The House of Dead Maids by Dunkle Clare B

Author:Dunkle, Clare B. [Dunkle, Clare B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-09-14T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Seeing himself succeed at giving orders made me bold to try. That evening, while Mrs. Sexton ran the warming pan under our sheets and Himself employed a feather as a plank to save his pirate from drowning in the washbowl, I carried a chair over to the shrouded mirror to lift the pillowcase away. As I reached for it, I saw a movement in the glass beneath the cloth: my own movement to uncover it, no doubt. But it startled me, and I decided to try my luck at assigning the task to another.

“Mrs. Sexton,” I said as she gathered her things and prepared to leave for the night. “I don’t believe you’ve noticed, but a cloth is blocking the mirror.”

“Aye, it is,” she grunted. And before I could say another word, she had gone and locked the door. That ended my attempt at a lady’s graces, and the mirror stayed as it was.

Himself dropped off like a lamb with Rogue tucked in the crook of his arm, and how that injured figure had managed to survive the day was more than I could account for. But I had asked Mrs. Sexton to leave us a candle, and I used its light to sew by, sitting up in bed and working on Alma Augusta’s pretty dress until I had it complete.

A humming caught my notice, as of an insect that had been but half crushed, so that life still stirred. I sought the offending creature to end both life and noise, but I could find nothing; it seemed to move about the room and got the better of me. I concluded that the candlelight had awakened it to a false day, but that night would restore its rest, so I blew out the candle and climbed into bed.

Two white eyes stabbed the darkness in the corner by the clothes press. I lay in terror and watched as they prowled the little chamber, and where they moved, the humming went with them. At the same time, an odor suffused the room, as of putrid, maggot-riddled flesh.

I squeezed my eyes shut and lay as still as a statue then, but the aura of evil that traveled wherever the specter moved assaulted my senses like a visible form. The darkness that hid under the skin of my dead maid appeared here naked and virulent, like a tumor grown so fat that it had corrupted the healthy tissue and consumed the entire body.

The hum drew near, next to my pillow, and the foul odor made me retch. Beside me, Himself awoke.

“Go away!” he cried. “My pirate’s going to carve you up, you nasty strip of horsemeat!” The humming receded at his words, and the stench began to fade.

“Is that your ghost?” I whispered, unwilling still to open my eyes.

“The dead master with the eyes like windows,” he confirmed, stretching. “Much good it does him to curse me—he hasn’t hands to throttle me with.”

“I like my ghost better,” I said, shivering, and it was a long time before I could sleep.

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