I found this letter locked in an antique desk. I hope you all can make more sense of it than I can:
“I love my late husband. He was the light of my life. He was as stoic, and reliable as men come. He was kind, considerate, generous, and brave. He touched not just my life, but the lives of so many more. He was a good man. However, what he bequeathed me after his departure has cost me many nights of sleep. My dreams are plagued by that blue door, that door to the deepest depths. I love my late husband, but I also hate him for what he, and his family have burdened me with.
I feel a great guilt for my conflicted feelings. He has been my lifelong companion since my parents were killed for the simple crime of freeing poor souls from the chains of slavery. They were shot by gunslingers whilst smuggling a black family into union states. Their deaths were quickly avenged by the couple who would become my adoptive parents. They were a French family. Their son was named Louis. We had been engaged since the day of our birth.
Louis, and I spent almost every day together after my parent’s deaths. He was a well read boy, and would tell me fantastical stories of knights, dragons, and ghosts. He was quite imaginative too, and was a fantastic writer. He had many works published in various publications. We spent many a day wandering his parent’s Maine property, just exploring. I have fond memories of us picking apples, and sharing kisses as the autumnal leaves fell around our ears.
Louis’s parents often spent months away from the mansion, doing their great work. Whenever they were home, Louis’s mother would train me with a sword. She was quite adept with a blade. She always said the days of the fair maiden were coming to an end, and soon women everywhere would need to pick up arms to protect their homes, same as the men. As she taught me to fight, Louis’s father taught me to look into the stars. He showed me many planets within God’s sky. He told me about how sailors would use them to guide themselves home, and how many cultures would worship them.
One summer day, when I was 19, I remember Louis being led into the woods by his father. I was training blades with his mother. We had forsaken modesty to prevent heatstroke, and to protect the integrity of our clothes. Whilst a hot-blooded young man would have grown red at the sight of seeing their future wife in bloomers, I saw he was so pale, and distraught that his natural instincts were forgotten. When I saw him being led away from those woods, I thought I had seen a specter from one of Louis’s horror stories.
I think part of Louis died that day. He was never quite the same after that. His eyes were always somewhat hollow, and his nights were as sleepless as mine are now. He refused to speak of what he saw that day. However, he promised he would show me that day. God forgive me, it was a vow I wished he had died before he had the ability to fulfill.
We wed on my 20th birthday. The ceremony, and subsequent afterparty were dignified enough. However, it was beyond boring. The gossip that the guests regurgitated was so pedantic that I felt I would die of the sheer stupidity of it all. I know the upper classes are obligated to placate ignorant guests such as these, but it is dull work. With God’s good grace, Louis whisked me away to a quiet corner of the wood with a smuggled bottle of wine, and some cake.
Six months after we were wed, Louis’s parents were killed in their marriage bed by a hired gun. Louis was devastated. All I could provide for him was my companionship. He had been my rock, so I tried my best to be his. He cried into my bosom, praying that God’s wrath would be brought down on those that robbed him of his loving parents. I hate to admit it, but I had lived with his parents for so long that I had forgotten the faces of my own, only remembering them by their reputations. I grieved with Louis.
I tried to bear him a child to fill the void left in his heart, and mine. However, the doctors told me I could not perform that particular duty as a wife. I went through a short-lived depressive episode. It wasn’t that I necessarily wanted to be a mother, but rather I wanted to bring my husband joy. I felt like I had failed him. However, Louis told me not to worry about that. He wanted my passion. He wanted to see me succeed in my dreams. He wanted me to live for me.
I hired a fencing instructor from Germany. Whilst he tried to instruct me, it seemed like I had more to teach him than he did for me. His ego wouldn’t allow him to do so. I hired another instructor, this time from Louis’s home country, France. This also ended with another bruised ego. The more instructors I managed to humiliate, the more I began to wonder just what Louis’s mother was preparing me for. She told me a day that women must bear arms, but surely that day wouldn’t come in my lifetime, right? My prowess spread through the dueling world, and soon I was being challenged by fencers from across the lands. I began being known as The Scarlet Sting after the fiery waves of my orange hair, and the speed of my blade.
My accomplishments reached the papers, and made me the talk of the party. I would often be asked to perform tricks for my guests. Part of me was happy for the acknowledgement of my skill. However, I heard from behind paper fans about how unladylike I was, and how I played with swords atone for the fact that my womb was as bare as the Sahara. Even my fellow fencers wouldn’t take me seriously. Despite these fools, I never felt more alive than when I was behind the hilt of a rapier. I began to collect swords from all over the world, reveling in how peculiar the ignorant would find me. A man of my husband’s status would have a trophy room full of animal heads. However, he reserved that room for my collection.
Years into our happy marriage, civil war began to brew. Louis joined the army, to follow in the footsteps of not only his parents, but mine. The penultimate night before he departed for the front lines, he took my hand, and led me towards the treeline. He, and I wore our swords on our waist. He insisted.
“I promised you that I would show you what my father showed me all those years ago,” Louis spoke to me in a solemn tone as we walked, stepping over overgrown roots as we did, guided only by the lantern he carried. I could see a primal fear in his eyes. They were like the eyes of a cat upon hearing the growl of a dog.
“My love, we do not need to do this now,” I tried to comfort him, squeezing his hand tightly.
“I leave for the border the day after tomorrow, Should I die, I want you to know the secret my father kept when my family first moved to this country,” Louis rubbed my arm. We moved further into the woods than we ever dared to do so as children.
“You will not die, God will not allow a man such as yourself to do so. Yours is a noble, and just cause,” I tried to reassure him.
“Both of our parents had the same dream,” Louis dug his nails into the flesh of my palm. He was nervous as a hare, “please, just see what I must show you.”
I recalled how pale my love was when he returned from those woods all those years ago. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew it would be nothing good. I couldn’t fathom what could possibly be beyond these trees. The branches seemed to reach down as if to halt our progress through the woods. Perchance, were they warning us of what was to come?
We soon reached a clearing. Dim moonlight shone down on what I thought was a smooth boulder, half buried in the grass. We drew closer, and I could feel a creeping dread permeating through my very soul. Just looking upon this seemingly innocuous thing felt like it would taint my spirit. Louis, and I circled around the boulder, and soon came upon a metal door, painted blue. It was of such alien, and peculiar construction that I know not how to begin describing it.
“What is this thing?” I asked.
I received no answer for what felt like a half-hour. When I gazed upon my husband, it looked like he was searching for words that refused to come to him. Even a squeeze from my hand would not rouse him. He did speak eventually though.
“This accursed thing is the death of our world,” he finally answered, “and it is my duty to make sure it never opens. When my father brought me here, we were greeted by the roar of a thousand screaming beasts. They clawed, and gnawed at the door, ready for our flesh. However, they were unable to escape. We watch this door to make sure nothing escapes. We are the protectors of God’s holy creation.”
My eyes would not leave that blue, metal rectangle. My mind wandered as I began to imagine what horrors lie beyond this door. My love’s father protected this place, and Louis would too with the Lord’s blessing. My husband clutched onto me, so I held him close. He was clearly terrified. He was about to run into battle with a rifle in hand, and this door was what scared him. My own fear began to take hold. I obviously wished he would return to be with me again. However, my cowardice also wished he would return so that I would not be left alone with this damned thing.
That night was spent in silence. The next was spent in our marriage bed, our room echoing with the sounds of our love. We held each other in a loving embrace, our sweet kisses comforting the other that everything would be alright. It was the last night I saw him. Louis fought for six long weeks before a stray cannonball made me into a widow.
I wore black much longer than most. My grief was beyond what could be comprehended by those who pretended to be my friends. The false sympathy I was given enraged me to such an extent, that I became a recluse for the safety of those who would otherwise offer me what they would consider comfort. A part of me died the day Louis was taken from me. First my parents, then my adoptive parents, and now my husband were all taken from me. I was alone. Even in a house full of servants, I was alone.
Days after Louis’s death, I was given a strange looking key by his Last Will and Testament. It didn’t look like any key that belonged to our mansion. It was thinner, and more jagged. I let it gather dust in my jewelry box for almost a decade while I mourned. I cared not for what lay beyond that damned door. It mattered not. Nothing mattered when compared to the darkness of the ever growing void in my heart.
I wasn’t the same. I grew to drink. My skill with a blade grew rusty. I lost the use of my off-hand in a duel. I had to wear a sling so it would not get in my way. I fell from grace. I didn’t care. To hell with those ignorant fools. I cared not for what they thought. Even those who claimed to know my pain weren’t spared my disdain, for they did not love their husbands like I had loved mine.
Doctors tried to diagnose me with mental illness. They might have tried to pull me from my station if not for my collection of swords that I kept nice, and sharp. I didn’t need to verbally threaten them, the steely glint of malice in my eye was more than sufficient. The fear in their eyes made me smirk. It was one of the few joys I had left in my life.
I might have forgotten about the door, if I hadn’t thrown a bottle at my own reflection. The crash knocked my jewelry box off the bureau, and awoke the butler. As he cleaned the debris, I noticed that key. On that fateful night, I no longer saw it as a key to ruin. I saw it was a key to an end to this nightmare.
Emboldened by drink, I strapped a sword to my hip, and stormed off through the woods. My head swam as I took that familiar path. The trees again seemed to be trying to keep me from my destination. I ignored them. I pushed the branches out of my way, and cut down any that were persistent. I soon reached that spot. It seemed to be welcoming me like an old friend. I cared not if God damned me for my actions. If he saw fit to take my husband away from me, then he didn’t deserve to have my soul too.
I circled around the stone. The cool, damp grass felt good on the soles of my feet. I faced that door, hand on the pommel of my sword. I didn’t really intend to fight whatever was in there. I simply wished for it to take me. Me bringing the sword with me was merely an act of routine. I had the key in hand. My heart raced as I moved closer to my fate. The blue painted door was cold to the touch.
The key growled like a hungry beast as I pushed it in. Although the sound should have scared me, it was weirdly comforting. May the jaws of Hell swallow me whole. I opened the door, and was greeted by a dim blue glow. I recalled how Louis described the roar of a thousand screaming beasts. Yet I stood there unobstructed. I stepped through the door.
The room I found myself in was much larger than the boulder would have otherwise accommodated. I moved further into the darkness. About a dozen glowing windows illuminated the room. They seemed so strange. Attached to them were buttons, each of which had a letter of the alphabet. I went up to one of the windows, wondering what magic could empower it like this. I pressed a button with a “B” on it. On the window, a “B” appeared as if commanded by my action. I pressed the letters of my name, and my name appeared on the window.
A moan broke the silence from deep within the darkness. On the opposite side of the room, I could see a shadow on the wall. It took a bit of focus for me to recognize it was the entrance of a hallway. The noise sent a shiver along my skin. I cursed myself for not bringing a lantern. Still, I came here for a purpose. I took a deep breath, and moved towards the hall.
My nose was greeted by the smell of burnt coffee. As I blindly stumbled through down the hall, my hand guiding my path towards oblivion, the smell grew increasingly stronger. I saw a strong white light shining from beneath a door. I watched it, waiting for it to move. Perhaps it was that same strange magic I had seen in the room behind me. I turned the handle of the door, expecting the light to shift at any second. It never did. I opened the door.
The source of the light was a strange looking metal bar. I picked it up, shining the light around like a torch. What a peculiar little device. Although the end was quite hot, it didn’t burn like a fire. The furniture of this room was minimally decorated. They were nothing but efficient shapes, no artistry, no flair. It was as if all humanity was drained from this place. The source of the coffee smell was a strange looking device made of glass, and some unknown material. Nothing was left of the coffee but a dried scum on the bottom of the glass bowl.
A swift movement in my peripheral vision pulled me from my explorations, and sent a jolt through my system. I found the light in my hand was shaking madly. I had to focus to steady my hand. I shone the light down both ways of the hall. I saw multiple doors down this path. Quickly steadying myself for what was to come, I began to trudge down the way, moving further into this accursed place. The darkness swallowed me. I found myself in a stone stairway with a metal railing. I couldn’t identify the kind of stone this was. I had never seen something like this before.
I moved towards the stairs, and began to descend. The stairs seemed to spiral down into the eternal shadow, possibly into Hell itself. I pondered on who could have made a home like this. Perhaps it had been constructed by the prince of the abyss, Lucifer. It didn’t seem like any kind of depiction of Hell that had been preached to me by the local priest. However, he had never been here, so how would he know what Hell really looked like? Perhaps Hell changed with the march of time, same as our world did since the death of Jesus.
I knew this place was dangerous. I knew it was evil. I knew it was death. After all, I had come in here for it to be my tomb. However, I had never seen a corpse before this day, even with the life I had lived. I drew closer. The neck had been slashed. The woman wore a long white coat. It was perhaps the most modest thing that she wore. Her skirt was short, and her shirt was thin. It was clear there were no further layers beneath. Long orange hair cascaded down her shoulder. Her face looked disturbingly familiar. I had seen this face earlier tonight. I had seen it in my own mirror. This was my face. This woman was me.
I nearly dropped my light as the realization overtook me. I stared at my own dead body, struggling to comprehend what I was seeing. However, I didn’t have long to contemplate my situation. I heard a noise above me. It was footsteps. I couldn’t afford to be seen. My damned light. It was my salvation, but also my doom. I didn’t know what was coming, but I knew it would see me. However, I needed to be able to see.
I searched the shadow with the light quickly, as the footsteps drew closer. I saw a door on a landing. I put the light on the ground, facing the landing. I rushed down the stairs, and yanked open the door. I closed it behind me. The door had a small, rectangular window. It had wire running through it in a diamond pattern. I peeked out. I could see my light from here. A moment later, the footsteps reached the landing where the light, and my corpse were.
I could hear a heavy breathing coming from that direction. It sounded labored. The one responsible seemed in pain, and made little whining moans. It mumbled to itself. I had trouble discerning the gender of this thing, if a monster could have one to begin with. I heard the creature slobbering. My stomach churned as I heard the sickening crunch of the creature sinking its fangs into my corpse’s flesh. This damned thing was eating the other me.
As the dread overtook me, I gripped the handle of my sword. The wound in my corpse’s throat wasn’t made by some monster. It was made with a blade. Someone else was here. Someone who, no doubt, meant me harm. I stepped away from the door, trying to distance myself from that disgusting noise. However, no matter how far I walked, the noise always seemed like it was right in front of me. I had to hold back the contents of my stomach.
I nearly fell as my foot met a step. I turned. Down yet more steps, I could see a dim green glow. I thought back to the windows upstairs. Perhaps I would find more magic down here. I looked back to the door I had entered here from. Perhaps I would be safer away from the moist, crunching noise. I began to descend again. The glow grew closer. I soon stepped into a new room.
The place I had found myself was a long room, both walls lined with huge jars, filled with glowing liquid. Anywhere that the glow didn’t touch was shrouded in darkness. In the jar closest to me was the preserved remains of an unborn babe, no doubt cut from its mother’s belly. I instinctively drew my blade. I had almost forgotten I had brought it with me in this disgusting place. My eyes wandered to the other jars.
In another jar was a teenage girl. An arm protruded from her mouth, and seemed to be strangling her. Her belly had teeth. Her fingers were stubs. I thought at first the stubs were a birth defect, but no. They had been bitten off. Her hair was orange.
Another jar had an old woman with two heads. Her eyes were replaced by tongues. Her wide open mouth didn’t seem to have one, or teeth, or gums. Her mouth seemed like a bottomless hole. She had no arms, or legs. Instead, her skin was dotted with little suction cups, like those of an octopus.
The last one I could stomach to look at was a woman just a bit younger than I was. She had four arms growing out of her back. The arms she was supposed to have seemed to have been fused to her chest as if her body was a straight jacket. Her legs bent backwards. Her nose, and lips were nonexistent. Again, her hair was orange.
All of these twisted monstrosities were me. Every single one of these was a perversion of not only nature, but of my own form. This was Hell. So this was why Louis heard screaming monsters, and I didn’t. This wasn’t just Hell. This was my Hell. Would I become one of these twisted mockeries of lifes? No, I wouldn’t allow myself to be taken. This place wouldn’t be my fate. I had to get out of here.
The door above me opened. There wasn’t another door out of here. I was trapped. I slipped into the darkness quickly, as I heard shuffling creeping downwards, and towards my location. The noise grew louder, and louder. I could hear mumbling, and pained moaning. The beast sounded large, almost as big as a bear. I had long since sobered up. I kept myself curled up, sword in hand, and ready to strike.
The sight that invaded my vision left a stain on my soul. I nearly . The creature was hunched over, its hands dragging along the floor. I could see two of my face on its shoulder blades, chewing on the orange hair. The main face was mostly covered, but I could see blood dripping from its oversized teeth. I trembled. I didn’t know if I could take this monster in a duel, especially with only one hand. No, I had to be stealthy.
The monster trudged further into the room, sniffing the air. I knew it would be able to smell my fear. I paused near me. I held my breath, my hand covering my nose, and mouth. It turned in my direction. Its eyes were blank. It had to be blind. It sniffed. Its breath smelled of rotten flesh. I could see maggots in the creature’s gums from the dim glow. It moved its head closer, mouth opening. It caught my scent.
My blade launched forward, slicing open one of the monster’s eyes. Three mouths screamed. Now I know what Louis had heard all these years ago. It threw its head back, clutching its eye. Taking the opportunity, I slashed at the monster’s throat, then retreated into the darkness again. I slipped along the shadow, as the monster brought a hand down, and shattered one of the jars. The fluid splashed everywhere. Luckily, I had backed away from jar enough to not get the worst of it.
I used my sword to tap one of the jars further into the room, trying to lure the monster away from the staircase. The monster lunged at me, blood gushing from its wounds. Despite bleeding profusely, the freak still had immense energy, and strength. I dove out of the way as it crashed into the jar I had tapped on. I rushed towards the stairs, ignoring as broken glass stabbed into my bare feet. I tore my way upwards, ignoring the beast behind me.
I rushed down the hall. I could see my light from the doorway. The monster was ascending behind me. The glass dug deeper into my feet. I cursed my stupidity, but kept running regardless. The creature was getting closer. I could practically feel its rotten breath on the back of my neck. The hall shook as it bounded in my direction. I could hear the screaming of the mouths on its back. I burst through the door, and dove to the left.
The monster didn’t have time to correct its course. It careened over the railing, falling into the abyss. The screaming grew more, and more distant. I heard bone crunching as it smacked into the railing. The noises very quickly descended into nothingness. I was enveloped in silence once again
I limped up the stairs from one landing to the next, and picked up my light. I tucked it in the armpit of my useless arm so I could hold onto the sword. I didn’t want to think about what had happened to my corpse. I didn’t shine my light on it. I didn’t want to know. I just had to get out of here. I moved up the stairs, leaving bloody footprints behind me. God forgive me for my stupidity. I just hoped He would show me mercy, and allow me to leave this place.
I found myself in the room with the windows again. I trudged forward. Sunlight shone through the door. I looked at the sun, breathing heavily. I pushed my way through. I found myself on God’s green Earth once more. Desperately, I slammed the door behind me, and locked it as fast as I could.
The doctor examined my wounds. He was more worried about my mental state. However, I think he knew better than to try something, even in my injured state. He helped me recover. I walked with a limp from that day forward. I mourned Abraham Lincoln’s death, along with the rest of the country. I eventually stopped wearing black, and accepted guests into my home once more. I was more discerning with who I accepted as guests.
I took on students, and trained them in the art of the sword. I spoke of a day where everyone, regardless of gender, would need to pick up arms to defend their homes. It was the same thing that Louis’s mom would tell me. I still miss Louis. Even though I remarried, he will still be my one true love.
As time marched forward, new inventions came to light. The typewriter reminded me of those glowing blue windows I saw, and later the electric lightbulb reminded me of the tube that lit my way in that Hellhole. The world would one day begin to look like that hole. Perhaps it was my fault. Perhaps I let something out when I went in there, and now its corruption was spreading throughout the land. I try not to think about that, but I find it difficult to do. Every now and then, I can see something speed through my peripheral vision.
Even now as I write this, I can hear a heavy breathing outside of my bedroom door whilst my new husband is away on business. I have my sword, and a pistol with me. God, I’m sorry for what I have done. Please, show me mercy.”