I needed to tell a story, a short story, which needed more than one Point-of-View.
First, I need to say a little about the origin of this story. This is the oldest story I have in me, one which has haunted me in some fashion or other since I was five years old. See, we were living in Prescott at the time and my father had just purchased a big, brand new tent. Now this is 1972 so this beast is all canvas, not the lightweight stuff we have now. In fact, the tent itself came in one big bag and another bag of near equal size carried the steel poles needed to put it up. It was a top-notch tent and my dad had set it up in the backyard to air it out and get the practice needed setting it up. This, for me and my older brother, was a big event and we were allowed to "camp out" in the backyard that night. I know my brother had some friends over but I am quite sure that I did not or if I did, I do not recall. I know who would have been there if I had but he doesn't make it into the memories of what happened that night. It was shortly after we moved into that house so I might yet to have met my blood-brother (yeah, 5 year olds take things seriously!)
Now, as to what happened that night, I can only clearly remember what I remember. I know it was late into the night, most likely well past midnight when I woke up. I was standing outside of the tent and crying. I desperately wanted to get back into the tent, but I was unable to. There was a thin blue line that was circling the tent... electric blue it was and and led by a bulb sinister in aspect. As that thin blue line would pass the door of the tent, it would thicken and pulse menacingly. It would not let me pass. It would not let me return to the tent, its threat obvious to this little boy terrified by something beyond understanding beneath the night sky.
I slept in my bed that night. My mother came out and found me crying there, wailing actually, and brought me in but that night has remained with me since. That thin blue line will occasionally pass by me in a dream and I look at it sideways wondering what it meant and why it threatened me that night. I have never had an answer until I began these Tales and then it began circling, seen from the corner of my eye, that host that would gather to tell me their stories and I knew I would at last have to deal with it. This idea, this need to confront this phantasm from childhood, took root early on in the collection of these Tales, so much so in fact that way back in "Claude" I placed this house as I would need it to be found, that sentinel placed as it need eventually to be.
Now, as to what happened when I finally came to write this story and the challenges which it presented me. See, I knew that a small boy, basically a stand-in for the child who stood outside that tent in all respects, would be needed and I knew that this was not going to end well for the child. Having already placed that sentinel and cracked the bones of the house, I knew it was not going to end well for anybody in that place. In "Claude" the building is described as appearing abandoned and broken with none of the children who live there coming out to greet Hans as he passes by. This is how I knew it must end but how was I to get there?
I already knew what that sentinel was, what that frozen column before the door of the house was. This was knowledge I had for I knew why that column was there and what waited at its base. I just needed to figure out how to get it there and how to present the rest of the calamity if the primary considered POV was not in the house for the duration of the tragedy. This is where I came into my trouble. Having the location and the seasonal reason for the full tragedy already at hand, the blizzard that struck in the last weeks of 1877, it was just this issue of the point of view that was driving me nuts. It was the understanding of just who my protagonist was which brought the story full from my keys upon that revelation.
The story is titled "The Family in the Frozen House". That was my working title and it really was always to be the title. It described exactly what I wanted to portray. It also reveals that protagonist and the means in which I was able to solve my problem. See, this is not "The Little Boy in the Frozen House" or any variation thereof. It is "The Family in the Frozen House" with the world Family being the focus. This was a story about the Family and if it was to be a story about the Sarchet Family, then should it not tell the story from the POV of the Sarchet Family as a whole? Ah, I was on to something... or at least I had smoked enough to convince myself of this. Either way, since I knew the events of the story took place in a certain order with elements of the tragedy focused in divers locations and times, I figured I would tell the story sequentially through the eyes of each member of the family whose moment of importance took center stage.
This was my great and grand goal and as soon as I began on this, as soon as I decided I would try to sneak multiple POVs in a short story through the guise of them all being members of the same POV "family" relating the events in order of character's immediate importance, the whole thing just kinda slipped out. The fact that I knew well this thin blue line, that it had played a role in my nightmares for roughly 45 years, well, that blue line treated me like the old friend it was and gave me exactly what I wanted.
Starting with the Family as a whole and a description of their life up on the Diski, one of the upper tributaries of the Bajazid, I painted the bucolic scene as one ripe with promise and hope. When the scene is set, when the Family has gathered in and prepared against the first day of the coming storm, I begin with the little boy, Thomas, and the slow crawl to consciousness that I remember so well that night even after all these years... only I wasn't waist deep in snow. From there, Julienne, the second child, wakes to discover the problem. Marc, the father is leaps to the rescue as Marjorie gathers the children against the nightmare descending. Antionette, the eldest child, is left scrambling in the disaster following and little Remy brings us to a close with a chilling clarity of a child.
This was my 21st Tale of 2019. I had eclipsed my goal and then some. The date I finished this was December 14 with the final word count being 3,569 words. I came in, to my surprise considering what I was attempting, well under where I figured I would. The formula worked better than I thought with each element of the Family hastening the tragedy and allowing for a rotating perspective of the night. I consider "The Family in the Frozen House" an resounding success and while I have not played again to such a structure, having completed this with such aplomb, certain haunts began whispering just a little louder in that crowd that visits. It was this story that gave me the initial confidence to tackle what would become "Sestina of the Sultans" within half a year, another story demanding 6 POVs. From there, the project I am now nearing completion on, "A Sestina Writ in Darkness", was given its structure. This is how this works.
One other thing. I am not through with this house. Just before I took up this novel experiment which is consuming me, I wrote a Tale called "Bounty" which will take place in this house roughly four months from the night this story takes place. As well, and here you might want to look into your classic mythological creatures to glean what this means, but Marjorie was pregnant and I happen to know it was to have been a female child who is now buried in her mother's womb in that frozen house. Just so you know that's out there because I do and I do not know what will be when term comes due.
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