Whisper (2 page)

TWO

Rules

Paintings hung on the walls in the foyer so many eyes watched and followed my every movement. I wondered if maybe some of these paintings might be alive. The interior is filled with antiques and mahogany wood. Stepping into the area of the main corridor of hallways, I gaze up.

Startled I jump back, a statuesque woman stood at the top of the elegant staircase. She is wearing a black dress with a collar at her neckline and cuffs coming to points over her hands. Her hair is fading to ash gray. She materialized out of nowhere, she wasn’t standing there a minute ago I am sure. I grab my heart taking a few deep breaths.

“Miss Emerson…welcome I am Miss Brantshire I am the housekeeper I take charge over the staff. Master Caulder has instructed me to keep an eye on you. I do not have much time for keeping track of a wallowing girl. I expect you to entertain yourself as well as help out when asked. Will this be a problem?” She spoke meticulously.

A strange chill stood between us like a protective impenetrable barrier.

“No…” I shook my head.

“Good,” she says. “Follow me…Bethanne you are needed in the kitchen. Duties to Miss Emerson will start when after I have spoken with her.” Bethanne sympathetically smiled in my direction before disappearing down the hall.

The draft standing between Miss Brantshire and I didn’t move. Miss Brantshire stared at me disapproval of me etched into her frown. Her cool and calm composure is unsettling it is obvious to me she is hiding something. Miss Brantshire prattles on telling me about the mansion, the cool draft follows her as she walks passed me a shield keeping her out of my reach.

Miss Brantshire walked me down the east corridor. Weaving me through hallways leading to dining rooms, she stopped at various doors I was prohibited from accessing. We walked passed a sitting room. Down another hallway was another door I was not to access, a cigar room.

Walking down the main hallway, Miss Brantshire took me by double doors. She refused to open adding there is a huge ballroom in there. I was curious about it, but I continued to follow her. The strange coolness lingered between us. A few times, she glanced back not looking at me she glared at someone else someone I could not see.

The searing pain scorched my mind. Closing my eyes I reached for my head falling to my knees. “I am here…I am here.” The distorted voice called to me, the fog within the image thickened.

As fast as it came it faded. Memorizing details of the portraits, it felt like someone stood behind me. A voice harsh and brittle whispered in my ear. “Leave…now,” it demanded seething. I spun around to find empty space. Looking in each direction I wondered who chose to play such a cruel joke.

Miss Brantshire popped her head around the corner, “do not dawdle.” She grabbed me by the shoulder gently shoving me forward. Her hand is much colder than I expected. “Move,” she said icily to me.

She led me down a small tiled hallway with a door sitting next to wooden benches and coat racks. I could hear voices around the corner. Tile decorated the walls and flooring.

Bethanne kneaded dough at a long table with baskets full of dough and bread baking in the oven. A bustier woman whispered in her ear while drying her hands on a towel smudged with flour. This woman had tinged brown hair with gray highlights. I hadn’t seen a dress look so old fashioned. Plain pale gray with a white apron and part of her hair is covered by a bonnet.

“Miss Clary this is Avaya Emerson, master Caulder’s niece. The master does not have time to keep an eye on her.” Both women sized me up. Apparently in agreement that my being here in an inconvenience.

“Yes ma’am I understand. I will get her a work dress I can use the help. Ever bake bread deary?” Miss Clary asked me her cheeks rosy red.

“No, we buy our bread at the store.” A room full of women started laughing while they continued to do dishes and various assigned tasks in the kitchen. Miss Clary pointed at me with some floured dough stuck to her finger, “you’ll learn.” She became as stern as Miss Brantshire.

“Bethanne,” Miss Brantshire spoke to her calmly. She eyed me mysteriously. I haven’t even been here a day and she already decided I am troublemaker. “Please…show Miss Emerson to her room.”

“Yes ma’am.” Bethanne didn’t miss a beat as she kneaded the dough.

Miss Brantshire stopped in the doorway and turned around. “She is in the terrace room. Make sure Miss Emerson remains in her room.” She turned to me, “we do not need you wandering the mansion.” She left gliding. Was she even walking? It looked more like she floated away.

THREE

Curiosity

We walked to the foyer where my bags sat against the wall.

“Everything all right,” she furrowed her brows.

“Yeah,”
I hope
…“everything is all right.” I leaned against the wall not feeling well. Pain seared my memory. Black fog veiled murky images. People I noticed were blurred and I heard muffled voices but couldn’t make out what they said. When I came to Bethanne stared at me, “miss sit down for a minute.”

“No, no I’m okay.” I breathed in and out deeply.

My luggage felt like a hundred pounds of extra weight on my shoulders. Intricate designs scarred the wood along the cherry banister as we climbed the T shaped stairs.

I stopped for a minute on the second floor, thinking I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. “This way miss,” she coaxed me to another set of stairs rounded leading to the third floor.

It is hard not to notice how odd this desolate place has preserved such beauty. The ornate carvings from floor to ceiling are extravagant. I walk in a circle gauging my new surroundings. I turned back to the stairs looking down the sound of a small cry bounced off the walls. “What is that?” I asked Bethanne alarmed.

“It is nothing, follow me.” Bethanne hastily ushered me toward the third floor. There were more stairs shaped like a box leading to more floors. Bethanne led me away.

“Nothing is on the fourth floor miss, simply more bedrooms and stairs leading to an attic.” I got distracted by portraits hanging on the walls. I was no longer listening to Bethanne speak to me.

There was a loud thud I grabbed my head with both hands. The pain is excruciating. Not again. It was all muddled and unclear, the headache didn’t last long the image faded before I could make out any details, before the fog covered it all up. That voice soothing me radiated comfort.

“Are you sure Miss that you are all right?” Bethanne held an antique vase in her hand. I figured I must have knocked it over accidentally from the decorative table.

“Yeah, I’m sure…I’m fine.” That sounded convincing. Bethanne stared at me inquisitively “Really I’m okay.”

Bethanne nods, “very well, your room is this way.”

She leads me down another hallway. This must be the west wing.

I keep pace with Bethanne as she walks and speaks. I stopped something caught my attention. A separate hallway angled in a strange direction. It is dark and lifeless. I am not even able to see all the way down. Strangely fascinated I stare into the abyss.

“What’s down there?” I gesture down the hall.

Curiosity overtakes me. Taking a deep breath, I make one bold step up the mini stairs. I Spun around to find out who it was that gently grabbed my arm. I was transfixed by the dark hallway I had forgot Bethanne stood beside me. She guided me away with an unsure furrow of her brow. “Miss we mustn’t go down this hall.”

I say to her, “is that forbidden too? Another rule I take it.”

Bethanne presses her lips into a straight line. It is clear standing near this hallway makes her nervous. Why would it though. It is just a hallway… isn’t it? She moves away from the darkness of the hallway swiftly.

“Yes…ma’am that is correct.” Her old English accent stumbled over her words.

I didn’t press the matter further. Glancing back one last second, the eeriness the hallway generates. The tug pulled at me to keep moving forward away from the mystery.

Standing in my room I set my backpack on one of those decoration purposes only chairs. A king Mahogany bed is against the wall with a beautiful sheer midnight blue canopy strung over four bed posts. The black and purple bedding set added allure.

A vanity station sat across from the bed. There were perfumes from different places sitting against the backside and make-up organized on the side. I ran my fingers carefully against the marble finish. This wasn’t much of a thing for me, wearing make-up and perfume. A note with delicate writing from Uncle James said:

I had these sent over from Europe, I hope you enjoy them.

A huge box shape of curtains hung from the wall. While I unpacked I turned to Bethanne, “what is out there?”

Cheerful she says, “the terrace miss, go on have a look.”

The curtain silky and soft between my fingers, ivory in color it is light. Pulling back the curtain double doors led outside overlooking the expansive back of the property. Movement caught my eye, gazing up I scream. A girl not much older than I am is standing on the terrace. Her back is to me, I don’t know the direction she is staring. Gold highlighted brown hair is up with curls swirling around two pins.

Carefully I open the door hoping it is just my imagination. The door clicks open. The air is cool and breezing, I step out onto the terrace. This girl turns to me I try to hold in another scream. She is translucent staring brightly at me.

“Have you seen him? I’m so concerned.” Her voice is lilting and kind. I had no idea who she was talking about. This girl stared at me a brief time longer. I was frozen until she turned toward the stone railing of the terrace and disappeared. She just faded away right before my eyes.

My feet started moving before the rest of my body and I stumbled through the door. “Miss what is it? You look like you had a bit of a fright.”

Slowly I nod. Looking back outside on the terrace, she is still gone.

Heading outside again, I am in awe. A cascading pond laps up against rocks on the property. I wonder how deep it is, how far it goes. The same mountain I saw
earlier back drops against the pond. I hadn’t noticed how wooded the area would be. Forest extends for miles. In the distance I could almost see Woodenbury, barely.

“Miss I took the liberty of finishing the unpacking while you were outside. All your clothes are in the armoire. The bathroom is just there.” Bethanne pointed to a white door with a fancy knob, all trimmed in gold. “Master Caulder had it stocked with bath salts and gels. I hope they are to your liking miss.”

Sighing I turn to Bethanne, noticing something strange. About her, like I am noticing her for the first time. She isn’t faking her accent, not that it isn’t possible. It is obvious she is speaking naturally. Taking a step back I say to her, “Bethanne call me Avaya.” Bethanne confused replied. “Miss…that would not be proper.”

The doors opened, Miss Brantshire strode into the room. “Bethanne I need help now,” she starts to leave pausing. “Oh and Avaya do not wander. Stay here,” she snaps.

I sit down on the bed alone for the first time since I arrived.

“Did you hear me?” I whip my head up. Miss Brantshire stood in the door way.

“Yes, I won’t go anywhere.” I sigh.

“Good. A young girl does not need to roam the mansion unattended. Bethanne will return shortly.”

Miss Brantshire shut the door behind her, leaving me behind. A portrait over the fireplace framed in gold. I hadn’t noticed it before. A young woman sat proper. Straight backed her hands folded in her lap. This must have been her room, whoever she was.

A sharp pain stabbed my head. The image trying to knock at my memory intensified. Mingled with sleep, I laid my head on the pillow hearing the whisper echo, “I am here…I am here.”

* * *

I heard my name being called, coaxing me out of sleep. “Avaya…Avaya wake up.” Opening my eyes Bethanne stood next to the bed. “It is time for dinner.”

Eating anything was furthest from my mind. It was hard to believe this morning I was in my hometown and now…I’m stuck in a dark gothic mansion.

“Thanks…I’m not hungry.” Turning over a try of food sat in the room. Bethanne placed a covering wheeling it near the terrace doors.

Bethanne rummaged through my armoire. I wasn’t even sure what time it was getting to be. “Which would you like to wear to bed?” She held up a matching shorts and tank top set next to a sleep dress. Bethanne had to be joking.

“I can dress myself, thanks…I can handle it.”

I gave Bethanne an inquiring look. My mom taught me to dress myself when I was about five years old. Right before I started kindergarten. “Forgive me miss.” She said turning to leave my room again.

Not long after her departure I heard movement in the hallway. I took a deep breathing closing my eyes. I opened the door darkness flooded the hall. It was empty.

I shut my door closing myself into my new room.

FO
UR

Nightmare

In bed slowly drifting into a dreamful sleep. I hear the faint echo of music playing. Listening I drift further, until the volume increases.

It woke me from deep exhaustion. The headache faded, my awareness strengthened. The beautiful sound called to me. A string attached to my heart encouraging me to follow the fluctuating rhythm of the lyrical notes.

Carefully getting out of bed, I grab the new robe and slippers left at my bedside. I peer out into the hallway hearing nothing more than silence.

I must have imagined the music.

I paced casually around the room looking at the antique couch and table near the fireplace. On the mantle a black and white photo of a boy and young girl dressing in their best clothes stood posing together. I double backed and picked up the framed photo. It couldn’t be.

That was the same girl I saw on the terrace. She wasn’t much younger than I am. She must have been about fourteen years old maybe. The boy, he was an older boy. He had one of those faces where he could be my age or a few years older. I couldn’t tell. Placing the photo carefully on the mantle I turn away. A few steps away I hear glass shatter, whipping around the photo had fallen off the mantle.

I noticed my door was open a little bit, didn’t I close it when I came back inside. Placing my hand on the handle about to close the door there is a haunting sound, bouncing against the walls. Straining to hear I take a step out of my room. A girl stands at the end of the long hallway. Her head is bent down, shoulders shaking. “Hello…you okay?” I call out.

She whips her head in my direction. This girl is pale, I gasp loudly. She runs off in the direction of the main hall connected to the west wing. I barely saw her features her night dress glowed in the darkness almost iridescent.

I didn’t understand what was going on here at this mansion. An uncle who knew I’d be coming here and has yet to introduce himself to me. My parents are nowhere to be found the detectives said they no longer are living. I don’t believe them. I have a hunch the two detectives Carl and Bennett know something they weren’t saying. The dismal thought crossed my mind, maybe my mom and dad had died. It couldn’t be true. It was hard to think my parents were gone.

Lying back down, I willed my mind to dream the dream which brought me comfort. I didn’t start having the dream until last year on my fifteenth birthday. I wanted to see him, the boy in my dream. I would sometimes find my eyes scanning crowds searching out his face. Even at the airport I thought he was there, but it was my imagination.

Wide awake I leave my room to explore the quiet estate. The thought to check out the forbidden hallway teased me. A sensation overtakes me, a warning to stay away. I decided to listen to the warning this time.

I walk by several doors until I am standing at a staircase connected to the main hallway. A light is glowing on the stairs. It is a brief second before a figure is coming up the stairs holding a flickering candle in their hand. They are wearing all black.
Miss Brantshire.
My first thought.

Pulling away from the boxed staircase, I hide behind a wall. I waited a minute until there is silence. I rush down the hall coming to an abrupt stop catching a quick glimpse of a girl with wavy golden brown hair flowing behind her. My reflection stared back at me. A large mirror was on the wall.

I thought I had seen someone in the mirror with a white gown on. Maybe I really was starting to lose it. It is an old mansion. It wouldn’t be completely inaccurate that my brain naturally would play tricks on me.

Navigating my way to the central stairs, I walk down to the main floor. I go to the left there is a gallery of paintings and photos down a hallway behind the
stairs. I stood in the domed shape room. I turn in a circle attempting to take in as many as I can. There are so many. I come to a stop in front of some painted portraits.

One in particular caught my eye.

A young guy, well a teenager…stared back at me. His facial features are unusual for someone from his time, whenever that would have been. His hair is blond. Dazzling blue eyes bore into my hazel eyes. His complexion is paler than any of the other portraits and paintings. I almost fell backward recognition hit me. He is the boy from my dreams.

Staring at him, it is like he can see into my soul. This is impossible
. I can’t be captivated by a historical figure.
Even if…he resembles the older boy in my dreams. There is a plaque beneath his painting.

Luken Vandersen, 1882

“Luken” I say out loud. It has a nice sound to it, unique name.

Mesmerized by his gothic elegance I gaze at the painting. His eyes follow me as I move around the room. Luken isn’t able to keep his eyes off me either. Luken wore a black dress shirt with a black overcoat and black pants. He held himself with confidence, alluding to his charming ego. A smirk played at his lips. Luken must have been the popular bachelor with ladies who hoped to end up with him.

The room fills with cold air. A brutal chill surrounds me until my teeth barely chatter. “Stay away.” The cold dissipates as quickly as it appeared. Unsure of the voice, I glance behind me to see the tip of a dress fading around the corner.

My heart pounds against my chest. Thoughts cloud my mind of Luken in the past. The fog grows deeper the moment a headache surges. The foggy images push their way to the forefront of my mind. The headaches were starting to get worse. The images murky and blurry were fighting to stay hidden. I linger long enough to hear resonating sounds of music.

I follow the beautiful melody it radiates from double doors in an area nobody showed me. A room hidden down a hallway, sticking my ear against the door I listen intently.

Cautiously I opened the double wood carved doors, “hello?”

The room was empty. In the corner sat a piano, a long stand against the piano for sheet music looked dusty with aged paper and a bench. Dust and cobwebs were scattered around the room.
This must be the parlor room.
I thought to myself. Clearly not a soul has set foot in this room in over a century maybe longer. I wasn’t sure of the mansion’s age.

A chill in the air ran up my spine. I didn’t see anyone in here with me. Making my way toward the door, I start to leave. “What are you doing in here?” A scream echoes off the walls.

Miss Brantshire forces me back to the third floor. She watched every step I took as I made way back to my room. The prickling feeling of being watched crept over me. It left a jittery sense to lock the door behind me.

* * *

“Avaya, come on let’s go.” Mom calls out to me.

“I’m coming.” I call out to her with a sense of déjà vu.

An older boy is in the sand facing me. He looks out of place his clothes don’t match the typical beach wear attire. A white dress shirt untucked relaxed at his sides. Black slacks clung to his hips, rolled up to his shins.

I find myself in the car not sure how I ended up here. Not taking my eyes off of the boy…his is…I don’t know. I make an excuse, “I forgot my sweater,” and get out of the car.

My dad leans his head toward the passenger back door. “Get it and let’s go.”

I grab it. He is standing close by still. Brushing him off, I head back towards the car. He is standing in front of me. How did he do that? Those blue eyes are so familiar, yet I can’t remember where I know them. I don’t know him.

“Avaya…it is too late,” he gently takes my hand, “stay here with me.”

His touch alone sparks a jolt in me. No guy has held my hand so delicately before. I’m taken aback by the fact he knows my name. Instead of pulling my hand away I relax into it. It brings a strange comfort I haven’t experienced before.

“Who are you?”

He smirks lifting his hand away from mine. “There will be time for introductions soon.” Why couldn’t I remember him?

He stares over my shoulder concern flinching in his deep blue eyes. I want to see what he is looking at, I glance back to see what is occupying his attention. I felt him grasp my hand urgently.

My parents their car is gone. The beach falls away and I find myself some place new. The scent of wood hits my nostrils. My body is pressed up against the boy our hands still clasped together. His arm clings to my back keeping close.

“What is this place?” My eyes shift up to his.

I don’t know how we got to this unfamiliar place. The dry patch of land where the car was parked sat between two small hills. My vision starts to become hazy and cloudy. I blinked to find myself somewhere else. The boy is no longer with me.  I lay in a dark cramped space. Everything became mixed with thick fog.

An echoing scream pierced the air, “Luken!”

My eyes fluttered open, I sat up quickly. I could hear the echo of the shattering noise. It had been me. Running my hand through my hair, I heard the faded sounds of pleased laughter.