captain--nox

[captain--nox]

Chapter 4

_*_

Dreary mists rolled in slowly as leaves wilted through crying dew drops, pale reminders of the changing seasons. Heelshire Manor stood dark and solemn shivering against the air and sinking lower into the fog, the small figure often seen skirting around its edges in the dawn now sat beneath its shadow hunched over on the steps like a frozen sculpture. Hera slowly tied at her shoes, toying with escaping back into the manor to the warm covers of her bed or attempting to edge further into the grounds on her leg's slow rehabilitation. Squeezing tight the last bit of laces presented her more agreeably with one decision, and haphazardly she pushed off the steps and into a light jog, crunching at the gravel below and easing into a silent rhythm pacing onto the flattened grass that lay ahead.

A clear mind on a jog was a yearning, not a reality.

Brahms' behaviour had become...odd. More so than the spooky tendencies that plagued Hera in the house. After Malcolm's visit, Brahms still popped up in places he shouldn't be, still sat in chairs that were once empty minutes before and the creaks and groans of the house still followed her wherever she went. But the air that twisted through the dark corridors flicked between warm and cold, sometimes no longer melancholic in nature but a flowing sense of ease. Or speckle of relaxation. Or frankly, less brooding.  Quick as a snap it would catch Hera off guard upon entering through a room or corridor; tense, bitter, not quite threatening, as if she had stumbled into a secret setting she had no invite to. Brahms would often be half hidden in a cave of dim shadows and more often than not perched against panes of glass as the windows stretched mountainous above his small form. Like he was yearning, watching at the outside world almost human-like at the posture.

It was short of bemusement once snapping out of the Heelshire trance, still the events weighing on her each night as Hera absorbed the kaleidoscopic feelings. Sometimes she'd feel rather detached from the house reverting back to the stranger she felt when she first entered; like unearthing the tragedy of the Heelshires whipped her back into an uncomfortable scenario, as though the walls had seen her approach the dead boy's grave, had listened to her questions prodding at the fabric of their lineage. Intruding on each cold room she entered, gazing upon a set of glowering eyes within a portrait of a family she felt unwelcome to. Hesitance at opening cabinets, draws and doors; uncanny shadows moving in corners of rooms just as she'd close curtains to the setting suns. Cold, tense moments.

And yet; 

Traces of rosemary needles and marigold petals were found dotted about the stairwell, kitchen bench, the crook in the music room as well as the bedside table. Chairs pushed in, the covers free from creases. The curtains drawn...

Strange tellings of whoever inherited Brahms. Like the doll and house was engulfed by multiple different ghosts switching in and out snapping at a chance to make their feelings known, shaking the very bones of the building itself. Or maybe it were the remnants of those feelings, those memories Hera wondered about when she first set foot in the entrance hall all those days ago; souvenirs of pains and cherished times running in a time loop across the house. Yet they felt so juvenile, switching to and fro from happy and sad, playfully dancing about suddenly growing irksome at a moments inconvenience.

If were it only the boy. Every instinct of Hera spoke of distrust, enveloped in cautioned naivety but sometimes the change in attitudes seemed to feel almost nice. Like it was a real human response.  Sometimes it was no longer frightening to suddenly glimpse the doll at the back of the room, or sense a shadow just beyond the darkened hall. Like he belonged everywhere at once at no surprise, an inner feeling of calm webbing themselves in every room with Brahms sometimes tugging at its threads.

Hera blinked back to the jog at hand, the slow pace hypnotizing her thoughts into the doll. Trying to keep up with the house and retaining a simply presence had its issues mainly being what exactly it was she was witnessing there, the same question pestering at her from day one. If she had been presented with the opportunity months earlier to work at the manor she was unsure she'd take the job, but probably would have taken it all the same. In her current situation, money presided over feelings of doubt and self awareness, even if she did run through ground hog day.

The fog still hung low above the ground as she skirted the lake perimeter, the light of the shaded sun beaming in a grey haze at the tips of her cold, dry face. Wooden fingers clasped against the dark depths of the forest sucking at the light and drawing Hera closer to its edges until she found herself turning sharply to follow along; the mist grew denser as the arms of the trees twisted higher, further and further she tread into the dimness.  If she turned back now the glimpse of the manor's spires could still be seen, but it was as if her legs ran of their own accord ushering her in until the air grew dank, the leaves turned a murky brown and a tense claustrophobia floated about, like it were on the crest of a wave or a moment at the split of chaos.

Sucked into the trunks the narrow paths of the forest grew smaller, the roots snapping at her ankles as she passed one tree, just brushing another and catching foot on one more; deeper and deeper until she felt herself finally yanked into the bubble of a small clearing, the sudden drop in temperature hitting Hera's face like a stinging slap. 

It was oddly quiet.

An eerie, lamenting quiet.

No murmurs of the woods, no sharp pounds of the heartbeat in her ears. No, the bleak emptiness she'd been sucked into altered all in its chilling grasp. Abnormal; as though the dirt below her feet suspended her movements making Hera watch what it had to offer through its void-like haze.

A festering air surged around her in a frozen squeeze sucking the painful breaths from her throat and twisting the knots in her chest tighter, the world falling away as she entered this new, macabre version until—

A high pitched scream pierced against the air exploding Hera from the suffocating clasp, a twisted blood-curdling scream bouncing from one ear to the next as a cluster of voices burst against Hera's small form almost yanking her into the forest floor, hands trying to stifle at the noise against her head. 

The gruelling echoes continued tumbling over and over; yells, voices and a sinister thump that locked it all onto the trunks stretching up in agony, the withered plants stiffening in the clearing.  A nauseating inkling in her gut told her to run, to escape the area with all the life in her but Hera remained a prisoner to the imprinted memories snarling from the woods. Dark greens began to blur into browns; barks swirling into the dirt. Trees crowded closer and closer, drawing Hera into it's vortex of pain. These woods encompassed pain, and no pain with recovery. Only a pain so definitive, of finality;

Death.

The area reeked of it, left scorched and standing like a ghoulish tomb. 

Another scream; more clearly followed by another. 

Objects falling, patters of feet running past Hera if she could only move the invisible screen splitting them apart.

A bitter, almost salted taste permeated the air as if the very grounds erupted in a plume poisoning the area of delight.

An echo of the same scream, louder and more shrill—

—They were children's screams.

Children's pain.

Vibrations against the earth.

Moans of despair; footsteps fleeing into the darkness.

A sudden shudder of air dropped from above like a final breath and the distorted vision vanished releasing its turmoil, exhaustion sitting heavy in Hera's limbs as she barely comprehended the horrors of what she had just seen and heard; the horrors that lay buried in the dirt below searing under her fingernails. 

Death in the forest.

She roughly stood herself up and took off from the area, a primal surge of energy bursting from the dizzying and lethargic fabrics left by the clearing. The heavy, sinking feeling in her chest began to lessen the more she ran towards the daylight and the safe sight of the house teased above the forest of horrors.

Lands could hold memories—that was embedded into Hera from back home—, sucking in the moments of those walking above. Land could give back those pleasant times as reminders of the good the world could bring, the harmony that can intertwine. But not all memories are kind, for as Hera scarpered along the soiled ground, she'd borne witness to those very same tranquil lands holding a different kind of memory; a suffering kind, as if it clung to those moments as its freshest source. The earth was a living, breathing entity of its own. Sometimes faded over time, yet resolute in its being; but it remembered, and reminded any one or thing that crossed over its threshold.

Heelshire, it whispered into the winds dancing across the lake and slamming into the manor.

Heelshire, Heelshire, Heelshire

The earthy chant wrapped across the estate enclosing it in its own dreaded anomaly. It splayed its dilapidated connections through bloodlines of varying shades, hiding in the far edges of the land; the house pumping like a heart grooves that answered with their own strange stories. The more Hera lived in its body the more she uncovered uncanny histories from the family; the house, and the forest that lay strewn across like a mask, hiding the outside world from everything to do with the name Heelshire. The weeks had swallowed and pushed her further into the Heelshire's depths, the oesophagus a dark tunnel with its body slowly unfolding, unravelling in a transparent but barely fathomable story. Pieces of the Heelshire histories gliding together seamlessly then breaking apart in shards of pointed malice; the doll passing through unscathed dragging them through in its slipstream. 

Why she was drawn to those woods if only to be shown something so distraught was beyond measure, but it remained certain for as fast as what her feet could carry, Hera vowed that she wouldn't set foot back in that clearing even to lay an offering like she did another grave on the estate. This memory can stay behind, and Hera couldn't help but create as much distance from the clearing as she could.

The lake water hushed ashore as Hera dipped her hands, splashing the droplets over her clammy face. The beads brushed tracks across her skin, lazy salted lines as she watched hunched over as they dropped back into the cool dark depths of its makers below. Malcolm wasn't lying when he mentioned another child had died on the estate, but Malcolm also didn't mention how brutal the death must have been and above all why the forest even showed it to her in the first place. Hera stared at her distorted reflection, catching glimpses of melted wide eyes and twisted hairs strewn electric in the morning light; a clear mind was indeed a yearning, and not her reality at all.

It was another one of those interesting traits of hers, Hera's mother had put it. Knowing. Given odd looks as if she was in a manic free-fall; as if what she was saying had no real place in any conversation, no matter the intense feelings she'd get nor the deep internal belief in what she knew. As if she were sick and needed to be cured rather than being heard let alone believed.

It wasn't short of what usually happened to Hera when she'd mention parts of herself, but even speaking to Uncle and asking for advice drew near nothing as extensive as a clarification; only a cryptic speech on the interworking of their people and how everyone had skills to offer and make use of. It all seemed to slip through her fingers as Hera pushed and pressed, asked for guidance for more but with reluctance it was less effort to be termed as an oddball rather than delve into fruitless discussion.

Hera sighed, exhausted at the reflection and getting up slowly from the lake, flicking the last droplets trickling from her hands over her head. She'd regained some composure now—not enough to reel in the slurry of thoughts—but the few minutes at the lake edge helped purge the rest of the adrenaline giving way to every feeling in her body with no surprise at the strain put on her muscles in her flight through the trees. She began hobbling off in the direction of the manor, a laboured figure with significantly less vigour than what she parted with. A new addition to her morning rise was now pondering what else Brahms the doll could have in store for her today; daunting in its task and not without some unease at her new discovery.

The estate seemed to be drawing more and more out of Hera initially believed to be cut off, or lost, and it was becoming evidently so that it wouldn't be done until most of her inner workings were stripped back raw.

*

Hera continued to mull over the forest as she rose higher into the sleepy manor, arriving at the doll's room to a chorus of sighs in the woodwork. Opening up, she was grateful to witness the doll lying idly in his bed and not in a hidden enclave. She had rather hoped if he did move, it would at least rework its clothing to save Hera another short task of tending to it. "Up and at 'em," Hera spoke tentatively at the doll, filling the silence with a hoarse voice flicking remains of the outside air. Muscle memory carried her through the task of dressing Brahms in his usual black attire before her footsteps began echoing back out into the wooden stretch of the hallways and down. The awakening manor began to stir as she passed under the cold globes that lit the shadows of semi-permanent puzzlement across her face, Brahms' head bobbing just beneath her chin as she tucked him closer whilst descending down the stairwell. The development of their haphazard relationship, his morphing from a black and white unsettling character into a greying mist of pity and almost empathy, was a conundrum sparked on more with the morning and the self awareness of the tasks at hand.

Coupled with her near recent discoveries, the doll had started to become and feel less sinister the more she was around it. Mundane tasks seemed less awkward and chilling, bringing him with her into the garden when she'd harvest some of the vegetables or pick at the weeds growing between stalks; often, she'd rest him on her knee as if he were a small child marvelling at the bugs in the plots, or alternatively she'd place him on one of the many stone benches as she carried on her work. 

However, the blank stares of the doll in the corner of a room or the uncomfortable silence radiating from him drew Hera back to what she was witnessing and whether her back and forth of treating him like a real boy was sustainable at all. She did draw the line at the kiss goodnight and had yet to read Brahms a bedtime story though as she had finished reading the fairytale book found in the library, she weighed up the possibility of reading to the doll that night.  Hera churned through each day growing accustomed to the very thing that seemed to torment her when she arrived, and she also grew more accustomed to the idea that the doll was moving by himself; the exhausting prospect of dancing with a ghost or whether the house lit the sparks to memory loss provided a less than enthusiastic response otherwise. And so, solidifying on more ideas of the paranormal brought easy enough satisfaction having long since accepted the cryptic oldened structure and the apparent being inhabiting the doll specifically; whom she assumed was Brahms himself.

The pair had reached the kitchen before Hera filled two plates of food and immediately began consuming her own, sitting opposite Brahms eyeing his small form and the steaming hot place in front of him.  She mused to herself at how different her days were becoming, chuckling at the memory of the small panic attack Hera succumbed to days before. In a better attempt to understand what the forest intended, she struck up a one sided conversation with the doll.

"You know, I went further into the forest on my run, Brahms." Hera started, hearing a creak in an almost reply as Hera upped the volume in her voice to include the room as well. "I didn't like what I came across though. Usually I stay near the edges of the tree line but I admit I became a bit more adventurous in my run. Nosy or inquisitive or maybe both, but I didn't like that area."

Hera's eyes peeled off her plate to look at the doll then as if searching for some sort of reply to feed at her puzzlement. Getting up from the table, she moved to make a cup of tea before continuing. "The dead don't scare me, Brahms. Death is an inescapable path, I guess something that I've grown accustomed to believe. I don't like dead imprints, and I don't like that area."

Finished making her drink she sat back down again, the warmth of the mug enveloping her hands as they clasped around it. "I'm not scared Brahms, but that forest. It was awful." Hera turned away then, lost in thought at the skies through the window and taking in the noises of winds moaning against the house. She was more so rambling to herself, trying to slot more pieces of the Heelshires together but found the more she began addressing Brahms, the more she indirectly divulged parts of her life to the doll. For who else's ears they were falling on, surely none save the porcelain boy, a boy she was sure would scare easily at what she was speaking about. Was it another coping mechanism she formed to fill the loss of human contact in the house, or rather was it clarity she was seeking with everything she discovered, Hera still sat uncertain each day. 

"I hope you didn't mind my wanderings. I ended up—"

A loud snap echoed in the kitchen, as if a chord had been tugged roughly from one of the outlets behind the walls. Hera almost dropped the mug rising to her lips at how sudden and cracking the sound was, reverberating around in the atmospherics of the room.

"I-, I hope, er," Hera began quietly, wide eyed and scanning the corners for any movement, suddenly on high alert for more menacing snaps. "I hope you're not too displeased I was there?"

Silence. Complete silence as Hera darted her eyes back at the doll watching her from the table in its stony, onyx gaze.

The air suddenly grew tense, as if waiting on the next part of Hera's words. Expectation, readying to pounce at one wrong sentence. The lights began to flicker ominously, like the veins connecting their power were wrought up in a twisting knot. Hera could almost hear the tension in the wires, the contortion as it grew dangerously close to the end of its stretch.

She slowly took in a few breaths, steadying herself and draining the last of her drink. The silence droned on, Hera feigning relaxation at the sudden turn of events.

"I will not be going back there, Brahms. I am not one to gleefully find tragedies, and I'm particularly not interested in what happened there, sinister or not. Be sure, I won't wander where I'm not wanted. Does that satisfy you?"

The room almost sighed in relief as the lights halted their flickering and the noise from the winds seemed to pick up suddenly again in the cracks of the walls. Hera sat fixated on the doll, brows creased at the turn of events and the unsaid meaning behind it all. 

"Brahms. Hmph. Thanks for being a sounding board. Our talks can only get better from here."

With that, Hera quickly stood up leaving the doll and the weirdness of the room, making her way up to the bathroom and adamant on a shower not only for the sweat still against her skin but hoping the water would help cleanse her further from everything that happened on the gloomy lands—inside and out.

*

The days shuffled on by much the same, Hera growing accustomed in her routine with Brahms. She'd play him music, storing his food that she noted would be empty at the end of each week though she assumed it was Malcolm clearing out the fridge and freezer whenever he delivered the groceries. The first time she noticed the food gone, she double checked the traps outside ensuring that they were doing their job for if rodents were so bold as to scurry into the manor Hera wasn't entirely sure she enjoyed the idea of them travelling higher up the rooms. Hera found she too was growing more content in her stay. She had yet to receive letters from the Heelshires but the pay of the past month indicated they were alive and well disappearing into their holiday, and Malcolm's visits were enough to break up the days of continuously talking to herself through the doll. She saw no more of the shadows stalking her in the stairwells, and grew bolder in telling whatever entities that were around to leave her alone. Grown steadily courageous after the morning in the kitchen, the power play of telling the hidden entity banging on the walls or messing with the light fixtures turned the scenarios into a more gleefull cat and mouse routine instead of a scared girl caught off guard at phantoms messing with her. She hadn't noticed just how odd the behaviour was talking to the walls until one day she was lounging in the music room reading while Brahms' music played on the recorder.

"Brahms this is the last record I'm playing before I'm off to go outside. You can come if you want." Hera spoke to the doll, not lifting her eyes off of the book while lounging in a velvet armchair. 

A series of groans emanated from the walls at her words almost in protest though Hera assumed it was Brahms whining at her to carry on their session. She peered up over her book and swung one leg in the direction of the doll from the arms she had lazily drooped it on. "Nah, don't be like that mate, we can't stay in here all day. I'll read you a story later, yeah?"

Silence enveloped the room while Hera dropped her eyes to her book again and after a while she was signalled to move when the record finally stopped.   "Aight, lets get a move on. I'll put you at the window?" Hera offered, snapping her book shut and pushing out of the chair. A large bang reverberated around the room, shaking the smalls bits of dust collecting on the mantelpiece nearby. Hera snapped her head at the doll then up, scanning the area for any signs of movement.

"Nah, we ain't having a tantrum, bud. Music session is over."

Another bang louder and harder than the previous retaliated in the walls, anger evident as they shook through.

"Cut it out now, I'm not having you smash the place down just because you want to spend hours here listening to music while I've got things to do." Another bang, and another shouted at each other while the walls began to groan all around. Hera grew more frustrated and only slightly alarmed at the noises, for she had witnessed them before but quickly got tired every time they popped up. They echoed a child throwing a tantrum which she found amusing but reminded herself that riling up a spirit—particularly that of a child—probably wasn't the wisest choice.

"Oi! I said cut. It. Out."

"Alright?"

Hera jumped as a voice sliced through the air, almost losing balance and tumbling over her armchair. Hera spun around to the door entrance only to find Malcolm staring puzzlingly at her, arms folded and leaning against the doorway expectantly.

"Oh it's you," Hera retorted, making her way to the player and slipping the record into a sleeve.

"Did you not hear me come in?" Malcolm asked, entering the room and making his own way to the antique couch where the doll sat. "Hey young master,".

"No, I can't really hear if anyone comes or goes in this place. It's always noisy here what with the wind, and we were listening to music," said Hera, taking her original seat sitting opposite the grocery man. "Is it your delivery day already?"

"Aye, it is. Who were you talking to? You losing it a bit mate?" Malcolm chuckled, earning a scoff from Hera.

"No, I'm just telling the walls to be quiet. They have a lot to say considering they're made of wood."

"Uh huh," replied Malcolm, eyeing Hera up and not quite believing what she was saying. "Seems you've been caught up on what's going on here. Apart from that obvious bit, how's the house been this week?" he asked, shifting his legs to half lie on the couch and getting more comfortable with each word.

"Yeah it's going fine, been running around the grounds which has been great though I think I came across the part of the forest where I think that girl died. Weird area." Hera started, eyes wandering to the window in the direction of the wood. "Not a fan of that one."

"Ah, yeah I forgot to tell you where that was. I knew the general direction but yeah sorry."

Hera waved her hand in front of her, dismissing Malcolm's apology. "Nah it's alright, I went to the lake anyway so hopefully she hasn't followed me back here."

Malcolm's face screwed up at that, perplexed."What does the lake have to do with it?" he questioned Hera who's demeanour appeared as though it made quite a lot of sense to her.

"Oh yeah," started Hera, realising that Malcolm probably had no idea what she was getting at. "Sorry; back home there's a custom where whenever you visit a graveyard or something along the likes. Like a funeral or whatever, you wash your hands with water and sprinkle it over your head. It's like a respect thing, cleansing yourself from the spiritual energy of the dead. I did it at the lake after I found—no, knew—where that girl died." Hera finished, looking at Malcolm as he was deep in thought at her words.

"Kind of like holy water?" he slowly asked, drawing the similarity between the two customs.

"Yeah kind of. Although we don't need to bless water per se—well not that I was told to—," Hera began drawing out her next few sentences, dramatising her speech, "Water is the blood of the earth, the essence of life. The waterways our ancestors, and our ancestors our guides."

"Ha! Interesting how the other half lives! So; Witchy stuff is it? Is that why your tea tastes horrid?" Malcolm teased, earning a middle finger from Hera.

"It's not, and you're a dick. Careful I don't curse you."

"Yeah yeah, come and help me put the groceries away. Or do you want me to keep this week's pay?"

*

"Seriously though, nothing else has happened out of the ordinary?"

Malcolm's question rang between the pair of them while he and Hera sat at the kitchen table, mugs of coffee in front as they relaxed back on their respective chairs.

"Mm, no not really. I haven't seen anyone around since I told you and besides I'm thinking they weren't even real." Hera replied, sipping at her drink. "It's almost like after that day everything "calmed" down in a sense. Me included."

"I mean, we didn't see traces of anyone outside—"

"And there's been none inside—"

"So I guess the logical explanation would be—"

"Ghosts."

"Crazy."

Hera glared at Malcolm while the other only laughed in her direction, earning an even harder scowl from the woman. "Right oh, don't call me crazy again." Malcolm only threw his hands up in defence as Hera continued. "Anyway, I think actually living here for a time I've learnt a bit about the personality of this place." she said, swinging her hand lazily in front of her. "I tell you what though, it was daunting when I first arrived."

"Not to mention you had a bit of a stick up your arse."

"Malcolm, you've become very familiar with me in the short time we've known each other."

"Yeah well I'm your only friend so you're going to have to deal with it."

"I have Brahms, thank you very much."

"I dunno, he might think it strange you talking to the walls like I caught you earlier." Hera rolled her eyes over her mug at Malcolm while she raised it to her lips. She stood by what she said moments earlier; she had grown her friendship with Malcolm exceptionally granted their first encounter, and she was very grateful her first friend in a new country was somewhat alright—albeit along with his more brazen personality. But also, not that she had many to choose from. 

"Do you have any friends?" Hera asked.

"Oh sure, a couple. The few in the village around our age sort of band together. Should come get a drink with us at the pub sometime if you want." Malcolm replied, downing the rest of his cup and standing to set it at the sink. He turned around and leant on the counter top, folding his arms. "Come with us this Friday? Once everyone's knocked off work. Surely you knock off work too?"

Hera creased her brows, tossing up the idea of leaving the manor. She did feel slightly guilty at the idea of leaving the estate due to the whole reason of her hiring was to look after the doll and the house. On one hand she thought it best to stay and on the other she felt it would be nice for her to practice socialising again. "Yeah could be a go, I'll think about it." she replied, flicking her eyebrows up in a nod and joining Malcolm at the sink.

"Want me to pick you up?" Malcolm asked while moving aside.

"Nah it's OK. I saw a bike in the shed I kind of want to try fix up and see if it works." Hera said. "Saw it when I was cleaning out the rats."

"Charming," started Malcolm, pulling a face. "Also I forgot you mentioned you're a bit of a tinker."

"You know it,"

"That must come in handy. Well; what about you, leave any friends behind?"

Hera suddenly stiffened at his words, quickly placing her cup in the sink before turning to him with a stoic expression plastered across her face. "A few," she began, and Malcolm noticed the blankness behind her eyes. "Wasn't really close to many was I?" Hera finished rhetorically, moving away from the sink and standing at her chair, arms gripping the sides of the frame. "It's a bit of a story, but nah there weren't many I was close to that I left behind. Probably for the best."

"Look you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to?" offered Malcolm, instantly noticing the weight in Hera's words clearly evident in that he wanted to know more without pushing at the subject.

"Well, quick run-down is; something happened to a whole group of us. Something I was involved in, and a couple of others. They stayed quiet and I thought fuck that, becoming the only one calling it all out. People didn't like it, and most thought I was just making it up."

Malcolm whistled through his teeth, taking in Hera's words. "Sounds like they weren't really friends then." he stated finally, giving Hera a solemn look.

Hera harshly laughed out, hollow and less amused by the minute. "I can understand to a certain degree. People were just scared, fear gives a great insight into people's character good or bad. Tell you one thing I discovered in my small sporting career; sports do attract many types of people. Especially classes. Depends on if you're wealthy enough to pay your way through or good enough to score a scholarship like me."

"Ha! So you were good at something? How good were you?" Malcolm asked arching his brow at Hera with a small smirk on his face and offering a tangent in the conversation.

"Good enough," she chuckled, looking away and down at her feet. "I mean, I dunno if it's a societal thing from back home or not but it feels awkward admitting all your achievements even though others can clearly see them. Yeah, I was aight,"

"Are you some sporting hot shot back in your country?"

"Nah, fuck no,"

"Bullshit."

"Honest, I was just good enough to win me an education. Fat lot of chance that did. Are you good at sports?"

"I played Football for a bit." replied Malcolm while Hera welcomed the change in spotlight. "But I got the ol' knee injury and had to retire. Could've been a pro." he placed a hand over his heart feigning drama at his sentence before sniggering at Hera and she joined in.

"Two peas in a pod. Look at us; washed out athletes."

"'Tis a sad day."

There was a moment's silence before Malcolm cleared his throat. "Well, thanks for the cuppa. And a bit of Hera back story; best be off now otherwise I don't think my family would like the lack in profit."

"Oh sure, I'll walk you out."

Hera waved Malcolm off and started back inside where she heard a crash from up the stairs. Her eyes narrowed, annoyance rising through her chest as she made off up the stairwell following the growing noises of furniture being dragged around. As Hera neared the landing to both her and Brahms' rooms, she found the sounds coming from the doll's. She marched over to the door and jerked it open to a flurry of papers flying about, tossed into the air and still making their way down while the bed was a mess of blankets and the floor of toys. In the middle sat Brahms the doll, staring straight at Hera. "Really!?" Hera's eyes bulged taking in the sight around her and picking up the doll. "I leave you for half an hour and you go off like this? I didn't even leave you here!"

Hera threw the toy onto the bed and shoved at the wooden chest with her foot that also lay in the middle of the floor. "For a doll that isn't supposed to move, you're being a real pain in the ass." Her chest heaved at her words, growing heated with each breath. Hera was now tasked with cleaning up the mess in the room, much like Mrs Heelshire had done on her first day though Hera was adamant she was not going to share the same amount of fear that the mother did no matter how much the doll trashed his room. In fact, Hera felt rage more than anything at being inconvenienced so, feeling insulted that the doll chose the one person who was tasked at looking after him—as she had done so many times before—to mess with.

"You will not get any gentle parenting from me, kid. Tidy this up now or that's the end of your music stints. Unbelievable."

Hera took off out of the room, slamming the door behind her and marching down the stairs to the outside. She could hear the house moving, stirring in it's depths almost enraged at her declaration whom Hera didn't care, her feelings bubbling over in a mess and surprising even her with how quickly it came on. On she went, ripping the old servant door open and making her way into the garden and towards the shed. The cool air seemed to calm her down a bit, and the lack of movement she could hear in the walls also helped as Hera opened the shed to the bike that she had discovered days earlier.

She sat down on the small stool at the foot of the workbench, clasping her hands together at her forehead and leaning against her knees.  "How the fuck can a ghost-kid-doll rile me up so much," she whispered exasperatedly at her knees, heaving for a few seconds to calm herself. After a while, she moved towards the bike and flipped it upside down to look over the frame, opting to put her energy towards something far more productive. 

It was old and slightly rusting, the pedals showing much of the red stain that crawled up onto the bottom bracket and chain however for the most part it seemed in good condition. There were a few cosmetic repairs needed and aside from the rust the tyres were flat in which Hera would have to test the inner tubes. The rest of the frame she would check over to see if parts needed tightening, and she hoped she'd find the right tools for the job dotted around the shed.

Hera worked at the bike for a long while, the process calming her down as she focused on the task at hand. She removed the bike chain and pedals with the small crescent wrench she found, and soaked both in a small tub of vinegar while spraying and wiping the rest of the frame. Next she checked at the inner tyre tubes for air pockets in another tub of water and thankfully found none, able to pump the tyres with ease. The final task was to tighten the frame to the wheels, of which she needed a hex key to complete though no matter how hard she looked through the old work bench, there were none to be found. Sighing at her misfortune and a sign to take a rest, Hera left the shed to go back inside feeling a lot more calmer than what she did when she exited the house.

Hera washed her hands at the sink, filling a glass of water and standing idly by at the window. She would have much rather a successful day fixing the old bike than have to deal with what happened upstairs but the longer she mulled it over, the more pressing it became as she did leave Brahms alone and still yet felt tied to the list of tasks given by the Heelshires. Tipping out the rest of her water, Hera moved to pack up the shed before trooping back up the stairwell and to the room where she matched the doll's rage not too long before. Before pulling the door fully open to exit back outside, a slight ruffle in the air caught her attention, and she turned to the small bench sitting snug against the wall almost lost to the draping coats hung above on matching brass ware.  A glint of beige and black flickered back at her in the afternoon sun beaming through the cracks in the door, the paper softly blowing in its draft. Hera slowly reach down to pick it up, and there, lying underneath a bit of folded paper were a set of hex keys shining back at her. Puzzled, Hera opened the paper to see a note written in hurried cursive, one word looking back up at her;

Sorry.

"Huh," Hera uttered, unsure of what to make of the bit of paper. "Maybe this ghost has feelings," she wondered aloud, taking the hex keys and pocketing the note. She shut the door of the house behind her, moving pensively over the stone path and back towards the shed, the weight of the hex keys growing heavier in her hand but nothing short of the weight of the paper sitting tight in her pocket.

Hera worked on the bike some more, fixing it up as much as she could before closing off the shed, no longer able to delay the scene awaiting her in the doll's room. Wandering back inside, she felt in a trance climbing up the stairs, the house rolling around her like a steady stream of water flowing all the way up to the bedrooms above. Slowly, Hera pushed Brahms' door open and was greeted again by the mess in the room.

"Unbelievable!"

Hera marched to the foot of Brahms' bed, staring down at the doll and feeling the anger rising again. Just as she took another glance around to gage how much of a mess it was to clean up, Hera spotted the small desk that had it's papers and books neatly stacked along the top. The sight only stared back at her in almost mockery as she stood shocked for a moment before bursting out in haughty laughter, echoing through her and into the silence around.

"You're unreal, kid." she started, still infected by the absurdity of the situation at hand and beginning to push the furniture back into place. "Thanks for the keys, Brahms." Hera eyed up the doll again, scrutinizing him as he lay on the bed staring to the ceiling. "And stop getting jealous of Malcolm coming to visit." she ended in the silence.

*

Friday rolled around, a strangely warm humid atmosphere blanketing the estate causing Hera to sweat slightly in the kitchen as she made an early dinner. Brahms had gifted her a few more notes as the days passed, usually nothing more than a "thank you" at being served food or having a book read to him.

"Alright, hope you like tonight's dinner. Sorry it's a bit early but I'm going into town for a bit." Hera sat next to the doll and began wolfing down her food, stopping only to talk to her companion. "Not sure when I'll be back but I'll put you to bed in case it is late." she glanced at the clock on the dining room mantelpiece, scrambling up when she saw the time. 

"Shit,"

Hera gathered the doll under her arm scurrying out of the room with the two plates, one empty while the other almost too hot to carry. She tossed the leftover food into a Tupperware container and rounded out of the kitchen bringing Brahms with her on the trek to their bedrooms.  After dressing the doll, she tucked it into its bed, making her way back to the door before she was greeted by a small thud. Hera sighed and paced back over, flopping herself onto the bed next to the doll and mimicking his staring upwards with one hand tucked behind her head.

"I haven't time to go get you a book so I'll tell you a story I learnt back home. Mind you there are a few versions." Hera twirled locks of hair in her free hand and began to tell the doll the tale;

"There was a woman, a long time ago. Where animals roamed freely, and the skies a perfect vivid blue. She lived with her husband—who apparently wasn't the greatest of men—and would constantly fight with him. On one particular night, they argued on who's turn it was to fetch water from the nearby stream before the woman went off to get it herself. The Moon would often watch and listen to the arguments of the married pair, especially on this night. As the woman was making her way to the water, a cloud passed in front of The Moon's face and sent the land into darkness where our lady stumbled and tripped on a tree root. Still hot from her argument with her husband, she turned and cursed at The Moon instead for being at fault of her tripping."

Hera stopped and glanced at Brahms, starting again in a whisper, "Side note Brahms: don't curse at a deity like the moon."

She cleared her throat before beginning again, "The Moon enraged, warned her to quell her tongue and when she didn't, reached down and snatched the woman, bringing her up into the sky. She grabbed at a nearby tree but it was uprooted and taken with her, as were the buckets for the water she was carrying. You can see all their silhouettes in the moon's face." Hera stopped and turned properly to her side, leaning on her arm to fully look at Brahms. She drew an imaginary circle above them, softly pointing at areas where the silhouettes were to be seen.

"This next part of the story I do like, it's very cute. The husband back on earth was saddened at his wife's disappearance, regretful at how he treated her while The Moon on the other hand, showered the lady with love and affection, looking after her and altogether being nothing short of kind. Of course our lady grows happier, and after a time The Moon asks if she wants to descend back to earth of which she declares that she does not, and that she has in fact fallen in love with The Moon. Then The Moon—a hopeless romantic—touched by her words gifts his new wife a cloak of stars, and she becomes the controller of the tides. The end."

Hera rolled onto her back, looking back up at the ceiling lost in the story of the moon and his wife. "Gosh, I love the stars." she said sighing before continuing, "Of course there are other versions where she quite literally births insults and the like, and the moon punishes her by bringing her away up into the sky but I don't like that one." 

Hera contemplated the story for a moment more, the winds outside blowing soft against the window panes and the comfortable silence between them extending her daze. The sun grew warmer in it's beam, Hera now realising how long she had stayed in Brahms' room quickly pushed herself up off the bed and pecked the doll, hurrying towards the door.

"Alright, goodnight kid I'll see you tomorrow!" she shuffled out of the room, shutting the door and not hearing the knock that was as soft as Hera's kiss on her companion's porcelain cheek.

*

The sun had curved and was sitting low in the sky, filling the land with a golden glow and hitting the underside of the dark clouds looming in the east. Hera watched them slowly roll towards her, concious that she was soon to be caught in the oncoming rain if she didn't pick up the pace on the old bike. Up until that point, she'd drifted through the country lanes to take in the forest and fields around her but now with the fear of falling victim to time both through the deluge and late in meeting Malcolm, Hera's hair and scarf trailed in the air whipping faster and faster as she pushed harder at the pedals. Heavy droplets began to dot at her jacket as she hit the outskirts of the small town, rapidly falling as Hera parked up at the local pub's garden wall entrance where she was to meet Malcolm. Knowing he wasn't far, Hera wrapped the scarf over her head and leant against the bricks, eyeing up the foliage that was floating down. Thin vines crawled over the stone crevices, draping themselves in a green shroud spotted with their white flowers still in bloom in the late autumn. She reached up and pulled one of them off, twirling it in her fingers as its faint floral scent drifted into the air. Hera turned to look up the road and saw the small figure of Malcolm in the distance, hurrying his steps along in the rain. Both waved at each other, and just as she leant back at the wall to wait a voice jerked out in the hum of the rain.

"Whashur name, lass?"

A man of somewhat tall stature and a weathered face slurred at Hera as she turned to face who was addressing her, also taking in the sloppiness of the man's wear and the narrow glassy eyes hidden behind his leather flat cap. He stood slightly swaying, only moving to lean against the wall next to her.

"Hera," she answered dully, waiting in the rain for Malcolm to end the new conversation with his arrival.

"You're tha' one livin' in the ol' Heelshire house?" he said immediately eyeing Hera up and down in realisation.

"Are you going to tell me your name?" she said, and pulled the scarf tighter around her neck.

"Didn't ask, did yer? Whatcha doin' out 'er pickin' flowers for?"

"None of your business." Hera muttered, growing annoyed at having to entertain the drunkard while Malcolm was taking his sweet time to get to her. The unnamed man moved to light a cigarette, his hands shaking as he was barely able to flick the lighter properly.

"Names' Ed. Shouldn' be 'ere, should ya."

"Sorry, what?"

"Don't you be pickin' flowers in this town. Not 'ere." he took a long drag and sent the smoke spiralling into Hera's face.

"Look, Ed, do you mind backing off?"

"Nah. Comin' 'ere pickin' our wee flowers an' runnin' back off to that shit show house. Why you even 'ere lass?"

"Mate, fuck off will ya."

"Ooh she's a bit zesty. Lass you ain' gettin' the picture, you ain' doin' anythin' 'ere. Best stay outta this town, go run off back to that house an' yer masters an' go 'ome."

"Fuck you."

Ed bellowed a nasty laugh, his shoulder slipping against the wet brick while looking Hera further up and down lowering his tone as he uttered his next words. "What are yer' gonna do eh?"

"A lot more than what you can. Look at the state of you, can't even move without stumbling."

"Hey Hera, alright Ed?" Malcolm's voice suddenly broke the tension rising between Hera and Ed.

"I was just telling Ed here what this flower means." Hera glared at Ed, twirling the soft stem of the flower and relaxing more now with Malcolm's presence. "It's called "invasive" where I'm from, which is fitting for the likes of Ed and his scum. Fuck off and don't talk to me again." Hera pushed past Malcolm and stomped into the pub, her chest heaving and filling with rage at the altercation. 

"Invasive she says," bellowed Ed, laughing off the woman barging into the building. "Washthe company yer' keep, Malcolm."

"Watch your mouth, Ed." Malcolm huffed at him while he himself followed close behind Hera. Once inside the doorway, he put his hand out to slow her walk, concern etched all over his face. "What happened? Of all people to meet, you meet the biggest twat here."

"Nothing I'm fine, just a drunk fuck who got kicked out before dinner time."

"You sure? You don't look fine."

"I'm fine, I just need a drink now that's all. Hopefully the next lot of people aren't like that otherwise I'm sorry but your town has a bit of explaining to do."

"At least your scowl came in handy. Come on, I'll shout you the first one." offered Malcolm, tugging Hera towards the bar.

Hera found herself in a booth with three of Malcolm's friends; a short stocky plumber with sandy blonde hair going only by the name of McCarty; Grant, a tall brown haired music teacher who had an elaborate goatee hanging from his chin; and Allison, a red haired store merchant who worked next to Malcolm selling books. While awkward at first, Hera slowly found herself easing into the company of the four friends, along with the help of the jugs of beer that were slowly accumulating. The pub had steadily grown busier and noisier as the night wore on, patrons of all ages wandering in for an after work pint and dinner, turning the venue into a makeshift meeting point.

"Another one?" Malcolm chirped over the buzz in the pub, tilting his empty glass in his hand and making his way out of the booth.

"Yeah go on then," Hera glanced her eyebrows up at him and turned to face the others once he'd gone. "There a band that usually comes on?"

"Yeah there is, should be on sometime soon. They're a pretty good pub band." McCarty answered, leaning back to put his arm around the booth seats. "Got time to kill though before we can hit the dance floor."

"I've just the solution." Grant reached into his pocket and slammed a pack of cards down on the table in front of him, making Allison jump. "Spoons. We drink."

"What in the Houdini—?" Allison raised an eyebrow at him.

"Shh. I'll grab some cutlery from the bar." Grant abruptly got up out of his seat and followed Malcolm's footsteps. McCarty on the other hand, took it as a time out from their drinking with he too leaving the booth. "I'm going bathroom. Meeting adjourned."

"So," Allison slid across to sit next to Hera after the two women found themselves alone. "You and Malcolm eh?"

Hera's eyes bulged as she took in Allison's question, spluttering in reply. "What? Er-no, yeah nah you got it wrong. Just mates. Co-workers, actually."

"Yeah co-workers are off limits, doesn't stop people hungry for it though. Lots eat the devil's fruit, hon."

"Not me. Not Malcolm anyway, no I'm not interested in anything at the moment."

"Ah pity, not often Malcolm brings girls to drinks with us."

"But he invites you?"

"Oh, I'm well in the friend zone; been that way for years. Did have a crush on him though, when we were younger."

"Ain't that incest?"

"Oof, she's quick!" Hera joined Allison in laughter as they watched the bar around them, the noise drowning out the last remains of their humour.

"He's all yours if that's what you're wondering," Hera glanced her eyebrows up at her then, causing Allison to groan.

"Am I that obvious?"

"No, but I am a girl and I know when a woman is testing the waters."

"I like you."

"You like Malcolm too."

"Shut up,"

"Wanna be friends?"

"Sure."

The two continued their people watching, still waiting for the boys to arrive with their drinks—and spoons. Allison started up once more, downing the last few dregs of her beer. "Have you a lover back home?" Hera tensed at her words, heat rising in her neck. Pangs of sadned memories flashing before her, and Allison noticed the change in demeanour. "Oh shit, sorry. Still fresh?"

"Sort of. Not really fresh, but it still hurts. More anger really"

"What happened?"

"Uh, he was kind of a dick in the end. You know how you trust someone completely, give them all the love and support while at the same time forgetting yourself? Yeah that was me. And I needed him too. It felt dishonest to hold some back, but I should have kept some of the love for myself instead of wearing my heart on my sleeve." Hera rotated her empty glass around on the table, the rumbling sending vibrations into her hand and masking the slight shake it emitted.

"Mm, a classic case. Sounds like my first love. Years ago, dated a guy who moved into town for contracting. Met him through McCarty, labouring with him he was. Should have known it wouldn't last when we first met and he told me he was on a sort of working holiday." Allison scoffed as both women were lost in faded memories of broken hearts. "I thought we were exclusive, turns out he was fucking one of my cousins. Left not long after that."

"Wow. Keeping it within the family I guess." Hera quickly snapped out of her daze and turned to Allison. "Fuck, sorry sorry—"

Allison on the other hand waved her hand in front of her, breaking out in more laughter. "Malcolm was right, you can be a bit sharp on the ol' tongue!"

"Eugh, I've got to sort out this filter of mine."

"No, it's funny." Allison's chuckle died down. "What happened to yours?"

"Hm. There's was this issue back home while I was on the Varsity athletics team. I put my neck out and went to management for it but instead of them launching an investigation they tried to cover it up. Then I got turned on and called a liar by our team mates, and the only person who helped me out was my boyfriend. Plus, there were some pretty important people involved. Anyway, he was my number one support person from day one, and when I needed him most as shit was getting intense he just broke it off and left." Hera felt uncomfortable at repeating parts of the same story to someone else she barely knew, but what with the alcohol hitting she also felt a lot more bolder than when sober.

"Oof. Was the thing cheating or something?"

"Yeah that too. Was criminal as well."

Allison's eyes widened, slowly asking her next question. "And it happened to you?"

"Mm parts of it, yeah."

"Shit."

"The amount of letters I wrote, and even an anonymous journal piece I was so close to sending in to the local paper. I don't know, I was grasping at straws trying to figure out what to do, and look after myself. I still have the piece saved on my laptop ready to send in though with the amount of people involved that'd want to find me, best not to." Hera went on, still toying with the empty glass on the table.

"Did you go to the police?" Allison asked, invested in Hera's story. "Did anyone help?"

"Allison, it's tough shit going to police for that sort of thing. Also our country is different than here. People who look like me don't get taken seriously, and even I'm lighter skinned than the ol' full blooded brethren. It's a fucking mockery. We have to push and achieve twice as much more than the majority to even get noticed, and prove ourselves over and over again. It might sound a bore; the ol' "race card" but it is actually very real. Systematically, my people are played against more often than you'd think." Hera stopped her fidgeting and leant on her hand, turning her head to Allison and continuing. "We're seen as a tier below; achieving despite the system not because of it. We're the problem, the issue that holds everyone back. "Why can't you just move on?" Because we can't, not unless we address the wrongdoings of the past and how much there is a goddamn gap in opportunities. Addressing what has continuously happened and making a productive future; that's something we can do. Not that our latest government helps anyway." 

Allison was engrossed with Hera's words, as if suddenly seeing the world at a glimpse through Hera's eyes. Yet, Allison would not know, would not ever know the paths Hera or her community would walk, but she could understand the enormity of the impact which Hera hoped resonated with her now. "With everything working against us, going somewhere like to the Police is far harder. With them, we're not well liked. And not taken half as seriously. I know there are some good ones out there, but the ones I approached for help; not so much. No one gave a fuck really."

"Fucking hell, Hera. I—I didn't expect that."

Hera suddenly became self aware at her speech, feeling the alcohol pumping hot through her cheeks. "Sorry that turned into a bit of a yarn, I guess I'm a bit drunk and—damn, I didn't mean to offload on you like that."

"No, don't be! Fuck I didn't realise how tough the world is. I mean, I do—but I also don't. What did you do next?"

Hera cast her eyes down from Allison, crestfallen and uneasy even more at the turn of the subject. "I didn't do anything. I couldn't do anything. It felt like no one wanted to help, or care enough. I worried about what would happen to the next person who found out, but I was also scared into submission by the people and family surrounding it."

"Hera, this sounds like a plot to a film." Allison chuckled breaking the tension and Hera joined her.

"Right? I'm still wrapping my head around it."

"When did it happen?"

"Over the course of about two years, everything yeah.

"And you said a family was involved?"

"Aye, money is power."

"My god, you gotta write this story down."

Hera shrugged and leaned against the back of the booth, resting her head on the edge and eyeing at Allison as she mirrored the same. "Yeah well, I left that world behind when I moved here. Gotta look after number one."

"Thanks for telling me,"

"Thanks for letting me tell my life story," 

"Ladies; we have returned." Malcolm suddenly announced his arrival, passing out the jugs of beer as Grant and McCarty followed in close pursuit. Allison reached out and gave Hera's shoulder a small rub unnoticeable to the men but when Hera locked eyes with Allison she was greeted with a small reassuring smile.

"So; everyone know how to play Spoons?" Grant eyed them all around the table as they groaned in agreement, focusing on Hera awaiting her response.

"Er, no I don't."

"Easy!" Grant started, beginning to deal out the cards and placing the spoons he had grabbed from the bar in the middle of the group. "Everyone starts with four cards. I'll be the dealer; the aim of the game is to get four of a kind. You discard the card you don't want from your hand to your left, while picking up from your right. I will be picking up from the cards pile, and once someone gets four of a kind they pick up a spoon then it's a battle for the rest of the players to grab one too. If you end up empty handed, you drink."

"Alright lessdoit," started Hera, suddenly slurring the last part of her sentence. Malcolm began laughing and gave Hera a small nudge.

"Better pray you don't lose, mate, or you'll be well on your way by the night's end."

The game started off slow, Hera needing a few rounds to adjust to the speed of the others but before too long the pace had whipped up around the group in a flurry of cards and hands reaching for the spoons. The roars of their drunken laughter merged in with the rest of the pub as the night sounds grew louder and with more intoxication, the merriment of the town coming together over pints. One round ended in silence, with four pairs of eyes watching McCarty scrutinising his hand, drawing and discarding cards oblivious to the others patiently waiting. He glanced up once the pile to his right had been depleted, and was met with shouts and jeers from the friends waving their spoons at him while he threw his hand onto the table.

"Oh fuck off!"

Once the laughter had died down, Hera moved from the table to grab a glass of water, offering one to the others and making her way to the bar's edge after they declined. She sipped at her water, swaying and leaning against the woodwork watching the rest of the pub over her glass.

"Look what we got 'ere." a familiar voice slurred in Hera's ear, snapping her head around to look up.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Nuthin', just watchin'." Ed said, still glassy eyed and unbelievably still as drunk as when Hera had met him a few hours earlier.

"How are you even allowed in here?"

"Bit outta line, questioning me."

"My mistake, I guess I am a bit drunk to be addressing a plank of wood." Ed grabbed at Hera's arm before she could make her way back to the booth, rooting her in spot as he loomed over her. Hera's heart rate started to pick up, the liquid luck in her veins disappearing and replacing them with adrenaline-laced panic. Her eyes darted to the bartender further down the bar, and around searching for a bystander to come and intervene.

"You got no friends 'ere, love. Not one. Told yer to clear off didn't I?"

"Let go of my fucking wrist," Hera hissed at him, tugging her hand away to no avail.

"You got no power 'ere. Soft cocks like Malcolm fallin' for it but I see what you are. Snooping down from that house, your kind arriving in town."

"My kind? What the fuck are you on?"

"Better clear off. I'mma warnin' ya."

"Go fuck yourself,"

Ed bellowed out the same nasty laugh he had given Hera earlier though this time it felt far more threatening, far more chilling as it rang in her ears. He let go of her wrist and leant back to the bar, eyeing her even more. "Go on piss off, I'm done wi' yer for now."

She hurried from the bar, sitting down next to Allison. Hera was dumbfounded at the exchange, confused at what brought on such a harsh reaction to her being there.

"You alright?" Allison asked, noticing how pale Hera had become. "Are you feeling sick, wanna get some fresh air?" Hera nodded, and the two women left the oblivious men who had started playing another drinking game.

The rain seemed to ease slightly in its deluge though the clouds still rumbled more in the distance. Hera huddled under the small overhang with Allison, the pair of them leaning against the pub stonework. Allison ruffled into her pockets turning to Hera expectantly. "Want one?" she asked, offering the packet of cigarettes to Hera. She shook her head and Allison flicked at the lighter sending a small flash of warm light across their faces. A few moments passed, Hera still evidently worked up as her hands failed to hang still and Allison making small breathing noises into the raindrops. "What happened?" she asked.

Hera took a deep breath and sighed, her drunken brain muddling at the pub and the people within. She took the cigarette from Allison, taking a long drag before letting out the fumes in a pensive cloud before beginning her reply. "I met that Ed bloke. Fucking ass hole to me he was."

Allison groaned, hitting her head softly against the bricks. "Of all people—" she trailed off, watching the rain fall as Hera gazed off into the night. "What did he say?"

"Ha, you're not the first person to react like that. Well; he took issue with me even being here. Absolutely hates that I work at the house and even came into town. And he threw another comment at me that I can't quite figure out." Allison passed Hera the cigarette again as she spoke, taking another drag and handing it back. "I shouldn't be smoking that shit, I stopped a while ago."

"Ah well alcohol can be a small pass, along with how you're feeling right now."

"What do you know of Ed?"

Allison nervously shuffled her feet, turning away from Hera and sighing, beginning her reply. "Ed has always been an ass hole. He's a couple years older than us. I think the reason he doesn't like you is that his Pa worked at the Heelshire Manor. This was back in the day, mind you. You obviously know what happened to the boy there, right? Malcolm told you? Right, yeah. Pretty sure Ed was there and after those kids died the Heelshires started clearing out all the staff. He's had a stickler for them ever since they sacked his dad. Sounds super petty, holding onto that for so long but I guess you being here has riled him up. I mean, no one else who worked there came down to town, and he also maintained that them kid's deaths was no accident. That there was something else going on with that family."

"Sounds like a fragile piece of shit." Hera responded, unwavering in her distaste for the man even after listening to Allison's story. She still couldn't quite get over the pang in her stomach, the lurch of unease as with each heartbeat the feeling would surge upwards into her chest and down. "There's another thing," Hera continued, watching the rain fall through the light of the nearby street lamp. "He said "your kind". Does that mean he thinks I'm part of that family? Or something else?"

"Maybe," Allison shrugged, taking another drag while Hera still stood lost in her thoughts.

"It's weird because he was talking down on me, like I was beneath him. It's like when you meet those piggish men and they have absolutely no real regard for your existence. Which is funny I guess, because that's also who he is. But I didn't think you could react to a higher class such as the Heelshires like that, if he does believe what you say. Usually it's the other way round, right? Still, this felt slightly different." Hera hoped Allison would catch on to what she was implying given their previous conversation, hoping she wasn't full of delusion at the seemingly archaic exchange between her and Ed. She was trying to grasp at a sense of camaraderie instead of standing stark against the town, now feeling obvious as to not being part of their norm. Even now, in the midst of the night's jubilation she didn't feel a true sense of belonging, of relaxation in the people around her despite the bond she created with the others in the booth. Whether it was the alcohol or the paranoia of being somewhere she shouldn't, Hera started to feel more uneasy and all but feeling completely finished at her time in the pub. Ed's words kept clenching in her chest, the pang so deep and internal with her guttural instincts churning and tumbling over each other.

"Hey, how are you getting home tonight?" Allison pulled Hera out of her reverie, stubbing her cigarette on the path below.

"Uh, probably bike back."

"In this weather!?"

"Yeah surely the rain's blown over. I need to get back soon anyway."

"Mhm, sounds like thunder in the distance; do you really need to go back? Can crash at mine if you want."

"No it's okay, thanks though. I might say bye to the boys and go." Hera was growing more and more restless, feeling a faint thread twitch in her chest and wanting to retract into the house she once feared instead of being caught up in a town that seemed to warn against her.

As if on cue, the three men stumbled out of the pub and spotted the women to the side, two out of the three struggling to walk straight. "There they are! Enemy spotted!" Grant yelled at them, his pointed finger veering off in all directions as he tried to close the gap in distance.

Allison rolled her eyes and tutted, "How the fuck are you so smashed?"

"Because he's a lo-oser," Malcolm drawled, giving a small burp and sloppy smile. McCarty nodded at Allison and she huffed back it him before starting to lead Grant away while McCarty took Malcolm. Hera followed up behind as they left the pub courtyard, grabbing her bike from the fence and wheeling it after the group. 

"Herrra," Malcolm tried to call over his shoulder, earning a bemused smile back from her. "Youu can dump your bike in my truckk. Lookaterr bike! She fixed 'at," Hera sniggered, straightening her face to feign interest. "Oh yeah yeah, for sure. Thanks Malcolm. I'll follow you guys there."

The group reached an intersection on the road, McCarty veering left with Malcolm and Allison right with Grant. They stopped for a moment, starting their goodbyes as Allison looked over at Hera once more. "You sure you don't want to stay?"

"I'm sure, you look after Grant, get him some water." 

"Yeah the idiot better not puke on my floor,"

"Taking him to yours?"

"Yeah my house is closer. McCarty will help Malcolm out, they've taken turns helping the other out for years. You sure you'll be alright?"

"I'm sure. I've a bike, I'll pedal fast."

"Ok be careful, goodnight!"

"See ya,"

McCarty waved Hera goodbye with the two drunk men sloppily attempting their own, Grant half hoisted up by Allison and Malcolm starting to divert into some bushes along the path. "Make sure you hold his hair back!" Hera called, earning a thumbs up from McCarty while she turned to go back the opposite way past the pub and home.

Hera walked her bike down the road, the rain suddenly beginning to fall harder as the sounds of the pub rang closer and closer, the lights gleaming onto the other side of the footpath where Hera's bike ticked along. She heard a few men stumble out of the pub just after she passed but paid no heed as she turned once at the corner's end, stopping to get on the old bicycle. Suddenly, a hand lurched at her from behind, causing Hera to stumble and release the bars from her grasp. Another hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged backwards away and down past a small building into the alleyway beyond.

"Look at 'er, the rat's all on her lonesome." slimed a voice, dripping their words into Hera's ear. She struggled to look upwards and saw the same coarse face who had terrorized her during the night. Ed grunted while pulling Hera further as she struggled at his hands and flailed about, trying to connect with any part of him to set her free. "No one's helping you now. Thought you migh' slip off would ya? Didn't even stay for a proper welcome?" Hera widened her eyes at that, watching the small silhouette of her fallen bike vanish into the night darkness. She felt Ed's hands grasp over her chest still tugging her along and when she did try struggle, he spun her around and gave a hard slap across her face before clamping Hera's mouth shut again. Hera lay stunned in her attacker's arms, feeling a metallic liquid creep into her mouth and watching in a daze unable to move as her limbs grew heavier and the blood freezing in her veins.

Ed slammed Hera against the wall, pushing his body and pinning her against the bricks while his hands grabbed painfully at her mouth and throat. "Disgusting bitch." He looked on at her, like he had a bitter taste brewing in his mouth at the mere sight of her. "Not half bad looking either. Not tha' it matters." his foul breath swarmed over Hera, earning a slight gag as she tried to peel back her lips and bite around Ed's fingers.

Ed leant back slightly, releasing his grip around her throat before pummelling at her stomach and knocking the wind out of her. She slumped over, the pain shooting in all directions from her torso yet Ed held Hera up with a satisfying smirk plastered over his face in the dim light. The rain was stinging in her eyes now, mixed with the tears of the punch to Hera's gut. Suddenly, the area was flooded in spotlight as the opposing house sitting against the alley switched their lights on and Hera took it as an opportunity to try, attempt anything at getting herself free now that Ed was half distracted by the light above.

Hera bent one foot up, tucking it tight against the wall and with all the strength left in her kicked off from it, sending her and Ed crashing forward into the bins and skip a few metres away. Hera hoped, pleaded that whoever was awake in the house would come out to investigate the noise yet Hera was certain it wouldn't hinder Ed and his assault. Before he could gain his bearings, she snatched at the pieces of rubbish feeling for something that she could use as a weapon. Her hand closed over the neck of a bottle, and just as she felt Ed about to lunge at her she swung at the man, spinning along the ground as the bottle connected and burst at the side of his face.

Ed howled in pain as the storm above finally blew and started to roar around them, falling onto his back and writhing around while he clasped at the side of his head as blood mixed water began oozing onto the cobblestones below. Hera lunged at him, straddling his torso and holding the jagged remnants of the bottle. Her fear had turned to rage, fury seeping in her skin with each droplet of rain. It burned hot within her, the heat rising and filling the air as the droplets steamed into a dome of fury halting the two in place. The idea of escape wasn't so pressing now as she felt she had the upper hand on the man, felt the primal instinct of revenge coursing through her. Hera sent one —two punches into his face, grazing her knuckles along the ground as her hand slipped over his wet skin.  She could end Ed now, leave him bleeding out and draining in life as the water did into the sewers below while he on the other hand, managed to look up at her and for the first time Hera saw something other than disgust in his eyes. It appeared to be recognition, though puzzlingly for what she did not know. However, the house above them had been alerted to the noise and Hera could hear shuffling around getting closer.

"Fortunate prick," the words seeped from her mouth in a venomous hiss, pushing up from the half-dazed man giving one last kick to his torso before she staggered and took off back down the alleyway to her forgotten bike.

The clouds above boomed louder and louder as Hera struggled to pedal against the winds and away from the town of horrors. Her skin crawled at what had just happened, still feeling at each part where Ed had touched her as though they were flecks of acid burning wider and wider. Her stomach had doubled in pain, and her chest started to clench itself more and more as she pedalled on, fighting against the elements and her own body. The sky cracked open in a flash as the storm hounded at the land more furious than what it had enticed it with earlier, and the wounded woman biked on. On to the house, on to the safety of the manor and after a long while she saw it looming in the distance, the wind whipping at its spires and the rain lashing at its windows while the sky blazed about in violent blinks. Hera could feel her strength dwindling, almost using up all of her adrenaline in making it back. The faint crunch of the gravel driveway under her wheels saved her from fainting on the spot, and she made another laborious effort to reach the entrance of the house. 

As soon as Hera came to the steps she lurched off the bike, the reality of what happened crashing down on her as she fell. Hera heaved, struggling for breath and crawling to the side of the house steps where she vomited up everything in the night. The alcohol; the cigarette; Ed and his terror as well as the assault on her body as she struggled on her way back. Her lack of ability to fight; the lack of awareness she had in the rainy streets.  She emptied everything had to do with the dreaded town and all the memories gathered in the rain. Memories past and present ploughed out of her in dry gags until she crawled up the old stones, only able to make it halfway on the stairs before Hera fell to her back still pelted by the rain above, her limbs locking her in place. 

The sky flashed over and over, the thunder booming around the estate though Hera could do nothing but shiver uncontrollably at the night, could only surrender to the tightness in her chest and the daze she was left in moved to her drifting in and out of conciousness.

As the clouds broke through with another flash directly above, the thunder rolling in quick response, Hera heard a voice, felt it call to her in the air;

"Come back"

Her eyes slowly opened, ears grown silent against the storm and with one last effort, Hera managed to stagger her breathing enough to send oxygen into her blood and she crawled up and out of the rain, collapsing into the antique door. It vibrated against her fragile bones, groans mixing with her own as she pushed it open feeling the thread in the house, felt it tugging at her and pulling deeper inside; a safe nest against the thunderous night.  

Hera tried blinking in the darkness to no avail as the storm cut all power, the pitiful slosh of footsteps leaving a swampy trail through the entrance hall in return.  Laboured breaths shuddered over her exhausted form, permeating the air of the silent house. 

No fear was held for the manor. No fear, as if it were sucked away through the storm. As if it was all but drained out of her by the vampiric town she had left behind. 

Every step jarring; Every twist of her body; The curve in her gait shooting pain in all directions;

Hera pulled at her jacket, the splatters of rainwater falling onto the carpet below while the storm raged about the house blasting like bells in an abandoned church;

The scarf that reminded her too much of the hands that had grasped her throat slinked tighter against her neck as she ripped off the wet fabric, scratching and burning a raw trail. 

She dropped again to a crawl, muscles unable to keep her upright and feeling around, trying to drag herself up the stairwell. Stripping her clothing; hoping that peeling away the layers would help save her from the burden of what had happened. 

Hera could feel invisible hands helping her, guiding her up the height of the manor and despite drowning in anguish, she thanked the phantoms of the home she had grown used to living with. Thanked the voice who spoke to her in the dark, the sky for baptising her from all the night horrors—and only mere moments before she finally succumbed to unconsciousness; the hands she felt pushing away the strands of wet hair from her bloodied face.

_*_

[captain--nox]

Chapter Three

-*-

A few days had passed since the calamity of Hera's first day at work, and the list given by Mrs Heelshire that she was barely able to fulfil:

No Guests

Never Leave Brahms Alone

Save Meals in Freezer

Never Cover Brahms Face

Read a Bedtime Story

Play Music Loud

Clean the Traps

Only Malcolm Brings Deliveries

Brahms is Never to Leave

Kiss Goodnight

Waking far later in the day clashed with those tasks, but she made sure at least food was cooked and stored, music was played and the vermin traps were cleared once she was reminded by the smell wafting from the side of the house when Hera walked the path around the garden. The more intimate parts of the list she opted to reject; the bedtime reading and the kiss goodnight. Hera responded well to the structure, the anchoring it gave her meant she could sustain living in the house with every passing day. While she moved around dutifully, Hera often left the doll in a secluded area of each room; facing away on a chair, or propped looking out of a window. It wasn't exactly covering his face--as what was apparently instructed--but it was enough for Hera to kid herself into thinking he was just another inanimate object of the surroundings. She did remain on edge as the days fell away yet because of her routine created that distanced herself as much as possible from the doll--be it only touching him when necessary--Hera almost felt like she was in a trance to combat the awful scenario of watching and staring intently at the house around her. Often she'd crawl into bed at night and drown out the sounds of the mansion moving about her with her headphones and music she'd play, reading one of few books she had brought with her. Hera tried to find a middle ground with the absurdity of the manor and doing enough to earn the paycheque that was to be given through Malcolm's next arrival.

Malcolm

Hera wondered if Malcolm's presence in the manor would give her some sort of relief after being in the house alone for a time, or would aid in her apparent manic stay. At least with his arrival of food, she wouldn't entirely whither away just yet. There wasn't a lot that happened on the same level that occurred on the first day, nothing save the eerie silence and occasional groan as the house moved. There were many times while passing through the halls she wondered if other people would react the same way or if they would find the house as empty and old as it really was. Hera made sure that the doll was always in her line of sight, and when she did leave him it was in his bedroom only. That was, until she could not find him anywhere one morning.

Hera searched the doll's room from top to bottom, trying to work out whether she had left it in a different spot or forgotten him somewhere in the house. She was very certain she had left it in its bed the night before, and distinctly remembered hurrying out the room into her own much like she had done the previous few nights.  Hera descended the levels of the house, reaching the landing of the second floor and just as she was about to turn further down the stairwell, her eyes caught the slivers of light spilling from a door left ajar ahead of her. Hera had vowed to leave doors shut within the house, fearful of discovering movements within the rooms as she passed; now this current set up was one that both worried and startled her. Under the pale lights of the lamps consistently left on at all hours, Hera cautiously walked towards the room with its door left ajar.

It creaked as it was slowly pushed, woods murmuring against metals as Hera entered. It was the small family library; Hera discovering it days earlier as she had explored as much as she'd dared when moving through the manor. Large cases stacked to the ceiling full of books ranging from classical mythology to Darwin, a few first editions bound in leather added to the oldened structure in both form and knowledge. She cast her eyes about the room warily, scanning until she found perched like she had placed it so many times before in previous rooms; Brahms the doll sitting idly at the window staring out to the rising sun. His dark suit and hair gleamed gold at the edges with his back turned to her, and next to him sitting in its own yellow glint was a book.

"And what are you doing in here?" Hera scoffed, determined to simmer the concern growling within her. She stalked over to the doll, picking it up by its arm to dangle before her and looking it over almost expecting an explanation. The back and forth of acknowledging the doll moving around on its own and choosing her own ignorance toiled with Hera as she stared down at it. Enlightening the idea of paying more attention to the doll and its apparent walkabouts, she looked down at the book occupying the small ledge before her.

"Hans Christian Andersen," Hera turned to look at the doll. "That's what you're doing? Reading a book?" There was an uncomfortable silence about the room, paused in a moment of realisation as Hera threaded together her previous actions of avoiding reading a bedtime story to the doll each night and finding the doll next to a fairy tale book. Again, apparently by himself. Hera snapped back to the present, suddenly attuned to her surroundings with a prickling silence growing and charging in the air. She picked up the book before quickly shuffling out of the room, slamming the door behind her to the unsettling scenario that had presented itself.

"Not this shit again," she muttered, thundering down the stairs towards the kitchen below. Hera banged the book onto the table as she entered the room, readying her breakfast and leaving the doll upstairs to wander around far from her. The grip she felt the doll had on her lessened the more she distanced herself from it, and she tried to force it deep into the back of her mind. She was determined to ignore the haunted doll--for that was what she concluded however bemusing it was--and carry on with her own worries and issues without it trailing after her like a limp thread.

Once she had finished eating, Hera packed the leftover food away and grabbed the book she had deliberately left at the other end of the table while she sat. Turning it over, she noticed it was worn and weathered; faded edges and creased spine indicating it was once well read and used. Hera had read a few of the stories when she was growing up, remarking at how dark they were compared to their film counterparts. And sad, for those had the true albeit sorrowful fairy tale ending despite how the term was used presently.

Deciding on checking the traps outside to see if the night was successful, Hera made her way to the front door to where her coat lay hanging and waiting. Pulling it on in the mirror, she noticed in the dim entranceway a pair of lenses sitting patiently on the table before her. Hera reached down to grab it, replacing them with the fairy tale book and realising they were the very same pair of glasses she had misplaced on her first day.  Remarking at her find, she looked them over to see if there was any damage now that they had been placed in the very part of the house she had lost them in. Unable to see clearly, Hera held them up in front of her and moved to the bottom of the stairwell and to where the chandelier hung high above giving off its glow throughout the rising body of the house.

"Thanks for giving back my glasses," Hera lazily called out to the rooms above while holding them up in front of her and noticing there were no scratches, dust or dirt on them. She raised them higher to the light, noting on how clean they appeared and how the screws were tightened around the frame. Her eyes flicked from the glasses and to one of the landings far above, for caught in the hollows of one of the lamps was a tall figure silhouetted against the light yet far enough from the bannister to remain in the dark of one of the pillars standing next to them.  Hera froze, arms still raised above her holding the frames as she watched the figure slowly back away from the balcony, unsure as to whether it had seen her or not. It moved silent and smoothly, and before it had fully vanished Hera rammed the glasses on her face and spun to leave through the front door as coolly as she hoped she appeared. Once she had closed the door behind her, Hera almost tumbled down the stone steps onto the gravel below.

"What the fuck," she whispered to herself, almost fearful the entity she spied could hear her from the walls while she marched away along the path cutting between the lawns. The air was silent, save the leaves slowly drifting down from branches high above them in small flutters, oblivious to the startled woman passing along below. Hera wasn't so easily convinced that some ghostly entity she spied watching her in the house was real; for although she had determined the doll haunted, it was more to give an answer cloaked in fantasies and leaning into an interest of something paranormal. In fact, Hera started to believe someone had broken into the house and was waiting for her to enter it again. 

She had reached the edge of the small lake that sat towards the back of the property, walking alongside as the water lapped quietly against its edges. Unable to keep her hands from curling into fists, Hera picked up a stick from the edge of the forest beside her and began twirling it in her fingers, snapping off parts as she walked and thought about her next move now that she had been presented by another issue that the manor had so kindly bestowed upon her.

If there truly was someone breaking and entering the manor, Hera was sure they would have been more clinical in getting what they wanted; it was a large wealthy estate, with the owners gone save for one lone person holding the fort. They would have very easily been able to take whatever they wanted, without Hera knowing or being properly able to stop them. Which lead Hera to her next realisation; she was also a lone woman in the middle of nowhere. 

Hera stopped in her tracks at the largest and farthest arc of the lake from the house, and slowly raised her head to look back on the building. A chill started to seep through her, like a breeze gripping its way at every limb, pulling at locks of hair and sending goosebumps into her scalp. The horror of what could have been--and what very well could become--hitting Hera like a wave, and she snapped the last piece of stick roughly in her hands. 

Hera thought hard on her next move, for the next step she would take would determine her mood and overall safety at the manor. She began walking again, much slower and pensive. If there truly was someone in the manor, it puzzled Hera as to why they had remained hidden--had yet to actually leave-- or why it was they had yet to make themselves known whether violently or not. If it was an intention for the house to be burgled, in the dead of night was ideal for the many rooms and passageways winding throughout gave enough space to remain quiet far from the sleeping rooms higher above those that were embellished on the first floors. In addition, finding where Hera resided would have been easy, for the golden paths from lamps that remained sputtering light into the night led right up to her bedroom.

Hera trudged on, making her way closer to the manor yet still intending on clearing the vermin traps in order to appear oblivious to what she spotted earlier. She was still feeling unsettled at the idea of someone entering and Hera falling victim to their violence yet puzzlingly, she didn't detect a true sense of fear when she had spotted the figure; her fear stemmed from vulnerability, rather than the silent shadow that had watched her in the foyer below. Hera didn't want to resist nor entertain the notion of a stranger wielding absolute power over her, and neither could she ignore her instincts when she caught sight of the figure in the stairs. A fear, lying deep and hidden shook themselves awake in her limbs and chest, like a titan lying dormant under snow arising to wreck havoc on those nearby. It snarled within, spitting bile up her throat until Hera felt herself easing it down again, patting at its head as it shackled itself once more in the depths of her body. She stood breathing slowly for a few moments more before continuing on again and relaxing her muscles so as she could walk easily. Hera edged closer to the house, making her way from one trap to another and picking up the dead animals, chucking them into the basket she had grabbed from the tool shed nearby. While moving to the next trap, Hera shot a glance up at the pillars looming above her, their tainted windows peering down in response. Her face creased harder into a frown, for there just beyond the netting was the shadow again, tall and broad and flickering away into the depths of the room it spied from.

A loud thud sounded, breaking Hera away from her gaze upwards realizing she had dropped the bucket of dead rats at her feet. Scolding herself, she bent to hastily pick up the bodies while suddenly, all the pieces seemed to click together in her head. The moving of her glasses, the episode on the balcony during her first morning and Brahms the doll showing up in rooms and places he could not do unaided; Hera had not been alone this entire time, and something was in the house with her. If it were a marauder trespassing in the night hours, they were long overdue to make themselves known or take what they wanted, and that possibility began to grow less likely. The more Hera moved, cleaning the mess of the bucket she dropped, the more she realised all that she had seen and heard drew her to one conclusion; there was an entity in the house, and that entity revolved around Brahms.

*

Cautiously, Hera had entered the manor after finishing outside. She slowly shifted into the dark corridors, hesitant for any noise but found there were none nor were there any shadows drifting about. Now, she had placed branches of Rosemary and stems of Marigold in a vase within the dining room, and placed one also in the kitchen, picking them from the garden Mr Heelshire mentioned her tending to. She had neglected watering the plants as of late yet found they were healthy and in abundance despite her lack of care. Hera placed extra bunches of rosemary in a small pan with water and began simmering them on the stove; the scents drifted throughout the kitchen and into the neighbouring hallway, floating through the air and bringing a sense of homeliness to the lonely halls. 

Hera had much interest in plants, though she failed to remember all their uses. The one she did remember parts of was rosemary, for as well as it being an ancient plant spanning many cultures, it was often used in remembrance either for someone taking a medicine created or remembering those who had gone before them. Fitting for Hera, for her memory was stagnant in places and she hoped that dipping her toe in older practices meant she was trying to honour Brahms' phantom and that it would spook her no more. Or, putting plants about the house allowed it to not feel as much of an empty shell of a home that surely once blossomed in delight. The marigolds she also knew were often used in honouring the dead; their vibrant colours dotted the iconography of Día de Los Muertos, the imagery and the people's belief of death similar to her own cultural perceptions though she was somewhat envious at their retaining of their culture if it wasn't synchronised with those holy in Spain. Hera also wasn't overly religious, not quite in the conventional sense and rather choosing an interest in her cultural "religion" over societal, though that poised a difficult process due to many of her people's and outlying branches of her family's conversion to Christianity as well as offering little information in their practices before. Gathering of knowledge was hard due to much of it not passed down in written form but rather through tongue, and the few books she had read were not authored by her own people with many giving an outside perspective instead. What she did learn was due to her being around her Father and the Uncle, and the tidbits that were sprinkled into conversations weren't saturated enough compared to a full emersion in her culture. Whether anything that she knew would transcend into interacting with the apparent spirit here, Hera was unsure. She was wisened enough not to anger those who stay behind; it was often a given to treat those who came before with respect particularly if they were from one's own family. Horror stories of the paranormal would confuse Hera as she had been presented with altering perspectives growing up, and as it wasn't an overly specific subject she felt she had a mixture of understanding about interacting with spirits. One thing that was clear in the plethora of spiritual possibilities was this; respecting something that leads to a gateway of unknown was recommended, and showing the Heelshire ghost a sense of curtesy felt the natural course for Hera--despite not knowing a fair amount of such things.

"Maybe I should try asking," Hera uttered quietly, standing idly by the stove and staring at the sizzling bubbles in the pan with their plant stalks rotating lazily about. She couldn't understand in such stories of the paranormal, why people wouldn't ask the locals the tales of the land they were on. Particularly communities like her own, for they surely knew more than those who had recently settled there. It was almost comical to Hera, films that depicted people naively messing about with Lovecraftian-esque entities almost choosing not to ask those who had lived the land nor follow their advice if they did give it.

Hera groaned at her thoughts, uncrossing her arms to massage at her temples as her eyes closed to the surrounding kitchen. The information swirling started to pound at her head, clambering up her skull and begging to be released from her brain. This was entirely not what she wanted to deal with, still toiling at the realisation that the idyllic getaway she dreamed of had faded long ago. Hera pushed herself off the bench she was leaning on and flicked the stove switch before trudging off in the direction of her room; this time, walking relatively uninterested in the house and whatever was in it watching her move. She barely glanced at the door leading to the library, and with it where she had left Brahms for what she was learning with each step was that the doll had most likely been moved somewhere else. Hera wasn't interested in playing hide and seek with the doll just yet, and rather wanted to focus on herself instead of keeping up with the house as she had done so each day.

Hera pushed her bedroom door open and slammed it shut behind, beginning to eye the bedside drawer and what lay within. She hadn't used the small electronic pen during her stay thus far but coupled with the eerie events of before--and the overwhelm for if she was right--she decided now that she was alone it was acceptable; even if it did disgust her. Moving across the room and tugging the drawer open, she found the small slim black cylindrical hit before it dawned on her her next hurdle; venturing outside. Hera was not ready to enter back into the hallway, and the house that awaited her; this was her sanctuary, her own space to let her guard down and away from the twisted nooks and cracks of the house that felt like portals to unknown rooms of observation and what lay beyond peering. Hera paced over to the windows, her steps moaning in response along the floorboards as she eyed up the panes that lay permanently shut.

"Classic," Hera chided, turning to eye up the window sill as she remembered her desperate attempts nights earlier. She tried each handle to the panes, turning and attempting to push them open to no avail. Growing more frustrated, she pulled a small stool over to properly reach the highest window, barely a foot in width though with determination would be large enough for Hera to fit through. The window groaned as she pushed at the frame, hearing a small crack coming from the outside.

"Ha! Gotte em," she barely choked out, using all her strength to push as the window cracked more and more. "I hope I don't break it," Hera muttered, pausing in her attempts to eye the woodwork. A slight draft drifted over her face as she looked on, indicating that she did make some leeway with her pushing. Shrugging her shoulders, Hera figured that she had ample time enough to fix whatever damage was done if she did manage to get outside. Giving one last push, Hera managed to break free the window from its sealed fate and tumbled half out into the open air. "Woah, easy easy." she bleated, groaning at the frame digging into her stomach as she scrambled to balance herself upright.

Hera looked down at the ledge below her, and to the small balcony landing not too far off before deciding in that moment head first was the only cause of action to get outside. Leaning forward again, she slowly crawled down the outside of the window to the ledge, straightening her body out parallel to the glass. "I have not thought this through," she gasped, realising her predicament. As if the window had heard, irritatingly it shunted the rest of her body out and Hera fell out onto the balcony flipping her legs down as the momentum of her land caused her to fall further. She sat panting, looking up at the small window that had enforced her gymnastical feat.

"I knew there was an athlete still somewhere," Hera remarked, chuffed at the success of her cumbersome plight. Hera got up to brush off the dirt gathered about her clothes, pulling out the pen that surprisingly was unharmed in the tumble. "Yay for addiction," she sarcastically chanted, sitting on the thick ledge of the balustrade and leaning against the house as one leg dangled over its side and another was tucked up under her chin.

Hera eyed the side of the manor, trailing up to the soft curves of the cornice that floated high above. The house, full of chaos and riddles that as soon as Hera was free from its stifling mucus, she was able to breath easy again and a calmness started to befall her. She sighed at her surroundings, taking in the sounds of the late morning all around. She was alone at last, yet as soon as she walked through the doors to the manor the peculiar feeling of a weight dark and heavy would start to lie on her. Nothing seemed to free her from the possibilities of any type of emotional labour, either through the people around her or more recently--the mysteries of the manor and what she had just tumbled into.

"I'm going mental again," Hera reflected, sending pillows of vapours from her lips. It was oxymoronic: that which over time worsened her breathing presently gave her an easing rhythm to abide by, soothing her body and sending light clouds of cool against her brow. After a while, Hera would get sick of the vapours pouring out of her lips as her mind cleared to what she was ingesting. The distaste in her actions would override her wants of beforehand, and she was reminded of why she picked up the habit and reluctantly participated in it though with time they became few and far inbetween. Indeed she had been worse off previously, struggling to cope with what had happened back home and finding herself in the midst of a nicotine addiction. Every day was filled with clouds of smoke as she struggled to distract herself from the pressures around her. She had lost many friends--if not all-- and the struggle to be seen and heard was very real. That struggle gave way to erratic behavious and habits she hadn't picked up previously; sometimes alcohol--sometimes drugs--but most of all it was the buzz of nicotine that allowed a moment of peace before she was plunged back into a world of absolute pain. Pain so internal, so deep that it destroyed her emotionally and mentally. Her spirit had been broken, and the one thing she could control was the buying of nicotine. Everything forbidden in how she lived was hers to take, though considering those she knew who looked like her it was expected to eventually fall down that route.

Hera rubbed at her old injury, the knee tucked under her chin reminding her of another pain that sometimes perked up. The tumble out the window didn't help, Hera completely forgetting how foolish the act was considering her physical state. Her head shot up at that, spinning to look at the panes she had exited out of. "Shit," she whispered, pushing off the ledge and tucking the pen into her pocket. Walking over to the windows, she measured the height of the opening to the ground; it rising near two feet from her head. Figuring her extraordinary luck had run out what with her climbing out of the window; Hera had no way inside.

"Idiot," she grumbled to herself, spinning around to look over the ledge at the distance to the ground below. "You're actually fucked right now," Hera was at least three stories up, with no proper way of getting down. Deciding she'd rather not try scale down the building, she looked up and across to where the next balcony she had walked on days earlier sat sticking out from the side of the building. That was near three metres in distance away, and she had one of the most bravest yet stupidest thoughts to cross her mind in recent times.

Hera patted the side of the building, taking a few steps back to measure out her run up. "If I die, I just want you to know that you've been the weirdest house I've experienced in my shortest stay." Hera scoffed, turning to prepare her run. "Those years winning medals better work." She adjusted the clothes around her, hugging the cardigan tight against her body and using the tie to cinch it in. Hoisting up her jeans in a jig and resecuring the belt, Hera took one last deep breath eyeing up her target. 

"Fuck it."

Hera ran, ran and launched herself off the edge of the balcony and across the gap, her foot just landing on the opposite ledge and half slipping off in the process. She toppled forward, skidding and rolling along the ground yelling in pain as her knee banged the side of the stones. Once still, little by little she rotated onto her back panting and lying for a few moments as the pain in her leg dulled down. Spread eagled on the ground, Hera refused to move in fear she had done something seriously wrong to her body.

"Ow," she murmured after a long time, finally beginning to move upright and sluggishly standing. "Ow, ow, ow you idiot ow." Her knee was throbbing, and looking down she noticed her palms were grazed raw. She released the cardigan from around her waist and it billowed out behind her, shuffling forward in a limp Hera hoped was only temporary. Rounding the side of the house to the door that lead back into the hallway, she suddenly remembered the small item in her pocket she knew would be as banged up as what she was feeling.

Resigned to the fact it was destroyed, Hera withdrew the perfectly intact pen glinting in the sunlight.

"Oh what the fuck!?"

*

A large bang vibrated through the house, startling Hera as she sat on the edge of the bathtub eyeing her palms now she had washed them clean in the bathroom sink. The skin though with its top layers peeled off was free from the dirt and grime of outside, and she stood up awkwardly moving towards the door. Hera had underestimated the amount of damage she had done to her knee, for the pain had simmered down in magnitude but reminded her it was well and truly there whenever she walked, and would stick around for a long while after. She limped down the stairs towards the noise of the bang, vigilant in her original assumptions that someone was snooping through the house. Turning down a small corridor, Hera limped her way slowly towards the kitchen before she heard another noise; the sound of a thump on the kitchen counter followed by a series of curses.

"HERA!" Malcolm's voice ripped through the rooms and shook Hera, beating her before her knee did.

"WHAT!?" Hera shouted back, rounding the kitchen entrance and facing the delivery man who was rushing to put something into the sink.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Malcolm cried over his shoulder, turning the tap on and spurting water into the sink as he was enveloped in a cloud of steam.

"What's your problem?"

"You put this on the stove! And left! You could have burnt the whole damn house down!" Hera hobbled over to the sink next to Malcolm, peering down at the burnt carcasses of the rosemary branches she had simmered earlier. 

"No I didn't," Hera replied slowly, looking at the furious face of Malcom as he turned away from the sink.

"Yes you bloody did, this thing was inches away from starting a fire."

"No I didn't, I switched the stove off before I left," Hera said slowly, looking at the stove and back at the burnt pan. Hera believed she did switch it off after she left, and the time it took for Hera to move upstairs and down she surely knew the pan would have burned long before Malcolm arrived. 

"Why are you banging doors?"

"What?"

"I heard a door slam."

"I literally just got here."

"No you didn't."

"Yeah right oh. I've got your food anyway."

Malcolm moved past Hera and back towards the side entrance he had entered, and began bringing in the crates of food he routinely delivered to the household. Hera shuffled around the room, beginning to put the groceries away in their appropriate places.

"What happened to you?" Malcolm asked, placing another crate on the counter.

"What does it look like?"

"I just saved your life, be polite." 

Hera turned and gave him a glaring look, half due to her not realising Malcolm would arrive so soon at the house and the other half remembering how nosy he could be.  "Jeez, if looks could kill." Malcolm responded while turning to start moving the groceries around. "You should really get a portrait done, what a frown you've got."

"Only for those that annoy me," Hera replied while moving awkwardly again around the kitchen.

"I'm literally asking about your wellbeing, how can that be annoying?"

Hera sighed, relinquishing her right to be irritated by the man. "I fell over and knocked my knee. I've had it operated on not too long ago and had it injured even before that."

"Damn," Malcolm muttered softly, "How did you do that?"

"Been here five minutes and he's back firing away questions." Hera said, raising her eyes to the thin line of lips as Malcolm pursed, before quickly adding "I did it at an event. Triple jump."

"You did triple jump?" Malcolm replied in thinly veiled disbelief.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, no I er--" Malcolm spluttered, before Hera cut him off.

"Anyway, it isn't that hard doing sports at Uni."

"You went to Uni?"

"Fuck, what else surprises you," Hera responded sharply which seemed to have an effect on Malcolm, as he looked on in disdain. While she was irritated at Malcolm, Hera thought his interest in her might have extended beyond being easily surprised at small bits of information such as that she was once a university athlete.

"So snarky," Malcolm muttered, turning his back to Hera and making his way towards the door for the rest of the crates. Hera huffed and sat on one of the kitchen chairs, the pain in her knee growing substantially. She wondered if there was any pain medication lying in the cabnets nearby as her initial thought of the knock on her knee being small enough to heal without it disappeared with each throb of pain cursing through her leg.

"Look, sorry I'm just irritated because of my knee hence why I'm a bit short with you," Hera started at Malcolm as he arrived back, sighing and leaning on the table before her in hopes the change of position created a more comfortable stature. "Besides, we weren't overly friendly when we met."

"Ah yeah I can see what you mean; sorry. I can act like a dick sometimes and I have had my fair share of punches thrown in my direction. I'm not really used to meeting folk from out of town, especially ones around my age. We've a slight aging population here, sleepy town and all." Malcolm addressed her before shrugging. "At least I'm self aware."

"I think you might need a bit more practice before you meet anyone else."

"Ouch."

"Keeping it real. Though on second thought I guess I should meet you halfway and filter some of my directness. Sorry."

"Hm, truce then."

"So," Malcolm started again, finished with putting away the food and leaning on the kitchen bench. "You studied?"

"Yeah I did," Hera replied, her head against her hand as she leaned further into the table before him. "Studied English and Classics. Got there on a scholarship--sports that is."

"When did you graduate?"

"I didn't."

"Oh,"

"Some shit went down, I got injured and couldn't attend classes for a while. I tried to withdraw and if you don't attend lectures or pass assignments, it affects your scholarship and you have to pay back part of the sum that was given. To make matters worse, the system lost my application to withdraw and so all my lecturers thought I was intentionally skipping so I guess I'm officially marked as a failure?" Hera concluded, looking up at Malcolm after her small speech.

"Damn, right bit of luck you got there."

"You're telling me mate. Did you study?"

"I literally just told you how shocking my social skills are, I didn't achieve them going off to Uni. Where do you think I've been most my adult life?"

"Are you content where you are?"

"Oof, right down to the nitty gritty aren't ya."

"Sorry," Hera muttered, annoyed at her prying. For someone who had grown irritated at Malcolm's behaviour, she had hypocritically overstepped the social mark.

"Nah it's alright. It's actually something my parents asked me funnily enough, whether I was happy where I was. I think they worried I wasn't off exploring the world and surprisingly I do like it here."

Hera nodded, taking in Malcolm's words. She could relate to a certain degree, the bubble created in surroundings that were a safe space to relax and explore in. Along with the beauty of the countryside and the quaint town she had driven through, no wonder Malcolm felt content with where he was. 

"Nice little arrangement you've got going here." Malcolm pointed at the vase sitting further along the table, leaning forward to touch the petals. "Remembering the dead are we?"

"Oi, don't touch them. How is it that you know what Día de los Muertos is?" Hera questioned, absentmindedly beginning to rearrange the flowers.

"Okay, just because I didn't study doesn't mean I live under a rock and don't know what a marigold is." Malcolm scolded at her, continuing on "Are you even allowed to participate? Wait are you-?"

"Before you finish that question, no I'm not participating and no I'm not from Mexico. Besides, all indigenous are my cousins so yes I'm allowed and more so than you." Interjected Hera, shooing away at Malcolm. "Probably not to that last part but I think I may have a closer connection to them than..others."

"Wooow, right oh then. Our truce is going off to a flying start."

"I'm kidding, but I do appreciate what it is they do. And marigolds are pretty."

"True, true. How's the house treating you?" Malcolm changed topics, and swayed back on the counter before her.

"Don't even get me started on this place." Hera said dismissively, motioning her hand in front of her. "And you go along with it!"

"What, the doll?"

"Of course the doll. How old is this house anyway?"

"Probably a hundred at least. Probably more."

The walls began to creak again as if drawing in an offended gasp, causing Hera to glance around the kitchen. Its silver gleam blowing through the side of the house, so much so she was barely able to make out anything in the dimness of the hallway beyond as she looked out. The longer she stared into the darkness, the more she started to feel shapes forming in the shadows of the woods and grains that dragged the manor up in its impressive stature. The prickling feeling of eyes watching her movements started to grow again and she fell out of her daze and back towards replying to Malcolm, who she saw was already looking in expectation.

"Yeah well feels like I've got all the old tenants watching me here, critiquing what I'm doing."

"You sure that ain't your own standards?"

"This guy," Hera drew out the sentence, earning a smirk from Malcolm. "I thought we had a truce on."

"There's always a more dick comment hidden somewhere. Anyway, where were you just then?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you were looking all lost right in the middle of us talking."

"Looking at how old the house is isn't something of note. I actually thought someone had broken in earlier." Hera started while cautiously looking for Malcolm's reaction.

"Yeah?" he replied, turning to face her more intently.

"Yeah this morning, I thought someone was scouting the house because for one, I am alone here and also this family is rich."

"That's not nice."

"Not really."

"Did you find anyone then?"

"No, though I could have sworn I saw a shadow in the window when I was outside." Hera tucked her arms around her, leaning further forward in her position and Malcolm echoed the same.

"You sure it wasn't the doll? Say, where is he now?" he whispered though his faux attempts at being secretive seeped through.

"Fuck, I tossed him in a room upstairs somewhere. Hanging around him too long creeps me out." Hera grimaced while remembering the library that morning and the accompanying memories of the days before including the music room.

"Fair enough," Malcolm leant back and raised one hand gesturing at Hera before continuing. "If it makes you feel better, we can have a look around to see if anyone actually did break in or have a go at the windows. I also didn't see any tracks on the path." Malcolm offered, earning a nod from the woman. Strangely, Hera felt she was slowly warming up to Malcolm for behind his first notion of judgment, he seemed like an honest enough person to trust with at least the security of the house. He had served the family for a time and it was certain he'd know of places Hera had overlooked that hid any other entrances to the home.

The pair exited through the back door and made their way around the building, with Malcolm checking the windows for any attempt at a forced entry. They found one door to a basement though the cobwebs and thick padlock reassured them that there was no real way in or out and nor had there been any in recent times. "Fire hazard," Hera muttered as they finished their scan of the house. "Do you think anyone was here?"

"Not likely, judging by the looks of it. Unless they came through the front door but you lock it yeah?"

"Yeah I do."

"Then you've got a ghost on your hands mate." Malcolm chuckled at Hera, earning an even deeper of a frown than what he usually witnessed.  Hera contemplated what to say next, hesitant at finding out information she didn't want to discover though would help her understand more of the odd events arising from the manor.

"What happened to the boy? The real Brahms?"

Malcolm looked up at her sullenly, his forehead creasing slightly under his tartan flatcap. He sighed, before motioning her to follow him along the path out towards the garden. Hera padded behind him, both in silence save for the soft footfalls and arduous limps on the gravel below. Malcolm led Hera to the large willow tree that sat tucked in a corner of the lawn, rounding to the side overlooking the forest beyond and leaving space for her to join him. "There was an accident," Malcolm began, looking down at the jutting of a grey figurehead as Hera realised she was gazing upon a small tombstone. "Well two I guess technically. Brahms had some distant cousin from out of town who would visit every now and then. She died in the forest some ways out there," he motioned over his shoulder, still looking down at the grave. "And Brahms died on the same day, up there." Malcolm's arm extended out towards the house before he turned to her. "Brahms died from a fire, poor sod."

"Jesus," Hera's response was small, reading the tombstone writing and looking across at Malcolm. "Bit of death around here--The kid was barely eight! Damn, that makes sense."

"They both were, from what I remember. What do you mean, what makes sense? I thought nothing makes sense when it comes to dark histories of old English families." Malcolm quizzed her, the willow fronds slicing the sunlight over his face.

"Well, for one the doll and Heelshire couple make sense." replied Hera, standing closer to the tombstone to peer down at it as she spoke. "I saw Brahms--the boy-- in the family portrait when I first arrived, then I was presented with a doll. Those parents lost their child, and are using that doll to keep him alive. Though I don't suppose it's very healthy." Hera's voice trailed off before continuing. "I mean how long have they been doing this? A couple decades?"

"Yeah roundabout."

"Wait, he would have been your age?"

"Yep."

"So you knew him?"

"Yep. Well, kind of."

"This family man. This town," Hera's voice quietened before picking up again "No I don't mean that in a bad way aside from the obvious." she added quickly though Malcolm's eyes were still cast down at the grave as if he didn't hear a word of what she said, instead portraying a man that was reliving distant memories. "What I mean is, you guys are all so connected."

"Well yeah, it's a small town and everyone knows what goes on here. The Heelshires are the leading family, have been for years. When those two kids died, everyone knew and everyone had some sort of connection." Malcolm looked at her suddenly, stony faced and eyes willing her to adhere to his words. "Towns close ranks quite quickly, depending on what side of the fence you're on."

They stood in silence, listening to the winds drift through the trees and watched the willow fronds dance lazily about. "Anyway," Malcolm said suddenly and in a vastly cheerier tone than what he spoke with moments earlier. "I've got to finish with a couple more deliveries."

"Thanks for the history lesson," Hera said, falling into step alongside Malcolm as he turned to make his way back up towards the house.

"No worries. See, you didn't need to finish Uni after all."

"I don't think that quite covers it but yeah I'll be sure to ask you about anything else that pops up."

The details that Malcolm had shared with Hera pooled in her head, slowly circling around in a synchronised dance while she imagined the Heelshire's faces in the wake of the death of their son. They had been adamant in their actions that he was very real, and Brahms was alive in them and their memories yet he had died long ago as was confirmed when Hera saw the tombstone. Hera was still pondering over the family complexities when the loud clunk of a door shutting ushered her into the present, and she'd hardly paid attention to Malcolm climbing into his truck readying to set off.

"I'm off now, I'll see you next week. Or; I can come round in a couple of days to check on the house and how you're doing now that you've told me you thought someone was wandering the halls." Malcolm offered, flipping the front seat visor to grab some sunglasses and adjusting them to his brow.

"I think that'll be good. Being alone isn't good for the brain it seems. Not me hoping there's someone there to make so I'm not imagining things." Hera responded leaning against the car with her arms folded. 

"Yeah that's all good. I'll be off then." Malcolm started his truck and put it into gear before Hera interrupted his leaving.

"Malcolm?"

"Yeah?"

"You mentioned a fire. Where was it?"

Malcolm turned to point high above Hera to the topmost part of the manor, drawing the sides of a triangle in the air. "Was up in the attic I think. They painted over the scorchmarks the same as when they had the windows done. Dunno how it started but by the time the fire was out half the attic was destroyed, including the boy."

"Fuck,"

"Mm. Wasn't a lot left up there either, save for the structure. Oak burns slowly y'see." Malcolm stated as Hera turned back to him creasing her forehead at the details. "Pity Brahms wasn't made of oak."

"Malcolm that's dark."

"You're one for the macabre, aren't you?"

"I'm the one staying in this apparent crypt."

"Yeah I know, judging by your outfit and them flowers." he said as Hera glared back at Malcolm then, piercing her eyes down at his half smirked face. "Should really get that scowl painted. I'm off, see ya."

Hera watched Malcolm turn down the path and off towards the gates that awaited him before scoffing in his direction and turning back towards the house. She trekked slowly along the path once more, taking the same steps she had done so with Mr Heelshire only a week before though it seemed so far away from where she was now. The thoughts floating lazily about started to gather at speed and whip into a whirlpool, sucking themselves down into the awaiting eyes of the little boy that Hera had first seen in the glorious painting in the landing. She took a step then, deviating from the house and making her way towards the garden feeling strangely content at what she had learned and had confirmed that day. She picked at the plants she wanted, grabbing another long frond to tie them together in a bunch. Slowly but surely, and with much more purpose in her steps compared to those she had taken in hesitance, Hera visited the young boy's tombstone once more and placed the bunch of rosemary and marigold at its base. The gleaming orange of the petals contrasted with the grey of stone, bringing light to the cold damp lawn where the boy rested. She crouched down and placed her hand on the earth, feeling at the soft dirt before brushing her fingertips on the tombstone as she rose back up. As Hera turned to walk away, she gave a soothing pat to the trunk of the old willow tree, the ridges in the bark bouncing along her hand in a solemn agreement. She thanked the willow and its stoic protection, for its long fronds stood guard over the boy falling in a shroud of peace that covered Brahms' view from the dark horrors of the house and the memories of his final moments.

-*-

[captain--nox]

Chapter Two

-*-

Hera shot up awake with a start, a sudden roaring filling her ears. The depth of the roar, the deep deafening rage echoing before she could fully adjust to the room around her. It was still slightly dark out, sparkings of dawn glancing at the sky as Hera looked out of her window to the distant horizon. Arcs of light spread like arms pushing at the darkness over the land, awakening the air from its deep slumber in gentle caresses as their pale beams drifted over the ceiling of Hera's room.

Hera turned and gathered her face in her hands, attempting to steady the thumping ruminating through her body and shoving off the throw she'd pulled over herself in the night. The house on the other hand, was completely silent in deep sleep leaving her reeling over what she'd heard and, almost as suddenly as the roar blinded her senses it was gone, leaving Hera wondering whether it was something she'd dreamt instead. Dreams had that affect on Hera, dreams so raw, so intense and severe that they encircled Hera in an invisible stain and trailed after her even when she freed herself from the sleep. Or maybe it was not a dream, maybe it was real--as real as an anguished cry erupting in torment from the walls around her.

There was no real joy in experiencing dreams like Hera did, so vividly real and cryptic in their messages through a startling vision. It also felt delusional; believing in a knowledge of those unspoken in their wants or needs, barely presenting them to Hera if they ever did at all. Dreams like these tended to linger within Hera for days afterwards with some concerning almost private matters, and she often felt awkward at possessing and fixating on some of the knowledge. Diving into messages and symbols within the realm of the unknown, yet resurfacing and taking a step back; the whole thing could also very much be a cover to mask the fact her own brain had conjured it up, mixing and twisting all thoughts and feelings of the day into figments of the night. Whenever her seemingly prophetic dreams arose, in the days following she would crawl through her mental perplexes, wandering through mists of uncertainty that often left her disjointed far beyond what she had begun with. Yearning for a tug that solidified her in reality and not dragging her into dreams; like lost families across a stretch of water with no real means to build a bridge to. Thankfully, her warped dreams had stopped becoming regular occurrences that Hera thought was due to her moving on and taking steps past her old life, and she leant more towards the idea of her body developing a coping mechanism rather than an ability that she had little belief or faith in. Having internal issues as well as external became too much to juggle as it meant that she couldn't trust what she saw and felt, and so with eliminating a few hurdles that plagued her Hera was then caught off guard by this most recent encounter. It cracked at the foundations she had built for herself, the tether waning despite the long length of plaited rope she weaved from the failings of her past into a grounding existence. Unsettling for Hera, as she vowed to create a world where she --and only she-- was in control.

In a more positive reflection of her life, Hera was once happy with those around her and they in turn reciprocated those feelings; her own morals were reflected in them, and they clasped each other in unity. The beliefs and support systems Hera was convinced were enough to challenge any and all scenarios granted they held to. However it was an unfair choice to be made for those around her once parts of her life were tossed up into Hera's own chaotic storm; walk alongside her or leave in an attempt to salvage their own wellbeing. Hera did think that the noble cause was to support those in turmoil yet when she herself was left in her most vulnerable state, tumbling down into a well of despair there was no one for her to turn to. Except perhaps; to look inwards. She chose to be her own best friend; her own mother, father, lover and guardian--or so she hoped was a revelation in a moment of clarity rather than a dire result of her lowest form. And so, walking in dreamland, discovering messages and feelings unknowingly sent ruptured the anchor setting her off the straight road, and she yearned for its cure. There was however, one person she caught a glimmer of support from, even as they lived a great distance away.

When Hera felt herself frightened, alone and most vulnerable, she remembered the kindly and weathered face of the village elder of her homeland, his words ringing true even if they were spoken long ago. An Uncle to many, and a voice of reason lost to the onward strut of time and cultures; she'd met the man through her father at one of the few gatherings held by her people, and she'd met him again before slipping away into the world. He had an aura about him that Hera connected to, which made opening up all the more comforting and aiding in settling the constant dark rumble within. Hera met the elder to bid him farewell and ask as to where she could grow encouragement from now that she was by herself though a lot of it was more to provide solace and validation before she finally left. Throughout Hera's struggles of later years, he remained the only figure in her life that gave her an ounce of respect, who didn't turn her away nor chastise her for her decisions. He was also someone respected in their community, and someone who accepted that what is is what would be, with a level of deep understanding lost on most who walked on by.

"Your ancestors live within you," the old man said, eyes distant in their peering at Hera. "They are in every part of your make up; your hair, your eyes, skin and bones. Your spirit. Don't reject your ancestors, for you're rejecting yourself. If you're ever in need, call to them; they created you, and they'll guide you in the most intimate ways. Speak to your ancestors. They're your guardians; ghosts of love through time, walking the paths you tread on. You are their legacy; don't leave them, and they won't leave you."

The words weren't overly profound to Hera though they did provide her with another perspective. While she was lost in herself, yearning to fix the seemingly unfixable, the Uncle had reminded her of something she found herself rejecting; her culture and her people. It was what they were all tied to wherever they were and for many years she felt half of something and half of another; torn between two cultures so vastly different and constantly clashing. Yet, Uncle had reassured her in his words no matter how lost she felt either now or in the future, her people accept her as part of them and sharing the bloodlines was enough despite how she may appear to others. His words echoed those who came before her, and it stayed with Hera everywhere she went; she was welcome amongst her people and that door was always open.

"Could probably use some help right about now," Hera muttered raggedly, rubbing her eyes in the process to regain some sense of her surroundings. She wasn't even sure how to call on those ancestors; hadn't known of them before or had met and built a relationship with. Somewhere internally, it was clear to Hera to seek comfort in her long lineage, but given the amount of pain she had been in she doubted it would alleviate those feelings. Another part of her ridiculed the idea, feeling so foreign in its concept and she struggled with the idea of accepting that what made sense to her in those moments was enough.

"You'll know when to call them, there will be times where you can't explain and yet want the company of those who came before you; they'll protect you."

Protection. 

"Where were they when everything turned to shit," Hera muttered, suddenly annoyed at the state she was left in from her dream and her mess of thoughts.

Making her way up from her bed, she grabbed the long coat hanging by the bedroom door and then treaded out into the darkened hallway, needing the outside air after suffocating under her restless sleep. Her sudden rise from the bed along with the heat of the night caused her to clumsily move, and lightheaded and stumbling she sought the coolness of the dawn's fresh touch. Slowly staggering past Brahms' room as her muscles sluggishly awoke to movement, Hera made her way to the end of the corridor to where a balcony entrance lay behind the dark red of the velvet curtain. The cool, sharp breeze enveloped Hera in a brisk hug as she stepped out onto the balcony stones and made her way to the edge of the balustrade. Wrapped in her coat, she greeted the day marking the beginning of her stay at the manor, as glimpses of the dream haunted her from the night before.

Hera dreamt of moving through the endless rooms in the house alone, a gleaming specter lost in the abundance of woods and carpets. Eyes had followed her; eyes in the fabrics, the curtains, books, toys and walls. Sunken, harrowing eyes masked in despair and inflamed bored into Hera as she struggled to free herself from the following gaze, lost in the manor's strobe of hidden memories and private warrens.

She shivered then, immune to the chills of the morning air and attempting to slow the puffs of warm that swarmed her face. A fine mist settled along the ground below, likening the house to sitting amongst the clouds as the damp lawn dyed a green haze. Birds began to stir the insects, calling out to awaken them in the familiar sounds of dawn; dull to their song, Hera looked up to the steadily lightening sky, to glimpse at the stars above while taking in deep breaths in uneven rhythm.

Green eyes had watched her; green eyes layered in warm honey morphing in all the objects Hera had passed. Closer and closer they followed, trapping and surrounding; predatory eyes glowing brighter and deadlier, and just as they were about to engulf Hera the almighty roar ripped her from her slumber. 

"Hello to the stars," Hera whispered, yearning for their comfort to turn the stark glows of her dream into the warm guidances of the night. A breath of wind shifted around Hera's ankles billowing her coat out from between her legs, laying kisses on her now freezing toes. Head still titled to the heavens, her long hair trailing down her back as she stood like a sullen beacon against the nearing light. For a long while Hera stood silently, a sense of ease washing over and refreshing her from the dream shadows; being outside had a calming affect on Hera, outside to the noises of the early morning. Her whipping thoughts stemmed their flow as she took in eveything around her; the chains of her past rattled less and the embers of somewhere new started to glow and reawake her senses. Suddenly, the wind changed direction and wrapped her from behind where she was overcome with a sense of someone--or something--watching her from the house. The embers went out and terror grew again as her hair stood on end, afraid to turn and confront whatever it was hiding in the shadows of her new home.

Echoes of her dream encapsulated Hera, sending a cold reminder of what followed her when she roamed the house in the night before. Sharp, icy tendrils weaved their way through her veins as she turned slowly back to the opened door to the balcony, staring into the beyond of the darkened hallway. Flashes of gold and green ripped their way across her eyes, the fear of the night confusing her vision as she tried to peer into the darkness. Rage, rage like the roar that awoke her earlier merged with the presence before her; she was an intruder, she wasn't supposed to be here. 

Get out.

It was like a gale, a brute force, a wind of warning erupting from the door entrance; sparks radiating from the dark sent to shock and deter while Hera stood frozen blinded by its growl. It was enticing yet impending; lovingly cold and, as suddenly as it came, it was gone; a phantom glazing past, disappearing into morning sun.  Hera dropped to her knees, coat sprawling around in defence and gasping for air. The familiar rush spread through her limbs as she was overcome with the rapid events of the morn.

"What the fuck was that?" she heaved to herself, released from the warped chokehold held by the hall. It took a few moments for Hera to regain stability and slow her breathing; moments inviting her to spiral and lose control of everything around her. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened to her though it was the first in a long time, and shuddering greatly she dragged herself back up again.   This house was old, and whoever walked the halls in a past lifetime no doubt left their cold mark guarding against anything foreign that entered. Maybe the house was sinister; and what Hera sensed when she first entered was an intense caution cloaked in dampened residue of a tortuous past. Or maybe; her own brain yet still struggled to balance out. It was a tiresome concept, wondering whether she should push it all to the back of her mind instead of acknowledge and be consumed by every sense of wrong thrown at her. Leaning back on her knees Hera exhaled in a slow blow, moving as the numbness of what happened was replaced by the cold. She got up and began to make her way back to her room; entering the house again despite the warning that it sent her, the deep tones of malice defrosting in the air.

*

After she washed away the sweat of the night before, Hera fixed herself in her mirror and went to wake Brahms as per his morning routine. Everything had seemed a blur; waking, walking and dropping back into her room. The morning had felt very real but due to her own suspicions Hera constantly wondered if she had imagined the events in the dawn. Sometimes, not everything could be trusted once Hera abruptly awoke; reality mixed with dreaming, filters gone and hallucinations could run wild. She wondered if what really happened on the balcony was instead something she dreamt, refusing to believe the house was capable of manifesting something horrid to frighten her, so very real and foreboding. Truthfully, Hera would like to welcome the fact something had occurred, for it meant that her brain ceased in creating scenarios that weren't entirely true, and that she was indeed capable of withstanding any other trauma and mental anguish that plagued her once coming to the manor. The move was supposed to be a chance for her to heal, to be away with everything that had hurt and affected Hera, and start afresh in a new environment. If her brain didn't want that to happen, she was determined to force herself into believing the very real events of living at the house--reality being in what others would deem unreal.

She shifted to enter the hallway, but before her hand met the doorknob, a resounding crash erupted from outside making her jump back in shock. Another crash, and another shaking through the old manor while Hera stood rigid waiting for it to end. Hearing the now familiar footsteps of Mrs Heelshire passing by, she slowly opened her door to the scene she spied through the opposite doorway and into Brahms' room.

"What have you done!?" yelled Mrs Heelshire, ripping the curtains to Brahms' window apart and unveiling the absolute mess about the doll's room. Mrs Heelshire looked flustered around, panicking at the heap before her. "You said you would be a good boy! Mummy and Daddy have to leave soon, you can't do this now!"

Hera's eyes darted to the doll lying in its bed, head staring straight to the ceiling; it looked almost defiant to Hera, almost as if a real boy was choosing to ignore his agitated mother. But this doll was not a real boy, and could not have caused the mess in the room--unless the Heelshires exhibited traits unbelonging to any sane mind.

"Would you like some help?" Hera asked hesitantly, and Mrs Heelshire snapped her head up at Hera from the kneeling position she took trying to gather the toys lying dispersed along the floor. Mrs Heelshire's face was in shock, and Hera noticed something else: fear. Perplexing at the woman's expression, it struck a cord of familiarity within Hera. A fear of consequences, fear of what would happen next. A fear of the unknown in the present of-- an unknown, it seemed. Hera cautiously began to move to enter the room before a voice behind her made her jump.

"Good morning Miss Arthur; pardon the ruckus but it seems Brahms isn't all too happy at his parents leaving." Mr Heelshire caused Hera to rapidly spin as she had not heard him enter the hall behind her.

"Good morning sir," she said, eyes flicking between the elderly couple and the scene before her.

"Are you alright?" Mr Heelshire asked, glancing at Hera's face. 

"Fine sir," Hera replied, remembering to relax her brow and she gave a tepid smile in reassurance.

"Early morning starts-- come with me, Mrs Heelshire has that sorted. She'll ready Brahms before we take off shortly."

Hera nodded at the man, following into the hallway. They passed portraits of aristocracy in frames tilted bearing down on Hera, watching her tread the halls of the family. She shuddered then, remembering her dream of the night before. It seemed she'd be haunted long after the Heelshires had gone, if it weren't in her dreams it would be in the winding halls of the manor.

"I apologise about Brahms, he can be very temperamental. I, uh, I do hope you haven't changed your mind?"

"Not at all sir. A bit of child's mess is something I was expecting, somewhat."

Somewhat.

"Good good. I need to double check things over, do you mind preparing Brahms' breakfast? I think everything is there," Mr Heelshire rattled off and suddenly stopped his walk down the staircase both had started taking. Standing on a lower step he peered up at Hera and she too noticed he had a glazed look of fear--or nerves rather, emanating from him. The behaviour of both parents was unnervingly a stark contrast to the reserved persona both had displayed previously. The lines of Mr Heelshire's forehead creased in peaks as he paused to speak to Hera, conflicted in what he may say next.

"Are you alright sir?" Hera asked.

Mr Heelshire snapped out of his small trance, his eyes focusing back on Hera's. "Oh yes yes of course, forgive me. I'm a bit frazzled this morning, I think it's because we're finally leaving for our holiday. It has been so long since we've gone anywhere; I guess I am somewhat anxious to be underway."

"Ah, that's understandable Sir. I guess you have been holding out for one for a long while. You enjoy yourselves."

"Yes indeed, thank you. I hope we haven't forgotten anything; our cab driver will be here shortly."

"Early morning start?" Hera repeated Mr Heelshire's words back to him attempting a more relaxed tone between the two.

"Yes we need to make way for travel." he replied absentmindedly to Hera's quiet dismay.

As if on cue, a loud knock echoed up the stairs coming from the antique entranceway. The cab driver had arrived, and Mr Heelshire turned to resume his passing of the steps down the staircase while Hera followed along silently. Both his luggage and Mrs Heelshire's stood guard at the door as they reached the bottom landing; Hera departing to the kitchen and Mr Heelshire greeting the driver.

Hearing muffled voices and small thunks of luggage moving, Hera moved to put the kettle on while deciding on what sort of breakfast to make the doll. Or herself, rather. The jug rumbled in a growing crescendo as it drowned out all other sounds of the house, with Hera leaning against the bench contemplating the Heelshire's conduct. Peculiar they were, on the morning of their journey. Again, it was the apparent behaviour that Brahms was treated as a real boy, but how the parents were acting was as though they were leaving their child in the care of others for the first time. Be it, it was the situation but Hera could hardly understand it as their first time; it seemed they were reluctant to leave, and fearful of the consequences if they did. Hera chugged it down to the distant feeling of a holiday needed, for the mysterious history of their child coupled with their rapid aging meant that a stress free time away was warranted.

Mrs Heelshire suddenly waltzed into the room, carrying Brahms in her arms. The frantic terror of earlier was gone and a earnest embrace was had around the doll. "Miss Arthur, we're ready to be off."

Hera nodded at the woman, following her into the foyer once more. The door hung open as she spied the taxicab driver waiting expectantly against his wagon for his passengers, luggage loaded and engine running. Mr Heelshire joined them before both Heelshires turned to Hera.

"You will be alright in this house Hera," Mrs Heelshire said with certainty. "You're a bright woman, young and sharper than most."

"Thank you ma'am." Hera replied, surprised at the sudden informal addressing and though not fully convinced at the woman's words, accepting them more as a last encouragement before she was left alone in the house.

"Remember Hera," Mr Heelshire started, eyeing her closely. "Just like the plants; be good to Brahms and he will be good to you. Be bad-"

"-Oh she will be good to him. Won't you Miss Arthur?" Mrs Heelshire finished.

"Of course, I'll treat him well."

Mr Heelshire kissed his son goodbye, turning to Hera to shake her hand and heading off through the entranceway. Mrs Heelshire did the same, but when it came to Hera she handed over the doll before pulling her into an embrace that caught her off guard. The sudden intimacy coupled with the next lukewarm whisper in her ear unsettled Hera.

"I am so sorry,"

Mrs Heelshire kissed her on the cheek then, regaining her composure as she pulled away. Her face was grim, resigned and once more glimpses of fear through her eyes. Before Hera could say anything in response, Mrs Heelshire nodded and walked out the door leaving her alone in the foyer, the final shutting click commencing Hera's stay. She slowly walked back to the kitchen, reeling at what Mrs Heelshire had just done.

I am so sorry.

"Jesus," Hera said, suddenly realising it was the first time she had held the doll properly. "You can sit over there." She almost chucked the doll on the opposite of the dining table, and resumed the task of making herself a tea, consuming herself in her thoughts, and back turned to the doll so that she could think without witnessing the prying, porcelain eyes watching her. Feeling watched wasn't something Hera was all too fond of on her first day, the events of the entire morning giving her mental whiplash and tiring her out before the sun was properly high in the sky. 

Sitting down at the table opposite the doll, she watched it silently, slowly turning the spoon in her mug. It was her and the doll, no noises except the old grandfather clock ticking away at the house. Hera and Brahms; an odd pairing, but nothing short of odd with what the parents had displayed minutes earlier. "What was wrong with your parents?" Hera asked Brahms, half expecting the doll to shrug its shoulders. "Actually no, don't answer that."

The room; mysteriously totaled in the morning. Hera's eyes bored into the doll's, the realisation of how rapid and tumultuous the morning really had been. Her dream, the balcony, the room, the Heelshire's behaviour; Mrs Heelshire's words. Nerves started to wash over Hera, goosebumps beginning to rise as she felt the phantom eyes of the house on her once more. She had been whisked away from Brahms' room, Mr Heelshire employing an out-of-sight-out-of-mind manner that until now, Hera had little time to process. Her body started to lock up at the enormity of what had happened, her limbs growing tense while the underlying tones of unease flickered about. The kitchen started to grow smaller, bearing down on her and the doll sitting silently opposite seemed to grow in size, its face slowly creeping larger as it sat staring ahead at Hera.  

"You know what, fuck this." she said, quickly standing from the table and marching over to the doll, grabbing it roughly from the seat. "I've had enough of a fucked up morning, I'm trying again later."

Adrenaline started to course through Hera as she quickly walked out of the kitchen, beelining for the staircase and tunnel visioning her way up the levels. The feelings of eyes grew heavier, the walls around her groaning while she moved as if the portraits of those hanging in the paintings were shuffling through each frame to follow her. Reaching both her room and Brahms', she shoved open the bedroom door of the doll's and tossed it onto the bed. "Sleep in this morning." she declared, turning to leave the room, "And don't trash your toys while I'm gone."

Hera almost ran into her own, her heartrate picking up again as she shut her own door. She hadn't been spooked like this in a while, not for a long time; it felt as though the house itself was folding inwards to ogle at her every passing movement. Growing more and more sluggish, she shuffled over to her bed and crawled under the covers huddling herself into a ball, eyes staring ahead at the bookshelf before her. Silence danced around to the tempo of her heartrate drumming in Hera's ears, an unpleasant silence that kept her still from moving even the slightest. The joys of discovering a new house, one full of enticing histories and extravagance had nearly vanished, replaced by a haunting aura instead with all that Hera had witnessed. There was something unsettling about the house, enigmatic to anyone stumbling through lost in its dark chasms.

She felt weak, lazy and incompetent about her hiring now that the Heelshires had gone. It seemed straightforward and easy, though now she was caught up in the paranoia of her own mind susceptible to every changing air about her through each room she entered. This house was odd; the family odd, and whatever was going on wasn't healthy for Hera and her rapidly changing moods now that they were set off by the uneasy environment. The once grand house shrouded in old melancholy sheltered a far more unsettling aura now that she was alone though Hera could not fathom whether it was the reality of something more ominous or not. In fact, Hera couldn't fathom much at all in her state; lying frozen under the covers and alert to every noise the manor plagued her with. She lay like this for a long while, watching the sun slowly pass shadows across her room as it beamed brighter with every minute. Each surface, each crevice solidifying in form as the light soothed over the area like a warm compress, easing wounds left by the gloom.

After a long while, Hera's stomach rumbled, pleading to fill the emptiness within and summoning her to move. Calmer than what she was earlier, Hera pushed away the covers of protection now she felt she didn't need them. Sitting up, she slowly slid her feet over the bed and crept to the door that lay closed, blocking off the dark corridors of the house. "You've dealt with much worse Hera, come on." she muttered to herself, feeling more confident and stable. Hera opened the door and made her way to use the bathroom, a purpose that would override any feelings of anxiety about her. The sun cast filtering shades in the hall through the windows sitting high up though instead of the animals and statues standing forbiddingly at each post, they gleamed in spotlights of their own celebrating the house arts.

After washing her hands, Hera used the dampness to palm her face and wipe underneath her eyes, taking in her ragged appearance in the bathroom mirror. Her curls stuck out haphazardly in parts where she had lain on the bed, a full mess of a mane. "Good, you match your brain then."

She shook her hair out further and made her way through the halls and back down the house into the kitchen to prepare lunch due to her missed breakfast. Opting for a sandwich, she sat at the kitchen table again chewing at her food and mentally planning her day now that she had maxed the quota on unsuspecting events in the manor. The gleaming white of the room contrasted with her hunched figure as she ate, Hera concluding that she would at least fulfill one task set out in the list given by the Heelshires:

Play music loud.

After finishing her food, Hera stalked her way back up the stairs to Brahms' room as she yet again climbed on up to a chorus of creaks and groans; the sounds now a constant soundtrack to the house. Entering the bedroom, she spied the doll still perched half facing down on the bed she threw him on earlier.

"Right where I left you," she whispered, side eyeing the doll in reluctance. Grabbing it by the arm, she traipsed again through the house to a small music room, scatterings of chairs, poufs, a grand piano and a gramophone lay waiting. Embellished woods climbed high into the ceiling from the stone walls that enveloped the room, large tapestries full of hunting motifs and paintings of past lords peppered around. Red leather armchairs gathered in a small half circle against the dormant fireplace, a fur rug nestled about their feet in a contrast of beige, browns and blacks. The grand piano was illuminated in the morning light through the tall window, swirls of dust sparkling in the air as Hera moved past and gushing after the doll that she tossed onto one of the armchairs. She walked over to the cabinet that held the records, sheets of music and books, scanning until she came upon a piece she thought fit her wants as well as what would please the silent doll. Drawing the record out of its sleeve, she placed it into the player and dropped the needle to begin.

Deep, slow tones hummed in the air dark and brooding before slowly melting away, the wind instruments creating a daunting atmosphere around the room as Hera sat in one of the armchairs facing the doll again as the music built in volume until it burst forward in a haunting crescendo. She had turned the volume high as per Mrs Heelshire's instructions and now in the midst of the echoing vibrations she watched the doll intently, consumed by the music and scrutinising Brahms' outfit. Sweet sounds of clarinets and bassoons drifted around melting with their string cousins; Hera enjoying the noises other than the moans of the house and she sat silent with small satisfaction. The piece played on, building into a grand finale of triumph and celebration and died down again before becoming silent.

"Well Brahms, I hope you like Wagner because the mans was cool as shit." Hera said to the doll, getting up from her chair to flip the record. "Play that at my funeral, or better yet play it when I'm entering a room. Fitting for this house I'd say." Hera drifted over to the window, sitting herself on the small ledge that heralded soft cushions against the panes. The music played on as she gazed out into the gardens beyond, small sparrows flittering by in a blur of browns where they disappeared into treetop canopies. Comfortable in her position, Hera grew mesmerised at the world beyond the gloomy manor and slowly but surely she drifted into a dreamless sleep, sounds of the Norse Gods playing in lullaby.

*

Hera's eyes slowly opened to the setting sun and a stiff neck as she'd slumped downwards in her now cramped sleeping position. Stars were beginning to peel themselves away from the masks of day as her eyes turned upward, trying to regain composure after her nap. Hera started to move from where she lay half turned from the room now quiet as the music she'd put on hours earlier had finished. Pushing herself upwards, a small clink surprised her movements as she turned to look at what made the noise next to her body.

"What the fuck!?" Hera shouted, startled at what lay tucked next to her and kicking her foot out in the process. Brahms the doll toppled from his position curled next to her body and landed with a thud on the rug below, face staring upwards at where it had previously been perched. "H-How did you get there?!" Hera questioned in disbelief, snapping her head up to look around the room. It lay silent, not a movement in the slightest with no indicator that anything had occurred out of the ordinary save the doll moving to where Hera slept.

Hera sat frozen in horror, still watching the doll as if it were to get up and charge at her. She wondered if she had grabbed the doll in her sleep, walked over to bring it to her for comfort; her position against the window, barely moving save for her slumping downwards meant that she had not grabbed the doll-- and nor had she pined for it. "This day is getting worse," Hera whispered aloud to herself in an attempt to confirm what was happening as she barely believed it. She slipped off the edge she had slept on and cautiously moved away from the doll, leaving it on the ground as its eyes seemingly watched her shudder away from it. Opening the door to exit the room, she stalked down through the passageway flicking on each light switch she came to, wanting the warm glows of the lamps exposing the shadows she grew more and more fearful of. No noises could be heard, nothing to suggest anyone was found in the manor with her; Hera felt there was no one present, unwillingly realising something weird was happening to the doll. Resigning to that fact she took off up the stairs and slammed herself into her room. Creaks and groans began to rumble all through the walls, stalking around her den in a low menacing growl. Hera rushed over to her windows to try pry them open in an attempt to feel the air against her face in the crowded and overbearing room but to her disdain she remembered Mr Heelshire's words from the day before;

"The windows are sealed shut I'm afraid. A workman painted over them some time ago."

Hera banged the panes in frustration as they failed to move, sending painful thuds shuddering up her arm. She slumped herself down into the corner, holding her head in her hands in defeat. There was too much noise; too much of what was happening and she was alone to deal with it; alone to the terrors of the house that scared her already fragile mind, pushing it to break and shatter. It was like a tempest; through after one bout of whirlwinds she lulled herself into a false sense of security in the lullaby of the storm before now she was plunged into something so unknown and on her lonesome. Hera felt trapped, stark against the darkness of the house and at the beck and call of a doll that plagued her with its eerie silence. Too afraid to move and too afraid to sleep, Hera sat for hours willing the noise to fade as she felt her last sane defences started to melt away.

-*-

[captain--nox]

Chapter One

-*-

In my world I sometimes drift between the boundaries And I wonder if what I see is even real

-*-

Hera glanced down at her watch, shifting her feet slightly on the gravel underfoot. She wasn't sure how long the journey took to get to the Heelshire Manor looming above her, its Victorian silhouette standing ominously against the clouds above however what was quite certain was indeed it was hidden and tucked away into the landscape far from the lives of those threaded together in the nearest town. With the sounds of the car she arrived in echoing off into the distance in farewell, it only solidified this house--this mansion-- served a purpose of privacy. And wealth, for the lands surrounding it sprawled like a skirt of seclusion and a richness echoing a society it still clung to. 

Peeling her eyes away from her wrist, Hera gazed upwards to fully take in the manor in all its glory. Heavy stonework hugged the ground in a grand pose defying years of decay, repeating through the pillars that sought upwards to the skies like fingers in wavering grey lengths. Bricks jutted out in lumps like calluses that ebbed and flowed in a continuous wave as time sighed around the land; the multiple columns and chimneys drew themselves high as if to bait the elements in their tumultuous attempts at weathering the spires while the burgundy roofing already sloped in defeat around them. Stain glass windows diffused colours of the leaves falling about Hera in the wind, casting an autumnal glow within their depths in the pale sun: however obvious the hardened relic sang in its faded grandeur, its panes held a beaconing mist that danced around an intriguing history that seemed to lie within.

As the wind swirled up again, Hera pushed the locks of hair veiling her face and readjusted to further envelop herself in the large black winter coat that blocked the creeping gales seeking out an opening to her bare skin and, picking up her trunk she strode up the steps towards the heavy door knocker that awaited her hand. Knocking and hearing no movement from within, Hera slowly opened the door as it groaned in her arrival.

"Hello?" she called out cautiously, uncertain as to whether her new position in the household meant ushering herself in was acceptable. As if it heard her thoughts, the currents picking up outside shoved her in the entranceway, and Hera gladly left its cold touch with the leaves clapping along the ground in praise.

Shutting the door behind her, Hera removed her boots and began to pull off the coat that her body pleaded to cling on to. Deciding to value her warmth over proper etiquette, Hera accepted that the shoe removal was enough before making her way further into the entranceway, shrugging the coat back on in the process. Pulling away at her dark glasses to better see in the shadowing hall, she placed them on the table next to the door beneath a large mirror overseeing the small foyer. The gold rims of the glasses blinked up at her in the reflection as they mimicked the colour of the serpentine vines etching their way around the mirror edges, and her eyes trailed up to take in her appearance before she met her new employers. 

Hera's body was tense; though whether it was due to nerves or the journey to the manor she wasn't sure yet both didn't reassure her preparation. Her dark brows contorted in a creasing frown as she wandered over her appearance, her jaw clenching in and out so familiarly to Hera that it felt as natural as it was her beating heart. Years of masking her feelings gave way to an intimidating--almost mean-- exterior however that wasn't all properly reflected in who she felt she was. Assertive--sure--, but the few licks in personality that started to show through were tarnished by the repetition of events through time gone by, and only through reserve was she able to tie it all in together. However, the constant sternness in her demeanour and lack of expression meant others found her cold; the first glance in her appearance, the first initial impression was enough for some to not want to engage with her further. It caused problems in nearly every direction she took, with those not wanting to trust her and she in turn only asserting her own mistrust. She wore it all like an elaborate tapestry flipped and draped over her like a weighty shawl; unshowy and heavy to move.

"How melodramatic," she thought to herself, eyes narrowing further to scrutinise her appearance.

Hera took in her shoulders, how limp the coat clung on to them. She had grown more slight in recent years and the once muscular broadness had disappeared into a shrouded shape as if trying to protect herself from everything unwanting. The dark drapery in her clothing, the long black cardigan added another shield and the only item of colour was the dark red of the scarf hung once around her neck. It wasn't the most colourful choice in clothing; Hera opted to retract away rather than enter as the centre of attention even if it did mean slight changes in how she clothed. Not that her colour scheme differed very often. It seemed everything drooped; her hair down her back, her clothes, her demeanour. It was now that she realised how she appeared to others for it felt so long since she had been in the company of someone new. Hera attempted to place herself in her employer's shoes once they were introduced, false encouragement doing little to quell the nerves as she looked on. For something that felt natural to Hera could very well seem uninviting to others--not something at all that would help her gain the family's trust and win the role of nannying their son. Hera could only sigh, watching through the gilded mirror and reluctantly pushing her efforts towards making her seem appealing. Hera had tried many times before; and now with a new position she for once looked forward to, she'd try again. "Don't be so difficult," she murmured while holding her own gaze in the reflection."Just make it work."

Whispering a shaky breath before zoning back in, she untensed her frown in an attempt to hang her face in a neutral form. Hera tried to fix the locks of hair blown into an almost beastly mane and pushed her shoulders back, lifting her sternum while casting one last look at her appearance imploring herself to relax, as she turned to enter further into the manor. "Hello?" Hera uttered once more, drawing more volume into her voice as she reached the staircase that led to the upper level labyrinth of rooms.  "It's Hera," she said into the spiralling void, her name rolling over her tongue in a slight echo bouncing off of the steps in the only response to her calling.

The house was old; she felt the age. Hera started to think on those who had walked the halls around her; countless bodies of movement and lives linking in and out, and she wondered if their presence were still ringing in the shadows. Hera halted in her steps, trying to sense the air around her but all she found was a theme of melancholy that seemed to envelop the house. It was an air of sadness--not sinister-- and before Hera began to lose herself in the ponderings of its past, she shifted to take in the interior surroundings that caught her from her thoughts.

Rich hues of blue and brown glanced off all around, lining the thick carpet that lay beneath and adorning the walls in an ageing splendour. Mahogany and Oak bannisters worked their way upwards while their door counterparts stood solid and leaden save for the brass handles that did little to soften their appearance. Hera cautiously began to climb the staircase as an invisible thread tugged in guidance and in doing so she was better able to see the large paintings and busts that bowed to her on her way up. Heelshire ancestors gazed down, eyes beckoning into their home while the marble busts marking each small landing contrasted the lavish tones of colour with their pale complexion. Taxidermied animals stood guard on corner walls while Hera padded her way along the soft carpet, the house breathing in and out around her like asthmatic sighs.

Hera climbed on before stopping on a landing where a large portrait stood. The family of the house watched her as she moved closer; obvious it was were the husband and wife and what was also the first look at Hera's employers. Ceremoniously, Mr Heelshire stood behind his wife as she sat and while their form was imposing, their eyes crinkled as if the artist captured a moment of bemusement between the couple. Mr Heelshire's striking dark hair was painted in locks styled in a past generational manner that tickled at the sides of his round face, his smoothened jawline contrasting with the softness of his features. The Lady on the other hand provided an opposite form; bronzed hair pulled taught in a bun exaggerated her cheekbones more while thin eyebrows and lips framed her face that balanced out the dramatic sharpness: they were a beautiful couple, almost regal in their aura and worth a painted portrait in the very least. In the forefront of the painting stood a boy--no more than eight or nine-- his face a mixture of his parents behind him though his paternal genetics clearly displayed at his young age. His suit matched the formal theme; full cheeks and his small smile gave the painting a playful touch in equal measure. Finally given an image to the family --and the first indicator of whom and what her job would entail-- Hera ran her finger tips along the frame of the painting absentmindedly while she studied it a bit further.

"Pretty family," she muttered, turning to gaze at the house around her and sighing in wonderment. "Pretty house, pretty artwork, pretty family."

A chant she hoped would ease the mounting pressure and daunting tasks now that upon arriving, she grew doubtful of being well equipped for.

Hera padded her way further over lush carpet and expensive rugs, floors murmuring under her steps as they greeted each footfall and she came stood in the entrance of what seemed like a child's room. Reds and pale browns decorated bedding and pillows dripping themselves between four posters of oak; toys lined the shelves sitting snug against the patterned wallpaper and a large window nestled in the middle of the opposite wall. The faint glow of sunlight illuminated the room with its hollow rays as Hera slowly moved around hoping to get a grasp on the type of child she was to look after. 

A small wooden desk propped in the corner held all manner of artistic instruments fit for a child working on their raw abilities. Watercolor trays and paints, charcoal and pencils sat in jars against the back wall while a large sketchbook lay closed, thick full of drawings of what lay behind the bedroom window. Trees and their silhouettes, contours of birds mid flight and the clouds at dusk met her eyes as she peered through the scrapbook in wonder, attempting to match the boy's age with the drawings she came upon; the final finesse was missing but the use of colours and shapes gave a clear window to his mind. Circling around the bed, Hera grazed past an old fashioned globe and ducked under the low hanging prehistoric mobile to adjust the telescope perched in front of the window, its copper edge jutting just beyond the netting. Hera's eyes softened as she stood staring at the dark forest that extended beyond into the grounds, feelings of escapism and longing filling her as she stood in the room of the high tower. She bent to better peer through into the trees before shuffling filled the room behind her.

"Ahem," a crisp female voice sounded, grabbing her attention away from the window.

Hera spun around to face the person who had embarrassingly exposed her snooping deep within the house--and in a child's room nonetheless. "Oh! Apologies ma'am, I- I found no one was home when I arrived and wandered in myself."

"I see,"

Hera approached the woman, sticking out her hand while the other took it in a firm handshake. The older woman--Mrs Heelshire, Hera deduced, eyed her cautiously through her small glasses. The warmth that Hera had seen captured in the family portrait earlier had all but vanished in the present Mrs Heelshire's, and what yet remained was a stern woman grown silver with age. She was dressed in matching colours of pale blues and greys in a conservative theme that evidently matched her personality. 

"How do you do. I'm Mrs Heelshire; you're obviously Hera," Mrs Heelshire paused on the last beat of her sentence, sharpening out the sound of Hera's name, "Hera Arthur?"

"Indeed I am ma'am, though I do apologise again for entering without permission. I thought I might find someone upstairs and-"

"No need to apologise Miss Arthur," Mrs Heelshire interjected sharply, "We were in one of the deeper rooms and didn't expect your arrival until later. Obviously you are the candidate for the nannying job?"

Hera nodded, grown cautious at the potential lack of solidification in her hiring due to her traipsing through the house. Mrs Heelshire glanced her up and down, eyes scanning her thick cloak before landing on her shoeless feet; Hera suddenly overcome with feelings of regret at her disorderly appearance. "Come; I'll introduce you to Mr Heelshire and eventually our son, Brahms."

With that, Mrs Heelshire strode out of the room almost as quickly as she had come. Both women made their way down to a small drawing room where sat the same man Hera had seen pictured earlier. As they entered, Mr Heelshire stood to greet them and Hera noticed that he too had various shades of grey throughout his now thinning hair, his eyes worn with age and his skin marking lines as each year passed.

"Good afternoon; Mr Heelshire." The man introduced himself to Hera while simultaneously shaking her hand. "Lovely to meet you. I understand the journey went well?"

"Aye, it did sir. You live in a beautifully secluded place. It's almost like your very own sanctuary."

"Indeed," Mr Heelshire smiled softly--though it appeared more of a grimace rather than that Hera had seen in the eyes of the painting-- and he shared a glance with his wife before beginning his reply. "Now, while I do understand you've yet to fully settle in, I think it best to start showing you how it is things work in the house. And of course, meeting our boy Brahms as well. Mrs Heelshire will give you a tour while I'll take your belongings to your room; you'll be pleased to know that it is on the same landing as Brahms so as you won't be too far for if he needs you."

"Thank you sir," 

Mr Heelshire led Hera towards one of the chairs facing the window outwards and both he and Mrs Heelshire flanked each side in darkened pillars against the light, before turning to Hera expectantly.'This is our son, Brahms." Mrs Heelshire said, gesturing before her. "Introduce yourself to our son and your newest companion."

Hera slowly walked around the side of the chair, hoping the expectant eyes of the parents turned into something of encouragement as she was about to meet their child. However, what befell her was not anything at all she had expected nor something she thought she signed on for.

Puzzlingly, a small boy of indeed eight or nine was sitting in the chair. A small boy with dark wavy locks and an equally dark suit was sitting quite silently, but instead of the plump cheeks and twinkling eyes, Hera gazed over the face of a porcelain doll who stared blankly up. She twitched her head both to Mr and Mrs Heelshire who were still stood expectantly before she bent down to take the doll's hand. "Ah, the Mister Brahms; I'm Hera, your new nanny. It's a pleasure to meet you." Hera forced a smile at the boy, not wanting to give away her absolute feelings of astonishment. She turned to both the parents holding her grin, "He's very well mannered. He has his parents to thank for; I think we'll get on excellently."

Mrs Heelshire's eyes darted from her husband to Hera's, landing in the direction of one of the many large paintings that hung on the opposite wall behind Hera's head and back once again. "Thank you Miss Arthur. I do hope you will," she said. 

"Of course! From what I can tell, he's a good boy." It was as Hera's last sentence rang through the room the tension that hung in the air bewitching the lord and lady was immediately released, and Hera noticed the sense of ease.

"Come along, we've much to cover before the night falls." Mrs Heelshire chimed and before Hera had time to process what had occurred and what situation she was currently involved in, she followed yet again the brisk footsteps that had already begun to leave the room --despite initially, overridingly feeling somewhat accomplished at the success of her first engagement.

*

After exploring the manor and instructed by Mrs Heelshire on what tasks to undertake, the elderly couple swapped places and Mr Heelshire took Hera outside to complete her tour. It was here that Hera was able to take in the gardens that lay around the building, something she found herself yearning more for with each glimpse through the windows as the afternoon wore on. A small garden maze sat at the back of the house that throughout the green she spied tall statues and columns peering above the hedge lines. A stone courtyard marked the entrance to the maze, with large slabs of slate mixing with the warm tones of gravel they covered and a table and chairs of iron sat expectantly for the next brunch to arrive. The large stone wall twisting and bending in and out of the foliage guided guests of the grounds to its more intimate, secluded depths, while to one side a herb garden had been planted where Hera took much joy in smelling the rosemaries and mints that grew before being ushered away to fulfil the task of clearing rodents from their traps. On its opposite, a large willow with roots deep in the ground dropped its fronds from a great height and down, encircling the area in a viridescent mirage while birds fluttered all around. In the distance a dim lake could be seen enveloped around with rushes and reeds while the sunless forest graced near its edges. The contrast of vegetation against the man-made landscaping balanced each other well, from the thick dark bushes raised against the house to each path leading away under the shadows of trees. It was a picturesque setting; etches of romanticism in its beauty, and Hera longed to feel the soft grass beneath bare feet, to greet each tree and plant as though they were in reality the true masters of the land.

"You're able to attend to the garden, if you'd like," Mr Heelshire said, pulling Hera out of her reverie. "We had a gardener who would usually come by, however he has since retired recently. You're more than welcome to fill the gap for a time."

"Thank you sir. I have taken a liking to your herb garden, hopefully it survives until you come back from your holiday." Hera replied.

Mr Heelshire gave her a prolonged look, brows furrowing slightly. He glanced up high at the window behind Hera and she turned to see Mrs Heelshire above, her body silhouetted in the shadowing sun through the window of the room. In her arms Hera could make out a small figure, as both watched their movements on the path below. "Yes well, it has long been overdue for my wife and I to get away from the house, and thank you Hera for responding to the job. I understand it may feel quite rushed, you arriving and us leaving. However, there'll be ample time to learn! You'll be fine; be good to the plants, and the plants will be good to you." he said.

"Are you somewhat of a Botanist?"

"No, but I do believe putting good into what you know has its better effects compared to if we were neglectful in our actions."

"So you're a philosopher." Hera concluded, earning a small chuckle from the man.

"Ah Miss Arthur, I've lived a life to learn from it. Some decisions can be crucial down the long road, and learning that the hard way isn't all too easy to live with."

"I thought we were talking about plants."

"Too true! Come, let's rest on this bench for a tick." By the time Hera and Mr Heelshire finished their trek around the grounds, they came by one of the many limestone benches that sat along the edge of the building. "I know this must be relatively new to you Miss Arthur but, I do think you're equipped well enough for the job. Looking after children--or rather Brahms--is something you need to pay attention to. Despite all that may seem, our son is still very much here with us; he just needs a bit of attentive care. Alas! You've followed everything I've said quite well despite also encountering an entirely new setting." Mr Heelshire said, bending to grab a handful of gravel below him.

"I think I'm still getting used to your estate, sir." Hera looked at the man then, unsure how to acknowledge the subject of his son as it was still the most prominent thing to adjust to, before adding, "This isn't anything I've seen before, not something you'd see often where I'm from."

"No? Tell me what is something you would see then." Mr Heelshire replied while beginning to toss the stones along the path one by one.

"Well, for one we don't have such an extensive amount of history, not in this architecture at least. The lands are old, but the history went down a different path compared to the country here, and I guess that shows in our architecture. For example, sure, in townships you may spy the odd estate but our buildings are more of a mix of influence through watching what the rest of the world had done as well as trying to tie in the past. Our class system is similar but different, built more around the migrations of people rather than establishments. I don't know, it's  almost like we're confused at our own identity." Hera paused, unsure as to how honestly and how much she was to describe. The remnants of a colonial past was still evident in her homeland, but the cultures that had grown old with it long before European explorers sailed by managed to push their way into the mixture of the present day. "We've more pockets in our country that detail how we've grown I guess. Not so much as a straightforward one way history, it's complex and diverse and all interwoven like a multicoloured ball. Not like here, here it's more apparent?" she concluded, turning to look at the man who was listening while tossing the pebbles onto the path.

"No I understand what you're saying. It may surprise you that we do underneath hold more complex histories than what may first appear." Mr Heelshire responded quietly, earning a small look of horror from Hera.

"Oh I meant no offence!" she added quickly, embarrassed at how her statement may have been interpreted.

"Aha! Fret not, I take none. It's interesting to see how the colonies live."

"I agree. I've always wanted to travel to the Motherland." Both laughed quietly together then sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the forest sending soft murmurs as the wind passed through with each clink of small stones landing.

"Will you miss your home?" Mr Heelshire asked, grabbing another handful of pebbles.

"A part of me, yes. I've always felt a pull and a sense of ease whenever I'm home. But I do feel a pull here." Hera replied, turning to face him. "I've ties to both back home and here. I guess it makes sense to me."

"Ah, so you are English. We wondered how it was that you were able to get here without much fuss."

Hera chuckled again, leaning back against the house. "Yes I am, on my mother's side."

"Do you know much about her family?"

"No, not a lot unfortunately. My mother didn't stay in touch much with them, and I don't actually think many are still alive. She was an only child who moved when she was young, other than that I know she was from a small town in the North." Hera replied to the man, hesitant to divulge information but also wanting to plead her case at the same time. 

"How about your father?" Mr Heelshire questioned again, and Hera readily answered.

"He was a local man who met my mother. I know a lot of his heritage but I don't really talk to them anymore. I sort of grew up and apart from them and went my own way I guess."

"So they don't know that you're here?"

"I don't think so. I've just been wandering along by myself the past while. I have always wanted to travel to the lands of my ancestors though, so here I am I finally made it."

"Interesting," Mr Heelshire said, finished with his tossing of stones. "I think you will enjoy your stay. Again we are very grateful that you are here."

"Thank you sir,"

The impromptu interview ended with Mrs Heelshire rounding the side of the house to meet them both. In her arms she was carrying Brahms as she addressed Mr Heelshire. "There's a phone call waiting for you inside. I'll finish with Miss Arthur, you go on ahead."

"Ah, I take my leave; I'll see you inside." the old man said, pushing off of the bench and up, making his way from the two women.

"I do quite like it out here as well," Mrs Heelshire said, turning to sit on the stone bench as Mr Heelshire disappeared through the old servant's entrance of the house. 

Hera eyed the doll sat in the woman's lap, choosing to not include him in the conversation. "I agree; I am really enjoying being on the estate."

"Yes, though Brahms doesn't like it out here as much as I'd like. We don't stray too far from the house at all as it makes him uncomfortable. Apart from the usual tasks outside, Brahms won't go further than the entrance to the maze beyond the path."

"I don't think I'll go through the maze any time soon. I don't suppose I'd be able to find my way out anyway so best not to." Hera turned to Brahms attempting to quell her awkwardness and practice talking to him as if he were a real child. "I'll look after you."

Mrs Heelshire smiled briefly at Hera before it disappeared behind her glasses. "Thank you Miss Arthur, for coming. I must admit both Mr Heelshire and I were quite hesitant about welcoming another into our home but talking to you more now I think we've made the right decision."

"Your husband might've expressed some of the concerns but I hold no insult about it. It's entirely understandable."

"I like that you're open about things," Mrs Heelshire continued, "Conviction when speaking. Our Brahms needs help in acceptance, something I think he would appreciate learning more of, though whether he would realise it now remains to be seen."

"He is still quite young, I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Mhm, quite right. We'll see."

Hera's initial thought of Mrs Heelshire being a woman of only strict regime seemed to dissipate as she took in her words. It was becoming clear that she cared for her son-- even though he was a doll-- with the shock of the unorthodox family and situation dulling down in magnitude allowing Hera to see the obvious feelings behind their apparent normality.

"But in saying that remember; you must follow the rules. Brahms is not a child of sudden change, nor is he also a child to be babied. He has his own way of doing things and gets very upset when something isn't right." Mrs Heelshire reminded Hera, eyes watching her closely.

"Yes ma'am, I've taken that on board. We'll be up and early to start each day so as there's no real difference in routine once you've left." Hera replied, looking down at how Mrs Heelshire embraced her son in her grip.

The sounds of a motor rumbling through the air distracted them from the conversation as a small truck pulled up. Hera watched as a young man not much older than her stepped out of the vehicle, tipping his hat at the elder Heelshire and nodding in Hera's direction.

Mrs Heelshire got up from her seat and motioned for Hera to follow. "Ah, Malcolm, how timely. Miss Hera Arthur, this is Malcolm Turner. Malcolm delivers our groceries to the house."

Malcolm shook Hera's hand with a smile. "Good afternoon ladies, and to the young master. Apologies Ma'am for being so late in the day; she was a busy one."

"That's fine Malcolm," Mrs Heelshire turned to Hera again, "Miss Arthur, Malcolm will deliver groceries once a week and if there's anything else you need ask him and he'll bring it over."

Hera nodded and started to help unload the truck instead of watching Malcolm lift the crates of food that were stacked high in the back.

"I'll leave you two to it," Mrs Heelshire added, turning to walk inside.

"So you're the new nanny?" Malcolm asked, grabbing a crate and Hera starting to follow him towards the house.

"Yeah I am, I just arrived today."

"You did? How did you find the job living so far away?"

"You what?"

"Clearly you can't pick up on your accent much." Malcolm said over his shoulder, side eyeing before continuing his walk.

"Clearly you like pointing out things about people that you've just met. What else about someone tells you they're not from here?"

"Woah no, I'm just curious how you came out. This is literally in the middle of nowhere, not some lavish house in London that a lot of foreigners tend to apply for." Malcolm replied, earning a frown at his back from Hera as she followed him through the dark corridor.

"Look, I just saw the listing and applied. That's it. How is it you're a grocery boy?"

"Grocery Man, thank you. Family business innit?"

"Uh huh,"

Both had reached the kitchen and started to unload the food into the pantry, Malcolm pointing out where they'd go and Hera following along. The room had clearly been renovated to suit modern living, its interior design showing signs of the minimalist tones of the 21st century. Smooth marble benchtops with nothing in sight save for stainless steel taps were shrouded in the glow cast by the luminescence of the light fixture above; large pantry doors stood floor length around its almost entire perimeter save for them being broken up by windows leading out to the lawn, and a small table marked an equally small dining area. A large chest freezer was tucked away in an enclave and its gentle hum harmonised with its equally flamboyant counterpart as Hera stocked the fridge.

"You're definitely different from the others that have been here." Malcolm declared, making his way around the kitchen.

"Different how?"

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders at Hera, "Blunt. And young."

"I'm not that young,"

"Younger than the pensioner looking nannies that were here." he sniggered, earning a stony expression from Hera.

"I can't tell if you're observant, or just rude."

"Observant. One of my many traits, I've a knack for picking up on some things that are odd."

'And is something odd?"

"Just that it's odd a young person is out in the middle of nowhere by choice. People like you are either here ogling like they've found another filming location site for Downton Abbey or," Malcolm stopped and looked at her then, "Running away from something."

"Are you this full of shit?"

"I swear you only answer in questions."

"Says the one noseying his way through the conversation after five minutes of knowing someone."

"You lot are different."

"And you're very rural."

They continued their task in a momentary bout of silence, weaving through the kitchen unloading and storing. Their movements were monitored by the ticking sounds of the grandfather clock sitting distant in the house, its clicks vibrating faintly into the room. "So; can you cook?" Malcolm asked, adding to Hera's growing annoyance at his boldness.

"Mate, are you hiring me or the Heelshires? Whatever, not that it's really your business but simply; yes of course."

Malcolm clicked his teeth then, "I'm just asking because sometimes if the Heelshires aren't here I clear out the freezer of leftover food. You do know to store all the leftovers?"

"And? Yes I do."

"Well I don't know what food you'll cook I just wanna prepare for whatever it is that'll be in here."

"What does it even matter the food it is? You're not eating it. Mind being any more rude?"

"Jeez, I'm just asking!"

"Yeah, ask another dumb question then."

Malcolm disappeared out of the room to collect another crate, leaving Hera glaring at him in his wake. His directness and interrogative nature dampened her spirits slightly after Hera had felt she achieved a niche among the family.  "Jerk," she muttered, turning to finish putting away the food. It seemed that while she would be alone for a while in the beautiful house satisfying her whimsical needs, once a week it would be tarnished by the young man who was responsible for keeping her fed. Hera then pulled out a recipe book detailing foods she assumed the Heelshires would eat, palming through the plans and pondering on what to cook. Malcolm reappeared again with a small thump of the next crate on the floor, with Hera choosing to ignore him and leave him to finish the task himself. Silence was the warmest coat that blanketed them both, something Hera was determined to make sure was an outfit worn by them once a week.

"It's getting late, you better get started on that dinner." Malcolm's voice rang suddenly through the air.

"That's it!"

*

Hera shut her bedroom door behind her before sitting herself on the bed that so elegantly waited. The past few hours had taken their toll on her energy levels; from the followings of the Heelshire's instructions and expectance; Malcolm and his direct nature that so easily got under Hera's skin; to the awkward dinner she'd prepared and had with the family and finally; the ritual of putting Brahms to bed. With the click of her bedroom door shutting was Hera truly able to process the situation she'd found herself in. Not only was it the brush with a higher class that kept Hera conscious of how she conducted herself, nor was it only the maze of rooms she had yet one night to familiarise herself with before the heads of house left for their long awaited holiday. It was the fact that the child--Brahms--, the boy she had anxiously awaited meeting was in fact, a doll. The oddity of the situation with the doll normally would deter any sane mind from coming even near the manor, but it did provide Hera with a warped feeling of solace in that she could quite possibly, find herself in her own world during her stay. The doll was almost a background figure who she hoped gave her enough time to work on making use of the new location she was now in, and nor was it particularly an option for her to leave. Far was she from the chaotic lifestyle she had left behind, far from relationships of wavering efforts and wants. It wasn't close to happiness she felt, it was a sense of relief. Whether it was seen as her using the situation and those around her to help her own, it wasn't what she felt was out of malice. A compromise from a good place, and both parties naturally found themselves in agreement.

Every time she felt that she'd forgotten the doll due to the events around the house, something would set off a reminder that it existed. Be it Hera spotting him carried around in Mrs Heelshire's arms limp and lifeless, or the extra plate of food that was placed in front of the doll during dinner. It was finally solidified that Hera was hired when after dinner and the Heelshires were putting Brahms to bed they requested Hera leave the room in order to have a private word with their son. Perplexed at the request, Hera had waited in the hall that lay silent for a moment as she heard voices leaking from the interior, unable to make out the sounds. Once the door opened and both parents stepped out, Mrs Heelshire with weary eyes quickly came stood in front of Hera. "Brahms will have you," she said, her voice hinting sounds of relief.

Brahms will have you.

Brahms was an insentient doll to Hera but to the Heelshires he apparently held more personality and a power to affect his parents so deeply. Bewildered by the exchange but comforted in the fact she could stay, Hera had bade them goodnight before leaving into her own room. Hera now leaned forward on her knees, cradling her face in her hands. The events of the day, the sudden change in what she thought she knew and the impending stay at the house sparked heavy feelings of unsettlement and overwhelm.

Our son is still very much here with us.

Mr Heelshire's words hung in Hera's mind, be it felt like he was ushering her towards treating Brahms like a real child or somewhere hidden Brahms actually existed. It was clear to Hera that they did have a son--that was evident in the painting-- but the ageing couple did not make sense to Hera given the doll--boy's-- age. The way Mrs Heelshire doted upon him, almost overbearingly protective as well as the father's given feelings of care for his child it all did not make sense to her. Even Malcolm didn't bat an eyelid at the doll either, giving Hera no indication that she was witnessing a bizarre family situation unfold. It was as though Hera was the only one with lenses of reality, while everyone else wandered through the Looking Glass. In no way did the house indicate there was any living boy roaming its halls and it appeared everything to do with the enigmatic Brahms was paused in time; his bedroom, his size, his routine and down to the Heelshire's behaviour.  There was no other Brahms; there was only the doll, and if the Heelshires wanted Hera to treat him as a living boy due to their own inexplicable reasonings enveloped in private mysteries, then Hera concluded that is what she would do. 

Pushing herself up and out of her reverie, Hera got up to change her clothes readying for bed. She'd already taken off her scarf and coat earlier to be properly presentable around the house, but she found she'd misplaced her glasses. Memory wasn't a strong point of hers; she'd recognized that her brain had altered over the past few years in which she could remember obscure moments from years prior however when it came to some more recent memories she was left blank. She was grateful in that Mrs Heelshire had handed her instructions on paper of her main duties around the house in looking after Brahms. 

Hera slinked over to the large mirror standing against the wall and twisted to grab the strings of black fabric that held her dress together. Slowly, she unwrapped the ties from around her waist and opened the dress before taking it off entirely standing only in her stockings and undergarment. One hand was yet to free itself from the sleeves while the other traced around her waist where the stockings ended and red marks began from where she had tied her clothes. The dents in her skin were almost raw looking as they wrapped around like a macabre piece of jewellery and she stepped on her dress to free the other hand before taking another closer to the mirror. She rubbed at the eyeliner that had begun to smudge under her eyes but found most of it were instead dark circles that gave her face a dejected tone.

"You look ill," Hera said to herself, and the manor rumbled back in it’s now usual tone of creaks and groans.

She took down the hair she'd clipped earlier in relief as her head was released from the tautness of the style, and ran her fingers through her scalp massaging at the roots. Tilting back she reached above and gave a long stretch before once more turning to the mirror. Her hair now fluffed in volume stuck out haphazardly and she scoffed disapprovingly at the scene before her.

"No, you look wild and ill."

With that, she turned and collapsed on top of the bed and took in how soft it felt under her tired body. It felt wondrous; the softness of silk and expenses she had not experienced before. The seclusion, the room refusing to clock onwards with its antique furniture gathered around her. Her lamps were turned low as she'd left them and the moody light gave a comfortably warm atmosphere that bounced off the rich woods on the objects all around. She thought back to what she'd said to Mr Heelshire earlier; indeed this was a sanctuary, and this bedroom ever more so. She turned onto her side and propped her head onto her hand to better stare out the window at the darkness beyond, watching the stars glimmering down at her. 

Yet again and rather unwillingly, she thought back to the main puzzlement of the day once more; the doll. It wasn't so much as puzzlement for Hera, instead it was more for how long this had lasted. Clearly the portrait hanging near the stairs below showed a more youthful, happier couple with a properly painted boy, not a doll. Something had happened to the family that Hera did want to understand more but ultimately decided that whatever had occurred, the present situation of the doll was what she accepted. Questions of the past and why they happened didn't change what was found now, and so Hera felt herself content with the oncoming time spent in the manor. She knew all too well the feelings of judgement from past actions influencing how one was perceived and, instead of partaking in that cycle of fast-tracked conclusion she decided it was unfair to lay the same judgement on this family. If this was how they lived, she'd accept that and think no more on the subject.

Hera found herself reflecting instead on her life before; wonderings on how those she used to be close with were, how much had changed since she left. Life had not been easy, and Hera grew tired at being seen as someone to trudge through it all. No one else had to suffer the same as what she did, and she almost felt duped at the responsibility. Thinking back it was understandable at how reclusive she became, and often she'd grieve at the person she once was. First the injury and with it all life plans seemed to disappear no matter how much Hera tried to grasp at the smoke left behind. Then the incident, and her family and friends all around her. The one that hurt her the most left her abandoned and shattered everything that she had given him in the most darkest of times.

"Fuck sakes, not now," Hera turned onto her back, digging at her eyes with the palms of her hands. "Stop." She breathed in shallow gasps while her tears started to leak from either side of her face before giving a great sob. She was alone, with only herself and the walls around to lend their comfort as they creaked in almost consolidation.

"You're okay, fuck."

It took Hera a while to calm herself down, sadness turning into anger at how she had backstabbed herself with ponderings of her past life. That had happened and was gone, save for the small moments at night Hera caught herself thinking like she did now. She'd tried to rub out the memories as she put the distance between that and herself, but as stubborn as they were they still left a blackened mark.

With what little energy she had left, Hera grabbed a pillow and turned back to her gazing out the window, hoping the stars above could lull her to sleep in their ambience. And they slowly did, for after what seemed as though hours had passed, Hera's eyes lowered shut and her breathing came at a steady rhythm while her face softened as though all worries of being awake were suddenly washed away with dreamland.

-*-

[captain--nox]

Devoid

Escapism was something Hera longed for, to find solace and contentment wherever she went. When a job opportunity arises in the depths of the English countryside, she takes it as an excuse to truly figure out her identity and gain a sense of grounding. Even if the phantoms of the house she stays in demand her company.