“Who are you?” I asked in a distant tone at Mr. Valentine. He had taken seat in the same place he had in my memories of the morning prior. He returned my look with his own piercing eyes.
“Vincent Valentine, of course. Why do you ask?” My head was spinning but my determination shined through with clear focus.
“Because I can’t remember you. I can’t remember a single thing I wrote about you in my essay. And last night-“ He raised one of his boney fingers to silence me.
“It’s been seven months since we first got in contact with each other. Memories fade. I understand that. Please have some breakfast and hopefully calm your nerves. You slept so long you nearly missed it.”
I walked over to the far side of the kitchen and put my hand to my forehead. A clammy cold sweat had exuded from my skin from the very moment that I had woken up.
“You look abysmal. Maybe you’re fighting off some jet lag. Lucas, bring the poor woman some lavender water.” He looked towards the back of the room behind my shoulder and a voice responded.
“Yes Mr. Valentine.”
“Please, sit down. The sun will cast off the shadows from that came from the night. And hopefully some of those shadows will be from the post travel jitters that you must be feeling. After all, I’d hate for you to leave before I have a chance to teach you anything.” His eyes carried with them such genuine grace and that his look alone had put me at ease.
I sat down and glanced over to my breakfast. It was the same as the day prior.
The Butler Lucas had quickly brought me out a glass of lavender infused water. A pristine twig floated at the top irradiating the glass in a purple hue. I took a sip and slowly felt my fear wash away.
“I’m sorry Mr. Valentine. I think I had a rough dream last night.” I watched the lavender sprout twirl around in the dull current of my glass.
“It’s understandable. Visiting someplace new always comes with its sense of unease. It happens to the best of us.” I heard my stomach growl to him in response. I felt my face turn a rose color as I began to feel silly over the whole thing. “By all means, eat to your hearts content. You’ll need your strength for later tonight. We have another lesson scheduled.”
I gave him a bitter sweet smile and began to eat my breakfast. It was a little colder today but all the same it tasted delicious. Mr. Valentine politely waited until I finished eating before he continued.
“I was thinking this afternoon you could spend some time in your room writing up a story for me. Tonight you can head over to my Den and read it. I’ll help make it a little more authentic if I can.” The elderly writer smiled and stood up from his table. “It’s been a roller coaster of a wonderful morning. And the days just starting. I hope you begin to feel better soon.” And with that he walked away leaving me alone with Lucas.
“Hey Lucas?” I asked, my voice feeling faint.
“Yes Madam?” He replied with his usual servile tone.
“Do you think you could make sure my door is locked tonight?” There was a slight twitch of Lucas’s lips before he nodded to my request.
“Absolutely. We’ll make sure to lock it up after your retreat inside. I hope the night servants didn’t bother you last night.” I couldn’t bear to look up at the Servant. I continuously felt silly about the whole thing. Yet the visage of the Maid still haunted the dark corners of my mind.
I finished up my drink and took leave from the dining room. I thanked Lucas for the meal and headed upstairs to my chambers. The afternoon sun basked its earthly glow into the bedroom, caking the writers desk in a brilliant spotlight. I placed my journal on the desk and began writing. My story was that of a man trapped behind a windowless room. Each breath he took shrunk the room bit by bit until he was encased in the plaster, his last breath fatally sealing his final image into its plaster casing.
By the time I had finished the sun had already begun to set. I double and triple checked my work. Editing was never my strong suit but I’d be damned if I read an unpolished work in front of an accredited author. I wanted to make sure my story was as close to being as professionally crafted as possible.
Feeling just barely over the edge of content with my final draft, I had placed my writing pen down. I looked into my bedroom mirror and took in a deep breath. Dark circles had formed around my eyes and I looked exhausted. My stomach still in knots from the day prior. If anything it had only gotten worse with this newest task.
But still, I swallowed my worry down and tucked the book under my arm.
I went to open my door and to my thankfulness the knob twisted with ease and allowed me an exit. I silently stepped down the stairs trying not to impose my presence within the manor any more than I already had.
Within just a moment I had reached the hallway towards the den and I had felt that it had doubled in size since I had last seen it.
It was as if the home itself was challenging me. It demanded me to take the long walk down the aisle with the audience of ghastly portraits being my only company. Only to worsen those thoughts was the flashback visions of the endless halls that had occupied my nightmares the night before.
What should happen if I walked towards the Den only to discover more hallways at the end of it? Would it have led to another night of anxious retreat down the unending stone passages of the Manor? Would I have run until I awoke in a cold sweat once more?
I swallowed the thoughts away and stood up straight. If nothing else I would give those portraits something proper to watch. I could fake my belonging if nothing else.
Sure enough I felt the cast down eyes of the monsters and ghouls that had watched my every step. Even so I didn’t let my eyes fall down. I just kept on moving my feet forward.
Tonight was the night I showed Mr. Valentine that I had promise within me. Tonight was going to be the first real night of my tutorage.
Thankfully, once I reached the end of the hallway of aberrant observers, I found myself basked in the calming red glow of the Wordsmith’s Den. Mr. Valentine sat in front of his fireplace with a long iron prod in his hand. He carefully pushed against the logs to ignite the fires flames higher. The warmth that had billowed from the fireplace contrasted itself against the cold drafts that emanated from the stone walls.
“Hello Mr. Valentine. Sorry if I’m late. I just wanted to finish up some editing before coming down here.” Mr. Valentine smiled, although he didn’t turn to face me. I only saw half of his face. His elderly skin had had been cast brilliantly in the glow of the den’s flames.
“You’re never late here in the Wordsmith. Nor are you ever early.” He leaned back in his leather chair, the fabric stretching underneath his weight despite his slender frame. “So what can I look forward to hearing tonight?”
I once more swallowed the nervous spit that formed inside my mouth and looked down at the journal in my hands. “We’ll it isn’t much but for an afternoons work I hope you can enjoy it.” Mr. Valentine rested his shoulders back into his chair and made himself comfortable. His hands rested on his lap.
“Please, share it with me. Word for word if you wouldn’t mind.” His voice soothed the air around him. A fact which only caused me to feel just slightly more anxious. There was something otherworldly about how he managed to control a room. His very presence felt unobtainable to a normal mans.
But needless to say I complied to every wish he asked of me.
I regaled the story as best as I could. I spoke of the mans panic. How his claustrophobia made his breath more labored and erratic. A fact that had caused his situation to worsen faster, and faster. Eventually leaving him nothing more than an outline of a man surrounded in plaster and wood.
Mr. Valentine simply sat through the whole thing. Neither smile nor grimace to any word spoken. It wasn’t until my final word that he nodded in acknowledgement.
“Very interesting story. It already felt a little more real than your others. What inspired you?” I felt my face go pale as my thoughts drifted back to the very feeling of entrapment I had experienced within the Manor. How I felt suffocated inside.
But I refused to admit that fact to the man I had so admired.
“I think the idea in general is something interesting to me. I don’t know how else to explain it.” Mr. Valentine let the silence wrap around us. The quiet of the moment lasted just long enough to give me the feeling that he knew I was withholding the full truth from him.
“I suppose that’s one way of seeing things. Though I do hope you come to terms with expressing the real reality here.
“And that reality is you’re slowly believing your own stories. What you see in your mind isn’t just a figment of your own imagination. You’ve imposed emotions, thoughts, goals and aspirations onto the man in your story. And now that mans dead.
“You didn’t kill him though. You simply watched and documented all the facts down into your journal. Just as any proper documentarian would do.” A strong gust of air billowed down the hallway behind us and hit the fire mercilessly. The light of the flames had dimmed but Mr. Valentine didn’t use his iron prod to spark it back up.
Instead he choose to embrace the now darkened room.
“Do you know what the biggest rule for Horror is?” The darkness seeped into every crack and pour of the old mans face as the fires embers died.
“It’s that you should never place yourself in the story unless you are prepared to die. Anything else would simply be unbelievable.” I felt the hair on my body stand on end. He said it with only the raspy cloak of a whisper yet it felt as though he was making a veiled threat towards my very person.
A threat made with such a certainty behind it that I couldn’t defend myself against it.
“You brought another journal here didn’t you? To catalogue your stay? I do hope you get the final words in it by the end of your stay.” A second billow of wind cascaded over us that finally killed the last of the embers.
I sat in darkness for a moment. My body neither running nor fighting its way through my predicament. I was frozen in fear.
I heard the same stretching of leather coming from Mr. Valentines chair that I had heard earlier. His trail of footsteps slowly turned away from me and headed their way towards the hall. “What a wonderful night for a horror story.” I heard his voice whisper. It carried its way straight into my ear canal as though he stood right behind me.
I waited until I heard his footsteps disappear down the hall. I forced my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting that the windowpanes had allowed through. I gripped my chair tightly before standing up. My legs had begun shaking but I forced myself to remember the confidence that I had shown when I first approached the Den.
‘Don’t let them see you scared’ I thought to myself. I kept repeating it over and over again as I walked towards the hallway. I let my eyes stay glued ahead. But just for a moment. When I had nearly past the last portrait, I allowed a single glance.
My vision didn’t show a grotesque creature but rather an empty landscape.
My heart dropped.
I swung myself around and looked towards the other paintings and sure enough, all of them were of empty fields and abandoned homes. Not a single face to be seen.
I broke my facade of strength and darted back down the hallway towards the foyer. I heard nothing more than a pin drop through the entire Wordsmith on my way. My footsteps had echoed across the deserted halls like the clattering of porcelain falling onto a marble floor.
I didn’t care. I needed to get into my room.
And so I did.
I slammed the door behind me and looked at the handle more closely. There was no way for me to lock it from the inside.
Footsteps had begun to make their way up the staircase upon this realization. My eyes darted around the moonlit room for anything I could use to help seal this place off from the hell outside. But nothing had shown its face. I did the only thing I could have thought to do in that panic. I pressed my back to the door and pushed all my weight against it.
It wasn’t until I heard the door lock from behind me that my body relaxed from it’s tense stature. My body slid to the floor and I tucked my legs up to my chest. Once again I had felt like such a fool.
Why was it that my mind couldn’t think straight? Why was it that whenever night fell my brain clouded itself in fear beyond any rational explanation?
My stomach twisted and cramped inside of me. I grabbed onto it and made myself stand up on my trembling legs.
With a stagger I headed towards the bed frame. My vision had begun to blur. The second I folded over on top of the bed sheets my mind went dark. The last thing I saw was one of the portraits staring down at me from my window.
Even though this is a recollection of events that happened to me years ago, I’m still haunted by the memories.