The Girl Who Captured The Stars
K. L. Laettner
The Girl Who Captured The Stars
First published by Published by RottenDogPress 2020
Copyright © 2020 by K. L. Laettner
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
K. L. Laettner asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
K. L. Laettner has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
First edition
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Dedicated to Cheryl Carey, your unwavering faith in my writing brings me to tears, and to my husband Jeffery, thank you for loving me through the madness of being an author, I couldn’t do it without you standing by my side. Writing is a cure for everything.
“We see everything you all forget. All the happiness, all the pain, everything that simply slips away.”
Emory R. Frie, Neverland
Contents
Foreword
1. Revisiting Heaven & Hell
2. Memories
3. Life In Mayberry
4. Guides and Pancakes
5. Message In A Bottle
6. Guided Messages
7. Fire On The Mountain
8. Yesterday and Empty Spaces
9. Soft, Mad Children
10. Inside This Empty House
11. Friends Never Say Goodbye
12. At The Crossroads I Am Standing
13. Reach Beyond The Emptiness
14. Counting The Ways To Where You Are
15. Chasing The Years Of My Life
16. Dying For Just Another Moment
17. Time Waits For No One My Love
18. The Lost Chapter/Tina’s Journal
19. The Girl Who Captured Memories (An excerpt)
About the Author
Also by K. L. Laettner
Foreword
This novella was inspired during the Covid-19 crisis of 2020. Having time on my hands, the idea for the book continued to surface daily, and I felt compelled to tell the tale.
Rated PG-13 for my friend Peggy Matsko, and my mother, who begged I not write any more “lust-filled” tales. I spilled my dreams and soul onto the pages with innocence in mind.
It is with heartfelt gratitude to the people who took safety into consideration during this dreadful and deadly ordeal, and in doing so, left me long spans of time to create.
This is also for the never ending support of friends and family, Cheryl Carey, my awesome beta reader, and my husband Jeffery, who puts up with his “crazy writer” wife when the muse strikes her hard.
The inspirational stars and jasmine filled scenes were born of a day I plucked a bloom from my trellis, only to be dismayed hours later as it turned brown and began dying. Thus, the girl who would capture the stars was born.
One
Revisiting Heaven & Hell
Spring 2020
I was never much for believing. Not in love, ghosts, or anything beyond my fifteen-year-old comprehension. But believing in the unimaginable can happen. I know because it happened to me that summer.
A thousand years had passed since I’d been home. Well, not really, it just felt that way. My memories of Keira remain fuzzy, but the girl with the golden hair inhabited my dreams on and off since the day I walked away from the broken-down town. The time was only twenty-odd years, but it may as well have been forever.
I parked my pickup beneath the old oak trees in front of the decrepit gray house. The shutters needed a paint job years ago and not much had changed. One hung sideways, like an old painting that refused to hang straight on the wall. The panes of glass had become filthy. One broke straight through and another sported a wicked crack running straight down the middle of it. If the old house had been two-stories like my boyhood haunt, it would now make the perfect setting for a spooky movie. Psycho, or perhaps something less freaky, Halloween without Michael Myers or a mini-Munster abode.
The porch stain faded over time, neglected for too many years, and knowing Keira, it never was a thought in her head. She had better things to do than home repairs, and it showed. Flowers became the only bright spot in the whole yard. Frangipani waited, ready to bloom, and I could smell the Confederate jasmine from where I stood. The familiar vanilla essence brewed a heady aroma of something else that you loved but that eluded you. Sweet floral scents washed over me like a soft wave. It was the first thing I remember from when I moved here. I shouldn’t say moved here, more like dropped like a hot potato into the world of a Mayberry from heaven, or perhaps in some ways, hell.
The moss hung like thick nests of spider webs from the lofty limbs. I’d forgotten about those spooky clumps. Swaying in the wind, they pulled to me like bony fingers, come, come to me, they whispered and I stopped in my tracks. I imagined her voice, taunting my heart like the ghost from my dreams. I wasn’t coming home, nor did I intend on staying here for any longer than necessary. This shack had become mine. Perhaps she wanted me to live here, but she must be dead, so how would I know? I leaned against the truck and sensed the familiar pull of home. It had always been so alive, and nothing ever changed, except the outward appearance morphed into the neglected step kid, unloved and unwanted. Keira wasn’t here anymore, and a discovered last will and testament deemed it mine. Why? Beats me, but this old shack turned into my burden to bear, and shutting the place up against the elements turned into my one and only wish. I had a family waiting back in Upstate New York.
The game plan was to get in, close it tight, and get the heck out. I didn’t have time for games, ghostly stars, or anything else she had in store. Little did I realize the best-laid plans are always the first to fall apart.
Two
Memories
June 1999
“Damien, you behave and don’t be a jerk-water. Aunt Marcy and Uncle Ralph are doing YOU the favor of taking you in like this. They will need your help around the place, and there won’t be any time for funny business, buster. You got me? Survive for a few months without fighting. Maybe then you can return home. It’s time to ship out, mister, now go on, they’re waiting.” My step-father barked into my face, his spittle flew like a rainstorm unleashed, and the veins stood out on his pencil thin neck.
Gordon was a jerk, always had been and always would be. I looked forward to time away from home, but stuck in bumbledy hickville, hoped for more upscale scenery. Perhaps a movie theater or an arcade would have helped, but nope, not happening. The elderly couple stood on the porch, waving. I stared at them and groaned. They looked like that painting, the old folks in front of the farm, minus a pitchfork. Standing their ground, they never came towards the car. Gord-duh the not-so-great threw my bags down from the trunk. He hopped in and sped away without so much as a glance backwards. I didn’t care about the lack of respect; he had my mother and his own kids left at home to beat on and I was now freed.
I wasn’t needed or wanted, and that was fine. My hand moved to my cheekbone, and I exhaled, glad to know the bruise had healed enough to be almost non-existent. I hefted my duffle bag over my shoulder and the half-opened zipper broke, spilling my few personal goods out onto the sidewalk. Uncle Ralph moved forward and stood beside me, glancing down at my collection of tattered books and the meager clothing items. A stack of rolled underwear moved towards him and he stuck his foot out to catch the wayward graying pair.
“Think you may have lost something, kid. I don’t suppose you need my help to pick this up?” I looked into his old weathered face. His eyes rolled around like marbles in a cellophane bag and I stood there with my mouth open, not sure what to say.
“You catching flies, boy? Get your belongings and come on. We got a room ready for ya, and Marcy will have supper on the table in a few minutes. You’re late. We expected you about two hours ago. I won’t say nothing about your no-good step-father there,” he said, glancing at my face’s swollen appearance.
“I don’t suppose it would be polite. Besides, you’ve got your own thoughts on the matter, I’m sure.” He slapped the back of his head and his eyeballs stopped rolling around. He grinned and I let out the breath I realize I had been holding.
“Yes sir, I’ll just be a minute. Don’t know why this unzipped, most likely Gord checking to make sure I stole nothing from home.” I plucked the items up and crammed them in the bag, then followed Uncle Ralph up the stairs. The steps creaked below my feet, and I stared at the
man before me. I hadn’t seen him since I was a child, but I remember him always being kind, if not a working stiff who didn’t settle until the day ended. He stopped in front of me, and I walked right in to him.
“You wouldn’t be a thief, now, would you, boy?” I took a step back and shook my head.
“No sir, I ain’t never taken nothing in my life. Gordon doesn’t trust any of us, and had I not gotten in trouble again for scrapping with a bully, he wouldn’t have needed to send me here. I aim to behave and don’t mean to cause you or Aunt Marcy any trouble.” Uncle Ralph nodded and grabbed me by the arm, yanking me towards him. For a moment, I thought the man would slap me, and I flinched out of habit.
“Go on now, Jezebel. This is Damien, and he’s coming to stay here with us. I don’t need you causing a ruckus on the boy’s first day here.” I looked at him, not sure what the old man was talking about. He was looking past me. I turned around and nearly jumped out of my skin. A long black snake sat on the walkway, its tongue flickered in and out. Like a submarine periscope, it stood up to watch us. The slithering rope curled up and around before it shot through the grass faster than lightning. I felt my breath coming in bursts and I pointed my finger.
“Whoa… Wha… What the heck was that?” Uncle Ralph smiled and pointed to the edge of the porch.
“That’s Jezebel, and she keeps the place cleaned up from vermin and the nope noodles. Don’t mess with her and she won’t mess with you. Sometimes she likes to come up on the swing and sun herself, so don’t sit without checking first. She will get frisky, but stand your ground and she’ll head on out the other way. Curious little sidewinder, she is, so don’t kill her.” I mumbled a few more incoherent words and stared at the man.
“Is she poisonous? Will she come in and bite me while I sleep?” Uncle Ralph looked at me like I was plumb loco.
“Now boy, there’re some snakes you must watch and avoid. Jez, we keep around on purpose, as if we had any say in the matter. She was here first, and her family before her. I don’t tolerate no killing of the wildlife around here unless it’s for eating, and no, she ain’t gonna kill you. Her bite may sting, but pay attention and don’t be running around willy-nilly barefoot. That’s asking for a whole heap of trouble. Besides, she ain’t allowed in the house anymore. Marcy wouldn’t stand for that nonsense. Not after Jez ate two eggs from the basket on the kitchen table.” He turned away and moved through the ancient screen door. The spring snapped behind me as I walked in and I jumped.
Something cooking filled the air of the home, maybe the odor of onions, I don’t recall; I know that it wasn’t familiar. At home we lived on TV dinners and frozen pizza. Real home-cooking was not to be found in Mom’s repertoire and if she learned skills from her older sister, it wasn’t how to cook a meal. Aunt Marcy peeked out from the door to the kitchen and motioned me forward. I set my bag down, glancing behind me to make sure Jezebel hadn’t followed me in, and headed towards the plump woman who stood there grinning.
“My, look at you Damien, almost grown up now. How old are you, son?” I glanced at Uncle Ralph, who had plopped himself down on a decrepit La-Z-Boy. He had grabbed a bag of red licorice and pulled them out one at a time. He nibbled tiny bits off as he watched the small TV in the corner.
“Um… I’m fifteen. I think last time I saw you I was a boy, I can’t remember, it’s been awhile.” She moved to the stove and stirred something with a big wooden spoon. Taking a taste, she made an ugly face and grabbed the canister of salt. She sprinkled a suitable amount in, tried it again and nodded.
“Gotta make sure you add the flavor or it’s a pointless endeavor. Salt opens your taster buds, and that way you can enjoy the flavors more. Want to try some?” I shook my head no and leaned against the door frame. I wasn’t sure where my room would be, and she didn’t seem in a rush to direct me anywhere. Uncle Ralph rolled up his candy bag and slipped a rubber band around the top, tossing it aside.
“When’s supper gonna be ready, Marcy? You said it was almost ready half-an hour ago!” Aunt Marcy looked at me and rolled her eyes.
“Silly men, all he worries about is food. You’d think with the way he eats candy he’d be four hundred pounds, but no, not that one. Bean pole. Since I’ve known him, that man has put no weight on his body. Now me,” she said, patting her hefty belly, “I ain’t got that same problem. I take on what he doesn’t. Anyway, why don’t you grab your bag and I’ll show you to your room.” Uncle Ralph seemed to have forgotten his question regarding dinner and began yelling out answers to whatever game show he was viewing. He’d clap his hands when he got it right and then slip a fart out.
“Oops, there I go again, those flocks of wild geese are sure flying today, Marcy…” he waved his hand in the air and continued shouting at the television. Aunt Marcy laughed.
“Yep, he passes wind a lot, too. I’d apologize for him, but he’s a man and it happens. Just don’t get too close to him, ‘cause the air gets ripe. He had turnips for lunch, that’s what creates the stench.” I followed her out of the kitchen to a small hallway leading to their bedroom. The mirror on the wall reflected the dresser and the messy bed. I recall little about her house, except the place was out in what Gordon always called “the godforsaken boondocks.” There was a white-painted door with a strange handle. She lifted the metal tab and pulled. The loud creaking filled the air and Uncle Ralph shouted out.
“You got the wind too, boy? I heard that.” I blushed, though I had not tooted, and Aunt Marcy began walking up the tight narrow stairs.
“Don’t trip over the stuff, I didn’t have enough time to clean this up, but I got your room cleared out enough to give you space to sleep. Tomorrow or the next day, you and I can tackle cleaning up the rest.” I tiptoed between stacks of magazines, boxes, and clothes.
The word hoarder wasn’t in my vocabulary, but knowing it now, the phrase fit. Once I reached the top of the stairs, I felt the heat hit me like a solid wall. The air itself held an aroma of old things. Maybe it was mildew, old wood, or the amounts of a lifetime of accumulating, but the odor was calming. Aunt Marcy slid the ancient window at the top of the stairs up and propped the pane open with a stick of wood. The breeze was faint. She eased her way past an old bed shoved against the landing and stopped in front of another door. The frame was a heavy wooden thing with a clear glass window that you could peer into. I wondered if I would be like a monkey on display, with no privacy.
“Your mama and I bunked here. I know it’s not perfect, but we spent many a summer night up here telling stories and making dreams up of who we would marry and such. We’ll clean the room more in the next few days. This is your home for the duration. Ralph and I want you to be comfortable. Now climb over this furniture here, and you can open the other window. I’ll prop open the door downstairs and a breeze will come through the windows. I’ll have Ralph look out in the barn after supper for a fan. If you put it in the window at night, you can pull in the cool air.” My T-shirt stuck to me, the face of Darth Vader faded and peeling. It was my favorite shirt, and falling apart or not, I refused to get rid of it.
Thinking back now, that was something me and Aunt Marcy had in common. If something serves a purpose, we can use the thing, even if it’s not completely up to par. I climbed over the piles of furniture and made my way to the window. Something shifted below me, and the loud squealing began. I peered in the gap between the wood, and a nest of beady eyes stared back at me. Mice ran everywhere, and I back-pedaled away from the melee. Aunt Marcy looked at me like I’d lost my mind as I screamed like a girl.