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captain--nox · 3 months ago

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Chapter 4

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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.

_*_

#devoid #brahms au #brahms heelshire #heelshire manor #the boy 2016

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