Lore's Elementals

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 Lysander Felton and the Guide to Worlds Unseen

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Akane

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Number of posts : 118
Age : 23
Location : We're on a bridge, Charlie!

PostSubject: Lysander Felton and the Guide to Worlds Unseen   Mon May 16, 2011 9:11 pm

Title in pending.

Anyway, welcome to my novel. My first real attempt at one. That I'm actually writting down. And NOT failing at. Yeah... yeah... OK, here goes nothing! And post to sya you're reading, even if you're going to be mean and not give me feedback. Smile

Chapter One [Part I]

Lysander Felton stared at the Copperfield’s cuckoo clock in exasperation as he watched the hands tick past the one o’clock mark, a tiny professor and his wife coming out of the doors on either side of the hands to dance in rejoice for the new hour. He sighed in dismay, wondering if his friend, Theodore Copperfield, had tricked the clock into moving slower than it should have been.

The air outside reeked of the dog days of summer when there wasn’t anything more to do than swim at the community pool until they got sun burnt or sip ice tea until their stomachs hurt. This, among other things, had forced Lysander to conclude that today he and Theodore would be spending the day at Theodore’s house, where the basement was cool and where the Red Sox could be seen at three o’clock on his scarcely used television as they gorged on pretzels and cheese puffs.

He glanced at Ted who was so engrossed in the re-runs of The Twilight Zone they’d been watching for the past hour that he hadn’t pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose in over twenty minutes. Lysander grabbed the remote off the coffee table in front of them and shut the TV off. Theodore snapped to attention.

“What’d you do that for? That one was just beginning,” protested Ted distraughtly. His English accent seemed out of place amidst the shelf of mostly American history books behind him.

“I’m bored, Ted. Lets go do something else,” Lysander replied simply as he arose to his feet to stretch his arms to the ceiling. Being that he was only twelve years old, they didn’t reach very high.

Theodore frowned. “We’re not allowed to go anywhere until my father gets back from his twelve o’clock class,” he reminded Lysander.

Groaning in displeasure, Lysander inwardly wondered why Mr. Copperfield had to teach college classes during the summer if no one went to school then. He assumed that if students at Yale University had to go to school over the summer that he would seldom consider it as his college of choice. Lysander again gazed at the now motionless cuckoo clock, an idea suddenly sparking his interest.

“When exactly does your dad get back from classes?” he probed curiously, looming over Ted who had now resorted to paging through an old copy of Carl Sagan’s Cosmos left on the coffee table.

“Around 1:40. Why?” Suspicious of his friend’s sudden curiosity, the boy with the slightly curled sandy blonde hair stared at Lysander with inquisition.

“Wanna go through your Dad’s spare room?” asked Lysander, who had always expressed an interest in his friend’s father.

The Professor was a reserved man whom seldom did anything more than acknowledge Lysander’s presence and ask him of his wellness whenever he poked his head around Ted’s house. He often carried large stacks of papers or scientific journals as he walked between his study on the first floor and the library on the second floor every so often. Most of the time he was at the university teaching a class or using a lab. Lysander knew this because Mr. Copperfield tacked a set of yellow post-it notes to a bulletin board that dominated the kitchen wall every day. Whenever he passed it he tried to make out the professor’s cursive, often catching phrases like, “I’ll be home after my four o’clock class to go over your homework. Please start a pot of beans.”

Without waiting for a reply, Lysander started for the door that had caught his attention whenever they first entered the Copperfield’s basement.

Theodore quickly jumped up from his seat. “Lysander, we’re not aloud in there. That’s where Dad keeps all of his failed or old research projects.”

He stared at the maple door, blatantly ignoring his friend’s warning as he turned the glistening knob. It didn’t seem like anything more than a regular door, but he had always imagined the space to be like the land of Narnia: a simple wardrobe on the outside with a fascinating new world on the inside.

Now Lysander gawked at the abundance of a mess that littered the spare room, as the rest of the house was always more neat than a library. It was a decent sized with white washed walls and stacks of boxes so high they touched the ceiling at parts.

“Theodore, come check this out!” he called, rushing to a box on a cluttered table at the center of the room.

Ted took a few timid steps into he room and also shared a moment of incredulousness before he hissed, “Lysander! I told you my father doesn’t want us in here! I’m sure there’s nothing interesting here, anyway.”

“You call this uninteresting?” asked Lysander, reaching into the box and pulling out a telescope that threatened to bring him to the ground.

His friend gasped, running towards Lysander to help him ease the instrument onto the table. ”I’m serious, Lysander! He’s going to be angry if he finds out we’ve gone through his stuff.”

“Well, he’s not going to find out, Ted, because we’re not going to tell him,” he declared while he turned various knobs on the telescope. “We’ll put everything back just the way we found it and he’ll never know.” He squinted into the eyepiece, checking to see if he could focus in on anything towards the back of the room.

“You’re messing up the focus! And that’s dishonorable, Lysander. It’s none of our business what my dad keeps down here.”

But Lysander had already moved to a different section of the room where he starting opening various filing cabinets only to find that each individual tab was sorted by its Latin name. “That’s exactly why we’re looking at it. I want to know if your Dad does anything else besides talk to himself and science stuff.”

“He cooks and he cleans. Now lets go!” urged Theodore as he lifted the telescope back into its box without success.

His friend pushed aside a large plastic container to get to a particularly interesting section that lay in the most inaccessible areas of the room. To Ted’s horror, Lysander leapt on top of a cabinet and then back down to the opposing side.

“Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself!” Theodore tripped over various bins as he muddled across the room to join him.

Lysander again ignored his companion’s pleas and set to work sorting through the stacks of boxes and journals all signed Harrison Theodore Copperfield crammed into a single low lying book shelf.

Theodore came over to him in a fury. Finding that his hopes of leaving were now squandered by the reality that Lysander had taken a deep interest in something, he settled for staring at his wrist watch to count the time they spent in the storage space, as it might very well be their last.

The platinum blonde Lysander found some of the reading material to be full of vividly detailed color explosions of celestial bodies. Others had mathematical symbols he didn’t understand scribbled on pages upon pages until finally he reached a boxed solution. He looked up at Ted questioningly, who in turn glanced at the sheet of paper.

“Calculus,” he said briskly, allowing Lysander to return to his snooping. Whenever he threw a book to the side, Ted carefully put it back in its place.

Amidst the Astrophysicists’ journals also lay various books and stacks of index cards kept together by aging rubber bands. Lysander could make out some of the titles that weren’t in Latin but, for the most part, tossed those aside quickly.

Ted soon found that he almost enjoyed looking through these old notes and documentations. It was all a regular process until Lysander found a journal slightly different from the rest. It was shoved against the back wall of the bookcase behind a set of large, outdated books on the principles of Aerodynamics. He tentatively reached out to grab it from its spot, the dust he brought with it making him cough.

When opened, the presence of a signature was nonexistent. A collection of yellowish pages with handwriting too disarrayed to be Mr. Copperfield’s flooded the notebook-sized diary. Lysander’s eyebrows furrowed deeply as he flicked through pages of crocked lines of writing, stopping when a distinctive rip on the edges of a small collection of pages became evident; the mark looked like it could have been made from burning the edges of the page. He flipped to the page that looked the most worn and squinted to try and decipher the print, Theodore reading over his shoulder.

“Can you read any of this, Ted?” pleaded Lysander, finding that no more than the date—September 28th, 1997—was decipherable in the dimly lit space. When he flipped back to some earlier pages for comparison, it was clear that the ink on the burnt pages had faded and was written in different ink than the rest of the text.

Theodore took the journal from him. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and began to read. Lysander watched in silent admiration as his friends’ studious stare of stormy blue-gray eyes scrutinized.

After a minute of flipping between pages, Ted spoke: “It’s just someone’s diary, basically. Not my Dad’s, though.”

“Whose was it?”

The faint rumble of a Ford Escort turning into the Copperfield’s driveway put a kibosh in Ted’s reply. Horrified of this prospect, he waited a moment longer to be sure of his conclusion. Not long after, Theodore and Lysander both held their breaths as they heard the familiar monotone of “Front door open” from one of the security system consuls at the foot of the basement stairs. Not daring to goad the passage of time by sharing a glance, the boys sprang to their feet and pushed the other aside to get past the disarray of objects and back onto the couch.

Theodore, realizing he still had the journal in hands, panicked and looked back at Lysander momentarily for help. Lysander seized the object from his friend’s hands and muttered a, “Go!” as they exited the room. What sounded like a stone rolling across the floor above became louder as the boys rushed out of the room.

Closing the door behind him, Lysander darted out of the room and jammed the dusty journal into the satchel his mother had packed some leftover trout for the Copperfields in. He leapt over the couch and pressed the red button on the remote faster than he thought humanly possible. Theodore, who had been cleaning up the yogurt covered raisins the boys had dropped on the floor earlier, rounded on the couch at the last possible second and took his usual perfectly postured television watching position. Lysander glanced over at the cuckoo; the clock read 1:27.

Mr. Copperfield was at the bottom of the stairs only seconds after the boys had settled into the plush green cushions.

He was greeted by the coldness of the voices on the television in an episode of the Twilight Zone he knew to be “Five Characters in Search of an Exit.” Mr. Copperfield stared at the boys with a fond smile on his face and patted the side of his leather messenger bag before speaking up.

“Good afternoon, boys. You do seem rather comfortable, but I was hoping to go into town before the game began. Care to join me?” The tenderness in his voice cut Theodore and Lysander up like cold salmon as a searing pang of guilt burned through their chests.

“Sounds good, Mr. C,” Lysander finally managed in between the reprimanding voice of his conscience.

Smiling, he manually turned the television off and led the boys upstairs. Too preoccupied with trying to keep a straight face, all Lysander could manage during a greater part of the car ride into town was glance at Ted questioningly and clench the satchel to his side.

What he’d done wasn’t stealing, he reasoned. It was just like getting a new theater script: one took it when they walked into the first practice and gave it back after the final performance. None the wiser, Mr. Copperfield wouldn’t know the difference, and Theodore was too virtuous to dare another venture into the storage space to check up on the white bookshelf in the back. Besides, it wasn’t as though he was going to gander the text without his friends’ help, seeing as he could scantily understand the lettering.

Lysander’s thoughts were soon replaced with jovial conversation of the Sox versus Sox match as the local news station began to rumble with excitement over the day’s home game and the sounds of Mr. Copperfield’s car as it chugged into New Haven, Connecticut.

Though he much preferred New York, Lysander could not discourage that fact that New Haven had its good qualities. Long nights were often spent there with his siblings reciting lines from To Kill a Mockingbird, Henry IV, and whatever else the Clearwater Performing Arts Center decided its participants would gallop around to on the stage. And though his adoration for the theater was hardly matched with any other infatuation, he found that going into town with the Copperfields was just as rewarding.
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Emperorbuu
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PostSubject: Re: Lysander Felton and the Guide to Worlds Unseen   Mon May 16, 2011 9:16 pm

Wow, another good story on LE to follow~ Keep it up!
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