awn Haven
(Originally titled Sandcastle Dreams)
By Mark Holtzclaw
"For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face." ~ 1 Corinthians 13:12
Copyright 2013 Mark Holtzclaw
ISBN: 9781301210985
March 10
Dear Journal,
It's been two days since I arrived here. And where is here… this desolate strip mall on the edge of nowhere? With not another human in sight, I found sweet salvation in this blank journal. The journal, like this strip mall was empty and waiting for someone to come and fill it with life.
So here I am, with ballpoint in hand, beginning a new life at the end of the world. Looking out this window at a slice of ocean and a piece of sky; facing west. To that metal serpent that once was a rollercoaster. Resting near the seashore with its twisting coils tangled in the afternoon light. Then there's the mechanical fortune teller, sitting in a booth behind a cobwebbed window. The rusted trailers along the fairway with the forgotten attractions now choked and covered with weeds.
And at the end of the town's only street, there is a sign which reads, “Dawn Haven - Population 75". Except now there is only one... myself: Autumn Taylor.
Why should this small oasis become desolate? And how did it become my new home?
Well the second question, I can answer.
I lived with my mother in Mill Valley, fourteen miles from the Golden Gate Bridge. I don't remember my father at all. He left when I was a baby. My mother told me that he was never meant for marriage. We moved, my mother and I, from New Jersey when I was only a few months old. We spent the past seventeen years of my life moving from place to place. So I never experienced any relatives or friends. My only real companions existed in novels and stories that my mother read to me. Books I could take along with me each time we moved. Though I must confess that without my mother now, I was very lonely. You see, she died last month and I had nowhere to go.
And I did not want to be placed in some facility or home. With the little money I had, I purchased a Greyhound ticket that would take me as far as I could go. To the end of the line...
And this was the end of the line. A few empty storefronts on a solitary lane. A vacant cinema, with aging movie posters … a forgotten train depot with overgrown tracks… Everything surrounded by the sea, the sky, and nothing.
March 11
Dear Journal,
It's amazing that I found this place, this small apartment above Morton's Mercantile. There's some canned food left from the previous owner. And this journal was just waiting for me. I found it on the rack downstairs in the shop below. There's nothing better than the fresh smell of empty pages inviting you to fill them with dreams and landscape them with your life. It had the magic ability to vacuum my loneliness away. Where should I begin today?
I decided to wriggle my way into the abandoned Rialto Theater. The faded posters of movies gone by decorated the lobby of the cinema's foyer. Traces of water damage stained the carpet and curtains. Inside the dark auditorium, a silver screen tombstone waited for ghostly shadows to dance across it again. Flickering people from another time, destined to repeat the same pantomimes over and over.
I looked back for the unseen projectionist to appear, but no phantoms dwelled there now. So I sat and waited, but the only sound I heard was the scurry of rodents. Invisible legs, moving around in the dark reaches among the theater seats. The thought made me wince, cringe and exit as fast as I could.
Outside the morning sun peeked out from a sea of clouds as I drifted to the Lost Whistle Train Depot. There was a sign informing visitors of the neighboring villages of Harlow and Winfield.
I balanced myself on the tracks while imitating a train whistling mournfully across the trestles.
"Last Stop: Dawn Haven!"
I sat down on the wood bench in front of the depot. Could it be that this place was just waiting for me? Or was it just a rest stop along the way?
I brushed myself off and strolled down the lane. I spotted a woman's boutique shop. "Irma's Passion" it was called. Inside the store window a tall mannequin stood with an outstretched arm. The shop door was open, so I ventured inside. Most of the merchandise was gone now. Only this solitary statue remained.
"So Irma, how long have you been here?" I asked the mannequin.
"Twenty-three years? Well, that's a long time to stay in one place, don't you think? I've only lived seventeen years, and I've been just about everywhere."
I was growing hungry, so I ended my conversation with Irma and started back to Morton's Mercantile. There was a can of green beans in the cupboard waiting there for me.
Autumn Taylor finished writing in her journal. She sat up on the bed and stretched. The sea breathed out buffeting the lace curtains. As she tucked the journal back to its place under her pillow, she glimpsed something behind it. Had it been there before? And if so, why had she never noticed it until now?
She reached behind the pillow to grasp the mysterious object. It was an 8 x 12 black and white photograph of a young man about her age. His beautiful eyes smiled out from another time, reaching her across the years.
Autumn took the photo downstairs and looked for an appropriate sized frame and then placed it on the wall above her bed. His image would banish any monster that travelled the night skies. Yes, whoever he was, he would indeed protect her. Of this she was certain, gazing dreamily up at the photograph.
March 12
Dear Journal,
After almost one week, I finally decided to visit the seashore. Maybe I was a bit afraid of that old rollercoaster.
The empty fairway stretched between rusty rides and abandoned booths. I sat on a frozen stallion in the park's Merry-Go-Round. The sea wind whistled through its calliope. The next moment I was exploring the Fun House, and then lost in a maze of mirrors.
The sky began to darken, so I headed back to the lane. As I rounded the fairway, I looked towards the ocean one last time and saw something that made my heart stop. My feet immediately froze.
There was a silhouette of someone standing there on the shore. They seemed to be watching the sun set into the sea.
At first, I was frightened that I had compromised my secret place and would have to leave. But the person did not appear to see me at all, so I returned quietly to the Mercantile Store before I could be discovered.
But I realized now, that I was no longer alone. And "Dawn Haven" was now a population of two."
March 13
Dear Journal,
Will I have to remain indoors now, for the rest of my time here? And who knew how long that would be. But what if I am discovered? What then? Could I say that I was just travelling through?
And who was this other stranger? And what were they doing here between the middle of nowhere and nothing?
As I thought about these things, I was interrupted by a peculiar sound outside. The lilting music drifted through the window beckoning me. The lace curtains blew apart and there was that silhouette again. Standing on the seashore with what appeared to be a flute. It sounded vaguely like Stephen Foster's "Beautiful Dreamer".
Then the figure stopped and turned, waving a hand in my direction. I had been seen!
Instinctively, I dropped down on the floor hiding. Perhaps they had not seen me at all. Maybe they were just motioning to someone -- but to who or what?
"Hello?" a voice called out from beneath my window.
Startled, I got up and peered through the lace curtains down to the sidewalk below. A young man stood there waving up at my window. How could he possibly travel so fast? Or was this somebody else?
No, this person was holding a flute in his hand.
"Hello there?" He called again. "A
re you alright? Can I come up? I promise not to bite."
I sank down the wall beside the bed wondering what to do next. I could no longer hide. This person must have perfect vision and be able to fly.
The next moment, I heard footsteps on the stairs and my heart stopped. My life was about to change, but I did not exactly know how. Fear throttled my throat and I could barely breathe as he entered the room.
He was quite beautiful, like an angel with bright golden hair that shimmered. His eyes, a radiant blue, pierced my very soul. With skin a perfect iridescent ivory. Though his clothes were unusual, and definitely out of style. It was at that moment, I realized that he was the young man in the photograph!
Offering his hand to me, I reluctantly reached out and touched him. A queer tingly feeling entered my body as he helped me onto the bed, sitting down beside me.
"You must be Autumn", he said. And with that, everything went black, for I had lost consciousness.
March 14
Dear Journal,
When I finally awakened, he was nowhere around. This mysterious creature, that knew my name and watched me from a photograph on the wall. I could not for the life of me explain what was going on. All I could think was that he must be something supernatural.
I started to sit up and began to falter. I felt weak. Perhaps I was sick and had imagined the whole thing. That would make more sense. There weren't such things as angels who looked after lost souls, were there? But I was indeed lost, in every way imaginable. And if anyone needed guidance, surely it would be me.
I made another attempt at sitting up again. But as I did, a hand reached out for me. It was him, where did he come from? He sat me up and then rested himself next to me.
Before I could say anything, he pressed a finger to his lips.
"My name is Christian. And I have been watching out for you since your arrival."
My head felt dizzy while I was trying to grasp what he was saying.
"Christian?" I repeated. How did you know my name?"
He smiled. "That was easy. You look like an autumn sort of girl. Your hair, that burnt shade of leaves, just before they fall from the trees."
He was definitely being coy with me.
"So, do you live around here, Christian?"
He bowed his head down to his chest and when he looked up again, there were those two angelic blue eyes connecting directly with my soul.
"I've lived here forever and a day. My home is by the sea."
I crinkled my nose.
"Do you mean in that abandoned amusement park?"
His eyes smiled back at me.
"You could say that, I guess."
Now he was being evasive.
"But right now, you need to rest. I've brought you some food and nourishment."
And then I noticed the tray with turkey and mashed potatoes steaming before me. Strange, that I had not seen, nor smelled them before. But then I was a bit out of sorts.
He pulled the tray and himself closer to me. I felt the warmth of the food and his presence.
"I think we will be good friends, you and me." And then he winked.
After finishing the meal, not stopping to wonder where it came from, I stood up and began to walk towards the stairs, and when I turned around he was gone. Just as quickly as he came, the room had become empty again.
Could Christian be a ghost?
March 15
Dear Journal,
I awoke this morning to the songs of birds, foretelling the return of spring. There was also the unmistakable melody of a flute, which I knew belonged to Christian. Though where he was, I did not know. But like the person in the photograph, I knew he was watching over me.
So what now? My life had changed course again. This was an unexpected turn. Though part of me feared him, I was thankful for not having to be alone again.
If I had not discovered the photograph, perhaps I would never have known him. They seemed to be connected somehow.
I got up and went downstairs. Shafts of sunlight tilted their rays through the shop window. Outside in the lane, a new day began to dawn. Stretching itself over the avenue that now had become my new home. A residence, that consisted of several empty shops, a desolate train depot, and a forgotten amusement park. It was like being on the back lot of a movie studio just after the picture finished filming. The props still intact and the facades all left standing, waiting for me to embrace as my own reality. But now there was someone to share this new world with. Or perhaps, he was sharing his world with me. But either way, I was starting to feel welcome in this misbegotten land.
I turned in the direction of the music, towards the melody of the flute. It led me down to the beach, among the arcade stalls and faded venues. And there it was, all at once, before me. The small curtained stage of a puppet show, like a Punch and Judy theater.
A solitary chair waited in front of it just for me. I sat and waited expectantly. The tiny curtain went up revealing a watercolor backdrop of a summer beach. A hand glove puppet wandered onto the stage looking about curiously. It undoubtedly represented a young woman who appeared to be lost. Then from the other side of the stage a second hand puppet appeared. This one was a young man that motioned her to follow him.
"Autumn", he called to the other puppet. "Come hither, I have some exciting news to tell."
I smiled at the realization of who the puppets were meant to be. That was considerate of Christian to take the time to create this performance just for my benefit. He must be quite talented, and yet humble to remain unseen behind a curtain. Just like all of his efforts for me went unnoticed on the empty stage of Dawn Haven. But then maybe virtue was its own reward.
After the play finished, Christian's head appeared from behind the stage, a smile glowing from ear to ear.
"I hope you enjoyed our show." he said.
"You did say our show?" I repeated.
"Yes, Autumn." he nodded. "Didn't you see that we were together?"
I nodded, and stood up giving a round of applause.
"Thank you Christian. I have never seen an actual puppet show before. I've only read about them in storybooks."
"Well, I am happy to have made at least one of your dreams come true."
"So, are you to be my genie today?" I mused.
He stepped out from behind the puppet theater and bowed.
"I’m at your service, my lady."
We spent much of the day walking along the windy shore and building sandcastles that dared to topple into the sea. Later we sat in the seat of the Ferris wheel watching the sun go down.
"What do you think about life, Autumn?" Christian asked.
I turned and watched his profile as he looked out to the sea. His golden hair lifted into the wind.
"I really don't know, Christian. Life seems to be a mystery unto itself. It offers no answers, only puzzles. Wish that I knew the answer."
His face turned to me, his eyes taking me in.
"I wasn't speaking about the mysteries of life, but only how you perceive it."
I tilted my head back in thought. Listening to the creaking sound the Ferris Wheel made above us in the breeze.
"Well, my life here has been rather a short one. I don't remember my father, and my mother just died last month."
Christian placed a consoling arm around me.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Autumn."
"And since we spent most of my life moving about, I never had time to develop any roots or make friends."
Christian nodded solemnly.
"So you never had a close friend, or..." his voice trailed off into the sea air.
"A boyfriend,” I supplied. "No, I’ve never had any lasting relationships. And as for a boyfriend, he only lived in my dreams."
Christian searched my eyes and I felt a sympathetic connection there.
He spoke one last time before leaving.
"Believe me Autumn, when I say that I can understand you. Mo
re than you know."
March 16
Dear Journal,
Today the heavens were a heavy gray and it rained the entire day, so I did not venture outside. I waited patiently, but there was no sign of Christian. I looked out my window, but all I saw were rivulets of water streaming down the glass panes. Both the seashore and the amusement park were a wet blur.
I looked downstairs for something to read or occupy my time. But there was nothing so I went back upstairs and laid down to rest. After a while, I fell asleep and began to dream. In the dream I was riding at the back of a bus. I couldn't see outside because of a dark fog. The bus was empty and I was the only passenger left. The driver stopped and opened the door. He looked up at me in the mirror. "This is the end of the line" he called.
I stood and moved to the front of the bus and looked out into a gray fog of nothingness. I was afraid to step out into the unknown, so I looked back at the driver pleadingly. He nodded his head at the door.
I cautiously stepped out, but the moment I entered the mist, I began to fall into a great oblivion.
Until I felt a hand reach out to catch me. I knew it was Christian and when I turned to see him, I woke up and met his warm smiling eyes watching me from the photograph.
The apartment however remained empty. There was no sign of my savior.
March 17
Dear Journal,
Christian woke me up today. It was the middle of the night. Something happened to change our small world after the rain. He brought me outside and led me down to the shore.
The rain had washed some of the sand away and a good part of the shore returned to the sea. Driftwood floated in the tide, and there were ebony pools that filled various parts of the beach, dividing it into a series of islands.
He led me by the hand to one particular spot the rain had uncovered. I stopped and clasped my hand over my mouth. There, by the light of the moon, a human hand protruded from the ground, a skeletal tree reaching out for the dark sky; futilely attempting to grasp the heavens for life, for air.
Christian put his arm around me, because I had begun to tremble. And I continued to shake at the thought of this dead body in the sand. Was this the only one?
"What should we do?" I asked him, afraid to hear his reply.
Christian looked at the hand, then back at me, and shook his head.
"I think we should give them a proper burial."
I shuddered at the thought.
"Do you mean we need to dig the body out and then bury it again?"
Christian looked at me thoughtfully.
"I was thinking more of a burial at sea. But perhaps we could try to cover the remains and hold a small service."
This thought to me was ghastly. Holding a service for an unknown dead person