The Skylark Bell

Today we’ll be reading a story called Elliot Under Glass. This story was originally released as part of my children’s podcast, A Carefully Built Pretend. You may experience pang of nostalgia, a longing for the magic of childhood, but ultimately it is commentary on gratitude, and living life to the fullest.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Melissa on Mastodon: https://mastodon.social/@melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: A Skylark Special Episode in collaboration with A Carefully Built Pretend podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

Today we’ll be reading a story called Elliot Under Glass. This story was originally released as part of my children’s podcast, A Carefully Built Pretend. You may experience pang of nostalgia, a longing for the magic of childhood, but ultimately it is commentary on gratitude, and living life to the fullest.

Have you ever looked deeply into a snow globe and wished with all your might that you could go inside? Maybe it’s a snow globe with a dashing unicorn, flowers laced in its flowing mane and tail. Or perhaps it’s a holiday snow globe with a jolly Santa surrounded by his elves and a mountain of toys. Or maybe it’s one of those snow globes that someone brought back from a trip, with the Empire State Building or the Eiffel Tower inside. You give it a shake and watch the glittery snow swirl around and fall gently toward the bottom, dreaming you could be taken away to the magical space inside the snow globe.

Now what if I told you that sometimes... well, at least one time... there was someone inside the snow globe wishing they could get out?! You don’t believe me, do you? Well, let me tell you the story of Elliot Under Glass...

Be sure to listen through to the end of the episode for a brand new song by Cannelle composed exclusively for this story.

So grab a blanket, a warm drink, a handful of wishes, and let’s get started.

No one is quite sure how Elliot got inside the snow globe. Some say he was put in there when a mystical creature cast a spell on him, others say he grew from a seed or grain of sand, others think maybe he hatched out of an egg. Whatever the case, Elliot had never known a day outside of the snow globe. He wasn’t completely alone in there, he had a doll, a toy train, a plate of cookies, and a glass of lemonade. But the one thing he didn’t have, was a real friend.

Tony loved Christmas. Every year he would spend the weeks leading up to the holidays pouring over the Sears toy catalogue, circling all his favourite things. That Christmas, Tony got a new sled, a Batman colouring book, a chutes and ladders board game, and his very own hair comb. “There’s one more gift under the tree, Tony,” his grandpa had said, “I think it’s for you!”

Tony had scurried to the tree and gently lifted the small, rather heavy box. There was no tag on it. “Who is it from?” he asked. He looked around at the grownups in the room, but none of them seemed to know. Tony shrugged and tore off the paper. Underneath was a plain brown cardboard box. Tony carefully pried it open and lifted the object out. “It’s a snow globe!” he shouted, giving it a shake then holding it up to the light to peer inside.

“Dad is this your doing?” Tony’s dad asked Tony’s Grandpa. Tony’s grandpa shook his head no and shrugged his shoulders. “Well son, I guess we’ll just chalk this one up to Santa!” he said, smiling.

“I love it!” said Tony, running up to his room to find the perfect spot for his gift. The snow globe found a home on top of his dresser next to the bed. Every night before bed he would lay down and hold it up above his head, peering at the boy inside as the glittery snowflakes fell around him. The boy inside was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a doll, toy train, plate of cookies, and glass of lemonade by his side. I wonder what your name is...thought Tony one day. 

“It’s Elliot!” shouted the boy. Tony was so shocked he almost dropped the snow globe on the floor. He had seen a film at the movie theatre last year with his dad where the toys could talk, and move. But... that wasn’t real... was it?

“Hello Elliot, I’m Tony,” he spoke into the glass at the top of the snow globe. He leaned back and looked down. The boy in the snow globe, Elliot, was waving at him. “It is real!” he whispered in disbelief. Tony leaned in to take a closer look. “Elliot, you’re so lucky! You get to eat cookies, and drink lemonade, and play all day!”

Elliot shook his head, sending a mass of glittery snowflakes swirling around him. “No!” he shouted, barely audible through the glass. The truth was, Elliott dreamed of the world outside the snow globe. He dreamed of the cozy bed with the cowboy comforter, or of running barefoot outside and feeling the blades of grass poke between his toes, or splashing in a backyard pool, or a bathtub filled with bubbles up to his chin! In the beginning he loved cookies and lemonade... but now he wanted to try new things! Pizza, popcorn, chocolate-dipped strawberries!

“What do you mean, no?” asked Tony, unable to understand why anyone would want to turn down an endless supply of cookies. In the snow globe he wouldn’t have to go to school, he wouldn’t have to take a bath or brush his teeth every night, or listen to his sister boss him around. He wouldn’t have to wear the uncomfortable button up shirts his mom made him wear on special occasions, and he wouldn’t have to sit through any of Aunt Janet’s boring holiday parties. The more he thought about it, the more life inside the snow globe sounded great!

“It’s not as wonderful as you think,” said Elliot, as if reading his mind. “Cookies and lemonade are fun for a while, but I only have two toys to play with, and I don’t have a bed, I have to sleep on the floor. This glittery snow gets stuck in my hair and in my clothes. I never get to hug anyone, or make new friends, or travel and explore new places. 

Tony sat and thought about it for a long time. Maybe Elliot was right, life outside the snow globe wasn’t so bad. He had been on that trip to Mount Rushmore with his classmates last year, and he sure did have a comfy bed with puffy pillows and sheets that had cowboys on horseback racing across them. He got to go to birthday parties, and play on the softball team, play tricks on his dad for April Fool’s day, compete in the spelling bee, go trick or treating for Halloween... he got to do a lot of fun things when he really stopped to think about it.

“Okay Elliot, how do we get you out?” he asked. He squinted at the boy in the snow globe and saw him shrug. 

“I really don’t know,” replied Elliot, I’ve always been in here, I don’t know how to get out.

“What if we try wishing really hard?” suggested Tony. The two of them squeezed their eyes shut tightly and silently wished with all their might. After a few minutes they opened their eyes and looked around, but Elliot was still under the glass of the snow globe.

“Maybe we need to cast a spell, or break a curse, like what a witch or wizard would do!” suggested Tony. He packed the snow globe in his backpack and rode his bike to the library to do some research. He found a Freedom Spell in the book the librarian had brought him. He copied it down in his very best handwriting and biked home. Tony and Elliot repeated the spell word for word, three times, just in case. But still, Elliot was stuck under the glass, glittery snow in his hair.

“Maybe we need to take the snow globe apart and let you out that way!” suggested Tony. At this Elliot looked a little worried, but gave a small, nervous nod. Tony raced downstairs to his mom’s tool kit and grabbed a screwdriver. He turned the snow globe over and tried to figure out which screws held which pieces together. After a few tries he finally flipped the snow globe right-side-up and peered down at Elliot with a glum look on his face. “I’m sorry Elliot, I don’t think it’s doable, the glass is glued to the bottom part, so the water won’t come out.” Elliot looked sad, but mostly he looked dizzy and nauseous from being upside down for so long.

Tony and Elliot eventually gave up on freeing Elliot from the snow globe and just enjoyed their new friendship. Tony would tell Elliot stories about his adventures in the outside world, and Elliot would tell Tony tall tales he’d made up while sitting within the confines of the snow globe. 

One day, Tony’s mom told him to clean his room, reminding him that his grandmother was coming to visit. Tony’s grandma would go on and on about how messy and irresponsible he was if he didn’t clean his room before she arrived. Tony made his bed and put his clothes and toys away. He hurriedly passed the vacuum back and forth on his rug, then fluffed his pillows and watered his cactus, Bruce, named after Batman’s alter ego Bruce Wayne. “Grandma’s here!” shouted his mom, sending Tony into a flurry. He hadn’t dusted yet! He grabbed the duster from the hall closet and clumsily ran it across his desk, the shelves where he lined up his toy cars and figurines, and finally scrambled to his dresser. He turned his head to look toward the door when he heard his grandmother’s voice downstairs, and suddenly heard a loud CRASH at his feet!

Tony’s heart sank. He knew what the crash was before looking down at the puddle and broken glass. He heard his mother’s footsteps rushing up the stairs. “Tony are you okay?! What was that noise?!” She panted from the doorway.

Tony was too heartbroken to reply right away. He took a few deep breaths before answering. “My snow globe fell off the dresser. It’s broken,” he told her. 

“Oh honey, I’m sorry, I know how much you loved that snow globe. We’ll find you a new one,” she said, putting a comforting arm around him. “Why don’t you come downstairs and ask Grandma to make you a hot chocolate while I clean up,” she said, guiding him toward the door.

Tony was about halfway done with his hot chocolate when a terrible thought occurred to him. What would happen to Elliott now that the snow globe was smashed?! He left his mug on the counter and raced upstairs. “Mom! Mom!” he shouted, taking the stairs two at a time. “Mom, wait! You can’t throw it away!” he cried. 

“Oh, honey it’s too late, that broken glass was dangerous. It was lucky timing, just after I put the bag in the trash the garbage truck came to take it away.”

Tony sank to the floor, riddled with guilt. What would become of Elliot then, trapped inside a plastic bag on a garbage truck?

“Don’t worry buddy, like I said, we’ll find you a new snow globe,” said his mother in a comforting tone.

“But that snow globe had Elliot inside!” cried Tony, unable to stop the tears from falling down his face. His mother’s brow furrowed for a moment, like she was wondering who Elliot was, but she didn’t make a fuss, and just held Tony in her arms until he’d cried out all his tears, then helped him get into bed for a nap.

As time went on Tony moved on from the tragic end to the snow globe, but he never forgot about Elliot. Years and years went by. Tony grew up and moved away, went to college, and got a job that took him overseas. He was walking down a street in a small English town one day, when he crossed paths with a man who looked familiar. He stopped and looked at the man. The man stopped and looked at him. They squinted at one another. Finally, the man smiled and said “It’s so nice to see you here on the outside, Tony. You were right, it is a big, beautiful world!” Then he winked at Tony and walked away. Tony stayed very still for a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts. Then something on the ground caught his eye. He bent down to take a closer look. There was a trail of something on the sidewalk, shining in the rare English sun. Tony reached down to touch it and some of it stuck to his finger. He took a closer look and smiled. Glittery snowflakes. 

“Elliot!” he shouted, spinning around, but the man was already gone. Tony continued his walk home, the grin never leaving his face. As he passed the local gift shop, he noticed the window display featured a snow globe with a family of puppies and two smiling children. 

“Honey, I’m home!” he shouted to his wife as he walked through the door. “I have a surprise for you!” His wife walked in from the backyard excitedly, her curiosity piqued. He handed her a brown carboard box wrapped in bright yellow paper with an orange bow. She hurriedly unwrapped it and looked at him quizzically as the glittery snow swirled around the puppies and children.

“I’m going to tell you a story. I know it will seem hard to believe, but I promise you, every word is true. You see when I was a boy, I got a snow globe for Christmas...”

From across the street, a man watches through their window. He slips a cookie out of his coat pocket and takes a small bite. He smiles as he watches the woman unwrap the gift, then lifts off his hat, and shakes a few flakes of glittery snow out of his hair before placing it back on his head and continuing on toward his next adventure.

Thank you so much for listening. I wish you and those you love a safe and happy new year. May all your wishes come true, may you live life to the fullest, and be filled with joy and gratitude in the year to come.

I look forward to joining you again later in January with the return of The Skylark Bell for season 3, which will feature Skyedive, the third and final book in the skylark trilogy.  In SkyeDive we will learn more about the original Farfalla, and follow her from a happy, carefree childhood at Meadow Lane to her eventual transformation in to the mystical and frightening Dealan-de. 

Be sure to listen through to the end of this episode for a brand new original song by Cannelle composed exclusively for this story.  

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by me under my stage name Cannelle. If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a rating on Spotify or a review on Apple Podcasts, they help give the podcast visibility so others can find and enjoy the story. You can also support my work by subscribing to my Patreon where you get early access to episodes as well as MP3 downloads of the music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Today’s episode of The Skylark Bell was made in collaboration with The Haunted UK podcast. It is a little different than what you’ve become used to at The Skylark Bell; it is recorded in Audio Drama format as a phone call between two characters, and features an introduction and voice acting by the host of The Haunted UK podcast. Fair warning, this episode may also be slightly scarier than a typical episode of The Skylark Bell.

Story and Script by The Haunted UK

Find The Haunted UK podcast's 2021 Halloween Special here *We suggest listening to this FIRST*: https://open.spotify.com/episode/0bvnvqkUCIxmFA2DWuomp2?si=f4LImIeoTJ6zKeMJa6WUlg

Find The Haunted UK podcast on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/hauntedukpodcast/

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Melissa on Mastodon: https://mastodon.social/@melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings productions presents – A Special episode of The Skylark Bell, in collaboration with The Haunted UK Podcast. I’m your host, Melissa Oliveri.

Before you begin this episode, I strongly suggest you hit pause, and go visit The Haunted UK podcast’s 2021 Halloween Special episode, the link is in the show notes. It is a fantastic episode retelling a story that will give you chills. Then, come back here for an epilogue of sorts... 

Now, today’s episode of The Skylark Bell is a little different than what you’re used to, as it is recorded in Audio Drama format as a phone call between two characters, and features an introduction and voice acting by the host of The Haunted UK. This episode may also be slightly scarier than a typical episode of The Skylark Bell.

Alright, you’ve been warned! Now go grab a blanket and a warm drink, and let’s get started.

Halloween 2021 saw the Haunted UK Podcast publish a bonus episode which told the unbelievable story of an author and his terrifying experience with something completely out of the ordinary. Going by the name of Robert Crawford, this individual tried to gain some sort of normality back into his life...but those experiences on an isolated farm in England’s Peak District would continue to haunt him every minute of every day.

Little by little Robert's life began to fall apart because of the impact of what he'd witnessed, and also the fact that Gwen and Bernie knew where he lived. He had no idea what had happened to both of them after he left the farm on that final fateful night.... did they both get out of the tunnels under the barn... or did they die down there?? Every day was a waiting game.... would someone come looking for him to make sure that he never spoke of what he saw?

Just how long had the existence of this bloodline of creatures been kept secret, and how many actually knew about what was going on at the farm. Maybe it was paranoia, but since the events witnessed by Robert Crawford had happened, he began to record his phone calls and document any events which he felt were strange.

From his diary notes he mentioned a number of times that he felt that he was being followed, but never actually saw anyone. He also says that his house phone would ring a number of times every day, but nobody would speak... there would just be light breathing. Was this someone from the farm, or was it someone else entirely? Crawford would have his phone disconnected and would then rely completely on his iPhone, which few people had the number for.

What you are about to hear is a telephone conversation which allegedly took place a few months ago. The audio file for this conversation was on a USB drive which had been posted in a padded envelope. We've taken the liberty of re-recording this conversation to protect those involved and to also keep the real name of the farm under wraps. There was also a written note enclosed which simply read "Seek out the Book of Aldaraia".

After a little bit of digging regarding the book mentioned in the note, the Book of Aldaraia is also known as the Book of Soyga....or The Book That Kills. It's not known who actually wrote this book, but it was part of the extensive library of John Dee until his death in 1608. Legend has it that a medium by the name of Edward Kelley was used by John Dee to help translate the book, which was mostly in Latin, in 1582.

Kelley offered John Dee the chance to speak to the Archangel Uriel to help him decode the most mysterious sections of the book, which are around 40,000 seemingly randomly distributed letters. Not satisfied with the secrets of magic, divination, spells, incantations, and details regarding demonology already discovered within the book, John Dee wanted the key to unlock the code within these characters. When he asked Kelley to instruct the Archangel Uriel to give up the code he refused, telling him that only the Archangel Michael could truly decode and translate the full potential of the book.... and that wasn't something that was going to happen. The contents were just too dangerous.

So, what mysterious powers lay behind these layers of random letters? It's still unknown today, but John Dee devoted his entire life trying to crack this code and upon his death in 1608, the book went missing... until 1994. Where had it been? What was it used for, and what did it have to do with what went on at the farm? The book resides in the British Library to this day.

Here is the phone conversation, make of it what you will...

(iPhone rings and Robert Crawford answers.)

Robert: Hello (short period of silence)...Hello...

Laura:  Is this Robert Crawford??

Robert: Ermm..who's asking?

Laura:  My name is Laura Arden....I work at the Natural History Museum in London...in the Department of Medieval and Latter Antiquities...so sorry to call so late, but I was wondering if you could help me out with something?

Robert: Sorry, but how did you get this number? Are you American??

Laura: Canadian actually....ummm...well, a little research and access to some databases and I managed to find you. You're a really difficult guy to track down considering you're an author.

Robert: Well, I prefer to keep as much of my life as private as possible. What is it you wanted again?

Laura: I just needed to ask you a few questions about something that I think you may be able to help with......you can look me up online at the museum if you like....

Robert: No, no,...there's no need for that. I just don't get many phone calls nowadays, that's all.

Laura: So....do you think you could help me out??

Robert: ..Sure, yes, I'll try my best....This isn't about a book signing is it??

Laura:  No, no, no....although I have read a couple of your books, but no....I was wondering if you'd be kind enough to help me get to the bottom of something that I found while I was on vacation...it may have something to do with you.

Robert: I suppose so...but I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be, but fire away

Laura:  Ok...bit of a strange question for starters, but do you have any interest in the occult...witchcraft...black magic...things like that?

Robert: Well if you say you've read a few of my books then you'll know that I sometimes dabble in those topics....look, what's this about exactly, and how can this have anything to do with me??

Laura:  Well it's not just about something that I found, but more about the location it was found in....and I think you can give me some valuable information about this location.

Robert: Ok, look it's late and I don't want to come across as being rude, but can you just get to the point please??

Laura:  Ok...fair enough.....Have you ever been to Manor Ridge Farm Mr Crawford??

(a long silence)

Laura:  Hello??...Mr Crawford...Hello??...are you still there??

Robert: Yeah..I'm still here....how do you know that name??

Laura:  Have you been there...or not Mr Crawford?

Robert: Look, there's nothing I can help you with Laura...it's been lovely talking to you but I have things to...

(Laura cuts in)

Laura: (more forcefully now) HAVE YOU BEEN THERE OR NOT???

Robert: ....yes...I was there around a year ago.

Laura:  Good...now we're getting somewhere. So what circumstance led you to Manor Ridge Farm??

Robert: In all honesty...I had writers block while I was working my next book. I needed a change of scenery...something to snap me back in to focus. I found a cottage for rent on the farm and hired it. The different views, the atmosphere, the clean air...it was supposed to help but....well...it didn't.

Laura:  So what happened??

Robert: Hold on...how do you even know I was there? Are you working with the police or something?

Laura:  Police???..no..it's..it's nothing like that. As I said..I was on vacation and found something.

Robert: So why don't you enlighten me as to what you've found...and why were YOU up at that farm??

Laura:  I was on a week long hiking vacation in the Peak District. I planned to get as many of the trails under my belt as possible...same as you, take in the views, absorb the atmosphere...get away from the city. I'm not really someone who enjoys being in other people’s back pockets if you know what I mean? I prefer my own company at times and this vacation was one that I was going to go on alone.

Robert: So you came across the farm as a place to stay??

Laura:  Yes...but not because I'd organised it. Weather had turned bad, and it was getting late. I was literally in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain and it was getting dark. I saw a farmhouse with lights on in the distance so I headed towards it. The owners told me that they didn't take in visitors...don't get me wrong, they weren't nasty...far from it, they were really helpful. They told me that Manor Ridge Farm had a cottage that they hired out, I should head there and see if they could help, so I did.

Robert: So you make your way to the farm....then what?

Laura:  Well, I got to the main house and I saw a cottage opposite a barn further up the driveway, so, assuming that this was the place, I knocked on the door and was greeted by a woman...I'd say she was in her fifties...maybe sixties...had a patch covering one eye. She introduced herself as Gwen and seemed friendly enough. When I asked about the cottage she was more than happy to help, but something seemed off....I didn't know what it was at the time...but something just didn't seem right.

Robert: Was there anyone else in the Farm House...a man maybe...or outside??

Laura:  I never saw anyone other than Gwen...anyway, she said that the cottage hadn't been let out for a while so was in a bit of a mess, but I was welcome to stay the night if I wanted. Well, there was no way that I was going to stay out in the rain overnight, so I jumped at the chance. She gave me the key and walked up to the cottage with me and quickly showed me around...that's when she started to make me feel uncomfortable.

Robert: In what way? What did she do?

Laura:  She just suddenly said that she needed to go, and I was to stay in the cottage and not come out until morning. She said that many people had gone missing in the area because they didn't know the hills and the weather...it was just really creepy. Anyway, she just took off towards the barn and I thought that was strange because the weather was getting really bad...why not go back to the house?

Robert: You didn't go back out there did you??

Laura:  No, not right away...I wanted to get out of my wet clothes, get changed and get warm. I had a few chocolate bars in my pack, but was really hungry so I started to hunt around to see if there were any cans of soup or something like that to eat...but there wasn't anything....so that's when I decided to go down to the farm house.

Robert: I can't believe you went back out there...especially down to the house. If you've managed to track me down and link me to that place then surely you know something of what went on there...if not...why are you calling?

Laura:  I'm getting to that....so...I went down to the main house, and by this time it was dark, pouring with rain and the wind was really getting strong. As I got to the front door, I noticed it was wide open...so I stepped inside and called out for Gwen...but there was no answer...and then the smell hit me...a kind of blood-like metallic smell. I went into the kitchen and....well it looked like something had been torn to pieces. It was definitely an animal...but that was all I could make out. I began to feel sick and knew that I had to get out of there as quickly as possible...and that's when I saw the book on the floor.

Robert: Book!!! What book?? You hung around because of a book??

Laura:  This wasn't any ordinary book Robert...from the markings on the front of the leather cover I knew it was old...so I grabbed it and ran for the front door. I took a look around, didn't see anyone so then ran for the cottage and locked myself inside.

Robert: Why didn't you phone the police?? Why didn't you.....no signal....you didn't have a phone signal did you?

Laura:  No...my phone was the first thing I checked when I'd locked the front door. I was trapped there until the morning and there was no way that I was going back down to the main house after what I'd seen.

Robert: Well at least you were safe for the time being...when I was there I wasn't so lucky. It was Bernie who came for me with a....well...that's in the past now. So what was so special about this book?

Laura:  At the Museum we have archives of extremely old, rare and precious books...bibles, authors first volumes, writings from kings and queens of the past...and books about the occult...the supernatural...black magic...witchcraft. Some of these books go back to at least the 1500's and their contents are still considered by some to be highly dangerous...but this book was more than just a book...it was a diary. A diary of generations of individuals who had been blessed by a specific bloodline.

Robert: Blessed!!! I don't think you realise exactly what you were dealing with there Laura. What I saw at that farm challenged every single thing that I thought was pure and simple fiction...what I encountered, firsthand, wasn't something that was blessed...it was something that every man, woman and child should only encounter in their nightmares...but there it was...right in front of me...and it was being protected...coverted...aloud to exist.

Laura:  But yours was an accidental encounter Robert....if you hadn't discovered that cave system then none of this would have happened...

(Robert cuts in)

Robert: How do you know about the cave??? Who told you about that?? Is my name in that book??

Laura:  Yes, it is, everything that happened over the time period that you were at the farm was recorded, first by Bernie, then by Gwen. I'm assuming that you know what happened to Bernie after you left them both locked up in the tunnels under the barn?

Robert: You make this sound like all of this was intentional...as if I wanted this to happen. Do you know what this whole experience did to me? It left me alone...I lost my partner...my publishing deal...my confidence...my life. I hardly leave the house, never socialise. I'll tell you what I think happened to Bernie shall I? Bernie was murdered by whatever that thing was that Gwen turned into...but if I say what I know it is...then it makes it real...and it can't be. It just can't be. When I was taken down into the tunnels by Bernie, at gunpoint might I add, I was never supposed to come back out...it was only down to chance and luck that I made it out alive....so...I ask you again...why do you need my help?

Laura:  I'm so sorry Robert....I never meant to make you feel that way. What you went through was horrific, but here we both are...armed with the experiences and facts that prove that what was only considered to be something from folklore...is in fact real...I can't quite believe that I'm actually saying this myself...but it's true. If I were to go to my head of department with this book and this story.... they’d have me committed...but you've seen these things...you're the only one who knows what Gwen really is....a Werewolf...a Lycanthrope...a shapeshifter.

Robert: STOP!!! Stop....please....I can't help you....I've tried desperately for the last 12 months to try and forget what happened but it's impossible. If I had the chance I'd go back to the farm and simply kill Gwen and put an end to all of it....but I can't...I can't go back there.

Laura:  Listen...I get it...I really do, but there are far more people at risk now. As mad as all of this sounds it was Bernie that kept the lid on all of this by knowing when to take Gwen down to the tunnels to lock her away when the condition started to take over. Reading in the book, Bernie had documented that Gwen had escaped a number of times and attacked animals on the hills...she almost made it to the village one time....

(Robert Interupts)

Robert: I know!!!...Bernie explained all of this. He told me that it was him that used to take her down there to feed...to isolate her away from others...to protect her. But Bernie isn't there anymore...so who's locking her away now when she needs to feed...who's protecting her now?? Why haven't we had headlines in the newspapers of some rampant wild animal attacking people on the hills and in the villages?

Laura:  Because she's doing it herself. Gwen had written entries into the book stating that after she had woken from the last transformation in the caves, she found that she'd killed Bernie....ripped him apart. She managed to find her way out of the tunnels via the cave system that you found the entrance to up on the hillside. She had to wait until darkness to make her way back to the house where she cleaned herself up, opened the trap door in the barn, and took care of Bernie's body. Then she waited...waited to see if you, the police, or both would turn up...but nothing.

Robert: Who was I supposed to tell? Who was going to believe a story like that...you?? It's only after you've read that book that you finally realise what's actually out there...but all you're basing your opinion on is my testimony and what's written down. All of this could be lie...you haven't actually seen it...have you?

Laura:  .....yes....I have.

Robert: But you said that you locked yourself away in the cottage after you came from the house...did you go back out??

Laura:  Yes...I had to....

Robert: What do you mean you had to??? What happened??

Laura:  I'd made sure that everything was locked up tight after what I'd seen in the farmhouse, and I'd bedded down in the living room on the couch. I grabbed the book I'd found and started to leaf through it.... I couldn't believe what I was reading, there were details of ancient ceremonies, symbols, potions and treatments that had been passed down from generation to generation over the span of hundreds and hundreds of years.... all with the same one goal: to rid the beast from within, to cure the condition. It seems that no one actually knows where this bloodline started, but in a passage from the late 1900's written by a man named Harold Thomas Anderson, he mentions a cave system in Romania where he was due to travel to find the "Primal". Whether this was a person or a creature isn't confirmed....and there are no other entries from this man in the book, but he was definitely part of the bloodline. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. So, I'm lying on the couch when I begin to hear something moving from outside of the rear of the cottage, as if someone was bumping into stuff and knocking it over.

Robert: Did you see what what it was??

Laura:  Not at first no. I ran upstairs and looked out of one of the rear bedroom windows, but I couldn't see anything. I initially put it down to the wind and rain, until I heard a loud screaming sound. This wasn't the sound a human would make, it sounded animalistic...guttural...as if something was in terrible pain. It sounded as if it was coming from outside the front of the cottage this time, so I ran across the landing and into the master bedroom and peered out of the window....and I saw it....it was Gwen....she was naked, crawling across the floor of the barn trying to get to an opening in the floor....but as I watched I could see hair growing, slowly covering her body...joints bending in ways that seemed impossible....more screams pierced the air as the process continued....then it happened.

Robert: What happened??

Laura:  She saw me, she looked straight at me.

Robert: Oh my god....what did you do??

Laura: At first, I was completely frozen to the spot. Both of our stares fixed at one another; mine terrified, hers furious, full of rage. Her eyes looked black, and her face was... it was changing... changing right in front of me. She then rose herself up onto all fours and started to walk towards the cottage. I've never felt fear like that in my life, watching something like that slowly walking over to the place that you hope will keep you safe, but knowing that it will never be a match for it.

Robert: Jesus Laura....I can remember knives being in the kitchen. Did you manage to get hold of something to try and defend yourself with?

Laura:  Yes...one of the knives. I figured that she was either going to try and get through the front or back door, so I ran downstairs and pushed the large wooden dresser across the back door to try and buy me some time...then I went to the front door and looked out of the window. I couldn't see her, she was out there somewhere but I couldn't see her. Then something hit the back door and I heard glass shatter. I quickly closed the living room door and pushed the couch up against it, not that it would have provided much resistance against her, but it went quiet again.

I stood up against the front door with tears starting to stream down my face. I was mentally broken....I couldn't believe the situation that I'd found myself in, and I couldn't see how I was going to get myself out of it. I couldn't call my mom and dad to tell them that I loved them...to hear their voices...to have that comfort...I was going to die here...and there wasn't anything that anyone could do to help me.

Suddenly there was a huge bang at the front door, so powerful that the door frame moved. I pushed back at the door screaming for her to go away. Another bang came and it was clear that the door wasn't going to last long. I pushed as hard as I could and gripped the knife, readying myself to use it if I had to. Then another huge blow came against the door and it finally buckled. An arm, covered in grey/black hair came around the door and grabbed my wrist and pulled my arm outside....then I felt searing pain as teeth pierced my skin and bit down hard into my arm. I screamed again louder, and pulled as hard as I could to get my arm back inside the door but it was no use....this thing was so strong. A clawed hand reached inside the door against the frame to try and push the door open. I immediately raised the knife using my other arm and plunged it into the hand.

I pulled it back out to strike again but a huge scream came from her and she let go of my arm and the door closed with me falling against it and onto the floor. I sat there, back up against the door waiting for her to smash into it again and finish the job off...but there was nothing. I plucked up the courage to look out of the window but she'd vanished....I had no idea where she'd gone.

Robert: How bad was your arm??

Laura:  There were four deep pucture wounds and a few shallower ones. It looked worse than it actually was with all of the blood, but I needed to clean it up. I waited for what seemed like hours, but when I was pretty sure that she wasn't coming back I got hold of my back pack and my first aid kit. I used a towel from the kitchen to take care of most of the blood and then pushed the sofa back against the door. It was just a matter of a couple of hours before daylight and then I'd be gone...or so I thought.

Robert: What do you mean "so you thought"....she didn't come back did she??

Laura:  No...well...not exactly. I watched the sunlight fill the cottage as morning broke and I wasn't going to hang around, so I grabbed my stuff, packed my bag and got ready to get the hell out. I figured I'd go out the back way and get across the fields as quickly as I could and try to make it to a road. Hopefully I could hitchhike to a town or village from there.....but then there was a knock at the front door....it was Gwen. She asked me to open the door. She assured me that nothing would happen....but also that we needed to talk....urgently.

Robert: What did you do?? Did you let her in??

Laura:  I didn't have a choice. What was I going to do....stay in the cottage for the rest of my life? I opened the door, slowly at first, then wider. She could see that I had the knife in my hand and I told her that I would use again if I had to. She said there was no need....she wouldn't harm me. She reached out her hand....it was bandaged up now...and she asked for the book back. I handed it over and that's when she began to speak. She explained that the book had details of potions which could delay the effects of the condition. When her husband was around she never needed them, because he would take care of her when the urges came.

It was her dog that she had killed in the farmhouse when I found all of the blood in the kitchen with the book. The hunger, as she called it, became so overwhelming that she couldn't control it and the remedy that she'd mixed was in the tunnels under the barn...that's where she was trying to get to when we saw each other. For years her and Bernie searched for a cure to stop her condition, and while she never told me how she'd become infected, she did tell me that the bloodlines stretched around the world....and all of the infected are looking for that illusive cure....and now so am I.

Robert: What do you mean?? Why would you be helping her find a cure after what she did to you??

Laura:  Because her bite has now infected me....and I now need to find that cure....and you're going to help me.....and Gwen....

Robert: What....are you mad?? Why the hell am I going to put myself at risk yet again to help you or Gwen!! She almost killed me, and you're asking me to.....I'm sorry Laura, but even though none of what happened was your fault, you're both on your own... (silence)... Laura... Laura are you still there? Do you understand what I'm saying to you???

Laura:  It's a nice part of the world you live in Robert....not many houses around....nice and quiet....

Robert: What are you talking about?? How do you know where I live....are you threatening me?? I can leave here right now and you'll never find me.

Laura:  I don't think so Mr Crawford....why don't you take a look outside your window....you see that silver car across your driveway? Well I've been here since this call began, and I'm not leaving until you make a decision...the right decision. And also, don't think about trying to leave using the backdoor....because there's someone you may well remember who'll be waiting for you in your garden. The hunger is getting strong Mr Crawford....and whilst Gwen and myself have a remedy that we can drink to delay the inevitable...we don't have to drink it...and you're the only one who knows what we are....and if we have to permanently silence you then we will.

Robert: If you try to get in here I'll call the police.

Laura:  The Police!!! What will they do to help you? You'll be dead before they even arrive. So what it's to be Robert?? Are coming back to the farm to take care of us.....or are we coming into your house to take care of you?? You've got 2 minutes to decide...and if you hang up we'll be inside before you know it. All of your questions will be answered in time, and I give you my word that you'll be safe...but you need to make the right decision...so...tick-tock, tick-tock....time is running out....

To be continued.....

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week for the last Skylark Special episode of the year, a touching story called Elliot Under Glass, and please be sure to subscribe to The Haunted UK podcast if you haven’t already, the content and sound quality are unbeatable.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a rating and a review, it’s quick and free, and incredibly helpful in giving the podcast visibility so others can find and enjoy it.

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Once again, thank you for listening, On behalf of myself and The Haunted UK podcast, we wish you happy... or spooky if that’s your thing... holidays.

In today’s episode, we will hear the fictional story of Mrs. B’s Haunted Trinket Shoppe. Betty Brandon, better known as Mrs. B, owns an antique shop with a twist, the objects she sells are all haunted! One winter day a customer comes in with a strange request, leading to a situation even Mrs. B couldn’t have imagined.

This episode of The Skylark Bell is part of a collaboration with The Nightcap and Paranormal Exposed podcasts, both members of The Boopod Network. You can find links to their shows below. Their episodes explore the original story of the haunted carriage, as well as a deeper dive into haunted objects in general.

Paranormal Exposed: https://linktr.ee/paranormalexposed

The Nightcap: https://linktr.ee/thenightcappodcast

Before next week's episode in collaboration with The Haunted UK podcast, we suggest you listen to their 2021 Halloween Special which will tie in with the story, You can find that episode here: https://open.spotify.com/episode/0bvnvqkUCIxmFA2DWuomp2?si=jTZOE8jVQpC6enXV0LGLLA

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Melissa on Mastodon: https://mastodon.social/@melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: A Skylark Special in collaboration with Boopod Network members The Nightcap and Paranormal Exposed. I’m your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

As some of you may know, The Skylark Bell is proud to be associated with the Boopod Network of paranormal and true crime podcasts. This holiday season, some of us are hosting a one-of-a-kind collaborative project spanning 3 different podcasts. Each podcast will release one episode covering tales of haunted objects. This story was inspired by the real-life case of a family being haunted by an entity attached to an antique doll carriage one of their children received for Christmas. Links to participating podcasts can be found in the show notes.                                                                                                

In today’s episode, we will hear the fictional story of Mrs. B’s Haunted Trinket Shoppe. Betty Brandon, better known as Mrs. B, owns an antique shop with a twist, the objects she sells are all haunted! One winter day a customer comes in with a strange request, leading to a situation even Mrs. B couldn’t have imagined.

So, get settled in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink… and let’s get started.

The old woman firmly turns the key in the lock, and a loud click echoes on the other side of the door. The veins on her pale white hand stretch as she grasps the brass handle, and the heavy oak door creaks loudly as she pushes it open. The woman is greeted by a multitude of items haphazardly strewn on shelves, stacked in the dark corners of the room, and placed at random on the rough wood planks of the floor. Prominently displayed in the center of the store, guarded by the glass of the checkout counter, is her prize possession: An antique doll-sized baby carriage.

The old woman takes off her coat and places it, along with her purse, on a vintage coat tree by the front door. She then walks across the store and steps behind the counter to flick on a series of light switches. The space around her lights up, revealing an astounding assortment of antiques and collectibles. The clicking of her shoes against the floor swirls around her as she makes her way to the front window. Her shaky hand grasps the small wooden sign hanging there and flips it so the word Open is visible to people outside.

As the old woman is making her way back to the counter the creak of the shop door causes her to turn on her heel. “Hello Mrs. B! How are you today?” the mail carrier’s voice blows in with the brisk November wind.

“I’m well, Samantha, thank you,” smiles the old woman. “And how are you? How is that adorable little boy of yours?” she asks. The pair make small talk as Samantha pulls a stack of envelopes and two packages out of her bag and places them on the checkout counter.

“Ah, I’ve been expecting this one with bated breath!” exclaims Mrs B as she pulls one of the packages toward her.

“I’m almost afraid to ask...” Samantha laughs nervously, “...what is it?”

“It’s a tin soldier, from a small town in Ireland called Roundstone,” replies Mrs. B as she settles herself onto a stool to carefully unwrap the package.

“Mhm... and... what else is in there, with the soldier?” asks Samantha tentatively.

The old woman chuckles. “I’m told it’s the ghost of an old man who collected such trinkets.”

“But...” pushes Samantha, “...you disagree?”

A smile stretches across Mrs. B’s mouth. “Indeed, I do. There is no such spirit in this box.” She pauses for effect before adding, “In reality, it is the spirit of a small boy named Daniel attached to the soldier. He is about the age of your boy. He died during the Great Famine in the 1840s”.

A shiver runs down Samantha’s spine as she closes her mail bag. “Well, on that chipper note, I’d better get on with my route!” she says in a sing-song-y voice before letting herself out the door. 

The old woman sits on the stool, her back straight as a rod, a relic of her days at The Aviary Finishing School. One hand fiddles with the locket around her neck as the other reaches between the sheets of tissue paper to pull out the toy soldier. She holds it up to the light, turning it this way and that to inspect it from every angle. Her inspection complete, she places the soldier on the counter and looks straight ahead toward the shop door. “Hello Daniel,” she says, her voice entirely matter of fact. A casual onlooker would think she is speaking to an empty room, they wouldn’t be able to see the small, rail-thin boy with dirt on his face whose bare feet hover just above the planks of the wood floor. At the sound of the woman’s voice the boy promptly vanishes. Mrs. B hangs a price tag off the toy soldier and displays him prominently at one end of the counter next to a few other trinkets and a sign that reads New Arrivals.

“Jennifer, you get back here right now!” a woman’s voice carries through the door from outside. The door opens slowly and a child walks in, her cheeks red from the cold and the effort she has mustered to push the door open. “Jennifer! I need you to put on your listening ears!” the woman’s exasperated voice, closer now, sneaks in from outside again. The child giggles and runs to a small vanity in the corner of the shop. She sits on the child-sized stool and begins to brush her hair with an antique silver hairbrush. “Jennifer!” the woman has finally made it into the store, her face flushed from a combination of running and frustration. “I’m so sorry,” she heaves out the words in Mrs. B’s general direction as she scurries to grab the hair brush out of her daughter’s hand.

Mrs. B twirls the chain of her locket around her fingers as she watches the scene unfold. “It’s not a problem, really...” she says, unsure whether the woman is even listening. The old woman then makes her way around the counter and walks up to little girl. “Jennifer, is it?” she asks, crouching to meet the child at eye level. The little girl nods, her light brown curls bouncing around her face. “You know, this is a very special hairbrush, it once belonged to a woman named Charlotte, see the initials C.C. engraved on the back?” The small girl inspects the back of the hairbrush and nods. Mrs. B continues, “Charlotte was very kind, and she loved children. I think she would be rather pleased if you were to have this.” The child’s eyes grow wide, and a smile stretches across her face.

“Oh, that’s not necessary...” interjects her mother.

“I insist,” says Mrs. B, standing to look at the mother with a knowing look in her eye.

“Well, that’s very kind of you. What do we say, Jennifer?” The woman gives the girl a light shove.

“Fank you,” says the little girl.

Mrs. B, bends once again to face the girl, “You’re most welcome,” she says, then straightens up to address the girl’s mother. “I think you will find this brush will keep her quite busy, I’m sure you’ll be grateful for a little reprieve,” she says. 

The woman’s brow furrows momentarily, then she nods, grabs the little girls hand, and pulls her out the door, throwing a quick, “Thanks again!” over her shoulder as they walk out.

Mrs. B watches as the ghost of a tall woman in a green flapper style dress trails behind them. “Goodbye, Charlotte,” says the old woman quietly. The ghost turns and holds up a pale hand in acknowledgement before disappearing through the door. 

Mrs. B returns to her perch on the stool behind the counter and begins sorting through a stack of bills. She heaves a sigh. Sales always slow down in the winter, and this year the snowy roads put an early end to tourist season. The summer was decent, bringing in groups of curiosity seekers and even a team of paranormal investigators that she had to shoo away with haunted broom, its accompanying ghost looking on with amusement. The old woman chuckles at the memory and places the stack of bills under the counter. There will be plenty of time to deal with them later.

The creak of the shop door causes her to look up. The silhouette of a tall man with a wide brim hat blocks most of the light from outside. The man strides in and steps up to the counter where Mrs. B is sitting.

“Are you the owner?” the man has a smooth English accent.

“I am Mrs. Brandon, better known as Mrs. B,” replies the old woman. “May I help you?”

The man nods, the confidence he walked in with faltering slightly. “I’m looking for... something specific,” he replies.

Mrs. B looks at him quizzically. “And what makes you think that what you are looking for will be found here?” she asks, her arm making a sweeping gesture toward the overflowing contents of the store.

The man’s spine stiffens, “I have tracked h- ... erhm, the object... to this location,” he says.

“Very well, which object is it you are looking for?” asks the old woman, her curiosity piqued.

The man remains silent and points to the checkout counter. Mrs. B follows the line of his forefinger, and realises he is pointing at the antique doll carriage enclosed within the glass beneath it. “I’m afraid that item is not for sale,” the old woman tries to sound confident and is frustrated to hear a crack in her voice. She nervously grabs her locket with one hand and begins twisting its chain.

“I will pay handsomely. I will purchase the entire shop if I must. I have the means...” says the man.

“That’s all well and good Mr....”

“Marlowe, Jack Marlowe,” says the man.

“Mr. Marlowe,” begins Mrs. B, “this item has been in my possession since before you were born. It was a holiday gift from my great-aunt Esther when I was but a girl, and it is very important to me.”

The man’s face sinks. He leans his elbows on the counter and looks down at the carriage through the glass. “You don’t understand...” he says.

“With all due respect, Mr. Marlowe, I believe it is you who does not understand. This item is not for sale, that is non-negotiable.”

The man heaves a sigh and shifts his head up to look at the old woman, now sitting rod-straight on the stool and staring at him with a piercing gaze. “Could you at least explain to me why? I understand sentimental value, but with the amount of money I would be paying you could buy 8000 carriages just like it!”

“I’m afraid this carriage is one-of-a-kind ...but something tells me you already know that,” replies Mrs. B.

The man grunts and steps back from the counter. “Fine, so you know about the ghost. Name your price.” The old woman stays silent, her gaze unwavering. The man’s patience begins to wear thin. “I’ll pay you three timeswhat your shop is worth!” he exclaims, throwing his arms in the air with exasperation.

“Mr. Marlowe, what you fail to realise is that I don’t simply know about the ghost, I know the ghost. I grew up with her. For years, she was my only friend. We have been in each other’s lives for decades. She protected me when I was a child, and today I am the one who protects her.” Mrs. B pauses to study the man’s face and body language. He is now shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “You have such a keen interest in this ghost, perhaps it would further your cause if you were to explain why,” she says.

A long silence hangs in the air between them as the man appears lost in thought. Finally, he pulls a chair from a nearby dining set and sits across the counter from the old woman. “Fair enough,” he begins. “Three years ago, my wife was diagnosed with a rare medical condition. I’ve spent every day since searching for a solution, a cure, anything, even if only to slow the progression and give us more time, but to no avail.” The man appears to be choking back tears.

Mrs. B waits patiently as he composes himself. She remains on guard, suspicious that the man may be spinning a sob story to gain her sympathy. “Just as I was going to give up and accept her fate, our fate, some new information came to light. You see, the condition is thought to be genetic, and some specialists theorize that perhaps a transfusion from a close relative could reverse the effects of the disease. My wife is an only child, and her parents both died when she was young, so the information didn’t seem relevant, until...” the man’s voice trails off.

“Until what?” asks Mrs. B. She has let her guard down slightly and is increasingly invested in the story.

“This is going to sound ridiculous,” hesitates the man.

“Respectfully, Mr. Marlowe, I own a shop that sells haunted objects, I highly doubt what you say next will sound any more ridiculous than that,” replies the old woman.

The man smiles nervously. “Right. The information didn’t seem relevant until, out of desperation, I went to a psychic. I know it sounds preposterous, but I had nothing left to lose. The psychic told me my wife had family she was not aware of, that her grandmother had a twin sister who became estranged from the family and that she’d gone on to have a daughter of her own before passing away. The child was only three years old with no father present, so she was sent to an orphanage.” Here he pauses and leans in slightly toward the old woman, as though intent on gauging her reaction to what he will say next. “The girl’s name was Willow, Willow Martin, and her mother’s name was Matilda.”

At this, Mrs. B’s eyes grow wide. “That can’t be,” she whispers.

The man continues, “I took the psychic’s information with a grain of salt, but I did do a quick online search when I got home. When I typed in the names Willow and Matilda Martin, the first thing to pop up was a blog discussing a decades-old news article about a little girl whose family was convinced the doll carriage she had received for Christmas was haunted by a ghost named Matilda Martin. I tracked down that little girl, and it took some doing, Mrs. Brandon – your married name it turns out – but I finally figured out who she was,” says the man, laying his palms flat on the counter and meeting the old woman eye to eye.

“Indeed, that little girl was me, and Matilda’s ghost is attached to that carriage to this day,” says Mrs. B, still in mild shock. “But I don’t understand how purchasing this carriage, and Matilda’s ghost, will help you... or your wife,” she adds.

“Ah, that’s the thing isn’t it. You see, Matilda’s daughter was shuffled around from orphanage to orphanage before being sent to a residential school, and then the trail goes cold. I can’t find any record of her, it’s like she disappeared. I’ve tried every avenue I can think of with nothing to show for it. I’m desperate, and I’m hoping Matilda has some sort of... connection... with her daughter, and that maybe her ghost can help me find her.”

“I see,” ponders the old woman. “Rather than spending your life savings, and me giving up a cherished item, what if we simply ask Matilda for help right here, right now?”

“That would certainly... that would be wonderful. I was trying to avoid having to tell the entire story, it sounds so completely ridiculous, but I’m desperate. Anyway, it’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it?” he chuckles.

The old woman slips a key ring out of her pocket and sifts through the keys until she lands on a small silver one. She bends to unlock the cabinet below the checkout counter and slowly pulls the doll carriage out. She carries it around to the area where Mr. Marlowe is sitting and sets it on the floor as he pushes his chair out of the way.

“I haven’t spoken to Matilda in years,” says the old woman nervously. Her face takes on a more serious tone as she steps back from the carriage and looks around the room. “Matilda?” she asks tentatively.

A mist forms in the chair where Mr. Marlowe had been sitting only minutes before. The man takes an instinctive step back, his eyes stretched as wide as they will go and his mouth slightly agape.

“Matilda, it’s me, Betty,” whispers the old woman as she walks toward the chair.

“Betty...” the voice is barely audible, like the faintest hint of a summer breeze.

“Matilda, this is my friend Jack, and he needs your help. He is trying to find your daughter, Willow. Do you think you can help him?”

The mist has fully formed into the shape of a woman now, her bare feet hovering just above the ground. She appears to be in her early twenties. Her dark hair falls in a loose braid on her left shoulder, and she is wearing a long gown with embroidery at the neck, cuffs, and hem. “Willow... Willow is here,” says the ghost Matilda.

“Wh-what do you mean, here?” asks Jack Marlowe, taking a step toward the ghost.

“Willow is gone...” the words come out painstakingly slowly, as though conjuring them requires a great deal of energy, “...gone from your world. Now she is here,” whispers the ghost. Her shimmering arm lifts as she points a finger toward something in the corner of the room. Mrs. B and Mr. Marlowe’s heads turn in unison.

The old woman struts to a bookshelf in the corner and scans the contents, returning with a stack of books. “These came from one of those... schools...” she says, the disapproval clear in her tone.  She sifts through the books and holds up a well-worn manual on laundry and sewing. Mrs. B addresses the ghost as she turns the book over in her hand, “Matilda, are you saying that Willow has passed on? That she is attached to one of these books in my shop?” The ghost Matilda nods, a look of agony washing over her face. The old woman stares at her in shock. How could she have missed this connection? It seems unfathomable that she didn’t know.

“Mama!” a small voice comes from behind Mr. Marlowe. He spins on his heels and jumps to the side as a ghostly young girl comes running from the darkness behind him.

“Willow, my darling! Kisâkihitin! (Kee-sa-kee-tin)” Matilda’s ghost stretches her arms out to greet the child with a hug. The living beings in the room stand in stunned silence as they watch the two ghosts embrace.

“What’s going on, I don’t understand... Has anything like this ever happened before?” asks Mr. Marlowe.

“No, I’ve never seen anything like it,” says Mrs. B. “But, as wonderful as it is for these two to be reunited, I’m afraid it isn’t good news for you. It would appear that Willow died in childhood, which means she cannot help you, nor did she grow old enough to have any children who could,” she adds. Her eyes fill with sorrow as she lays a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder.

Mr. Marlowe puts his hand up to his mouth, finally realizing the implication of what has just transpired. He takes several minutes to recover, then clears his throat. “I understand. Thank you for your time. I... I should be on my way,” he says, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. He grabs his satchel from the floor and flings it over his shoulder before making his way to the shop door, never looking back at the ghostly mother and daughter.

“I wish you all the best, Mr. Marlowe,” says Mrs. B through a crack in the door as the man walks dejectedly away under the falling snow. The old woman closes and locks the door, then turns back toward the ghosts. “I am so sorry you were apart all these years; I had no idea...” she begins. The ghost Matilda comes to her, the look on her face indicating she bears no ill will. Mrs. B gives her a nod, then carefully carries both the carriage and the book back into the glass cabinet below the checkout counter. Now the pair can be together.

Mrs. B walks across the wood floor and flips the sign in the window to Closed. It has been a long, emotional day, and with the snow accumulating outside she is doubtful any more customers will show up. She steps back behind the checkout area to flip the light switches off. The store is instantly washed in darkness. The old woman expertly navigates the darkened space and grabs her coat and bag from the coat rack by the front door. “Goodnight, Matilda. Goodnight, Willow,” she says before letting herself out of the shop and into the cold, snowy world outside.

ONE YEAR LATER

The young woman behind the counter looks up as the door creaks open. “Hello, welcome to Mrs. B’s Trinket Shoppe, how may I help you today?” she asks the couple, who is busy stomping snow off their boots before coming through the door. 

“Oh, hello there!” says the man. “I wasn’t expecting... Erhm... Is Mrs. Brandon in today?” he asks.

“No, I’m afraid... uhh... she’s not,” says the young woman, visibly uncomfortable.

“Ah, well, no matter. Perhaps you could let her know that Jack Marlowe stopped by... Scratch that, rather, please tell her Mr. and Mrs. Marlowe stopped by,” he says, grinning as he puts his arm around the woman, presumably Mrs. Marlowe. She looks up at him with a smile.

The young woman’s cheeks redden as she shifts on her stool. “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she begins, “you see, Mrs. B passed away last year.”

The man stops in his tracks, the smile instantly wiped from his face. “Oh, I see. I... I had no idea. I’m so sorry... she was a lovely lady. One of a kind,” he stammers.

The young woman nods quietly. “That’s what I’m told. I never actually met her; I moved here about three months after she died and saw a sign in the window that they were hiring. Turns out her brother took over ownership of the store, but he lives across the country and needed someone local to help run it.”

“Right...” says Jack Marlowe, scanning the contents of the shop. "I suppose he's the one who re-branded by dropping the word Haunted from the shop's name?" he asks. The young woman behind the counter shrugs. Jack wanders around the space, inspecting a tin soldier on one of the shelves, and noting that the dining set and chair he had sat in that fateful day are still right where he left them a year ago. Suddenly, something in a display case catches his eye. “What can you tell me about this item?” he asks, lifting a locket on a chain from the velvet-lined case.

“I believe that was from Mrs. Brandon’s personal collection,” answers the young woman.

“Brilliant!” he whispers under his breath. “I’ll take it,” he tells the young woman.

Mrs. Marlowe joins him at the counter. “What about these items, how much are you asking for them?” she asks, pointing at the doll carriage and antique book in the glass display case.

“Uhh... I don’t know, I was told those were significant in some way,” replies the young woman.

“How about this, I’ll pay you... three times what they’re worth,” offers Jack Marlowe.

The girl hesitates. “Sales have been slow since Mrs. B passed away... I suppose it would help the store stay afloat,” she concedes as she grabs a set of keys to unlock the display case.

“I was so excited for you to meet her...” says Jack as he and his wife walk out of the store. The snow crunches loudly beneath their boots. He loads the carriage and book into the back of their car and turns to look at his wife. “I wanted to show her that miracles happen,” he says, a grateful smile on his face.

“Deep down, I feel like maybe she knows...” says Mrs. Marlowe, leaning to place a soft kiss on his cheek. The pair get in the car and drive down the winding road through the magic of the falling snow, each lost in their own thoughts as Mrs. Marlowe holds the locket between her palms. 

Every so often, Jack glances in the rear-view mirror and smiles. 

From the back seat, Mrs. B, Matilda, and Willow smile back.

Thank you so much for listening.  Please be sure to follow The Nightcap and The Paranormal Truth podcasts who will elaborate on the real-life account of a haunted carriage that inspired this story, as well as haunted objects in general.

Then, join me next week for a one-of-a-kind episode in collaboration with The Haunted UK podcast. This episode will take on an audio drama format featuring a phone call between two characters. I suggest you listen to The Haunted UK’s 2021 Halloween Special in preparation, you can find a link in the show notes.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by me under my stage name Cannelle. If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a rating on Spotify or a review on Apple Podcasts, they help give the podcast visibility so others can find and enjoy the story. You can also support my work by subscribing to my Patreon where you get early access to episodes as well as MP3 downloads of the music, artwork, behind the scenes videos and more! Just check the show notes for all necessary links.

Once again, thank you for listening – I’m Melissa Oliveri, and this is The Skylark Bell Podcast.

It's hard to believe an entire year has gone by since the release of Songs from The Skylark Bell, the official soundtrack to the podcast. In this episode you'll hear details about the songs, such as the inspiration behind them, and gain insight as to how they were recorded. There is a Patreon-exclusive extended version of this episode available to subscribers, you can find my Patreon using the link below.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

All music by Cannelle.

Website: http://www.cannellemusic.com

IG: @cannelle.music

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Melissa on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

Melissa on Mastodon: https://mastodon.social/@melissaoliveri

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings productions presents – A Special episode of The Skylark Bell. I’m your host, Melissa Oliveri.

Today we celebrate the one-year anniversary of Songs from The Skylark Bell – the official soundtrack to The Skylark Bell podcast, released under my stage name, Cannelle. This episode will feature track-by-track commentary on the album, including notes on the inspiration and method behind the songs. There will be an extended version of the episodes available exclusively to Patreon subscribers that will include unreleased material and additional insight.

So, grab a blanket and a warm drink, and may I suggest some headphones... and let’s get started.

----------------------------------------------

Let’s begin with the intro music to The Skylark Bell, a short instrumental piece called Nightbridge. This song plays at the beginning of each episode of The Skylark Bell. After taking only 10 minutes to compose a song for my friend Amy’s podcast, a song you can hear in the extended version of this episode if you are a Patreon Subscriber, I thought composing music for my own upcoming podcast would be a breeze. Boy was I wrong. Nothing I was coming up with felt right, and after several days of trial and error I was getting frustrated. I took a break from being hyper-focused on trying to compose a new song and sat at the piano to play some of my original songs and a few covers, when suddenly it hit me. One of my songs, Night, had a very intricate, interesting, mildly spooky bridge which just might work as a stand-alone piece of music. Sure enough, it was absolutely perfect for The Skylark Bell, and Nightbridge was born. If you listen carefully to the beginning, you can hear the wind blow, then a door open, then footsteps as if someone is coming in from outside. Hold that thought until we get to the end of the album... PLAY NIGHTBRIDGE – INTRO

Next up is Jack’s Room. This song can be heard in Season 1 Fantome Friday #1, also titled Jack’s Room. I composed this song over 20 years ago when I was living in Montreal – it was originally composed on guitar. If you are a Patreon Subscriber you can hear a portion of the original version now. The original version was written after a conversation with my dad about an unexplained encounter I had with a long departed relative about 10 years prior. Fast forward 30 years and I converted the song to the piano and recorded it for a podcast episode telling the story. I get a little emotional with this one because it has so much history. I actually cried after recording the strings in the bridge PLAY JACK’S ROOM.

Okay, now we get into the first of what I call the “One-ders”, o-n-e-d-e-r-s. I call them that because they are short little pieces of music, typically about a minute or two, that I love dearly. This one is called The Early Bird, and can be heard in Season 1 Chapter 3, also called The Early Bird. I wanted some music to be playing in the diner when Magpie and Lucas walk in, and since the diner has a “great retro feel” it only seemed appropriate for the music to also have a vintage vibe. Of course, to keep in line with the general feeling of the story, I wanted to music to be somewhat dark and mysterious. What I ended up with was some noir, 1930’s private eye movie type music, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. PLAY THE EARLY BIRD.

Next up is one of my favourite songs on the album – The Velvets. This song first played in Season 1 Fantome Friday #4, The Bootleggers, which tells the story of my encounter with a long-departed mobster at my friend Amy’s old house in Minneapolis. Hot off the heels of The Early Bird, I was definitely in a retro, jazzy mode. I started with a baseline PLAY VELVETS BASELINE, then added some trumpet PLAY VELVETS with TRUMPET, the added some rather haphazard piano, PLAY VELVETS with PIANO, and topped it off with some sultry vocals... You can hear an instrumental version of this song in the podcast Volsteadland, which covers the real-life antics of Kid Cann. PLAY THE VELVETS

Now we go to our next one-der, Visions. This piece of music is recurring throughout all seasons of The Skylark Bell and generally indicates Magpie is having or is about to have a psychic vision. It first appears in Season 1 Chapter 4 – An Unexpected Guest. This song was composed in a rather unusual, but often times very effective, way. I essentially plugged my keyboard into my laptop and hit record, then spontaneously built the song track by track through improvisation, muting things that didn’t work and adding filler where necessary. The entire song was composed and recorded in one evening. My favourite part is how it fades a spooky low growl at the end. PLAY VISIONS.

Up next is my favourite track on the album, and one of my favourite compositions to date – The Blue Dress. Before I started composing any songs for the podcast, I had come up with an instrumental tune inspired by the song Lady by Regina Spektor, which had me exploring more jazz type chords. My tune had a soft, cigar lounge kind of vibe, and went in a few different directions before circling back to the soft jazzy part again. When I wrote the story of The Woman I the Window for Season 1 Fantome Friday #2, I immediately knew which song in the making was right for the episode. I jotted down some lyrics and made small adjustments to the song and voila, The Blue Dress was complete. One of my favourite parts of the song is the background vocals – which I made up spur of the moment as I was recording. At first I was inclined to sing Lalalalalala... but generally I prefer to use actual words in my songs, and that’s when I converted those simple Lalalas to “colilililiding cololololours”, which had a similar effect but much more meaning, as the two women are both wearing blue dresses, and both have blue eyes, their colours colliding through time PLAY COLLIDING COLOURS PART OF THE BLUE DRESS  - Another part of the song I really like is the bridge, which gets quite orchestral – I love when the strings fade in PLAY THE BRIDGE TO THE BLUE DRESS. Lastly, I chose to use this electric piano sound because I’d hear Tori Amos use it effectively in so many of her songs, something I hadn’t been able to do until now, but in this case, it seemed to fit perfectly with the vibe. PLAY THE BLUE DRESS

Now we come to yet another little one-der, La Fête, French for The Party. This short piece of music first appears in Season 1 Chapter 6, An Accidental Discovery, in which Magpie has a vision that the abandoned house at Meadow Lane is all lit up and filled with light, people, and music. For this piece of music, I researched upbeat 1920s songs. I wanted it to sound like the music was coming from a Victrola, so I downloaded a sound effect and included it at the beginning of the song PLAY LA FETE. 

Up next is Song for a Loved One. This song was inspired by the sudden passing of a dear family member. Though the inspiration behind the song was a very specific person, the general feeling of it could apply to anyone experiencing loss and grief. Song for a Loved One first aired on the podcast in Season 1, Fantôme Friday #9 – Grandma’s Goodbye. PLAY SONG FOR A LOVED ONE.

We’re just about at the halfway mark, and here is Foreign Emotion, which can be heard in Season 1, Fantome Friday #3 – The Open House. For this song I wanted something upbeat that would circle around the room like the ghost in the story. I took inspiration from the song Raspberry Swirl by Tori Amos. My favourite part of the song is the bridge, which mellows out and has a sound reminiscent of The Blue Dress. PLAY FOREIGN EMOTION.

The  next song on the track list is Les Soeurs, which translates literally to The Sisters, which in this context refers to nuns. The song was recorded for Season 1, Fantome Friday #10 – The Convent. This instrumental song at its origin was composed as intro music to another original song of mine called The You That You Were, completely unrelated to The Skylark Bell. As I was writing and recording the story of The Convent and what I experienced there, this song kept playing in my mind, and I felt like it was perfect for the mood, it’s delicate, feminine, and foreboding... PLAY LES SOEURS.

Up next is the most rapidly written song on the album – The Wedding Dress, which was paired with the most rapidly written story of the podcast, also called The Wedding Dress, which was Fantome Friday #12 in Season 1. Both the story and song were spontaneously written and recorded in less than 48 hours and were inspired by my wedding anniversary, which happened to be that same week. Patreon Subscribers can download a remixed and remastered version of the track that was reworked by Pink Flamingo Music Studios. PLAY THE WEDDING DRESS.

Now we’ve come to The Lady in the Room, the feature song for Season 1, Fantome Friday #6 – The House on Edgar Street. If you’ve listened to the episode, you’ll know about the 2 female ghosts I encountered in my childhood home on Edgar Street, one lovely and kind, the other not so much. As a side note, I firmly believe that instruments have music inside of them. Every time I’ve gotten a new, or new-to-me, instrument, it has provided me with new compositions. It was no different when I first bought a second-hand piano a few years ago. I sat down and spontaneously wrote a very simple, very short piece of music that I instinctively named The Lady in the Room. In my mind, the lady in question was this new piano that was taking up a tremendous amount of space in my house, but later on when pondering the two ghosts in my childhood home, I felt the song title, and the song itself, fit perfectly. PLAY THE LADY IN THE ROOM.

Ah, it’s time for another of my favourite songs on the album – A Strange New Year, which crowned the final episode of Season 1 of The Skylark Bell. The song was inspired by Magpie and Lucas, and the short bonus episode I wrote for them where they are celebrating the new year in a Scottish Pub, but despite the joyful atmosphere, something feels... off. The song was also inspired, in part, by the strange circumstances we found ourselves in during the pandemic holiday seasons of 2020 and 2021. As I worked through the lyrics of the song, I came to realise that even though the past two years had been highly unusual, each previous year had its own unique set of circumstances. Truly, behind me was a string of strange old years. The song came together and was recorded just in time to be included on the soundtrack. Listening to the recording is a very visual experience for me, I can practically see an entire video: From Magpie and Lucas’ faces lit up by a sparkler at the beginning, to the tartan-clad crowd dancing in circles during the orchestral larger-than-life bridge. PLAY A STRANGE NEW YEAR.

The last song on the official version of the record released to streaming platforms is a take on The Skylark Bell theme song, Nightbridge, that is used for the outro of each regular episode. This version of the song is more stripped down, and features haunting vocals that aren’t in the intro version. Also, fun tidbit – remember at the beginning of this album overview I told you to remember the sound effects at the beginning of the song? At the start of each episode you hear wind, a door, then footsteps, as if someone is coming in from outside to sit and read the story. Then, at the end of each episode, you hear the reverse; footsteps, a door, and wind... as if the person who was reading the story is getting up and leaving. PLAY NIGHTBRIDGE  OUTRO.

Now, if you were lucky enough to be a Patreon subscriber last year, you received a physical CD of Songs from The Skylark Bell in addition to the digital download. This CD featured 2 bonus songs not available on the official release that can be found on streaming platforms. Here’s some top secret info, you can also get a digital version of the album with the 2 bonus songs by purchasing it through Bandcamp. 

The first of those 2 songs is Kaleidoscope, which plays in Season 1 Fantome Friday #8, The Harlequin. This song was inspired by the loss of a dear friend nearly 25 years ago, this loss is explored in the story featured in that episode. I was inspired to add subtle Harpsichord to the song by my friend Sam on Instagram, who had composed a song on harpsichord right around the time I was recording. It’s quite subtle, see if you can spot it. PLAY KALEIDOSCOPE.

The second bonus song is an acoustic version of Nightbridge, which was recorded during one of my Instagram Live music shows. This acoustic version aired on the podcast in Season 1 Fantome Friday #7, The Bridge. PLAY NIGHTBRIDGE ACOUSTIC.

-----------------------------------

This wraps up our episode celebrating one year since the release of Songs from The Skylark Bell. Patreon subscribers, please stick around, there is additional content coming your way after this.

Be sure to join me next week for a fantastically scary collaboration with The Haunted UK podcast called Return to Manor Ridge Farm. While you’re waiting for the episode to drop, I suggest you listen to The Haunted UK’s 2021 Halloween Special Episode, since my upcoming episode will be a tie in with that one. Just check the show notes for a direct link.

 If you enjoy my music, you can find it on BandCamp and major streaming platforms under my stage name Cannelle. You can also support my work by subscribing to Patreon – there you’ll get to hear more about some of the songs I’ve composed for other podcasts, like A Carefully Built Pretend, Collected Sounds, and The Activity Continues, among many other things. Just check the show notes for links to Patreon, Bandcamp, My Website and social media.

Once again, thank you for listening, I’m Melissa Oliveri, also known as Cannelle, and this is The Skylark Bell podcast.

Today’s special episode features an original story called The Christmas Ghost. This story was inspired by a song I wrote a few years ago, also called the Christmas Ghost, which you will hear at the very end of this episode. The story, and the song, are dedicated to those who have an empty seat at the holiday table, those who have lost a loved one, and who, every holiday season, feel that pang of sadness and nostalgia, no matter how many years have gone by. But I promise, this story does have a bright side...

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com / IG @cannelle.music

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Melissa on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

Melissa on Mastodon: https://mastodon.social/@melissaoliveri

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings productions presents – A Special episode of The Skylark Bell. I’m your host, Melissa Oliveri.

Before I dive into today’s episode, I’d like to explain how it came about. Something wild and wonderful happened earlier this week – The Skylark Bell found a whole new, and rather large, audience, and more than tripled its total of two-years’ worth of downloads in just 24 hours. This caused me to rearrange my calendar a little bit, and to write a new story to share with you this week. The episode celebrating the one-year anniversary of the Songs from the Skylark Bell soundtrack will now air next week instead.

Now, for today’s special episode I will share an original story called The Christmas Ghost. This story was inspired by a song I wrote a few years ago, also called the Christmas Ghost, which you will hear at the very end of this episode. The story, and the song, are dedicated to those who have an empty seat at the holiday table, those who have lost a loved one, and who, every holiday season, feel that pang of sadness and nostalgia, no matter how many years have gone by. But I promise, this story does have a bright side...

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

­­

I have a Christmas Ghost. 

Each year, the moment I haul the bins of holiday decorations into the living room, it begins to form. I can usually feel it hovering in the corner of the room, like a mass of swirling clouds coming together to form a storm.

I put a Holiday record on the turntable and joyfully dance around the room as I set up the tree, then step back to make sure it’s straight before adding the lights. I hang the pine garland on the railing of our front steps, taking the time to adjust the crimson bows just so, then string the lights up in the window. I look around to admire my handiwork, then take a break to snack on fresh-baked sugar cookies and a mug of warm spiced cider. Outside I hear children laugh and shout as they launch snowballs through the air, their colourful scarves and mittens clashing with the white of the snow. I hold the steaming mug of cider between my palms as I watch them, the opposing teams have now come together to build a snow fort. I take the last sip of my drink then get back to work. I loop a garland across the doorway to the living room, mesmerized by the reflection of the rainbow lights from the tree caught in its silvery tinsel, then I set the small figurines in and around the vintage nativity set that once belonged to my mother, more out of tradition than anything else. Lastly, I pin up a vintage-style red velvet banner with Noël printed on it in gold letters.

Distracted by the merriment, I forget about the ghost, until the record player puts forth that one song; the one that shatters my heart into pieces, the one that puts a lump in my throat, the one that coaxes the tears from my eyes, the one that sings about being together for the holidays – if the fates allow. The one that reminds me that the fates had other plans...

This is the point, once sadness and nostalgia take hold, when the ghost moves from the corner of the room like a low laying fog and wraps around me like a blanket. I let the tears flow, the heart break, and the grief take hold, only for  length of a song. I life the lid of the last box to reveal my collection of ornaments, each one a delicate treasure glittering with significance. I relish them all, the vintage and antique ones that belonged to parents and grandparents, the clumsy ones hand-made by children. the ones purchased the first Christmas after leaving home to decorate a shoebox-sized apartment, others that mark life moments like the arrival of a new love, a new pet, or a baby, and the ones collected while on vacation or work trips... all of them coming together to tell the story of my life.

As I hang the ornaments on the tree, the Christmas Ghost seeps into my mind. It brings up thoughts of Christmases past, when the magic of childhood gave the holiday a dream-like quality, like a classic film with a misty glow around the edges of the screen. The Christmas Ghost conjures up faces I haven’t seen or thought about in years. It brings back memories of gifts long since loved and lost, and the echoes of songs playing on a scratchy record player as we huddled under heaps of hand-knit blankets. The ghost then brings back the sights, sounds, and smells of the holiday kitchen. Meat pies, mashed potatoes and gravy, finger sandwiches, chocolate pudding pie with whipped cream and cherries on top, every flavour of soda under the rainbow, and boxes of cream-filled chocolates and peppermint patties – things only found at our grandparents’ house, things we ate until our little tummies bulged and we curled up for a nap to let the clock run out until it was time to open our gifts.

Finally, the last ornament is hung, the record on the turntable has reached its end, the reel of a lifetime of Christmas memories has played out, and the Christmas Ghost withdraws. Alone with my thoughts, I look out the window at the falling snow. Unusually large, delicate snowflakes float from the sky like feathers on a summer breeze. The world outside looks so very still in comparison, the children having been called in for supper, leaving their half-built fort and a handful of snow angels behind.

I stand at the window, watching as the snow gradually covers the ground, staring at the path leading to the house, wishing for footprints to appear, wishing for the doorbell to ring... but the world remains still and silent under the darkening sky.

It’s easy to look back and think of how I would have done things differently, all those years ago, had I known it would be our last Christmas - but that’s the thing, isn’t it? We never know it’s the last one until it’s too late. No matter how much wishing I have done in the Christmases since, those footprints have never come to mar the freshly fallen snow, and the doorbell has never rung.

I put my empty plate and mug into the sink, then return to the comfort of my rocking chair. The living room is lit only by the multicoloured twinkle of the Christmas tree, and I can see snowflakes still falling under the glow of the streetlight outside the window. The room is silent but for the faint ticking of a clock upstairs and the creaking of the rocking chair against the ancient wood floor. 

A knock on the door startles me. A neighbour with a gift, a homemade treat delivered with a smile and warm wishes as the cold air seeps through the open door. We exchange pleasantries and they go on their merry way. Now there are footprints in the snow leading up to the house. Perhaps wishes do come true. 

I return to my rocking chair, the carefully wrapped package on my lap. “Would you like a piece?” I ask the empty room. The voice of the Christmas Ghost echoes in my mind, telling me to enjoy the sweet gift under the twinkling lights. It tells me to flip over the record, dance to the music, grab a blanket and watch a favourite childhood film, light a candle in the dark, embrace the joy and the sadness, the memories and the present moment. I ponder a moment, then get up and flip the record, I dance over to the couch and grab a blanket, then pop a sweet treat in mouth as put on a movie. Once the film has ended, I light a candle in the dark room, and watch it go from somber to joyful. I sit quietly and reminisce, and cry because it ended, but smile because it happened.

The lesson is a good one, and I take note, because someday, perhaps, I will be someone’s Christmas Ghost.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me next week as we celebrate the one-year anniversary of Songs from The Skylark Bell, the official soundtrack to the podcast. This episode will feature track-by-track commentary with the inspiration and insight behind each song. An extended version of the episode will also be available exclusively to Patreon subscribers. Links to Patreon and my social media accounts are available in the show notes.

Be sure to listen through to the end of this episode for an original song by me, under my stage name Cannelle, called The Christmas Ghost. This song is available exclusively here on The Skylark Bell podcast and on Patreon.

As we head into the holiday season, I want to wish all of you peace and joy. I know the holidays can be difficult for many, each for their own different reasons. Hopefully your Christmas Ghost will be there to bring you memories of holidays gone by, and an appreciation for the present moment.

Once again, thank you for listening, I’m Melissa Oliveri and this is The Skylark Bell podcast.

In today’s special episode I will share my original story, The Gathering. This story was inspired by childhood Thanksgiving gatherings, which we celebrate in October in Canada. Extended family, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents would gather at my Great Aunt Marselle’s house, which had belonged to her father before her, on the outskirts of Quebec City.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Melissa on Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/theskylarkbell

Melissa on Twitter: @melissaoliveri

Melissa on Mastodon: https://mastodon.social/@melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

 Things with Wings productions presents – A Special Thanksgiving episode of The Skylark Bell. I’m your host, Melissa Oliveri.

In today’s special episode I will share my original story, The Gathering. This story was inspired by childhood Thanksgiving gatherings, which we celebrate in October in Canada. Extended family, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents would gather at my Great Aunt Marselle’s house, which had belonged to her father before her, on the outskirts of Quebec City. 

This is the same house in which I encountered the ghost of Jack. You can hear that story in an episode called Jack’s Room, which was the very first Fantome Friday episode in season 1. Unlike my encounter with Jack’s ghost, our Thanksgiving gatherings were quite pleasant and featured mounds of food, often cooked from traditional family recipes, a selection of desserts from the patisserie, cousins to play with, which as an only child was a lot of fun for me, and a series of rooms filled with antique furniture and ancient family trinkets to explore. A few days ago, with the prospect a blank Friday in my calendar for The Skylark Bell, I asked my husband if he had any thoughts on how to integrate ghosts into a Thanksgiving story. Our conversation led to the story you are about to hear...

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

Every Thanksgiving they gather. They come from near and far, bearing dishes and gifts and smiles. They cook, they eat, they converse, they embrace, and then they go back to where they came from.

They gather in the kitchen and prepare Great-Grandmother Elisabeth’s fancy sandwiches. She looks over their shoulders, and notes they forgot to add the celery salt. They reminisce about how Elisabeth once single-handedly prepared an entire meal for twelve and barely broke a sweat. Elisabeth remembers that day, she was exhausted and relieved when everything turned out as well as she had hoped, she smiles at the memory.

Next they make Auntie Laurette’s meat pies. They clap the flour off their hands, and it floats into the air, landing on their noses on in their hair. They carefully roll the dough just so, the way they were taught years ago, and laugh as they tell the story of the time Auntie Laurette burned the pies, all those years ago, and no one said a word as they quietly choked down the dry, brittle meal, thankful for the many jars of green tomato chutney served to accompany it. Laurette sits in the corner, quietly observing, she was always a little shy.

Now it’s time to prepare Great Aunt Carmen’s fudge. They recall how she perfected the recipe, whisking the boiling mixture non-stop for fifteen minutes, and they wonder how in the world she did it well into her eighties. Once the fudge is poured into the pan and left to cool, they open jars of marmalade painstakingly made from Grandma Rachel’s recipe and spread it between the layers of the rich vanilla cake before covering it in thick, creamy frosting. All the while they tell tales of Carmen and Rachel’s childhood, how they would ride in a horse and carriage to visit their summer home on the island, and how one summer their father gifted each of them a pet hen... tales from another time, entirely. Rachel and Carmen stand on the other side of the counter, tall and proud, listening to the stories they themselves told a hundred times over.

It is now time to set the table. Great-Grandpa Donald watches as his mother’s silverware is set atop the table with special care given to the placement of each utensil. The dark burgundy tablecloth and matching napkins were a wedding gift he received when he and Rachel married. They are adorned with intricate embroidery around the edges, and still look nearly new despite decades of family gatherings. Donald looks at Rachel from across the room and their eyes lock for a moment as a lifetime of memories passes between them.

In the vestibule, the twins make faces at each other in the ornate mirror hanging on the wall. The mirror was hand-carved by Grandpapa Alfred in his youth. Alfred looks on at the giggling children, his heart aglow, family always was his pride and joy. On the bench behind them a mother braids her daughter’s hair the way Nona Maria taught her when she was a girl. Just as she is finishing up, the girl’s younger cousin requests to have her hair braided the same way. Nona Maria sits on the end of the bench, a gentle smile forming on her lips as she recalls her own mother braiding her hair when she was that age. 

In the storage closet at the back of the house someone opens an antique trunk and lifts out three metal trivets and two bronze candle holders. Uncle Jack stares on. It was his trunk, before. The trunk followed him to war, and it followed him home. Now it houses rarely used holiday fancies; lace table coverings, silver serving trays, tapered candles and the like. The festive tableware in the trunk is such a stark contrast to the horrors of war. Jack watches as the finishing touches are put on the table setting and grins, everything is perfect.

At last, it is time to gather and share the sandwiches, meat pies, fudge, cake, and various other dishes prepared for the celebration. At the children’s table, the twins scoop endless piles of mashed potatoes onto their plates, one turning his into a snowman, the other turning hers into a volcano erupting with peas and gravy. One-by-one, the smallest boy sneaks his carrots under the table to the dog patiently waiting there, both of them grateful for the other’s existence. The girls with the braids sit next to one another in their matching dresses. The younger girl imitates the older girl, holding her pinky up as she sips on her tea. She doesn’t much like tea, but she fully intends to keep that to herself.

At the main table, the adults share stories as they pass platters around. No one seems to mind the scattering of breadcrumbs on the tablecloth. Their conversation gets louder as the meal wears on, their laughter drowning out the sound of the silverware clinking against the antique china dinnerware. They share stories of new jobs and old jobs, new loves and old loves, new worries and old worries, things that happened this year and plans they have for next year. They clink their glasses, sharing their well-wishes for one another, all while the food, lovingly prepared while enjoying each other’s company, slowly disappears from their plates.

Behind them, the ghosts of Great-Grandmother Elisabeth, Auntie Laurette, Great-Aunt Carmen, Grandma Rachel, Great-Grandpa Donald, Grandpa Alfred, Nona Maria, and Uncle Jack look on, grateful that their names are still spoken, that their stories are remembered. Grateful that they live on in the memories and traditions of their family. They think back to the days when it was them preparing and eating the Thanksgiving Meal while telling stories of their grandparents, aunts, and uncles. They stand tall and proud, surrounded by the sights and sounds of family, thankful for what has come to be, and for what is still to come.

Thank you so much for listening.  Join me over the next few weeks for a series of very special episodes as we celebrate the 1 year anniversary of Songs from The Skylark Bell, the official soundtrack to the podcast. The episodes will feature track-by-track commentary with the inspiration and method behind each song. An extended version of the episode will also be available exclusively to Patreon subscribers. 

Speaking of Patreon, I am preparing my annual Subscriber holiday gift, a wooden doll ornament inspired by a character from the upcoming season of The Skylark Bell - Skyedive. There’s still time for you to join if you’d like to receive one, just click the link in the show notes. As a Patreon subscriber you’ll also get early access to future podcast episodes and downloads of all my original music including Songs from The Skylark Bell. 

Don’t forget to follow me on social media, primarily Instagram and Facebook, and more recently Mastodon, to stay up to date on current projects and upcoming episodes. Again, all links can be found in the show notes.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review on Apple Podcasts, and/or a rating on Apple podcasts or Spotify. This helps my story gain visibility among the numerous podcasts out there, and it also makes me smile. I also appreciate referrals, is there someone in your life who enjoys the eerie and unusual? Send them a link to the podcast! Downloads for The Skylark Bell have skyrocketed recently, and that is thanks to all of you.

Speaking of thanks, on this holiday focused on gratitude, I want to express how thankful I am for my family, the warmth of our home, our health, and our love and respect for one another. I am also thankful for the opportunity to work on my various creative projects, and how they allow me to connect with fellow creatives. Last but not least, I am thankful for you – without you these stories and songs quite simply would not exist. 

So thank you, as always, for listening, and if you are celebrating, have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

Today we’ll be reading a story called Black Dog Waiting. This story was originally released as part of my children’s podcast, A Carefully Built Pretend. Did you know that black dogs are often the last ones to be adopted at animal shelters? This is a story about a black dog who had to wait a long time to learn about the meaning of safety, home, and love.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

Links for MUTT MUTT ENGINE dog rescue:

Website: https://www.muttmuttengine.org/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/muttmuttengine

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/muttmuttengine/

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Melissa on Twitter: @melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Activity Continues podcast: https://linkin.bio/theactivitycontinues

Volsteadland podcast: https://linkin.bio/volstead_land

Collected Sounds podcast: https://linkin.bio/collectedsounds

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: A Skylark Special Epsiode in collaboration with A Carefully Built Pretend podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

Today we’ll be reading a story called Black Dog Waiting. This story was originally released as part of my children’s podcast, A Carefully Built Pretend. Did you know that black dogs are often the last ones to be adopted at animal shelters? This is a story about a black dog who had to wait a long time to learn about the meaning of safety, home, and love.

This episode is dedicated to my dear friends Sally and Chris Mars, and their incredible dog rescue Mutt Mutt Engine, with a special shoutout to all the Mutt Mutt Engineers who help to give better lives to both dogs and their people. 

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink…  snuggled your pets, and let’s get started.

There’s a black dog waiting by the side of the road. She doesn’t remember much about her life before. There wasn’t much of a life to remember, I suppose. She spent every day outside, tied to a short rusty chain. Sunny days, windy days, rainy days, stormy days, snowy days... days and days and days.

One day, her chain got so rusty it broke. The black dog walked and walked and walked. She eventually found a road and sat for a while watching the cars go by. Big cars, small cars, clean cars, dusty cars, noisy cars, fast cars... Eventually the black dog god tired, and she curled up in the dirt to sleep. She slept in the sun, the wind, and the rain as cars drove by her on the dusty old road.

One day, a truck stopped nearby. The black dog lifted her head, too tired and hungry to stand up. Two people got out of the truck and started walking toward her. One of them had a rope... the dog thought the rope looked like a chain, the chain that she had been tied to for days and days and days. The black dog got sad. The two people got closer. The black dog got scared. The two people tied the rope to her collar. The black dog started to shake. The people pulled on the rope until the black dog stood up, and they lead her to the back of their truck and put her inside. Then the truck and the people and the black dog drove down the dusty old road.

When the truck stopped, the dog was led into a building. The black dog was confused, she had never been inside a building before, she had never seen a floor before. She was brought to a room with rows and rows and rows of cages. Every cage had a dog, and every dog was sad, scared, and worried. The black dog was put in the cage at the end of the row. Then the black dog got sad, scared, and worried too.

Day after day after day people came to look at the dogs in the cages. First the puppies got out, then the cute small fluffy dogs got out, then the young hunting dogs got out, then the big, beautiful dogs with the lush fur got out. Every time a dog got out, another dog came in. Then when that dog got out, another one came in. But the black dog never got out. Day after day after day people came and took a dog, and day after day after day the black dog stayed in her cage at the end of the row.

Finally, one day, the black dog heard a small voice ask “What about this one?”. The black dog lifted her ear a little. It sounded like the voice was nearby. “I like this one!” said the small voice. This time the black dog lifted her head. “Are you sure?” asked a big voice. “Yes, I’m sure,” said the small voice. The black dog stood up and turned around, and she came face to face with a child. The black dog had never seen a child before. The child smiled. The black dog had never seen a smile before. The child reached into the cage and gently scratched the top of the dog’s head. The dog’s tail started wagging. The black dog thought maybe she’d wagged her tail before, but she wasn’t sure.

A person came by with a rope, and the black dog began to shake. The child sat next to the dog and told her everything was going to be okay. The black dog leaned her head on the child and felt something... something warm, something good, something safe. The black dog was feeling trust, for the very first time.

The black dog was led to the car and sat in the back next to the child. She looked out the window and saw trees and houses and fences and people and other dogs. The car finally stopped, and the black dog was brought to a new building. Once inside the child walked with the dog and showed her some new things. 

“This is your bed,” said the child. The black dog wasn’t sure what a bed was, but it sure looked comfortable.

“This is your food bowl,” said the child. The black dog wasn’t sure what a food bowl was, but it sure would be nice to not feel hungry anymore.

“These are your toys,” said the child. The black dog had never seen toys before, but they sure looked fun!

“This is your home,” said the child. The black dog had never had a home, but it sure felt safe.

“I love you,” said the child. The black dog had never felt love before, but it sure felt good. I love you too, thought the dog.

The black dog watched as day after day the small person grew, and the family laughed, and cried, and loved. They loved on sunny days, on windy days, on stormy days, and on all those days the black dog was comfortable, fed, happy, warm, and safe.

One day, the family brought home a new black dog. When they came in the door, the new black dog looked sad and scared and worried. The old black dog wagged her tail and walked with the new dog. 

“This is your bed; you will be comfortable” she said. “This is your food bowl, you will be fed,” she said. “These are your toys, you will have fun,” she said. “This is your home, you will be safe,” she said.

The new black dog wagged its tail, maybe for the first time, then curled up on the soft, cozy bed and fell asleep. The old black dog curled up next to him and whispered, “This is your family, you will be loved.”

Thank you so much for listening.

The Skylark Bell and A Carefully Built Pretend podcasts are brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and feature original music by Cannelle. I would love for you to join me on Patreon for additional content and be sure to follow my social media accounts where I share regular updates and previews. 

The music you hear was composed by me, under my stage name Cannelle, specifically for A Carefully Built Pretend podcast. I also composed all music for The Skylark Bell, as well as other podcasts like Collected Sounds, Volsteadland, and The Activity Continues. If you need custom music for your projects, pleast don’t hesitate to reach out. Links to all these fantastic podcasts can be found in the show notes.

Once again, thank you for listening, I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, producer, and host of The Skylark Bell podcast.

Today we’ll be reading a story called The Day the Sun Fell. This story was originally released as part of my children’s podcast, A Carefully Built Pretend. It’s a story about working together to complete something that would be impossible if we were working alone.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Melissa on Twitter: @melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Activity Continues podcast: https://linkin.bio/theactivitycontinues

Volsteadland podcast: https://linkin.bio/volstead_land

Collected Sounds podcast: https://linkin.bio/collectedsounds

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: A Skylark Special Epsiode in collaboration with A Carefully Built Pretend podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

Today we’ll be reading a story called The Day the Sun Fell. This story was originally released as part of my children’s podcast, A Carefully Built Pretend. It’s a story about working together to complete something that would be impossible if we were working alone.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink…  and listen to my story about the night creatures.

The girl came to the field one day and saw the most incredible thing.

The sun had fallen from the sky and landed in the valley. The girl tried to lift it by herself, but soon realized it was impossible to do it on her own. She called her friend, and he came running. The girl and the boy tried to lift the sun back up into the sky, but they could not do it on their own.

The girl and the boy ran to the village, and soon all the villagers had gathered to help. They tied ropes around the sun and tried to pull it up the mountain, but they could not do it on their own.

The villagers called to all the people of the land, and they came with their drums. They beat their drums and they stomped their feet as they danced in circles. The sun started to bounce up and down in time with the music.

Soon, word had spread around the world that the sun had fallen from the sky. Dragons flew from the East, they used to villagers’ ropes to pull the bouncing sun into the sky. 

The people from the North used their song to send the winter wind. It blew over the mountain and pushed the sun higher up into the sky.

The people from the South gathered in the desert and they danced in a big circle, moving faster and faster, until a sandstorm lifted into the air! The sandstorm blew over the mountain to join the north wind, and together they pushed the sun up – up – up!

The people from the West stood on the beach and cheered as loudly as they could. Their shouts created huge waves in the ocean. The waves curled up toward the sky, the water mixing with the sand and wind, and gave the sun a push as it took one final bounce and landed back in its place in the bright blue sky.

The people cheered and cheered. The people from the East with their brightly coloured dragons, the people from the North with their windy song, the people from the South with their swirling sand, and the people from the West with their crashing waves. The sun smiled down on them all, proud and happy that the everyone in the world had worked together to put things right. 

The girl and the boy sat on the outskirts of their village in the valley, and watched as the sun set behind the mountain. It waved goodbye as it went down, and they heard it say it would return tomorrow.

Behind them they heard a loud crash.

The girl and the boy turned around, and saw the most incredible thing. There, a few paces away from where they sat, plopped on the lush green grass of the valley, was the moon.

Thank you so much for listening.

The Skylark Bell and A Carefully Built Pretend podcasts are brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and feature original music by Cannelle. I would love for you to join me on Patreon for additional content and be sure to follow my social media accounts where I share regular updates and previews. 

The music you hear was composed by me, under my stage name Cannelle, specifically for A Carefully Built Pretend podcast. I also composed all music for The Skylark Bell, as well as other podcasts like Collected Sounds, Volsteadland, and The Activity Continues. If you need custom music for your projects, pleast don’t hesitate to reach out. Links to all these fantastic podcasts can be found in the show notes.

Once again, thank you for listening, I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, producer, and host of The Skylark Bell podcast.

Today we’ll be reading a story called “When The Night Came”. This story was originally released as part of my children’s podcast, A Carefully Built Pretend. We’re going to explore the fear of the unknown, and how gaining perspective can make the unknown less frightening.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Melissa on Twitter: @melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

The Activity Continues podcast: https://linkin.bio/theactivitycontinues

Volsteadland podcast: https://linkin.bio/volstead_land

Collected Sounds podcast: https://linkin.bio/collectedsounds

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: A Skylark Special Epsiode in collaboration with A Carefully Built Pretend podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

Today we’ll be reading a story called “When The Night Came”. This story was originally released as part of my children’s podcast, A Carefully Built Pretend. We’re going to explore the fear of the unknown, and how gaining perspective can make the unknown less frightening.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink…  and listen to my story about the night creatures.

“Mama, could you tell me a story?” Asks the boy

“Why, of course!” replies Mama, “Which story would you like to hear?”

“Tell me the story about when the night came,” says the boy. 

Mama smiles. “Okay,” she says. She settles into the rocking chair and places a blanket on her lap. The boy fluffs his pillow and pulls his quilt up to his chin in preparation, then waits quietly for his mother to begin.

“When I was very young, I lived in the big city. At night, the world outside was lit up by streetlights, traffic lights, headlights, neon signs... it was almost as bright as day. Then the time came, when I was just about your age, for us to leave our apartment in the city and move to a house in the country. The day we arrived I was very excited; the house was surrounded by fields of tall grass, and there were woods nearby, and     a small pond, an old barn behind the house, a shed... so many new things to check out! I spent the whole day exploring, and I had so much fun, until the night came...

When the sun finally went down, the world outside was the darkest dark I’d ever seen. I looked out my bedroom window, and I couldn’t see anything at all! I opened to window to squint out at the night, and at first I thought the world outside was very quiet, but when I listened more closely I heard the strangest, scariest sounds! In the city the sounds were loud, and I always knew what they were – cars honking, sirens, construction trucks... here in the country, I didn’t recognize any of these eerie sounds.

Every night I would sleep with a light on and close my curtains, afraid of what was lurking outside. But one night, our dog, Maggie, slipped out the door and disappeared into the darkness. I ran right out behind her without even thinking about it. Maggie was my best friend, you see. I ran and ran straight into the darkness, calling Maggie’s name. Finally, I stopped, and my heart started pounding. Mama and Papa were upstairs watching TV, they didn’t know I was outside. I was alone. Alone with the dark. Alone with the night. 

I stood very, very still then, frozen in fear, when suddenly I saw it. Just beyond my reach, a small greenish yellow light blinking on and off, then another, and another... suddenly they were everywhere, staying low to the ground. I’d never seen anything like it, it was magic! Fireflies! I watched them for a while, and realized they were dancing, and their music was the sound of crickets and frogs singing a night song. They had their own special language, and I wondered what stories they were telling each other. I felt like singing and dancing along with them... I could feel the cool wet grass under my bare feet as I began moving in circles, twirling my arms in the air. I heard a new sound then, an echoing Hoooo Hoooo... it was the most beautiful sound in the world, as soft as a feather!

A breeze picked up, and I heard the tree leaves make a noise like the ocean... whoooooooosh, swish.... the wind blew away the clouds and I felt a spotlight shine down on me. This was my time to shine, my moment on stage! “Hooooo! Hoooo!” I sang in my night voice, waving my arms around like a night bird, dancing in circles like a firefly, keeping the beat with the music of the crickets and frogs as the moon cast its silver light on the top of my head. The world looked so different under that gentle, shimmering light that coated everything like a soft blanket. The dew on the leaves glistened like diamonds, the shadows danced as the trees swayed back and forth in the breeze.

I was startled out of the celebration by the sound of jingling dog tags. Maggie! I had all but forgotten about her! “Hello old friend, were you enjoying the night circus as well?” I asked, ruffling the fur on the top of her head. In the moonlight I could see her smiling, and I realized then that she knew all along... She knew how beautiful the world got, when the night came.

From that moment forward I was no longer afraid of the dark. The night creatures became my friends, the dark swaying trees my protectors, the hooting owl my duet partner and the crickets and frogs my backup band. The fireflies my ballet chorus, the dew on the leaves my precious jewels... and after that, there was never a better time of day, than when the night came.”

Mama leans back in the rocking chair. Her eyes are closed, and she has a soft smile on her face.

“Mama?” asks the boy.

“Yes, my love,” says Mama, her eyes still closed.

“Could you take me with you to the night circus sometime?” he asks.

Mama opens her eyes and ruffles the hair on top of the boy’s head, “I would love to” she answers. She stands up and drapes the blanket on the back of the rocking chair, then walks to the window and stands very still for a few minutes, looking out. Finally, she waves to the darkness on the other side before closing the curtains.

“Sweet dreams, my darling,” she whispers to the boy before turning off the lights. She smiles as darkness takes over the room and whispers one last time “Good night”.

Thank you so much for listening.

The Skylark Bell and A Carefully Built Pretend podcasts are brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and feature original music by Cannelle. I would love for you to join me on Patreon for additional content and be sure to follow my social media accounts where I share regular updates and previews. 

The music you hear was composed by me, under my stage name Cannelle, specifically for A Carefully Built Pretend podcast. I also composed all music for The Skylark Bell, as well as other podcasts like Collected Sounds, Volsteadland, and The Activity Continues. If you need custom music for your projects, pleast don’t hesitate to reach out. Links to all these fantastic podcasts can be found in the show notes.

Once again, thank you for listening, I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, producer, and host of The Skylark Bell podcast.

**Trigger warning - This fictional story contains vague mention of alcoholism and abuse***

Today’s Halloween Special Episode was inspired by a real-life ghost story told to me via my dear friend at The Haunted UK Podcast. From that, I put together this fictional account of the story from the perspective of the ghost itself, a little girl named Helen who ended up trapped in the cellar of her house... for eternity.

Find The Haunted UK podcast here: https://www.instagram.com/hauntedukpodcast/

Find The Foxes Curiosity Cabinet official website here: https://thefoxescuriositycabinet.co.uk/password

and on Instagram here: https://www.instagram.com/foxescuriosity/

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by: Phaeton Starling Publishing and Things with Wings Productions.

The Skylark Bell official website - http://www.theskylarkbell.com

The Skylark Bell on Instagram: @theskylarkbell

Author/Producer: Melissa Oliveri - http://www.melissaoliveri.com

Join Melissa's Patreon for early access to podcast episodes, music downloads, and more: http://www.patreon.com/melissaoliveri

Melissa on Twitter: @melissaoliveri

All music by Cannelle: http://www.cannellemusic.com

Cannelle on Instagram: @cannelle.music

Official Merch Shops: http://www.melissaoliveri.com/store

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Things with Wings Productions presents: A Skylark Special Epsiode in collaboration with The Haunted UK Podcast. I am your host, Melissa Oliveri.  

Today’s episode was inspired by a real-life story. You can hear the original story on the Haunted UK Podcast, check the show notes for a direct link. The version in today’s episode of The Skylark Bell is being told from the perspective of the ghost itself.

Be sure to listen through to the end of this episode for the preview of The Haunted UK Podcast, a fellow member of the Boopod network of paranormal and true crime podcasts.

Now, it’s time to settle in… grab a blanket, and a warm drink…  and celebrate spooky season with this eerie, unsettling story.

I didn’t mean to scare the boy; I promise I didn’t!

I didn’t mean to make the people shout. 

I didn’t mean to make papa cross either.

It’s just that... well... I’ve been down here such an awful long time... it gets quite lonely you know!

I don’t know how long it’s been since That Day. I don’t much like to talk about it, but since you asked...

I guess I was born a bit clumsy. It took me longer than most to learn to walk, I remember Mama saying, “Your brother Henry was walking before his first birthday!” She was so happy when I finally took a few steps, but there was still quite a lot of stumbling and tumbling which lead to me getting a few bumps and bruises. Up until That Day though, the only damage done had been to my body. 

The previous week, Grandma Yvette had given Mama a lovely vase for her birthday. Mama got some flowers from the market to put in the vase and placed it on the side table next to the sofa. The flowers made mama so happy. I love it when Mama’s happy.

My big brother Henry was running around as usual, taunting me because I couldn’t catch him. My legs and feet just would not go where I wanted them to. I tried and tried to go faster. If I could catch Henry, maybe Mama would be happy. Mama had been crying a lot the last few days. If I could catch Henry, maybe Papa would be proud of me. He had been shouting a lot the last few days. If I could catch Henry, maybe everything would get better. So, I took a deep breath and charged at Henry with all my might... and CRASH! My knee gave out and I slammed into the side table, sending the vase hurtling toward the floor. It landed with a smash, shards of glass flying everywhere, and water seeping between the rapidly wilting flower petals. 

I stayed put on the floor, frozen in fear. A large shadow hovered in the doorway. Papa. Papa had just come home. Papa had seen the whole incident. The shadow came toward me, and Papa came into view. He was walking funny too, maybe I get it from him. His eyes were glassy, and his eyebrows were furrowed. He smelled like that terrible smell when he gets grumpy. Mama says it’s his medicine that smells like that. I don’t know what kind of medicine it is, but I hope I don’t ever have to take it!

“Look what you’ve done!” Papa shouted so loudly that my ears started to ring. He grabbed my shoulders, and I knew. I knew just what he was going to do. I started kicking and screaming, begging him not to, apologizing, calling for Mama... Papa carried me to the door that leads to the cellar. I grabbed onto the door frame, trying to stop him from pushing me through, but he was stronger than me, and my fingernails collected paint as they scraped across the wood. Once I was through the door, he promptly closed it and I heard the latch close. I was locked in the basement.  I kicked and scratched and banged on the door, I stomped my feet, I screamed for Mama, I screamed to be let out, then I just screamed. I marched around the cellar, looking for a way out, but the windows were all blocked off, and it was pitch black. I sat on the cold cellar floor and cried loudly, wailing, until my throat got scratchy, and I couldn’t wail anymore. 

Finally, I crawled back up the stairs, my hands and feet and throat raw from the tantrum, and I sat on the very top step, silently heaving, until my breathing returned to normal. 

I think I fell asleep then. I’m not entirely sure. All I remember is waking up as I was flying through the air and then my body landing on the cellar’s stone floor, hard. Then everything went dark, which is strange because it was already so dark in the cellar, but this was a darker kind of dark. A nothing kind of dark.

When I woke up again, I was still in the cellar, but there was more light. I could see the pile of coal in the corner that we used to heat the house, and the machine that washed our clothes. I remember helping Mama with that once. She had been happy that day too, washing up little pyjamas for the new baby that was in her belly. That baby in her belly became my other brother, James. But now there were no baby pyjamas. Now there were storage bins piled along the wall, with things inside them that I had never seen. 

I tried to go up the stairs, but when I got to the top the door wouldn’t budge. I sat on the top step for a while, but then I remembered how much it hurt last time I sat on the top step, so I came back down and waited. I waited and waited and waited. Then one day I heard the door open, and some footsteps coming down. 

“Mama?” I whispered. I saw an older man.  A stranger. I hid in the corner and watched him as he walked to the corner to fill a small bucket with coal. “Hello?” I tried again. This time, I saw the man stand straight up and turn around very quickly. He looked toward me, but his eyes kept moving around, almost like he couldn’t see me. He shook his head and walked quickly across the cellar and back up the stairs, closing the door tightly behind him.

I don’t know how much time went by. Maybe it was years? Over and over again the man would come to the cellar to get some coal. Sometimes a woman would come down instead. Sometimes she would come and wash clothes, and I would stand nearby, eager to help. Sometimes I would look at her funny outfits and giggle. I don’t think she liked that much. She would always hurry to collect the washing and scurry back up the stairs.

Then came the boy. I had never seen him before. He was much younger than the man and woman. I watched him walk slowly across the cellar, carrying his little bucket. He scooped a little bit of coal into it, but some pieces fell onto the floor. He was clumsy like me! I let out a giggle, and the boy spun around, his eyes wide. He looked so very scared! I felt quite terrible about the whole thing. He hurried across the cellar with his bucket and ran up the stairs. I got scared too, then. What if Papa got mad at me for scaring the boy?

A while later I heard the people upstairs shouting. They were saying things like “I told you she was down there!” and “I didn’t think it was real!” and “Why didn’t you tell me!”

I guess maybe they do know I’m here... why don’t they let me out? Maybe they’re also mad at me for being clumsy. Maybe they’re afraid I’ll break something. Maybe they’re mad I scared the boy.

So, I stay in the cellar. It’s not so bad, you know. Sometimes people come down here, and I say hello, or just stand close to them while the go about their tasks. I keep hoping, maybe someday, one of them will take my hand and lead me through the door at the top of the stairs. Then I can see Mama and Henry and James again, and maybe even Grandma Yvette, and I can find Mama a new vase and go pick some flowers for her in our yard. Maybe I can even see the sunshine. It’s been so very long since I’ve seen the sunshine.

Or maybe you could come find me down here, and we could be friends. I know lots of wonderful games and nursery rhymes. I think we’d have quite a time in the cellar you and I. Don’t be afraid... after all, I’m just a little girl... *giggle*

Thank you so much for listening. I hope you’re having a safe and fun spooky season. Here at The Skylark Bell podcast it’s spooky season all year long, but we love when the rest of the world joins in.

The Skylark Bell is brought to you by Phaeton Starling Publishing and features original music by Cannelle. I would love for you to join me on Patreon for additional content and be sure to follow my social media accounts where I share regular updates and previews. 

I’d also like to give a special mention to an amazing creative soul, Kat, who creates for and owns The Foxes Curiosity Cabinet where you can find incredible sustainable fashion, hand-mixed, teas, unique housewares and more. Kat does an incredible job of designing original prints and creating clothing in an eco-conscious way. The Skylark Bell is proud to be affiliated with her brand, and we encourage you to go take a look at her incredible work.

Links to The Foxes Curiosity Cabinet, The Haunted UK, my patreon, website, and social media are all available in the show notes for this episode. 

Once again, thank you for listening, I’m Melissa Oliveri, writer, producer, and host of The Skylark Bell podcast.