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| Longer version published in Fantasy Folklore and Fairytales, April 2000 |
Lila Bell's Love
The storybook house had a foot bridge which curved gently up to the two big front doors. At night, when the moon and stars were shining, and the driveway lights were glowing, it almost seemed as if a knight would come riding, sitting straight and tall upon a big white horse. And since Mrs. Bell was my friend, I would be able to go over and talk to him.
Which seems silly, I know, but no sillier than Mrs. Bell talking to her husband, who everyone else thought was dead. She had long conversations with him. They seemed to have a lot of fun together, so I didn't ask her if she knew what everyone else was saying. I just smiled and listened and wondered if I would ever get to see him.
Mama would purse her lips and say Mrs. Bell was only my friend because she wanted me to help her clean the house. I didn't mind. I never knew what would turn up. Once, it was a small, musical, jewelry box with a pink ballerina and a secret drawer. Another time, it was a purse full of money hidden under a stack of towels. She let me take the ballerina home. She kept the money, slipping one silver dime into my pocket just as I left. The dime was a perfect treasure for the secret drawer.
It wasn't long afterward when Mrs. Bell began hearing demons in her attic. She would scream at them while poking at the ceiling with a broom handle.
"Can you hear them?" She'd ask. I'd try really hard but couldn't hear a thing. She wasn't satisfied. She wanted me to climb up into the attic and scare them out.
I wasn't quite sure what a demon was and, being shy, I didn't ask. So I climbed up the rickety ladder into the musty darkness. Groping around, I could hear her threatening the demons in case they harmed me. After a full eternity, I found a pull string. The light switched on, dim but better than before. I couldn't see any demons or anyone else either.
I did find a stick and prodded into all the corners as she yelled instructions. I knocked over a pile of old clothes. Underneath was a trunk. Remembering the hidden money, I gingerly opened its dusty lid.
"What did you find?" She had heard the hinges squeaking. It was a treasure, to be sure. I carried it carefully down the ladder, handing the tiny velvet box to her like I was presenting emeralds to a queen.
"Ooh," She sighed, "What a wonderful present. Look at this." She held the necklace up to the light, its pale, clear stones glittering under the chandelier. "John? John? Where are you? What a clever way to give me a gift."
 The Tardy Guest by Marguerite Gerard |
She paused before a mirror to fasten the gems around her neck. Turning, she said, "Oh, there you are. Darling, its lovely. Can we go out tonight and show it off?"
Apparently he agreed, because she rushed to get dressed. I looked around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Bell. Nothing. Disappointed, I knew it was time to go home.
At least now I knew what to do whenever she began to hear the demons. I would climb the creaky rungs back up into the attic and immediately open the trunk. There was always something there to use as a gift from John. Sometimes, I could use the same gift, if her son had been there and found the treasures. He must have clambered up the ladder and opened the dusty lid too. How else could the items keep making this round trip?
She was always delighted, never remembering, always thanking John for his thoughtfulness. They went out on the town many, many times while I went home to bed, tired but somehow content. As the starlight sparkled through my window, I went to sleep knowing she was happy, celebrating yet another special occasion.
My happiness died one cold night. Fire engines woke me, while bright fingers of flame crawled up the gray stone of the storybook house across the street. Racing out in my nightie and robe, I saw Mrs. Bell sitting on the curb, covered with soot and trying to explain about the demons.
 Waiting by Richard Earl Thompson |
She was gone by morning. I missed her, although she wrote often. Mama said they took her to the funny farm, but Mrs. Bell described it as a wonderful hotel, with excellent views and room service.
Mr. Bell hadn't been able to go on vacation with her, she wrote, inviting me to visit, which I didn't bother to mention to Mama.
The house hadn't been completely burnt, and though things in the attic were singed, the trunk survived. It was too big to move, so I took its treasures, one by one, sending them along with their old love letters. She never mentioned these packages. After I sent the last one, she wrote that John was going to be home soon, as the war was almost over. They were going to elope.
He must have made it, for I never heard from her again.
