The Chronicles. Volume I: Andrew River

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Chapter 1: Rescuers in the Rain

I did not remember the day or the time when my adventures had begun. I remember the cold rain. A pouring rain had been caressing down my face and soaking my loose clothes to my skin. Making my clothes become another level of wet, damp skin of itself. They became slimy and heavy as they put some more weight on my weak body. I had been going in and out of consciousness. My body laid on someone’s step; the sharp corners of the steps had been poking my spine and lower back. I had no idea where I had been. Honestly, that did not bother me. Truly, what concerned my being the most, was indeed how I did not know my past. I only knew the moment.

As I laid on the stranger’s step, I heard the creaky, heavy front door, I perceived it to be the front door, opened to my left. I had been so weak I did not have the strength to open my eyes. A bright light came from the building. Two pairs of footsteps came nearby. The residents that the footsteps belonged to started to lift my body off from their porch. By the sound of their voices, I could tell that my rescuers were a middle-aged man and an older woman. I had no idea who they were, or where they were about to take me. Blackness started to surround me once again.

The next everlasting moment I came back into existence. Weakness filled my soul. It was most difficult to open my eyes. Through my eyelids, I could see the shadows of lights and feel the warmth of candles that we were passing. My rescuers carried me still; we were walking up stairs. They whispered to themselves.

“Jim, what room should we put him in?” Whispered the woman.

“We will place him in his room. What other room would you suggest?” Replied the man.

“I don’t know. This all seems so strange. Look at his clothes and his age. Are you sure it is him?” Retorted the woman.

“That’s enough of that. I know it’s him.” Answered the man.

Before they lowered my body down onto a soft, fluffy bed. I became colder than I was. My clothes had been stripped away from me. Then a fresh pair of clothes replaced the damp ones. My rescuers of mine placed my body onto a bed, and wrapped the covers up to my shoulders. The darkness returned.


. . .


“How is he doing?” A man questioned in a worried English accent. I could tell by the sound that his voice had made, he was one of my rescuers.

“He is doing well enough Jim. He should wake up soon enough.” Said a woman by my right side. She had also been my other rescuer.

The next moment, I heard books plummet from a high shelf of some sort. “Not again. Every time I come into this room, I knock over these blasted books!” He exclaimed with a hint of a whisper.

I heard someone picked up these novels that dropped. They made a little thud when each one touched another. Then this same person put the books back on a table with care. I heard to my right a glass object been lifted from a table that stood beside my bed. Cold liquid came out of the object going into another. Someone poured water into a small glass. This same person put the glass pitcher back onto the table where it resided before.

I dared not open my eyes. However, a sensation came over me. This impression expressed that I needed to look upon where I resided in. I gave into the temptation. A room came to life before my eyes. The first object my eyes caught was the intricate ceiling. The decorated ceiling had gold trimming, around the edges, in the middle of the roof had abstract patterns made from gold paint. Suspended from the ceiling hung three, massive chandeliers; that were positioned neatly across. The ceiling was so handsome I did not want to look away; however, I knew I couldn’t look at the roof all day, for that would be rude to the rest of the room. Thus, my eyes wandered down onto the chamber. Compared to the ceiling the room was quite simple. Except for a bookshelf that contained old, dusty books. Indefinitely, they looked hundreds of years old. The bookshelf that held these gorgeous novels matched the ceiling entirely. The substance of the shelf was ivory, with gold trimming. With a shade, silver spread on the ivory. I noticed that the man with the English accent was no longer there. Instead, he was in front of a quaint, bay window that had a bench proceeding out of it with cushions. The man didn’t notice me that time; he didn’t see me until the woman by my right said that I had awoken from my slumber.

I looked in the direction of the woman. She had been wearing a long flowing blue dress with a white apron that covered the entire front of her dress. Her age was around mid-sixties, but her hair was as young as a school girl. Her expression had love, compassion, and kindness in it. Appropriately, compared to an affectionate mother. This woman was standing by the bed table, which contained on top a large pitcher, a small sweat dripped glass filled with water and a candle that had melted wax running down its sides. I stared at the water droplets going down the glass. The droplets had the appearance of dancing a beautiful waltz with each other, as they crisscrossed one another.

“Hello young man, my name is Jim Hensworth. Welcome to Hensworth Estate. I am the master of this mansion. You gave us quite a fright when you were lying on our front porch the night prior. How do you feel?” Roared the man.

He scared me out of my daze; I proceeded to look towards him. He looked right at me, with his hands in his pockets. His appearance was more distinct than when he was looking out of the window. He was a tall, slender man. He had scruffy gray hair, with a hint of his original color through it. His apparel was a typical look. He had a long white cotton shirt, with a dull yellow vest. A chain of a pocket watch was showing out, while the watch itself was tucked away in his pocket. A black puff tie was showing through his vest. His pants were a dull, gray.

I complied not to answer his question. As I stared into his face, he had a fatherly complexion. His presence seemed familiar. Possibly we were acquaintances once before in another life.

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