Authors: Bethany Griffin
The Fall (14 page)
So I went to him and told him, if she is the one you want, then lift this curse from me and let me go.
But he said he would not. He said that the curse always visits the house's heir, but it falls harder on his intended. Because we are married, I'll go mad first. He smiled when he said it. I asked about his sister. Was her madness some other sort? But as always, he ignored the question. He will not speak of his sister. Or mine.
I
came across a creature in the woods today. And a gravestone. The grave was covered with dead leaves and other debris from the forest.
I was farther from the house than usual, collecting gardening implements. We used to have a gardener, but his cottage has been abandoned, and the very walls are falling away. A shed stands near the old cottage, with some useful gardening implements inside. I don't feel it is wrong for me to take them. To use them.
On my way back from it, distracted by my plans for the garden, I wasn't watching where I stepped, and I rammed right into the hidden gravestone.
I cried out and fell forward, holding my bruised shin. Something slithered through the dead leaves toward me. Cassandra growled deep in her throat and leaped in front of me.
I grabbed a stick and scrambled back. The creature was larger than any snake I'd ever seen, even in the long grass that borders the woods.
I held the stick before me, unsure if I should prod at it, or if I should run. My leg was trembling, and a trickle of blood ran down it. The doctors say I bruise and bleed easily.
The forest blurred, and I could feel a hyperesthetic spell beginning. Suddenly I could see through Roderick's eyes, feel what he was feeling, which was not unusual. What was unusual was that I couldn't separate my emotions from his, couldn't bring my consciousness back to the forest. I heard Cassandra bark once, and that was all. I was strolling as Roderick through the city streets, talking with his school friend, laughing, as all the while I struggled to separate myself. To return to being Madeline.
When I woke, my head was resting on Cassandra's back in a patch of green. No dead leaves were in sight; it was as if a strong wind had blown them away. There was no place for a creature to hide. Nothing to crunch underfoot as I struggled to my feet and staggered back to the house.
Cassandra pranced beside me, proud of herself, and I knew, beyond a doubt, that I could trust her. Whether or not she had come from the house, her heart was mine.
D
octor Winston stands in my doorway holding a box.
“It is a gift,” he says. “It came by courier, from your brother.”
I do not know why I feel disappointed. Did I really think that Dr. Winston had gone to the trouble to bring me a present for my birthday?
The box is wrapped with a thick gold cord.
I take it with trembling hands, praying that this note won't say Roderick isn't coming home tomorrow. He must be here for our birthday.
“Let me help you,” Dr. Winston says, putting his hands over mine. His nails are clean, but broken from digging Cassandra out of the hillside, and that makes me like him even more than I did before.
It doesn't seem to appease Cassandra, though. She growls as he pushes himself close to me, whatever warmth she felt toward him forgotten.
The string unravels, leaving the box exposed and ready to be opened, but he doesn't step back or take his hands from mine.
“I stay here for you, not the house,” he says. “I know what you're thinking. I know you fear that since I can hear the house, I must be your enemy. But I'm not.”
When I first met him, I desperately wanted to kiss him. That feeling returns. He's close enough, and I don't think he would object.
Unlike Roderick, he believes the house is sentient, though he seems half in love with it, and that is dangerous. Unless he comes to see the evil intentions, as I have.
I lift the lid from the box. Inside is a ruby necklace, heavy and ornate. Dr. Winston lifts it to my throat. I don't know what Roderick was thinking. It's far
too
heavy and ornate; it makes my neck look too thin, too fragile.
In the mirror, the rubies are a red gash against my throat.
“It suits you,” the doctor says. He hooks the necklace and puts his hands on my shoulders.
Cassandra growls, deep in her throat, and she brushes against me as she stands, but before I can turn to admonish her for being a rude dog, Dr. Winston kisses me.
For a moment, all my anxiety is swept away by the feeling of his mouth against mine. I twine my hand into his hair, surprised that it's rough and a little coarse.
He presses against me, and I allow him to maneuver me toward my bed. Perhaps he did not fasten it properly, or perhaps the clasp was broken, but as we move, the heavy necklace crashes to the floor. We break apart, both bending to retrieve it.
Dr. Winston's face is wide open and earnest.
“There are so many things I want to tell you. No one else knows, or believes. I wasn't sure if I could trust you, but now . . . ,” he's saying.
There is a slip of paper on the floor. It must have fallen from the gift box.
I love you,
it says.
R.
I pick it up.
Dr. Winston seems fascinated by the movement.
I fold the note and put it on the table beside my bed. He puts the necklace over it, like a jewel-encrusted paperweight.
Raising my face to his, I wait for him to kiss me again, my entire being focused. I don't want to hear about the house, not now. I want this moment to be between the two of us, only. With this kiss, maybe he could release me from the part of the curse that Roderick and I don't speak of.
But the kiss never comes.
When I open my eyes, I see shock written across his face. Between us, the wooden floor of my bedroom has split, in absolute silence, with a wide, jagged crack.
Dr. Winston backs away from me, his eyes filled with fear. I stare at the floor, testing it to see if it is stable. When Cassandra relaxes, I know he's gone, though the splintered rent in my floor remains.
The necklace lies abandoned on my bedside table.
S
hould I feel different today? Does anyone actually feel different on their birthday? I pace back and forth, waiting for Roderick. He should have arrived hours ago, and I am agitated and excited. I have a new dress. One that hasn't had time to fade to the sickly weathered gray of the others. It doesn't matter what color they were when they were placed in thereâred, pink, yellow, they all fade within a fortnight.
But this one is different. It's midnight black, like a raven's wing, and it has not faded. I will wear it to dinner tonight, with my new necklace.
On the first night after Roderick comes home, the servants always lay out dinner, course after course, in the dining room, so that we can eat among the cobwebs and ghosts. Then, after that first unexplained evening, they return to the habit of delivering our trays of food to the parlor, like they have since our parents died.
Tonight I will put up my hair like a lady and walk down the staircase with him. We will play make-believe. Tonight will be special.
The clock in the hallway chimes and startles me.
Roderick should be here already.
Cassandra follows me, swatting pieces of heavy mahogany furniture with her tail.
I tell myself there is no reason to worry. Roderick has probably set out late.
I lead Cassandra through the unused rooms at the front of the house to the arched entranceway. A ceiling beam is lying on the floor, splintered into a million pieces. Cassandra sniffs it and whines, nudging me forward.
Over the years, the causeway has shifted. It used to lead to the drawbridge, another affectation of the crazy Ushers. The rusting chains that held the door still hang, thicker than my arm, along with the remains of the pulleys. New stonework was put in, halfheartedly, to replace that larger door.
Roderick generally enters through a side door the servants use for bringing in food and supplies. But today is special, and his arrival should be grander.
I touch the ancient drawbridge. The planks stain my hands black. I force the door open, using my shoulder and all of my weight. Though smaller than the original, it is still twice as tall as me, and wide enough to allow multiple horses through. To my left is a stabling area where the black coach is housed, as well as Roderick's white horses. I have never been allowed to ride. It's too dangerous if a fit comes on.
The door opens with a hideous and painful screech, and Cassandra and I walk outside into late-afternoon sunlight. When the drawbridge was taken down, the causeway was extended.
The smell from the tarn hits me when I step outside, gagging me. It's only the smell of water, I tell myself. Fetid water, but still, it shouldn't affect me so strongly. Cassandra and I make our way across the causeway. Halfway across, the combination of bright sunlight and the smell forces me to my knees. With my hands pressed to my stomach, I close my eyes and try to stay calm. This is not a safe place for a fit.
I stare into the water, willing myself to be well. Either I will go back and wait for Roderick in the house, or I will cross the causeway and wait for him in the shade of the white trees. I cannot stay here.
The water is dark, tinged with gray. It reflects the sunlight rather than absorbing it. As I stare into it, I see something looking back at me. Eyes. Great empty eyes. It's something ancient and monstrous, something I've never even dreamed of. I look away, pretending to have seen nothing. The water, that lusterless water that doesn't move even in the worst of storms, ripples once and then composes itself, once again a mirror reflecting the house.
Looking forward, I take in the blighted forest, a series of dead white trees, standing until the next storm knocks more down. It stretches for miles and miles surrounding our property.
The causeway is paved with flat stones, but the earth underneath has settled, and the walkway is uneven. I tread carefully. Cassandra follows me, her fur bristling.
As I walk, the path seems to extend and stretch forever. Longer than it was when I took my first step. The tarn remains unruffled at the surface, but I can hear, all around me, the sound of slithering.
A vision hits me harder than any hyperesthetic spell I've ever suffered. I've been pulled in to Roderick's mind. He's riding, and something has spooked his horse. I can feel the movement, feel Roderick frantically holding on. I hear his laughter, quick and high-pitched; he's enjoying this, and yet terrified. And then he's flying forward, and I, on my knees, am falling with him. I fall without even the presence of mind to stretch out my arms to catch myself. Not that I could catch myself, because I'm not going to land on solid earth.
I plunge into the tarn, and sink farther under water than I've ever been. I don't move, frozen by surprise and fear. I've lived here my entire life and never touched this fetid water. It burns my skin, acidic. It flows into my nostrils, seeks entrance to my mouth, pushing and pushing. It moves, oily, over me.
I twist my neck, looking in the direction that I think is up, and there is light coming through the gloom. I should be struggling, but my dress is so wet and so heavy, and I'm sinking deeper and deeper into a complacent bed of silt.
Images flash before my eyes: Roderick on horseback, approaching the house; the doctors, cursing the loss of my body as a specimen for their experiments; Cassandra, howling over and over, long, mournful cries as if her heart is breaking. Cassandra's grief finally shakes me from my apathy, and I thrash my arms.
Something wraps itself around my ankle. A seaweed or fungus, perhaps? It twines, silky smooth, up my leg, and as I attempt to propel myself, the hold tightens. The water shimmers around me as I fight my way to the surface, and my wet dress clings to my legs, so very heavy, but I ignore the weight; if I think about it, if I let the horror sink in, I'll never reach the surface. Something is living, something lives in the tarn, and it is here with me now, and it wants me.
“Madeline, Madeline!” SomeoneâRoderickâis yelling my name.
I break through the surface, the shore only feet away; it is barren and rocky. The water is too foul for anything to grow near it. It is oily on my skin. I fight toward the shore, but then the thing wrapped around my ankle yanks me back toward the center of the tarn. I try to cry out but choke on a mouthful of bitterness as I'm pulled under.
I feel rather than see the splash as Cassandra jumps in, and I twist toward her, struggling with direction. Everything in the water feels distorted, wrong. But Cassandra finds me; she is warm and strong. I wrap my arms around her as she pulls me to the surface. Even this foulness does not lessen the warmth, the comfort of her body in my arms.
I try to kick, fighting again with my skirts and the thing that still has hold of my ankle. It twines around and around both of my legs, spiraling to my waist. Half immobilized, my only chance is Cassandra. She struggles, yanking me back.
I gasp for one breath before I am pulled under again. Whatever has hold of me is soft and pliable. My hands move through it, yet it is alive . . . it wants to devour me.
It slithers over my skin, and I know this is what fouls the water.
I try to keep my eyes open, but the water burns, and I can't see anything, and I'm choking.
And then Cassandra is pressed against me again. She can't bite the creature, because it is so gelatinous. She twists away from me and dives directly into the mass of the creature.
For a moment the pressure eases and I'm able to kick again, and I lash out with my arms and legs, trying to disengage, trying to find my way. Where is the surface?
