"Because she could not go near all these wonderful things, she longed for them all the more."
― Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid
A thousand sounds reverberated in the air. Twila Pepper didn't mind, though.
She enjoyed the metallic clangs, the simmering cauldrons, and the constant buzzing fromthe surrounding inventions. To her, it was sweet music; a reminder of how life used to be before the plague took her parents.
The curtains were drawn, protecting her from the empty streets outside. From a hole in the panelling, a gentle breeze wafted through. Above her, the oil lamp swung lightly back and forth. As the shadows danced across the table, Twila hummed to herself and studied the open notebooks in front of her once more.
The pages were worn and tattered, her father's writing was barely discernible anymore. Faded drawings adorned the margins—her own addition to her father's legacy. Gently, she caressed the edges.
"I miss you, pa," she muttered.
Grabbing a wrench, she walked over to her latest invention; the communicator. It was made up of different items she'd found lying around in the abandoned town.
The central piece, a gramophone speaker, had been one of her parents' most treasured belongings. Twila shuddered as she imagined the disapproval in their eyes if they could see what she'd used it for.
It wasn't like I had any other choice, she thought. A lock of hair fell in front of her eyes, and she whisked it away with the back of her hand. Either way, there is no going back now. She squatted down next to the device, and began fastening a bolt nut.
The past months had produced nothing but failure upon failure. She was desperate to procure a way to keep things cold without digging a hole in the ground. A chiller box, she called it.
It was her ticket out of this wretched place. Everything would be fine if she just managed to create one great invention that could convince the professors that she was an invaluable asset to the university and to her country. But it was evident that she couldn't do it alone. She needed a bit of help from the wisest man she knew: her father.
Thomas Pepper had been a great man, and an even greater inventor. Twila had studied his notebooks for months before she began experimenting on her own. Alas, all her attempts had proved useless. If only she could get a little bit of guidance...
Looking up, Twila caught her own reflection in the cheval glass across from her. She rarely took note of her own appearance anymore. There was no point. The scar on her left cheek was a jarring white across her otherwise tanned skin. Much had changed since her parents had left this plane of existence. With a shake of her head, she focused on the task at hand: Her trans-dimensional spirit-communicator.
"Only one more step," she muttered. From the table, she grabbed a small vial containing a clear liquid. A single drop would ensure that her blood would be diluted enough to power the communicator.
Carefully, she arched her head back and opened her mouth. She tried to make it drop straight down her throat, but the bitter liquid still hit the back of her tongue. Cringing at the taste, she grabbed a needle and pricked her finger.
Twila only needed a few drops of blood to fill the small compartment before closing it shut. Once, this particular piece had been part of a gorgeous jewellery box. She'd been hesitant to wreck it, at first.
At least it serves a greater purpose now.
While staring at it, she stuck her finger in her mouth to stop the bleeding. Then she stood up and flicked a switch on the machine. After a few seconds, she could hear the tiny gears start to move, and the device began to crackle.
"Yes," she said, grinning from ear-to-ear. With this, she should be able to reach the other plane—the spirit plane where her parents resided now. It hadn't been an easy calculation, but the theory was solid. All she needed was to put it to a test.
Another crackling noise sounded from the gramophone speaker. With renewed energy, she grabbed the communicator and held it to her mouth.
"Hello, hello? Testing... One.Two.Three... Is this thing on?" Twila flipped a switch and heard her own words repeated in a monotone voice. If everything went according to plan, she would soon hear her father's words.
"No better time than the present," she muttered. Just one more click.
Her neck ached, but she ignored it. A lump formed in her throat, and she braced herself for whatever outcome. She couldn't get emotional. There was a slight risk that this wouldn't even work. Besides, this call was only for the chiller box. After all, Twila was sixteen summers now. She couldn't be seen as a little girl who missed her mommy and daddy.
With a deep inhalation, she reached out and let her hand hover above the small lever. This was it. Blinking once, she let out her breath and then flicked the switch.
For a second nothing happened. Then the room exploded in prismatic splendour. A burst of light forced Twila to her knees, her arms covering her eyes. Around her, the world shook. The sound of breaking glass echoed in her ears.
What is happening?
After what seemed like an eternity, Twila nervously rose from the floor. Her heart sank as she took in the damage. Chaos. Havoc. Mayhem worthy of another world.
Her limited vocabulary couldn't find any way to accurately describe the wreckage before her. Shards of glass littered the floor, and all of her papers were strewn across the place. Worst of all, everything was silent. Panic rose inside her.
It didn't work, she thought.
A tear slid down her cheek. All her father's work had been destroyed. It would take months to puzzle his notes together again.
The smell of smoke mixed with the sour odour of kerosene. Waving a hand in front of her, she tried to clear the air as she spun around. A painful cough forced it's way out of her throat.
At least, she was intact. Some of the glass had cut the skin on her face, but the hardened leather apron had protected most of her body. She tore it off and ran her hands down her body, noticing some tears in the fabric of her shirt. Groaning, she pulled the shirt over her head, leaving only her undershirt behind. Now she would have to suck up to Madam Rose, praying that the old hag would stitch up her ruined clothes.
Someone cleared their throat. Tensing, Twila turned around slowly. Across the room, she could see a large silhouette. A man.
"F-father?" Twila asked, her voice shaking.
The figure moved, opening a window. When the smoke finally cleared, her jaw dropped as she looked upon the intruder. Their eyes met, and a million sensations happened at once: She found it hard to breathe, her heart skipped a beat, and a shiver ran up her spine.
It wasn't her father, that was the first thing she noticed. It was a boy, roughly around her own age, and he was dressed in some kind of uniform.
The next thing she saw was the skewed smile and his raised eyebrows. She followed the direction of his eyes, and instantly felt heat stream to her cheeks.
Apparently, the shiver had been from the open window. Crossing her arms over her chest, she backed away from the stranger. Several questions formed in her mind, but she didn't know where to start.
"It looks like someone dropped a bomb in here," the boy said. "I hope you didn't call me here for the clean-up duty."
Twila frowned. Who was he? Where did he come from? Was he a ghost? Her eyes widened. That would make sense. After all, she had tried to reach the spiritual plane. Feeling a bit spooked, she took another step back.
Too late, she realised that she should have looked before moving. Her foot caught in a piece of cord, and she was unable to stop the fall. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for the impact of her body hitting the floor.
Except... it didn't come. Instead, she felt a pair of arms scoop around her waist, hoisting her up in the air. Opening her eyes, she looked at him.
"Are you spirit?" she whispered. He was so close.
He chuckled. "Not as far as I know. Pretty sure I wouldn't be able to hold you if I were."
As if he was trying to prove a point, he swung her so he could hook one arm under her legs, while the other stayed at her waist.
She was certain that her face resembled a tomato. "Do you... do you often hold strangers in your arms before asking their name?"
The boy shrugged. "I have a more hands-on approach than most. Save the girl first, chit chat later." He gave her a wink. "I'm Tristan, by the way."
Twila didn't know how to respond to this... flirtation? In fact, she didn't know how to respond to him at all; there was something off about the way he spoke. Almost as if he weren't speaking english at all.
The warmth from his skin seeped through her thin undershirt, and she became painfully aware of her own appearance. Horrified, she squirmed in his arms.
"You may put me down now," she said as she continued to struggle against his hold.
When he didn't release her, she looked up to meet his amused stare. "Is there a problem?"
"Perhaps you should wait until I can set you down in a spot that isn't covered in shards of glass?" Tristan raised an eyebrow. His eyes were the color of the sky.
"Oh..." Twila looked around. In her embarrassment, she had momentarily forgotten the state of her workroom. She cleared her throat. "Yes, please... The door is over there."
When they reached the hallway, Twila gasped for fresh air. Tristan set her down, and immediately, her knees buckled and she bent over in a coughing fit. When he reached for her, she held up a hand to stop him. "Just... a mo...ment." She wheezed.
"Perhaps I should give you some space," he said, staring at the wall above her head.
"What?" Another cough forced it's way out. "Why? I'll be fine in a second." Twila stood straight up, glancing at him.
"Well..." He averted his eyes to the other side of the hall. Twila could see the tips of his ears redden.
"Just spit it out."
Clearing his throat, he gestured to her torso. "Your... uhm... It's showing."
The shriek that escaped Twila couldn't be described as human. Horrified, she ran towards her room and shut herself inside. "I'll just be another minute," she yelled.
It could have been her imagination, but she was sure that she could hear him chuckle behind the door.
Leaning against the door, Twila inhaled deeply.
Bath first, questions later.
***