This is the beginning of a story that I started to write after a visit to Fountain's Abbey in North Yorkshire, England. The style is quite Carrollian, I think. Or at least I hope it to be! Maybe I have failed, but this is very early on in the writing process. It will almost certainly be re-written!
I woke up late in the morning, as we teenagers tend to do. My bed was unusually comfortable that morning. I snuggled up, folding the duvet over me several times. I was reluctant to open my eyes. Opening my eyes meant that I had committed myself to eventually getting up, something that I had absolutely no intention of doing that morning. It was pleasant to just lie there and let time wash over me.
Then, inevitably, I opened my eyes as the smell of sausages, beans and fried potatoes enticed me. Then I realised that something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t my room. But the furniture and all the nik-naks was mine. The room was dark so I got up and opened the curtains. I stepped back in horror as I saw there was nothing behind the curtains. The room did not light up with early sunlight because there was no window to let it in! Shocked and disturbed, I was now wide awake and I backed away from the unnatural empty wall.
I escaped from the room and went down the unfamiliar stairs. The house was not one I knew. It was small and pokey; I was reminded of a cottage. I seemed to know where I was going and I ended up in the kitchen.
It was a lovely kitchen, very bright. Pale yellow walls and wooden furniture. It had a very farmhouse kitchen feel to it. The whole room smelt of herbs and the cooking of breakfast. I looked over to where a rustic, iron oven was stood. Sitting in front of it was a tall, three-legged wooden stool. “Take a seat. Breakfast’s nearly ready.” Standing on the stool with a fish slice in hand was a teddy bear. Not only that, but it was my teddy bear.
“Wilfred?” I said, further confused.
“The sausages are just how you like them,” Wilfred said, poking something with the kitchen utensil. “Slightly burnt.” He turned around and smiled. I felt like a cartoon as my mouth opened. “Are you alright, mate?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Sit down.”
I sat down on a stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen, watching my teddy bear making my breakfast. Wilfred carefully placed the sausages, potato and beans on the plate. Balancing the plate on his head he leapt onto the island, ran over and placed the plate in front of me. “Eat up,” he said smilingly.
“Thank you,” I said politely. “What’s going on?”
“Breakfast,” he replied simply, heading towards the sink to start washing up.
“Yeah, but how come you’re…talking and moving?”
“Don’t ask questions. It’ll only confuse you. Now get that down you and we’ll get to work in the garden.”
I obeyed Wilfred. Something inside me told me that it was not a good thing to argue with this authoritative soft toy. I started to eat. It was a great breakfast. The flavours tasted so alive. I wolfed it down and took my plate over to the sink. Wilfred took it from me and started to clean it. “Go upstairs and get dressed. I left some clothes on your bed.”
“But you’ve not left the kitchen since I came down.”
Wilfred turned to me. “I left some clothes on your bed. Don’t ask questions. Just go and get dressed.” There was something in Wilfred’s glass eyes that was angry with me. I hurried out of the kitchen and back upstairs.
As I entered the bedroom I had woken up in I found it filled with light. I looked up and saw a skylight pouring light into the room. The curtains were still there, framing a blank wall. I discovered that my bed had been made. I hadn’t done that – I hardly ever made my bed. But Wilfred couldn’t have done it either. Did we have servants to do it for us? I hadn’t seen or heard anyone. The clothes were there in front of me sitting in a perfect pile in the middle of my bed. But they weren’t my clothes. They were someone else’s. I decided not to go and say this to Wilfred; I didn’t want him to scowl at me with those empty eyes again. Out of fear I put the clothes on.
I had never considered wearing these clothes before. I didn’t suit this style, so I thought. Sure I’d worn long denim shorts before, but I’d never worn a sleeveless hoody before. And the hat! I’d never been able to pull off any kind of hat, let alone this thing. It was a white beanie. I’d never imagined it would suit me. But strangely, today I suited it all. I felt strangely confident and went downstairs. I couldn’t see Wilfred in the kitchen but the doors to the garden were open so out I went.
The garden was fantastic. It was on a gentle slope. There was a patio by the house where I was standing and mostly lawn, but round the edge were the most beautiful flowerbeds thriving in colour and smell. The garden was quite short, it seemed, with a hedge at the bottom, though the slope continued. I could see beyond the hedge. There were lots more trees, much more greenery. Over the trees I could see a spire of what was likely to be a church. I couldn’t see anything else further than that. The trees were too tall.
“Over here,” I heard Wilfred call to me. He was kneeling down in a vegetable patch. I crossed over to him and knelt beside him. “I’m sorry if I was grouchy earlier,” he apologised. “It’s just me in the morning.”
“It’s alright. I’m just a bit lost.”
“Fair enough. It is your first time here. This is your garden.”
“It’s nice. You’ve done a great job maintaining it.”
“Thank you, I do alright in my section. I don’t know what the rest is like. Anyway, let’s get back to planting these strawberries. You know how much you like my strawberries!” Wilfred took a strawberry plant out of a tub and placed in the hole he had dug.
“Your section?”
“Yes. I look after the cottage and the upper-most part of the garden. From the cottage to that hedge. That’s my section. Come on, we’ll pick some rhubarb after this and make crumble for pudding tonight.”
“Where are the other sections?”
“Beyond. I’ve not been there in years. It’s all very strange though. Some weird characters live down there. You’re best off staying up here with me, keeping this little haven glorious.” I stood up and wandered down to the hedge and looked over.
“How far does it go?”
“I don’t know. No more questions now. Come on. Let’s plant some strawberries.”
I asked no more questions. I planted some strawberries. But my curiosity over the rest of my garden swamped my mind. What was down there? Who was down there? I listened out for anything that might be happening down there, but all I could hear was the soft wind in the trees and Wilfred’s increasingly irritating voice.
Beautiful as this garden was, it didn’t satisfy me. I spent days there listening to Wilfred who served me all of my meals and provided me with all that I needed, and I helped him out whenever he needed me. And I was given time to myself, to do as I wanted. But I was never happy. I always had to work to Wilfred’s schedule. I had to help him with the gardening and with the cooking if he needed me. I would be sent out into the garden to pick berries and vegetables. I would be required to water the plants if he so desired me to.
I was frustrated and felt as though Wilfred was using me for his own gain. “Could you pick some runner beans for me? We’ll have them for dinner tonight.”
“No,” said I, rebelliously.
“I beg your pardon,” Wilfred exclaimed.
“I won’t do it. Stop controlling me and telling me what to do.”
“I’m asking you nicely.”
“I asked you nicely about the rest of my garden. You told me not to ask questions.”
“That was for your own benefit. I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection.” I wanted to hurt Wilfred. A dragon had risen up inside me and I wanted to tear that ridiculous bear to shreds. “I’m going to explore my garden. I’m going to see what is out there.” I strode out of the kitchen where we had just quarrelled and I walked down the garden to the wooden gate in the hedge.
“Stop! Don’t go! Please stay! You won’t find anything down there! Just more things to confuse your strained mind!”
“I’ll be fine.” I slammed the gate behind me.
I found myself in a forest. It was very tranquil with great trees and green foliage. Snowdrops margined the path I stood on. I followed the path until it collides with another path, larger and more firmly trodden. There were people walking down it. A staggered line. Each one walked alone with no communication to the other. I looked up the pathway these solitary beings are coming from. It twisted and winded until it just disappeared into a dark void. “You can’t go that way,” said a voice. The voice was high-pitched, though sounded as though a man with a low voice were putting it on. I looked around for the owner of the strange voice. “They come from there to here and then beyond.” I looked down to see a melancholic looking rabbit.
“What’s down there?” I asked, non-plussed at standing in the presence of a talking rabbit.
The rabbit shrugged. “I don’t know. No one goes that way, so why should I? It would only lead to marginalisation and embarrassment on my part.” The rabbit seemed a very pathetic, little creature.
“What’s down the hill?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to follow the crowd. If I do go down, what if I end up somewhere that doesn’t suit me. I’d only humiliate myself. It’s best not to go somewhere that isn’t made for me.” I thought that the rabbit was a very silly animal at the moment.
“So you’re just going to stay here? All your life?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you get bored? Staying in the same place day in, day out?”
“Rather that than going somewhere new and not fitting in. I’d hate to look foolish in front of people.” I felt that the rabbit looked pretty foolish just standing there. “Besides, I may not be moving forward, but I’m not moving backwards either.”
“That’s optimistic of you,” I said, trying not to show my annoyance with the silly rabbit.
“I’m not always optimistic. I’m often quite morbid, really. A bit of a preoccupation with how sad my life is. I’m a bit pathetic.”
Suddenly, the rabbit didn’t seem so silly. It pitied itself for the way it acted, for the way it was. No one should ever pity themselves, I thought. “I’m going down the hill,” I said. “Would you like to come with me?”
“Go with you? Down the hill? No. Much as I am grateful for the offer, I must stay here.” And I understood. It was difficult for him to move away when there was so much in his mind and personality that kept him back. “Good luck though,” he wished smiling up at me. I smiled back, wondering whether it would be patronising to pat him on the head. Dismissing the idea, I walked on down the steep hill.
