Seriously, weird stuff happens here.
I love graveyards, haunted houses, mansions, and abandoned mental hospitals. I have no idea why I like them except that it might have something to do with the death of my father when I was five. You know, some psychological need to prove life exists after death. I have only been frightened once, but we’ll leave that story for another day.
The day before A Shadow of Time was born my husband and I ventured out into a beautiful fall day. The air was crisp and clean and the oak leaves were a startling reddish orange. We took the back road up into the hills and were slowing down to admire some fantastic moss dripping from an old oak when I noticed a black wrought iron fence surrounding a burned down house. The place was deserted and soon enough we were out of the car and investigating. It turned out the house was not a house, but a mansion, a beautiful Victorian that at one time sat regally over her land with sideboards and turrets painted white and gold. Or so I imagined.
Part of the porch still stood silent and brooding, the stairs leading up to it cracked and broken. The door was gone, the inside destroyed, but there was a piece of what I thought was the door on which was carved a scene of remarkable beauty. It looked like an angel and the piece was very old. I didn’t keep her but laid her to rest in the soft moss and pine needles where she belonged.
As we walked the grounds we found square nails, a bit of stained glass, a broken ink well, and a shattered cup. A few steps later and I found a child’s tennis shoe. It was a red high top with the laces missing lying forlornly in razor grass. After examining the artifacts, we put them back but I began to wonder about the woman of the house, and the child, and why the house had burned down and no one repaired it.
Around the other side of the ruins was a stairway that led below, probably into a root cellar, but neither of us were brave enough to find out. I found a place to just sit and stare at what was left of a once beautiful home that had died so many years ago. Within minutes, I came up with a reason for the cellar and within a day discovered that ley lines, those ancient mystical lines that bring the spiritual and mystical to the areas they cross, lay right under the abandoned home. By that afternoon, I had the timeline of A Shadow of Time drawn out and ready to go.
I do love adventures. Just ask my granddaughter. If you say the words lets go on an adventure, she’ll run into the playroom screaming, “No more adventures, Gramma!”
Just because she doesn’t like them doesn’t mean you won’t. So, join me in taking a journey through time in the house I named, Shadow Ley.