The Serpent in the Glass (The Tale of Thomas Farrell) by D.M. Andrews Page B
Authors: D.M. Andrews
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just a saying, and that Jessica hadn’t had some mishap with the pet cat when younger.
He wondered if his father had also held the Glass in his hand and stared into its depths. Perhaps his father’s eyes also met the unmoving gaze of the serpent that hung suspended at the orb’s centre as his now did? It was a thought that made Thomas feel suddenly sad. He would never see his father, would never know what only eyes could have said. Thomas couldn’t remember what his father looked like of course. He was only a couple of years old when he’d been taken to the solicitors. But there was the dream.
Exactly when he’d first had the dream, he couldn’t remember, but he’d been very young. Since then the dream had come many times, always the same in every particular, and sometimes only weeks apart. His father was in the dream with him — or at least a figure in his memory that he associated with his father. He didn’t know where they were, but he did know it was a safe place. He could sense that. There was a gentle glow — like a great fire in a fireplace, except all about him. Thomas lay in his father’s arms, but unable to see his face. A sense of sorrow hung in the air despite the security he felt there. But Thomas didn’t long feel this comfort, because he would then have the sensation of being carried away to some distant place, as if some darkness were pursuing him and his father. Then the fear came, a deep vacuum of despair into which Thomas plunged. A real, unseen power that threatened to extinguish his life. His father was gone. He was alone. And on the brink of this destruction he would always awake.
Perhaps these lingering images, thoughts and dreams of his father explained Thomas’s feelings toward him — and his fear of being without him. He’d no such recollection of his mother. None at all. Not even in dreams. Thomas suddenly saw the reflection of his own face in the Glass again, his green eyes flashing back at him like a couple of emerald stars on the glassy surface. Forcing himself up, he pulled on the piece of string that turned off the bulb. He got back into bed and pulled the covers up close, but he didn’t surrender the Glass to the darkness of the loft. He kept it clutched in one hand almost as if it would somehow stop him losing his father all over again.
It was night. Thomas stuck his head out from beneath the covers. A pale light filled the normally pitch-black loft. It came from the hole in the roof lining — a silver glow that fell upon the wooden boards and cast strange yet pleasant shadows in the corners and above the beams. He pushed himself up and, enticed by the brightness of the light, climbed out of the converted dog basket and made his way over to the box he kept beneath the broken roof. Being careful to make no noise, he stepped up onto it and put his eye to the hole.
Outside, the back garden was bathed in silver moonlight brighter than Thomas ever remembered seeing before. But something felt different. He looked around as best he could from the small vantage point. The night was still and quiet, without so much as the hint of a breeze. Suddenly Thomas caught a movement on the lawn near the greenhouse. He strained to focus on the shadowed area beneath the crab apple tree, until his eyes adjusted as best they could. Then he saw it. There, in the shadow, nestled a huge dark mass about the size of a small car. Thomas couldn’t tell what it was, though it certainly wasn’t a car. It was round and looked as if it had many layers to it. It moved again and its surface glittered briefly as if it were made of metal.
Then, without warning, the mass seemed to unravel outwards into the light of the moon and Thomas realized what it was. It looked at first like a huge snake, but then Thomas saw a leg, and then three other legs, each with a huge claw on the end; above them a pair of long, black leathery wings sat upon a scaly back. It was a giant serpent, just like the one he’d seen in
He wondered if his father had also held the Glass in his hand and stared into its depths. Perhaps his father’s eyes also met the unmoving gaze of the serpent that hung suspended at the orb’s centre as his now did? It was a thought that made Thomas feel suddenly sad. He would never see his father, would never know what only eyes could have said. Thomas couldn’t remember what his father looked like of course. He was only a couple of years old when he’d been taken to the solicitors. But there was the dream.
Exactly when he’d first had the dream, he couldn’t remember, but he’d been very young. Since then the dream had come many times, always the same in every particular, and sometimes only weeks apart. His father was in the dream with him — or at least a figure in his memory that he associated with his father. He didn’t know where they were, but he did know it was a safe place. He could sense that. There was a gentle glow — like a great fire in a fireplace, except all about him. Thomas lay in his father’s arms, but unable to see his face. A sense of sorrow hung in the air despite the security he felt there. But Thomas didn’t long feel this comfort, because he would then have the sensation of being carried away to some distant place, as if some darkness were pursuing him and his father. Then the fear came, a deep vacuum of despair into which Thomas plunged. A real, unseen power that threatened to extinguish his life. His father was gone. He was alone. And on the brink of this destruction he would always awake.
Perhaps these lingering images, thoughts and dreams of his father explained Thomas’s feelings toward him — and his fear of being without him. He’d no such recollection of his mother. None at all. Not even in dreams. Thomas suddenly saw the reflection of his own face in the Glass again, his green eyes flashing back at him like a couple of emerald stars on the glassy surface. Forcing himself up, he pulled on the piece of string that turned off the bulb. He got back into bed and pulled the covers up close, but he didn’t surrender the Glass to the darkness of the loft. He kept it clutched in one hand almost as if it would somehow stop him losing his father all over again.
It was night. Thomas stuck his head out from beneath the covers. A pale light filled the normally pitch-black loft. It came from the hole in the roof lining — a silver glow that fell upon the wooden boards and cast strange yet pleasant shadows in the corners and above the beams. He pushed himself up and, enticed by the brightness of the light, climbed out of the converted dog basket and made his way over to the box he kept beneath the broken roof. Being careful to make no noise, he stepped up onto it and put his eye to the hole.
Outside, the back garden was bathed in silver moonlight brighter than Thomas ever remembered seeing before. But something felt different. He looked around as best he could from the small vantage point. The night was still and quiet, without so much as the hint of a breeze. Suddenly Thomas caught a movement on the lawn near the greenhouse. He strained to focus on the shadowed area beneath the crab apple tree, until his eyes adjusted as best they could. Then he saw it. There, in the shadow, nestled a huge dark mass about the size of a small car. Thomas couldn’t tell what it was, though it certainly wasn’t a car. It was round and looked as if it had many layers to it. It moved again and its surface glittered briefly as if it were made of metal.
Then, without warning, the mass seemed to unravel outwards into the light of the moon and Thomas realized what it was. It looked at first like a huge snake, but then Thomas saw a leg, and then three other legs, each with a huge claw on the end; above them a pair of long, black leathery wings sat upon a scaly back. It was a giant serpent, just like the one he’d seen in
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