May 14, 1920
Something horrible is meant to happen today. That was the vague sense that I felt as I jolted awake. I hardly paid any attention to it, because it was just a feeling. It didn't mean anything.
I groggily sat up against my pillow, and peered over at Cynthia's bed. My newly-thirteen year-old sister was still snoozing. Best not to disturb her, I thought, and I stepped out of bed, doing my best to quietly step across the creaking floor boards.
I quickly scurried past my father, who was sat at the table, reading the morning paper. He paid hardly any notice to me, as he was heavily absorbed in whatever local scandal was plaguing the town this week.
"I'm going out, Father," I said, halfway out the door. He waved me away, only asking that I be home in time for lunch. There was a special banquet to celebrate Cynthia's birthday, and I had no plans on missing it, so I happily obliged.
The sun was doing a decent job at piercing through the ominous grey clouds that painted the sky. I hoped it wouldn't rain, that'd spoil Cynthia's day. I'd never minded the rain, but I preferred the sun. I sat down at the rocking chair that was on the porch. It'd been Mother's chair, before she passed away from polio last year.
I reached for the locket that hung around my neck. It'd also been hers, and I had ended up with it after she died. It provided me a lot of comfort. I fiddled with the clasp until it opened, a black and white photograph of my mother inside, smiling up at me, as if to say, I love you, Alice.
"Miss Brandon!" a familiar voice called. I looked up to see the mailboy Jeb smiling at me, holding a stack of letters. "How are you doing this fine morning?"
"Very well, thank you," I beamed. He blushed, his sandy blond hair falling along his ears.
"Anyway, Miss Alice, I have these letters for your father," he said. "I was told to deliver them urgently."
"What do they say?" I inquired incredulously, arching one eyebrow.
"Don't ask me," Jeb replied, "I'm just the messenger. Anyways, go on! Take it to him!" I turned around, almost toward the door, when Jeb interrupted me. "Oh, and one of those is for Cynthia. Be sure to wish her a happy birthday for me!"
I nodded, thanked him, and then headed inside. Father was still sat at the table reading the paper, his brow furrowed. "Is everything alright, Father?" I checked.
He nodded and smiled, setting down the paper. "Everything's fine, Alice, there's nothing to worry about." I smiled at him in understanding. "I think I ought to go wake your sister, after all, she only gets one birthday a year." He got up and walked up into Cynthia and I's room, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
I picked up the paper he'd been reading, and eyed the headline, "Local Man Found Drained Completely of Blood." I shuddered in sheer horror. I read a little more of the story, learning that the police have no suspects lined up, or any idea of how it could've been perpetrated.
"Alice? What are you reading that for?" asked my Father, who had come back into the kitchen.
"Oh, nothing, just skimming," I lied, and set down the paper.
At that moment, Cynthia walked into the kitchen and I greeted her with a tight hug. "Morning, birthday girl! You're a proper teenager now!" She nodded, a grin painted on her face.
"So, where are my presents?" she asked, semi-jokingly. I rustled her hair, promising that we'd get to that.
"But first, how about we fix you some breakfast. What do you want?" I asked eagerly. Cynthia frowned.
"Maybe you shouldn't be cooking, Alice," Cynthia said with a pained expression. I had to admit she was right. It wasn't a secret that I was a terrible cook.
"I'll tell you what, I'll go take a bath, and Father will fix you some bacon, your favourite," I bargained.
Cynthia smiled. "Deal. Father? Is that alright?"
"I suppose that's alright for you special day. As long as it keeps Alice from cooking," he joked.
"Ha ha, very funny," I giggled, and then proceeded to the bathroom to wash up.
I looked in the mirror, my chocolate-brown eyes laced with worry. It was completely irrational. There was no basis to this sense of dread that had overcome me. It was just a feeling. In fairness, those feelings usually ended up being correct. This is how I had felt the day before Mother died.
No, I told myself. I won't let myself ruin this. I can't ruin Cynthia's birthday, she'd been looking forward to it all year. She'd needed something to look forward to since Mother passed away. I'd have to stay strong for her. Besides, there was nothing to worry about.
"Alice! Our guests will be arriving any minute!" Father called.
"I'm coming!" I yelled, furiously pulling a brush through the knots in my long, reddish-brown hair. I pulled a blue ribbon, to match my dress, out of the wooden box that I kept in the cabinet above the sink. I quickly pulled my hair up, tying it into a loose ponytail. Once the ribbon was securely in place, I headed to the sitting room, where Cynthia was, eagerly awaiting the arrival of those coming to celebrate her birthday.
"I see you're wearing the green dress I set out for you," I grinned. She nodded.
"Would you help me tie my hair up?" she asked, holding up the green ribbon I had set out with the dress.
"I would be honoured," I said, and set her hair up. While we were doing that, there was a knock at the door, and Cynthia jumped up, and went to answer it.
"Hello, dear!" said Aunt Dolores, who had just arrived. She embraced Cynthia in a hug. I cringed, because Aunt Dolores was not my favourite relative. Once when I was younger, she came for Christmas, and instead of giving me an actual present, which she had clearly forgotten about, she just went into my room and found something to give to me. I assume she just picked a book at random and just grabbed Wuthering Heights, not noticing all the annotations I'd written inside it. Either way, I wasn't very warm to her. I wasn't too worried about Cynthia, however, because Dolores had always preferred her, anyways. She then went and engaged in a conversation with Father, apparently about how I've been failing as a member of the Brandon family. I wasn't too bothered.
After Aunt Dolores, in came the rest of the relatives. Everyone was there, except for my cousin Richard, who was studying medicine at Princeton.
"Alice, darling, tell me, where did you get that lovely dress?" inquired my Uncle Bruce.
"I made it myself," I announced proudly, "I also made Cynthia's."
"Alice has got an excellent fashion sense," interrupted my best friend Margaret, who had just come to my rescue. I had asked Father if I could invite her, and after a bit of begging, he obliged. She pulled me aside, and I waved goodbye to Uncle Bruce.
"You're never gonna believe what happened," Margaret said in a hushed tone. "I met someone."
"What? Tell me everything!" I whispered.
"I was in town last night, and I ended up talking to this man. He was absolutely gorgeous, his face looked like it'd been chiseled from stone. Oh, and his eyes, his eyes were so peculiar and wonderful," she mused.
"So, you met this guy, and?"
"We started talking, and we really hit it off. We had a lot in common. We like all the same books, we both really want to travel, and did I mention how pretty this boy was? Anyways, he said that he wants me to meet him tonight at-"
"Wait, let me get this straight, you met this perfect stranger, he asked you to go find him tomorrow, and you're just going to do it? You don't know anything about him!"
"I trust him Alice, can't you just be happy for me?"
"But it's so dangerous, Margaret!"
"You can't stop me from going," she huffed.
"This just gives me a really bad feeling…"
"What if you were to come with me? That way, you'll know I'll be safe, and I get to go on my date." I had to admit that wasn't a bad idea, because there was no way I would get her to decide against going.
"Alright, I'll go with you, I'm okay with that," I caved.
"Thank you, Alice, you won't regret it. Oh, but you should've seen his eyes…"