Ashes of Iris

by Stephanie Poscente

  “You're going to regret this,” Natalie threatened, waving her hands in the air like a crazed lunatic. Sophie watched her storm off before turning to Brian, who was leaning against the opposite wall with his hands over his face. She moved toward him and placed a comforting hand on his arm.

  “What do I do?” he said through his hands.

  “Nothing,” Sophie answered. “I know the truth. You don't have anything to worry about, Brian.”

  He pulled his hands away and looked at her. His eyes were tired and sad, but there was something behind them that startled her.

  “Sophie,” he said quietly. “You'll tell her the truth? What you heard?”

  “Of course,” Sophie replied. “Why wouldn't I?”

  Brian shook his head, pushing the edges of his shirt back into the waist of his pants. Sophie watched him with concern before continuing toward the ballroom. He did not speak to her again. When she turned to glance at him once more, he had gone.

  After checking in with Katie, who was still alone in the dining room, Sophie went to her room and prepared for bed. Her limbs felt like lead, exhaustion overwhelming her, and she was glad to have decided to refrain from mentioning the incident to her sister that night. Climbing into the cool sheets she leaned her back against the headboard and hugged her knees to her chest. Even though her body was in desperate need of rest, her mind refused to shut off.

  After what seemed like mere minutes, she glanced at the clock.

  “Midnight,” she whispered. It was clear that sleep would not grace her with its presence, so she climbed out of bed and wrapped her pajama clad body in the thin, silk robe hanging in the closet.

  The halls of the castle were silent and lit only by tiny sconces and the pale light of the moon pouring through the windows. Not a breath stirred, save for Sophie's own. Despite the mystery surrounding her, she felt comforted by the silence, a rare occurrence for her. The thin socks she wore slipped without a sound across the smooth floor, but could not keep the cold from penetrating her skin.

  Past Aunt Marilyn's door and through a low archway, she found herself in another long hall with scattered doors lining the walls. Unsure of which rooms were occupied, she knocked quietly on the first door, waiting with bated breath for an answer. When no answer came, she pushed the door open and slipped inside.

  There was no light in the room apart from a sliver of moon shining across a black mass that Sophie took to be the bed. The room was much smaller than her own, from what she could see, but it was obviously unoccupied. For a reason she could not explain, the thought of turning on the overhead light frightened her and she resolved to wander only by the light of the small bedside lamp. Shaking her hands in front of her, she tried to quell the anxiety mounting in her nerves, knowing it was unwise to snoop through the castle in the dead of night.

  She moved away from the bed, away from the source of light, to the dresser opposite. Running her fingers along the smooth surface of the dresser, she watched the lamplight bounce from the sheer curtains and run in broken strips down the walls. As she slowly circled the room, a large door, hidden in the shadows, appeared in front of her. She stepped toward it – her body tensed with her sharpened senses – and pulled on the coarse handle. The creak was unexpected, sending a jerk of surprise through her like a violent muscle spasm. Inside, darkness was complete. Not a single shape loomed from the shadows. Pulling the door open further, she stepped back, shielding her face with her free hand in case something, anything, pounced forward to seize her.

  It was not until the door was far enough open to let a bit of the light through that Sophie let out her breath. She laughed out loud, shaking her head and shutting the door quickly, the brief sight of hanging jackets and piled shoes mocking her fear.

  “I'm afraid of closets now,” she muttered.

  Upon leaving the room, she shuffled to the next door, hand raised in preparation to knock when she heard a sound behind her. Like the scrape of a chair on the floor, but more pronounced, longer. It sent a chill up her spine.

  Pressing herself flat against the wall, she waited for the sound to come again. When it did not, she flew down the hall and through the archway, heading in the direction of her room. Before she reached the door, she could tell it was open, for the light she had left on flooded the hall, casting eerie shadows over the walls and floor and blinding her as she approached. Her heart jumped into her throat, fear rooting her to the spot.

  If ever she had thought she was brave, that moment proved her wrong. She wanted nothing more than to run screaming through the halls, searching for a place to hide.

  The moment of panic faded slowly as she stood there, alone in the hall. With deep breaths, she tried to stifle the shaking in her limbs, but could not stop the foggy haze that filtered into her vision. A muted and inexplicable anger began to fill her, fierce and surprising in its intensity. Nothing about the situation could have prompted such a reaction, but she recognized the feeling. It was the aching rage that overtook her when she spoke to her mother, her sister, the same stifled anger that pumped in her veins when she was upset or afraid, that had plagued her since her uncle's death. Recently, she felt it most strongly during her brief encounters with Lukas. Even then, she refused to let it conquer her. She refused to succumb to its tempting lure.

  Someone, something, was in her room, waiting for her, and she was not about to lose herself in senseless emotion.

  “I am not a coward,” she whispered. It was a weak pep-talk, but she smiled at the words, repeating them in her mind as she took measured steps toward her open door.

  When she caught sight of the shrouded windows inside her room, she flattened against the wall beside the door and cocked her head to see further in. Everything was as she had left it, not a thing out of place. Peering in sideways, she realized the room was vacant, but that meant nothing to her after her recent experiences with the unseen things lurking in the castle.

  Stepping around and over the threshold, she held her hands steady and stared around.

  “Who is in here?” she asked. The force of her voice surprised her, but did not summon the courage she wanted. “Hello?”

  “Sophie,” a hoarse whisper replied near her bed.

  She jumped in shock, a stifled scream escaping her lips. Involuntarily, she took a step back toward the door, gripping the frame behind her.

  “Who's there?” she whispered, every ounce of false strength gone from her voice. The anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  “Sophie,” the voice said again.

  “Rausch?” Sophie leapt forward in recognition, rushing toward the bed. “Rausch! What happened to you?”

  He still looked the same, sitting in the chair beside her bed, except his form seemed dull, faded, and almost transparent.

  He whispered something unintelligible.

  “What?” Sophie asked, shaking him slightly. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, my dear,” he said, laying a hand on his chest. “He came for you, but I would not allow it. We fought, for the first time,” he paused, his eyes closing. “I am tired now. I must rest. There is something you must know, for your own safety.”

  “I-” Sophie started to speak, but he continued.

  “No time for that,” he said. “There is no other way. You are our hope now. Listen to me, carefully.”

  He paused, opening his eyes a slit to glance at her face. She nodded once. A small smile formed on his lips and he relaxed.

  “You have seen him?” he asked.

  “Luk-”

  “No,” Rausch growled, his eyes flying open, full of panic. “Do not speak it.”

  “Speak what?” Sophie covered her mouth in alarm. “His name?”

  “It calls to her, she listens for it.”

  “Cut to the chase, Rausch,” Sophie replied, frustrated and frightened. “What are you trying to tell me? Who is she? There's been a lot of talk about a he, and I still don't know who that is, either.”

  “Such a
short temper for such a young woman,” Rausch chuckled. “He is the man who owned this castle while I was employed as servant. For forty-six years I served him, from the time he was a child. Lord Malto he was to me, today I know him as Fantir.”

  “Fantir,” Sophie repeated, the name unpleasant on her tongue. “Is he the other one, the man that I can see but no one else can?”

  “Yes,” Rausch's face brightened at her words. “I thought you might have seen him. He dwells here as I do, but in recent days has become agitated and impatient, a trait unlike his usual temperament. I fear it is because of you.”

  “Why me?” Sophie asked. “I thought he was helping me, in the kitchen.”

  Rausch's eyes flew open again and he looked at her, confusion plain on his face. As he watched her, the confusion turned to concern and then to understanding.

  “The kitchen,” he repeated. His voice was quiet. “What happened there?”

  “There was something-”she paused, thinking it over, “something suffocating me, or taking all the air away. I don't know what was happening, but it was like nothing I've ever felt before. I already told all of this to Luk-” she bit her tongue, remembering his warning, “I mean, to your friend, and he told me to keep away. What I want to know is why? Why is this all happening to me?”

  “Because you are aware,” Rausch answered. He pulled his hand from his chest and patted her hand gently before pushing himself into a seated position. The fragility Sophie had seen minutes before was gone and he was himself once more. “You see us, hear us, speak to us. Until today, I thought perhaps you had come on purpose, given that this castle is hardly occupied, least of all for a wedding. But I learned differently when speaking to Fantir.”

  “No one comes here?” she asked.

  “Some do,” he looked at her. “But they do not stay long. Though they cannot hear or see us, they feel us here. As though we were spirits come to haunt them, only that is not the case. I should say, that was not the case. For these many years I did not know of her presence in this castle, did not feel her lurking in the shadows of the rooms I once loved so dearly. But she is come, she is here and she is not prepared to leave without redemption.”

  “Who is she?” Sophie whispered. “What will she do?”

  “She is the spirit of a woman who once dwelt in the heart of Fantir Malto – a dangerous, devious, other worldly woman. He invited her in when his wife, Isa, had fallen ill, in the hopes of treating her with witchcraft.”

  “A witch?” Sophie exclaimed, her eyes wide.

  “A very dangerous one, indeed,” Rausch nodded. “When he fell in love with her, he would not let her leave. She took his hospitality for granted, using myself and all others as her own private slaves, but I did not mind, for my master enjoyed her company. She brought back the smile I had missed for some years. After Isa's death and despite his daughter's wishes, Fantir continued to allow the woman to reside here. Annka knew in her heart the evil lurking within the woman, but her father was deaf to her pleas. It was then that he came to the castle, the one whose name beckons to her,” Rausch eyed her pointedly until she understood who he meant.

  Lukas, she thought, nodding to show she understood.

  With a stiff nod, he continued. “When he joined us, she was smitten. Infatuated. I have never seen anything like it. The witch was drawn to him so powerfully that all else was forgotten. But he was no fool. He saw her for what she was, despised her for it. For him, there was only Annka. Despite her age – she had only seventeen years – he cared for her as though she were the final remaining woman in this land. I watched them blossom together, finding in each other what they had lacked so long.”

  A warm look rushed into Rausch's eyes as he spoke. Sophie smiled at his emotion.

  “You loved them,” she said, not meaning it as a question.

  “Yes,” Rausch nodded, the warmth fading, replaced by a deep sadness. “Dearly, as though they were my own children. In certain ways, they were. Nothing could have convinced me to part with them. After Isa passed, Fantir lost all sense of decency and responsibility. He was mad in ways I cannot explain. It gave her the advantage.”

  “Who is she?” Sophie asked. “What was her name?”

  “Oh, no. I dare not speak it. I fear it will summon her, as his summons her.”

  “Okay,” Sophie replied quickly, grateful for the information he was giving her and not wanting to press him. “So, what happened? After his wife died, I mean?”

  “Nothing. Not for a few years. Fantir was frequently missing, the witch gone with him. It was less difficult that way, to have him gone. Annka flourished in her growing relationship. I expected a wedding that summer, for they were very much in love. One night, in early March, Fantir returned. He was angry, belligerent, nothing any of us said to him made a slight of difference. I remember clearly his ravings. I knew at once, it was not him speaking. The words came in his voice, but they were not his own. Everything about his demeanor screamed of her influence. No sign of her was to be seen, but he was mad, psychotic. He raged upon Annka, the boy, myself – any unlucky soul in his vicinity. When I finally had a chance to demand his intentions, he said only one word.”

  “What word?” Sophie whispered.

  “Vengeance.” Anger flashed across Rausch's face, his eyes burning with intensity. “He shouted for vengeance. Redemption. His rage was focused on the boy, who was beaten to within inches of his life. Annka was horrified. Her tears only served to enrage him further and he turned himself on her. It was only when he struck her unconscious that I knew for certain she – the witch – was behind it. That witch had used him to serve her purpose. She wanted them, us, dead.”

  “Because of Lukas?” Sophie asked without thinking. Rausch raised his hands in protest, but it was too late.

  A chill crept through the room, the drapes rustled in the sudden wind and Rausch pulled Sophie to the floor, his finger pressed to his lips. Without speaking, he motioned to the still open door, a warning in his eyes. Sophie nodded, leaning into the bed and cocking her head around the corner. The room was empty, but she could feel the presence filling every corner, every shadow that surrounded her cast frightening shapes over the room's contents. The familiar fear crept through her, stifling her courage, making each movement a trial.

  With shaking hands, she gripped the bedpost and pulled herself into a crouch. Rausch was behind her, urging her forward. As she rose to her feet and stepped around the bed, she was struck with a freezing wind and stumbled back, hands raised.

  “You have no business here,” Rausch shouted into the flurry of rushing air. “What use is she to you?”

  Sophie stared around the room with wide eyes, waiting for a response. The wind continued unabated, but no voice came. Only when Rausch pushed her forward did she move from the bed and make for the door. It was as though her limbs were pressing through thick mud, the force of the frigid air pushed her back. Her chest was heavy, her breath coming in painful heaves. She recognized the suffocating sensation from the kitchen and began to panic at the lack of oxygen. Turning to Rausch, she saw his firm expression. His courage gave her confidence.

  “Keep going,” he called through the wind.

  She reached the door, stars bursting in her vision, and gripped the frame with both hands, heaving her body through the opening. On the other side, it was as though the weight disintegrated from her lungs, letting the cool air rush into them in waves. She swallowed it gratefully, holding her chest with both hands.

  Rausch was behind her, facing the empty room with both hands raised. He did not speak a word, merely watching as the wind whipped furiously through the drapes, the carpet, the sheets, before dying out as quickly as it had come.

  “Why does that happen?” Sophie gasped.

  “I do not know,” Rausch replied, keeping his back to her. “But you are in danger here. She knows of your power, that you see us. He is guiding her to you. She would be blind otherwise, I am sure of it.”

  “Rausch,” Sophie
said, holding up her hands to silence him, though he could not see the gesture. “I don't understand. Can you explain it another way?”

  “What I know is limited. It is only by my brief discussions with Fantir that I even realized her presence here. Perhaps she has been lurking all these years, but it was never known. Until you arrived, I was at peace, for the most part.”

  “Sorry,” Sophie mumbled. Rausch laughed, turning to look at her.

  “You are not to be blamed,” he said. “No one could have expected this as a possibility. Regardless, she has returned. It is my belief that she cannot see or hear you, coming only when his name calls her. Otherwise she would have already…” he trailed off, eyeing her pointedly.

  Sophie swallowed hard.

  “And her name?” she asked. “Her name calls her, too?”

  “That, I do not know for sure. I assume, only to protect you, because she does not attack otherwise. In any other circumstance, your death would have been swift.”

  “But,” she argued, “she couldn't have. My whole family is here.”

  “Yes,” Rausch nodded, “that may have presented a problem, though I expect she would have used measures that may have resembled suicide, or perhaps sickness. Your family is of no concern to her, I’m afraid.”

  Sophie closed her eyes against the pounding in her head and did not speak. The thought of something lurking around her, unseeing but still sensing, and looking to kill her frightened her beyond anything she had experienced before.

  Rausch sensed her horror and patted her arm gently.

  “I will do everything within my power to aid you,” he said, “but in return, I must ask you for a great favor.”

  “What kind of favor?” Sophie asked.

  “I beg you to do everything in your power to aid us. I believe you are our final hope at finding peace. Full peace.”

  “I-” Sophie started to argue, to counter his statement, but something inside of her begged her to agree. “Yes, of course. I can help you. You'll have to tell me what to do.”