Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
A/N: This story is based off the movie High Spirits. If you've seen it, great, then you know where this is heading. If not, read and enjoy.
I sat in the rocking chair in the corner, and looked around the room that I have spent most of my days in; my room. I wasn't secluded to this room alone, but it was the only place that I cared to spend the majority of my time. It was my safe haven from everyone else that was chained to this God forsaken manor.
My room was modest but well furnished. The walls were the color of cream and the furniture a dark mahogany. The four-post bed was set against the wall, with beige lace draping overhead. The large bay window that looked out onto the open land and vast lake was at the moment covered by maroon curtains.
Two nightstands sat on either side of the bed that I no longer slept in, and an armoire sat directly in front of it, containing clothes that I didn't need. A grandfather clock sat caddy-cornered near the door to the bathroom, and a few chairs and a lounge were placed here and there. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a stand holding my phonograph, or what is mostly commonly known today as a record player.
I would often sit in my room, listening to the few records that I had, the sweet sounds of classical music filling my long dead ears. Besides my precious piano in the grand hall, it was the only thing that seemed to ease the pain that I had lived with for the past eighty years. Not just the pain that I had to endure every night, at exactly 9:43 PM, but the agony of being hopelessly and utterly alone - for eternity.
My days were the same mostly; monotonous. I would never sleep, never eat, and never shower. I didn't need to; I was dead, deceased, no longer a member of the living. You see, for nearly eighty years, for some ungodly reason, I have been cursed to spend the rest of my days reliving one fateful night over and over again.
My life before this was nothing to write home about. I was trapped in a loveless marriage to a woman who despised me. I knew my wife did not love me, nor I her. We had both known that we only held contempt for one another, only agreeing to marry for the sake of our parents who had arranged the union. The marriage was one of convenience and status, not love and devotion.
I had known that my wife had fallen in love with another man, and I knew that they would often seek each other out in the evenings. Though we didn't share the same room, they were close enough where I could here the sounds of their lovemaking every night. And honestly, I didn't care.
Victoria often told me that she was unsatisfied with me. Not because I was a lousy lover, but because I would not make love to her. I was unable to bring myself to make the ultimate commitment to a woman whom I did not love. I was hoping that with time I would grow to find some affection for her, but it never came, and a year later, she found a man who could fulfill her needs - the gardener.
Even though I never loved my wife, I never sought solace outside of the marriage. I was a man raised with strong morals and convictions. I could not bring myself to deceive my wife, even if I did not care for her.
I let my head roll back against the chair, as my eyes raked over the walls. They were covered with paintings, and shelves filled with knickknacks; possessions that I had collected over my twenty-eight years alive. They were meaningless items now.
I let my eyes unconsciously fall on the grandfather clock on the opposite side of the room. I had four minutes before my torture began. I slowly rose out of the chair, and made my way to my armoire. My footfalls were quiet and resigned, the sounds reverberating off the walls, taunting me; each step bringing me closer to my nightly fate. The chair that I was just sitting in continued to creak softly as it rocked to a halt.
I opened the doors to the wardrobe and gracefully slipped off my jacket, hanging it up. Removing my pocket watch from my vest pocket, I placed it with care on one of the shelves. I popped the buttons on my vest, inching it off my shoulders and hanging it neatly on the rack. I unbuttoned the sleeves of my shirt, rolling them up to my elbows. I braced my hands against the shelf, as I did every night at this time, breathing slowly, waiting for the inevitable. And just before I was about to turn toward the bathroom - which was apart of my nightly ritual - that's when I heard it; the sound of the clock. It chimed as the hands struck 9:43, at the same exact moment the knife slid into my back.
A/N: Drop a review and let me know what you think. I know that I have two other stories that I'm working on, but writing others helps me knock out more chapters. I'm still working on my other stories, so don't worry. This is just something fun I felt like posting. I can't promise that I'll post often for this one, but I will update it.
Review if you get the chance.