Not all fairy tales begin with "Once Upon A Time..." and not all fairy tales belong to by-gone centuries. There is a new movement known as Modern-Day Fairy Tales, which began with the feminist movement. Modern fairy tales do not necessarily end with a marriage in which he and she lived happily ever after. In fact, a hero charged with the task of rescuing a damsel in distress may be missing entirely...
Emily first saw Gothic House in the Spring of 1984 on her twenty-third birthday, yet, it showed a vague familiarity that she could not quite place. It was, from all appearances, the most perfect house she had ever seen--a large, beautifully stuccoed gothic structure with pointed arches and steep roofs reminiscent of medieval church architecture.
She peeped through the windows. Its interior was crammed with pictures, flowers, objects d'art and beautiful furniture. What she could not see, what she could not possibly have known, was that Gothic House also sheltered ghosts and unseen occupants that were not supposed to be there.
Years later, Emily would still marvel how her existence changed so quickly, so profoundly, after going into Gothic House. It had been a pleasant place filled with the sights and sounds of any home. In spite of its warmness, it was cold. In spite of its smallness, it was the biggest, the most perfect house that Emily had ever known. It had produced an unsettling effect on her. She could remember how she distinctly felt displaced though comfortable; strangely disconnected from reality though feeling a consciousness of knowing; how her neck hair had bristled; how her nose itched; her repeated sneezes.
But today was for today. She opened the handsome entry door of mahogany, tip-toed in, removed her shoes and wiggled her toes in the plush kilim rug which warmed the entry. Em understood that she was free to explore, yet responsible for her acts.
She paused in front of an ebony framed looking glass. Removing her straw bonnet and twitching her cheeks to a rosy shine, she admired the return picture of youthful beauty smiling back at her. Emily was lean to the bone with a complexion of creamed ivory. Her dark locks teased a sunny round face that housed limpid brown eyes and a small Roman nose. She adjusted the lace fichu at her neck and removed a cameo brooch which had come unpinned. She dropped it in the pocket of her frock. Only then did she enter the withdrawing room to her left to look around.
Inside, two women sat at a small round table of inlaid arabesque having tea. The older of the two was lovely in soft-colored rose silk that fell lightly to the floor in timid ripples. Her elegantly coiffured grey hair and profile provided a remarkable resemblance to the lady in the moon. Locked in stop-motion was her companion, wearing bold lemon yellow taffeta that gave the interloper a turn. She stared at Emily through wide opened, unblinking blue eyes. They were oblivious to her presence. The uninvited guest was querulous as she had thought the house to be empty. She watched as the two matrons seemingly enjoyed their silent ritual, obeying the unspoken social rules of the day.
The room was extremely handsome and richly furnished. Furniture was of velvet, silk and satin; the cheffoniers and marble top tables exuded elegance. Small porcelain pieces and ormolu were in abundance. The walls were lined with linenfold panelling. Emily walked to a trap door that was hidden by deep crimson drapes. She wondered how she had known of its existence. The floors were covered with Oriental rugs of intricate design and color. Brass-potted plants furnished splashes of life in a setting of surreal monstrosity and elegance of excess. Yet, how strangely comfortable she felt in this existentialist environment.
Emily went unnoticed as she wandered totally free through the room, rearranging an antimacassar on the back and arms of a chair, and fingering a tiny basket of knitting resting nearby. As she opened another door to leave, she blew a bizarre dust devil from a table that held pictures of a handsome couple and three young children, two with blond hair, one with brown.
She counted nine additional rooms: a kitchen, three bedrooms, water closet, winery, dining room, library, and hall. All rooms were furnished with gothic clutter, as well as odd Victorian and eighteenth-century pieces. But it was the hall that held a familiar questioning interest for Emily.
Here, tall blackamoors framed a formal display of table, rug and dried flower arrangements standing in a pair of arched niches. Emily sneezed. Between the niches a door lay opened revealing a darkish hall with narrow back stairs that went up three stone steps.
Emily was determined to follow the narrow stairs. Reaching the top, she opened a squeeking door. The room was dank and musty. The only light inside squinted through three small oval eyes. But it was enough for her to see a frightening sight. At a desk an aged woman sat, frozen in time, dressed in clothing from the early eighteen hundreds. Her eyes were closed as if in sleep. Cobwebs draped around her being and she was covered with dust. Emily sneezed. There was a man lying on a bed close by. Across his chest was an open book. His skin was wrinkled and leathery. Boney fingers clung tightly to a small jeweled box. His shoes waited silently at the bed's foot for feet that did not come. Em stood in silence, and without fear, in that crypt of a room.
"We have been waiting for you, Emily," an unseen voice whispered. "Don't just stand there. Pick up the box."
Em showed no fear. She walked softly toward the bed. "It belongs to you now, Emily. Open the box."
She hesitated. "Emily, you must open the box."
The voice eminated from a ghostly gray smoke which hovered over the sleeping man's bed. Emily took the box and opened it. As she did, the smoke turned green, then yellow and blue. From the colors emerged a brightly dressed wizard who caused the room to fill with the fragrance of frakincense and myrrh. Then a golden light flooded the crypt opening the eyes of the sleeping ones though their forms remained still as if in death.
"Why, its a cameo," Emily said happily. She instinctively reached into her pocket. Her cameo was not there. Excitedly, Em removed the carving from its resting place.
"Read aloud from the back, turning the cameo eleven times, first to the left then to the right, as you say each word slowly," instructed the wizard.
Emily read aloud:
For Emily on her twenty-third birthday.
Love Mother and Father.
As she read, the two figures opened their eyes. Their youth returning, they stretched and stood up tall like young trees. Emily recognized them as her parents. The wizard said, "You have broken the spell, Emily. We are all freed at last from our imprisonment." Emily and her parents hugged and kissed and danced in happy circles as the chuckling wizard clapped with glee. Dancing until they became dizzy, each fell to the floor. They awoke, seemingly having tea and birthday cake, in the withdrawing room with the two women, who now recognized Emily as their younger sister.
The wizard explained to Emily how an evil witch had cast a spell on himself, her parents and sisters. After all was said and done, Emily replaced the cameo at her neck and, giving the jolly wizard a big hug and kiss, the mahogany door closed on their happiness.
And so, from that day forward mother, father, Beth, Hillary, Emily and the gaily dressed wizard, 6 tiny china dolls, lived happily ever after - in their Gothic Doll House.
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