Somnia Scriptor-Dream Writer: June 2012

(This short story is based on a song by Midnight Syndicate, with the same title. Their music is always very image inspiring, despite the dark themes. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJRjEC_tku8 )

Haunted Nursery

“I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you.” Said Wellington as I tried to open a locked door.

I frowned and turned to him. “Why ever not? This is my house now and I should think I have the right to go into every room, don’t you?”

He wiped his balding head with a handkerchief and said “But Miss Morana, this is a very old house, in which there are some rooms where…well, you just shouldn’t go into this one!”

I laughed and put a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. “Are you scared? You think a ghost might pop out and scare you? It’s just another room! This is my house now and I intend to explore every inch of it.”

Wellington blew his nose in a rather nervous fashion and said “But…the Master never went in there. He even had this room padlocked. I-I don’t know where it’s gone now….”

I rolled my eyes and rested my hands on my hips. “Listen, Wellington; you’re just the family butler, got it? I’m not my father. If he didn’t like to go into certain rooms, then whatever, that was his problem, got it?”

Wellington nodded as he fiddled with his handkerchief. Then he put it in his pocket. “I understand, Miss Morana. I’m terribly sorry for speaking against you. I just thought that…that I should warn you!”

I sighed, trying to be patient. I hadn’t seen him for a very long time and I had forgotten what he could be like. “Oh, Wellington…I’m sorry for getting angry, alright? It’s just that…ever since Dad died…everyone’s been trying to tell me what to do and how to behave, as if I was some commoner just because I haven’t lived here since Mom took me away. But I know how to behave! Even if I haven’t lived in this house since I was seven, that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be the Lady Morana De Mors!”

I turned away from him and frowned at the door, planning out how I would get into that room. I had been in nearly every other room in this large, rambling mansion, but this one…I didn’t even remember it from my childhood. It was rather odd, actually. Then again, I had only been seven, and now I was twenty-seven.

“Wellington…I really do want to get into this room, alright? So please, I’d appreciate it if you’d either help me get in, or go somewhere else.”

He looked at me nervously, crinkling up his handkerchief. “Alright, Miss Morana, I'll help you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

I rolled my eyes but had to smile at him. “Thanks. Now, go get me the lock picking kit that’s on my nightstand. I bought it just before I came here, because I knew Dad would have locked rooms.”

He bowed his head and shuffled off while I inspected the lock again.

After about an hour of trying, I heard the tell-tale click and slowly opened the door. It took a considerable amount of force but I finally found myself standing in the doorway of the now unlocked room.

My first glance around the dark room relieved little. Like most of the abandoned rooms, sheets covered everything in a pitiful attempt to keep the dust away. I could tell, however, that there were large stacks of boxes on the far side of the room.

Wellington came up behind me, holding out a flashlight. I took it gratefully and said “I'll explore the room for awhile and then I'll have lunch.”

He bowed his head, saying “I'll go prepare it then.”

“Thanks, Wellington.” I said. He smiled but then glanced at the open door and walked away. I rolled my eyes and walked into the room.

My second quick look around proved to be more informative. Several boxes that weren’t covered by the sheets were open, and I could see little porcelain dolls peeking out. Their eyes stared at me, as if trying to speak to me, but failing. I shivered a little and looked around some more.

I could now see that on the floor were many little toys, most of them broken and all of them covered in cobwebs and dust. The more I tried to see them, the darker the room seemed to get, despite the small beam of my flashlight.

I whirled around as I heard a crash and then a shattering. Looking around the dark room, I could see that one of the boxes had fallen over for some reason. Several old dolls had smashed and now their pieces were lying all over the floor. As I bent down to pick one doll up, I thought I heard another sound.

I stiffened and listened closely. It sounded like a baby crying. I frowned but then the noise stopped. Just my imagination.

But then there was a creak. I turned, just as the door closed. I ran over to it and pulled on the door, but it remained closed. I pounded on the door. “Wellington? If this is your idea of a joke, then I’m not amused! Let me out this second!”

Nothing happened. But then I heard the crying again. I turned around, my back now to the door. Shaking, I tried to see where the sound might be coming from, but I couldn’t tell.

It suddenly felt very cold and I sneezed, dropping the flashlight. The sound of both my sneeze and the shattering glass echoed and I felt like I was very small, in a very large room. This is stupid. Keep it together!

I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and I whirled to look, eyes wide in the darkness. A tinkly noise sounded and then the something moved again.

I took a step closer, trying to feel braver than I actually was. As my eyes adjusted a little, I saw that the thing that was moving was a large music box that was shaped like a merry-go-round. Miniature horses traveled around in circles, going up and down with the music. The music sounded vaguely familiar, for some reason. I tried to place it, but couldn’t.

But that still didn’t explain why the music box had just started up for no reason. I walked closer and touched it. It kept going, the song getting faster, instead of slowing down.

More noises came from behind me and I looked. An old rocking horse was moving on its own. I frowned. What is going on? These things shouldn’t be moving!

Another faint sound came to me and I frowned, trying to figure out what it was. As it got louder, it also became clearer. Singing. A little child, singing.

“A ring, a ring, of roses; a pocket full of posies; ashes, ashes, we all fall down!”

I shivered and then called out “Hello? Who’s there?”

There was silence. And then a little white figure appeared before me, causing me to gasp.

“Want to play?” Asked the figure. It was a little girl, of maybe five or six years old. She wore an old faded dress, and had no shoes on. Her hair was a long, black tangled mess and her skin…her skin was as white as snow. It wasn’t normal.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. She smiled at me, her eyes staring. Something about her eyes scared me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.

“Morgan. And who are you?”

I was startled by the question. I mean, this was my house, after all. “I’m Morana. As in, the Lady Morona De Mors, the one who now owns this house?”

She stared at me blankly, as if none of that meant anything. I suddenly realized why her eyes scared me; either her pupils were enormous, or her eye color was pitch black. They were like the blackest of coals.

“You own this house? But what happened to…hmm…there was someone else, before, wasn’t there?”

I nodded. “Mr. De Mors? He was my father. He died and now I own this place.”

She frowned, biting her thin lip. “Dead? Too?”

I was confused. “What do you mean, ‘too’?”

She shook her head and twirled around. “I want to play. Play with me!”

This was ridiculous. And yet I found myself holding her cold hand, and dancing with her. She sang her song again. “A ring, a ring, of roses; a pocket full of posies; ashes, ashes, we all fall down!”

We crashed to the ground and she started giggling wildly. I felt laughter bubble up and tried to quench it. But the more she laughed, the more I wanted to laugh. Finally, I gave into the feeling and laughed loudly. She grinned wickedly.

“I win. I made you laugh.” She announced as she stood up.

“So…what are you doing here, Morgan?” I asked her, also standing.

She frowned, the change so sudden that I almost laughed again. But her voice was so serious that I didn’t dare. “I belong here. I am home.”

“Um…no offense, but this is my house, you know. How can this be home for you?” I asked her, suddenly feeling wary of her again.

She looked away, shaking her head violently. “No, no! Can’t tell! He’ll be angry and then sad and I can’t tell, we’ll all fall down!” She ended in a singsong voice again and started twirling around.

“Listen, Morgan. I have to know why you’re in my house.” I said, taking a step towards her.

She shrieked and I was suddenly flung backwards into the far wall. I crumpled to the ground, the back of my head pounding. She continued to shriek, but it wasn’t as loud now. She seemed to be looking at something while she did, though I couldn’t tell what.

Then my vision started to go fuzzy and I fell unconscious.

“Miss Morana! Wake up, Miss!” Wellington’s voice came through my fogged mind and I opened my eyes slowly. I was in a well lit room; the library.

Sitting up slowly, I rubbed the back of my head and groaned. “What…what happened?”

Wellington handed me a glass of water and I took little sips from it. As I did, he began to explain.

“You see, Miss Morana, she couldn’t tell you because…well, she promised she wouldn’t.”

“But Wellington, who is she?”

“Your twin sister.”

I choked on my sip of water and he patted my back until I could breathe properly again. “My sister? My twin sister? Look at me, Wellington! Do I look like a little girl?”

He shook his head and waited for me to calm down so he could continue. “She is your twin sister, Miss. She’s also dead. A ghost. That’s why she appears the age that she is.”

I closed my eyes, sure that he had finally lost it.

“Please keep an open mind, Miss.” He said and I sighed, opening my eyes again. “All right, go on.”

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember her. When she died, you were upset for months, barely eating, not playing at all. The doctor finally said that you had completely suppressed your memories of her.”

I tried to argue against him but could say nothing. Even while he was explaining, little memories seemed to be peeping into my mind. Myself, but different. Laughing and playing with dolls. Oh no…those dolls!

“My old toys…they were in that room! Packed away!” I said, sitting up even more but falling back in pain. He nodded.

“The dolls were Morgan’s favorites. You couldn’t look at them without screaming after she died.”

I kept shaking my head, but I knew it all must have been true. “How did…how did she die?”

He sighed. “There’s part of the reason your father never said anything. This will be hard for you, Morana.”

I swallowed. “Tell me.”

He took a deep breath and began. “Your mother loved her work, as you know. She was seldom at home during the day, and your father was often doing work in his study. So you and Morgan had the run of the house. You were only five and a half. You two went everywhere together, exploring and making up games. You rarely were noticed all day.”

I nodded, taking it all in. I seemed to remember this much. “Go on.”

“Well, one day, your father was working on a very important part of his work. Morgan was yelling to you from across the house, but she was right outside his study. He grew angry and put her in the nursery, your room at the time, and locked her in for punishment. Then he went back to his work.”

I felt a lump growing in my stomach and I swallowed again. “Keep going.”

“Well…you know how wrapped up your father would become when working…so…well, he…”

“He forgot about her.” I said, knowing my father too well, though I still couldn’t quite believe it. “So…she died in there?”

He nodded. “When they found her, they all thought it was an accident, and your father never told anyone the truth. You went into instant depression and your father had an excuse to have the nursery locked up, along with all the toys. He decided not to remind you of her, after you got better. But then…after you left, he started seeing her. Hearing her laugh. He was tormented. So finally he went back into the nursery and spoke to her. Told her to never tell anyone what he had done. She was too scared to refuse, and so she never told. I only found out because your father told me, the night before he died.”

I closed my eyes, taking it all in and trying to sort it out. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I opened them. “I can’t stay here, you know.”

He nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”

A giggle came from somewhere out in the hall and I shivered again.

End

Somnia Scriptor-Dream Writer

Pages

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Books-May

Haunted Nursery

Saturday, June 9, 2012

To Flee or Not to Flee