Authors: Gabriella Lepore
Right, back to the dressing table.
Let me see. What did I bring with me? A jewellery box, wash bag, a book…
My gaze wandered to the window. Beyond the glass, a procession of feathery white clouds floated leisurely by.
The movement must have been lulling because, to my surprise, I felt my eyelids droop. It wasn’t long before I surrendered to their weight and let them close completely.
Maybe a little nap wouldn’t be such a bad thing…
THE GIRL WALKED STIFFLY THROUGH
a forsaken landscape. No plants or life grew. There was nothing but parched ground and a dark, oppressive sky. She walked on, reluctant but unable to stop.
The dull, opaque clouds churned above her, and she could hardly see beyond the grim shadows that lurked before her. But she could see one thing
—
the only other living entity in the sparse land.
Hunched on the ground was some sort of creature. Its body was arched on the floor, concealed by a black cloak. It remained perfectly still, only taking occasional shallow breaths, causing the form to pulsate slightly.
The girl stopped walking, instinctively fearful.
And then, with a guttural moan, the creature began to convulse. Out from beneath the cloak an ivory claw revealed itself, hooking down into the ground, anchoring itself, pulling its body forward.
The girl tried to cry out, but no sound passed her lips.
Still hunched low to the ground, the creature heaved itself towards her. As it closed in on her, its body began to rear upwards, growing taller and taller until it was twice her size. Shrouded behind the cloak, only two menacing black eyes were visible; the beady eyes of a crow bulging from the ashen skull of a man.
She let out a petrified scream.
I WOKE MYSELF UP, SCREAMING
. Simultaneously, a clap of thunder echoed throughout my bedroom.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
Where did all the daylight go?
The attic room was submerged in total darkness and was literally shaking under the pressure of a violent storm. Outside, the rain hammered fiercely upon the roof and stabbed against the window pane, vigorously rattling the delicate glass.
Scrambling off my bed, I dived for the light switch. Those five seconds during which I stumbled around in blinding darkness—post nightmare, I might add—were the longest five seconds of my life. Somewhere between second number three and second number four, I became convinced that I was having a heart attack. Thank God for second number five, which shall evermore be referred to as ‘The Bringer of Light’.
Artificial light flooded the little room. I felt a degree of relief, but my heart was still hammering in my chest.
After a nightmare, I knew, the logical thing to do was remind myself that ‘it was just a dream’.
I skipped that stage and went straight to the ‘something’s in the room with me’ rationale. Logical thinking was not my strong point. Besides, when you have the same dream one hundred times over, logic kind of loses its novelty.
“Mary?” I yelled.
When there was no response, I peeked out from my bedroom. At the bottom of my private steps I could see that the upper hallway was empty and the lights were out. Mary and Roger must have been downstairs.
I hurried down the attic steps and crossed the hallway to the main staircase.
I made it down two flights of stairs in record time—navigating a dark manor house always made me move a little faster.
I could hear Mary and Roger talking, and I traced their voices to the kitchen.
Mary greeted me brightly when I appeared in the doorway. “Hi, Rosie! We thought you were asleep. I was just about to come upstairs and wake you.”
I stepped into the kitchen. It was warm and spacious, decorated in wholesome shades of apricot. A long breakfast table ran through the centre, with eight stools positioned around it. Mary and Roger were seated on stools opposite each other, sipping at mugs of tea.
I pulled up a stool beside Mary. “Yeah, I must have fallen asleep. I think the thunder woke me up.” I didn’t bother mentioning the nightmare. It was less embarrassing to blame it on the thunder.
“Funny old day,” Mary said as she gazed out of the kitchen window, looking over the unlit garden. “That storm came out of nowhere. It’s hard to believe that it was sunny this afternoon.”
Roger rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yes. What a strange summer it’s been. Very unpredictable.”
“Hmm,” Mary nodded and took a sip of her tea. “Oh, Rose,” she said suddenly. “You must be starving. I thought I could make us a late dinner, to celebrate your first night here. Only something light. How does a chicken salad sound? Will that be enough for you?”
“Yes, that sounds perfect. Thanks.” Come to think of it, my stomach was feeling hollow. “Can I help with anything?”
“No,” Mary gulped down the last of her tea and took the mug to the sink, “the salad’s already made and the dining room table is set.” She toddled over to the fridge and took out a clay salad bowl, filled to the brim with leafy greens, croutons and strips of cooked chicken.
Roger and I made our way through the kitchen and into the adjoining dining room.
The furnishings in the dining room were all dark mahogany, even down to the dark wood floors. It was arguably the most stylish room in the house, adorned with a chandelier, high-backed dining chairs, and gold-framed patio doors. The dining table itself was equally elegant. It had been lit up with decorative lanterns and three places had been laid out, all with matching wicker placemats, white china plates and elaborate silverware.
While Roger and I took our seats, Mary surfaced, carrying the salad bowl. She dished out three portions and placed the half-empty bowl in the centre.
Together we sat down to eat, beginning our first family night
of the summer. Just the three of us.
“It’s really coming down out there,” Roger commented, peering over the rim of his glasses.
Mary and I looked to the patio doors.
“I’m glad I got my washing done nice and early,” Mary mused. She pierced her fork through a crisp lettuce leaf and popped it into her mouth.
“I wouldn’t want to be out on a night like this,” Roger added.
As if on cue, the melodic chime of the doorbell rang through the hallway.
Mary looked at Roger in utter bewilderment. “Who would be calling round at this time? In this weather?”
Roger pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have the foggiest.” He patted his mouth with a napkin and folded it neatly on the table. “Let’s see who this is,” he muttered, excusing himself to answer the door.
Mary and I stayed quiet, listening for the exchange that was about to take place. We heard Roger’s footsteps click along the wooden floor, and then the sound of him unhooking the front door latch.
“Oh,” he said, clearly surprised. “Hello there. What can I do for you?”
Mary and I frowned at one another.
Then came the first unfamiliar voice. A male, polite and well spoken.
“Hello, sir. My name is Caicus Valero. This is my brother, Oscar. We’re terribly sorry to call upon you at such a late hour, but we’re having some car trouble.”
“Oh dear,” Roger replied. “What seems to be the problem?”
Now the second voice spoke, this one smooth like dripping honey. “We can’t be certain,” he replied to Roger’s question vaguely and with a touch of disinterest. “You know cars.”
“Oh dear. Well, you’ll never get a mechanic at this time of night…” Roger trailed off.
“No, I’m afraid not,” agreed Caicus. “That’s why we were thinking it would be best if we stayed the night here.”
There was a brief pause, and then Roger spoke again.
“Absolutely. Do come in.”
At this point, Mary and I gawped at one another.
“Uncle Roger can’t just let strangers sleep in the house!” I spluttered.
“No, he most certainly cannot!” Mary dropped her fork onto the table, ready to charge out and
un
invite the uninvited guests. But before she had even risen from her seat, in walked Roger, followed by two boys, both aged around eighteen.
The first boy was blonde and, although dampened by rain, his hair fell in immaculate waves that curved flawlessly across his brow. His eyes were ice blue and he wore smart beige trousers, a white shirt and a denim jacket. He flashed Mary a dazzling smile, then fleetingly glanced at me.
“Ladies. My name is Caicus Valero.” He offered his hand to Mary. She shook it, visibly stunned.
The second boy stepped forward. This one had raven black hair and copper-coloured eyes. He wore black jeans and a charcoal grey T-shirt, with a black waxed jacket on top.
Let me just say that if ever I had any doubts about the definition of the word ‘beautiful’, then they were eradicated at that moment.
He was beautiful.
In fact, both boys were extraordinarily handsome, but in appearance they looked nothing alike. Polar opposites, even. Their only comparable feature was the same arrogant smirk that occasionally flickered over their lips.
“I do apologise for such an impromptu visit,” Caicus said, addressing Mary as though they were old friends. “My brother and I have found ourselves in quite a pickle. You understand, though.”
Presumptuous!
I thought, in disbelief.
“Of course,” Mary answered the blonde boy. “Car trouble, is it?”
He feigned an overly saddened expression. “Oh yes. Terrible car trouble. And on such a stormy night. My poor brother has found the entire thing very distressing. His nerves are shot to pieces, God love him.”
The dark-haired boy seemed to be battling to suppress a grin. “I’m of a nervous disposition as it is,” he chimed in, though his remark was highly unconvincing.
Were these guys for real?
“Oh, my apologies,” Caicus slapped his hand to his head. “I have not properly introduced my dear brother, Oscar.” He gestured to his companion.
Oscar gave Mary a striking smile. “Oscar Valero.”
“Oh. Pleasure to meet you both,” Mary told them. “I’m Mary Clements. You’ve met my husband, Roger. And this is our niece, Rose. She’s staying with us over the summer.”
Caicus fixed his cool blue eyes on me. “Oh, how nice,” he said in a sickly sweet voice.
Yuck.
I grimaced.
Insufferable!
Regardless of my inward dislike, I forced a smile. They may have been good looking, but they definitely weren’t good people. They oozed falseness and superiority. I didn’t like them and I most certainly didn’t trust them.
Caicus continued, “I think it’s best if we stay here tonight,” he stated, specifically to Mary. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
I stared at him, incredulously. I watched as his unnerving eyes seemed to bore into Mary.
Whoa.
It seemed totally implausible, but I was almost sure that Caicus’s eyes had changed colour. A second before they’d been blue, but at the moment he focused upon Mary, they gleamed like white diamonds. Even in the dimly-lit dining room, his eyes shimmered like glaciers. And if that transformation alone hadn’t been bizarre enough, something even more peculiar happened. To my sheer astonishment, Mary nodded her head in concurrence.
“Yes, you must stay here,” she insisted. “You can sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. The twin room at the far end will be perfect.”
“Aunt Mary!” I exclaimed. “Perhaps the boys would be better off in a hotel.”
Caicus and Oscar seemed taken aback, almost as though they were shocked by my disinclination.
“No,” Caicus rejected my suggestion. He cast his crystal eyes onto me now. “It’s best for us to stay here,” he repeated assertively.
Suddenly I felt dizzy and exposed.
“I think that’s very inappropriate,” I countered, trying to maintain a cool head.
Now the boys looked only at one another. Caicus’s eyebrows knotted together, and for a second it seemed as though they were communicating silently. After a moment of hesitation, Caicus returned his attention to Mary.
“So, the guest bedroom?” he prompted, evidently choosing to ignore me.
With Caicus’s eyes cast away from me, I felt normal again.
Mary, however, was acting far from normal. She blinked as though someone had shone a bright torch directly at her. “Yes, I’ll show you the way.”
The newcomers gave their first genuine smiles of the evening.
“Wait!” I made one last attempt to talk some sense into my aunt and uncle. But as I leapt up from my chair, Oscar whirled around to face me. For the first time that evening, I really saw him.
The intensity of the connection stopped me in my tracks. But not in the same way that Caicus’s stare had unsettled me. Quite the opposite. Where Caicus’s eyes had felt intrusive, Oscar’s gave me a sense of recognition—almost to the point where I would have staked my life that I knew him, or knew those eyes at least. And, judging by his agitated expression, it was as though he recognised me, too.