In today’s episode we continue our adventure with Chapter 7 – Mystery at Mirror Pond, where some alone time in nature with her sketchbook proves to be anything but relaxing for Magpie!

Music: Nightbridge by Cannelle (www.cannellemusic.com)

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TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions, with the support of Whimsical Productions and Collected Sounds presents: Episode 7 of The Skylark Bell.  I am your host Melissa Oliveri.  

In our last episode, Magpie accidentally discovered a secret attic that had been sealed up decades before.

In today’s episode we continue our adventure with Chapter 7 – Mystery at Mirror Pond, where some alone time in nature with her sketchbook proves to be anything but relaxing for Magpie!

So get comfortable… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started

Magpie drinks down the last of her orange juice, pushes her sleeves up and gets started on the dishes. Outside the kitchen window she can see the old rail fence and, in the field beyond it, the Starlings’ farm.  Lucas is spending the morning with his grandmother in the neighbouring town, so Magpie has made her own plans.  She stacks the last of the clean plates in the cupboard with a thud and hurries to the hall closet.

“I’m heading to the pond!” she shouts to her mom, struggling to pull on her boots as Scarlet rubs up against her legs, purring loudly with affection.

Mirror Pond sits across from the old farmhouse in the middle of what was once a rock quarry that had long ago been filled in with gravel.  One of Magpie’s favourite discoveries since moving to Pocket is sitting with her journal on the large rock in the middle of the pond and drawing sketches or writing stories as the water gently ripples around her, it helps her clear her mind.

“Boy, you don’t stop for a second!” laughs her mom, walking in from the sunroom and wiping paint off a long, thin paintbrush.  Magpie’s mom is an artist; she paints bright, unusually coloured landscapes.  She’s not famous by any means, but does well enough that the two of them can live comfortably.  She has finally set up her studio in the sunroom and is working on a commissioned piece for the gallery she used to work at in the city.  “I found some great vegetables at the market to grill for dinner, is it a date?” she asks, picking up the cat for a snuggle. 

Magpie nods. Her mom is a great cook and Magpie loves when they have dinner ‘dates’.  They decorate the picnic table, light a few candles, and stay out well into the night chatting and telling stories.  “Can’t wait!” she says, tucking her notebook, sketchbook and pencils into her backpack, “See you later!”

Magpie gently closes the front door behind her, skips down their long driveway and waits for a pickup truck to drive by before crossing the road. She gingerly hops over an old, dilapidated fence and steps through some overgrown grass to get to the edge of the quarry. From there, she scurries excitedly down the stony path to the pond, and muddles across a few feet of water before settling down on the rock with a satisfying thud. She takes a moment to soak in the sound of the water settling after the disruption she caused wading through it to the rock nearby, a small turtle slowly makes its way onto a fallen log and turns its face up to the sun.  It’s a perfect day for sketching, the still water reflects the feathery white clouds strewn across the sky while the sunlight filters through the leaves and flowers, giving them a surreal glow.

Magpie pulls a shiny red apple out of her pocket and takes a large bite before grabbing her pencil.  She chews slowly, deep in thought, as she starts drawing outlines of the scene before her:  The stones in the quarry, faraway hills, tall grass in the field, the mound of raspberry bushes where the foxes like to burrow, the shadows cast by the sparse trees and bushes and, barely visible in the distance, the roof of the house on Meadow Lane.  For a moment she thinks of what she saw in her vision the night before, when Meadow Lane was all lit up with a roaring fire in the fireplace, music, and people dancing… but she pushes the thought to the back of her mind.  Magpie concentrates on her sketch, relishing the sound of the pencil moving across the paper, bringing the blank page to life.

Lost in her drawing, Magpie barely notices as her mind is slowly overcome by the image of a man on a large black horse, its long white mane and tail flowing toward the ground. The man, dressed in layers of thick dark clothes, is expertly guiding the striking, unusual-looking animal through mounds of snow as the wind whips up a swirl of snowflakes around them.  Dark curls make their way rebelliously out from under the man’s cap as his eyes squint against the winter storm, like he is looking for something, or trying to find his way. The sky and everything around him is a flurry of white, it’s impossible to tell where he is, or which direction he is going. His exhausted, worried face looks vaguely familiar to Magpie, but she can’t quite put her finger on it.  Both horse and man are bracing themselves against a tremendous gust of wind when the man’s scarf unravels and blows onto the horse’s face.  Terrified, the massive animal rears several times and the man is thrown from its back. Magpie winces as the man’s body crashes to the ground.  The horse gallops off and the man is left laying in the snow, immobile, as the wind swirls around him.

A large frog hopping into the pond startles Magpie out of her vision.  The ripples in the water distort the reflection of the sky as the warm summer breeze blows the cattails on the pond.  “Here we go again,” she whispers to herself, hastily flipping to a blank page in her notebook. She starts sketching; snow drifts, large black hooves, a flowing mane and tail, leather boots worn by a mysterious man, his dark, curly hair blowing in the wind…  She has no idea how long she has been sitting there, feverishly drawing, before she holds up the completed sketch; it is surprisingly accurate.  She shudders, recalling how the man’s body hit the ground when he was thrown off his gigantic horse. She takes one last look at her sketch before packing up her things and heading home, the cold winter snowstorm from her vision giving her goosebumps despite the warm summer sun.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for our second Fantome Friday – where we will hear the unsettling true story of The Lady in the Window!  – Be sure to subscribe so you don’t miss a thing! 

Before I go, I’d like to thank Phaeton Starling Publishing for this fantastically eerie story, and Cannelle Elanion for composing equally fantastic and eerie music for this podcast.

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