by Amy Cross
"Are you really scared of opening the door?" she asks.
"I..." I start to say, but then it occurs to me: if Abigail goes outside, all my problems are over. I've been setting up a complex plan for getting rid of her tonight, but suddenly this opportunity is presenting itself. "I don't know," I say finally, as I desperately try to decide what to do. Should I stick to my original plan, or should I seize the moment? "I mean, it's not allowed. Going outside, I mean. Diana forbids it".
"So what?" Abigail asks, grabbing the handle and opening the door all the way. "Come on, let's go outside".
"Absolutely not," I say, stepping back. "It's forbidden".
"Why?" she says, smiling. "Is it dangerous?"
I glance over at the other side of the room. There's no-one around. I could let Abigail go outside, and then I could tell people I have no idea what happened to her. After all, she'd only need to go a few paces away from the door and she'd be as good as dead. "Do you really want to go outside?" I ask cautiously. I shouldn't even consider the idea, but the chance to kill Abigail so quickly can't be ignored.
Smiling, she takes a step through the door and turns back to me. "Look, Gwendoline," she says. "I'm outside. Is something awful going to happen to me?"
I stare at her. I should get her to come back in, but it's so tempting to let her keep going. After all, I want her to die, and now she's making it far too easy for me.
"You're right," she continues, taking a deep breath. "There's really nice air out here. We should come out properly later". She turns to come back inside.
"No!" I say, blocking her way. "Go a little further! You need to get away from the house a few meters if you're really going to breathe in the crisp air".
She stares at me, clearly becoming a little suspicious. "Gwendoline, it's very nice out here," she says, "but I really just want to -"
Suddenly I push the door shut and turn the key, locking her outside. She lunges for the handle, but it's too late. My heart is pounding. I shouldn't be doing this, but she's almost forced my hand. If she'll just walk a little further into the garden, the creatures out there will surely grab her and kill her. This is almost too easy.
"Gwendoline," she says through the glass in the door, "this is very funny, but it's really cold out here".
"Go and have a look first!" I say, hoping no-one hears the commotion. "Just go a few more steps from the house and take a nice deep breath. I'll let you in straight away, I promise".
"Seriously?" she asks, sounding annoyed.
"You're the one who wanted to go out there," I remind her. "Take a little look around". I keep my hand on the handle. I could open the door and save her, but it's far too tempting to let her walk to her doom.
"Let me in now!" she says firmly, trying to force the door open.
"Not until you've look around!" I say. Although I can't see the creatures, they must be so close by now. If only they weren't so scared of the house, they'd have got her by now. Oh, this could all be so deliciously easy. "Take five steps back," I say, "and then I'll open the door".
"Gwendoline, let me -" she starts to say, but suddenly she spins around, as if something behind her has caught her attention.
"What happened?" I ask, trying to contain my excitement. Is this it? Is it going to be so easy to get rid of Abigail?
"Something touched my shoulder," she says tensely. "Something touched me". She backs against the door. "Gwendoline, let me in. Please?"
"Just a moment," I say, pretending to try the key.
"Now, Gwendoline!" she insists.
"I can't!" I say, wiggling the key in the lock. "It's stuck. I don't know what's wrong!"
"There's something out here," Abigail says. "I can't see it, but I keep feeling it brushing past me. What is it?"
"I don't know!" I reply, still pretending to try the key in the lock. "I shouldn't think there can be anything at all. I just -" At that moment, I hear a noise over my shoulder. Before I can react, I'm pushed aside and Diana turns the key, opening the door and pulling Abigail into the room.
"What were you doing out there?" Diana shouts, slamming the door shut and locking it. "Where did you get this key?" She turns to me. "Gwendoline, how many times have I told you never to go out there? How many times have I told you to be wary of the garden?"
"I just thought -" I start to say, but she slaps me hard across the face, almost knocking me to the floor.
"Don't talk back to me," she snaps. "Apologize to Abigail at once".
"It's okay," Abigail starts to say.
"It's not okay!" Diana shouts. "Gwendoline, apologize!"
Slowly, I turn to Abigail. Determined not to let her see me cry, and with the side of my face still stinging, I take a deep breath, forcing the tears back. "I'm sorry," I say, my voice quivering a little. "It was only supposed to be a bit of fun".
"It's fine," Abigail says, clearly feeling awkward. "It was just cold, that's all".
"Sorry if I scared you," I say. "If you like, I can make it up to you tomorrow by taking you to the zoo".
"The zoo?" she replies, looking puzzled.
"Yes!" I say, smiling. "We have a zoo in the garden. You can -"
"There's no time for this talk now," Diana says sternly. "Abigail, perhaps you should have a rest before dinner. Meanwhile, Gwendoline can do some chores for me".
"I don't want to do chores," I say, turning to her. I hate the way she always punishes me by making me do chores, like I'm some kind of child. "Please don't make me!"
"Everyone must do chores," Diana replies. "Go through to the pantry while I take Abigail back to her room".
Realizing that there's no point arguing with her, I turn and stomp through to the pantry. I hate this part of the house; it's where the servants work, and I don't see why I should have to spend time in such a place. As the maids get on with their work, I sit in the corner and wait for Diana to come and put me to work like some kind of common slave. I can't believe how close I came to getting rid of Abigail. Ever since she arrived at Gothos this morning, I've been plotting to get rid of her, and then she almost got herself killed right in front of my eyes. I'd assumed it would be hard to neutralize her, but perhaps she's stupid enough to walk straight into one of my traps. After all, I wasn't even trying to kill her just now, and she almost died. Imagine how things will go tonight when I'm actually putting in some real effort.
It's a shame, really, that dear Abigail has to go; she seems rather nice in some ways, and I think perhaps we could be friends under other circumstances. But she's standing in my way, and I have to get rid of her. Never mind. Sending her out into the garden was just one idea. When night falls, I'll take her to the room upstairs and I'll make her go inside. No-one ever comes out of that room. As I imagine her disappearing forever, I start to smile. I'll get what I want eventually. Patrick will see that he's made a terrible mistake, but I'll force him to reconsider. This can all still be put right before he dies. Finally, after years of misery, my chance has arrived!
Patrick
My body is dying. One by one, the cells are breaking down. Whether it takes days, or weeks, or even months, the process is irreversible: soon my life will be over, and the worries of the mortal world will be far left behind. So many centuries of life, snuffed out by eternal darkness. For now, I'm wracked with pain and I can barely think straight, but this is how it was always going to be. I was destined to die this way.
I should never have brought Abigail to Gothos, but I had no choice. Her body was breaking down. I had assumed, wrongly as it turned out, that she would undergo the change without any undue effects. When I found her outside Callerton, however, it was clear that something was going wrong. I worried that she might be dying, and I believe she would have died if I had not brought her immediately to this place. Gothos is little more than a set of ruins, a shadow of its former self, but it retains a certain atmosphere. Abigail seems to be recovering, and I'm quite certain that soon she'll be able to return to the human world and take her rightful place.
<
br /> Unfortunately, bringing her to Gothos means bringing her into contact with some individuals I would rather forget. Diana has tried to keep Gwendoline in check, even going so far as to chain her in the basement for many years. Following the departure of Astley, however, Diana chose to bring Gwendoline back up; she put a dress on the girl, fixed her hair, and taught her to be a lady. It was an imperfect process, and one of which I do not entirely approve. Gwendoline was a failed experiment, and she should have died long ago. I worry about her effect on Abigail, but at least I know that Abigail is strong. If Gwendoline's jealousy gets the better of her, she'll undoubtedly lash out at Abigail, but I'm sure that Abigail will be strong enough to resist; if she's not, all of this will have been in vain.
Within a day, she and I will have left this place forever. My remaining life, now, is measured in days rather than years. Soon I'll be dead, and the moment cannot come soon enough.
Gwendoline
"This will be the absolute most perfect dress for Abigail!" I say, holding up my latest discovery. I've spent the last couple of hours sorting through the closet in one of the spare rooms, and I've finally come up with a beautiful, full-length gown with a light golden color. "I almost want it for myself," I add, holding it closer and running my hand across the fabric, "but I mustn't be selfish, must I? I chose this for Abigail, and - after all - she's the guest". For a moment, I imagine myself wearing such a beautiful item. It's so much nicer than my tatty old dress. Why should Abigail get all the best things?
"If I didn't know better," says Diana, watching from over by the doorway, "I'd almost think you want Abigail to look nice tonight. That's quite a turnaround, considering your behavior this morning".
"What behavior?" I ask, trying to sound innocent.
"You let her go out into the garden," Diana continues. "Tell me, are you trying to get her killed?"
"Of course not," I reply, pretending to be appalled. "Whatever gives you that idea?"
"It's just that I feel I know how your mind works," she says. "I'm worried you might try to do something stupid".
"Abigail has certain qualities," I say, still examining the dress to make sure there are no holes. The moths here at Gothos can be quite monstrous at times. "I hold no ill will toward her. It's just that... well, you know. We want the same thing and ultimately only one of us can have it". I turn to the mirror and hold the dress against myself; again, I'm momentarily consumed by dreams of what might have been. "It wasn't my idea for her to go outside. It was her idea".
"But you didn't stop her, did you?"
I smile, looking down at the dress. "I look beautiful, don't I?"
Diana nods politely.
"It's been a long time since I looked beautiful," I say, feeling a touch of regret.
"You always look beautiful," Diana replies. "It's easy for you. You're young, and all young things possess a certain type of beauty". She pauses for a moment. "Dinner starts in half an hour. Are you sure you'll be ready?"
"Of course," I say, transfixed by my own reflection in the full-length mirror. Perhaps Diana is right; perhaps I am beautiful after all. How could I not have noticed before? I suppose one of the curses of true beauty is that sometimes one can't recognize one's own qualities. Peering closer at the mirror, I realize it's true: I have a quite beautiful face, so innocent and sweet.
"If you want Abigail to wear that dress," Diana continues, "you must take it to her immediately. She will need time to get ready".
"If I hadn't had to spend hours in the pantry," I point out, "I'd have been well ahead of time". I look down at my fingers, worn thin from scrubbing pots and peeling potatoes. "You're too harsh to me sometimes," I add. "It's as if you want to wear out my beauty by putting me to work".
"Someone has to teach you right from wrong," she replies.
"Where is Abigail, anyway?" I ask, deciding that now is not the time to argue.
"I believe she's still resting in her room. You quite tired her out with all your antics earlier".
I step closer to the mirror, staring into my own reflection: such big, beautiful brown eyes, and a very ladylike face. "Is she with Patrick?"
"No," Diana says. "Patrick is resting. He needs to conserve his strength. They say he has only a few months left to live, but in my opinion he will be gone from us much sooner. I'm not even certain he'll last the night".
I turn to her. "Is he so sick?" I ask, starting to panic.
"He's dying," she replies. "It's hard to predict how death will take any man, especially Patrick".
"Are you sad?" I ask.
"Why would you ask such a thing?"
I smile. "He's your friend, and he's going to die. Doesn't it hurt you to see him in agony?"
"Patrick has always been in agony," she says, "in one form or another. In death, he might find some relief".
"Maybe," I say. Carefully arranging the dress over my arm, I walk to the door. One day, I should like to sit down with Diana and really find out what makes her tick; one day, I should like to really pick her brain. "There's not much time," I say. "I shall go to Abigail, and..." I pause for a moment. "Do you think I have any chance?" I ask, suddenly filled with self-doubt. "Do you think I'm fooling myself, or do I have a chance of persuading Patrick? He must listen to me, mustn't he? He must at least give me the courtesy. Especially now that I look so beautiful. Have you see my skin lately? I've worked so hard..."
Diana smiles, but it's a sad, wistful smile. "You must do your best," she says. "Now off you go. Time is ticking".
I hurry from the room, racing along the corridor and bounding up the stairs two at a time. Sometimes I feel as if I'm the only person in Gothos who ever really makes a noise. How typical that after so many centuries of waiting, now I find myself in such a desperate hurry. I have imagined this night over and over again, wondering what I might do when Patrick and Abigail finally arrive together. All this time, I have worked so hard to remain beautiful, even though the passing centuries can really take their toll on a girl's appearance. Fortunately, I have been able to maintain my appearance, and I find it hard to believe that Patrick could ever turn me down. He must surely see that I am the best candidate. He must choose me. Abigail is nothing compared to me.
"Knock knock!" I call out, laughing, as I knock on the door to the guest room. Without waiting for a reply, I open the door and rush in, finding Abigail sitting on the floor over by the window, reading one of the large books from the library downstairs. "What are you doing down there?" I ask.
"Reading," she replies, closing the book. "Trying to, anyway. I don't understand the language".
"I suppose you don't," I say, hurrying to the bed and laying the dress out. "Come and take a look at this. Tell me what you think, and be honest. I can accept criticism, so if you don't like it, you must say so. There's still plenty of time to find an alternative, although in truth I don't think there's anyone so lovely in the whole land".
She gets to her feet and walks over to the other side of the bed. I quickly turn the dress around to give her a better view.
"It's nice," she says, not sounding particularly impressed.
"Nice?" I reply. "That's such a sour word. It's beautiful, isn't it? Really beautiful. In fact, it's almost as beautiful as... Well, it's beautiful. Surely you must agree".
She nods. "I guess".
"Say it," I continue. "Say it's beautiful".
"It is," she says.
"Say it!" I demand firmly, my hands almost shaking as I continue to arrange the dress on the bed.
She frowns. "It's beautiful".
"Excellent!" I say, grinning as I regain my composure. "Then it's settled. You'll wear it!"
"Me?" She looks shocked. "I thought you meant you were going to wear it. I don't know if it'd suit me. I'm not really into dresses much..."
"But you said it's beautiful," I remind her, starting to feel a little uneasy. Why does she resist my efforts? Doesn't she want to be beautiful when she dies? There's a stubborn streak to her, and that's another rea
son why Patrick must reject her. "If it's beautiful, you must want to wear it. Surely you want to look beautiful? Everyone will see you at dinner. Usually, I'm the most beautiful person there, but tonight I think you really might give me a run for my money". I wait for her to say something, but she seems a little shocked. "You must wear it," I say finally. "You must look beautiful. And anyway, it's the same dress your mother wore when she was here".
She stares at me. "My mother was here?"
"Once," I say. "A long time ago. Or maybe it was quite recent; it's hard to keep track of such things. But yes, she was here, and she wore this very dress to a great dinner. You and she look so similar, but I think you'll carry the dress off with even greater poise. It really is almost as if it had been made especially for you".
She reaches out and touches the dress, feeling the fabric. "I don't know if I'm in the mood for dinner," she says, seeming a little sad. "I might just stay up here. Do you know where Patrick is? I need to talk to him".
I hurry around the bed and put a hand on her shoulder. "You must come down to dinner," I tell her, "and you must be wearing this dress when you do. Everyone will be so keen to see you, and if you want to see Patrick, well... he'll be there". I wait, convinced she'll change her mind and agree to come with me, but she seems preoccupied. "What's wrong, Abigail?" I ask. "I feel as if you have a great burden in your soul".
She takes a deep breath. "Have you ever... Have you ever killed anyone?"
"Yes!" I say, laughing. "Thousands!" I pause. "Of course not, no, I've never... Why? Have you?"
She nods. "I can't stop thinking about her," she says. "It was kind of an accident in the end, even though I planned to do it all along. I spent the whole night trying to get up the courage to finish her off. And then she fell and..." She seems totally lost in her thoughts. "I keep replaying it over and over again. Not just the sight of her falling, but the sound of the crunch as she landed on her head. And then she died in my arms".
"Still," I say, trying to cheer her up, "this is a beautiful dress, isn't it?" I take the dress off the bed and hold it up for her to get a better view. "Look at how the fabric hangs! Chin up, Abigail. Sometimes I think you don't care about looking beautiful. You know, I was like you once. I was happy to be an ugly little thing, curled up in the corner. Everyone ignored me. They used to walk past me and sneer; some of them even used to spit. I wasn't fit to be seen in company. I was rejected and all alone, but do you know what I did? I hauled myself up and I made myself beautiful, and eventually they all came around and saw my worth. You must do the same".