Hello again, my dears! Elactress is back! It has certainly been a while, but I am so happy to be back with a sequel to Before the Haunting Hour! The following story takes place over the course of the Haunted Mansion film, and, as a result, will likely be shorter than its predecessor. My goal is to try and get a chapter up every week, but you know how terrible I am about that, so we'll see how long that lasts.
Again, my face claim is Kylie Bunbury, as the character of Sara Evers is separate from my version of Elizabeth. All other characters remain the same.
And so, I invite you to enjoy A Tale to Conquer Time.
Disclaimer: The following is based on a movie which is not mine.
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2003
"Emilia! Emilia, it's almost nine! You're going to be late!"
I was only vaguely aware of the words Sara was shouting as I groggily came to, letting out a quiet groan at the feeling of something hard and not exactly comfortable beneath my cheek. A quick brush of my fingers confirmed my suspicions as several notes echoed in the air.
Not again…
Reluctantly, I raised my head up and allowed my eyes to sliver open – only to immediately regret said decision when I was promptly blinded by the sunlight streaming through my window, inciting another groan from my mouth as I brought one hand up to shield my face and the other to rub my aching neck.
"No more late night ice cream for me." I grumbled.
"Hey Emmy! Up and at 'em!" Jim's voice yelled up the steps. "You got a big day of learning to get to!"
"I'm up, Jim! Be down in a minute!" I called back, rolling my eyes.
With a tired sigh, I clicked off the power on my keyboard and stood to my feet, arms raised above my head as I stretched out my fingers and shoulders.
I was less than a year away from completing my Bachelor of Arts degree in music composition at the University of New Orleans, and in the three years I had attended there, I had become very close with the Evers family, who had hired me as a live-in nanny and tutor for their kids when I was still in my freshman year. Now, however, I was practically one of them.
Sara was like a mom to me – sweet, gentle, encouraging, and most of all, loving. Having someone care for me like she did was something I never really experienced as a kid, having been constantly moved around in foster care after both of my parents were killed in car wreck. She was always checking in on me while I worked, and was more than happy to oblige me with a second opinion when I asked for it.
Jim and I also got along remarkably well. He appreciated the fact that I enjoyed his quick sense of humor, and, more often than not, our conversations ended up sparking a battle of wits between us, which I was proud to say I usually won.
Then there was Megan and Michael. Megan was a sassy thirteen-year-old who liked to argue with me, but who was secretly glad to have someone other than her parents to confide in. Michael was ten, and as sarcastic as his sister, but much easier to get to open up to me – though I often believed he was just happy to have someone around to protect him from Megan's sharp tongue. I cared for the two of them deeply, and I liked to think they cared for me.
"You know these eggs could've hatched by now!"
Jim's voice made me blink out of my reverie. Realizing I'd been standing in the same position for several minutes, I shook my head at myself and hurried over to my closet, throwing open the door and rapidly scanning the rows upon rows of vintage skirts and dresses that hung inside. My personal tastes had always deviated towards the old-fashioned, though Jim loved to mock me for it.
After finally choosing a black dress with white polka-dots, I laid the garment across my bed and shed my night shirt, tossing it in onto the floor and then pulling the gown over my head in haste. I ran a brush through my hair, grabbed my side bag, and made my way downstairs.
Sara was already clearing away her plate and Jim's as I stepped into the kitchen, and I was sadly unsurprised to see Jim already on his phone, no doubt trying to wrangle in another house on the market from the sound of his conversation.
"Well, have they signed with him yet? Then what the hell are you calling me for, Stan? Call them back and tell them we can get almost twice what these guys are making them settle for."
"Morning, Sara." I greeted her, moving to sit at the table across from Jim as she placed the dishes in the sink.
"Good morning." She smiled. "Did you sleep well last night?"
I paused halfway through pulling out my chair, contemplating whether or not I wanted to tell her the truth.
"Like the dead." I finally told her, sitting in the chair and hurriedly digging into the eggs and toast in front of me so as to avoid her questioning any further.
"Yes, I remember my appointment with the Colemans…But if that Mr. Coleman doesn't like this one, we're gonna have to start getting creative…Yeah, four o'clock…Yeah, Stan…Goodbye, Stan." Jim hung up the phone with an exasperated look.
"Well, I'm glad you can remember your appointments, but not our anniversary." Sara crossed her arms and leaned against the counter.
My head whipped up.
"Jim!" I scolded him.
"Ah, ah, ah!" He held up a finger in protest. "I did not forget! I just mixed up the days is all."
"Boy, I hope you have something good planned for tonight." I mumbled, biting into my toast.
"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. The two of us will be going out for a private dinner this evening." He stated proudly.
"Which means we're gonna have to ask you to watch the kids tonight." Sara said apologetically.
"Sure, no problem." I shrugged. "Isn't Megan getting a little old to be babysat, though?"
"Yeah, but we're afraid if she's left unsupervised we might find Michael buried in the backyard later." Jim joked. "Now grab your toast and let's get going."
He stood from his seat and went to kiss Sara while I wrapped my bread in a napkin and quickly shoved the rest of my eggs in my mouth.
"I'll see you tonight, honey." He told her, giving her a brief peck.
"Just don't be late." She smirked.
"Now, when have I ever done that?" He held his arms out to the side innocently, backing towards the front door. "Come on, Mozart, we're out of here."
"Bye Sara!" I gave her a little wave as I stood and followed Jim.
"Bye Emilia! Have a good day in class!" She called out.
Jim held the door open for me, and the two of us headed out to his car.
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We had been driving for over five minutes now in silence, and I was a little on edge. Normally by this pint, Jim would have made some kind of remark about my dress, or my hair, or…something. But today he merely stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes on the road except for a couple sideways glances over at me, which made me all the more nervous because he still said nothing.
"What, no comments today?" I teased him. "Nothing about the dress? It's brand new, you know."
"Well, first off, no it is not. That's the whole point of the word vintage – what it really is is just a fancy way of saying really old. So yes, that is a very nice very old dress you've got on." He mocked, and I smiled in relief at hearing one of his usual insults. "But I've got a question for you."
Uh oh. My smile dropped.
"How did you really sleep last night?"
His eyes looked at me knowingly and I realized I'd been caught.
"I know." I groaned. "I know, it happened again."
"You consider yourself lucky that Sara didn't wake up and hear the music last night." He told me.
"Was it the same song?"
"Same as always."
A heavy sigh escaped me.
"Look, Em." Jim started. "We're just a little concerned about this sleep-playing thing. If for no other reason than it keeps us all up at night."
"I don't know why I do it. I don't even remember it the next day, I just wake up at my keyboard." I defended.
"And you've still got no idea where the song comes from, huh?"
I shook my head.
"It feels like something from a dream. Like I used to know it a long time ago and it's just…stuck in my subconscious." I tried to describe the peculiarity of it. "Maybe it's something from my childhood."
"It still amazes me that you don't even know what it sounds like." He brought up for the hundredth time.
"I don't. It goes away the minute I wake up."
The words came out a little sharp, but this was a conversation that we'd had far too many times before. Yes, I was as concerned about my 'condition' as Jim and Sara were, but I'd already seen dozens of shrinks and specialists over the years, and none of them had been able to explain it, or begin to help me. Even the heaviest sleeping pills had failed.
"Well, we'll have to remember to record it next time. God knows we've heard it enough." He jested. "…Just warning you, Megan might be a little tired when she gets home from school today."
"Oh, no." I moaned, putting my head in my hands.
"Hey, at least she'll fall asleep earlier than usual." He grinned.
"Not on a Thursday night before a long weekend." I pointed out, raising my head to glare at him.
"Don't you be looking at me like that. It's not my doing. Besides, if you ever actually had plans for a weekend, you wouldn't have to work all the time."
"Jim-" I tried to stop him.
"I'm just saying that a girl like you ought to have a date or something every once in a while!"
"We are not discussing this right now. Or ever, actually."
Jim raised one of his hands up in surrender.
"Alright. You wanna keep yourself locked up in your room like one of those mad geniuses, that's fine by me." He shrugged.
We both lapsed into silence as my mind became occupied with all of my past failed attempts at romance. It wasn't that I didn't try. I'd been on more blind dates than I could count on both hands, and some of them had been very nice, but…but every time things began to get even a little bit serious with a guy, the most bizarre sensation of guilt would hit me, as if I were committing some heinous act of betrayal against...well, someone, I guessed. I just wished that this mysterious person would hurry up and show themselves already.
"Jim…when did you know you were in love with Sara?" I asked him.
He looked at me curiously.
"What do you mean when did I know? You don't know when you love somebody, it just happens."
"But there had to be some moment!" I prompted him. "At some point, you have to have looked at her and thought 'yep, I'm in love with that woman'. When did it happen to you?"
For a long moment, he was unusually quiet, staring at the windshield and pondering my question.
"…It was our first date." He finally admitted.
My eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Really?"
"What, is that so hard to believe?"
"No, no! Sorry!" I said sheepishly. "Go on."
He nodded and continued.
"I took her to this nice restaurant, because…you know…I wanted to impress her…and I was a complete mess the entire evening."
"No, you?" My eyes widened in mock astonishment.
"I'll have you know I was quite a Casanova back then." He told me pointedly. "But yes. My hands were shaking and my face was sweating and all I could think was 'please, God, just get me out of here'. And the food comes, and sitting in front of us is the ugliest damn bird I've ever seen. I mean, there was nothing but skin on those wings. And I looked at this bird and I looked up at Sara and I said 'Sara, I think we just got served the ugly duckling'. And…she laughed. It wasn't even a good joke, but she laughed, and in that moment I swore to myself that I was never letting her go."
I sat for several seconds in stunned silence.
"That's really romantic, Jim." I smiled.
"Well, you dragged it out of me." He smirked. "Now what, may I ask, did you need to know that for?"
"You asked me why I never really make dates with anyone, and…your story is the answer. Jim, I'm not interested in the casual kind of relationship that everyone else seems to be looking for. I…I want someone I can love. Someone to spend the rest of my life with. And so far, none of the men I've met have even come close!"
"Come close to what?" Jim asked as we entered the campus. "Just who exactly are you expecting to show up?"
He pulled the car up in front of the music building and turned to me expectantly.
"I don't know. But I'll know him when I see him."
Without another word, I grabbed my bag and stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind me – in spite of Jim's protests – and making my way to my first class.
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"Alright, everyone! We made some excellent progress today, so I trust that we'll retain that progress for Monday, yes? Yes, good. I'll see you all next week."
I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as the professor released our ensemble, officially ending my last class of the day. As I began to put my sheet music away, I spotted my friend Amy making her way across the room, violin still in hand.
"Thank God!" She huffed as she reached my side. "I thought my fingers were going to fall off."
"Don't let Professor Wilton hear you say that or she might make us do it again." I teased her.
A high-pitched giggle burst from her lips, and as I looked at her long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, a strange sense of sorrow suddenly hit me. A familiar face flashed before my eyes, but as soon as my mind tried to place it, it was gone.
"Emmy? Yoo-hoo? Hello?"
I processed that Amy was snapping her fingers in front of my face and I sighed, pushing her hand down and turning to put my music in my bag as she leaned against the piano.
"A big group of us are going to karaoke tonight. Wanna tag along?" She asked.
"Can't. Nannying."
"Then at least let me drive you home."
I stood up and hoisted my bag onto my shoulder.
"You can drive me to the studio." I told her.
She let out a dramatic groan of exasperation.
"More music? Honestly, Em, someday you'll wind up all alone with only your notes to keep you company!"
"I can't help it." I claimed, unfazed by her words. "Music is what makes me happy. When I'm sitting there, watching my fingers on the keys…it's like I go to another world…another time. I get a thrill out of it, Amy. Don't you ever feel that way?"
"Sure, for maybe the first hour. But you?" She shook her head. "Two days wouldn't be enough to satisfy you."
I gave her a playful shove.
"If you're going to be like that, I'll just walk."
"No, no." She sighed. "Come on. Wouldn't want anything to come between you and your music."
The two of us walked over to her chair so she could gather her things, then, with our music in hand, we left the rehearsal hall.
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Madame Lucy's Dance Studio was my favorite place to come at this time of day. Classes didn't start for another hour and I had special permission from Madame Lucy herself to use the baby grand in their largest classroom.
I sat there now, playing a few simple scales and letting the beautiful sound wash over me like the sunlight that was currently reflecting off the mirrors and flickering about on the walls, as if it had a life of its own. A tiny smile appeared on my face as I mused over how the beams appeared to dance to the music. Without batting an eye, I allowed my fingers to slide into place for the first few notes of Chopin's "Spring Waltz", and then I began to play.
Oh, the ecstasy that filled me as the flowing, gentle melody echoed in my ears. I would very willingly argue that it was one of the most soothing sounds in the entire world…and yet…there was a deeply rooted sorrow that somehow always managed to tinge the joy in my heart. An unsettling and sometimes unbearable longing sensation came over me each time I played on the piano, and it was that melancholy, above all else, that secretly inspired me to continue playing, day after day, hour after hour, constantly searching my mind for the memory that was causing me such grief. It was as if there was an emptiness inside my chest – one that had existed even before my parents were taken from me. I had long attributed this bizarre sadness to their passing…but then why did it only occur when I played?
Somewhere in my soul, I felt I was missing something, and I intended to keep playing until I found out what, or who, it was.
Ironically enough, the sorrow had actually helped along my playing, both by giving me the incentive to practice and by giving my music a depth of feeling that many composers sought their entire lives to achieve. I had excelled in my classes, becoming popular among my professors and earning myself a place in several local ensembles, should I choose to remain in the city after graduation. By all accounts, I should have been extremely happy with my life.
So then why did I feel so empty?
My thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open and Madame Lucy stepped in, an apologetic look on her face.
"I'm sorry, Emilia, but one of the older classes decided to start early today, and they need the room." She explained.
"Oh, of course." I smiled. "I ought to be getting home anyway."
I stood from the bench and pulled my bag over my shoulder in preparation for the long walk home.
"Have a good weekend, Emilia." Madame Lucy said as I passed her.
"You too." I nodded.
Little did I know where my path was about to take me.
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And we're off! Kind of a slow start, but things will pick up real fast on the next chapter! See you soon, dear readers!
Elactress
