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A Skylark Special - Vol 1, The Man with a Storm in His Eyes The Man with a Storm in His Eyes – Volume 1
Happy holidays dear listeners. I know it’s been some time since I released a new episode of The Skylark Bell, but I believe you’ll feel it was worth the wait as you listen to what I have in store for you
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The Man with a Storm in His Eyes – Volume 1
Happy holidays dear listeners. I know it’s been some time since I released a new episode of The Skylark Bell, but I believe you’ll feel it was worth the wait as you listen to what I have in store for you over the next few weeks.
Over Thanksgiving I spent a few days house- and cat-sitting for a friend. The moment I met Russell the cat I was completely charmed by the milky cloudiness of his eyes. What fascinated me most was that he appeared to be able to see just fine... to the point where sometimes he appeared to be seeing things that I myself couldn’t see. I found myself inspired and fully credit Russell with breaking through my writer’s block.
And so begins the first of 4 installments of what was supposed to be a short story, but ended up being much longer, and far more meaningful than I could ever have imagined.
NOTE - This story is available in written form in its entirety exclusively to Patreon Supporters, visit the link below to join.
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Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com
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Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music
FULL TRANSCRIPT
Things with Wings Productions presents: The Man with a Storm in His Eyes - A Skylark Special Miniseries written exclusively for The Skylark Bell podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.
Happy holidays dear listeners. I know it’s been some time since I released a new episode of The Skylark Bell, but I believe you’ll feel it was worth the wait as you listen to what I have in store for you over the next few weeks.
Over Thanksgiving I spent a few days house- and cat-sitting for a friend. The moment I met Russell the cat I was completely charmed by the milky cloudiness of his eyes. What fascinated me most was that he appeared to be able to see just fine... to the point where sometimes he appeared to be seeing things that I myself couldn’t see. I found myself inspired and fully credit Russell with breaking through my writer’s block.
And so begins the first of 4 installments of what was supposed to be a short story, but ended up being much longer, and far more meaningful than I could ever have imagined.
So, dear friends, it is my pleasure to suggest that you get settled in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… because we’re getting started.
I was standing on the brink of the holiday season with nothing but my own company to look forward to. Off work, no family or friends to visit, not enough money to whisk myself away from my mundane life... things were looking rather bleak. Then I saw the advertisement in my town newspaper: “In search of responsible adult to assist elderly man Dec 22nd-27th”. I stared at the phone number on the listing, and let the scenario run through my head: Christmas with a stranger... what could go wrong?! I laughed out loud, then dialed the number. I had nothing to lose... or so I thought.
A pleasant woman answered the phone with a jovial, “This is Florence!”
“Hello Florence, my name is Marie. I saw your advertisement in the paper looking for someone to help with an elderly man over the holidays...” My voice sounded insecure; I wasn’t entirely sure I’d dialed the right number.
“Ah, yes...” Florence’s voice took on a more somber tone. “Our upstairs tenant is quite elderly, my sister and I check in on him daily to help with tidying up and cooking, but we’re going out of town for the holidays and don’t feel comfortable leaving him alone.”
“I see...” I replied, curious about the dynamics of the two sisters and the old man living upstairs. “Are you looking for someone to visit a couple of times a day or...”
Florence cut in, “Well, ideally, we’d love to find someone to stay overnight in our flat to keep an eye on things and assist our tenant when necessary. Unfortunately, we can’t offer much in the way of financial compensation, but you could help yourself to anything in the fridge or pantry, both are well-stocked, and we have plenty of books and movies to entertain you.” She paused then, leaving the static air between us hanging for a moment before tentatively carrying on. “If that sounds agreeable, perhaps we could meet tomorrow for introductions?”
I thought it was strange she didn’t ask me for any references and that she was so quickly and easily willing to hand over access to both her home and the well-being of an elderly man to a complete stranger. Lucky for her, I was a kind, honest, trustworthy person. We agreed to meet at her flat for lunch the next day, the address was less than a mile from my apartment, very convenient if I needed to zip home for anything.
I easily found the 2-storey row house at the end of a cul-de-sac after following a long stretch of nearly identical brown brick buildings down a hill. My mother had always insisted I should never go to anyone’s home without bringing a token of appreciation, so I shifted the bag of pastries I had brought into my left hand and used my free hand to tap the door knocker against the heavy wooden door. I heard the sound reverberate on the other side, followed by a quick succession of echoing footsteps. A moment later I was standing in a long dim hallway with a petite woman who appeared to be in her 70s. Her appearance was quite striking; dressed all in black with chalky white makeup on her face and garish red lipstick swiped across her mouth like a child’s crayon mark on a blank page.
“Hello, you must be Florence?” I asked, noting that she hadn’t said a word of welcome to me after opening the door. Her irises and pupils were almost the same colour, making her eyes, which were fixated on me, look like two dark, bottomless pools. This, coupled with her completely static facial expression began to make me squirm. I shifted nervously from one foot to the other waiting for her to say something.
“This is my sister Winifred, she doesn’t speak much,” came a voice from the room to my left. My gaze quickly shifted to the doorway where a woman, identical to the one standing next to me, but with a much warmer countenance and more relaxed clothing style, was standing in the doorframe wiping flour from her hands onto a maroon apron. “I am Florence,” she added with a warm smile that put me only slightly more at ease.
“I’m Marie, it’s lovely to meet you both... Oh, these are for you,” I said, awkwardly handing the bag of pastries to Winifred. The entire situation, identical twins, one apparently mute and very inept at applying makeup, an elderly man upstairs... it was all quite bizarre, and I began to question why I ever thought this would be a good idea. Winifred sniffled in acknowledgment then shuffled away, disappearing into the shadows of the endless hallway.
“Why don’t we begin by going upstairs to meet Mr. Holcomb,” suggested Florence, gently but purposefully laying a guiding hand on my shoulder and turning me toward a doorway to our left. We walked down a short hallway to a narrow set of wooden stairs leading up to an even narrower door with a brass number 7 hanging on it slightly askew. Florence marched up the stairs ahead of me, the ribbon of her apron bouncing back and forth as she made her way up. I followed closely, preferring the creepy narrow stairs to the company of her creepy sister Winifred.
“Mr. Holcomb? It’s Florence, I’ve got the caregiver here with me,” shouted Florence through the door. Caregiver? I was surprised to hear her coin the term as I had never insinuated I had any kind of caregiving experience. We waited a moment, Florence on the tiny landing and me a couple of stairs below her. Slow, shuffling footsteps grew louder on the other side of the door and the sound of the bolt slipping out of its casing echoed down the stairs behind me. The door creaked loudly as it was pulled open, and Florence walked through. I came up the last few steps and stepped into the flat. The man was already several steps ahead, his back to me as he walked toward the back of the apartment.
Florence and I followed him, she more at ease than I by a long shot. The hallway was lined with mirrors streaked with gold, like something straight out of the 1960s. I peered into the adjacent rooms, and each one also appeared frozen in a similar era. We finally arrived at a small kitchen, bright sunlight pouring in through the small window above the sink. It was only then that I realised every other room I had seen had the curtains drawn and was bathed in darkness. The man finally turned to face me, and the sharp intake of my breath caused Florence to put a hand on my arm.
“Mr. Holcomb can see much more clearly than his appearance would suggest,” she leaned in to whisper in my ear.
“My hearing is quite stellar as well,” said the man, with no hint of banter in his voice.
I stood transfixed. The man’s eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen before. When I was young our family dog’s eyes had become milky as it grew older, but this was something entirely different. The clouds in his eyes weren’t static but rolling, like an impending storm, a mixture of white, grey, and charcoal.
I shook my head and cleared my throat. “It’s lovely to meet you Mr. Holcomb, my name is Marie. It sounds like we’re going to be spending the holidays together!” The words were strung together as though someone else was speaking them, the voice coming out of my throat unrecognizable to me. I couldn’t believe I was listening to myself agree to stay in a strange building owned by strange sisters to look after a strange man. It felt like I had no control over my body or my mind in that moment.
Somehow or other, arra
GUID: 609f21c2-8d5e-4fc7-afd5-5d8978cbe2cb
Erscheinungsdatum: 22.12.2023, 07:00:00
