soup might help?

She left him in the living room while she went to the kitchen to heat some soup. When she had a steaming cup ready she took the cup into the living room and waved it under the creatures nose. It woke up suddenly, nearly knocking the cup out of her hand. He grabbed the cup, downed the whole thing in six seconds and looked at her.

More? he asked.

Bee got him another couple of cups of soup before he seemed warmed up and more relaxed. He just sort of stared at her.

Um, I hope you don’t mind me asking but, what are you and why were you outside my house? Bee sat opposite him in an armchair.

I’m Hale and I’m a gnome, Hale replied, completely seriously.

A gnome? Bee repeated.

Yes.

Bee bit her lip gently for a second before replying, There are no such things as gnomes.

Really? Hale asked, Then what am I?

I’m not sure, maybe you have some sort of genetic disorder or something? Bee said and nibbled on her lip again. So why are you here?

He frowned, I’m not sure. One minute I’m at home and the next I’m being chased through the woods.

Chased? Bee asked nervously.

Yes. Not sure what it was but it wasn’t feeling friendly towards me.

Did whatever chase you follow you here? Bee looked at the piece of paper in her hand.

Hale leaned forward and stared at the paper, Is that what I think it is?

What do you think it is?

A Prophecy. I thought I felt one close by, Hale answered and stared at it. Will you read it to me?

It’s a Prophecy? Bee asked.

Hale nodded in reply. Please, I’ve never seen a Prophecy before – not an original anyway.

Okay then, Bee agreed and read it out loud, She arrived, and after ten and five they shall leave. Only just begun will have a new beginning. When the rain falls and the thunder rumbles, beware the Stranger at the door.

Stranger? Hale squeaked. It says Stranger?

Yeah. Beware the Stranger at the door, Bee repeated the line and Hale started to shake. What’s wrong?

We have to go. Hale said.

Go where?

Anywhere but here. Hale jumped up from the couch with surprising speed.

Should I pack a bag or anything? Bee asked, I mean how long will we be gone?

Not sure, no time. Hale shook his head nervously.

Are you serious? I’m perfectly safe inside my home. I can lock the doors and things.

You can’t lock a door against a Stranger, Hale tugged on her arm. Come, come, we must get going.

Bee hesitated. She quickly thought about her situation, Bee prided herself on thinking quick in a crisis. Nothing had been normal since she got home that day. Her brain told her she was probably going crazy from the shock of being abandoned by her Aunt and Uncle, but part of her felt she knew this had been coming. A small part of her had noticed the signs that the conscience part of her brain had ignored.

On impulse she tipped out the school books in her back pack and put the things her Aunt and Uncle sent her in it, tucking the Prophecy into her jeans pocket.

Let’s go, Bee told Hale.

There was a knock on the door.

Beware the Stranger at the door, Hale repeated the line of the Prophecy before he grabbed her arm. Where’s the back door?

Bee and Hale raced to the back door and they ran through it into the soggy fields.

Don’t look back, Hale yelled as they ran. Do not look back.

I’m not looking back, I’m too busy looking forward. Bee grumbled at him as she tripped a little.

The fields were squishy from the rain that still fell. In seconds Bee and Hale were soaked through, their breath coming in puffs of warmth as their bodies cooled in the night air.

The moon was almost completely covered in clouds and it got harder and harder for Bee to see where she was going. Hale seemed to have no problem finding his footing as they ran towards the forest.

Where are we going? Bee breathlessly asked Hale, suddenly wishing she hadn’t got her Aunt and Uncle to write so many P.E. excuse notes.

The woods, I can hide us there, Hale replied without slowing down.

What’s the Stranger? Bee asked.

No talking, just running. Hale pulled her hand and lead her into the very dark forest.

Bee suddenly had a load of butterflies in her stomach to go with the pain in her chest from running and her chattering teeth.

Hale led Bee into the forest until they got to a tree. Hale climbed the tree and Bee tried to follow him, but she was tired and could barely pull herself up to the first branch.

Must keep climbing, Hale told her.

I can’t, Bee complained. "I don’t have enough energy.

Come on, it’s not far. Hale grabbed Bee’s hand and helped haul her into the tree.

The tree was hollow at the center where all the branches met. Someone had built a canopy from branches like a little nest with a roof. It was lined with straw and was surprisingly warm and comfortable.

Bee leaned back against the tree and breathed heavily, feeling more and more tired as she warmed up. Fig listened in the hole that served as a door.

What’s a Stranger? Bee asked again,