Eleanor’s Essay

The Lower Strangling Chronicles

The rain hammered down over the roof of the Peterson’s Manor, as Eleanor sat curled up with Charlotte Brontë’s novel Jane Eyre in the living room.

Dave, Sarah, and Will were also relaxing, doing their own thing whilst listening to the rain pouring down.

They were joined by Sarah’s parents, Terome and Esmarelda, who were visiting their daughter to celebrate Terome’s birthday.

“I am glad to see you reading the Brontë sisters, Eleanor,” Terome Lancaster said to his granddaughter. “Yes. Much better than that vampire nonsense people read these days. Dracula was perfectly fine without it being sexed up.”

“I’m reading it for an essay I’m writing at school,” Eleanor said.

“Interesting. What are you writing about?” Terome said.

“The relevance of the novel today, and why people still love it,” Eleanor said.

“Good, good. If it would make things easier, we could try to contact Charlotte Brontë using the Ouija Board your parents have kindly given me,” Terome said.

“No, we cannot,” Dave said. “I agreed to give you that thing on the condition that you didn’t use it around the house or brought my kids into your little hobby.”

“I believe it’s best if we let Eleanor decide, David,” Terome said. “It is her essay, after all.”

“I’ll think about it, granddad,” Eleanor said. “I’m don’t feel the need to contact the dead just about yet.”

“Very well,” Terome said. “Just let me know if you’re interested in having a seance.”

Dave sighed, rolled his eyes, and turned the page of Technology Today that he was reading.

“Have you talked to your father lately?” Terome said to his son-in-law.

“No, of course not,” Dave said. “He’s been dead for over a year.”

“I know that,” Terome said. “But I take it you have not considered sitting the family around the table with some lit candles and seeing how things are going with your old man beyond the vale.”

“No,” Dave said. “Simon would never see me the same way again.”

“I’m sure the parish priest has an open mind,” Terome said.

“On sexuality and abortion; yes. On dabbling with the occult; no,” Dave said.

“There’s nothing occult or Satanic about spiritualism,” Terome said. “It is just as valid a religion as Christianity. I’m sure the two could go hand in hand.”

“No, they really couldn’t,” Dave said.

“Drop the subject, please, gentlemen,” Esmarelda said. “I’m sure young Eleanor would like some peace in order to write her essay.”

“Yes, I would,” Eleanor said.

Dave and Terome agreed, and soon a deathly silence fell upon the family. All that could be heard was the tick, tick, ticking of the grandfather clock.

Terome stared at the picture of the incandescent lightbulb that adorned the front cover of Technology Today that Dave was reading.

“That’s wrong, by the way,” Terome said.

Dave sighed and put the magazine down.

“What’s wrong?” Dave said.

“That article. The incandescent lightbulb was not the pinnacle of technological advancement,” Terome said.

“Well, at least that’s one thing we can agree on,” Dave said.

“Indeed. Surely that accolade should go to the Ouija Board,” Terome said.

Dave sighed again.

“How on earth is a piece of cardboard with some letters and numbers on it the pinnacle of technological advancement?” Dave said.

“Because, with the addition of a small wedge of wood, that piece of cardboard with letters and numbers on it allows you to contact the afterlife,” Terome said.

“If you’re dumb enough to believe that,” Dave said.

Terome’s eyes flared.

“How dare you?” Terome said.

Terome and Dave continued arguing. Eleanor sighed and retired to her room.

“Please, just be quiet,” Sarah said. “You’ve made Eleanor leave the room.”

“Ok. Fine,” Dave said.

“You’ll need to go up and tell her when we’re going to the Hangman’s Noose,” Sarah said.

“Fine. I will,” Dave said.

“But until then, I want to hear nothing but the sound of the grandfather clock and the rain outside,” Sarah said.

“Ok, darling.” Dave said.

“Anything for you, Sarah,” Terome said.

And with that, all that was heard for the next hour and a half was the tick, tick, ticking of the grandfather clock and the pat, pat, pattering of the rain outside.