SPOILER ALERT: UPCOMING NOVEL

The rain hammered down on his roof and the walls shuddered beneath the gusting wind. The windows rattled and shook in place as the wind howled against them, trying to force its way in. A small fire crackled in the corner of the room, embers snapping cheerfully as he stoked it with an old cast iron rod. He shuffled his way, in his flannel pyjamas, a large cardigan type sweater and grandma style pink fluffy slippers towards the kitchen area, eager for his cup of morning coffee.

Lightening struck and his lights flickered on and off and then back on again. He stopped and looked up at the ceiling, as if he could magically see through the roof. A few seconds later thunder rumbled and filled the air. He grabbed a dirty mug out of the sink and quickly rinsed it off. The rain pelted heavily against the window that sat above the sink. Big fat raindrops smushed against it and slide down quickly, like fat blobs of ice cream melting down the cone on a hot summers day. He quickly poured the coffee into the mug, took a large swig and began a hunt for candles.

He got lucky on his first guess, the top middle drawer of the kitchen island held not only candles, but several holders and matches. Carefully, he heated the bottoms of each candle and pressed it firmly into place in its respective holder. Once they were all seated and the wax solid again, he light them all, one by one. As he lit the last candle lightening struck again, this time followed by thunder much more quickly and the lights flickered once more and fell dark. He chuckled as he took another drink of his coffee. He rummaged in his cardigans pocket, found some rum and added a rather large dollop to his coffee. He took another drink and smiled fondly.

He hovered above the candles, the reflection causing shadows to dance wildly on the walls and listened to the rain fall. He closed his eyes and immediately saw her. He wondered if she was out there in the rain. Part of him speculated that no one in their right mind would be out in this weather. But she had been out in the cold evening before and her mind may or may not entirely be there. He shook his head, to clear his thoughts of her. He had work to do and didn’t need the distraction. One of the villagers had commissioned him to draw up sketches of their children in a fairy tale like story. He had already picked out the story he wanted to loosely follow and assigned each child to a character in his mind, now he only need to do the real work.

He moved the candles over towards the sitting chair near the fireplace. One on side of it stood a table and he placed the majority of the candles on it. With a single candle in his hand he wandered the room and found another table to place on the other side of the chair. After dispersing the candles as efficiently as possible, he topped up his coffee on both accounts and grabbed his sketchbook. He flipped to the first page addressed with a post it. He read his scribbles and began to sketch out two little boys playing in a field in the background while an even younger girl played by herself.

He quickly finished the basis of the first page and flipped over to the next. Read the post it, thought a moment or two and then began to sketch. He alternated between sketching, drinking coffee and stoking the fire. He stopped only briefly to refill his coffee and add wood to the fire. The morning quickly turned into the afternoon and only when his stomach rumbled louder than the storm outside did he realize how late the day had already become. Still holding his sketchbook he grabbed one of the candle stubs that was still lit and wandered over into the kitchen. He quickly made himself a sandwich and opened the sketchbook on the kitchen island. He began flipping through the pages, admiring his work, spotting areas to fix and made some quick little changes. He was halfway through his sketches when he finally noticed her face. It was small, almost unnoticeable, but it was there.

He gasped softly. He turned to the next sketch and after a few minutes he found her face hidden in it. Almost like a creepy version of ‘Where’s Waldo’. He flipped sketch by sketch until he made his way to the end and in each and every one he found at least one, sometimes two small sketches of her face hidden inside. He turned to a blank page, almost expecting her face to suddenly appear and stare him down accusingly. As if asking him why he hadn’t come to her yet. Why was he letting her suffer in the rain alone.

Instinctively he began to draw. First the stone fence that she sat on. Then the grass that lay beneath her feet. Then her foot. Slowly but surely he made his way up her legs, her dress, her waist. Like the day he first made eye contact with her he fought against himself, terrified of what her eyes may say to him. Only this time she wasn’t staring him down. She was still gazing off into the distance. Her hair, despite the torrential rain, was still soft, light and flowing in the imaginary wind. Her dress also remained dry, crisp and clean. It flowed as freely as her hair. Rain drops fell around her but none touched her. And yet, you couldn’t see that rain wasn’t falling on her.

He sighed and turned the page. He couldn’t stop himself. Her drew her face. Her eyes, her smile, the sadness that lay beneath them. The softness of her skin, the light airiness of her hair. The sparkle in her eyes that hid beneath the pain. Her pale pink lips. Her smooth, porcelain like skin. Black eyelashes that went on for days. When he finished her face he turned to another blank page and drew her again. And again and again. His fingers cried out in pain as his grip on the pencil grew tighter and tighter. Finally, he collapsed his head into his hands and onto the sketchbook as he sobbed.