Re: The Phenomenal Fracas! (GBS2G6): [Round Two: Witch's Haunt]
10-25-2010, 01:00 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by MalkyTop.
Eureka had no idea what was up with the light show but it had been annoying and painful. Her eyes were still watering and she stumbled right onto a bed, which was so soft, it allowed her to sink quite a bit into the matress. It was very comfortable. Too comfortable. She stood back up again, somehow disturbed, as she had the strange, irrational fear that the bed would swallow her whole.
It was then her wounds reminded her in a rather painful manner that some of them needed tending to. She stumbled again, this time onto a chair that almost tilted over too far, raised her shirt a little and gave a short intake of breath at what she saw. That crazy horned lady thing didn't hold anything back. Her fingers had left neat holes from which blood had flown out freely. She wouldn't be surprised if they had scraped against her ribs. Bandages wrapped around her torso. If this kept up, she would run out of bandages...
Letting her bloodied clothes drop now, she started actually looking around the room. It had the feeling of 'guest bedroom' all over it, with the leafy wallpaper and the queen-sized bed with the nice sheets and the framed paintings that depicted a generic landscape (which nobody really hung up in their own rooms because their wallspace could be used for something much more interesting). The dressers were empty as well as the closet.
Though actually, she had no idea what an average bedroom in a mansion looked like. Maybe fabulously rich people did decorate their rooms with paintings of generic landscapes that were vaguely European. It did seem like the bed had been used recently. No dust.
But...the silence was still there, looming dramatically. Eureka hadn't heard a thing after the Prestigimawhatzits stopped talking. It seemed there was absolutely nobody around. She felt rather...alone.
She tried the door. It was locked. However, it didn't seem as though it was built to withstand a big bundle of balled-up cloth colliding with it at a high velocity, so she got her scarf ready. But wait. What the heck was she doing? There were most certainly a bunch of other nasty characters out there ready to kill her in probably gruesome ways. Smashing down doors would just draw attention to her. Wherever they were. Wherever she was. Whatever.
She glanced out the window and saw she was on the second floor. So the only entrance was the door and anybody coming in would have no idea she was here. So she could catch anybody off guard if they happened to find her here. Staying inside this room was sounding better and better.
Eureka slumped in the chair again and glanced at the desk. Well, it was probably going to be a boring wait, so she might as well search it.
Some of the drawers were locked and Eureka was strangely compelled to respect the privacy of whoever decided his things were secret enough to hide away. She didn't find much, mostly letters she didn't feel like opening and various types of pens, one which she took and started spinning around in boredom. The last drawer she opened had a leather-bound book in it. Fancy golden letters described the book as a Journal.
This one she was willing to check out. Still spinning the pen between her fingers, she opened to the first page.
November 20th
Father gave me this as a present. "For your darkest secrets," he said. Now why would I want to write my darkest secrets down for someone else to come along and read? Because certainly if someone else finds this, they will open up and read it (and here Eureka nervously glanced over her shoulder before continuing) in curiosity and then my secrets would no longer be secret. I can't help but think that this present is the most useless thing Father had ever given me. But I will still write in it. At least for remembering important things I forget.
November 21st
Had a strange dream. I regret that I've completely forgotten it by now. Ah well. There was probably no meaning behind it anyways.
November 22nd
Must remember to get milk.
Eureka sighed and started flipping ahead until she found a rather long one that seemed more interesting than grocery troubles.
I feel so conflicted and I have thought about this so often as I lay in bed that I have gotten absolutely no sleep in the last few days. It is a sin according to God, as the preacher says, and it will no doubt hurt our family's reputation. Writing it out here will just be confessing it, so I refuse to. Because it can't be true. This must be a test and I intend to pass it. Soon this will go away and I can get back to sleep.
No, it can't be denied any longer. It is only a self-destructive path to continue ignoring my feelings. Everything feels right when I'm around her, so why should I loathe myself for it?
Because God will loathe me for it. Because she is much too young. Because she is my sister.
He'll kill me. He'll absolutely go insane if I ever tell him I love Plkf
Eureka paused, blink, and read the sentence again.
He'll absolutely go insane if I ever tell him I love Sdfj
Eureka rubbed her eyes. Great. On top of everything, she was hallucinating. Quickly, she flipped through more pages, skimming them, finding names that were either jumpled messes of random letters or crossed out heavily altogether. She stopped randomly.
Wdkl died today. The whole manor is in mourning. I can see the lake outside my window an d the boat she had tried to grab is still floating there. The water looks filthy to me now. The funeral is two days from now.
Tried to get out her body today. Rope snapped.
Tried to get out her body today. Flkjds almost drowned. Sdlkj is convinced we shouldn't try anymore. Funeral is held without her body.
Tried to get out her body tonight. I could see it clearly through the water and she looks no different, as though she had simply chosen to sleep in the lake's bottom. She looked so close. I leaned over and fell in, but didn't panic. For the few moments I was near her, I felt calm. The calmest I had been ever since the accident. But then I was fished out. Someone had seen my sneaking out at night. Sewoij is certain this is a sign.
We are leaving. My room looks oddly bare now. I intend on leaving this journal behind. I don't want anybody to find it.
And that would seem to be the end of that.
But there was more.
I can still see her I can hear her voice it is so melodious I wish I could be near her again
Eureka paused, wondering if she should really continue. Before, it had been just creepy. Now it was...well, creepier. She flipped through the pages...how much more had he written before he supposedly left?
At the last page, she couldn't help but notice that the entry was writing itself out. Ink neatly spelled out the words in perfect handwriting, repeating the phrase, they say I am not well but I am feeling fine over and over. She watched, her pen now poised right above the paper, completely still. The ink reached the end of the page and a new, blank one appeared. She would have been more surprised, but suddenly, this seemed rather normal.
Done with the journal entry, she carefully closed the book and set the pen in its place. As though she were following a well-rehearsed ritual, she licked her fingers and pinched out the candle that was there to the side, draped her coat over the chair, and shuffled over to the bed and slowly slid herself under the covers.
Almost immediately, she fell asleep.
Before she did, she hoped she would dream of her again and hoped that everybody else would stop fussing over her. They all kept saying she wasn't well, but really, she was feeling fine.
Eureka had no idea what was up with the light show but it had been annoying and painful. Her eyes were still watering and she stumbled right onto a bed, which was so soft, it allowed her to sink quite a bit into the matress. It was very comfortable. Too comfortable. She stood back up again, somehow disturbed, as she had the strange, irrational fear that the bed would swallow her whole.
It was then her wounds reminded her in a rather painful manner that some of them needed tending to. She stumbled again, this time onto a chair that almost tilted over too far, raised her shirt a little and gave a short intake of breath at what she saw. That crazy horned lady thing didn't hold anything back. Her fingers had left neat holes from which blood had flown out freely. She wouldn't be surprised if they had scraped against her ribs. Bandages wrapped around her torso. If this kept up, she would run out of bandages...
Letting her bloodied clothes drop now, she started actually looking around the room. It had the feeling of 'guest bedroom' all over it, with the leafy wallpaper and the queen-sized bed with the nice sheets and the framed paintings that depicted a generic landscape (which nobody really hung up in their own rooms because their wallspace could be used for something much more interesting). The dressers were empty as well as the closet.
Though actually, she had no idea what an average bedroom in a mansion looked like. Maybe fabulously rich people did decorate their rooms with paintings of generic landscapes that were vaguely European. It did seem like the bed had been used recently. No dust.
But...the silence was still there, looming dramatically. Eureka hadn't heard a thing after the Prestigimawhatzits stopped talking. It seemed there was absolutely nobody around. She felt rather...alone.
She tried the door. It was locked. However, it didn't seem as though it was built to withstand a big bundle of balled-up cloth colliding with it at a high velocity, so she got her scarf ready. But wait. What the heck was she doing? There were most certainly a bunch of other nasty characters out there ready to kill her in probably gruesome ways. Smashing down doors would just draw attention to her. Wherever they were. Wherever she was. Whatever.
She glanced out the window and saw she was on the second floor. So the only entrance was the door and anybody coming in would have no idea she was here. So she could catch anybody off guard if they happened to find her here. Staying inside this room was sounding better and better.
Eureka slumped in the chair again and glanced at the desk. Well, it was probably going to be a boring wait, so she might as well search it.
Some of the drawers were locked and Eureka was strangely compelled to respect the privacy of whoever decided his things were secret enough to hide away. She didn't find much, mostly letters she didn't feel like opening and various types of pens, one which she took and started spinning around in boredom. The last drawer she opened had a leather-bound book in it. Fancy golden letters described the book as a Journal.
This one she was willing to check out. Still spinning the pen between her fingers, she opened to the first page.
November 20th
Father gave me this as a present. "For your darkest secrets," he said. Now why would I want to write my darkest secrets down for someone else to come along and read? Because certainly if someone else finds this, they will open up and read it (and here Eureka nervously glanced over her shoulder before continuing) in curiosity and then my secrets would no longer be secret. I can't help but think that this present is the most useless thing Father had ever given me. But I will still write in it. At least for remembering important things I forget.
November 21st
Had a strange dream. I regret that I've completely forgotten it by now. Ah well. There was probably no meaning behind it anyways.
November 22nd
Must remember to get milk.
Eureka sighed and started flipping ahead until she found a rather long one that seemed more interesting than grocery troubles.
I feel so conflicted and I have thought about this so often as I lay in bed that I have gotten absolutely no sleep in the last few days. It is a sin according to God, as the preacher says, and it will no doubt hurt our family's reputation. Writing it out here will just be confessing it, so I refuse to. Because it can't be true. This must be a test and I intend to pass it. Soon this will go away and I can get back to sleep.
No, it can't be denied any longer. It is only a self-destructive path to continue ignoring my feelings. Everything feels right when I'm around her, so why should I loathe myself for it?
Because God will loathe me for it. Because she is much too young. Because she is my sister.
He'll kill me. He'll absolutely go insane if I ever tell him I love Plkf
Eureka paused, blink, and read the sentence again.
He'll absolutely go insane if I ever tell him I love Sdfj
Eureka rubbed her eyes. Great. On top of everything, she was hallucinating. Quickly, she flipped through more pages, skimming them, finding names that were either jumpled messes of random letters or crossed out heavily altogether. She stopped randomly.
Wdkl died today. The whole manor is in mourning. I can see the lake outside my window an d the boat she had tried to grab is still floating there. The water looks filthy to me now. The funeral is two days from now.
Tried to get out her body today. Rope snapped.
Tried to get out her body today. Flkjds almost drowned. Sdlkj is convinced we shouldn't try anymore. Funeral is held without her body.
Tried to get out her body tonight. I could see it clearly through the water and she looks no different, as though she had simply chosen to sleep in the lake's bottom. She looked so close. I leaned over and fell in, but didn't panic. For the few moments I was near her, I felt calm. The calmest I had been ever since the accident. But then I was fished out. Someone had seen my sneaking out at night. Sewoij is certain this is a sign.
We are leaving. My room looks oddly bare now. I intend on leaving this journal behind. I don't want anybody to find it.
And that would seem to be the end of that.
But there was more.
I can still see her I can hear her voice it is so melodious I wish I could be near her again
Eureka paused, wondering if she should really continue. Before, it had been just creepy. Now it was...well, creepier. She flipped through the pages...how much more had he written before he supposedly left?
At the last page, she couldn't help but notice that the entry was writing itself out. Ink neatly spelled out the words in perfect handwriting, repeating the phrase, they say I am not well but I am feeling fine over and over. She watched, her pen now poised right above the paper, completely still. The ink reached the end of the page and a new, blank one appeared. She would have been more surprised, but suddenly, this seemed rather normal.
Done with the journal entry, she carefully closed the book and set the pen in its place. As though she were following a well-rehearsed ritual, she licked her fingers and pinched out the candle that was there to the side, draped her coat over the chair, and shuffled over to the bed and slowly slid herself under the covers.
Almost immediately, she fell asleep.
Before she did, she hoped she would dream of her again and hoped that everybody else would stop fussing over her. They all kept saying she wasn't well, but really, she was feeling fine.