Notes on The House at the End of Sycamore Lane

The House at the End of Sycamore Lane  By J. Timothy Quirk

They say the house at the end of Sycamore Lane is haunted by the ghost of Sophronia Lancaster, a serious woman of determined disposition.

Far from the city, the gothic steeples tower above untamed woods where no living thing dares to surface for long. One fateful evening, a horse drawn carriage stops for a passenger to disembark before speeding away like the howling wind. Footsteps take the gravel path down the lane and up to the steps to an unlocked door. The aged wood announces an arrival as the connection with the outside world severs. The door closes and all is quiet, save for a grandfather clock that marks the time to match a heartbeat even the angels could hear. One set of footprints across the dusty floor belies the truth that there are two occupants now in this space that was once called a home.

In the house at the end of Sycamore Lane, a confession is prepared.

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The parlor had never been a room for music or joy but was usually kept tidy and was efficiently organized with only one book that Sophronia called her own, making a bookcase unnecessary. The Lancaster’s limited income went to their debts, not to entertainment, except for a bottle of spirits that Benjamin Lancaster replenished and kept in his study, and another bottle that stored his dreams and imagination. The latter lay shattered on the floor as the remains of a partially completed model of Nelson’s HMS Victory and that glass bottle that was meant for it represented two decades of struggle that came to nothing.

The Lancasters had no children and as their ancestors had long since departed from the earth, the Lancasters were an island to themselves, eking out an existence in a world that barely acknowledged their presence.  Dreaming of the sea, Benjamin Lancaster remained at the mill where the flowing river constantly reminded him there were adventures just downstream that would never be his. Sophronia labored in the house, taking on sewing tasks whenever possible for extra money.  When they were newly married, the Lancasters’ paltry inheritance was invested poorly, a decision that gave way to a desperate second failed investment. Their third failure was the death knell to happiness.

On the very day that all creditors were paid in full, Benjamin and Sophronia sat silently in the parlor in peace, unsure of what would come next. Sophronia decided she would like some tea at the time Benjamin decided he would retire to his study. When they unexpectedly rose together, the table shook and the bottle holding the partially completed model of the HMS Victory fell to the floor.  Benjamin stared down at his unfinished work that lay in ruins before him.

“This won’t do,” he said. Taking his coat in his hands, he walked out of the parlor and out of the house at the end of Sycamore Lane, and his steps followed the river.

Sophronia was a strong and determined woman. She did not die of a broken heart or wilt under the pressure of his sudden departure; however, she did not enjoy her unexpected freedom either. She utilized her skill at sewing and her physical labor to wash strangers’ clothes. She kept the house tidy and efficiently organized, but she left the remnants of the broken ship and bottle where it had fallen on the floor.  After toiling away her remaining years, a sudden sickness took her body, while her spirit persisted unsatisfied. 

One cold autumn evening, Benjamin Lancaster returned to the house at the end of Sycamore Lane. Upon entering the house, he made his way to the parlor and sat in an old, familiar chair.  After some time, he lifted Sophronia’s book off the table and read the title for the first time: “House and Home Papers”, a series of dated essays about domestic life in 1865 by Harriet Beecher Stowe under the pen name Christopher Crowfield. Benjamin looked from the book back to the floor.

Upon further consideration, he found the broom in the closet and soon discarded the broken glass and wooden and cloth pieces of the ship, however he placed the ship’s name card into his breast pocket. Returning Sophronia’s book to its rightful place on the table, he sat in the chair once more.

Looking up, with a voice weakened by time, he said, “I did not find adventure; there was only a different mill further downstream. Any man can see…this will do.”

The night air whispered a response only he could hear. His eyes closed and within the hour, only the sound of the grandfather clock remained.  

  End

Notes on House at the End of Sycamore Lane

Nearly every story started with a kernel of an idea that seeped like tea in the waters of imagination until a script was formed, then edited and then sent to the director for casting and recording. The House at the End of Sycamore Lane did not begin or end that way.

This story began simply by the sound. I created the soundscape first, overlaying the sound of a heartbeat and a horsedrawn carriage with a nightscape. We hear the carriage stop and then ride away as footsteps continue a path up the steps to a door. After creating that portion of the soundscape, I began to write the story.

Initially I was writing in the first person, with the intention of the narrator being the ghost of the owner of the house. As the words poured onto the page, and I added the heartbeats, footsteps on the floor of the old house into a parlor, I found the motivation of the person whose footsteps we were hearing as something different than and Edgar Allan Poe murderer defeated by their own conscience. A story could be written that way, but I didn’t find that to be this story.

I began to write the backstory, of the childless couple struggling through financial difficulty until something snaps. The catalyst is the breaking of a ship in a bottle, the HMS Victory, Nelson’s iconic vessel. It made sense to have victory slip from the man’s grasp, motivating him to walk away, only to discover where he walked to wasn’t better.

It is entirely possible to write a different story. In fact, if there is interest, I am happy to share just the soundscape audio and if the gentle reader wishes to write a story of their own based upon it, you might come up with something unique and special and entirely different or a version of the story, only better!'