Ashton's Place - 1. Ashton's Place

Ashton’s Place

Ashton Bernard St James the Fourth sat with his bare feet dangling over the end of the dock staring at what had to be one of the most beautiful summer days he’d ever seen. There was just enough of a breeze to keep the bugs away, a cloud or two so the day was gloriously warm instead of stifling, and the house behind him remained blissfully quiet, which must have meant his parents were not home. The best part of the day, however, was how good he felt. Having been sickly since birth, Ashton knew to treasure days like this one.

He thought about retrieving his fishing pole, but the sun was warm on his skin and he was far too relaxed. Besides, he did not know when his parents might return, which was puzzling. Always expected to be the perfect, dutiful son, Ashton paid attention to his parents’ comings and goings so he was always ready. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed their departure; the only thing he could think of was one of his fainting spells, but he didn’t feel sick.

The water in the lake was low at this time of year, but he rolled up the bottoms of his trousers anyway; for just a few minutes he could pretend he was Tom Sawyer, drifting downriver without a care in the world. Lying back on the dock, he unfastened his shirt and finally removed it for use as a pillow. There he napped with one hand thrown over his face to block the sun, listening to the wind in the trees.

The temperature dropping with the approaching evening roused Ashton. He sat up and threw a curious glance over his shoulder. He frowned, picked up his shirt, and trudged barefoot up the stairs to the entertaining porch (not that his parents ever entertained anyone) and into the kitchen. The door was open, which Marie, the housekeeper, would be sure to fuss about, but the kitchen was empty, the fire out and cold.

“Marie?” Ashton called. He couldn’t be too loud, because what if he was wrong and his parents really were home? They had strict rules that Ashton was to be neither seen nor heard unless sent for and he didn’t want to draw their ire to either himself or Marie.

Marie’s husband Edmond was the gardener and tended the horses, but he often stepped in as the butler when necessary. Such occasions were rare, so not finding him in the house was not surprising. It was far more likely that he was accompanying Mr. and Mrs. St James in town.

Why were there no lamps lit? Marie always kept the house cheery and warm.

“Marie?”

He was never left alone at the house, but after peering into every room on the ground floor, Ashton had to conclude that he really was alone. Hope pounded in his chest. If everyone really was gone, they’d never know if he took the boat across the lake. Ashton hadn’t been to town since he’d managed to sneak away at the beginning of spring. He wondered if the little ice cream shop was still there. There were many in town who found the ice cream shop distasteful, but Ashton had found the place exciting, if a bit overwhelming. The shop girl, Cheryl, had made him promise to return. Her older brother, Timothy, had captivated everyone with his stories about university life.

Ashton’s suspenders flopped against his legs as he bounded up the stairs into the little bedroom that was all his in the back of the house. His parents would be aghast at such improper behavior, but Ashton was giddy with the excitement of escaping for a few hours.

Skidding to a halt, he must have tripped, because the next thing he knew, he was picking himself up off the floor of his room, laughing. A man of almost twenty-four should have more decorum, but Marie had always said that Ashton had been born a grown-up and she’d have laughed right along with him … right after she scolded him for wandering around half-dressed.

As he brushed himself off, Ashton checked for cuts or bruises, but his smile only widened when he found nothing. He must not have hit the ground that hard. His smile died when he went to the closet and found it empty. The mattress had been rolled up, but that wasn’t unusual. He didn’t have many toys or mementos from his childhood, but everything he had was gone, even the little horse with three legs he’d found in the lake one year. His books were all gone, including the brand-new copy of Sherlock Holmes’ "The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge" that he’d received for his birthday. He stared at the empty shelves, wracking his brain for the reason behind this latest punishment. He couldn’t think of anything, but he knew he was always disappointing his parents.

Then he raced from the room and up the tiny staircase to the attic. Xelion would know what was going on. The strange creature who lived in their attic always knew everything. They’d been friends from the moment Ashton first learned how to pick the lock on the attic door.

But the attic was empty. Great-aunt Josephine’s trunks were gone, and Grandmother’s candlesticks. The floor was shiny where the old armoire his father had never repaired once sat. There wasn’t even any dust.

“Xel?” Ashton said, because he couldn’t quite believe that his only friend would have left without saying goodbye. “Xel!” The sound bounced back to his ears as a muffled echo.

The downstairs rooms were empty as well and he saw sheets draped over the furniture in the parlor. His mother’s fancy china was gone, and his father’s snuff. In the kitchen, the door leading to the cellar was open and not padlocked, which was strange. A sense of foreboding filled Ashton as he hovered at the top of the steps. His mother would have him beaten if she found him there. The chill from the cellar wrapped around his ankles; shivering, he retreated.

Outside in the remains of the afternoon, the barn was as empty as the house. The stalls were clean; the hayloft barren. Ashton stared at the lonely carriage and cupped his chin in his hand.

Could it be possible? Had his parents packed up and left? Then why didn’t he remember any activity of that nature? Why was the carriage there but no horses and where would they have gone? His mother didn’t care for town and his father’s grandfather had built the house. They’d been farmers back then when Jamestown had first been settled. Although Ashton never saw the funds, he knew his parents were wealthy. He’d hoped to stay healthy long enough to inherit some of that fortune with the house once his father passed. He remembered telling one of his childhood nurses that he wanted to sail the world. He’d often been in bed, too ill to play like normal young boys. His books and imagination were all he had.

If his parents were gone, then he was still free, whatever the circumstances. He returned to the kitchen and found the cupboards empty, but he’d known many a night without supper. He was not surprised to learn that his family had left him nothing. If he’d been a better son … well, he’d tried to be everything they wanted, but he couldn’t change his health.

His parents might have taken everything else, but a house didn’t fit nicely in a trunk or valise. Standing in the kitchen, Ashton smiled. First thing in the morning, he would go to town and find Marie and Edmond. He could find work, and then he’d hire them back. He knew they’d agree.

Back on the dock, Ashton found the boathouse empty and allowed himself the luxury of a heartfelt curse. He couldn’t help glancing around furtively to make sure he hadn’t been heard. Then he cursed again, and a second time, louder than the first before stopping to laugh. He couldn’t remember ever laughing so much in one day.

Determined to enjoy the remainder of the day, Ashton settled down on the dock. As evening arrived, he drew his legs in and shivered while he watched the sun set. He stayed until the cold drove him indoors.

The clip-clop of hooves woke him from a light doze where he’d fallen asleep in the parlor. He sprang to his feet and rushed to the window. A matched set of beautiful chestnut horses tossed their heads and snorted as the driver stopped in the yard. He hopped down from his seat and opened the door, handing out a gentleman in a fine top hat and coat followed by a lady in a yellow dress. Ashton didn’t recognize them.

“Oh, Henry!” the woman exclaimed. “It’s simply gorgeous!” They were the perfect couple as they strolled toward the house.

Ashton swallowed nervously. Lacking a coat and shoes, he knew he was not presentable to a lady, but their sudden arrival had surprised him.

“Good morning,” he called, smiling in what he hoped was a cheerful and welcoming manner.

“This is just the perfect, little house!” The woman paused to bob in excitement.

Her husband gave her an indulgent smile and gently patted her hand. “Wait until you see inside, my dear.”

Ashton frowned and took a few steps forward. “Hello, I’m -- er, I’m Mr. St James.” He stared as the couple ignored him and walked right up the porch steps. The gentleman produced a key from his pocket as Ashton’s heart rose into his throat.

He closed his eyes, hearing the woman coo and exclaim over the rooms and furnishings.

“Hello, the house!”

The shout pulled Ashton’s attention away from the house and to the road. More people! The carriage driver waved and drove the carriage away as two heavy wagons pulled into the yard. Then the gentleman reappeared on the porch, striding across the lawn to the wagons.

He shook hands with the first man off the lead wagon. From the stiffness of his bearing and impeccable attire, this was the valet. “George, good of you to come so promptly.”

“No trouble, sir.”

The men in the wagons started unloading, but Ashton didn’t stay to watch. Lips pressed tightly together, he confronted the gentleman.

“Excuse me; I think there’s been some sort of mistake.”

“Oh, Henry! Come look; there’s simply the most darling little garden.” The woman’s shrill voice made Ashton twist around.

“That’s my garden,” he muttered. His mother didn’t care for pretty flowers. She preferred the practical herb and vegetable garden behind the stable.

“Coming, darling,” Henry replied, sharing an amused smile with his valet before venturing around the side of the house. Ashton, feeling very much superfluous, followed.

The little garden by the back porch had started as only a little window box Ashton had tended from the kitchen. As he’d grown older, he’d built a little fountain for his toy boats and gradually replaced the weeds with tiny, yellow roses and summer flowers.

“Now, see here,” he exclaimed loudly as he came around the corner and found the woman snipping off a few roses, laughing as she offered them to her husband.

“They are exquisite, my dear, just like you.” He tucked one into her bonnet, much to her delight and to Ashton’s disgust. Then they kissed and Ashton fled the intimate scene, awkward and flustered. Had they no propriety? Just kissing like that where anyone could see!

Surely the footman or valet could provide some answers, but they must be on orders to ignore him, because Ashton couldn’t get their attention, either. It was just like his parents to be so cruel.

As the morning wore on, another wagon appeared. This one carried the butler, cook, and serving maids. They were obviously a family, and Ashton stared at them enviously as the butler handed down first his plump wife and then his daughters. For all their uniforms, they were young, with the same cute noses and dimples as their mother. The girls held each others’ hand and, giggling, ran pell-mell into the house.

A few minutes later, the gentleman and his wife reappeared, greeting their servants warmly. Mr. and Mrs. St James would have been aghast at such familiarity with servants.

“It’s a shame about the family, sir,” said the butler, giving the house a nod.

“Yes, it is,” Henry agreed.

“What is?” Ashton demanded. “Look here,” he snapped, as once again no one paid him any mind. Rude or not, he was going to make them listen!

Just as the gentleman stepped away, Ashton grabbed his shoulder. Such was the force of his intent that when he missed, he stumbled and landed in the dirt. Fully expecting raucous laughter to follow, he hunched his shoulders. There was nothing he could do about the color he knew would appear on his cheeks; his pallid skin tone hid nothing.

But no jeers or cutting remarks met his ears. The family had moved away behind their master and mistress, leaving Ashton standing alone as a small island within the hustle and bustle.

Determined to get some answers, Ashton started walking. Someone in town would be willing to tell him what had happened. Just before the bend in the road, he looked back over his shoulder at his home, feeling his throat tighten from seeing all the strangers milling around. When he faced forward once more, he was standing on the lawn and had to dodge two men carrying a heavy armoire.

“Hey, pay attention!” he shouted, but they ignored him. Fuming, he took the road to town again, only to wind up standing once more on the lawn. Sweat ran down his back and he twisted around, hearing his mother’s spiteful cackle.

She wasn’t there. Telling himself he was imagining things, Ashton walked back down the road. Again, right as he took that step to go around the bend, he stumbled back onto the grass of the lawn. Breathing hard now, Ashton ran … and returned to the same spot. He tried again and again and again. All day he tried to leave, but as soon as the house disappeared from his sight, he was back.

Around him, the strange family had continued moving in and pleasant smells started wafting from the kitchen making Ashton’s stomach growl.

“What the hell?” he shouted in frustration, but no one paid any attention.

“Hey, the house!” came another shout, this one lighter in tone than the men’s voices at the front of the house.

The girls, shouting, “Paulie! Paulie!” spilled out of the house. Curious, Ashton followed the noise around the side of the house to where a young man was tying his boat to the dock. He climbed out in time to catch the first of his sisters and spin her around while the other bounced around on her toes waiting for her turn. They tugged him right into the house as Ashton swallowed the painful lump in his throat.

He followed the trio and watched while the cook laughingly fed her children butter cookies. Ashton’s mouth watered. Marie had been forbidden to make sweets except once a year on Christmas, but even then they were for guests and infrequent callers. Ashton’s father didn’t believe in wasting money on something so frivolous.

He edged closer to the cookies. With all the noise and activity of the children, no one cast an eye his way. Ashton reached for one of the sweets. His fingers closed on nothing but air. He tried again, but it was just like the road: as soon as he thought he had it, there was only air. The blood rushed past his ears as he stared dumbly at the cookies.

Looking up, he caught sight of the family’s reflection in the window, but his own was missing. His stomach gurgled, his head felt light, and Ashton sat down before he could faint. He buried his face in his hands and struggled for breath.

“Here, girls, go take these to the mister and missus.”

Before Ashton realized how close the cook had come, her ample arm shot straight out and would have knocked him senseless, except that he was just as abruptly on the other side of the room. Startled, he stumbled over a pile of crates and boxes piled next to the cellar door, careening down the stairs and hitting the damp floor with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs … or maybe that was the horror which met his eyes.

Red globs and sharp bits of white spattered the walls and floors. His hands and the knees of his trousers were soaked within seconds. His mother’s voice taunted him. Then he saw what remained of her face.

Screaming, Ashton scrambled up the steps, ignoring the damage he was inflicting to himself. He ran out to the dock. No blood met his eyes when he lifted his hands; he was clean and dry. Falling to his knees, he stared down at the water and his missing reflection.

His fingers curled around the edge of the dock as he shuddered for breath. Bright teeth flashed in his eyes; long, serrated teeth, horns, and two long, rabbit-shaped ears. Xel. Xel had done this.

“No, oh no. No.”

Earlier that year, he’d been ill for several days, unable to rise from his bed, but somehow in his fever he’d climbed into the attic. With Xel’s help, Ashton had secretly applied to university and been accepted, only to have his mother fly into a fit when she read the letter. Afterwards, he’d fallen ill again, but he knew that Xel would listen. Xel always listened to his heartbreak and never told anyone when he cried. Xel would help like he had all the times before when Ashton had no friends or anyone to talk to.

He couldn’t remember how they got from the attic to the cellar, but he remembered Xel turning into a great, hulking beast. He’d stood in the carnage, laughing, while blood streamed from his claws and body. The smell! How had he forgotten the smell? Like sulfur and olives. Then there was the drool which steamed upon contact and smelled like rotten eggs.

Xel. That couldn’t have been Xel! Xel was his friend. It had to be a monster, because Xel wouldn’t hurt him like this. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t do this to him … wouldn’t…

His mother. She’d called him down to the cellar where his father had been waiting. They’d done something and it had hurt. He’d never hurt like that, or been so frightened. Why couldn’t he remember properly! His parents may not have loved him, but they wouldn’t hurt him like that.

Yes, they would! Xel had warned him. Xel had told him an unbelievable story of witches and blood magic and how he wasn’t a pet but a captive. The words he’d taught Ashton weren’t a song, but the spell to release Xel from his imprisonment. He warned Ashton that he, too, was a prisoner and in grave danger.

"Do you know how long I've been alive? How long I have watched them drain the lives of promising witches over nearly five hundred years? So many times."

Magic wasn’t real, Ashton had protested, and Xel had just laughed.

When Ashton heard his mother summoning him, Xel had begged him not to go. He’d demanded Ashton sing the spell that would release him, promising to fix everything. He had to go; they were his parents. Xel had howled and snarled and, frightened of what would happen should he be discovered there, Ashton fled. He’d said the words before the end, however, and that’s why … that’s why…

As a child, Xel had taught Ashton what he said were magic words. It had been their secret. Nobody else had a pet that was half dragon and half bunny and talked. He remembered saying the words, the acrid fire that scorched his throat as his mother screamed. Xel was his friend and Ashton hadn’t wanted to say those words, because he’d been afraid of losing his only friend. In the end it hadn’t mattered. He was dead.

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