《Leonora》


 Chapter one : The Day Before

    The spider twirls and twitches its spindly legs above my head on the thin thread supporting it. Teasing me, tormenting me with the fact that a spider in my room managed to outlive me. Maybe it¡¯ll drop on my head and crawl through my hair, make it it¡¯s home, dominating my corpse knowing that I''ll never be able to crush it the life out of it. How pathetic that a spider so small can easily claim me now that no life breathes inside of me.


    Here I lie ¨C worm food- dead, I shall never knowmarriage, children or old age.I ''amto be buried in the comfort of a cushioned box forever alone in darkness with my arms crossed over my unmoving breast, skin forever pale and eyes forever shut. Maybe it won¡¯t be too bad? Maybe death will let my sleep, thetuberculousnever allowed me to sleep. Every night I was up awake coughing and spluttering, bones aching, head hammering and skin burning. That virus snuck into my life and robbed my youth before I could fully grasp it into my hands and run wild with it.


    I had so much to do. I wanted to see the world, gotofar away cities, swim in tropical seas and sip untasted wine. God, death just couldn¡¯t wait to snap me up in its claws and drag me deep into the frigid seas of its domain. Couldn¡¯t wait till I see the lights of Paris, kiss the lips of a foreign man and wonder lost in the streets of an unknown town. He could just not wait. No, I will be forever imprisoned in this box, a wooden cage with no barsandwindowless walls with nothingelsebut my rotting flesh.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    At least I''m dressed in my best, a white cotton sleeveless summer dress with a silky rose at the corner of my collar bone, long green beads draped down to my waist and kitten heeled shoes with gold buckles. My lips are painted red much to my mother''s distain, I loved my lips being red and my cheeks being rosy against my unnatural pale skin,itmade me feel like snow white especially with my thick locks of ebony hair pinned behind my ears. I wasplanning on gettingitcut it into a bob to fit inwiththe vogue crowd in the night clubs but by that time my lungshad alreadystarted coughing up blood and the doctorsassigned to me to bed rest. I was approaching twenty and death couldn¡¯t even allow me to celebrate my birthday. It had to rob me of thatimportant age.


    Bastard


    He couldn¡¯t even allow me to see Rubens face one last time before I descendedinto the ground. Sweet, sweet Reuben and his dark face and hair leaning over me, teasing me for being so short, pecking my forehead. At least he never saw meas theclammy and frail, dying andgreyinggirl trapped in mybed,damp with sweat and reeking of bile. I¡¯m glad he¡¯ll at least get to see me resting peacefully and wearing my sapphire earrings, the ones he got me for our last day together before he had to return hometo Scotland.I would have given anything to see him one last time andnot as some dying girl but alive andfull of zest andfilled withred-hot blood and a heart beating for him only. I¡¯d have given anything........

 Chapter two : The morning of the dreadful day

    11th July 1929 Thursday


    A heavy sense of dread weighed down on me as I awoke from my slumber this morning, the alarm clock trilling and dancing at 6.am sharp with the dusky blue sky lighting up the room. It was that perfect balance between light and dark where shadows are bruised on the walls but the light illuminates and softens the outline of the furniture. My White shirt and jacket hanging on the wired hanger on the door and the trousers folded over the wooden chair in the corner against the bookcase all ready for the dreadful day ahead. God knows how many times I cried in the night since I got the news of Leonora''s passing from TB. It hit me as badly as a bullet in the chest and left the same impact.


    How could God do this to me? Take away someone I loved dearly from this world when they should have stayed to grow old. That foul demon called death strikes again to take away precious young ones from this plane and to let them fester to the lowest of the low. I hate him, and for what he does to mankind. Making us age, wrinkle and weaken.


    Didn¡¯t God want us to live forever in the garden of Eden?


    Didn¡¯t he want us to live in bliss?


    I¡¯m not saying I''m a man of god. I¡¯m more a man of science than anything else. But I hold strongly that death must be some sort of flaw in natures design. Especially when it comes to the perishing of Leonora.


    Sweet Leonora.........


    I remember when I first saw her standing in the glow of the dimmed candle lights of the Halloween party last year. Her skin translucent, her hair glossy and the fake blood at her lips not a match to the crimson red lipstick painted on her cupid bow mouth. I was dressed as the devil, her as a vampire and together we made quite a devilish couple so to say. We danced to the band and exchanged addresses and never a week went by without a letter from each other.


    Of course, as the letters became less and less frequent, it became apparent her illness was beginning to take a turn for the worst. I wanted to rush to her straight away, take her in my arms and cure her of her ailment like some prince in a fairytale. But alas, life is no fairytale and I was advised to keep my distance from her so as not to catch the fatal disease. In her final letter to me she confessed to me her anger at death, cursing his name every time she wrote it down in the letter. How she felt like she was being robbed of all her lifelong dreams by his insatiable greed. How as a young girl she created a scrapbook of all the cities she wanted to visit when she grew older and now it will remain on the shelf in her bedroom, collecting dust until someone in her family finally gathers up the courage to toss it away. She had a sister who was getting married and now will never get to go to the wedding and be a bridesmaid. She confessed that she had always hoped that we would get married ourselves once I¡¯d be able to move down to the city permanently, how she never got a chance to kiss my lips and confess her love in person and hold my hand in hers,Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Life a capsule of dreams and death the devourer of unfulfilled wishes.....


    The bed and breakfast owner Mrs. Lyttle complemented my attire as I walked down past reception. She offered me breakfast but I confessed I was not hungry. She was a pleasant lady, her back bent with age and her skin loose and crumpled like just washed sheets. Liver spots adorned her and a thick hair grew triumphantly out a large mole on the corner of her mouth.


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder which one was best. To die young and beautiful but with your life wishes never achieved or to grow old and hideous but with a lifetime of good memories to help you get to sleep at night?


    The previous night before I worried that the razor cut on my jawline might be a little too noticeable but even the magnified sight of Mrs. Lyttle couldn''t even spot it. I hope I never have to wear such ugly glasses one day.


    ¡°You must eat dear or you¡¯ll faint. Don¡¯t think because your young that you are invincible¡± she said, waggling a knobby finger at me. I wonder if she ever considered she looked like a crone from some bedtime story that parents tell to scare her children to be good. I wonder if she was handsome in her younger years. I wonder if she missed the face from her youth that stared back at her in the mirror...


    ¡°I¡¯m good Mrs. Lyttle, I''m afraid one doesn¡¯t have much of an appetite today of all todays¡±


    ¡°And whys that Ruden?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m burying a good friend today¡± I didn¡¯t want to confess to Mrs. Lyttle that it was someone of much more significance that was meeting hallow ground. I sometimes feel that the more draining aspect of grief is the large amount of sympathy disposed on you by fleeting strangers that you don¡¯t care much for. It weighs much heavier than a broken heart it seems,


    Still though Mrs. Lyttle gasped ¡°oh dear¡± and stretched out her cold hand to mine. The stark difference each of ours sent shivers down my spine. My veins were barely visible whilst hers were bloated and were moldable under my touch. How on earth do they get like that?


    Why do they have to get like that?


    I tried my best to disguise my disgust but I was eager to free my hand from her tight clasp and seemed she was determined not to let go despite me attempting loosely to wriggle my hand free. Her looks may have aged but her vigor most certainly hadn¡¯t.


    ¡°Well I hope you''re not a pall bearer or else I will be forced to get some food down your gullet.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not, I¡¯m merely just a pen pal wanting to stay to say goodbye one last time¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s very nice dear¡±


    I wonder how long she had left, that old hag? I wonder why Leonora full of life and endless years to live could be able to succumb to death before old frail Mrs. Lyttle? Life may be full of little twists but death seemed to always know how to keep people second guessing.

 Chapter three : Leonoras big day

    Leonora¡¯s big day


    So, it has finally arrived.


    My big grand bon voyage from this world to the next has finally arrived and I couldn¡¯t be more vexed at the world than I already am. My mother never left the room, silently weeping at my side, her hand never leaving mine. My sister redid my lipstick and brushed my hair out of all tangles and frizz. I watched the single tear roll down her cheek, leaving a trail in its wake. She quickly wiped it away before my mother could see it. It was always like that of Cordelia to never be show any signs of weakness in front of anyone. I watched her, wishing that I could be with her one last time alive.


    My guardian, my one true friend. An angel...


    As she slid some bejeweled rings onto my fingers my father entered the room. It is the first time he has been in the same room as me since my passing. The door silently swung open as he stood in the doorway, pale as I. My father, a man whom I had always looked up to as a child and a growing adult suddenly seemed so frail and feeble. His hair in dark grey wisps under the top hat that we always tease him about that he insisted on wearing everywhere and the long black silver handled cane supporting from a limp he got from a carriage crash in his early twenties. His mouth hung loose as he stared in vacantly at me, all color drained from his face, he didn¡¯t take one step closer, his eyes glistening wet, a thin build up of tears ready to cascade over his eyelids. I have never seen my father like this, a man who always had so much vigor now he looked like he was made of dust, ready to collapse and be blown away from the lightest touch.


    Cordelia stopped what she was doing, stiller than a statue, one eye stealthily watching him. She sported some color, I request I made to her a few days before my passing. The same red lipstick, a pink rose pinned in her hair and the moonstone earrings I got her for Christmas one year. My father and mother however did not fulfill the promise. Stoic figures drabbed in black, the only vivid color on them were the red blood vessels in their eyes. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Are you coming in to say goodbye?¡± Cordelia asked, sliding on one more ring onto my finger. My father¡¯s eyes never left me to answer her and i questioned in my head if he even heard her.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that what the funerals for?¡± He said, his voice wobbling under pressure to keep back the tears.


    ¡°You can give her a kiss, hold her hand or talk to her one last final time. You won¡¯t be able to do that at the funeral¡± Cordelia rook my hands and carefully cross them over my chest. Her gentle hand went to my cheek and cradled it. She smiled softly down at me, her face full of love and doting affection.


    But my father''s eyes never left my face. His eyes wide with horror and disbelief that his oldest daughter was handling my passing much stronger than he was. Or was it that his youngest daughter was lying dead before him. A child he had watch grow up from a babe into a young woman now lying dead in her bed, waiting for the undertakers to place her in her coffin and be escorted to the church.


    Nineteen years old and dead before her parents.


    He shouldn¡¯t have to do this


    He shouldn¡¯t have to bury his own child.


    No one should.


    Finally, his eyes left me and glanced coldly up to Cordelia.


    ¡°I just came up to say the undertakers have arrived. That¡¯s all¡± And he left the room.


    I wanted to pine after him. I wanted to get up and run after him and let him hold me again one last time like I was a little child again. I wanted to tell him I loved him dearly, but I couldn¡¯t and even though I was dead I could feel whatever it was in my chest ache and break for him and us. I wish death never visited this house and when I finally get to meet him he is going to get one hell of an earful from me. But I couldn''t even flinch if I wanted to. I was immobile from death and my Mother never even looked up to my father when he was in the room. There beside me she remained kneeled like in prayer, still clasping my hand. Never letting go and me wishing she never will.

 Chapter four : the beginning of the funeral

    Chapter three


    The Funeral


    The church sat perched on a small little hump of a hill with steep stone steps leading up to the heavy tall wooden doors. Dire headstones landmarking the dead encircled the little building making it void of anything cheery. At least to me anyway.


    A good gathering of people dressed in black hung around the front of the doors waiting for the carriage to arrive with Leonora''s remains. I loitered away from them, not wishing to attract too much attention as I knew absolutely no-one here. Leonora always wanted me to meet her parents and I too also. Her father sounded like a very respectable man who owned a successful publishing company responsible for putting some of the very best British authors into print. Her mother a lady from an aristocratic family who was close friends with the royals when growing up believe it or not. Her sister was to marry a Navy man in September this year and there were a few mentions of a beloved cat named Morris in her letters who she loved dearly. A family that I could have been a part of......


    I lingered on the outer fringe of the people who were smoking and gossiping, listening in on some of their whispers. A lot of them were friends of Leonora, young and stylish they stood out from the dreary crowd with some fulfilling Leonora¡¯s last wish for there to be splashes of color at her funeral, colorful handkerchief peeped out of the breast pockets of the young men and the women sporting bright and vivid roses in their hair long with beads of jade green or lapis lazuli resting on their breasts. Despite their best effort to inject a little bit of liveliness into the dreary crowd, grief still struck them. A collection of rainbow handkerchiefs was soon being offered to the women by the men to dab away the murky mascara trails from their cheeks and to wipe tears. I still admired their spirit though to bring life into so much death.


    ¡°Friend of Leonora too?¡± A young and rather short woman asked me, plump with her blonde hair cut into a bob. A single forget-me-not behind her ear. Knowing of Leonora''s final wish, I too decided to have a sky blue handkerchief for Leonora.


    ¡°Yes¡± I answered. Again, not wishing for too much fuss to be made over me, I decided to not mention of me and Leonora being distant lovers. Today is about saying goodbye to Leonora, not me.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe she''s passed away¡± she answered, flicking away the ash from her cigarette ¡°I''m absolutely devastated¡± Stange, I thought, you don¡¯t look devastated. In fact, I guessed, she may be trying to flirt with me.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Yes, it''s very terrible¡± I replied, trying to be polite, I started to look towards the doors leading into the church where the rest of the mourners began to gather and settle. I noticed beautiful yellow carnations adorned the alter where the coffin would be sited. But the little hussy was determined to trap me.


    ¡°It¡¯s Valerie by the way¡± She said wistfully, smiling at me with small white teeth peeking under her pink, glossy lips. She reached out a silk gloved hand towards me. Me still trying to be polite shook it. Her smile stretched even more and her eyes sparkled with glee, her cheeks blushing like candy floss.


    ¡°Nice to meet you Valerie¡± And with that I headed inside. But I was soon followed by the clicking heels of Valerie as she trotted to keep up with me. I choose one of the few empty pews at the rear of the church. I would have wished for the front of the church so I could be closer to Leonora but didn¡¯t want to be situated to closely to her family. I doubt they needed to learn now that their daughter was sending love letters to a stranger she met at a Halloween party. I wasn¡¯t sitting alone for long as Valerie slid herself along the bench right next to me. I flashed a strained smile at her but I wish she would disappear.


    ¡°You ran off before I could ask your name. Rude!¡± She said in a teasing manner, elbowing me playfully. She most definitely didn¡¯t need to touch me.


    ¡°It''s Ruben¡± I said. Hopefully she wasn¡¯t too close of a friend to Leonora to know who I was.


    ¡°Ruben, what an exotic name!¡± She exclaimed, her cheery voice gaining a few disapproving glances from the mourners sitting quite close to us in front. I could feel my cheeks flush bright crimson from embarrassment.


    ¡°Where are you from, Ruben?¡± She asked, the smile now reaching her earlobes.


    ¡°Scotland¡±


    ¡°Oh¡± she said enthusiastically. It was clearly not the answer she was expecting but she remained determined to pursue me.


    ¡°Whereabouts?¡±


    ¡°The north-east"


    ¡°You don¡¯t sound Scottish? "she enquired. Underneath the makeup, I began to see traces of her real age. She couldn¡¯t be more than fifteen or so. She had round, chubby cheeks that still flushed pink and dimples in the corner of her smile.


    ¡°My father was Scottish, he died when I was young. My mother soon followed and I was raised by my mother''s relatives who were English and owned an estate.¡±


    ¡°Oh, dear how tragic I can''t imagine losing my parents at such a young age. I think I''d just be hopeless without them in my life.¡±


    Yes, probably nobody left to spoil you I suppose. Gosh, listen to me, all this pining is leaving me bitter. I really shouldn¡¯t be this cruel to her. After all she is rather young and she¡¯s just a little bit awkward. I¡¯m just not sure how to deal with her right now that¡¯s the only problem. Maybe in years later in the future the idea of other women will be a bit more bearable in the future but not right now, not whilst Leonora is still above ground.

 Chapter Five : Leonoras arrival

    Leonora¡¯s arrival


    For a quiet moment, nobody else was present in my room for a brief few seconds. It was just me and these familiar four walls as I lay in tranquility. Relief washed over me as silence filled the room like a mist, laying lightly in the \air. But dread hung like a dead man in the back of my mind, knowing soon that the undertakers would enter the room and fill me into that squat little box that will be my carriage to the underworld. How dark and somber my mind has turned. Now I can only think about what awaits me as I ''am laid into the ground along with my ancestors in the family plot. Even my room that I always felt was a place of cheerful memories filled with innocent child play and long-held treasures now had a essence of death. The alarm clock on my dresser had been stopped at three minutes past seven o clock. A morbid indication of my passing. My vanity mirror no longer adorned in necklaces and ribbons but was buried under an ugly black cloth and so was the wall one. Family pictures turned down, no loved one''s presence and smiling upwards onto me.


    Faced down, protected from me. Protected from death. Protected from his ghastly glare


    I wish my room could become my mausoleum, why did I have to be buried underground with only the worms and the dirt to comfort me? I just didn¡¯t understand it. I just wish my final days weren¡¯t spent hacking up blood from my lungs, writhing in pain and sweating profusely. The doctors tried to convince my father to send me to a clinic by the sea to try and help me recover but I actively refused ¨C well, as passionately as I could whilst lying in a bed with phlegm dribbling from my mouth- I didn¡¯t want to spend my final days surrounded by other dying people with that bastard called Death haunting them every day, waiting for the right time and the right day to snatch them away. I knew why they didn¡¯t want me in the house for long, in the fear that I spread it to my family. But as much I hated the idea of infecting my loved ones, I also couldn''t bear to be away from them. I pleaded with my father, stared him in the eyes and clasped a sweat- soaked hand onto his. I believe my words to him were You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t let me die there, I don¡¯t want to die there¡±


    I feel guilty now, manipulating him that way but I was desperate to not rot in some sanatorium away from my family. I wanted to be with them in my final days, wanted them to hold my hand and kiss my forehead and whisper how I was going to be okay. A comforting lie. I was very selfish in my last few months alive. Arguing with doctors who wanted me to move, using every single ounce of strength in my body to make my point clear. I allowed them to move me to the garden when my coughs got worse, I enjoyed that aspect of the illness, the fresh air I got rewarded me with small releases of joy in my heart. The sweet smell of grass being soaked in the hot rays of the sun mixing in with the scent of dry soil. Breezes relieved me from perspiration for short periods and me and Cordelia chatted side by side; joking and forgetting that death was just lurking around the corner.


    My mother spoiled me too. On days when I could lift my head up she would bring me new books to read along with the latest magazines; often accompanied with something to eat and drink, although there were days when the food would often go to waste. I loved and cherished her dearly in the finite days being counted down.


    Everyday doctors came in telling of the latest surgery and experimental antibiotics that they could perform. The antibiotics I didn¡¯t have a problem with, it was the operations that scared me. They tried to reassure me of their effectiveness but I quivered in fear as they described the procedures to me. They were like something from Frankenstein some of them. As much as I wanted to live, I also didn¡¯t want to be cut open and experimented on with something that may not even ended up working.


    I never wanted to die, but just because you don¡¯t want to die doesn¡¯t mean you must have to go through any means necessary to fight. Yes, I ''am angry at death and yes, I curse his bloody name every time I think about him and his hallow eyes. But I also didn¡¯t want to die alone, amongst strangers and being prodded and cut open and sewn back together bay doctors again and again. This may not have been the ending I wanted but dear God at least I had some control over it. I had control in the end and that is the one thing i can say I ''am proud of.


    The undertakers came in with dreadful box, a whole black parade of them with top hats and black tailed coats. True workers for death. My final descent.


    Here it comes. My big day. I cannot wait.

 Chapter Six : Leonoras arrival : part two

    ¡°Were you close?¡± Valerie asked, she was seated so close to me I could smell the flora scent of her perfume. I stared straight ahead, eyes fixated on the alter where Leonora will soon lay but out of the corner of my eye I could see her round blue ones staring up at awe at me.


    ¡°Only a little¡± I replied


    ¡°My sister was more her friend than I but I grew up with her in my life. I always use to think she was a film star of sorts with her wavy hair and long lashes. I think she could of became one if she wanted to. She was so glamourous!¡±


    I smiled faintly at this, reminiscing of the night I first saw her at the Halloween party. Indeed, she was like something out of the talkies, her pearly white skin void of any blush or blemishes, almond eyes the color of a bed of moss. Black velvet gloves covered her elbows like a true elegant film star. I knew that night she was the one; but distant would keep us apart. The only reason I was down to this part of the country was because I was visiting an aunt from my mother''s side of the family. Her son ¨C my cousin ¨C insisted on taking me to that Halloween party. At first, I refused as I¡¯m not usually someone who enjoys raucous parties but he insisted that I went. I suppose now I ''am grateful for this as I met the only woman I will ever love there.


    ¡°She was, wasn¡¯t she?¡±


    It was quite a surprise I¡¯ll admit when I got that invite down to England from relatives I had never heard from since my childhood. I suppose I had grown up and was now doing rather well for myself as I had started my medical training earlier last year. She was a lovely lady and was rather handsome and reminded me of my mother before her passing. Hay the mellow yellow of a hay bale and skin tanned from long days gardening in the viscous heat of summers. I imagined my mother whenever I saw her and it comforted me to think that I had someone close to resemble her in my life. I should remember to visit her when I can....


    ¡°My sister was devastated when she died, she¡¯s sitting down the front closer to the alter, we can move down if you want, we¡¯re rather lonesome back here.¡±


    ¡°Thank you but I¡¯m actually fine just sitting here by myself.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Disappointment flooded her eyes as I said this. I did feel rather bad declining but I wanted to be by myself.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure. I¡¯m rather a private mourner, don¡¯t like too much of a crowd¡±


    ¡°Well, in that case,¡± she said cheerfully, hooking an arm through mine and snuggling suddenly up against my side; chin resting against my arm. ¡°I¡¯ll mourn privately alone with you too¡±


    Apart of me winced inside out of minor irritation as a second arm came through and attached itself to mine. But a part of me felt soothed from the physical contact even though it was inappropriate behavior at a funeral. I decided in the end that no harm can come from receiving a little bit of sympathy. But still my heart shall remain ¨C and only ¨C to Leonora.


    Then, in the stone-cold church, organ music suddenly boomed against the walls and filled the dreadful atmosphere. A whole crowd of black- dressed mourners rose to their feet and turned their gaze to the back of the church. I twisted my neck to the back and saw with a heavy heart Leonora¡¯s coffin being paraded into the church. White lilies, baby pink carnations rested on top of her as grey-skinned men ill from grief carried her on their slumped shoulders; heads bowed in respect. Suddenly it was like the room filled with blackness and only Leonora and her pallbearers were visible in the pitch-black canvas I was suddenly caught in. A large, ball of air got lodged in my throat and filled my lungs with pain, spreading to my chest and expanding every second till I felt like a balloon ready to pop. I cried for days in my room when I heard of Leonora''s passing but the weeping prepared me in a strange way to make the journey to her home village and pay my respects and say my final goodbyes. But nothing could prepare me for the sight of her coffin being carried into the church and being placed on the alter. Tears, fresh, hot tears blurred the world around me and ran down my cheeks onto my suit. I had to take a handkerchief and wipe them away but it didn¡¯t stop this inner desire to wail, to scream out of frustration, rage and misery. It began to suffocate me, becoming more and more bloated as it pressed against my ribs and crush my heart, clawing its way into my throat, reaching up, desperate to get out.


    ¡°Ruben¡± A meek whisper came from my side accompanied by those wide eye kitten eyes belonging to Valerie. "Are you ok?¡±


    Against that ghastly desire to scream and bawl, I managed only slightly to utter the words


    ¡°I need some air¡± And I truly did. I sprinted out of that church quicker than a greyhound at the tracks, pass the headstones and pass the graveyard wall and onto the street. Vomit spurted from my mouth and onto the gravel below, forming a sickly yellow puddle by my feet. My eyes and nose stung and a sour taste hung at the back of my throat and tongue. It was in my nose. I blew it away and the taste became stronger than soured milk. I collapsed back against the churchyard wall, feeling light headed and woozy, repulsed with myself for acting in such a way at a loved one''s funeral.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Leonora¡± I whispered, my mouth coated heavily in saliva ¡°I truly am¡±

 part one : side story

    A little boy alone in the dark room approached the dark figure in the bed. Her soft hair fanned across the pillow and her head tilted to the side, her feet dangled over the edge of the bed. He without hesitation whipped open the curtains and instant harsh light flooded the room. She stirred, groaning. Many a time he had to be the one to awaken his mother from her bed and not care if he had to go to school hungry for he was too short to reach anything above the kitchen cupboards for anything other than a apple nor did he have the time. He loved his mother dearly, she was just having a difficult time with his father being away fighting in the war across the sea. It was currently just him and his mother, fighting and surviving in their own little war of life.


    ¡°Morning darling¡± she grumbled


    ¡°Morning Mummy¡± He chimed with affection


    ¡°Are you late for school?¡± She asked You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°No, it''s early still, I''ve got another hour¡±


    ¡°Thats good¡± she said, her eyes squinting as she peeped up at him, smiling tiredly. Pillow marks creased her face and sleep was crusted yellow in the corner of her eyes but the little boy loved his mummy dearly.


    ¡°Mummy, when''s Daddy coming back?¡± He asked


    The smile faded and he thought she saw her pale in colour but he couldn¡¯t be sure


    ¡°when the war is over, you already know that¡±


    ¡°But when will the war be over?¡±


    Out from the twisted bed sheets, her thin but long, bony hand rose out, almost like from a penny dreadful art cover but skinny fingers tenderly took his own, the inside flesh of her palm was dry and cracked but he clasped it still, holding onto it for dear life.


    ¡°Hopefully soon, sweetie pea¡± she said wistfully ¡°Hopefully soon¡±

 Chapter Seven : Leonoras descent

    It''s strange the sensation you feel as you are lowered into the ground. Despite the best efforts by the pallbearers to lower the coffin as slowly as possible into the pit that is now my bed I ''am rocked clumsily side to side, a muffled thud every time I ''am knocked against the side of the coffin, the silky lining cushioning me against each thump, my own little shield against the outside world, against the worms and soil, flies and god know what else that will try to eat and burrow their way into the coffin and me.


    Will I be asleep by the time they reach me?


    Or will I have to suffer the fate of my skin rotting, my innards liquidizing and my stomach bloating?


    God, I hope not. Allow me to be asleep by the time all that nasty stuff begins to happen. At least now I''m blind to all sights as pitch blackness fills my small little world. The only thing that comforts me now is the smell of damp earth. the rich, telluric smell I used to only associate with long, rainy days out in the garden or wondering along a forest path after a light shower with the leaves on the trees all slippery with dew, the dampness saturating the green almost. In a strange way, being buried calmed me about everything I had been dreading about this day.


    Having to say goodbye to family and friends no longer seemed so painful, but not only to them but to other things as well. Little joys in just being alive. Unwrapping a hard boiled sweet from its crinkly wrapper, sitting on a bench in a park watching people go by living their individual, secretive lives, watching the crackling fire at home wrapped in the crotchet blanket my mother made for me. Swinging my feet over the edge of a bridge, watching the swirling foam and debris caught by the currents go by. Sounds, tastes and smells I never realized I had adored so much were gone from my life. Tasting the roast pork on a Sunday, the way how chocolate melts and oozes in my mouth, sipping on lemonade on a hot day and the way the sourness attacked your taste buds but you drank it anyway for the sweet aftertaste. I¡¯ll never hear a jazz band again or the rustle of leaves in the wind, rain against the window or dance to the latest songs on the radio. And the sensations you feel on your skin! The way the snipping of scissors whenever you get a haircut stimulates the thin skin of your scalp, the oiliness of a new skin lotion and the way it glides over your skin, perfuming you in the process as well. Oh gosh how much a hug can allay you from all your troubles, filling your spirits with a warm glow inside. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    I never got to experience anything more from a man than simple peck on the forehead and that was from Ruben. I wanted to do so much more. I would have given anything to know what it was like to be kissed on the lips by him. To feel his hands, wonder......


    I could have had a future with Ruben but it will never happen. It just wasn¡¯t meant to be. But as I lie here, the sound of dirt raining in scatters on the top of the coffin lulling me to sleep, the disappointment of missing out of a unexplored future no longer troubled me, it was the memories in the end I found myself drifting into,


    (Ashes to Ashes)


    I feel myself floating into that kaleidoscopic reverie


    (Dust to Dust)


    I think I ''am consumed, lost in a hazy prism. Dreaming, peacefully.


    At last...

 Chapter Eight : The Way To The Wake

    Am I a coward for not being able to brave myself up to face her burial?


    Am I pathetic for vomiting outside the church after seeing her coffin?


    I had come to say goodbye and I couldn¡¯t even bring myself to sit through her funeral, to follow the horse and carriage and to watch her be lowered into the ground. To sprinkle the dirt onto her coffin and say I love you. But I couldn¡¯t, I¡¯m pathetic.


    But I knew where the wake was being held. The family home at the edge of the town, hidden from sight from a fringe of ash trees with a long, graveled driveway leading down into the grounds. It wasn¡¯t a far out walk and all I had to do was follow the throng of black-donned people to find where it was. Everyone followed each other, not a word being uttered, heads bowed and hands clasped. Noses being blown and tears being swept away. Some were soothing each other, arms draped around waists and shoulders as they marched on somberly.


    I kept an eye out for Valerie, hoping she may not see me and question where I had run off to. Well Valerie if you must know, I went to the public house centered at the town square. A periodic building with a thatched roof, the wooden sign swinging carelessly back and forth in the light summer breeze.


    ¡°The Crow on the tombstone¡±


    How befitting for today I remember thinking. As I walked through the door I was greeted with the heavy, dense smell of tobacco smoke, thinly wisps floating through the air from the tip of pipes and cigarettes. It had stung my eyes slightly at first but progressed anyway. It was a rather lively place despite it being rather early in the afternoon. I did not drink, not that I ''am in favor of temperance reforming but because I could still taste the bitter remnants of sick at the back of my throat. It had been a while since I had visited a public house and I had no idea if they served anything other than alcohol. The barman took one look at my attire and figured that I had just come from the funeral party.


    ¡°You from the funeral of that young girl?¡± He asked, not loudly but firmly enough to cut through the murmur of the drinkers.


    ¡°Yes¡± I replied, stumbling over to the bar stools.


    ¡°You needing a drink?¡± He asked, he was a rather impressive man, a dark grey trimmed beard with an aquiline nose he was exactly the kind of a man I would put in charge of a public house. Stern but will offer you kind words when needed. He was a good man too, fixing me with just a cup of tea, although he did ask if I was sure I didn¡¯t need anything stronger given the state I was in. My skin had broken into a clammy sweat by then.


    ¡°No, I''m good¡± I had replied to try and assert to him I was better without a drink. I didn¡¯t want the smell of alcohol on my breath if I were to try and make my way to the wake. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Marching onwards in the solemn crowd we made our way to the front of the house where a top hatted man with a cane stood with a rather impressively tall, athletic built woman stood by him. A white mink fur wrap hugged her squared shoulders whilst a large, white feather protruded from a rhinestone embellished, black headband wrapped around her head. Out of all the young attendees she was the most striking, towering over them dressed in black and white like a black and white movie star.


    Cordelia. I presumed. And the weathered, brow beaten man I could only guess to be Leonora''s dad Mr. Matthew Wanes, the head of Wanes Publishing House. Leonora mentioned in her letters that he always walked with a cane and always wore a top hat. In her letters she always described him as queer and lively, always making a joke and finding and purchasing strange curiosities to fill the house. But now, even a ghost would succeed in being cheerier than him.  Together father and daughter stood side by side, greeting guests and accepting condolences as each guest disappeared into the house. I dreaded my turn, hoping they don¡¯t take too much of an interest in me, hopefully I will just be to them another of Leonora''s friends. A handshake, a brief exchange of words a then into the house. I still find myself wondering what drew me to that house, what made me wish to visit it so much. My mind and body craved to be within walls that held her once, that had sheltered and comforted her and had watched her grow up into the woman she did become. I wanted to feel her presence, if that is such a thing, to be close the things that shaped and molded her. I wanted to tell Mr Wanes and Cordelia how much I loved her, tell them that I wanted nothing more than to be near her, especially her few final days. I wanted to be friends with them, to have something left of her in my life. I don¡¯t want a grave, a memorial service, or one last glance upon her coffin, I realize now as I look upon the man who could of became my father in law that all I wanted from today was to just be close to Leonora and everything that surrounded and touched her. To see what her life must have been like, to walk her footsteps, to see through her eyes. I just wanted to know her more.


    It¡¯s my turn, I hold out my hand to Mr. Wane, he takes it and we shake


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss¡± I say, out from the weary face, a weak smile managed to lift itself up. ¡°Thank you, son¡± He tells me, up close I can see the damage grieving has caused. Dark purple eye bags hung like crescent moons hunger his eyes with deep creases cutting through from the corner of his eyes; his dark grey beard, whilst from distance it looked kept, up close you could see thick, tuffs beginning to sprout. My heart went out to him; no one should ever have to lose their child. I suddenly ¨C out of nowhere- felt the urge to help him.


    ¡°If there is anything I can do to help you and your family through this difficult time, please let me know¡± I said sincerely.


    ¡°We appreciate it umm...¡± he glassy eyes squinted at me, trying his best to sum up my name.


    ¡°We haven''t met Mr. Wane, I was a friend of your daughter Leonora¡±


    ¡°Oh right of course, she had so many. What''s your name son?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Ruben sir, Ruben Turnbull¡±


    ¡°Well Ruben, I hope we get to see more of you in the nearby future but for now why don¡¯t you head inside and I¡¯ll see you in a minute. Help yourself to the tea and sandwiches¡±


    ¡°I shall, thank you, sir¡±

 Chapter Nine : The Wake

    Leonora was not exaggerating when she wrote in her letters that her father enjoyed collecting curiosities. Once I came into the house and gave my coat to the doorman I was greeted by the countless glassy and hollowed eyes of taxidermized heads and skulls mounted on the walls. A row of stags with and without their skin stared empty and petrified; foxes, wolves and badgers stared straight ahead, snarling at unseen danger and butterflies, moths, beetles and scorpions remained pinned and framed forever trapped in their glassy tombs. I shuddered to think of such a cruel state to inflict on someone who is unwilling. To be gawked at for all eternity.


    It was a struggle to move further into the house with all the guests huddled together in groups sipping on tea, whisky and wine and nibbling on the canapes and sandwiches being offered to them from the thin-lipped maids and butlers. Everyone''s melancholy seemed to have evaporated and now a reasonably good mood filled the house as people comforted each other, shared stories and chatted happily with each other. It was warm and inviting, like everyone seemed to have forgotten that Leonora was dead. No tears trickling down powdered faces anymore as if everyone in the room had cried their last tear for her.


    I weaved stealthily among the unfamiliar faces, rather unsure what to do with myself now that I was in Leonora¡¯s home.


    ¡°Canape sir?¡± A short butler asked me, holding a silver tray that held a variety of small sandwiches. I decided I needed something to settle my stomach and picked the one that seemed to have cucumber in it.


    ¡°Thank you¡± I replied and he wondered off to serve the other guests. I consumed it in one bite and continued to wonder around the house, hoping to find something belonging to Leonora. Making my way through to the downstairs sitting room, I saw, much to my disappointment, that all traces of Leonora had been removed as a large cloak hung over what I can only assume to be a mirror and all photo frames had been turned down on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. My heart sunk in disappointment. It''s almost like they already wanted to forget that Leonora was ever alive; like they were already deliberately trying to erase her from their memory.


    My skin flushed hot in fire red anger. I didn¡¯t want to forget Leonora. Every hour that spent writing to her; traveling down for her funeral and waiting in the night for sleep I had only been trying to conjure her face; how her skin was like white marble and her hair like raven wings; how her hands slipped so easily into my mine like ribbons and how she walked with her chin lifted high, never looking down or shying away from a stranger''s gaze. I needed to see her and not in a box; at her grave or in a photograph even. I needed to her in the flesh, to see her face and memorize it sleeping; oh, how beautiful and peaceful she must look sleeping.


    All around the sitting room, Mr. Wanes taxidermy collection surrounded us, skulls of crows lined one cabinet whilst at the back, something caught my eye. Supported by a heavy oak desk where even more of Mr. Wanes trinkets hung above, was a rectangle, glass coffin, containing something very old that had aged into a tea ¨Cstain brown. Inside was very small figure wrapped tightly in frayed, yellow bandages with its stick, thin arms wrapped and crossed over its chest, its small head resting on a velvet pillow that I was going to guess was rather new. I couldn¡¯t quite believe what I was seeing! I had seen pictures but had never gotten the privilege of seeing one in person and so up close! An actual, authentic Egyptian mummy inside Mr. Wanes house resting in his sitting room!


    Suddenly, out of nowhere, something with force slapped my back, making me jolt in shock. From my side, Mr. Wanes, creased smile greeted me.


    ¡°You like my family''s heirloom?¡± he asked, my fascination for his strange antique perked him up, he was rather different from the man I saw outside.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Yes, I do, very much so¡± I said. ¡°Although I have to say, I''m a little bit baffled as to why you¡¯ve got an Egyptian Mummy in your sitting room?¡±


    Mr. Wane chuckled softly, the creases around his eyes deepening as his smile began to lengthen, showing off a row of even, white teeth. For some reason it reminded me of the Cheshire cat.


    ¡°Well, where do I even begin?¡± Gazing ahead, as if trying to conjure up the best way to start his story. I began to admire him, the way he seemed to show an interest in me out of all the other mourners at Leonora¡¯s funeral today. I tried to think about it possibly could have been that made me stand out to him but I tried to not think about it too much and just enjoy for the time being that he seemed to like my company. Not a lot of people did.


    ¡°It all started during Queen Victorias reign. People, especially the aristocrats, were fascinated with archeology. Bones of dinosaurs were being discovered all over the world and were being erected in cities for everyone to gaze at. You have to understand at the time that these beasts were alien to us because we believed for soo long that nothing else could have been before humans and yet these monsters that could have escaped out of a storybook were popping up all over the place. Rich family''s allover were funding digs just so they can boast to people that they helped discover this and that at their next dinner party.¡± He shook his head at this, making it clear he did not think much of these families who felt the need to show off that their money was what helped fund a discovery of something long lost. He continued


    ¡°Of course, dinosaurs weren¡¯t the only thing people were obsessed with. Cities were being dug out from the dirt, ancient tools and artifacts were being found in excellent condition. And then, of course, the Egyptians. But people seemed to of lost their morals when it came to the Egyptians. Instead of being studied and respected, all people wanted to do was prove their wealth by owning a piece of Egypt, including their dead. In fact, they even started doing mummy unwrapping parties!¡± He shook his head again and tutted, rolling his eyes. It was clear that he thought these people were ridiculous and excessive. Though I thought it was hypocritical coming from the man who feels the need to have a mummy on display in his drawing room.


    ¡°Anyhow, it began to become rather unpopular, mostly because of boredom but aristocrats still enjoyed having these in their home to show off to guests. My wife''s great uncle is one of them, although he has passed now. He knew I was keen on taxidermy and left it to me in his will. I got quite a shock when I was told my name had been written into the will. I¡¯ve had it for a few years now but I''m trying to find the right museum to donate it to. I don¡¯t feel right having it in my drawing room just to gather dust. When the Egyptians sealed their dead away in the tombs they believed they would be traveling to the next life, so they did their best to preserve them, to make them immortal. They didn¡¯t want them to perish but to be glorified and honored. They didn¡¯t want them to be forgotten¡±


    He stared down at the child corpse lying in its glass tomb, melancholy formed a cloud over him, fogging his eyes again, his smile waning. The grieving man at the door was back.


    ¡°Goodness knows how young the poor thing was when they died. But her parents wanted her to live forever. To not be forgotten. I want to respect that, I want everyone to know them. I want them to be remembered¡±


    I followed his thousand-mile-stare to the poor child, gaining new respect for Mr. Wane and his ambition for the dead child. My mind wondering and lost in thought about the Egyptians, their obsession for the dead, to honor and respect them, to make sure they were never forgotten. But the turned down photo frames and the absence of Leonora infuriated me. What use is a grave if she is to rot away, her face to sink and her skin to shrink till all that remains is a bleach white skull, loss of her eyes, lips and hair and everything that made her her !


    I wanted her to remain intact, to see, to speak and share the same room with her again like if she were alive. To watch her sleep her endless dreams and take care of her as she made her journey to the afterlife (if there is such a thing)


    Then a brilliant idea flashed itself across my brain. A most monstrous, brilliant idea that gripped and frightened me and consumed me. I will have Leonora by my side again, one way or another I will succeed in having her in life and death! She will be with me once and forever more!

 Chapter Ten : The Terrible Idea

    Chapter Ten


    Back at the bed and breakfast all I could think of was the idea that had consumed me at the wake. Could I really do it? Would I be caught? How on earth would I be able to pull it off? My mind became a racing freight train of these thoughts as they circle my head again and again, never slowing down. For starters I would need my place, big enough to pull off such a project of such giant ambition. And that I don¡¯t have and would not be able to afford on my own. I was only a medical student after all and was still living with my grandparents in Scotland. Could I exchange to the nearest university here? Quite possibly I would be able to. But where on earth would I get the money to fund myself and the project and I would need to do it fast enough in time before Leonora began to decompose in the cold ground.


    Maybe my grandparents wouldn¡¯t mind loaning me money every now and then if I decide to stay here permanently. They wouldn¡¯t have any trouble doing so as they are don¡¯t and never have struggled with money. Living on that isolated manor in the hills surrounded by nothing but acres of woodland and fields; Spending my childhood years there with nobody to talk to but the servants, my grandparents and many pet dogs they owned meant I lacked friends my age. Even going to school, I kept my distance from the rowdy boys and their games, not interested in sports and residing most of my time in the school''s library. I had focused countless hours of my attention on studying and learning about the human body and its functions, fascinated with the endless rivers of the nervous system, the robust, machinelike diagrams of the skeleton and the factory-like design of the digestive system, I knew I wanted to devote my life to studying and understanding the mysteries of biology.


    I knew how to go about embalming Leonora so that she can remain preserved above ground. Corpses need to be held in cool temperatures to stop certain bacteria from breaking down tissues in the body, that would mean I would have to keep her stored somewhere below ground with plenty of air ventilation. Something like a pantry almost where they store meat. I could have ice delivered on a daily basis but even that would remain expensive to keep buying on a regular schedule. Somewhere that had a basement would be most ideal. Sieves and mesh to keep the flies out and windowless so that nobody could peep in so that Leonora could rest in private. But where could I even begin to find such a place within such short notice? And i would need to do it soon. Leonora is still buried and whilst the cool ground and the night time cold air may be ideal to slow down the petrification. She could still experience other such horrors such as rigor mortis (although that would only be a minor hinderance) bile buildup and many more. She may of already of been embalmed but as far as I knew she was kept at home by the time of her death.


    My brain racked \all forms of information I could think of relating to the human body, the decomposing and how to store one but whilst i could imagine a most ideal situation to keeping Leonora''s corpse hidden, prepped and looked after away from prying eyes, I just couldn''t see how I would be able to find a place perfect enough to keep Leonora.


    It would need to be large, have a basement that was cool and well ventilated. It would need to be close to the graveyard so that there wasn''t too much of a travel back and forth. I would need transport to be able to get the required items for keeping her embalmed. Soo many countless things to take into consideration and on such short notice. Why couldn''t I come up with this idea before Leonora was put in the ground. Nothing I knew was up for sale in the area and I have never driven a car before. Why or why couldn''t I be more prepared?!


    CRASH!


    I broke out of my thinking and bolted straight out of the room to investigate the sudden calamity that had occurred. It was dark but the light from the outside streetlights highlighted something sprawled on the stairway, the figures arm reaching to the banister to pull itself up. I went to the wall to flick the switch of the hallway light and harsh, yellow light filled the room, showing Mrs. Lyttle crawling up the stairs, her face pinched in discomfort.


    I immediately rushed to her side. Taking her arm, I carefully helped her gain her balance and pulled her gently back onto her feet.


    "Thank you, sweetheart, I was scared I was on my own there for minute" she said as we headed back towards the top of the stairs.


    "It''s ok Mrs. Lyttle. I''m surprise you woke nobody else up" I said, surveying the empty hallway for anybody to show concern for Mrs. Lyttles tumble.


    "Oh no dear, I''m afraid you are the only one here" she said, her voice lowered when she said this. I had never realized I was the only one in the bed and breakfast, when I had first arrived it was late at night and when I awoke the next morning it was still in the early hours of the morning. I had just presumed everybody was fast asleep in their rooms or were out for the day. I had no idea I was the only one staying at house. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Oh, gosh I had no idea" I said, we managed to reach the top of the stairs, taking our time.


    "Are you hurt?" I asked.


    "Oh no sweetheart I''m fine, just a little bit bruised on the knees"


    "Are you sure?"


    "Yes dear, I assure you, I''m quite a tough old bird"


    "If you insist, where''s your room?"


    "Just at the very end of the hallway, I know its customary to have the room in the attic for the bed and breakfast owner but that room means so much to me"


    "Oh, really how so?"


    "It was mine and my husband''s room. After he had died I couldn''t bear to be apart from it. This old house holds many dear memories, which is why I turned it into a bed and breakfast so I could still try to afford it."


    As we reached the end of the hallway to her room I opened the door, revealing a very large spacious room with a four-poster bed with baby blue covers and a wide, heavily embroidered rug taking center stage on the floor of the room. Oil paintings of cottages submerged in the foliage of dense forests and wildflowers hung on each wall of the room. A writing desk in the back opposite the bed with a full kitted stationary for letter writing and every windowsill, bookshelf and surface were lined with silver framed photographs of young boys, standing in row at the front of the house with what I presumed were the young Mr. and Mrs. Lyttle.


    "You have children Mrs. Lyttle?"


    "Oh yes, all gone now" She managed to slip her arm free from mine, shuffling towards her bed, letting out an oof as she swung her legs onto the bed.


    "Got their own families now?" I asked, kneeling to get a better look at the young, rather handsome boys in the photos.


    "Oh no, no. They never managed to get home to have any."


    Cold shock filled me as I looked at the four boys in the photo, realizing all of them were lying in unmarked graves in France.


    "Oh" I gasped "I''m sorry I didn''t realize"


    "It''s fine sweetheart, I''m not the only to lose her children to the war. My husband died of a heart attack not that long after John, the youngest went too. They weren''t the youngest men to have died. They should have had families by the time the war came but they were so invested with their studying and sciences, all four of them that they never had any time for dating."


    I detected a faint wobbling her voice, like something hard was bubbling in her throat, I went over to her to see her eyes were stained red from the tears trickling down her cheeks.


    "Mrs. Lyttle, please don''t cry, I''m sorry I shouldn''t have said anything." I took her hand into mine, not flinching this time from how loose and cold it was. She snuffled, trying her best to not let her nose dribble as a stream of tears fell like raindrops on the windowpane. Her lip quivered


    "I....I... just miss them so much. I just wish I wasn''t on my own. Everyone I know is gone and buried. I''m so alone in this house, nobody even comes to stay here that much so I''ve only got myself for company. I just wish I could be wherever they are "She wailed each word, her pitch getting higher and higher as she sobbed and moaned. She grabbed her tissues and blew her nose, but nothing could seem to calm her. I wish I could placate her but my mind had wondered into a very dark place.


    All alone........ she said.


    "Isn''t there anyone you could get to help you?" I asked, cautiously.


    "Oh no dear, there''s no one. I did have my sister but she has passed now and her family live soo far away they hardly know me"


    "Well that¡¯s a shame" I said but my voice was lost of all sympathy. My mind working like cogs. This house was rather large and there would be sure to be a rather large pantry, or maybe even a basement.....


    "You must surely have someone who helps you with the bed and breakfast though?"


    "There is a cook who sometimes helps me out when there is a large family staying but that happens only once in a blue moon and I don''t hire that much help as its mostly empty most of the time."


    This keeps getting better and better, I thought to myself. I felt so calm but cool like frost as I thought my plan over and over in my head. I glanced at Mrs.Lyttle, skeletal thin and already tripping on the stairs and her family dead with no living relatives close by. Her bed and breakfast run all by herself and were already at the age where nobody would question her death. I looked back at her as she brushed the handkerchief to her nose and wiping the tears away. Dark, immoral, plans forming like a huge, black cloud in my mind. I wish a slight slither of moral and noble thought would scream in my mind to not do what I was about to do but my mind was consumed in that black cloud, filled with desire to be with Leonora again.


    I leaned over Mrs. Lyttle, looking directly into her eyes. "I''m so sorry, Mrs. Lyttle" I said, no trace of anguish or dread in my apology. It scared me how much I lacked any remorse for the soon to be late Mrs Lyttle.


    "Oh" She chuckled, unaware of what I was about to do. "It''s Ok sweethe-"


    But she was cut short by my hands clasping with an iron grip over her nose and mouth. It would have been foolish to have gone with a pillowcase, as air can still pass through the cotton fibers in the fabric but with your own hands you can make sure that nothing can pass through. Panic filled her faded blue eyes as she stared back at me in horror. Her skin paling, her fingers clawing and scratching my hands and arms, drawing blood with her fingernails. But the more she fought the more fought back too. I climbed onto the bed, bringing my knees up onto her arms and using my body weight to pin and crush her to the bed, straddling her; making sure she could not sit up and wriggle away. She tried to scream, but all it became was air passing through the small gaps between my fingers, muffled by my hands. Eventually her arms tired, her movements became less frantic as I watched the life fade away from her bloodshot eyes. Her legs only twitching as the shock of betrayal began to wane in her face.


    No-one was coming to rescue her.


    Then. Stillness.


    Sweat coated my skin as I looked down at my handwork. Her chest unmoving and her eyes staring back at me. Still filled with despair.


    All for her, all for Leonora......

 Chapter Eleven : Fathers blessing

    Mrs. Lyttles death came as no shock to the small village as the nearest undertakers came to take away her corpse away. A small crowd gathered outside of the B&B as she was taken away to the nearest funeral home but I could spy no tears being shed for her. No questions were raised when I reported her death to the doctor and he ruled it as either having a heart attack or just passing away in her sleep. He did, however notice the small bruising on her chest, wrists and stomach. I explained to him though she did slip down the stairs the night previous as I had helped her back to her room. He shook his head in sorrow, as he gazed back down at her lifeless body, her eyes still filled with the horrific realization that death was fast approaching her and there was no way of stopping it. Her scratches still stung slightly though underneath the sleeves that I made sure were buttoned tightly at the wrists. I rubbed them occasionally, wincing at the vivid memory of her frantic clawing, the kicking against the mattress, her body squirming underneath like a snake trying to escape. But if I were to tell you that i felt guilty it would be a lie. I did what was necessary and i couldn''t wait and skulk around Mrs. Lyttle and the village like a preying vulture waiting for the frail to die. I did what I had to for love. For Leonora....


    Arranging the funeral for the late Mrs. Leonora proved simple enough as most of her acquaintances remained in the village and even some of them came even came around to the B&B to help me sort through her contacts to send out invites, sort through her documents, find out what she left to people in her will. Unfortunately, though, the latter proved most difficult to procure. It seemed all the time Mrs. Lyttle spent lurking inside the B&B she never cared to sort out what were to happen to it once she had passed on. Though the gossips of the locals who came to speak with as i remained in the house it was brought to light that Mrs Lyttle was rather a recluse and hardly ever spoke to anyone out of the village and her only source of contact were the delivery men who gave her groceries and the very few guests who came to stay. As soon as she lost her husband ten years ago after the death of her four sons, it seemed she lost the will to live and imprisoned herself within the walls of her home, only fashioning it into a bed and breakfast so that she could financially afford it. But it seemed, in the evidence of her finances, that she struggled with this aspect of keeping a business. It was after the many hours of laboring through every piece of paper that i could find with the older women of the village who were apparently the closest she had to friends that i finally made the call to my grandparents in Scotland, and told them of my desire to stay in the village and purchase the house.


    "What do you mean you''re not coming back!" Barked my Grandfather down the speaker, causing a mild ringing sensation in my ear


    "You don''t understand Grandpa," I said back to him, softening my tone to make it sound more like pleading "I''m getting to know her family, the villagers and plus the kind old lady who i was staying with just passed and i want to stay to help sort her funeral. Plus, maybe stay and upkeep her home till I feel ready to come back home if I wish too"


    "But what about your studying, you were so keen and you practically begged us to keep you in that university even though I don''t see the point"


    "I can''t explain, Grandpa, I''m just drawn to this place...." He sighed with a heavy breath, signaling he was about to cave into my demands but with much irritation.


    "I suppose it can''t do much harm you staying down there. It just means having you are out of our sight. You must understand why we are reluctant to do so? "


    Bitter vexation filled me in the pits of my stomach, leaving a sour aftertaste in the back of my mouth; my hands grasping even tighter on the telephone.


    "I''ll be fine Grandpa, I can''t stay with you and grandmama forever, you know" I said, trying my best to iron out the irate tone in my voice. Ever since the death of my parents my grandparents have had me labelled the majority of my life as "Vulnerable", it didn''t help either that I was mostly a recluse, barely uttering a word and hardly ever leaving my room or the library; I rarely ever played outside and preferred the company of my books and the many pets that my grandparents possessed.


    "I know you will be, it was a traumatic thing to happen to you though, all that you went through, on your own in that house...."


    In a desperate attempt to not be reminded I cut him off quicker than a knife slicing through the air


    "I''ll be fine Grandpa. You must remember i was very young and it was also a very long time ago"


    "I know, I know, just......no your right, we had to let you go at some point I suppose. Just give us all the information we need and we''ll set it up so you don''t run out of any money"


    "Thank you Grandpa and I truly mean it, remember I''ll be up to visit you both regularly as well"


    "I know you will be, just let us know how you are getting on and do keep in touch"


    Satisfaction filled me like a scrumptious dessert at the end of the meal, the sweetness leaving me in a pleasant mood for the rest of the day. It was easy to establish myself amongst the humble villagers as the poor, unfortunate lad who had to discover the past Mrs. Lyttle in the early hours of the morning and have gained a favorable reputation, helping sort out all planning needed for her house, her processions and her funeral costs which I announced to everyone who asked that I''ll pay for. I thought I may as well owe it to her, after all it weren''t her choice to die so sudden. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    In the middle of sorting out her various possession, trying to figure with her close circle of acquaintances what should go to who and whether we should have a little sale on her various Knick knacks. I was surprised by the arrival of Mr. Wanes standing in the hallway, no longer hunched over on his cane and was wearing a rather pleasant smile on his face deeply ridge face.


    "Mr. Wane! " I uttered in cheer, walking in quick steps to shake his hand with much enthusiasm. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here!"


    "Well I heard of the passing of the late Mrs. Lyttle and also that a kind, young gentleman was helping with funeral costs and all sorts and i had a feeling it may have been you"


    I chuckled but it was out of discomfort. For the brief few seconds of being seeing Mr Wanes i had forgotten about Mrs. Lyttles passing and worried I may have let my guard down within those few seconds.


    "Yes, it is a shame." I said, trying my best to regain the melancholy tone I had managed to upkeep since the early hours of the morning. Its rather tiresome work to try and be grief-stricken for the passing of someone you lack any empathy for. Mr Wane patted my back, a gesture he seemed to be rather fond of doing; a gesture that filled me reassurance and comfort, lighting a small, flame of familiarity of what a father is to me.


    "It''s Ok son, must have been one heck of a shock to the system to be confronted with another death in such a short amount of time" He said, leading me into the drawing room of the B&B where a gaggle of faces peered up to the arrival of us and Mr Wane.


    Agatha Marble came up stomping up to us. She was a large, fair headed, middle aged woman who wore a yellow apron with red roses, stained with egg yolk and bread dough and flour, the strings stretched and taut against her round, protruding stomach. It made me thing of a rather large egg for some reason. She had established herself ¨C to me anyway ¨C as the lead gossiper in the village, being the first to introduce herself to me as soon as Mrs Lyttle was carried out of the door. She immediately dedicated herself to the kitchen, making tea and snacks for everyone and rummaging the kitchen cupboards for biscuits and sweet things to serve to anyone who wished to help out. I found her manner though a tad informal and aggressive even if she only meant to be kind.


    "Mr. Wane, what a surprise to see you here" She cried, mimicking me just a few second before and taking Mr. Wanes small hands into her large, clammy ones, shaking them with such powerful vigor I worried she might tear them off from his shoulders. Mr Wane winced but managed to conserve his smile, though it waned in pain.


    "Thank you Mrs. Marple" He Said, his voice quivering slightly as his hand still remained in her iron clasp.


    "Oh, my lord!" She cried with the same pitch and volume of a choirboy, though lacking the melody of one.  "I''m surprised you have remembered my name since our last encounter"


    "How could I forget your sublime cakes that you had served at the last fun fair, in fact i took some home to my daughters. They found them most agreeable"


    Her face bloomed a ruddy red allover and a wet sheen surfaced her forehead.


    "Oh, Mr. Wane you are too kind" She lowered her voice and moved in closer, as if she were about to share some scandalous gossip "I''m sorry for the loss of your daughter by the way, she was such a beautiful girl" Me and Mr. Wane both flinched at this, it seemed for a moment  a spell had been place on both of us that had made us forget of the passing of Leonora, that we had stepped into a world varnished in color but now were shrouded in black and white again. The smile on Mr. Wane vanished in an instant and that dark cloud that I had seen hovering and consuming over him yesterday began to form again.


    "Thank you, Mrs. Marple" He said, trying his best to remain polite but a stern hardness now outlined his tone. Her large doughy arm wrapped itself over his shoulders as she leaned into him. "Would you two both like a cup of tea, I''ve managed to find some biscuits in one of the cupboards that I think you''d both like"


    The smile returned to him "Thank you Mrs. Marple, that''ll be most kind" He said and with that she hurried in heavy, loud footsteps to the kitchen, a cabinet full of china plates rattled against the class as she went past to the back. Me and Mr. Wane sat down on the plump sofas, our movements still being watched by the other neighbors as we struggled to try and find a topic to regain our conversation after its sudden interruption in the hallway. His fingers drummed on the steel top of his cane, shaped like an eagle''s head. Its narrowed, wary eyes watching me as I tried my best to resurrect the dead conversation.


    "I''m thinking of staying behind in the village, at least till I feel ready to return home" I said with earnest desperation to break the silence.


    He turned to look at me, his face brightening as the cloud dissipating around him, breaking him out of the spell again.


    "That¡¯s wonderful to hear Ruben" He cheered. "I was hoping you would stay around a tad longer, I don''t know why but you were only one who made the wake bearable yesterday"


    Pride ¨C a feeling I was rather unaccustomed too - flowered inside of my chest and flourished up to my cheeks and staining them red; a flossy chill rose in me, rushing down my arms and stomach, raising the goosebumps on my skin.


    "Thank you, sir, that means a lot for me to hear" I said, trying my best to disguise the childish furor I could feel stirring around in the pits of my stomach.


    "And listen" He said, his hand returning to the middle of my back "If you need anything, anything at all whilst you are settling in, you let me know straight away, I don''t want you struggling to try and find your feet. I''ll even happily try and get you a maid if you are needing"


    The blushing in my cheeks was becoming unbearable, I dread to think of the hue of red it has become. But a sad little seed began to sprout as well. If me and Mr. Wanes got on so well just imagine what it could have been like with Leonora alive. But she will soon be with me, in this house, with her own room, a shrine dedicated to her, a perfect mausoleum with her only. Me and her, forever alone.

 Side Story : Part Two

    Part two : side story


    The little boy hung back behind the door, trying and straining to listen out for any sounds, ear pressed up against the door, listening out for floor creaks; mattress springs squeaking, drawers being opened; blankets being ruffled, curtains being rattled. But nothing. He grew anxious by the minute, hoping his mama will soon stir from her bed and make him breakfast. He had grown weary of being the only one in house, cooking and cleaning and his mother never rising and walking out of her bedroom. Stepping back he knocked on the door, pressed his ear against the door again and waited with patience for any noises to occur.


    Nothing


    "Mummy" He said, his voice a meek squeak in the overwhelming silence of their house, "Mummy are you awake?"  With caution he opened the door with careful anticipation and peered in through the crack he had made, allowing sunlight to make a whitish blue slit of light illuminate the room, as he pushed his way through, the slit of light widened to rest on his mummy. Still swathed under the messy, ruffled blankets of the bed, she remained still like a lifeless lump, the sudden break of light doing nothing to stir her from her dreams.


    With each footstep making a creak and groan against the wooden floorboards, he made his way with slow moving footsteps as if waddling in the shallow end of a swimming pool. Dread filled him, entombing him. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Mummy you need to wake up now" He said as he approached her. Still though, she didn''t move. Deciding drastic measures were needed to awake her he went to the curtains and whipped them apart, the rings scraping along the wooden pole. A harsh sound in the silent room. Hoping the morning sun would awake her, the little boy turned with hope towards his mummy but still she did not stir. Heading towards her, fear freezing his heart into a solid mass as he cried in frantic pain "Mummy, mummy you need to wake up now Mummy!" He yanked the covers away from her, revealing her in her white nightgown, her hair splayed all around in a starburst patterned halo, mouth agape and drooling and leaving a dark ,damp spot beneath her chin.


    "Mum, Mum Wake Up!" He cried, her face blurring as his eyes filled with tears that stung him as they rolled down his cheeks. He climbed onto the bed and shook her shoulders, her skin cold like glass on a windowpane and her eyes rolled into the back of her head, the whites showing. Looking down he noticed something he never saw, clasped in her hands was a brass photoframe containing the photograph of his father. He took it in his hands and threw it across the room, the glass shattering and the frame cracking and splintering under the force as it collided with the wall of the room.


    He hated that man! For leaving his mother and him all on their own. For making his mother ill with heartache and making her sleep this heavily and never stiring from her room. He hated him.  He cried and cried till he couldn''t breathe through his nose, till his throat felt like a boulder had been lodged in his airways. But out through it all, he heard the all familiar voice of his dearly beloved mother.


    "Sweetheart" she said, her voice weak from fatigue "Why are you crying"


    Relief shook him as he flung himself into his mother''s arms. Thankful to for his mother finally waking up.

 A letter from an embalmer

    Dear Sir Turnbul


    I have enclosed the selected formula that you have requested, to be delivered to your nearest post office at Rowan Village for the earliest convenience. I hope it fulfils your wishes. Please have the nearest funeral home that practices embalming to perform the procedure as soon s possible before burial. I have also decided to give to you the necessary equipment and tools in case they do not have them as I''m aware that embalming is not practiced that much in Great Britain.  Please dry the cadaver with alcohol before performing the procedure, i have also sent to your instructions for the funeral home as to where to inject the formula for the best results. I would come over to England if I could to perform the procedure but alas I have taken ill and need to stay home to recover. I hope it works well for your recently passed beloved. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    All the best for the future.


    Yours sincerely


    Alfredo Salafia