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Sparklewood - Night 4
Published Nov 15, 2010


Written By

Flatter

Composer Artist
5418Views4.4Rating

Page 1 / 23

If you haven't read the earlier parts yet or need a refresher here's the story so far:

Because the narrator Jake Jarvis suffers from writer's block, he had recently moved to Sparklewood. His daily deliveries of buns and milk appear to be stolen each morning. During one night he notices a large shadow running from his garden. He is drawn to lights at the house of his neighbour Mrs. Roosebud, but upon entering he is thrown out by her.
While checking facts for a new story at the library Jake learns that his house is built on a so-called fairy ground. The previous inhabitant left because of odd accidents long ago. A second effort to befriend his neighbour Mrs. Rosebud fails miserably. The next night he lays in wait for the milk thief, but misses him. The same night sees him getting back to writing again, although he develops some suspicions about his motivations.
The police doesn't take him seriously after he had revealed he's a writer and suspects fairies to be at work. Frustrated he cancels all orders. In the afternoon a Mr. Miller visits him and urges him to move out because of impending fairy activities, but Jake doesn't take him serious. In the early morning the police officier Pauline Harker wakes him up, because she had secretly (but in vain) watched for the milk thief. After a shared breakfast they agree to declare the case as unsolved, but closed.
In the early afternoon he discovers someone has destroyed the tires of his car. Next to his car he finds a large banknote. A few hours later he is arrested because he seemingly tried to pay for the new tires with counterfeit money. He is brought to the police station where he is questioned for several hours.

If you haven't read the earlier parts yet or need a refresher here's the story so far:

Because the narrator Jake Jarvis suffers from writer's block, he had recently moved to Sparklewood. His daily deliveries of buns and milk appear to be stolen each morning. During one night he notices a large shadow running from his garden. He is drawn to lights at the house of his neighbour Mrs. Roosebud, but upon entering he is thrown out by her.
While checking facts for a new story at the library Jake learns that his house is built on a so-called fairy ground. The previous inhabitant left because of odd accidents long ago. A second effort to befriend his neighbour Mrs. Rosebud fails miserably. The next night he lays in wait for the milk thief, but misses him. The same night sees him getting back to writing again, although he develops some suspicions about his motivations.
The police doesn't take him seriously after he had revealed he's a writer and suspects fairies to be at work. Frustrated he cancels all orders. In the afternoon a Mr. Miller visits him and urges him to move out because of impending fairy activities, but Jake doesn't take him serious. In the early morning the police officier Pauline Harker wakes him up, because she had secretly (but in vain) watched for the milk thief. After a shared breakfast they agree to declare the case as unsolved, but closed.
In the early afternoon he discovers someone has destroyed the tires of his car. Next to his car he finds a large banknote. A few hours later he is arrested because he seemingly tried to pay for the new tires with counterfeit money. He is brought to the police station where he is questioned for several hours.
Officer Hoover was studying his notes again. "You have moved to Sparklewood recently. Did you do this because you had troubles with the law before? We have requested the police records about you from the other cities, but they will take some time to arrive. You can show your cooperation by telling us now." I sighed. "There isn't anything to tell. I have never broken any laws before." When he began to smile triumphantly, I blushed. "I mean, I have never broken any laws, neither before nor today! It is all a terrible misunderstanding." At that moment, the door to the interrogation room opened and in stepped Ms. Harker. Her stern face let me wonder whether this was a change to the better or whether I would witness another hope being crushed. My day had been full of the latter. To my surprise she just took a cursory look at me, but focused on his colleague instead. "Hoover, what is going on here? Why did you block our interrogation room for so many hours?" For the first time I witnessed a crack in Hoover's aplomb. He jumped up, before he gained control over his actions again.

"I am just doing my job, Sergeant Harker. I am interrogating the counterfeiter we arrested this afternoon. He is just about to confess." He sat down again, finally having regained his composure.
Now it was my turn to jump up. "But that's not true! I won't confess to a crime I didn't commit. I am no counterfeiter!"

Miss Harker seemed to judge me for about half a minute, not saying anything, before she appeared to have come to a decision.
"Hoover, I am taking over. Just leave the files at the table. We will speak later about the case. Be so kind as to close the door when you leave."

With that she turned from the dismissed Hoover to me. "I can't say it's a pleasant surprise to meet you again so soon, given the reason and the location", she spoke to me at last.
I told her about my long slide down to hell since our last meeting. "I can't say for sure I know where I got the counterfeit money from", I closed my tale. "But I have my suspicions."

Then I described to her the newly sprouted fairy ring and the banknote I had found therein. "It sounds ridiculous, but the pranks of the milk thieves might have evolved into something far more sinister. Furthermore, I seem to remember something about fairy gold which turns to dust when being taken with you."
"What? Are you back to the point of believing in fairies again?"

I sensed her rising disbelief, and hastened to explain my own bafflement. "No, actually I don't know what to believe in anymore. I just can't explain what's happening. I am completely at a loss, just like you. But I can assure you I had never any intention of breaking the law nor do I meddle with counterfeits."
She furrowed her brow. "I do believe you. But since you have been caught red-handed with the counterfeit money, the charges can't be dropped without further investigations. As I see it, Hoover was overzealous in keeping you here for such a long time. Still, I have to ask you not to leave town until further notice. Adhere to that limitation, but else you are free to go." "You mean I can leave now?" I was more than relieved. The prospect of staying in a dark, damp prison cell had permeated my mind like a Damocles' sword hanging above my head. "Thank you very much. I guess I owe you now."

"That's fine with me, as long as you don't pay your debts with false money…", she said with a twinkle in her eye. When she saw my shocked face, she set me at ease. "Don't worry. As I said, I think you were just unlucky. You are not the counterfeit gang we have been searching for for quite some time now."
A taxi drove me home. The beams of the taxi's headlights teared through the darkness around us.

What a fitting allegory of life. We live and breath in a small vessel of consciousness, oblivious to the huge world around us. Our awareness is restricted to the tiny space our mind can illuminate, just like our eyes only perceive the car interior and the highlighted bits of street before us. Places we leave behind are swallowed up by darkness, already half-forgotten memories. Not true anymore. Fast fading photographs of things that existed once but may have changed since then.

What lies a few moments ahead is unknown to us, because despite all efforts our peering eyes may fool us. We might never reach what our glimpse ahead identifies as destination since the street can make a sudden turn anytime and send us somewhere else. Even worse, most of the time we are sitting in the back of the car and are not able to steer the vessel ourself. Feeling helpless.
I was still mulling over the similarity of destination and destiny, when the taxi stopped at my home. Almost surprised to have reached the requested destination indeed, I stumbled towards the front door. The discomfort I had felt in the taxi flared up with new nourishment when I saw a strange heap of garbage lying near the entrance.

Upon closer inspection it turned out to consist of letters torn to pieces. Letters that had been addressed to me. Letters of my publisher I had been waiting for over the past few days.
Someone must have stolen them from my mailbox. I was furious. I felt the cold determination to anger me behind the destruction, but not only that. Someone wanted me to know about his intentions. If I had had any doubts before, this heap of paper dispelled them. It was no less than a declaration of war. The perfidiousness about it was that it was almost impossible to prove it to others. Sure, I had torn letters and flattened tires to show, but I could easily have done that myself. There were no witnesses. I was alone in this.

The letters were ripped in too many fragments to assemble them again for reading, so I threw them into the garbage can.
What was behind all that? Had Mrs. Brimwater, the former resident of this place, encountered the same problems before she fled? Was Thornden Park a cursed house?

More importantly, what should I do about it? I had run out of options pretty fast. Neither police nor neighbourhood seemed to be a reliable ally against the unknown foe.
I had to admit there was but one single flicker of hope in Sparklewood: Miss Harker. Her understanding and trust in me was a tremendous emotional support.

Sipping at my coffee I started to think about her. It was not for the first time she took a stroll in my head.
I had already suspected I felt drawn to her. Her sparkling laugh that made her beautiful eyes dance with glee! What a wonderful sight!

Her sharp intelligence and self-confidence! What a reassuring feeling of protection she radiated!

I let out my breath and emptied the coffee mug.
But I had not forgotten about my concerns a few nights ago. The question whether I was only longing for the feeling of being in love was still unanswered. Did I confuse it with loving a real person now?

Beware of Scarron, I thought.
Scarron is a fictious character. A writer, making its hideous appearance in Carl Sternheim's play "The Trousers". He seems fascinated by a married woman and tries to seduce her. But when she finally succumbs to his relentless courting, he doesn’t even touch her. He runs off the very same moment to write about the feelings his obvious success has stirred in him. A poet more interested in writing than in living.

When I saw that play I feared him instantly. I realized I had known Scarron all of my life, because he was part of me, too.
Maybe that was the main reason I never spoke to my publisher in person. I didn't trust myself enough not to hurt people I liked. I didn't want to mistake a writer's craze with true feelings and act upon it. So I kept all people at bay. Should I believe in my feelings towards Miss Harker? The evil twins of doom and gloom sneered at me.

I went upstairs. Time for dreamland. I was dead tired.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave me a comment whether you liked the story or not. I appreciate all feedback.

A big thank goes to all CC artists without whom this story would look much less colourful :)

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15 Comment(s) so far


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#6fredbrennyNov 15, 2010

...ooops... should be questions there...\:o

#7Ben72006Nov 15, 2010

Great story and I am hope things get better for him.

#8YrS92VIPNov 15, 2010

Yay, it's featured\:rah\: I loved this update but that Jake... Seriously, he should go out and do something instead of just asking questions\:D But then, I suppose his character wouldn't be as entertaining as it is now\:P Brilliant job there Flatter\:rah\:

#9spitzmagicNov 16, 2010

((((Flatter)))) I love it, congrats on this featured chapter...I just knew she would come to his rescue...\:wub\: I love screen 17 it was if he was actually leaning on the counter with his elbow...drinking his coffee...love the way you write, pulls the reader right into the story...\:rah\: \:wub\:

#10ShelleyBVIPNov 16, 2010

\:rah\: Hooray Jake! A featured story! Sorry, I meant hooray (((Flatter)))!!! I won't reiterate all the comments left before, except to congratulate you on creating a story I (we?) enjoy, with all its complexities. \:D And, go Ms. Harker!! To the rescue again!! \:D

#11MangioNov 17, 2010

Congrats on having it featured, i'm glad Miss Haker was there to save him in time \:wub\: Is it really the fairies doing? I wonder if Miss Haker will be more than a friend, can't wait for more \:wub\: Well written and shot too \;\)

#12fabrizioammolloNov 18, 2010

Great pictures and a wonderful story! I enjoy the most Jake thinking and fears: you give him such a depth! \:rah\:

#13RatRaceRobNov 21, 2010

Alas, our Jake is as much a victim of his own internal worries as he is of tormenting faeries!  I am reminded in this chapter of Jake's original reason for coming to Sparklewood-- his worries over the dread writer's block... he better get out of his head and into the faerie-proof bunker soon, lol, and take that cute-hat-wearing Miss Harker in there with him \;\)... but seriously, a thought-provoking chapter, peeking deep into our stumbling hero's brain again... I so did imagine him wringing his hands at that window in #21 as he stood there questioning his motives for not meeting his publisher \:\( ... very well-written chapter, I can only wonder (and worry!!!) over what will shake up poor Jake next!  And of course... a much-deserved congratulations for your feature \:D \:rah\:

#14SimplySarahDec 8, 2010

They were all nice i liked them. thank you for your sims being dessed in decent clothes.

#15jaywhittDec 9, 2010

\:rah\:  Woopdey Doo! So amazin'

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