by Emma Beaven
Maggie was sitting in a chair by the cold fireplace, sewing. She smiled at Rose as she sidled closer. “How are you feeling?”
Rose picked at the curtains at the window, pushing them back so she could see more of the storm. “Better.”
“Did you have a nightmare again?” Maggie asked, concern heavy in her voice.
“I don’t remember,” Rose said, but she did. It had been a strange dream this time, not as terrifying as the ones she usually had. She’d been sitting at a table outside. The wind was whipping loudly in the distance, raking across the roses that grew on their trellis in the formal garden. In the distance, the darkness was coming up fast upon her. She had a hooded cloak on and flicked a pale blue fan with flowers painted upon it.
Sarah sat across from her, hiding part of her face with her own imported Chinese fan. She lowered it so Rose could see her eyes, her pupils so intensely focused they seemed to burn. “I’m glad we could do this,” she said. “I thought you’d never come.”
“I didn’t know what to do,” Rose heard herself say as the storm rumbled in the distance.
Sarah shook her head. “Oh, I think you did. I think you knew all along. But you didn’t want to come.”
“I’m here now,” Rose said, her voice rising to the point of becoming shrill.
“Yes,” Sarah said softly. “There’s something I want you to do for me.”
“I know,” Rose replied, but she had no idea what she meant. The words spilling from her mouth seemed to come from someone else.
“You’d better hurry, though. Storm’s coming.”
Rose stared behind her at the black sky as a gust of wind nearly blew her out of her chair. Lightning cracked wildly as Sarah’s hat flew off into the sky. She smiled wickedly at Rose, who nodded. “I’ll do what I have to.” She rose from her chair.
“Oh, Rose?”
Rose turned back to her stepsister, who gestured to her with her teacup. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?” she said, her voice low and gravelly.
“No,” Rose whispered and woke up.
Thirty
The only sound was the wild rustling of the leaves and flowers as they jerked rowdily about on stems and branches, fighting the wind as it tore through them. The sounds echoed in the yard and throughout the gray sky, causing the birds and insects to scatter in terror.
Despite the conditions, a man holding his hat with one hand and clutching his jacket with the other forced himself down the drive, even as they accosted him with flailing branches and flying leaves.
He paused as he headed up the drive and stared at the house, as if sizing it up.
Inside the house, Maggie and Rose sat together in the parlor on the stiff couch. Maggie was furiously engaged in her sewing while Rose held a novel in her hands, her fingers idly caressing the pages as she peered between her sister and the door.
The wind tore at the windows hard enough to keep jostling and slamming the knocker on the front door. And even after Maggie pointed out the unlikely event of a visit, every time Rose heard the knock, her heart thumped, and each time disappointed, her heart fell back into its steady rhythm.
Rose was so deflated she barely looked out toward the hallway by the time something other than the wind banged.
“I think that might be the door,” Maggie said, looking up from her work.
“You haven’t noticed how strong the wind’s been all this time?” Rose glared at Maggie.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen you looking,” Maggie said. “And I don’t think the wind can bang three times in succession.”
Rose pushed the compulsion to get up back down inside her. “We’ll see.”
Quick whispering footsteps sounded in the hallway, and then the door squealed as it was opened. They both heard the door slam against the wall as a terrible gust of wind flew through the house.
Rose had the horrible thought that she was dreaming again, and if she went out, she would find Sarah standing there, waiting to be asked inside. But that would be silly, Rose thought, since she’s already here.
A brief murmur drifted on the air through the glass doors, and both the sisters sat up straighter, straining to hear. Anticipation flicked through the parlor like lightning as the door shut firmly, and two sets of steps echoed in the hallway. Rose released her fists, which she realized had become tightly clenched, and she tried to force the air from her lungs. She glanced suspiciously at Maggie, wondering what she could possibly be thinking right now.
A single set of footsteps clicked on the floor, and Rose and Maggie watched as Christopher entered. “Mr. McCann to see the Misses Shedd.”
Rose caught her breath and nearly choked. “Where’s my father? He’ll want to come down.” She paused, not wanting to say the next phrase. “And of course, Mrs. Shedd.”
“Mr. Shedd has requested not to be disturbed. However, I will alert him if you think it is necessary, Miss Rose. I have not seen Mrs. Shedd today, but I will inquire with the other servants.”
Rose gulped. “Let him wait for a little while so we can straighten up a bit.”
Maggie slipped behind her and slid a finger through one of Rose’s curls. “Someone got her wish, huh? Don’t think this is going to be easy for you.”
Rose frowned angrily and turned to the mirror above the couch. She flicked her hair back and adjusted the bosom of her dress while she watched Maggie’s reflection doing the same. “Ready?” she asked.
“If you are.” Maggie smiled wickedly and stuck her tongue out at their reflections.
The wind continued to bang and slam throughout the house, making Rose decidedly uncomfortable. There was no way she could be at ease with the ungodly noise that continued to assault the house. And even though she knew it was the wind every time the knocker slammed against the door, she still jumped just a little. Her dream echoed in her head, the voice heard through the threat of the storm, the wind tearing through that strange dreamscape.
“Are you sure?”
The sound of Maggie’s voice startled her, and her eyes immediately flicked to the mirror. Maggie was glaring at her, her pupils large in the dim light. Her hair hung loosely around her head, and as Rose watched, it took on a tattered, unkempt appearance as the curls fell out and stringy pieces drifted across her forehead. Rose’s breath caught as the wind suddenly silenced itself, and quiet descended around them. She tried to look away, to find her voice, and just as her words were about to break the still air, she saw an unnatural jerking movement in her peripheral vision. Her eyes darted back to the mirror, icicles of terror already forming in her cooling blood.
Maggie’s reflection was staring at her, her eyes glued to Rose’s face. And she’d moved closer. Now Maggie’s face was just inches from her own, the hair seeming to swarm like a living thing around her. “Are you ready?” she whispered.
Rose’s mouth opened as she tried to step back, away from the thing she knew was not her sister, the thing that had come into her bed the other night. Its finger was snaking up toward her, its mouth opening as if to speak again. And then, before she could move, it had her arm.
And Rose was screaming, shrieking while it shook her, its voice like dead leaves crunching. The wind sighed loudly and kicked up its pace, drowning her screams in a violent smash of the shutters. Maggie was trying to grab at her face, and Rose was fighting, hitting out before she saw it was her sister again, her sister with her coifed hair, her sister with terror and disbelief in her eyes as she tried to calm Rose, to no avail. “Rose, stop it, stop it!” she shrieked.
Rose went limp. “Maggie?”
“Oh my God! Oh my God, Rose!”
Rose tried desperately to pull herself together while keeping her face turned away from the mirror. “I’m all right. I’m all right!”
“No you’re not,” Maggie said weakly. “Rose, what’s happened to you?”
Rose pushed Maggie away. “I’m fine.” She paused, searching for words. “It’s my head, you know?”
“No it wasn�
�t,” Maggie hissed. “Tell me now. What is it? What do you see?”
Rose couldn’t answer. She was still recovering from the hideous vision, and Maggie’s questions were driving her mad. She tried to straighten herself up, to grasp at the last of her dignity as she pointedly ignored the mirror and twisted toward the doors leading to the hallway. “There’s nothing to tell,” she whispered as Maggie continued to stare, mouth open.
“You saw something in the mirror,” Maggie pressed. She came close to the glass and tapped on it while Rose cringed at the strange hollow sound it made. Maggie pushed her face close, trying to peer deep inside it. “It’s just a mirror,” she said finally.
“I never said it wasn’t,” Rose replied, her annoyance growing. “Please, let’s just go.”
“Fine,” Maggie said. “I always thought you liked the parlor, though.”
Rose nodded, and they escaped the room just as the wind thrashed the house once more.
Thirty-One
They settled back in the front parlor, as there was no other appropriate place. Rose fidgeted and was unable to concentrate on the conversation. Maggie would surely triumph and get her wish. Deep shadows lurked near the couch and chairs and cabinet, drawing her eyes to places where things could hide.
Terror ate away at her insides, and Rose realized, trying to impress Henry today was a lost cause. A person could put up with such horror, such brutal harassment, for only so long before she succumbed.
The parlor mirror remained boldly in place, catching reflections and throwing them back at the occupants of the room. The wind would not quit; if anything, it had grown louder as it whipped the tree branches into their terrified frenzy.
At the very least, however, it had driven off some of the oppressive, unrelenting heat that hung low over the house.
The air in the parlor had become thick and oppressive, like a heavy cushion wrapped around her head. Rose pulled some loose hair behind her ear and strained to pick up the conversation. She was too afraid to look toward Henry because the mirror would be directly in her line of sight. Still, in her heart she knew it wasn’t the mirror she had to fear. Even now she had the urge to look behind her chair, to check for something unnatural creeping out from the shadows toward her arms and legs and face.
Rose leapt up abruptly, startling the others. “I have to go. I’m sorry, my head.”
Maggie stared at her in shock and made as if to come after Rose, before seeming to reconsider how important it was Maggie should stay with Henry.
Rose nearly ran out and up the stairs to her bedroom. “I have to get out of here!” she whispered, staring at herself in the bedroom mirror and pulling at the skin of her face suspiciously. The throbbing snake of pain began to wind its way around the right side of her head like a living thing, slowly twisting its jagged edges down to her eye socket.
There was nothing for Rose to do but lie down and wait as the pulsing animal beneath her skin began its silent rage. The stress of it all was too much, and now she lay alone on the second floor, her hopes being dashed directly below her where Maggie had free reign with their guest.
Rose squirmed her way beneath the blanket on the bed, her body beginning to shake as tears oozed from her eyes. Here, alone and helpless, anything could creep up on her, could crawl on top of her and lay cold hands upon her throat, or press its icy face against her own.
A tinkling of laughter floated in the air, but Rose couldn’t tell if it came from her sister, the servants, or something else altogether. She reached a hand above her head and ran it over the heavy mahogany headboard. It was the only movement she could stand to make without being overwhelmed with the pain. The laughter drifted into the room again, and the throbbing became harder, digging deeper inside Rose’s head.
Light footsteps creaked on the stairwell. Rose waited with as much trepidation as the headache would allow her as the steps continued toward her room. “Are you doing all right?”
Rose relaxed only slightly at the sound of her sister’s voice. “Head hurts,” she muttered softly.
“If it makes you feel any better, he’s not interested in me.”
Rose opened one eye to study Maggie’s face to see if she was just jabbing at her more. “How do you know?”
Maggie sighed and sat down softly beside Rose. “He asked me if you would mind if he came to visit you again.”
Rose smiled through her pain. “Well, I was very rude to race up here.”
“That’s not why. He didn’t ask to see me again. I can just tell from the way he spoke to me.”
“It would be worse if he was too familiar with you,” Rose whispered.
“I just know,” Maggie said, laying a cool hand on her sister’s forehead. “I don’t know why, but I know.”
“Did you tell him he should come back?”
Maggie took her hand back. “I told him he’d have to ask you, but he could certainly return to see Daddy.”
Rose didn’t have the energy to be angry. “You know I want to see him. You should have said so.”
“Well, you don’t want to seem eager.” Maggie laid down on her side of the bed, facing Rose. “You want to seem reserved… disinterested.”
Was Maggie trying to help? Rose closed her eyes. “I think I may have already ruined that.”
“Why? How?”
The pulse in her head deepened, and Rose held up a hand for Maggie to stop.
“Fine. For now. Do you want me to get you anything?”
“Water,” she croaked.
“Of course, Rose,” Maggie said softly and squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need.”
Thirty-Two
“You didn’t do what I asked.”
Rose knew she was dreaming, that she must have fallen asleep at some point due to the pain in her head, but she couldn’t remember it happening, couldn’t remember falling into the subconscious ooze that was her sleeping brain. Still, it had to be a dream, because Sarah was not so bold in the waking world. The room seemed hazy as well, as if the walls might melt back into that strange stormy landscape in which she’d last seen Sarah.
“Did you hear me, Rose?”
She reluctantly turned to look. Sarah had her back turned and appeared to be peering at the wardrobe, which had somehow returned to Rose’s bedroom. “I was afraid.”
“Afraid?” Sarah asked, placing her hands on her hips. The filmy material looked darker than it should have been, as if it had been stained. “Everything was arranged!”
Rose began to feel confused. What could Sarah possibly mean by “arranged”? The words that escaped her mouth made even less sense to her. “I know. But you scared me.”
Sarah raised a finger and pointed toward the wardrobe. “I won’t give you a second chance. I’ll see you in there instead. Next time you’ll do it.”
Rose shuddered. “I’ll do it. I will.”
“Good. Now, do you have anything to ask me?”
Rose still couldn’t figure out what she was talking about and couldn’t find her voice to respond. She waited a moment, watching Sarah, who remained unmoving. “No,” she finally whispered as hot tears of terror ran from her eyes.
“Are you sure?” Sarah asked.
For reasons unbeknownst to her, Rose screamed, “I didn’t do anything!”
Sarah’s body shook, and she started slowly turning, her fingers wrapping themselves into crooked claws.
“No!” Rose shrieked again, trying to back up to get out of the room.
She could see now from the corner of her eye that Sarah was looking at her, and she knew she didn’t want to see her stepsister right then. Rose raced to the wall, searching for the door, her blood like ice as she breathed hard and fast. The world began to disappear, to form a moving gray circle that narrowed before her, and a moment later, she fainted.
Thirty-Three
The bedclothes were sticky with sweat, and the room had gone dark. The hallway light cast a thin orange-yellow beam through the bottom of the closed door. Disoriented in the d
ark room, as soon as she stood, Rose’s head began throbbing again.
Who had closed the door?
Rose quickly scurried to the door and flung it open so she could use the light to examine the room. The wardrobe was still gone, and the room was empty, but she had a distinct sense of unease in the hot darkness. It seemed impossible that the day could have vanished so fast, and now, despite her still throbbing head, she was wide awake.
The faint odor of dinner floated in the air; she inhaled deeply and realized she was hungry. Or thirsty. Right then, she had to get that horrid dream out of her head.
Rose wandered into the hallway, her breath catching as she gazed down the empty passage. It couldn’t be terribly late or Maggie would have come up by now. All the doors opening into the hallway were swung wide, so no one could have retired as of yet.
The cavernous night had invaded all the rooms, and although Rose couldn’t see it from her position outside her bedroom, she knew what loomed within the blackness inside the room by the stairwell leading to the first floor. Though somewhat unwilling, she slipped back into the bedroom to snatch the small candle in its holder that sat on a table by the bed. Hurrying back into the orange glow in the hallway, Rose sidled over to the large bookshelf, on top of which sat the lamp. Carefully ducking her candle into the opening of the glass and catching the flame, she positioned it back inside its holder and tentatively moved toward the stairs.
As she neared, her mind fought her, one part desiring her to poke her head in, to shine the candle inside, and the other urging her to flee as quickly as she could down the stairs and into the bright lights and the comfort of her family and servants, leaving the floating dust and twisting shadows behind. Her breath was coming quickly again, and the hot tears that so frequently accompanied her terror bloomed in her eyes.