Fantasy

Mr. Blake

12/30/2022

The dull roar of the train rumbling through the tundra of snow and ice had lured him to sleep. So, he barely noticed the door to his small cabin open and shut some time ago, choosing to ignore the visitor and sleep.
At some point, he awakened to look out the window, seeing the wall of snow that flew by the window, identical to what he’d seen when he’d boarded the train several days ago. Again, he chose to ignore the view, instead concentrating on keeping himself occupied with sleeping and keeping warm on the chilly train. The heating system on the train was working hard to keep the cabins warm, and the winds outside weren’t helping.
Eventually, hunger pangs brought him out of his self-induced trance of sleep and ignorance. Fully awake, he looked around the roomette, trying to remember where he was. The thuds of the track underneath him and the wall of snow out the window quickly reminded him.
He was momentarily startled as he noticed an elderly gentleman sitting on the bench seat across from his berth. Then the memory of a distant click of the door in his subconscious reminded him that the door had been opened and closed while he’d been asleep.
“Ah, so your awake, Blake?” it was more of a statement than a question.
He shook his head slightly, trying to get his barring and untangle himself from the blanket. Disengaging himself from the cover and trying to get his legs and arms to move had proved to be more work than he remembered it being.
“Yeah, and you are?”
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nichols.” He straightened up and held out a white-gloved hand. Blake shook it tentatively. There was something vaguely familiar about the old man. The suit he wore was bright red trimmed in white fur along the main seams and hems of the jacket. The whole ensemble had a very familiar look about it.
“I’m going to find some food. Would you like some?” He asked more to be polite than anything else.
“Why yes, a cup of coffee would be very nice if you can manage it.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Blake left the cabin and went down the narrow hall to the next car.
A few minutes later, he returned to the cabin carrying two cups of coffee and a flat box filled with various breakfast foods. Setting the box on the small table between the bench seats, he handed Nicholas a cup of coffee. Nickolas thanked Blake for the coffee and a bagel. They sat silently for a few minutes, concentrating on their food and waiting for the coffee to cool down to a drinkable temperature.
After finishing his bagel, Blake eyed Nicholas warily. “Funny thing, the porter said they hadn’t stopped all night, and no new passengers got on board.”
“She’ll be there. I know you are worried that she will be there for you.”
“Huh?” Blake looked up from the coffee he was trying not to spill.
“Laura. She loves you.”
Then, Blake remembered that he’d called him by name earlier. Something he hadn’t noticed at the time, as he wasn’t completely awake.
“And you know this how?”
“Oh, there’s not much I don’t know about the kids I care for. You wanted that car, a sixty-five corvette, that year you turned sixteen.”
“How’d you know about that?”
“I told you. I know about all the kids in my care.”
“And Laura?”
“Her too.” He snickered. “She wanted a boyfriend that year. She had to wait a few years for that.”
“I’ll say.” That was all Blake could say. Laura was now in her early twenties and had started seeing Blake only in the last year or so.
Slowly, it began to dawn on Blake. The red suit, the long white beard, and his knowing things about him and Laura.
“You’re…?”
Nicholas nodded yes. “Santa Clause.”
“I thought you were a figment of my childhood, like the easter bunny or tooth fairy.”
“I‘m very real and very tired. I need someone to take over.”
“So, you’re…?”
“Getting ready to retire? Yes. I’m here on the train because I can’t handle the cold like I used to. And even my reindeer, as strong as they are, can’t get across this land as they used to.”
“So?”
“They’re in the baggage cars, along with about a million presents to be delivered.”
“OK, I get it. You can’t deal with the cold anymore. I understand that, but why are you here in my cabin?”

“I need someone to take over for the next few years.”
The last bit of information sunk in, and Blake asked, “You mean decades?” Santa nodded yes.
“And…?” Blake left the question hanging.
“I’ve been watching you. You show the most compassion and patience of anyone I’ve seen in ages. You’ll be a good fit.”
Blake almost spilled the remainder of his coffee. “Be a good fit?”
“Yes, I’d like you to be the next Santa Claus, and of course, Laura will be the new Mrs. Clause.”
He sat down his cup. “Wait a minute. I can’t just go traipsing all over the world like that.”
“Actually, you can.” Santa reached onto the seat beside him, where a large brown package lay unnoticed by Blake—handing it to him. Santa nodded. “This will fit you, and inside is all the information you need.”
Blake felt the package in his hands. It was heavy. As he stared at the package, the old Santa disappeared, as If he was never there. Only the red suit remained. Blake was alone in the cabin as the train rumbled through the snow-covered mountains.
He opened the package and found a neat typewritten note addressed to him. It explained how to use the suit. Shrugging to himself, he put the suit on over his clothes.
Within seconds, he felt his beard growing out and turning white. The suit conformed to fit his body, and the cabin, which had been chilly, was much too warm for him. The longer Blake wore the suit, the more he began to understand.
The porter, walking down the narrow corridor, heard a noise and looked out the train window in time to see a sleigh with eight reindeer soaring through the night sky.
He always wondered what had happened that night when Mr. Blake disappeared.

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The Cabin

1/22/2021

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I didn’t know which cold was worse, the stone-cold stillness of no air moving, or the bone-chilling shiver cold of a breeze blowing.

It needed not be much of a breeze to cut through the heavy winter jacket I was wearing. A sharp breeze came up between the trees as I approached the edge of the clearing. It made up my mind the breeze was worse. Much worse.

The tracks of a dozen or more winter animals greeted me when I reached the tree line. To my right, I saw the remains of a trail leading into the woods, but what was to my left got my full attention. The signpost with three old pine boards nailed to the top of it caught my attention first. Plowing the knee-deep snow, I got close enough to read the names hand-painted on the boards. They were difficult to make out, but I thought the top one said “Armrest” and the middle one said “Devon” or something like it. I couldn’t read the bottom one at all. The names weren’t familiar to me, and judging by rot on the post, the faded paint, and wind-worn edges of the boards, I figured that they had been here for more years than I’d been alive. I made a note of the names and the directions they pointed.

Looking around, I spied the old log cabin. More knee-plowing through the deep snow allowed me to reach the cabin, which appeared to be as old as the signpost. Leaning against the old logs, I took a little shelter from the breeze that had picked up. The door placed on the side was protected from the wind, and the snowdrift was manageable.

Pushing through, I got to the door. Leaning on the solid planks, I pushed as hard as I could. The door gave way easily, to my surprise. Slipping inside, I wasted no time in closing the door behind me.

Leaning against the door, I let my breathing slow down and felt my pulse start to steady. I closed my eyes and tried to fight the cold gnawing at my bones. Even in the heaviest snow pants and the boots, and several layers of sweaters and an extra coat under my outer winter coat, I remained chilled to the bone. Shivering, I managed to remove my gloves. My hands were cold and stiff despite being covered by thick wool and leather. I rubbed my hands together while I looked around the sparsely furnished cabin—the table near the fireplace was rickety and the chair was worn and wobbly. I sat down anyway. The sound of the wood protesting as I gently lowered my weight into it echoed in the small room. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Sleep came.

I hadn’t planned on falling asleep, but this was the first time I’d been out of the cold and wind in several days. Waking up sometime later, I realized I wasn’t cold. I was warm, almost hot. Looking around, I gasped, startled to see the gentle orange glow of a fire in the fireplace. Nothing else had changed since I drifted off to sleep, but the cabin was now brighter and warmer. The fire had been going for some time to warm up the old logs and take the winter chill off the small room.

“Good Morning.”

The cheerful voice came from out of my range of vision. Turning my head, I straightened up in the chair, which miraculously had not collapsed under my weight. As I sat upright, I realized for the first time my fingers and toes didn’t hurt anymore—now warm pink flesh came out of my jacket sleeves.

Taking my eyes off the fire, I looked around more closely, taking stock of the cabin in the light of the roaring fire, logs popping as sparks flew. The walls were solid logs hewed together, packed with mud that had dried solidly like concrete. A long wall held several windows boarded up from the inside, and a bed sat along the short wall near the fireplace. The source of the voice came from the bed.

His long silver beard made it impossible to guess his age. The flicker of flames and shadows made his beard seem almost alive. He shifted around and sat upright, then rose from the bed. I could tell he was short and maybe fat. It was hard to tell how big he was with the heavy clothes he wore.
“Coffee?” the bearded man asked, and he reached for the pot that hung near the fireplace on a makeshift rack. All I could do was slightly nod yes.

“Don’t get much company out here these days. Especially this time of year.”
He handed me an old mug with a chipped rim and a cracked handle. I took it with both hands. The warmth of the coffee seeped through the mug into my fingers.

The smell of fresh coffee helped to thaw the cobwebs in my brain and awaken the rest of my senses.
I lightly blew over the top of the mug, watching the surface of the coffee ripple with the slight movement of air. I watched it for a second as I still had no idea what to say.

“Thank you,” were the only words that came out of my mouth. I didn’t remember saying them, but they reminded me of how my voice sounded.
It had been that long since I’d seen another person, much less talked to them.

I continued to use the cooling coffee as an excuse not to speak while I considered what to say.
He spoke first. “You’re welcome. It’s my pleasure. I haven’t had company here in reindeer’s years.”
I looked up at him sharply. “Reindeer years?”
“Oh, I forgot you’re not from around here. We use the term reindeer instead of donkey’s years. It’s a local thing.”
I knew there was more to it than that. But I didn’t question it anymore. I got the point. The coffee had cooled down enough, so I took a sip.

“How is it? I haven’t made much in a long time.” He had a mug and sat again on the edge of the bed where he’d been sleeping.
Taking a second sip, I confirmed with a nodded yes, as it was good. Indeed, it was, but at the moment, I wasn’t sure if it was the coffee or the fact it was warm that I liked so much. At this point, it didn’t matter. As it cooled down, I drank more.
Feeling the warmth of the liquid working its way down my throat into my stomach made me instantly feel warmer—and relaxed. We drank in silence.

“Hungry?”
Startled, I looked up from my mug. I suppose the look on my face told him I was indeed hungry. He rose and wandered over to the small cupboard that sat in the far corner of the room, out of my immediate view. Turning in my chair, I watched as he opened the cupboard and retrieved several boxes from the top shelf. Laying them on the table, he took a large knife from a drawer, cut open a box, and handed me a thick slice of bread.
I took it and bit off a corner. It was delicious. Chewing the thick, coarse bread, I realized I was beginning to feel less hungry. By the time I had half-eaten the slice, I was starting to feel full.
The old man returned to sit on the edge of the bed, shifting a bit and passing his mug back and forth between his hands. He glanced at me several times.

“Robert…” he spoke quietly. Then slipped off the bed and tossed a large log he retrieved from a pile next to the hearth onto the fire. We watched for a minute as it snapped and cracked as the fire sought new fuel. The room lit up more as the flames eagerly found their way around the bottom edges of the new wood.

I looked at him carefully in the bright light of the renewed fire. He did seem to look familiar—not familiar like a person I knew but like a picture that I’d seen. The long beard and an almost bald head that shined in the light of the fire seemed so familiar. It began to dawn on me that the clothes he was wearing were mostly red.

NO. It can’t be.
I must have said that out loud as he turned to face me.

“Yes, Robert. I am Santa Claus or St. Nick as some call me in other countries, and I am old—very old and tired. It’s time for me to pass the mantle of Santa Claus to a new generation.”

“But you’re not real. It’s a myth made up to explain to little kids where presents under the tree come from on Christmas morning.”

“Yes, in some counties, I’m not real. But in some places and the hearts of the world, I’m very real.” He sat on the edge of the bed. Watching him more closely, I could tell he was tired.

“Robert, the year you were born, your parents had no money to buy presents for you, but they were happy. They had you. Do you remember your tenth Christmas?”
No one remembers their tenth Christmas. No one remembers that. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember that far back, but only fragments of scenes came back. Not enough to clearly remember anything. I shook my head.

“I didn’t expect you would. What’s the first Christmas you remember clearly?”

“I don’t know, maybe sixteen or seventeen, probably not even sure about that.”
He nodded. “Okay, try this. Do you remember the year you got your first car?”

I nodded. “Yes, it was a Christmas present from my folks.” Now that he mentioned it, I did remember it had been a surprise. I’d been saving for an entire year to get a car but never had quite enough. They had surprised me with the car I’d been saving to buy. They never would say how they managed it, only handed me the keys. To this day, I didn’t know how they had gotten it for me. I knew they barely had two bits to rub together.

“I’ve always wondered how they managed to get that car for me. They never would tell me.” I sat up in my chair and looked at him more closely. “They’re both passed now.”
“Yes, yes they are.”
“So…?”

“Robert, they both did extra jobs at their factories. They worked extra hours and even did private work to get the money for your car. They knew how much you needed that car and how important it was to you and them. Because you had the car, you were able to help them.”
The next few years came back to me. It was true. I had been able to help them, take them places, and get the things they needed because I had the car. As they got sicker, I had done more. I realized I couldn’t have done any of it if I hadn’t had that old wreck of a car. The fire cracked loudly again, bringing me back to the present.

“Robert. It’s your time.”
“My time?” I stood up and walked around the small cabin, stretching my legs, trying to think of what to say next.

“Why me?”

“I don’t know. You were chosen as I was.”

“Chosen?” I stood in the middle of the room, looking at an old, tired man. I pulled my chair closer to him and sat facing him. Again, the chair protested at my additional weight, but I ignored it.

"Okay, say I believe in all this. How does it work?” Looking into his eyes, I leaned closer to him. That close, I could see the toll the years had taken.
He handed me a bag he retrieved from behind the bed.

“Tonight, you come with me. I will show you how I make the world a slightly better place. This is my last year. I can’t do it anymore.”

He handed me the big red bag and stood, the familiar red coat and hat appearing from nowhere. As he put them on, his beard began to lengthen and thicken up. Santa nodded at me and pointed to the bag.
I stood up and opened the bag, which contained a suit exactly like the one he was wearing.

“Go on, put it on,” he prodded.
Shrugging, I pulled the pants on over the clothes I was wearing. They stretched and formed themselves around my body. Pulling on the big red overcoat over my winter coat, I felt it mold itself around my body. He pointed to the hat. Putting it on, I felt it snug itself up tight around my head as the bottom seemed to extend down over my ears. It was then I noticed a small, cracked mirror in the corner. Seeing myself dressed as Santa Claus, I felt younger and more alive.

The next few hours flew by. I was never cold or hot, and I saw the world in ways I’d never seen before. The next thing I knew, we were back at the cabin. The fire was still popping along merrily.
Santa lay back down on the bed. As I took off my suit, I felt a tug at my heart.

I knew he had done as much as he could. Snoring gave in to the quiet as I fed the fire and learned my way around the cabin.

Slowly I realized he wasn’t moving at all. I touched his cold face. No slow breathing, no twitching of his beard as he turned or tossed in his sleep. Santa Claus was gone.
But he wasn’t.

Every year for the rest of my life, I found myself back in the small cabin wearing a bright red suit that seemed to fit me better every time, and I felt younger every year.

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Voices

5/29/2020

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There was a bright spot where the sun cut down through the trees. Other than that, it was a world of shadows and leaves and moss.
It had been weeks since it had rained. But the ground under the trees and weeds were still wet and soggy. The only dry spot was in direct sun.
Circling around from the sun-soaked area, he found the entrance, hidden from view by the moss and greenery that cover the entire mound. It was cooler in the shade, but when he stepped closer to the opening, the temperature dropped another ten degrees. This was it.
He had heard legends about the “The Hole of No Return” for decades. People had talked about it. Someone they knew who had dared to investigate the hole and were never quite the same again. Those that entered it never came back.
He stood at the entrance staring into the blackness. The chill that ran up and down his spine told him not to enter.
But he had to.
It was calling.
The coolness engulfed him as he stepped into the blackness. Inside, he turned to look behind him to see daylight through the entrance. As he watched, the light retracted until, within seconds, it was gone. Blackness surrounded him, but his eyes adjusted, and he could see a tunnel in front of him.
As he made his way down the tunnel, out of habit, he pulled out his phone to use the flashlight. It was dead. He pressed on the touch screen but no response. Funny, it had a 100 percent charge a few minutes ago when he pulled it from the charger in the car. He stuck in back in his pocket, useless.
After walking for what felt like an eternity, but actually only a few minutes, he found himself in a cavern. Standing very still, he listened, and off in the distance, he heard something, drifting over the soft whistle of a breeze blowing through the tunnel. It sounded like voices or talking in an unfamiliar language.
He looked behind him and felt disoriented. It all looked the same. He had no idea which way was back to the entrance. No wonder people got lost in here and never came out.
He was about to discover getting lost wasn’t the reason people never came back.
It was quiet. Too quiet. The voices were gone, as was the breeze.
“You came.”
He was aware of the words, but he didn’t hear them with his ears. There was no echoing of a voice through the tunnel. It just appeared in his mind as a thought.
“I was beginning to think you never would.” More thoughts materialized in his mind. He spun around where he stood,
“Who are you? What—where are you?” He yelled into the darkness. His words echoing off the walls into the distance.
“Calm down,” came from the response this time from echoes in the tunnel.
“Calm Down?” He heard his own voice in his head.
“Yes, You’re fine. But you won’t be if you don’t shut up.”
He shut up and stopped asking questions.
A vision flashed into his mind.
That of an old man, dressed in an old robe or blanket that hung from his shoulders covering him completely. His beard was long, and hair flowed to his shoulders. The old man seemed to be carrying or holding something. He could not make it out.
“Who are you?” Once again, he asked without speaking.
“I am you…” Came the response in his head.
“Me?”
“Yes, in several hundred years.”
“I’m barely twenty years old now.”
“We know. We’ve been waiting for you for centuries.”
“Centuries? Waiting for me?”
“Yes. we need your help to save the world.”
He looked around. There had to be someone in the cavern with him, but there was no one. He was talking to someone, but he was alone.
“Save the world.? How…? Why—me?”
“You’ll know what to do when the time comes…” with the voice in his mind faded off into nothingness.
***

He opened his eyes and, without moving, looked around the room. The ceiling was the same. Shifting his eyes, what he could see of his bedroom was the same. He turned his head to the side, thankful to find his wife lying safely beside him.
She shifted slightly, and he could feel her breath on his face. He mentally checked all his parts to see that they were still intact. Hands worked—fingers, toes, legs. Check. Check. All here. Relieved, his mind started questioning what had happened.
He vividly remembered the entire scene. He had gotten out of the car near the woods. The phone. He glanced over the side table. It was there, and he tapped on it. Fully charged. He tapped on the screen. The phone was working perfectly. It had not worked in the cavern.
He remembered the voices in his mind and decided they could not have been real. It had to be a dream
He replayed the entire sequence of events in his mind. It had seemed real, but it couldn’t have been. There had been no one in the tunnel with him. No one. The last thing he remembered was the vision of the old man. The voice said it was a future him. Sitting up effortlessly in bed, he was definitely not an old man yet. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his hair far from long and flowing.
His wife stirred. He watched her get up and head for the bathroom. As she returned, she leaned against the doorframe, looking at him.
“You all right?”
“All right, yeah, what? Don’t I look all right?”
“No, you don’t. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She was right. He didn’t feel quite right, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
It crossed his mind he’d like a cup of coffee. He was about to suggest that she go make a pot. Just as he started to open his mouth to ask her. He smelled something. Coffee! Turning in his bed, it was there in his favorite cup, A perfect cup of coffee. She stared at it too.
“What the…? They uttered the words together.
They both knew neither of them had moved. He knew he didn’t ask for it. But there it was.
A perfect cup of coffee.
He reached over and gently touched the cup. Afraid if he touched it, it would disappear. It didn’t. It was real. Picking it up, the ceramic cup was warm in his hands. He could smell the aroma of fresh coffee as he got closer to it. Tasting it. It was perfect, not too hot, not too cold. And it was good. Not bitter or over-extracted. In fact, he hated to admit it but was a perfect cup of coffee. Better than he or his wife ever made. He handed it to her. She tried it. Not only was it real. It was good. She said as much.
They ran to the kitchen. Nothing had changed from last night. The coffee pot sat untouched. The only thing missing was his cup. The cup was in his hand.
The stared at each other.
Back in the bedroom. He recounted the entire story of the tunnel and cavern. Telling her everything he could remember.
“You heard voices in your mind?”
“Yes, I was thinking. Just like with the coffee, and someone answered. But it was in my mind. No voices, no people, only thoughts in my head.”
“They didn’t tell you how you were to save the world?”
“No. Nothing. The next thing I knew, I was here this morning. “
“Nothing about new powers?”
“I told you, they didn’t say anything.!” He started breathing hard, fist clenched.
“Calm down. Take it easy. It’s okay,”
She pulled him close.
“Relax and clear your mind.’’
“I’m sorry, I’m just scared is all.”
“I don’t blame you.” They kissed, and he allowed his mind and body to enjoy the feeling of her next to him. For a second, he imaged her in a black slinky negligee.
She pulled away from him shock on her face as she looked down.
“What the heck?!”
She was wearing exactly what he had imagined. It was black spaghetti string cut low in the center and very sheer, revealing all of her under the material.
They sat, stunned.
“Damn, you look nice…” was all he could say.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, wait …” He thought for a minute.
“When you hugged me, I had a thought for a second. “Wonder what you’d look like in a black nightie? Is all. I barely even thought it. Just like the coffee. I barely even had it in my mind for a second…”
***
Over the next few weeks, he experimented with his new powers. At first, little stuff like the coffee cups, and clothes, and eventually bigger stuff. They had a lot of accidents as it took immense will power to control his new powers. Over time he became accustomed to having to harness his abilities. Several accidents had happened in public. Fortunately, his accidents injured no one and seemed to go unnoticed.
A few months later, he found he was having difficulty getting out of bed. He felt old. His body seemed to not respond as it always had. He was getting tired sooner, and not responding to stimulus as it always had. And took longer to recover even from a simple cold. In short, he was feeling older than his years.
One day as he was shaving, he noticed he looked older. He had lines and wrinkles he hadn’t had months before. By now, he rarely used his power, having harnessed it enough that the accidents were few and far between.
At his yearly doctor’s check-up. His doctor came back with an unusual comment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have the body of an old man.” After running more blood tests and EKGs and a cat scan. The doctor confirmed his theory.
In the last six months or so, his body had aged at least 50 years. He now had the body of a seventy-year-old man. He wasn’t stabilizing and had all the classic signs of a failing body. His memory failed, his tolerance of cold and extreme temperature had long ago disappeared, and his fine motor skills were gone.
It didn’t take long for it to dawn on him. It was six months ago when he had been in the “hole of no return” and gotten his new powers. It was clear to him that the price for this new power was his body rapidly aging. He couldn’t exactly tell the doctors what had happened and explain it to them. They wouldn’t believe it. And he knew what the authorities would try to do with him if they found out.
But now, looking into the mirror, there was no denying what was happening. Staring back at him was the old man in the vision from the cave. Only one thought entered his mind.
Now what?

This story and many other fine stories based on the monthly picture prompt put up in the Writers United Facebook page and on their sister site.
Writers United! can be found at this site, Please take the time to visit and read the many takes on a the same picture prompt.

https://writersuniteweb.wordpress.com/write-the-story/

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5/3/2019

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Time knows all.

There was a time when the walls that surrounded the remains of the window kept the rain and wind out. But that was centuries ago.

Now all that remained was a collection of stones and weeds and a few trees that were too stubborn to die in the cold wind and rain coming across the great bulk of an island in the north sea.

But he came back every year. He had to.

Every year, no matter where he was, or what he was doing, he stopped in the middle of September. Hopped a flight and spent days, sometimes a couple of weeks, traveling from one end of the planet to his home. Or what remained of his home.

There he would get lodging in the old inn in the nearest colony for a week. Once every day he would make the long dangerous trek to the remains. There he would say a silent prayer to his ancestors.

Once done, he would return to his world.

This was the 200th year he had made the trek to the dark side of the world. He was getting tired and he couldn’t take the travel like he did when he was much younger. The last few years he’d barely made it. It crossed his mind this could be his last year.

For over 200 years he had returned to the land and building of his ancient ancestors. To pay tribute to them and honor their lives and the difference they had made in their world.

But alas he had no heirs to pass the stories on to. No son. No daughter. Nor even a nephew that might understand the powers he had once had.

He stood on the hill overlooking the great seas. Seas he had once ruled and sailed in mighty ships that commanded respect and fear. Now only a small fishing boat that barely brought any fish back was all that was left of the grand harbors and buildings that had once stood where the small remains now stood.

He knew buried in the mounds of rocks and stones was his story. And he felt it was now time for him to join them.

He had come to the end of his time.

One last time he prayed to his Gods and honored his history and their memories. Slowly the last Keeper of the Stories made his way to the sea. Overlooking the cliffs.

He reveled in the cold wind that nearly blew him over. Not yet.
Not until he was ready.

He recited an ancient prayer as he let the wind carry him over the edge. The last thing he remembered was the sky opening up as if to welcome him home.

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Mr. Blake

The Cabin

Voices

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