Electra Rose
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Forever Yours, Genevieve (final)
🕑 Added 2018-12-31 14:59:54 +0000 UTC
October 29, 1891
Diary,
To-day, Edmund and Victor returned from their voyage abroad. I had missed my brother and Victor terribly, and am delighted now that they have returned safely.
Of course they brought us presents. Victor brought me you, my dear diary, while Edmund disrupted the house and brought home a talking board before Hallowe’en. The entire household is affected with excitement! Victor has played the game before in his time in England, and filled all our heads with imaginative stories. Edmund says it’s nothing but a parlour trick, and he will show us how it is done. Victor says it is no such thing, but he is quite happy to scare the rest of us to-night. Father was very much opposed, but Edmund eventually convinced him to play with us.
I am, dear diary, a bit afraid. But I hope to see a ghost!
Ever yours,
Genevieve
She closed her diary, fingers lingering over the soft leather binding. It had been an already exciting morning. Her brother and fiancé’s arrival had been a surprise to everyone, and the accompanying gifts had them all feeling giddy.
Genevieve felt somewhat conflicted about the talking board, however. It was probably unfair to surprise her and Edmund’s pious parents with something so arcane.
But still, the party was going to be exciting. Even if most of the excitement was Father giving Edmund an earful.
And of course, her Victor would be there.
She sighed, dreamily but still quietly. It would be embarrassing if someone heard her.
Daydreaming complete, it would be a good time to go for a quick walk outside, or join her family in the parlour. It was still afternoon, and their little séance party wouldn’t start until after dinner.
Genevieve locked her little treasure in the drawer of her writing desk, before covering her inkpot.
The diary had been a wonderful and welcome gift, brought wrapped in ribbon just for her. Victor was so very thoughtful.
The idea of their impending wedding made her feel a bit heady. Not that it had been a surprise, but… what a change. She had already been waiting for over a year to marry Victor. Now, she was only months away.
Genevieve stood and walked to the mirror, to check that she hadn’t gotten drops of ink on her lovely white dress. It would be a shame to look poorly in front of her family and fiancé.
She twirled lightly, and inspected her hems. No, not a spot. Just as she was accustomed.
The halls were bustling with activity. Mrs. Levitt and her two daughters, Annie and Leah, were flitting from room to room beginning the preparations for their séance party and dinner.
What would that party look like? Edmund and Victor had been mum on that point, but had definitely brought more things than she had been allowed to see. It was supposed to be a surprise- but knowing them, that could be either a good or very bad thing.
Genevieve glided into the parlour and picked up the book she’d been reading from the side table.
Her bookmark was on the table, and not marking the last page she’d read. Perhaps she’d been careless in placing it due to the excitement of Edmund and Victor arriving. Genevieve rifled through its pages to find the last thing that sounded familiar.
She read happily for hours, barely registering the bustle of the servants. Her father eventually joined her in the parlour with his own book and became deeply engrossed in it.
Those times together were her favorite. She felt like her father understood her best when they read alone together.
She finished her book just as the bell sounded for dinner. Genevieve placed her book back down on the table to put away in the library later, and stood up to unwrinkle her dress.
Father stood up slowly, still clinging to the last words he was able to read before leaving the room. He coughed lightly into his sleeve, then straightened.
He looked to Genevieve and held out his other arm.
“Shall I accompany you to the dining room?” He asked, with a quirk of his brow.
Genevieve smiled and tried not to rush to take it. Soon, she would not be living here anymore, and she wanted to treasure these moments as much as possible.
They joked quietly in the halls, but resumed formality as they went into the dining room. Father pulled out her chair and seated her, before going to do the same for Mother.
Edmund and Victor walked in just moments later, and took their seats quietly.
Dinner was about the same as usual- Genevieve kept trying to catch Victor’s eye without being overly obtuse, while Victor, Edmund, and Father talked about business and their recently concluded travels. Mother kept the conversation less business-heavy with carefully timed questions about other things.
They’d evidently had quite the time, meeting with multiple businessmen of repute throughout Europe.
To be honest, a few of the details seemed dull. She knew that shipping was the family business, but the discussions rarely amounted to more than “we received this good here, then brought it here and sold it for a higher price.” Riveting.
Instead, Genevieve allowed her imagination to run wild while she ate her food in as genteel a manner as possible.
What kinds of ghosts would they be able to speak with at their party? Would anything even happen at all?
Genevieve liked to imagine the ghost would be friendly and interesting- an old relative, maybe.
The thought lingered at the back of her mind that not all ghosts might be so…. amenable. Speaking the words aloud would be tantamount to cowardice, but Genevieve had always known in her very marrow that stories of hauntings were real.
But if Victor said it would be all right, then perhaps it was?
He and Edmund were far more worldly than Genevieve had ever been allowed to be. Her tutors came to the house, and she’d never strayed farther from the house than their church.
Except for in her books.
The light outside was draining, and the candles in the dining room were straining to make up the difference. The wavering flames made the large room feel vastly more intimate.
Genevieve felt eyes on her, and turned to see Victor. He gave her a slow blink and a smile. It would have been more romantic were her entire family not in the room with them. And if there was not a massive table between their bodies.
Difficult.
Genevieve sipped at her wine. Perhaps after the little party, they might sneak some alone time together in the dark. Father and Mother were likely to be tired after such an activity, and Edmund would flee the room if Victor so hinted.
After dessert was finished, Father indicated that dinner was over by standing up from his seat. He held out his arm to Mother, who rose to take it with a proud smile.
“I’d like to invite you all to join me in the parlour, for a game.” He said with an overly tight smile. They clapped politely.
Father then escorted Mother out of the room and into the hallway. Victor and Edmund rose, but Genevieve waited for Victor to come to take her chair.
Edmund just looked between the two of them and left, excusing himself to follow their parents.
Victor walked leisurely around the table and to her seat.
But he didn’t move her chair.
Instead, he leaned down until his lips almost touched her ear.
“Are you excited, love?” He murmured, sending tingles down her spine.
She stilled her rabbit heart. “For what?”
He hummed, which made the little hairs on her neck stand straight up. Of course he was teasing.
“Our wedding, the ghosts we’re about to meet, maybe for what we could find time to do after your parents retire for the evening?” He suggested. She could feel him smiling.
She was fighting hard to hold back her own smile. It was incredibly difficult.
So she gently pushed back her own chair instead, which bumped him in the chest.
“You know if Father caught you acting like this, he might call off the wedding.” She teased, taking advantage of the opportunity to adjust Victor’s collar.
He suddenly straightened with a faux-serious face.
“I suppose, Miss Shelley, that I should escort you to the parlour now forthwith.”
Victor held out his hand and helped pull her up, but apparently couldn’t resist twirling her once before pretending to be a respectable young man again.
“Off we go, into the unknown.” He said as her arm encircled his, copying her own parents.
The parlour had been made dark. She hardly recognized the room with the black draping and eerie lighting. Victor had evidently chosen to flaunt custom in placing the talking board at the head of the table. Her father’s obvious irritation made the room seem all the less inviting.
Edmund just looked bored.
“Come, brother, get in the spirit.” Victor chided. “We should not be disrespectful to our disembodied guests.”
The look Edmund gave him could only be described as “poison, with a hint of disbelief.”
“You do know these things are nothing more than a lightning rod for the gullible.” Edmund said drily.
Father laughed, despite his displeasure. “Edmund, I remember you saying you were the person who bought it.”
Edmund’s ears turned ever-so-pink. Genevieve luxuriated in it. It wasn’t often that Edmund was the subject of a joke like this.
Even Mother looked amused.
They all watched Edmund for a moment, and when it became obvious that he had no response, everyone turned their attention back to the talking board and Victor, who was in front of it.
Victor cleared his throat.
“I do want to remind you all that this is a serious affair.” He warned, with no humor in his voice. “So long as we treat this with the proper respect, it should be safe. If not…” he gave Edmund a glance, “it could prove to be uncomfortable, or perhaps dangerous, to us all.”
Genevieve tried not to shift in her seat too much, for fear of betraying her nerves.
“If anyone feels that they cannot proceed with the required decorum, they should leave now.” Victor made eye contact with every member at the table.
No one moved. Edmund had ceased looking sour for the moment.
“Then we shall proceed.” Victor gestured to the table and the talking board. “To contact the deceased, we shall each have to take roles. I will be our leader, who asks questions and controls this conversation. I need at least one other person to also touch the planchette with open minds and hearts, and one person to record all things that happen.”
“I would prefer to record, if that would be acceptable to everyone.” Mother interjected, sounding firm.
“That is that, then, I suppose.” Victor said cheerfully. “Madam Shelley shall be our recorder of events.”
“Miss Shelley, if you would hold the planchette with me?” Victor asked, all formality.
Genevieve hesitantly touched the thing. It was heart-shaped, which was *almost* sweet enough that she could forgive Victor for making her actively participate in talking to dead people.
Or demons.
She hadn’t thought about that before.
“Miss Shelley, I must remind you to clear your mind of any and all thoughts you can.” Victor said gently. “Look only at the candlelight, or focus on someone’s face.”
She settled for the fire. It seemed less treacherous at this particular moment.
It waved, flickered, and perhaps even danced. She watched it still. While it didn’t calm her precisely, it did help her panic.
Victor cleared his throat.
“Spirits of the deceased, long gone but not forgotten. Hear me, and come to me. Show yourself, that we may speak.”
He was loud. So loud. Genevieve let it wash over her and looked at the fire some more.
She heard the scratching of a pen on paper. And something else, that almost sounded like a whisper in another room.
“Is there anyone here? Answer me.” Victor commanded.
She felt the planchette move under her fingertips. Her stomach lurched.
She chanced a look down. It was now placed over the word “yes.”
Genevieve’s eyes shot straight back up to the candle flame across the table. This wasn’t something she was ready to see.
“Thank you for joining us.” Victor’s hands lightly brushed hers on the planchette. “What is your name?”
The planchette moved again.
“G”, Victor said clearly, before it moved again. “E”.
Genevieve felt distinctly wrong.
“N”
“E”
“V”
“I”
“E”
“V”
“E”.
“What a beautiful name, thank you.” Victor said. Genevieve knew he meant it as a joke but it felt wrong. Everything about this seemed like a cruel prank.
And she was cold. When had that happened?
Edmund scoffed. “You two are already getting married, Victor, no need to be so childish.”
Victor didn’t respond to Edmund at all.
“How did you die?” Victor asked loudly into the air. Her mother’s pen scratched on paper.
The planchette didn’t move.
But the candle light flickered wildly.
Genevieve blinked, hard, to dispel any thoughts she might have had. Victor said to keep a clear head.
“What is that?” Father asked, sounding mildly alarmed. She didn’t dare look around. She felt frozen.
Her mother’s pen scratched wildly.
No. It was too loud. And moving closer.
She felt something move behind her. Her vision to the right went dark. A candle must have gone out.
“What was that?” Her father demanded more loudly.
The planchette moved now, jerking Genevieve nearly onto the table. Or maybe she had just jumped due to her frayed nerves? Her heart was beating fast.
“A”
“R”
“E”
“Y”
“O”
“U”
“T”
“H”
“E”
“R”
“E”
“?”
This time, Genevieve was sure that the scratching sound she heard was just her mother taking notes. She told herself not to be so hysterical as before. It was dangerous thinking.
“Yes, we are here.” Victor answered. “Did you live in this house?”
Genevieve stopped herself from answering his question. Was it just her, or was it becoming a little more difficult to breathe?
The planchette moved.
“Yes.”
“This is ridiculous!” Edmund scoffed, pushing back his chair and making a horrible sound as the legs ground on the floor. “Father built this house, no one lived in it before us. Victor, you’re making a fool of us and scaring my family.”
Victor still didn’t answer him.
“I refuse to take part in this.” Edmund said, sounding angry. “And I cannot believe that you would do this to my sister. You should be ashamed.”
He stood up and stomped out, from what Genevieve could tell. She chanced a look at Victor’s face. He looked pale.
“Come, now, Sir Godwin.” Father said tersely. “You’ve had your fun. Genevieve looks startled sick, and we believe you. Can we all just end this for to-night?”
“I think that might be best.” Victor said, sounding exhausted and sad. His hands fell from the planchette, and Genevieve was all too happy to get hers off the cursed thing. She pulled them away as if the little wooden piece were made of spiders.
“We should all go to our beds, then.” Mother said, placing the paper down on the table. “Sir Godwin, would you please consider taking a guest bed this evening? I fear it is too late for you to go home alone.”
“That is most kind, Madam Shelley.” Victor bowed as much as he could from his seat. “I would appreciate your continued hospitality.”
They left the room in silence. Victor went with Mrs. Levitt to prepare his room, after promising Genevieve quietly that he would come to her room to say good-night.
Father escorted Mother out after, and Genevieve trailed after them with a candlestick in hand.
She tried to look for any scratch marks on the walls or floor to see where the noises had come from, but saw nothing.
She must have been looking too long, because when she looked up, her parents were gone. Her heart skipped a beat. At the moment, her beloved parlour seemed to be the scariest place in the entire world. She rushed forward towards the door.
Behind her, she heard the distinctive rolling sound of the planchette. Was it… supposed to do that without Victor there?
She leapt out of the room and closed the door with her available hand. There was a key somewhere, but she didn’t have it. Oh, how she wished for a key.
The candle light flickered in her hand.
Heart pounding, she placed her ear to the keyhole. The rolling sound had stopped.
She still wished she had the key. Maybe she would ask Mr. Levitt to lock it before leaving for the night, if he hadn’t already. She felt too embarrassed to ask her father.
Genevieve turned in the direction of the kitchen, wielding her candlestick like a weapon. She didn’t think it would actually help her, but it felt comforting to hold something weighty in her hand.
The kitchen candles were lit, but no one was there. Odd.
As she turned to go back to her bedroom, she distinctly smelled mildew and rot.
Genevieve turned- but everything looked the same as it always had. Perhaps she would have to tell Mr. Levitt about that in the morning, as well. Rot could destroy the house.
She walked lightly back to her room and prepared for sleep, careful not to disturb anything that might or might not be lurking in the shadows of her chilly home.
As she tucked herself into bed some thirty minutes later, she realized Victor still hadn’t come to say good night.
Dear Diary,
I… think we may have made a mistake in using the talking board. Perhaps I am too sensitive for such games, but I swear that I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye several times to-day!
I told Victor and he laughed at my cowardice. But the mood in the house is strange. No matter how many candles I light, my room is dark. And there is a chill in the air that is no product of nature.
My Victor says it could be my imagination. I hope it is.
Yours,
Genevieve
The next morning Genevieve awoke still feeling fatigued, due to the lack of sleep. As she rose from her bed, she noted that the time on the clock was surprisingly late- why had no one come to wake her?
She dressed herself quickly. Well, mostly. Mrs. Levitt hadn’t come lace her up.
Genevieve poked her head out into the hallway and called for her.
“Mrs. Levitt? Are you busy?”
It felt like an eternity, but Mrs. Levitt eventually emerged from one of the other rooms.
“Ah, Miss. You’re awake. Shall I help you with your dressing?”
Genevieve blushed, and nodded slightly. “Yes, thank you. If you would be so kind.”
Mrs. Levitt made quick work of the laces in the back and checked the other minute details of Genevieve’s clothing.
“Right you are, ready to see and be seen.” Mrs. Levitt said warmly. “Looking lovely for Sir Goodwin.”
Oh, yes! He had stayed over the night, hadn’t he? Except he never had come to see her in her room…
“Has Sir Godwin come out of his room yet today?” Genevieve asked, resisting the urge to twist her hair around her fingers nervously. She hoped that he hadn’t somehow gotten cold feet about marrying her last night.
That would be absolutely devastating.
“Oh, yes. Though Miss, he did look rather spent still this morning.” Mrs. Levitt walked around the room, and picked up the soiled clothes and placed odds and ends in their rightful domains. She was always remarkably efficient like that.
“And the parlour…” Genevieve worried her lip slightly. “Is it back to its normal…”
“It does seem to no longer be inhabited by any otherworldly presence.” Mrs. Levitt placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I think it should be quite safe again now.”
“Oh, thank you Mrs. Levitt.” She sighed with relief. “Last night was rather distressing for me.”
Mrs. Levitt nodded and walked brusquely towards the door. “Of course, anything you need, Miss. Only now if you’re ready, I have to clean the rest of the house and start to prepare lunch.”
Of course. Genevieve had slept in past the appointed time, and the rule was that now she had to wait until lunch was served. She couldn’t say she loved that rule, but it was certainly more practical.
“Please, Mrs. Levitt. Thank you.” Genevieve dismissed.
She barely missed a beat, stepping out into the hallway with Genevieve’s clothes for washing. The door closed behind her and she was gone.
Genevieve stood for a moment, feeling a sort of melancholy she couldn’t quite explain.
The door creaked open, and a flash of movement happened out of the corner of her eye. When she looked up, it was gone.
And the door was still closed.
“I think I should get some air.” She said with forced brightness in her tone.
Then she went to do just that.
She walked around the winding garden path outside, under the trellis and through the little hedge maze that led out to their small apple orchard. The apples were just barely gone, but the cold hadn’t bit the leaves yet.
“It’s a rather warm autumn,” she mused to herself, prodding a tree branch and its lightly crisping leaves.
“Yes, it is, love.” She heard from behind her, and turned.
Victor was walking up the hill from the maze, looking pink-cheeked and mischievous.
“If you came for apples, you returned far too late.” She puckered her lips and waited for his rejoinder.
This time, he surprised her. There was none.
He just kept swept her up in his arms and kissed her cheek.
“I don’t know, this apple seems ripe.”
Ah. There it was.
She smiled anyway. They were far too good at this game.
“Perhaps,” she wheedled, “but in a few weeks, it may be rotten. No one likes sour apples.”
He just laughed and lifted her up in a twirl, before bringing her up into his chest.
“You sour on me so quickly?” He whispered.
The heat and strength of his body were so reassuring. Genevieve felt herself drop the worries she’d been carrying since last night.
She took a deep breath, taking in his scent.
“Are you feeling well, after last night?” he asked, more seriously. “You were not at breakfast this morning, and you look worried.”
“I am feeling better now, thanks to you.” She said with utter honesty. “Last night was rather disturbing. I also heard you were not feeling at your best this morning?”
“I am quite healthy, I promise you. Last night drained more energy from me than I had anticipated.” He let her down and gently took her hands into his own. “I even forgot to say goodbye and close the portal, so I had to go back into the parlour in the dead of the night to finish it.”
“Close the portal?” She asked, because that sounded absolutely terrifying. What about a portal could ever be a good thing?
“The door between the living and dead that the talking board opens. Without closing it, I fear we may have had some issues.” He sighed. “Though the entity did not appear to bear any ill will towards us.”
She rather disagreed.
“Victor, is that why the planchette kept moving even after you all had gone?” She asked, holding onto his hands with probably more force than necessary.
He blinked a few times, but didn’t seem overly shocked.
“It did? What did it say?”
She shook her head. “I do not know! It startled me and I ran from the room. I shut the door and would not go back in.”
Victor’s mouth pinched. He was trying not to laugh at her.
“Oh, darling,” he managed to choke out with some effort. “It should be all right now. I closed the portal.”
She just glared at him. It certainly was not unreasonable to be uncomfortable with inanimate objects moved themselves. That was the entire idea of them being inanimate.
“What’s more, this morning I saw movement and no one there.” She contended. “I do not think this is done.”
Victor smiled and rubbed his thumbs over her hands reassuringly.
“Darling, I am quite sure the portal is closed. Whatever was moving the planchette last night is gone now. And this morning was likely a trick of the eyes that preyed on your nerves.”
She was about to start crying, she knew it. Her eyes were starting to well up with tears and of course Victor gave up immediately.
“It will be all right, Genevieve. I promise. I will check the talking board again today.” Victor leaned down and pressed his nose to hers.
“Promise me you will, Victor. Something in the house feels wrong. Even the air feels unfriendly.” She pleaded.
He huffed at that, which was mildly insulting. “That’s just Edmund, darling. Though maybe we could consider that he is haunting your parents’ home long past his welcome, as well.”
She laughed. That felt good.
“But not I,” She teased.
“No,” he agreed, letting down her hands and offering his arm. “Shall we go back to your childhood home and tour it before you leave it forever?”
“Not forever, Victor,” she laughed. “We have to visit. Mother would be very disappointed if we never returned.” She took the proffered arm and strolled back with him to the house.
The big wooden door creaked and groaned with effort as they entered.
They were met with only silence. Which was not odd for the household, but felt a bit eerie.
They peeked into her father’s study, which was empty.
“Parlour?” Victor asked jovially. Genevieve still felt distinctly uneasy about the prospect, but nodded.
The parlour had been reverted to its usual state. Genevieve’s parents were lying down on the chaise lounges, reading.
It would be rude to disturb them. They made their exit quietly, and stood in the hallway.
“Where did the talking board go, Victor?” She asked in a whisper. “Is it still in the parlour?”
He shook his head. “I do not know. It was here last night. Perhaps we should ask your staff where it was stored. Or Edmund?”
“Edmund first, I think.” Genevieve said, feeling brave. Something in her wanted to run out the door with Victor and not come back. But holding his hand made her feel safe enough to risk seeing that board again.
They walked through the halls and up the stairs. Genevieve stopped just outside her bedroom in the corridor.
“Victor, do you… smell that?” She asked. She wondered if she was dreaming, or if she was losing her mind. The smell of rot was so strong, but where would it even be coming from?
He didn’t seem to hear her.
They rounded the corner and stopped outside Edmund’s rooms. Victor rapped on the doorframe- some melody they had started using in school, if she remembered correctly.
There was no reply.
But the smell…
“The smell is even stronger here, Victor.” She looked around. Were there flowers rotting in a vase nearby? Forgotten food? What even could it be?”
“Edmund?” Victor called, gently turning the doorknob with his free hand. He poked his head inside.
“What is it?” Edmund asked, sounding irritated. “Oh, Victor. It was only you.”
“Who else?” Victor jested. “And of course, I have your lovely sister to accompany me.”
Edmund emerged from his room. He glanced downward and his eyes rested on their clasped hands.
“And what, pray tell, brought you two lovebirds come to my room?”
“Edmund,” Genevieve interjected, “do you know if that talking board is still in the parlor?”
He scoffed.
“I believe so, unless Father had it burned already. He was quite upset.” Edmund stared at Victor, unamused. “There was discussion of breaking off your engagement.”
Victor’s hand went slack in hers for a moment.
“Surely he was not quite so upset as to do that?” Victor asked quietly.
Genevieve felt her breath catch in her throat. Their wedding was so close now, would Father do that? She swallowed a small amount of bile that had risen, unbidden, to her mouth.
Edmund glanced at Genevieve and his features softened. “Do not worry, dear sister. I will convince Father again.”
Victor breathed out deeply and Genevieve felt herself do the same. Edmund had always been very persuasive.
“Just the same, I believe that the both of you should stay out of Father’s sight for the time being.” Edmund said. “Perhaps you could go for a very long walk, or…” he glanced suggestively at their hands yet again. “I am sure that you will be able to find an activity to occupy yourselves for a few hours.”
Genevieve felt her face grow warm, but banished the embarrassment from her face. She could not allow her brother to goad her so. He would become absolutely intolerable.
“I see.” Victor turned to her. His face was paler than usual, and his jaw looked tense. “Miss Genevieve, would you perchance join me for a long, long walk very far away from this house?”
“Yes,” she acquiesced. “Thank you, Edmund.”
Her brother bowed a little, feigning fealty. “Anything for my beloved sibling.” He said, which was more honest. “May I suggest the back door? I believe that Mr. and Mrs. Levitt are occupied, and I sent the girls out on an errand into town. It would be easier than trying to slip past the parlour.”
“Yes, thank you, Edmund.” Victor squeezed Genevieve’s hand slightly.
They quietly gathered warm coverings and slipped out the back door. The gardens were dead at this time of year, but the clear fall air felt freeing.
Victor silently led her to a bench behind the rose bushes and collapsed beside her, staring off into the distance.
He mumbled something, but she couldn’t hear what.
“Victor,” she sat up fully and placed a hand over his heart to calm him. “Victor, what are you saying?”
“I was wrong, darling. I was wrong to antagonize him.” He was staring off at the apple orchards.
“Victor,” she pried. “Would Father really break our engagement?”
He looked despondent in that moment. His hair fell into his eyes and his shoulders were closed in on themselves.
“He very well might, my love.” He said, after a moment. “I regret that I did not tell you the details, but your father had many misgivings about our engagement.”
“Why, Victor?” She felt as if the ground was sinking beneath her.
He shrugged, and swallowed. “My social standing was not a concern, but he felt that I was not likely to be a good husband.”
He turned and took both her hands into his, rubbing his thumbs over the back of her palms. The diamond in her engagement ring glinted in the morning light.
Genevieve slipped her fingers in between his and met his eyes.
“I am sure that Edmund will assuage his concerns.” She reassured him. “Edmund is always as good as his word.”
“True.” Victor’s eyes gained a mischievous glint. “Perhaps we should follow his instructions and find some ways to spend the time while he works his magic.”
He brought her ringed hand up to his lips.
This time, she did not even attempt to hide her blush.
October 31, 1891
Diary,
I am ever so glad that it is Hallowe’en. After today, my nerves may be able to settle. Victor has not returned to me yet, but he is likely doing this to startle me. Last year, he waited for hours in the parlour to startle me at my sewing. Beau he may be, but sometimes he teases me overly much.
I prayed for some strength of heart this morning. I hope it shall see me through to All Saints Day, whereupon my mind will be much relieved.
Yours for-ever,
Genevieve
Her lips were raw and chapped by the time she noted the first snowflake melt on her face.
She pulled slightly away from Victor’s embrace. He followed her lead, and looked up.
“Ah.” He blinked. The hand that had been around her waist slipped back. Victor looked around.
“Should we brave the inside?” She asked. Father’s displeasure was certainly uncomfortable, but surely less so than freezing to death in the snow.
Victor seemed to weigh the options. He stared out into the distance.
“We could take a carriage to my home.” He mused. “However, that seems likely to make your father even more upset.”
“You could also apologize to Father.” Genevieve suggested. “He is not unreasonable.”
Genevieve stared at Victor, hand still on his chest. He was motionless, still staring off into the distance. She followed his gaze over the rosebushes and into the orchard.
The crisp fall air was so still that she felt like she was going mad. She pulled her hand back, but Victor didn’t respond.
It was as if he was frozen.
“Victor?” she hesitated to touch him. He didn’t respond, but he was obviously very distressed.
She felt like an untethered boat drifting towards an ice floe: aware of the impending disaster, but powerless to divert course to save herself.
“Victor.” Genevieve tried again. The pit in her stomach hardened. Something told her that neither of them should go back into the house.
“Should we go inside?” she asked, not sure if he was even hearing her.
He still didn’t respond. She leaned closer and touched the back of his hand to attempt to gain his attention.
Something bright caught the corner of her eye, and she turned back in the direction of the orchard.
The rose bush was blooming. Soft, velvety pink and red petals were unfolding before her very eyes, into lush flowers.
But it was fall.
Genevieve closed her eyes and willed it away. When she opened them, the petals had gone dark and stiff. They fell to the ground. She blinked again, and the rose bushes were but rosewood briars. The promise of spring was months away again.
She was certainly losing her mind. Victor said he had made sure the talking board connection to the realm beyond was closed.
But had he been too late? Either her nerves were entirely frayed, or something else was afoot.
“Yes, you’re right, darling.” Victor said, startling her out of her thoughts.
“Regarding what?” Had she said those things? She didn’t think so.
He stood. “I should go and see your father.” He leaned down to kiss her nose. “Wait here- if the news is bad, we could flee.” He winked.
Genevieve felt suddenly lightheaded. Something deep down told her that she did not want either of them to enter that house again.
“Do not worry, my love. Wait here for me.” He smiled, but she could see that it was a strain. His shoulders were too tight. His posture was too straight. He was obviously very worried.
“Victor, I-” she started, but he seemed not to hear her. Then he started walking the stone path.
She watched with trepidation as he briskly walked away. Then she followed him down the stone path and into the house.
They stopped outside the parlor. Genevieve felt disconnected from her own body. She stared at the slightly open door and the knot in her stomach turned to a heavy stone.
“No.” She said, reaching out to catch his hand. “I think that we should leave now, Victor!” Her hands nearly connected with his sleeve but he had already pulled away. He took a step towards the door and looked back at her.
No, he was looking back towards the front door.
Victor breathed in heavily and placed a hand on the doorframe.
He swallowed.
“Sir Shelley, Madam Shelley?” He called, and pushed the door open.
Genevieve watched all the color drain from his face. Victor shouldered the door open and rushed in.
“Oh, God.” She heard him say with disbelief and shock. “Why?”
Then she heard a loud, sickening crack.
Genevieve tensed. There was a humming around her head that she couldn’t place. Her mouth tasted of blood.
She walked towards the open door slowly. Surely Victor would emerge any second, stop acting so oddly, and then they could leave.
But the only sound she could hear was that infernal buzzing. It grew louder in her ears and made her see spots. She gripped her hands to her ears and closed her eyes.
The sound abruptly stopped. All sound stopped.
She opened her eyes.
The rose bush was in full bloom again.
Genevieve looked down. She was sitting on the bench.
Of course, Victor had left her there when he went to see her parents.
The blooms bobbed and swayed in the breeze. How they looked like beautiful dancers, delicate and graceful.
Victor had been gone for some time, had he not?
Perhaps she should peek in the door. He had said not to worry or follow, but it wasn’t reasonable to make her wait in the autumn chill.
She rose, untwisting her skirts from around her ankles. It should have only taken Victor a matter of minutes to return to her.
Genevieve examined the exterior of her childhood home. It did not look like anything was out of the ordinary.
She drifted slowly down the path towards the house. Victor would be most upset if she came in when he had been so adamant.
But the light was beginning to fade. Soon, it would be cold and dark. She did not favor waiting in the gardens alone at night.
The door to her home seemed imposing in this light. She dismissed the feeling. Her nerves had been tried in the past day, but it was all a product of her imagination.
Genevieve was sure of it.
The halls were dark. Darker than they had any right to be at this time of day. And where were the Levitts? They should have lit the candles, at least!
She found her way to the parlor by memory, deftly avoiding the obstructions in the ill-lit halls.
The door was open, but the room was also dark.
Had she and Victor not seen her parents in this room not an hour before? They had been reading, they would need the light.
Perhaps they had fallen asleep?
She walked into the room quietly, careful not to disturb.
No one was there. Her book was on the table, where she had left it. Her mother’s chaise lounge was undisturbed.
Genevieve peered around the room, but it was obvious that no one was here. Her father’s wine glass still had dregs in it. So the no one had come to clean it, then.
She sighed.
It was almost time for dinner. She might find them in the dining room.
She heard a scratching sound. It was light, like a mouse.
Her heart stilled.
Genevieve followed the sound to the back of the room, trying to be as quiet as possible. The scratching sound grew a little louder as she grew closer.
No, she realized, as she approached the back wall. It wasn’t scratching. It was a rolling sound.
The planchette was rolling across the talking board, slowly but with purpose. Oddly, she didn’t feel afraid.
This felt like a dream. Her hands reached out without her mind’s bidding and moved the planchette back to the center.
She could almost feel phantom hands on hers as the planchette moved.
A R E Y O U G E N E V I E V E? The presence asked.
Genevieve hesitated. Why did this thing know her name? Was it better to be polite, or to lie?
She looked around. The house was still dark, and no one was around to ask. But if a ghost was asking for her name, it probably already knew the answer.
So she moved the planchette to YES, though she was steadily feeling more and more uneasy. She felt cold from head to toe. Why had she not worn warmer clothing?
The planchette moved in response. I S V I C T O R W I T H Y O U?
NO, she answered. The ghost had to know that.
D O Y O U K N O W W H E R E H E I S? She asked, noting that the buzzing had started up again.
YES.
The planchette stayed still and cold under her hands.
W H E R E?
The planchette nearly vibrated under her hands. She had a distinct and physical feeling of indecision.
Genevieve waited. The planchette didn’t move.
W H E R E I S V I C T O R? She asked, again. She was going to find him and leave this ghost far behind. Victor’s home was not so far away- they could be there within an hour.
A sigh echoed in the room. Genevieve swallowed the blood and bile tastes in her mouth. This was unholy. Should she even be doing this?
The planchette moved quickly, nearly flying across the talking board. GOODBYE.
“Goodbye.” She said, a bit woozy.
It was only a good thing that the talking board was closed, she was sure. She watched it for a moment to ensure that it would not begin to move of its own volition again.
But whatever presence she had felt was gone. The air in the parlour had lifted, even though the room remained deserted and dark.
She wandered through the house, hoping to find anyone in the dismal dark. Faint light was emanating from a room upstairs. She ascended the stairs and followed the light.
It seemed to be coming from Edmund’s room. Genevieve followed it and pushed open the door.
Something wet was on the floor and she nearly slipped. Genevieve caught herself on the door handle and carefully walked in the room.
The rotting smell from earlier was strong- so strong it was overpowering her other senses. She closed her eyes.
When she opened them, the room was light. Edmund was lying on the bed.
He looked like a statue, waxy and ill. She reached out to touch his arm.
It was wet.
She pulled back her hands and saw that blood was running down her fingers and staining her dress. The color spread down, down her arm.
Her heartbeat was thunder in her ears. The room was dark. She looked down at the bed and Edmund was gone- gone!
Genevieve ran back down the stairs, barely touching the wooden floorboards.
There were lights in the parlour- finally, someone must have lit the lamps!
Genevieve rushed into the room and immediately tripped on something, falling to the floor. She sat up.
The carpet was sticky.
She looked back to the doorway.
Victor was lying on the ground, mouth open. Blood was seeping from his mouth onto the carpet.
“Victor!” She gasped, crawling to him on her knees. She touched his face.
He did not respond.
She heaved. Her whole body was rebelling against her. Her arms were lead.
Even without turning him, she could see the giant dent in his skull. Who would do this? Who could do this?
She should get a doctor. The nearest one was miles away. Where were the Levitts?
“Help me!” She cried, quietly. Then louder. “Help me, please!”
The house was quiet.
She touched Victor’s hand. It was as cold as the snowflakes she could still almost feel on her nose. Had he not just been with her? Was it all just a dream?
She stood, aware of her shaky legs and her now ghoulish dress. It was soaking up his blood and covering her in it.
But he was only bleeding from the mouth. That didn’t seem right
Without looking, Genevieve knew who, or rather what, was behind her.
She turned anyway.
Then the scratching started again. It was soft and nearly comforting, the rolling sound of the planchette on wood.
Genevieve leaned on the furniture for support as she struggled past what was left of her parents.
The blood was making her shoes stick to the floor. It was increasingly hard to take every step. She soldiered on.
In the back, the planchette was still moving.
She grasped it. Blood dripped onto the wooden board. She watched it stain, and watched the board darken with age.
Genevieve looked up.
Around a small table, five oddly-dressed people looked back at her.
“Genevieve?” The other woman holding the planchette asked. “Are you with us?”
The room was filled with a low humming sound. Genevieve noted that they were using the same board.
She moved the planchette to YES.
