***
It was three fast weeks after hearing the news, before Carol and her parents were to start on their journey. With only one day left before their departure, Carol sat on the floor near the last empty box she had, staring at the things she had left to pack. Carol wondered if by now it was safe to take the things out from under the bed.
Since it was daylight now, it should be safe. Even so, what if they are hiding under there? It’s dark and safe for them under the bed with all my things blocking out the light, but there shouldn’t be enough room. Still, each time Carol started to reach for one of the things under the bed, she would end up drawing her hand away.
Passing by Carol’s room, her mother paused at the doorway to look in on her daughter’s progress. Carol was still sitting next to the same empty box, staring at the things under her bed.
“Why don’t you take a break from your room and see if your father needs any help?”
Carol did not need to be asked twice. Carol was on her feet and out the door, before her mother could say another word.
After helping her father with a few things outside, Carol slowly returned to her room to finish the chore of packing. A deep sense of relief washed over her, as she stood in her doorway looking into her room. Her mother had stayed behind and finished packing everything Carol still had under her bed. She had even taken apart the bed and leaned it against the wall.
“How silly I was for believing that anything could be hiding under there,” Carol mused to herself.
Carol watched out the back window of the cab with mixed feelings. Sighing, Carol slumped back down in the seat. She wondered if moving across the ocean to America would better their lives, or if it would have the same horrid creatures that the old man had warned them about living under their beds over there too. Carol had not paid much attention to the sounds in her room at night until after hearing the old man’s warning. Now the noises coming from under her bed had her wondering if what he said was really true.
No, everyone said America was a land of opportunity, and full of milk and honey. There is no way something as evil as the creatures that he spoke of could live in a place as wonderful as America.
With the old car and most of their larger belongings sold, they were able to pay for passage to America by freighter. The rest of the money would go for food and rent, until her father received his first paycheck from his new job.
Arriving at the ship, the few passengers who had decided to travel by freighter were briefly informed on the ship rules and told that most of their items would need to be stowed below, due to the small size of the cabins.
Walking up the ramp to get on the ship, Carol paused to have a look around. As she peered into the dark shadows, on the ship, Carol couldn’t help wondering if the creatures hiding under her bed at home were also hiding under the beds on the ship.
These fears were short lived, after seeing the beds in the cabin. The cabins did not have any real beds for little creatures to hide under, instead, there were only these funny narrow boards attached to the wall and stacked over one another. Being the smallest, Carol was assigned the top bunk. Great, she thought, as she scampered up to the top.
Looking out the porthole, which was about six inches above her bunk, Carol asked her mother, “The water can’t get in here, can it?” while watching her put away their things in a small wooden box attached to the floor.
“No, Dear, the water can’t get in here.” Her eyes were a soft blue. They could give anyone a sense of security, with only a glance.
Climbing back down and standing in the middle of the cabin, Carol continued to survey her surroundings. I honestly don’t mind having to climb up so high off the floor to get into bed. The water will take longer to get up there, just in case Mom is wrong, Carol reasoned with herself.
Later that afternoon, after a long and boring departure, Carol made her way over to the railing, to peer over the side to see what might be on the horizon. There was not much to look at. The water went on in every direction, as far as she could see.
The small waves gently rocked the ship, as it chugged along. The air was crisp and clean, with the tangy smell of salt.
The passengers numbered about forty or so, and they were all adults, from Carol’s last attempt to count them. “I guess not many people wanted to travel across the ocean on a cargo ship,” Carol reasoned.
After a few days at sea, Carol stood, wondering what day it was. Maybe it’s Friday? But she honestly didn’t know or care. It’s easy to lose track of what day it is out on the open water. Each day was much the same as the last.
Nearly falling asleep while leaning on a nearby post, a flicker of something silvery-grey caught Carol’s attention. Standing up straighter, she grabbed hold of the railing and stared into the water. Not spotting anything, she turned around and started to head off to check on what her mother might be up to, when she again caught sight of a flash of silvery-grey. There was another, then another. The fish she finally spotted were not swimming, but leaping out of the water.
Not able to contain her excitement, Carol grabbed hold of a crew member as he passed by and asked what sort of fish these were jumping and practically flying out of the water.
Setting down the box he had been carrying, he carefully leaned over the railing to determine what kind they were that Carol had tried to describe to him.
After watching the fish flying in and out of the water for a few minutes, he replied “Them ain’t any fish, them be dolphins. They brings us good luck.” Picking up the box, he then returned to his duties without as much as a ‘Good bye.’
In need of an activity to occupy her time, with something other than watching for fish, Carol began to tell stories of adventure, based on these mysterious flying fish. Instead of fish, they became flying dragons and wizards. Surprisingly, Carol hadn’t given much thought to how deep the water might be or if there were any pirates laying claim to these waters. These questions, along with her imagination, led to excellent ideas and tales of adventure.
With her imagination in full swing, Carol wasted no time in creating stories about princesses in need of rescuing from pirates that had come to steal the treasure and kidnap the princess. The pirates’ plans were always foiled by a dashing captain who had come to save the day. Of course, the princess and the captain would sail off into the sunset to live happily ever after.
One day, while telling a particularly good story to a seagull perched on a nearby box, Carol caught the attention of a passing couple who sat down to listen to the rest of the story.
“You should share your stories more often, young lady,” the woman said, while patting Carol on the head.
The thought of other passengers being interested in hearing stories of adventure, started Carol right away on planning what the next story would be based on.
The next day, Carol spotted the same couple sitting on a couple of deck chairs. Carol took in a quick breath, as she came to a stop a few feet away from them. Did they honestly want to hear another story or were they just being polite?
“Oh, my dear, how are you?” the tall slender woman asked.
“Good,” Carol replied.
“Did you have any more stories?” the women asked, smiling.
“Well, yes, I did have one more,” Carol answered, excited at having them ask her, instead of the other way around.
With a wide broken grin, her husband patted his hand on top of the crate nearest to them, and said, “Come, sit. I too would love to hear another story of adventure in lands far, far away.”
Carol needed no more coaxing than that and promptly hopped up on top of the crate to begin telling them her newest story. At the end, they politely applauded and seemed genuinely entertained.
Word of her stories spread quickly around the ship. Two days later, Carol had most of the passengers coming to listen to her tell her stories near the wheelhouse, since it was the only place free of enough cargo boxes for everyone to be able to sit, without being too crowded.
>
However, the number of listeners soon dwindled, as the stories became repetitious and predictable. The hero can only rescue the princess so many different ways, before people become bored and find something else to do.
One evening, after climbing up on the crate to get ready, Carol patiently waited for someone to come and hear her story for the night. After waiting for an hour, Carol sighed as she climbed down to return to her cabin. Sadly, no one came to listen this time, no one at all.
Deciding that she liked having people come to hear her stories, Carol was determined to create new and entirely different stories to grab the interest of the other passengers. But, what kind of adventure should I try to build my stories on? That was the question.
The next afternoon, Carol sat, staring blankly out to sea. After an hour, her thoughts remained as empty as the horizon. She kept thinking, There has to be something that I can use to come up with a story that people will want to come and listen to.
Feeling a slight chill as the breeze brushed across her bare arms, Carol’s attention was brought back into focus. Looking around, she realized that she hadn’t noticed how dark it had become. Feeling a little uneasy, almost like someone or something was watching her, Carol quickly gathered her things to go back inside.
Deciding to take a shortcut, by half-stepping and half-jumping over a pile of ropes, Carol came crashing down on the deck. Carol’s eyes widen with fear when she found herself staring into two large red eyes, which were attached to one of the largest rats she had ever seen. Its body was covered with dirty brown hair. The rat had what looked like a deep scar running across its right shoulder. Carol guessed he must have had a run-in with one of the cats on board the ship.
Carol’s imagination began to race wildly in every direction at once, as she tried to scramble to her feet. Without looking back, both the rat and Carol disappeared in opposite directions.
Coming to a stop inside the main hatchway, Carol leaned against the wall.
“I could have been dragged away and never seen again,” Carol gasped for air, as she tried to calm back down.
“That’s it!” Carol scurried off towards the cabin. The scare she just had and the thoughts of being carried off, reminded her of the campfire stories. Everyone always came to listen to those stories.
Stopping just short of her cabin doorway, Carol hesitated for a moment. She had managed to push the story told by the odd little man almost completely out of her mind, until now. The smile drained from her face, as she walked into their cabin and climbed up onto her bunk to rest. The warning the old man at the campground had told played itself out in her mind.
Over the next few days, Carols’ audiences grew as the stories she began to tell, slowly became darker and more perilous, centering on creatures that would come out only under the cover of darkness.
The stories continued to progress more towards fighting off wicked little creatures and demons, conjured up by an evil sorcerer who took immense pleasure in terrorizing the surrounding kingdoms.
Sometimes, the demons were unusually strong and powerful enough to pick you up and fly off with you. Other times, the creatures Carol spoke of, were extremely small and hid in dark shadows, waiting to grab you under the very noses of the others living in the same house.
Carol found it quite odd that the stories she told about the smaller creatures seemed to scare the passengers more, perhaps because you couldn’t always spot them coming.
Word of the changes in her stories made their way around the ship faster than news of the stories did the first time. Even some of the crew, when off duty, would stop by to listen.
Having so many people come to hear her tell stories made Carol feel very important and encouraged her to make each story scarier than the last.
In need of an idea for her story the next night, Carol reluctantly decided to base her story, even more, on the vile hideous creatures that hid in the shadows and under the bed.
It would be well after the sun had succumbed to the spell of the moon and had given up the sky to her, when Carol’s mom or dad would come to collect her. Saying goodnight to all who had come to listen to her stories, Carol would leave them with an open invitation to return for more stories the next night.
Stopping to gaze out at the sea, Carol marveled at how different it looked from the day. At night, the soft blues and greens were replaced by a dark, shiny pool of black ink, which the sky used to obscure itself. It was so dark, that you were unable to tell where the sky ended and the water began. Carol was sure the sea held many secrets and many fears in the depths of its murky water. To any who cast their eyes upon it during the night, it would bring no comfort.
Carol thought back to the passengers who had come to hear the story that she had shared for the evening. One small, old man stood out in her mind above all the rest. He did not come to hear her stories when she first began. He had not started coming until after the stories became more about things hiding in the shadows or under your bed.
The old man sat each night, with his hands folded in his lap. He always wore the same dark hat with a wide brim, along with the same black gloves. His left hand, which he favored, appeared to have been severely injured at some point. Even though he never removed his gloves, Carol was still quite certain of this.
He reminded her of the creepy old man, who had first told the story about the creatures that she had based her stories on recently. His eyes had the same lifeless appearance about them. They seemed to be filled with a deep sadness and sense of loss.
Even though his clothes were loose fitting and hung on his small frame, Carol would see him shiver, sometimes violently. She didn’t know if this was from listening to her stories, or from the wind that would suddenly come sweeping up off the cold ocean water, whistling and howling, as it twisted its way across the deck, carrying on its back, the voices of the lost souls claimed by the sea.
When Carol happened to glance in his direction, she would try not to stare at his hand. Instead, she would look at the others who had come, as they listened intently to the stories that Carol had prepared for them each night.
Most of the passengers appeared to enjoy being scared. They would all sit very close together, “safety in numbers,” one dark-haired man quipped, as he squeezed his way into the middle of the group of people who had come to listen.
Everyone that is, except for the old man. He would return each night, sitting in the same place on a crate that had been tied down to keep it from shifting. The crate sat about ten feet away from where Carol would sit to tell her stories.
Carol would sometimes find herself watching him while he sat under one of the oil lanterns. She could almost swear that she could see strange shapes hidden in the shadows surrounding him. Sometimes, the shapes appeared to be alive with the way they shifted and changed form. It was almost as if the shadows were taunting him, although she knew that could not possibly be true.
Even at night, he wore a wide-brimmed hat, which obscured part of his face. This made it difficult to see if his expression ever changed. The part of his face that she could see looked ashen and not real at all. It was more like something that she would describe in one of her stories. Carol could not help wondering what would make someone appear so sad. At times, he seemed to be somewhere else for a moment or two.
He always sat with his staff lying nearby. His staff was the most beautiful hand carved piece of wood that Carol had ever seen. One night, during an exceptionally bright moon, she was able to get a better look at the ornate details carved into the wood. Studying it, she noticed that near the bottom of the stick there was an area that looked like it had been chewed on, perhaps by a dog.
As Carol continued to stare at it, she felt the queerest shivering sensation making its way up her back and neck and continuing over the top of her head. Tearing her eyes quickly away from the staff, Carol worked hard to get herself to focus on telling the story.
After finishing for the night, Carol’s thoughts returned to the staff, I wo
nder why he never had a staff as beautiful as this one repaired? Perhaps he wanted to wait until we arrived in America to have it fixed.
Each night, if he was not in his usual place when Carol came to tell her story, she would sit chatting with the others that had come, while she waited for him to arrive. Carol knew when he was near, because she could hear the tapping of his staff.
Sometimes, while telling her story, she would notice small changes in his expression. He would grimace at the parts in the stories that mentioned someone who had failed to escape the fate of being pulled into the shadows and never seen again. Once, Carol thought she saw him begin to weep, but still, he came every night without fail.
Enjoying the attention, but not able to come up with a compelling story of her own one night, Carol chose to tell the same story that the strange little man at the campsite had told, but with a few added twists of her own.
As Carol continued with the story, she began to notice changes in the old man’s mannerisms and expressions. It was almost as if he had heard the story before. Carols’ thoughts drifted off, But, how could this be? I haven’t told this story before. I’m sure I would have remembered if he had been at the campgrounds while we were there. The only old man I remember being there that looked like him was the strange little man who had told this story or ‘warning’ as he had called it.
As Carol studied him for a moment, she began to wonder if this might be the same man. He seemed slightly taller, and she thought, favoring the opposite hand. It had been almost a year, and she just could not be sure.
At this point, Carol suddenly realized that everyone was staring at her. She was so lost in thought staring at the old man, that she hadn’t realized that she had stopped talking.
While Carol silently gazed in the direction of the old man, the other passengers first looked towards her, then over in his direction, in an attempt to ascertain what she found so engrossing over there.
Carol tried to shake the odd feeling that she got from him, that somehow, somewhere; he too had heard a story like this one. Perhaps he heard it while he was a child sitting by a campfire, while the elders told ghost and goblin stories designed to strike terror into the hearts of the other campers. Carol had no way of knowing. Dismissing the thought, she returned to telling her story.
This night continued to be different in many ways. Most nights, when the passengers would gather to hear the story that Carol had prepared for them, some would sit and listen with only moments of pretend terror on their faces. Afterwards, the listeners would come up to her and comment on what a fine story they thought she had told.
However, this evening the fear on their faces seemed real. At the end of the story, no one said a word. Instead, they all rose from their seats and quietly walked towards the hatchway leading to the passenger area.
Carol could not help but notice that some of the passengers were looking around, while they walked to their rooms. As if they were looking for anything that might be hiding under a tarp or behind a crate, waiting for an opportunity to grab them and drag them into the shadows. There was something about the story told about the creatures that hid under your bed that seemed to scare everyone more than any other type of demon or monster story.
Oddly enough, her story had succeeded in scaring even her again. Walking across the deck towards her cabin, Carol found herself looking into the dark crevasses for the same hideous creatures, as well. Just before stepping through the hatchway, she paused to look back to where the old man chose to sit each night. Everyone had left to turn in, except for him.
He remained motionless on his crate with his hand held tightly against his chest. Carol thought about walking back over to check on him, until she saw his head droop down and his shoulders start to shake, as he began to weep. Carol decided to give him some privacy. Mom had mentioned that men don’t like it when they are caught crying. Instead, Carol continued on her way to the cabin for the night.
Tonight, Carol was glad the stairs she had to walk down to get to the lower level, were open slats. This way, she was able to check if anything might be hiding underneath them.
Before climbing up onto her bunk, Carol kissed her parent’s goodnight. Then, she made sure to say an extra prayer for the old man.
She really did like having her bed as far off the floor as possible, especially when she would scare herself with one of her own stories. Carol also liked gazing out the porthole onto the water when sleep eluded her.
Each night, after the retelling of the campfire story, while lying in her bunk and gazing out the porthole, Carol couldn’t help noticing that even after her parents and the other passengers had turned out their lights, there was still one light which continued to burn throughout the night. When Carol woke the next day, she would see the same light still reflecting off the water in the early morning fog.
Curious, Carol stopped a crew member to find out who was staying in the cabin above theirs. After finding out that it was the same old man who came out to hear her stories each night, Carol decided to ask him, the next time she saw him, why he left his light burning until the early morning, so often.
Could my stories be to blame?
With the morning fog lifting, Carol decided to venture outside to see if she might be able to spot any more dolphins leaping out of the water. Once up on the main deck, she came across the old man already watching, as the dolphins played in the bow wake.
Quietly approaching, Carol stood off to the side a little, where she figured he would take notice of her, but far enough away in case he didn’t want any company.
Turning slightly, he looked at Carol. He then turned back toward the water without saying a word.
Carol could not seem to shake the strange feeling of disquiet she felt when his eyes met hers.
“Good morning?” was the only thing Carol could think to say. However, the greeting came out as more of a question.
Glancing again toward Carol, with what appeared to be a forced smile, he returned the greeting.
“You’re staying just above our cabin,” Carol commented, as she stepped up on a box to peer over the railing. “I see your light shining on the water at night and sometimes into the next day,” she explained.
Carol sensed the old man was wondering how she knew it was his cabin. Carol ventured on to answer him. “I asked one of the crew, who was staying above our cabin.”
“Yes, that is my room,” he replied meekly, while continuing to stare off into the distance.
“You come every night to listen to the stories that I tell for everyone,” Carol continued, while fidgeting with a rope hanging to the right of her. “I hope it’s not my stories that have you keeping your light on so late into the night.”
He remained silent, as he stared at her with his pale eyes.
Until now, Carol hadn’t been close enough to notice that they were almost a lifeless shade of grey. They gave her the strangest feeling of despair, like that of a lost soul or someone who had lost interest in life itself.
Laughing softly he reassured Carol that it was not her stories that kept his light burning into the night. He had trouble sleeping. “The night holds things far worse than you can imagine. I keep my light burning bright, in order to keep guard. I often fall asleep just before dawn, leaving my light to stand vigil alone.”
This last statement left Carol quite confused and feeling uneasy. She did not know if he was trying to give her ideas for her stories or if he honestly feared the dark that much. There seemed to be something so sad about this odd little man. The laugh he had, while talking with her, sounded hollow and forced.
“Where did you get the idea for the story you told a few of nights ago? Have you ever really seen one of these creatures?” he queried, without looking away from the water.
“They’re not real, you know. I had just heard a story about them once,” Carol explained, not looking away from the water herself. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.
At that, he turned and looked do
wn at Carol with a piercing stare, filled with pain and thinly veiled terror. Swallowing hard, Carol looked up at him, as the same cold shiver that she felt the first time she stared at the carvings on his staff, crawled across her skin.
In an attempt to break the tension, Carol asked one more time if he felt okay. She told him that they would reach the end soon.
“Sooner than you think, Young Miss,” he replied, while taking in a deep labored breath. “…sooner than you think.”
This made Carol feel very peculiar. In an effort to shake it off, she tried to assure him, “When we reach the new land, it will be okay.”
He sighed while patting Carol on the head. Speaking just above a whisper, he uttered, “If only that were true; if only that were true...”
As he turned to leave, he stopped and stood for a moment while staring at the deck. Dropping his shoulders slightly lower, he turned halfway back to face Carol. “They are called Syeribus,” he said in a low voice, as he looked around.
Carol found herself looking around too. However, she wasn’t sure why or for what. After a few seconds passed, Carol asked, “Syeribus?”
“Yes,” he replied, “the creatures you speak of in your stories; they are called Syeribus. No one knows where they first came from or how long they have been here. As a boy, I would hear terrible stories about them.”
He paused and took a few breaths before continuing, “I always thought that they were stories made up to scare children that did not behave. As far as I can tell, they have been around since the beginning of time. As a boy, the stories would scare me deeply. Each night, without fail, I would check my closet and under my bed. However, after a few years, I stopped believing in them.”
The old man raised his hand up and turned it back and forth, as if he were examining it for the first time. Pausing again for a moment, he then lowered his hand back down and continued with his story, “Until one night…” he stammered, as tears welled up in his eyes. “Until one night, I was awoken by screams coming from my younger brother’s room. I leapt from my bed and ran into his room to see if he had fallen out of bed and been injured. As I rushed through his bedroom door, all I could see was my brother struggling with something. It looked as if he was trying to pull something out from under his bed. I could hear horrible sounds coming from under the bed, combined with his screams, which echoed in my ears. I reached down to grab for him, but I was too late. By the time, I realized that he had not been trying to pull something out from under the bed, instead, something had been trying to pull him under.”
“My brother and I were not the only children to be attacked or taken by Syeribus. Another boy, two houses down from ours was attacked a week before, while playing with his fire truck.”
Hearing this, Carol gasped aloud. Could this man’s neighbor be the same old man from our camping trip? The thought burned though her mind. Carol stood transfixed, as the old man wiped the tears away. His face had taken on a twisted appearance of anguish.
His entire body trembled, as he continued on, “Diving at the bed, I reached under, making a grab for my brother, only to have something tear into my hand. The pain was more than I could bear, and I had to pull back. Still, I was determined to save him. Reaching under the bed with my other hand, I felt around for my brother. I touched something, grabbed it as tight as I could, and then pulled with all my strength. I tumbled over backwards as I pulled out this!” He held the ornately carved staff up in the air. Placing it back down on the deck, he steadied himself to keep from falling.
“I shoved the stick back under the bed and began thrashing around with it. I could hear the wind rushing past me. Pulling the stick back out from under the bed, in order to take a look, I realized that everything had gone completely silent. My hand was torn and bleeding, and the pain was more than I could bear. Exhausted, I guess I passed out.”
Carol had not realized that she was gripping the hand rail so tight until her hands began to ache. Carol continued to watch his face, become more and more twisted as he continued with his story.
“I awoke the next day, in my bed, with my hand bandaged. Sitting up too quickly, I fell back onto the bed. I lay still, as I watched the walls in my room spinning around. They say I rambled on about how my brother had been taken by something under the bed. The old ones in our village would whisper, ‘Syeribus,’ as I would walk past them later in the week. The whole village came together to form search parties. They scoured the woods nearby, trying to find who had taken the boys. Some of the elders seemed to know what had taken him and the other children. Nevertheless, no one would speak of it, and no one ever found any trace of the missing children. My parents moved us to the next village over. Mother was never the same after that. She would sit for hours each day, staring out into the fields, watching for her boy to come home.”
The features of his face briefly softened. It had taken on more the look of deep sadness over the loss of his brother. To the point Carol almost believed he was telling a true story, instead of one he made up.
“Seven more children and three entire families disappeared over the next few months. It was rumored that some of the children were runaways and that the families who disappeared during the night had left in fear that whoever was taking the children, might try to take theirs too.” After a slight pause, the old man said with a nod, “But I know what really happened.”
He stood staring at his staff for a moment, and then once more lifted it up into the air. He then, pointed it at Carol and began speaking again. Carol was only able to make out small bits of what he said, when the ship began blowing its horn as it passed within sight of another ship.
Turning to walk away, he left Carol standing there bewildered, looking after him, as he slowly made his way down the walkway.
He added, while rounding the corner, “You believe they do not exist, that they are no more than a story made up to scare little children. If you only knew, Young Miss, if you only really knew. Remember what I have told you. Your very life could depend on it.”
This left Carol feeling confused and more than just a little frightened. What did he mean by that? After watching him disappear around the corner, Carol couldn’t help thinking that he was as good a story teller as the old man from the camping trip. I will have to use parts of his story to make mine as scary as his.
Unnerved by the images he had painted of horrid little creatures hiding in the shadows, Carol returned to watching the dolphins, in an attempt to shake off the feeling of trepidation they caused.
After their visit up on deck, the old man only came out to hear her stories for two more nights. The weather had changed, bringing with it, menacing clouds that hung low and heavy in the sky. The days were almost as dark as the nights.
As the days went on, the waters grew rougher, tossing the ship as if it were playing with a toy. It was hard to see out the tiny porthole, as the rain, mixing with the sea, poured relentlessly over the ship.
The frightful sounds everyone heard, as the ship creaked and moaned under the stress of the storm, accompanied by the crashing thunder, had most of the passengers very uneasy. Carol took comfort in realizing that she was not the only one scared by the storm.
Three days later, Carol awoke to several people shouting up on deck. Rolling over on her bunk, Carol began to feel ill, thinking that they were in for yet another storm.
After listening a little more closely to the shouts, Carol became excited at the sounding of the ship’s horns as they signaled the sighting of land.
Not stopping to ask permission, Carol was up and out the door and running up on deck to look at the new land that promised to bring good times to all.
The sky was filled with the tallest buildings that Carol had ever seen. They reached up into the sky, as if they were trying to touch the sun itself. Carol watched as the other passengers left the ship, to start on their new adventures.
Continuing to wave goodbye to a few of the fellow travelers that Carol had become friends with during her storyte
lling, she couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t seen the old man leave the ship with the others. He must have gotten off while I was looking away.
Finally, it was Carol and her family’s turn to disembark the ship. Taking a last look around during their departure, Carol noticed the old man’s hat and staff, leaning against a stack of crates.
While her parents waited for the luggage to be brought up from the cargo hold, Carol ventured over to inquire from a crew member standing nearby, about the hat and staff.
“He must have left them behind. Everyone on his deck has already departed,” the crew member stated with disinterest.
She knew that he was unable to walk without his staff. He must have more than one cane and forgot to grab this one, in his haste to leave the ship, made the most sense.
Yes, she thought to herself, he did seem to always be distracted by something else. This must be what has happened. He will surely return later to collect his forgotten belongings from the lost and found, when he realizes that he has left them behind.
“What happens to things that are left behind by people?”
“We have to toss them out. We don’t have any way of getting anything left behind back to anyone,” the crew member remarked, while trying to continue with his work.
“May I have that stick?” Carol was surprised to hear herself boldly ask.
The crew member stood looking at her for a while, as if he had never been asked a question like that before.
“I don’t see why not,” he shrugged, as he picked up another crate.
Carol thanked the crew member for his help, as he handed it over to her. He in turn thanked her, remarking on what a polite young lady she was.
After leaving the ship, they quickly settled down in a one bedroom flat. I must learn to call them apartments now, Carol reminded herself.
In the meantime, Carol had continued telling her stories to a group of neighbors living in the same apartment block. One tall man, a tailor by trade, commented on her ability to tell such detailed stories. “You are like a weaver of fine cloth with the weaving of your tales,” he complimented Carol.
Dad promised that this small apartment would only be for a short time, until he received a couple of paychecks from his new job.
Unfortunately, this proved to be all too true. It was only two short months later, when Carol found herself moving again and again, almost always West. Work even in the land of milk and honey became harder to find.
Finally, making it all the way to California, Carol found herself settling down in a small Desert town. Carol grimaced as she looked around for the first time. The town was as opposite as you could get from her home in England. To help keep from becoming home sick, Carol wasted little time in looking for new friends. In short order, Carol had found several other children also interested in weaving tales of adventure.
With winter approaching, Carol found herself wondering what it would be like to spend Christmas in the desert, as she looked out across the empty fields.
Carol knew, even though her father was working, and her mother was earning a little from her baking, there was not much extra money. Still, Carol was sure that they would not have to move again for a while, and that this was going to be the best Christmas ever.
Determined to make his family’s Christmas as good as he could, Carol’s father issued instructions to the two women in his life, to stay out of the garage while he worked on a surprise for them. He made sure to work on his secret project while Carol was in school and his wife was out making deliveries of her pies and cakes. This way he knew they would not be able to peek.
After working on the surprise for a week, after dinner one evening, he called his family outside. It was just after dark. The air was crisp, and the ground had just been dusted with a light layer of snow, which glistened and sparkling in the moonlight.
“Oh, my, it is beautiful out tonight,” Carol’s mother remarked, while looking around. “It hardly ever snows here. This is such a rare treat. Okay, you two, go back in the house. It’s too chilly to be out here,” she said, while trying to usher her family back inside.
“Wait, close your eyes. Both of you,” Carol’s father said, grinning from ear to ear.
Carol and her mother squirmed with anticipation. Carol wondered if her mother was also finding it difficult not to peek through her fingers. Carol tried hard to guess what the surprise was going to be, but none of her guesses fit in with the sound of her father running into the house.
“The suspense is killing me,” Carol whispered.
After what seemed like all night, finally, she heard him coming back out, panting, and quite out of breath.
“Okay, open your eyes!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, my,” Carol and her mother both said in awe, as they looked at the beautiful strings of lights hanging around the top of the roof.
“Where did you get those?” Carol’s mother asked, while sternly looking at him.
“I found them thrown out by someone, and I brought them home. I was able to fix most of the strands. They looked like mice had been chewing on them all summer.”
“They’re beautiful. Are they safe?” she asked. “And how on earth did you get them up there? You could have broken your neck.”
“You are welcome, and I love you too, Honey,” he replied, hugging them both.
“We need to go back inside, before we catch our death of a cold,” Carol’s mother warned.
Mom always was the sensible one, Carol thought as she and her father were ushered back inside the house.
Running back over to the front window, Carol looked out at the colors as they reflected off the snow. The colors are so beautiful, she thought to herself.
Carol had no way of knowing, that sadly, this was the last Christmas they were to spend together, as a family.