The Curse of Havenswood House, Fourth Installment
I have two more installments before The End of this story. If you want to read the First, Second, and Third installments, click on the links. As I’ve said before, this is in its nascent stages, and will probably only be what you’ll read here. I never know if a short story will go on to become more or if I should leave well enough alone. Thanks as always for reading and commenting. I appreciate that very much.
Over the next month, as plans for the masque were underway, the house grew more sinister. Doors flung open even when no one stood before them. They banged against walls or they locked and prohibited anyone from entering. The stairs jerked underfoot, tumbling maids and sending trays or carpet beaters flying. The windows turned opaque at midday and shimmered clear at night. The door to the cellar throbbed like a throbbing heart when anyone ventured near. Servants stayed beneath in their quarters unless they had duties above. Everyone agreed that Cook was right—Aurora’s challenge to the house would be the death of them all. They should flee, but they and their families desperately needed the money.
In the kitchen, servants leaned close to each other and whispered about the curse. If their voices rose over a murmur, the room filled with smoke, or the fire under Cook’s pots suddenly shot out into the room. They stopped their chatter and stole off to bed, dreading the coming ball.
When the masque was only a day away, Aurora suffered a long hour of standing while the seamstress tucked and pinned her costume. It still wasn’t what she’d imagined, but Livy and Maid Mannerly had shown resourcefulness by creating a pheasant and raven feathered cloak. It covered the disappointing garment, and when she lifted her arms, it was as if great wings spread at her sides to lift her into the sky. Once she donned the eagle head mask, she stared at herself in the mirror.
“Almost a gryphon,” she whispered. Nanny would be in shock if she were alive.
Sliding her hand along the bannister, she placed a tentative foot on the unpredictable stairs. The first step only jiggled slightly, so she hurried down to see what the local artist she’d hired had created in the ballroom. She hoped he was more inspired than her seamstress.
When she entered, the room had been transformed into a mythical jungle. Unicorns and dragons, phoenixes, and chimeras frolicked on the walls. In the center of the floor stood a giant paper-maché gryphon. The artist set aside his paints and brushes and bowed.
“It is ready, Miss Havenwood.”
“Yes. And perfect.” At last, something was as she’d imagined it. She’d be sure this artist was handsomely rewarded.
Once she was alone, she twirled around the gryphon, then stopped to stroke his muscled haunch. “You are magnificent.”
All of the doors to the ballroom crashed closed. Then they opened with equal force and banged against the walls. Again and again.
“Stop at once, House!” she commanded. “You will not have your way with this Havenwood mistress. I will give my masque. You won’t stop me!”
The ballroom plummeted into eerie silence. Then a draft of air, like a final breath of life, brushed her skin.
“I’m not going to give in to you, do you hear me?” Aurora turned, searching for a sign of the chilling presence, but it was everywhere and nowhere. “Coward! You hide and taunt, but never have the courage to appear.”
Every gaslight along the walls fluttered and then went out. Now all of the air smelled of decay. It blew out of the darkness and close to her ear. It wasn’t a voice she heard but a threat she felt at her core. I will destroy your masque and all who enter that night. That I vow.
A paralyzing terror shot through her. Her masque was indeed madness. More death. More misery. She sank onto the floor. There was no escape for her just as there had been no escape for the other two women before her. She couldn’t go forward with her plan. Once that thought was fixed in her mind, the evil presence withdrew, leaving her in darkness and the lonely pounding of her heart.
She stretched out a hand to find the way, until her palm fell on the curve of the gryphon’s back. It steadied her and she heard, not in her ears but deep inside her, “Don’t allow fear to rule you.” Aurora knew that if a gryphon could talk, it would sound exactly like this--gentle yet strong.
“I can’t fight this hate-filled presence. I can’t fight this wretched curse.”
“You can fight anything, Aurora. And you can win.”
She’d believed that up to this moment. Now, alone and standing in a shroud of blackness, she wasn’t sure.
“Think of your mother and her mother before her.”
Aurora blinked back the hot flush of tears at their memory. She had flashes from her childhood. Overheard whispers between servants about her grandmother fingering the cellar door key, but staying far from its lock. Then, later, watching her mother, the same horrible indecision etched on her face. Die now. Die later. But in either case, die too soon. Fear was all they knew. Their whole lives they dreaded each passing year, making small sorties at the cellar door, then retreating. The images of their pinched faces stopped Aurora’s tears.
It was time to meet the challenge head-on. Either she would break the curse, or she would succumb to it, but she could no longer live trapped in this miserable uncertainty. She was going to be the last Havenwood mistress to suffer. She was going to end the Havenwood curse.
Well, there you have it. I’m rooting for Aurora, but that damnable House seems to have the upper hand. Let me see what I can do as a writer to even the odds. Until next Wednesday…
Rooting for Aurora.
Keep going!