Originally hosted on https://illoria.wixsite.com/annamittower/anthology-of-speculative-scribbles

The slender child lay stretched out on the dark wooden table staring up at the grand chandelier sparkling in the small shafts of sunlight permitted passage by the ivy crowding the windows. Here and there the glitter was absent or thinner as the sunlight passed over patches where stones had fallen off or had been removed. Not even the stubs of candles remained in the candle cups. Only the drips of wax encrusting the cups and the arms beneath it told of the candles which once lit this grand hall. Cobwebs and dust added their weight to the chandelier, sifting down if a breeze blew into the room from a window missing a pane of glass.

If the child bothered to sit up, from her vantage point she would be able to see the faded green velvet upholstery on the worn chairs, the dirt and leaves staining the patchy carpet, and a grand fireplace black with soot and filled with yet more detritus. But why would she bother? She had seen it enough to long be tired of it. Instead, she continued to gaze up at the chandelier and the rainbows dancing across the ceiling. It wouldn’t last for long. The sun had to shine at precisely the right angle to penetrate through the ivy and, even as she watched, the sun moved too far and the rainbows ceased their play.

The room resumed its normal dull, dim appearance and she slowly sat up, looking around her. The room had once been magnificent, a grand hall filled with banquets and the chatter of finely dressed people. But all those were shadows that she could barely remember now. She couldn’t even remember the smell or taste of the food.

With a sigh, she slid herself to the edge of the table and hopped down. Without the sun to decorate the rooms, the mansion sat in hushed shadowed stillness as she silently wandered through the rooms. The library had once provided her with endless hours of entertainment, but now the tomes had disintegrated into dust, their contents completely beyond access. Bereft of any entertainment or task, she decided to sit in the evening parlor room which overlooked the garden and observe the flowers.

The garden had long shed its manicured appearance and morphed into a wild jungle of plants, trees, and vines, but many of the flowers remained and thrived, showing as splashes of color against the dense greenery. Their petals glowed prettily in the remaining sunlight, the flowers swaying slightly in the breeze which stirred the air outside. Mesmerized, the girl sat in the window seat with her head against the glass and stared down at the garden. She only moved when the sunlight completely disappeared, plunging the mansion into total darkness.

Tonight was the night of a new moon so there would be no moonlight to enjoy. Even the stars hid themselves behind the thickening clouds. Resigned to a boring night, the girl left the parlor and wandered aimlessly. Eventually, her feet took her to the library. Empty as it was, being in that room could bring up the memories of what she’d read, filling the night with something other than darkness.

Halfway through a retelling of her favorite love story, she paused and cocked her head. There it came again: a noise not made by the mansion. She knew all of its noises by now and this was not one of them. It brought back a shadow of a memory. She’d heard that noise before, long ago.

Ah!

A footstep. That was it. A foot stepping on thick carpet which muffled the sound. That had confused her ears at first.

Curious, she rose out of the chair and slowly approached the wide open door into the hall. When she looked around the doorway, she saw a figure entering the hall from a stair which led to a lower level. In the figure’s hand glowed a light. It was only a small candle, but it lit the darkness in the hall enough for her to see the figure more clearly.

The person, for it was a human, holding the candle had brown hair cropped short and the smooth unblemished skin of the young, but his clothes were so unfamiliar that she had no idea what he was actually wearing. It all blended into a mix of blue with dashes of silver. The young man paused once in the hall and held up the candle to examine the portraits on the wall. Dust settled in all the brushstrokes, obscuring the subjects and he had to use a cloth to wipe them off before he could see their faces.

He appeared satisfied by what he saw because he nodded and examined the portraits more closely as if searching for something. This slowed his progress up the hall and the girl moved into deeper shadows. She watched him, curious as to his purpose. It was the first time in too many years that she had even seen a human face and she wasn’t quite sure what she should do or feel. For now, she would hide, wait and follow.

The young man searched all of the portraits in the hall, but didn’t seem to find what he was looking for. He continued exploring the house, looking into every room, but he only examined the portraits closely. At last, in an upper level in the wing of the house filled with the larger sleeping rooms, he finally found what he searched for.

It was a small painting, less than two feet tall, and unlike every other picture in the house it was covered with a black cloth. The girl vaguely felt that there was a reason he should not touch the portrait, but the memory slid out of her grasp. She could only remain silent and watch as he reached out a hand to remove the cloth. As it slid off in his grasp, the memory finally came to her and she opened her mouth.

A yell filled the hallway, but it wasn’t from her. The man stared in horror at the portrait revealed under the cloth. All of the other subjects had been normal humans, dressed in finery from various eras. But this? The subject was also dressed in finery, from an era far in the past, but the clothes were tattered and bloody. And the thing wearing the clothes was hardly recognizable as a human girl. The small form’s gray desiccated skin was smeared with blood from a long cut across the throat. The corpse stared out at him from the surface of the painting. Or it would have stared if any eyes had remained. The hollow sockets dripped blood and some clear liquid.

Behind him, the girl’s scream finally rang out shrilly, but it went completely unheard by him. The mansion, however, heard her and it shuddered around them both. She wanted to yell at him “Leave! Get out!” but she couldn’t form the words.

Just then the young man overcame his repulsion and snatched the painting from the wall. Hurriedly, he turned and ran right past her, unseeing in his haste to leave the mansion with his prize. Shocked at his audacity, she remained rooted to the spot until his back vanished around the corner. But then, anger overcame the shock and she forced herself to chase after him. She was faster, but he had a head start and the longer legs. She pursued him through hallways and down stair after stair until she finally caught up.

As she came within reaching distance of his back, however, he crossed the threshold of the mansion and escaped out in the open air. She halted, unable to follow him further. Her anguish at the theft stirred the air around the mansion into a gale, attempting to force the man back within her grasp, but he was too strong for the winds to control him. He pushed forward, though he threw one look back towards the open doors.

She thought he might have spotted her, but she was too angry to care. Her fury drove the winds to do her bidding. But, before she could catch the man and retrieve her property, the first rays of the morning sun gilded the top floors of the mansion. Now the anger turned into panic. She had to retrieve that painting. It was urgent. The memory said so.

Her panic inspired the winds into even higher speeds, virtually creating a tornado around the entire mansion. The man started to lose his footing, the strong winds tearing at his clothing. With one final effort, he looked for the sun, found it, and held up the portrait to catch the light creeping down the front face of the mansion. His feet left deep skid marks on the ground as he was pulled towards the front door and her. She reached out a hand to grab the painting.

But she was too late.

The sun rose high enough in the sky to fully illuminate the mansion in bright gold. With a sizzling sound, the sunlight bathed the painting and pain shot through her. The winds faltered as the pain disrupted her concentration. The young man dropped the painting as it fully combusted into fire in the sunlight. He whipped around to look behind him as he finally heard her scream. For one long moment, his eyes met hers and she knew that he truly saw her. He could see her flawless false appearance only for a fleeting second, but then she changed into the same one hidden and locked into the portrait. The moment ended as her transparent body combusted into silver flames. When the flames faded, nothing remained of the girl. Only a pile of ashes, the remains of the portrait, lay on the ground in front of him.

His heart pounded from the averted crisis. If he hadn’t managed to escape, he would have become just another dusty portrait in the mansion. But now, the curse was broken. As he watched, the mansion shuddered and groaned, the magic sustaining it draining away. It collapsed into a pile of rubble with a ground shaking roar, burying forever the dead within. He backed further away as it did, but even so the dust swirled around him.

Choking, he pushed his way through the overgrown path to the rusted gates and crumbling wall of the estate. Both the gates and walls had now collapsed as well and his horse danced at the end of the rope tying it to the tree across the road from the gates.

“Easy now, old boy. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. It’s all over.”

The young man patted his horse and soothed him before mounting. He nudged it into a trot and turned towards home, glad that his task was done, but with the knowledge that the memory of that girl’s two faces would be seared permanently into his mind’s eye.

THE END