Without A Heartbeat

The next few days were a blessing for Scarlett, as Master Clarke was away in Londonderry for business. It was as if a dark cloud had been lifted from the manor, and the mood among the servants shifted to one of good spirits.

That did not mean that Scarlett was willing to forgive.

She performed her duties in silence, ignoring the forced smiles and stunted conversations that were aimed at her by the rest of the servants. When the stable boys saw her through the kitchen windows, they no longer tried to catch her eye. It was obvious that they – like everyone else in the manor – knew what was happening to her. Not only were none of them willing to do anything about it, they now viewed her differently as a result. She was the damaged toy that no one wanted…one that belonged to a dangerous owner.

Slowly, a divide appeared within Oakley Manor. On one side stood the entire servile community of the household, all smiles and good moods.

On the other stood Scarlett.

A single gesture did more to lift her spirits than all the apologies and comforting shoulder squeezes Scarlett had received since her return to the manor. On the third night, after sitting upright in her bed for many hours – afraid to fall asleep for the horrors that waited in her dreams - Scarlett was finally too tired not to lie down. As she settled her face against the misshapen pillow, she felt a hard shape press against her cheek. Slipping a hand underneath, her fingers closed around a familiar shape. Her face broke into a smile when she pulled the item out and saw that it was her copy of The Monk. Something was sticking out the side. Using her candle to see better, she opened the front cover and a note floated onto the bedcover. Looking around to make sure no one was watching - and realising that she was the only one awake - turned it over.

It was not Hers to take. May it bring a smile back to your beautiful, yet troubled face.

Scarlett frowned down at the mysterious note. It was written so beautifully; it could only have come from someone educated. That ruled out any of the others she worked with – unless they held a secret like hers, which she doubted.

Maybe Master Clarke?

She shook the notion from her mind as quickly as it entered. He was the sort of man who used belts and fists to get what he wanted, not sweet words and kindness. It couldn’t have been Mrs Ellison, because Scarlett was certain it was she who had taken it in the first place, which the note itself suggested.

Then who?

The answer was that she simply did not know. All that mattered was that someone had cared enough to return it. There was something else that struck her as odd about the note, but she was too exhausted to understand what it was. Scarlett drew the book up to her chest as her eyes closed, curling her body around it as if she were an innocent child and it was her favourite possession.

A noise woke Scarlett.

It wasn’t loud. Nor was it upsetting, like the scream of a woman or the wails of a child.

It was odd.

The sound was like a fast paced clicking that rose to a crescendo before dispelling into a low crooning, like the purrs of a contented animal – although it didn’t resemble any animal she had ever heard.

Chikchikchikchikchikchuuuuurrrrr.

It took Scarlett several moments to understand that she was not dreaming the noise. It was coming from downstairs.

The moon shone in through a crack in the tatty curtains, but not with brightness enough to fill the room. Fumbling about in the dim light, Scarlett found a match on her bedside table and struck it against the wall. The flame bloomed into life and Scarlett lit the wick of her candle, before blowing it out.

Chikchikchikchikchikchuuuuurrrrr.

The sound continued, and as she listened - her ears straining and brain whirring as she struggled to identify the strange sound - she began to think she could hear multiple versions of it. Glancing around, Scarlett saw that everyone else was still sleeping, Claudia providing a dull snoring at the far end of the room.

Chikchikchikchikchikchuuuuurrrrr.

A cold shiver swept down Scarlett’s spine. She didn’t want to investigate, but childish curiosity drove her to swing her legs out of bed and stand up. The cold bite of the winter air on her bare thighs made her grit her teeth. She tiptoed across the attic and inched the door open, being careful to cup the candlelight from the draft that rushed through. With careful footsteps she descended the steps into the narrow corridor, tiptoeing along the wood until she reached the servant’s passage. She crept down the stairs, doing her best to avoid making any noise. Nonetheless the steps were old and several gave groans of protest that made her pause and hold her breath.

Chikchikchikchikchikchuuuuurrrrr.

The sound became louder and more distinct as she drew closer. Scarlett was now certain beyond doubt that there was more than one source, there were at least four separate versions of the same noise. Scarlett reached the door at the base of the stairs and with a deep breath lifted the latch.

Nothing.

The kitchen beyond was empty, a quiet sentinel filled with its brass and metal, bathing in the glow of the almost full moon that poured through the unobstructed windows. It was freezing, the floor beneath her bare feet little more than tiled ice. Scarlett hugged her free arm around herself and looked around. It was at that moment she glanced to the left and saw the steps that led down to the cellar.

CHIKCHIKCHIKCHIKCHIKCHIKCHUUUUURRRR.

The sounds were coming from inside. Fighting against the fear that rose inside her like the tide, Scarlett edged over to where the stone steps led down through a descending arch to the large white door. The door that was always locked.

Crouching down, Scarlett saw that it was no longer locked. A long, iron key was set into the large keyhole and the door itself was ajar. She couldn’t see anything but she could hear a lot. Things were moving about inside. The sound was like a dozen nails scratching against rough walls. It made the hairs on her neck stand up and all of a sudden she wished she had stayed in bed. As she listened, she heard another sound come from within the cacophony, almost too quiet to be heard.

Someone talking.

More than talking, it sounded like someone crooning, hushed words of affection that were barely more than a whisper. Scarlett only managed to catch a few stray words.

My sweet siblings…

…Missed you…

...Soon…

The weird sounds wrapped around the words, more of them than Scarlett had realised, she tried to place the number, but there were just too many.

Chikchikchikchik-

The sounds ceased.

As quick as a click of fingers, there was nothing but silence. The next sounds Scarlett heard were footsteps coming towards her. Pure panic hit her like a fist and she rushed away, wrenching the door open and running up the stairs as fast as she could. The candleholder slipped from her grasp and clattered down the steps, snuffing out the flame. Scarlett stifled a scream as she was thrown into darkness. She fumbled up the rest of the steps blindly, imagining hideous creatures with reaching claws chasing behind her. The corridor beyond was a rectangle block of shadow and she took flight down it, tracing one hand against the wall and stretching the other out in front of her. She yelped in pain as her fingers jarred against the wall at the end and she scratched at the wood of the door until she found the handle. Pouring through, she pushed the door shut and threw herself up the last set of stairs and onto her cot. Slipping under the covers she pulled the sheets up around her shoulders and faced away from the door. Her thundering heart fluttered to the point that her lungs produced tickling coughs she had to stifle with a clamped hand.

For the longest time there was nothing but silence. Then the footsteps came, slow and steady, working their way up the steps. Scarlett heard the attic door creak open. She could feel the presence of someone standing on the threshold only a few feet away, watching. The figure stepped inside. Not daring to move or breathe, Scarlett kept her trembling hand over her mouth and eyes squeezed shut.

Please go. Please go.

Scarlett expected the covers to be whipped off her at any moment and some horrible thing to be standing over her, like the creature from her nightmare. She silently cursed herself for reading so many horror stories - it was making her imagination go wild.

Something was placed down next to her cot, the sound thick but not loud on the wooden floor. The figure whipped around then, the movement so rapid that Scarlett felt the rush of air flow over her. The door was gently closed and the sound of retreating footsteps echoed up towards her.

When she was sure she was safe, Scarlett sat up and let out a ragged breath that descended into a fit of coughs. After she had recovered, she peered over the edge of her bed and her throat went dry.

It was the candleholder.

With sweat pouring down her face and hair clinging to her skin, Scarlett drew her knees up to her chest and let out a sob.

I hate this place so much.

She stayed in that position for a while - calming herself - until yet another sound drew her attention. It was the sound of several things brushing against the shrubs and trees outside. Like an invisible hand, something she couldn’t explain pulled her over to the window. Making sure that she couldn’t be seen, she peered through the narrow crack with one eye. The girl could barely comprehend what she saw.

A silhouetted figure - wearing robes and with what looked like small tree branches protruding from the sides of their head - was walking through the moonlit grounds. The stranger was moving away from the manor, arms outstretched as if performing a holy rite. Hordes of other dark figures lumbered on all fours around the stranger. It was as if the shadows themselves had come alive, sweeping across the grounds in a wave of darkness. Scarlett watched, her face pressed against the rough curtain and eye staring at the terrifying scene.

Without warning the figure stopped. All the others froze at the exact same moment, some even pausing in the middle of their movements. Every single one of the intruders stood so motionless it would have been easy to mistake them for statues.

The figure whipped their head around, exposing a grimacing skull and pointed up at the window. At the same moment a hand gripped Scarlett’s shoulder.

She screamed.