Electra Rose
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Forever Yours, Genevieve (Night 1 of 3)
🕑 Added 2018-10-31 09:05:22 +0000 UTC October 29, 1891Diary,
To-day, Edmund and Victor returned from their voyage to England. 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.
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 engagement 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.
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, and 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 chose to flaunt custom and sat himself beside her at the head of the table, eliciting only a slight chuckle from her father.
Edmund 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. “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’m not taking 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. “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. “Victor, 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.
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.
Comments
Claire
Spooky!! My theory is that it’s the ghost of a family member Genevieve never knew about - possibly a sibling who died? Or maybe a demon. I also liked the nod to Mary Shelley in Genevieve’s last name.
