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It was Annie who first discovered the portal, although you didn’t know it for a long time. You just knew that she had changed. She used to be cheerful and surrounded by a crowd of friends, but now she was pale and quiet. Dark circles appeared under her eyes and she didn’t speak much anymore.
Since early childhood, you both attended the same seminary on the outskirts of the city. She was a star pupil, with her gentle charm and uncanny ability to see the best in other people. Her needlework impressed everyone, and she created the most beautiful etchings through her embroidery. The headmistress called her a "credit to the establishment" and boasted to the families during visiting hours.
The trouble first started months ago, when you woke up to the sound of pattering feet. “Annie?” She was tiptoeing around the room, trying her best not to wake you. She slipped quickly into her bed, and you chose to ignore it and go back to sleep. During the daytime, she was hardly able to focus on her work. The other pupils said she was lovesick, and you didn’t agree with the gossip at first. But that changed when you discovered a handkerchief in the room.
You were taking a Radcliffe novel from the shelf, when it slipped from your hand and fell open on the floor. The piece of linen was revealed, folded between the pages. You knelt down and picked up the book, looking closely at the linen. You recognized Annie’s needlework. The delicate etching of the letters H.C. in the white cloth. And down near the other corner, the letters P.B. gleamed in a mixture of blue and gold threads.
Stunned, you quickly put the handkerchief back and snapped the book shut. Poor Annie! It would be scandalous enough if people discovered she had a lover, but two of them? You tucked the book away in the wardrobe, so that other pupils wouldn’t find it if they chanced to visit our room.
But nothing could prepare you for the night that you were woken up by awful screams. She was curled up on the floor, crying in agony and nobody could calm her down. The headmistress was frustrated and perplexed. After that night, her condition became much worse. She wanted to leave the seminary, but her parents forbade it. She begged the headmistress to let her move to another room, but even this was not permitted. After writing several times with her parents, the headmistress agreed to keep Annie until the end of the school year, because it was our final year. But since her performance had faltered so much, she warned Annie that her prospects were not good.
You doubted that Annie cared anymore. Her terror was replaced by indifference. She drifted around the place like a ghost, looking at people but not really seeing them. It was all a puzzle, and she didn’t reveal anything.
~
One evening, you were sitting on a large rock in the forest behind the seminary, writing in your notebook. Small patches of snow were melting, and spring flowers were peeking from the ground. It was during break and most of the pupils and staff were gone. Your family was abroad and Annie’s family was similarly occupied, so we remained here.
The sun sank lower in the horizon, and the rays shone through the forest, coloring some of the trees with a golden red tinge. Your hands and feet were chilled, but the sun was warm on your face. We couldn't wander outside without a chaperon, but the headmistress was out of town, she will never know. And the maid was lenient enough to turn a blind eye.
You continued to write, feeling anxious and excited. For a while, you wanted to do something special. With almost nobody in the house, this evening was the perfect chance. A new piano was installed in the drawing room a few days ago, and you were eager to play again. Not the pieces that the music instructor selected for us, but something more bold and exciting. See, you had a secret of your own - for many days, you were keeping a manuscript folded between the pages of your notebook. A tune from your favorite opera.
You heard the song for the first time when you, Annie and some of the other pupils attended a music hall performance. A special treat from one of the girls' parents while they were visiting in town. It was a respectable theatre of course, in a good neighborhood. The headmistress would have never agreed to anything else.
All of us were very entranced by the sight on the stage. One of the acts was a duet, performed by a lady in a glittering dress and a man in a black suit. A piano was rolled out for the act, and the music made the audience gasp and cheer with delight. Our little group chattered in excitement for hours afterward. Annie was happy.
But that was a long time ago.
The sunlight faded more, and the forest grew colder. Although you were brave enough to slip from the house earlier, you did not want to be outside and alone at a late hour. The wind was picking up and shadows deepened on the forest floor. You gathered your things and headed back to the seminary.
As you came through the front door, you saw Lizzie hurrying down the hallway. She bobbed a quick curtsy and greeted you with an “evening, miss.” She was taking some herbs to the kitchen downstairs. A gust of wind blew into the house and you shut the door tightly.
Lizzie was employed at the seminary for a long time - she was always there, as far back as you could remember. But she was nearly dismissed one time when you were a child. She kept insisting that the house was cursed, and the headmistress was very angry. She restrained herself after that, but continued to whisper things to you and Annie about phantoms under the floorboards.
As you removed your hat and shawl, Lizzie paused at the top of the staircase.
“Miss Annie is in the library,” she said. “I dare say she’s doing better these days, but she’s still looking frightened of her own shadow. Go and keep her company when you can.” She turned and disappeared down the stairwell. You hugged your notebook to your chest and stepped forward into the dark and polished hall. The house was utterly silent. You wondered if the place was empty that evening, but for the three of us.
Just as Lizzie said, you found Annie in the library. It was originally a small living room that was repurposed for the seminary's use, and situated down the hall from the larger drawing room. She was standing at the table, arranging some flowers in their vases. “Annie, I found this in the forest,” you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small magnolia bloom. “I think it would look very pretty with the violets.” Annie looked at the flower, before gingerly taking it and putting it in a vase with the others. “My favorite one died yesterday,” she said softly.
“Don't worry, we’ll pick more flowers tomorrow. We’ll find you a new favorite.”
“A new favorite,” she mumbled, and she looked crestfallen.
We passed the rest of the evening quietly. The fire crackled in the grate, the light splashing warmly on the dark carpet. You took a volume of Shakespeare from the bookcase and sank into the nearest armchair. Annie switched her attention between the flower vases and the crocheting that Lizzie placed on the table earlier. An attempt to get Annie to pick up her old habits. She took the needle every so often and attempted a few stitches, before putting it back down.
After a while, you put the volume aside and took out your notebook again. You traced your finger on the music notes in the manuscript, sounding out the melody in your head. Then, you hesitantly voiced the idea. “Annie, do you want to come with me to the drawing room? I’m going to play music from La traviata.” Annie kept her eyes on the flower vase, but tilted her head to indicate that she heard you.
“It’s the same one we heard at the music hall some years back. The act with the piano and the duet. We thought the lady was just like Madame Patti, she was astonishing. Would you like to hear it again?” Annie turned to look at you, her eyes looking brighter than you had seen in a long while. Was she going to come with you?
Just then, Lizzie entered the room and gave you a sympathetic smile. “Misses, you both ought to be in bed now,” she said, taking the armchair cushions and straightening them. “I’ve lit the fire in your room already.”
“Can we play some music in the drawing room first?” you asked.
“No miss, you need your rest. Up you go. Make sure you don’t go wandering. Don’t leave your beds.”
You promised her you wouldn’t. You didn’t believe in Lizzie’s phantoms, but you humored her as best you could. Slightly disappointed, you stood and left the room, Annie trailing along with you. You could play tomorrow instead.
We climbed the mahogany staircase, listening to the wind howling outside and whistling between the walls. The hallway was dark with shadows, and a few lamps flickered in their sconces. The bedroom that we shared with several of the other pupils was located at the end of the hall. Old memories stirred in you. As you crossed the threshold, you heard Annie take a sharp breath. This room, it frightened her and yet had such a hold on her.
The fireplace glowed and cast dancing shadows on the floor and the dark wallpaper. The wooden floorboards were wide and sturdy. Several beds, plain and simple, lined the walls. With most the pupils gone, you and Annie were sleeping in two beds right next to each other. She was afraid to be alone.
Annie gazed about the room, while you trailed your hand along the top of an old armchair. “Annie, this chair was here for how many years. Ten? Fifteen? I used to hide behind this chair while you looked for me.” It was blind man’s bluff. You recalled Annie with a blindfold on and a grin on her face, tiptoeing around the hallway and peeking into rooms.
Annie sat on the end of her bed. “I do remember. Lizzie was mad.”
“Yes, Lizzie stormed up here and scolded us for making so much noise. And for being so careless, because we might have fallen down the staircase with those blindfolds on. But she’s such a peculiar thing. The same day, she brought us extra pastries from the kitchen, and made us promise not to tell. Instead of betraying our secret, she brought us cakes. Imagine that!”
You pulled back the covers and slid into bed, pulling the sheets back up to your chin. After a while, you turned and glanced over at Annie. She was facing away, but you knew she was awake. Her frail body was rising up and down with shallow breaths.
The room had the most strange effect on her. During the height of her fear, she could have defied the headmistress and slept in another room. Or even left the seminary, despite having nowhere to go. But she didn’t. Her fear was mixed with something else. You could see it in the droop of her eyes, the long glances directed at the floor. She was afraid, but she was wistful. She wanted to be here, just as much as she wanted to leave.
“Annie,” you whispered. “Can you tell me what’s troubling you? Please, tell me anything.”
After a moment of silence, she whispered back "can you sing the melody?"
My poor Annie. You began softly humming the tune, the lyrics drifting through your mind "Libiamo, libiamo ne' lieti calici...."
Soon, her breathing was slower and calmer. "Can you stay with me? I can still feel…I can't…” she trailed off.
You frowned, you could not grasp her full meaning. “Don’t worry Annie, I’m right here. Let’s go to sleep.”
Eventually, we both drifted away.
~
You stirred awake suddenly. The room was dark except for the soft blue of the moonlight - the fire had long since burned out. You sat up and stretched your arms, closing your eyes and tilting your head. When you opened your eyes, you could see something on the floor beyond your bed.
At first, you thought it was a trick of the light, but you quickly realized it wasn’t. Four white lines connected into a square on the wooden floor, near the far corner of the room. You quickly got out of bed to take a closer look. You glanced over at Annie, who was still asleep.
Were you awake or still dreaming? The lines glowed brighter, and then dimmed rapidly to reveal the outline of a trapdoor. A dark brass handle, intricately carved, was hinged near the bottom. Shapes and swirls adorned the centerpiece, which took the shape of a number - the Roman numeral for one. Mesmerized, you gently took the handle and opened the door.
You were expecting a musty smell, but a light breeze touched your face. The smell was fresh, like roses in the summertime. A stone staircase spiraled down into the pitch black.
Despite the darkness, the smell was intoxicating. You placed your bare foot on the first stone slab. It was smooth and cool. You took a step down, and then another step.
Why didn’t you notice the trapdoor before? Did the servants know about it? You assumed Lizzie or one of the other servants was down here a moment ago, carrying a lamp. If anything, that would explain the shining of the light through the cracks.
Ten steps down, and you reached out to feel the rough and rocky walls. An uneasy feeling crept over you, as if something else was down here. Something not human. You couldn’t explain how you knew, but there was a powerful sense of presence. When the hair on the back of the neck rises and you feel a hint of danger, a fear of the unknown. The light of the bedroom was still above you, and you decided to go back up.
Suddenly, the door banged shut. You were left in total darkness.
“ANNIE” you screamed. You hurried back up the stairs, but it was no use. There was no handle on this side of the door, and it wouldn’t budge an inch. You crouched down, terrified.
“Please let me out! Oh please, hear me!” The darkness was heavy, and you buried your face in your knees.
A few agonizing minutes passed. You were torn between the desire to wait, or to find another way out. If something came up the stairs, you were cornered with nowhere to go.
You closed your eyes and tried to regain your composure. Perhaps you were overreacting. In all likelihood, the passageway led to the kitchen downstairs. You started heading down the winding steps, feeling the wall as a guide. The steps were wide and shallow and you were making it down without too much difficulty.
About twenty steps down, your foot touched something soft. Intrigued, you knelt down and grabbed what felt like a piece of linen. Holding it close, you continued your descent.
Soon, you lost count of how many steps you took. Was it seventy, perhaps a hundred? They definitely did not lead to the kitchen. But now the end was in sight - a faint light appeared. As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you saw thick grass and heard the sound of crickets and nightingales. So the passageway led outside. But how? The staircase was so long, you should be underground.
But your confusion and fear was quickly replaced by wonder, as you emerged into the most beautiful forest you had ever seen.
The night sky was full of dark blues and purples, strewn with the thickest and brightest stars. Dark pine trees rose up toward the sky, and a thick underbrush covered the forest floor. It was not in the slightest like the forest behind the seminary. You turned around, and noticed you just emerged from the mouth of a cave. But the staircase led downward, not up? And yet, the cave was no higher than fifteen feet.
A dirt path led to the edge of the forest. Between the gaps in the pine trees, you could see the wide expanse of a garden park. Flower beds, oak trees and weeping willows dotted the landscape. You could also see a pavilion with a domed rooftop.
Although it was early spring, the land here was covered in summertime. But something was even more odd. Tiny flakes were dancing in the air, carried by the gentle breezes.
You stared in wonder, completely astonished by your surroundings.
Through the trees, another sound drifted toward you....a very special treat for you, my beauties.....
You shook your head in confusion and pressed your hand against your brow.
You and Annie shuffling along the street.... "come and hear the elegant Miss Clarissa!".....
.....the headmistress shushed and hurried you away....
Keep up with the group.
You opened your eyes and blinked a few times, trying to clear your head. You could hear the tune from La traviata floating from somewhere. The direction of the garden park, you thought. Truthfully, it felt like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere. Maybe just in your mind.
As if waking from a daze, you felt the soft linen in your hand. Indeed, it was a handkerchief. The very one you found months ago, framed by white lace and marked with Annie’s embroidery. And those initials again, H.C. and P.B. You traced your finger over them, deep in thought. You walked slowly down the path toward the garden park, not taking your eyes from the initials.
You turned the linen over, and there was something else. Months ago, in your haste to protect Annie’s secret, you did not examine the handkerchief properly. She also etched the letter V into the corner on the other side. And in the bottom right corner, a single dash of thread - one line. You assumed she began another etching, which was incomplete.
“Well, you decided to come back.”
You started up, and instinctively stuffed the handkerchief into the pocket of your gown. A young man’s voice, echoing from somewhere. You could hear footsteps treading softly in the grass, coming toward you. Panic arose, you wanted to run back to the staircase, but your body remained frozen to the spot.
“I...” you managed to say weakly as the man came into view. Then you sucked in a deep breath. The man was an angel, the most handsome fellow you ever laid eyes on. Tall and lean, with porcelain skin and a wave of soft blonde hair. He must be of aristocratic bearing. He carried himself formally, his posture straight and hands neatly tucked together. He was dressed all in white.
He paused when he saw you. “Hm, never mind. Another little rabbit has come to visit,” he said with a chuckle. He resumed walking toward you at a leisurely pace.
Your curiosity was overwhelming. Who was this gentleman? You couldn’t figure out if you were dreaming or not. It must be a dream - at least it would all make sense.
“Who are you, sir?”
“You can call me Peter,” he said. He eyed you up and down. His smile was friendly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He looked at you as though you were a mildly interesting puzzle. His eyebrows were casually raised, and he still had that little smile. Your cheeks flushed and you felt the urge to slap him, but restrained yourself. It was an odd look on any person's face, but somehow the expression suited him and made him even more handsome.
“And where am I, sir?"
"No need to call me sir. Just Peter is fine.” He winked at you.
You stood silent for a moment. "But sir - Peter - this cannot be the forest that I know? The forest near the seminary, I mean. It looks very different. How can the season be different? How can it snow and be summer all at once?”
He didn’t respond right away. “That’s not important for you to know. Let’s just say you are very close to where you came from, and yet very far. What is important is that you’re here now, with me.”
You should have felt panicked, but you didn't. You swallowed and stared at him, your mouth feeling dry and a fluttering in your stomach.
He eyed you closely. “Would you like to dance? Let me take you.”
Dancing. He wanted to dance. They taught dancing at the seminary of course, with a rotation of instructors from across the continent. The dancing master praised you well enough, but you never felt adequate.
He extended his hand to you, and you accepted. You didn't know why, but all fear and doubt were fading rapidly.
He led you down the path toward the pavilion. Your feet touched the ground but you felt light, as if you were drifting rather than walking. The pavilion was dazzling. The moonlight shone so brightly on the Grecian columns and teal domed roof that it looked almost like daytime. You both came to a gentle halt at the entrance to the grand structure. You remembered your nightgown, and looked down quickly in embarrassment. But your gown was gone and replaced by a charming ball dress.
It was not in the fashion of the modern day, but rather something you recognized from the mid-century. A floral print of pale blue flowers covered the silk fabric. At first, you thought the fabric was white, but at a closer glance you realized it was the palest silver. The dress billowed around you, and a trim of white lace surrounded your bare shoulders. You raised your hands to see a pair of white gloves extending to your elbows. Your hair was tied up in an elegant knot and you felt a choker at your neck.
Your foot was peeking from under the hem of the dress. It was clad in a velvet slipper, the color of silver, etched with a small pink bow.
You glanced up at Peter, who smiled and winked.
Your chest pounded with excitement. If only the headmistress could see you now. And what would Lizzie think? Here you are with a strange gentleman, about to dance with him! Nobody was going to stop you.
We climbed the steps leading to the pavilion floor, and you heard the echo of dozens of little feet, pattering into a dance room. You saw it, as clearly as you saw Peter. A memory, an illusion, you didn't know.
Then we were standing in the center of the floor, looking into each other’s eyes. You dropped a curtsy to him.
An orchestra began to play, with no musicians in sight. You did not recognize the tune, but the lovely melody could rival anything you heard at the concert halls in Vienna. You and Peter held each other, and began to move in circles around the pavilion. The tune of the violins floated through the air, more heavenly than anything you thought possible.
...........keep the posture straight, young miss......yes....yes that is beautiful!.....
The hem of your dress swayed and trailed on the polished marble floor, occasionally curling around his ankles. The frescoed ceiling was bright above us. Peter held you close and you laughed in delight as a gust of wind blew through the pavilion, carrying a swirl of flakes which surrounded you both.
Other shapes twirled around you. The pupils in their dancing frocks, their arms stretching out. Splendid, mam’selle! You could be an audience to the Duchess de Berry. What wonderful form!
The dynamics of the waltz reached a crescendo and Peter spun you outward. Flakes of snow spiraled around you, kissing your cheeks, settling on your outstretched hand. You closed your eyes in euphoria.
Annie rising from her curtsy, her arm raised forward, lifting her head with a smile.
Peter’s body felt solid and warm, and you felt a strong desire for something else, something more. You suddenly broke from the dance and embraced him, tenderly pressing your lips on his. Your first kiss. After breaking from the kiss, you buried your face against his white shirt. You both stood still for a moment. His presence was soothing, and you wanted to be with him always. He laughed gently and took your arms. He began to move again, pulling you back into the rhythm of the waltz.
”Peter, I love you. I promise I will stay with you.”
It was all fading. Annie, she was fading. You could still remember, but vaguely. Nothing mattered at all, except for the angelic boy in front of you. You breathed in the scent of him, fresh linen and soap, and something feral in your mind was taking over.
~
The waltz ended, and we stepped down from the pavilion. A number of paths laid ahead of us, winding around trees and flower beds until they were lost in the mist of distance.
We took the path to the left, Peter’s hand curling around yours. Lamps on the ground lit up as you walked by, softly glowing in the night.
You soon passed a water fountain built in the Baroque style. Dark blue water collected in the reservoirs, and the moon shone in their depths. Rose bushes lined the path and the air was full of a sweet scent. Peter plucked one of the roses and handed it to you. You took the flower and admired the large bloom, the dew that dripped from the petals. He beckoned you toward a secluded spot away from the path, behind some bushes. You knew what he wanted. Your heart beat faster as you followed him.
He laid you down in the soft grass, your dress fanning out on the ground. He pulled at the front of your dress until it was bunched above your hips. “Peter,” you whispered. He hovered over you, placing a hand on either side of your head.
“Open your legs for me, sweetheart,” he cooed, and you did so. Dropping to his elbows, he then lowered his face to yours for a deep kiss.
There was a strange feeling gathering between your legs, and you spread them wider. Peter moved one hand toward his belt, clicking it open. You sighed, your mind slipping away to pure bliss. You could remember someone - a maid, you think - telling you that these things should be saved for marriage. But you were too far gone.
You felt something hard and warm between your legs. It pushed inside, and there was some pain. A low whimper escaped you, and Peter shushed you. He began to move his hips back and forth. Each time he moved forward, he hit a spot which sent ripples of pleasure across your thighs. The feeling was like nothing you experienced before. It was different from the pleasure of a warm bath or a glowing fireplace. It was a greedy kind of pleasure, chasing and building, wanting more and more.
You moaned and wrapped your arms around Peter’s shoulders. He moved at a steady pace for a while, then slowed down and sat up. He grabbed your legs and lifted them, pulling you closer and hooking your legs on his shoulders. He entered you again, and resumed his pace. Wet slapping noises filled the air.
His pace grew faster, and the tingling grew stronger. Until it became overwhelming and you screamed. Throbs of pleasure began at the spot between your legs, and radiated out to the rest of your body. Your legs fell off his shoulders, and he leaned over and planted his hands on the ground again. You both resumed the original position, him lying over you and rolling his hips between yours. Shortly afterward, you felt something twitch inside of you, and his breathing was short and ragged.
He slowly withdrew from you, pushing his torso up and panting heavily. He climbed off and lay next to you on his side. Still facing you, propping himself up on one arm. He gazed at you, his pupils wide and his chest heaving as his panting gradually slowed down.
You reached for your rose that was lying a few feet away, and pulled the flower back to your chest. Then you rolled over to your other side, cuddling up against Peter. You avoided his downward gaze with a deep blush on your face.
“Are you feeling shy, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice gentle and teasing. He slid down so that he was at your level. Your smile grew bigger, and the fluttering in your chest did not stop.
We lay together for a while, the stars bright above us. You put your cheek against his, and when he blinked, you felt his lashes on your skin. You kissed him, then turned your head and gazed at the landscape once more. The depth of the night, the rustling of the willow trees. The trickling of the fountain nearby.
Absent-mindedly, you stroked your hand against the soft folds of your dress. You traced your hand back and forth, then dipped it into the folds.
And you felt the lace trimming of the handkerchief, it was still there in a hidden pocket.
A strange feeling stirred in you. You wanted to forget about it, those mysteries could wait for later. All that mattered right now was Peter.
But why though? Why does Peter matter so much? You hardly know him.
No, no that's not true. Peter means everything to me.
Your head felt heavy, and you blinked, as if trying to wake up from a dream.
You felt the urge to pull the handkerchief out, and look at the initials. With great effort, you resisted. Your time with Peter could not end, you wanted it to last forever.
But a stronger will guided you. Your hand slipped back into the pocket and you slid the white fabric out. Annie’s embroidery, the initials P.B....
Suddenly, you were struck by a thought.
Could the P stand for Peter? No, it can't be…how was that possible? You remembered the first words that he spoke, and you shivered. Down by your side, your other hand was shaking. Fingers pinching in anxiety, the stem of the rose twisting and bending.
Your mind began clearing, your thoughts becoming more sharp. What were you doing here? Why did you leave Annie alone?
Peter stirred next to you. He noticed the handkerchief in your hand, but you could not read his expression.
“Peter,” you began hesitantly, a lump in your throat. “Are these your initials? Do you...do you know a girl named Annie? Anyone with the initials H.C, or what about V?” He didn’t say anything, but he reached out and stroked your cheek.
With a sigh of frustration, you rolled onto your back and stared up at the sky, knots forming in your stomach. What were the chances that P.B was the very same Peter that just lay with you? It couldn’t be him, you were overthinking it.
But you decided to try again. Maybe you could coax some answers from him. “Peter” you started to say, turning toward him.
A hideous monster was lying there.
You were too shocked to even scream. A bulky frame that was covered in tendrils. A skull-like head, watery eyes and a glowering face. Were your eyes playing tricks?
You blinked and it was Peter again. What ?... He was staring at you, looking mildly concerned.
“I don’t feel well,” you groaned, pulling yourself to your feet. He rose up with you and took your hand. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said.
A walk? No, you couldn't stay here. You felt more frightened than when the trapdoor shut. Was Peter in danger too?
“Peter, I want to leave. Please come with me.”
His expression grew colder and you quickly continued, “something is wrong, I can feel it. But I don’t know if we can get back to my room. The door closed and it wouldn’t open, but I should try again. And I left my friend Annie alone, she hasn't been well.”
The rose petals were drying and wilting. The forest was silent.
You looked at him anxiously, pulling at his hand, but he didn't move. Why won't he come with you? Oh, Peter - his soft lips, the feathery hair and deep blue eyes. You would never see anyone like him again, in dreams or reality. Of that, you were certain.
His grip on your hand tightened.
“So you want to return,” he said, his voice shaking. “You want to go back to your daydreams, your mindless little routine - and whatever else they teach you in that place. To be asleep like everyone else, living just the same as them, day in and day out. Do you realize what you can become, if you stayed here with me?”
“Peter, I cannot stay. But when I told you that I cared for you, I did mean it, truly."
“And how can I be sure? I think you are a liar, just like the rest."
"No! What are you saying?" You could feel tears in your eyes.
"I'm not a fool. You promised earlier to stay with me,” he rasped. “Already, you want to break your word. There was a point in time when I could have let you go, on the condition that you returned to me each night. But I won't be that naive again."
You stared at him, utterly exasperated. His eyes were hungry, accusing.
"Annie came back to me many times, but in the end she did not keep her promise.”
You felt a dizzying blow.
Annie, she was here already. The suspicion was confirmed.
“But why did she change, what did you do to her! What happened?”
“It’s too bad about Annie. I thought she could handle the truth, and for a while she did. But I was wrong about her. She was too weak, and then she broke. I hoped you were different, that you would stay here with me. But it doesn't matter now.” His voice was changing rapidly, becoming more of a growl. The boyish tone disappeared. His grip was painful and you tried to twist away, uttering a loud shriek.
While you were facing away, struggling to break free, his hand suddenly felt different. You looked back and saw twisted flesh, claw shaped fingers and tendrils. The monster was back. With a massive tug, you wrenched yourself away and sprinted off. You ran more quickly than you ever had in your life, running blindly and madly toward the direction you came from. Back to the forest, to the staircase.
You raced by the fountain, water no longer trickling down its reservoirs. The pavilion was dark in the shadows. Mocking whispers and laughter echoed around you as you flew across the ground, approaching the path at the edge of the woods.
You looked back a few times. The monster was stalking after you, with slow and purposeful strides. You ran faster, attempting to put more distance between yourself and him. He was not running, but each time you looked back, the distance did not appear to be any wider. You heard a frightening noise, and realized that vines and tendrils were snapping up from the ground.
The flakes that drifted through the air looked more like ash. Your ball dress was gone, your plain nightgown clung to your body with sweat.
“COME BACK HERE.”
Another jolt of terror went through you. You couldn’t run fast enough, everything felt like it was moving in slow motion and something was pulling you back. A tendril wrapped itself around your ankle and you fell over, unable to get back up.
You could hear Peter approaching. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his human form had returned. His blonde hair was a mess, his eyes fierce and angry. He bent over, seized the collar of your gown and yanked you up.
“Annie" he said, his eyes glinting and his lip curling up. "She was so devoted to me at first. If you want to know the truth, fine then. All those initials belong to me."
His hand gripped even tighter. You made a sound of fright, one hand desperately closed around his wrist.
"All of them! I’m Peter Ballard, my birth name is Henry Creel. Some pieces of filth kidnapped me when I was a child and sent me here. They did not even give me the dignity of a name, they called me One. But my true form is called Vecna.”
His true form, you thought madly. Was it that terrible monster? Your thoughts raced frantically. What could you say? How could you persuade him to let you go?
“I’ll stay with you then, I already made you a promise! Just let me back for one day.”
He tugged you closer. “No, you will not see that place again. You will stay here, and you won’t deny me anything. This is your home, and you are never leaving me.”
Your tears started to flow faster. For some reason, in the depths of your panic, the tune of the opera duet came to mind. The music that floated through the hall, you and Annie cheering in the crowd. Peter’s grip loosened slightly, and it was enough to pull yourself away again.
Moving with an agility that caught him off guard, you sped towards the cave, which was now in sight but still yards away. The trapdoor might not be open, but it was your best chance. You could hear more vines snapping up from the forest ground. The cave was near, the dark hole gaping and you could see the first steps of the stone staircase.
You promised.
You did not stop, you did not dare look back.
You gave me your word…
You will never escape from me.
You continued to hum the melody, as best you could between heaving breaths. You reached the mouth of the cave and scrambled up the wide steps. Was Peter right on your heels? You didn't know, you were consumed by one need - to keep moving forward.
As the light faded behind you, you kept stumbling on the edges of steps, almost falling over but not losing any momentum. Pure desperation pushed you onward. It felt like the passage was stretching out, the walls expanding. Your footsteps sounded muffled.
Suddenly, you felt a terrible pressure in your legs, the worst feeling in your feet. A sharp pain went through your ankle and you were forced to slow down. In horror, you realized that your feet were twisting slowly, the bones trying to shatter. Wailing, you fell upon the stairs.
So this was how it ended, you weren’t going to see them again. The pain increased, your ankles feeling bludgeoned by stones. You wanted to surrender yourself to him. Anything to make the pain stop. You could not bear this any longer, you were certain you were going to die.
Your mind slipped away into a fog, and somewhere in the darkness, you thought you heard Annie’s voice. Your heart pounded, and images flashed before your eyes.
........the forest, your notebook.....
...blind man’s bluff..........her hands stretching forward.....
.......the audience rising to their feet.....the piano, the bright stage......
..........Annie’s laughing face.....
...treats from the kitchen, but don’t tell.....
the music hall..... the opera.
You threw your head back and recalled the melody of the duet with all your might. With every ounce of your being, without fully understanding what you were doing or why. But the pressure in your feet lessened. The awful feeling lost some of its power, and you could run again.
With renewed vigor, you continued your ascent up the stairs. A thrill of hope when you noticed a glint of light reflecting on the rocky walls. The door was open again. You attempted to double your speed, your lungs and feet screaming. Safety was so close, if you could only get there. You begged for the door not to slam shut. This time, you would be cornered.
You were close enough to see the opening in the floor, the ceiling of the bedroom beyond that. Closer, and you soared up the last few steps and burst into the room, nearly knocking over a stunned Annie, who was crouched by the trapdoor.
“Annie, close it!” you bellowed, toppling heavily on the wooden floor and frantically looking back. “Close it, quick!”
After a brief moment of hesitation, she seized the edges of the door. For two awful seconds, before the door slammed shut, you thought you saw something white appear in the dark passageway. Then the darkness was gone.
You dropped your head back down and started gasping and wheezing for breath. You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling. You felt, rather than heard, an angry roar beneath the floorboards, reverberating behind the walls and vibrating in your bones. Your hair was matted against your face, your eyes bulged and stared wildly about the room. Annie crept closer to you, and you started crying out of sheer exhaustion. She placed a hand on your shoulder, attempting to calm you down.
“Annie” you gulped. Your legs and feet throbbed with pain. You desperately hoped they were only sprained, not broken. Your hands were balled into fists, and as you loosened them, the handkerchief slipped out.
Shocked, you realized that all this time, the delicate fabric was still clutched in your hand. Annie recognized it, her eyes widening as she saw the etchings of the initials. "Henry” she said, and her lip trembled.
You looked over to see if the trapdoor was still there. Could he follow us here? You couldn’t see it anymore, the floor looked completely ordinary.
You heard thumping sounds in the hallway and the bedroom door flew open. Lizzie stood there, her chest heaving with quick breaths and a lamp in her hand. She took in the sight, you a wreck on the floor and Annie kneeling next to you.
Lizzie stepped toward us, her expression furious. “I told you the house was cursed, and nobody trusted me. Now, the both of you with spells and phantoms! The mistress will blame me, that I can guarantee you!”
You barely heard Lizzie's words. Along with terror, other emotions were now rising in you. Anger. Determination. And something else.
Another kind of pain was gnawing at your chest. This pain was unfamiliar.
You sobbed again and pulled yourself to your knees. You seized the handkerchief and tore it in halves and fourths, tossing the remains into the ashes of the fireplace. Then you turned and gripped the armchair, trying to get to your feet, barely able to stand.
“We must go, the music hall. I must play,” you wheezed. “Lizzie, my notebook. I need music.”
“Miss, you can barely walk. The music hall is all the way in town, and locked up this time of night. How do you expect to get there? You wanted the drawing room earlier.”
“I won’t stay, Lizzie. Not a minute longer,” you let go of the armchair and swayed on the spot.
“Miss, forgive me, but you have lost your mind. I knew the phantoms would claim you one day.”
"No Lizzie," you breathed, your head swimming. "No, they didn’t.”
He didn't.
The lamp trembled in her hand, and her face was still angry. You staggered forward, and she reached out to steady you. “I’m going,” you repeated, gasping for air. “Need music. Writing home. I won’t stay here. Annie won’t stay.”
You didn’t notice. But while Lizzie was fussing over you, Annie crawled to the fireplace and rescued the pieces of linen from the ash. She gazed at the broken initials, and tears rimmed her eyes. Her hand shook and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to find herself again. Then she rose to her feet and joined you and Lizzie in the doorway.
We started moving down the hall, Lizzie continuing to utter loud curses and exclamations, you leaning against both her and Annie for support. The sound of our voices echoed between the polished walls and then faded away.
The room was left empty, moonlight shining on the floorboards. And the faint trace of a single white line.