My novel, Rebecca & the Spiral Staircase, is currently available via Amazon. Also available is, Rebecca – A Way Back, and Rebecca’s book of Fairies, Pixies, Elves & other Amazing Things.
Ultimately, it is up to you, the readers, makers and breakers to decide if she belongs on the book-shelf.
I’ve loosely used the young-adult fantasy – time travel adventure label to describe my novels. However, there is so much more to Rebecca and her journeys. It explores the possibilities of genetic memory inheritance passed on from her parents, grandparents, great grandparents and even further back. It suggests that if an individual opens their mind and searches far enough into their subconscious, they are capable of seeing more than just the obvious world around them.
Rebecca maintains an ability to see the world through innocent eyes, believing adults lose their chance to see what is right in front of them. Her time with fairies, pixies and occasionally elves can be considered just fanciful stories. However, Rebecca will offer you an alternative perspective. These fairy-tales are merely the beginning for Rebecca. As she opens her mind, the doors widen, and take her beyond tangible, reasonable logic. There is no place for common-sense or rational thinking in Rebecca’s world. These views would have blocked her vision and dispelled the spirit of a woman from the nineteenth century. That woman was in limbo, tormented by a false murder accusation, awaiting Rebecca’s involvement. Ultimately, Rebecca sees this woman as a muse, and is aware of her presence through every turn, leading her along fantastical paths laden with mystery and intrigue.
A Novel by Stephen M Davis
Rebecca & the Spiral Staircase
Setting – Modern Day
Imagine if you will, the story of an intrepid 15-year-old girl wandering through time, and of all things, her doorway is a spiral staircase. Rebecca possesses a key that unlocks more than she could possibly foresee, and it is not until her final journey, does she truly understand her destiny.
On her way towards the edge of the wood, Rebecca decided to avoid the crocuses, not wanting to disturb the baby pixies again. As she entered the wood, something seemed unusual today, and it wasn’t just because she’d chosen a different route. Whatever this sensation was, was making her feel quite peculiar, having not felt like this before.
Making her way through the wood, she scrutinised every tree and shrub. She didn’t know what she was looking for, just something that may point her in a certain direction. Without intention, she’d found her way back to the big old oak tree. She surveyed the area and for the first time, noticed a cluster of youthful willows thriving in the early spring sun. Rebecca watched for a moment as they swayed in the gentle breeze, their twisted branches dancing back and forth, full of bronze pussy willow buds. She grinned, thinking they would make great pillows for the pixies.
She felt at ease here, and looked around for somewhere to sit down and enjoy this lovely setting. Her eyes again examined the area, searching for something that would suit her needs. Off to the far side, she noticed the early morning sun streaming through the trees and resting invitingly on the trunk of a huge fallen oak. She made her way over, perched herself on a wide section and eased her back against a stout branch. Although it served perfectly as a backrest, it left her feet dangling uncomfortably. A small price to pay, she thought, as the warmth of the sun gently kissed her face. She knew this was the best spot, but for some reason, felt a little puzzled. On one hand, it seemed bright and cheerful here, strangely though it also had an almost mystical, slightly spooky feel.
She lifted her left leg and balanced her foot in a small recess in the tree. Leaning her elbow on her knee, she again considered what had drawn her to this place. After a few minutes, she settled back and started drawing. As she leaned for her eraser, her foot slipped, and although she managed to hold onto her pad, her pencil fell to the ground. She climbed down but there was no sign of it and guessing it may have bounced under the tree, knelt on the soft damp moss. She peered under the tree into a dark, dank area and wondered if this could be a pixie hideout. To her, it seemed so perfect, complete with the tiny white mushrooms, odd coloured lichens, and new stems of this year’s fern. She then remembered she was looking for her pencil and with no sign of it anywhere, pushed her hand gently under the tree. She fished around to no avail, removed some of the damp decaying leaves, and briefly wondered if the pixies had pinched her pencil. She then chuckled and thought, don’t be daft. Her chuckle turned to a frown as her hand engaged a cold heavy object. Running her palm over it, she knew it wasn’t her pencil. She wriggled her outstretched fingers, this way and that, mumbling, ‘oh, come along now.’ After she’d twisted and pulled several times, an elaborate key the size of her palm, surrendered to her call.
Feeling excited by finding such an unusual key, she sat wondering how it had ended up here. Her mind raced with ideas, reckoning it had to be a key to a door, if so, which door, how long has it been hanging around, and whom did it belong to originally? With the key clasped firmly in her hand, she stood up. ‘What,’ she muttered, as she spotted her pencil perched right in the middle of her pad. A cold shudder went down her spine. She knew she’d definitely dropped it, and couldn’t work out what was going on. Then her thoughts raced back to the whispering pond and her pen that had turned up just before she’d moved from their old house. At the time, she was certain the fairies had returned it because they knew she was moving. Thinking about it, she was certain the pixies were playing a similar game, just this was less of a game.
She sat, gazing at the key wondering what secrets it had in store. After mulling over so many ideas, she decided the least she could do was to give it a good clean. After all, she reckoned, the poor thing had been sitting here, clearly stuck, and quite obviously waiting for her. She wondered where this key might lead her, but knew she was unlikely to know until she found its rightful home. Then perhaps, just maybe, she might understand why the pixies had hidden her pencil, if they actually did. Thinking about it, she knew they’d done it, so she would find the key. Considering this, she reckoned it wasn’t a game after all, and it might actually be leading somewhere. She’d always had half an idea that pixies were a tad more serious than the playful fairies, and perhaps this was proof. So where is this going to take me, she thought.