Hello, and thank you for reading the second chapter of my original Amnesia story, Elizabeth. My original plan was to use this story in an actual Amnesia game, but I've learned there's a reason why I never did go into game design in the end.
Characters and story are original, saved for the elements and monsters from the original game.
Please leave reviews; they are inspiring, helpful, and encouraging, good or bad.
Elizabeth's eyes gazed over her father's form when he opened the door. She was amazed by how decrypted he looked from when she left this house twelve years ago.
There was a moment of silence after Elizabeth's scream finished echoing off the walls, the young woman. She waited to see what would be the consequence of her cry of fear. Five, ten, thirty minutes passed. She kept expecting that shriveled, wheezing, chain rattling figure of her father to jump her, make her judgment day come for getting out of her room, but the longer she waited, the more she realized that he was probably gone. After thirty five minutes of keeping hidden, she crawled over the edge of her hiding spot, and looked around the shelves that were blocking the view of her from the main part of the room. She couldn't help but give a sigh of relief when she saw no dark figures, heard no chains, and she could no longer smell blood. She was safe.
Coming out from hiding, she cautiously crept out. She did a few more scans of the room, straining her eyes to make out any forms she could. Luckily a little light was able to creep in from the kitchen where, judging by the glow, there was a wood fire burning in there. Standing upright and using the wall to guide her, she walked out of the food pantry. She stepped over splinters of the door, all which remained of the frame that had once stood, unable to take the beating it had received... It cracked and snapped under her weight, and the sound was causing her to jump every time.
This place was different then it use to be, this entire house was. It cried and moaned, the walls were shaking fearsomely. It was dark outside still, and there was a wind moving the trees outside. She could see bare limbs shaking and scratching the side of the house. This was wrong. When she had entered the house it was spring, all the trees around the house were green. Now they were bare, dark, and seemingly dead. What had happened while she was out? There was no way all the trees had died this quickly. What would have caused this?
Looking around the kitchen, she had a moment to take it in. It was strange, unfamiliar mixed with nostalgia the place still had its same old stone construction with two windows, surrounded by wood counters and a large open wooden stove, but something was off. There was a powerful smell that overwhelmed her, making her regret her peaches at once. She had never smelled anything quite like it before, and the putrid stench was like a heavy cloud, overbearing her. Elizabeth raised her arm to her nose and mouth, trying to use it to block out the smell. It helped a little, she didn't feel like it was weighing down her lugs, but it still stung her nose and the back of her throat. What was this? It was such a strong smell she couldn't pinpoint the source. She wanted to throw open the windows for fresh air, but as all the windows in this house were, they were barred shut. Father had iron bars attached to all the windows. He insisted it was for safety, but it was to keep anyone from escaping. There was no escaping that truth.
Her green eyes turned to the oven, and at once she spotted what was wrong there. There were low embers in the oven, and roasting in it was a pig, but it wasn't a normal pig. It looked as if it had been left in the open, not chilled and uncured. The result of this was ghastly. It was decaying, flesh clinging to bones as is slowly rotted off. Considering it was decomposing, it must have just recently been added to the fire. She had to get out of here, she couldn't take this smell. It was getting into her hair and clothes, she just knew it.
Hast makes waist, and that was probably the case here. Miss. Newcastle had no time to search the room for any objects that would be of use, she was in such a hurry to leave that room behind. She burst through the heavy oak door that lead into the dining hall. She was out of the stench, but even after closing the thick door, the smell lingered. It had invaded her; it had seeped into her very pores it seemed. When she got out of here she would take a long hot bath with bathing oils, and she would scrub every inch of her skin beet red or until that smell was removed. She only hoped the smell wasn't permanent
She had never liked this dining hall; it was ridiculous it had a long dining table with chairs all around it. Even now it was made up for dinner with plates and wine glasses all around it. Father use to entertain a lot, so this room had been used the most in the house probably by guests. Even more then the parlor room. Elizabeth had hated this room. She had not been allowed to enter this room often. If there were guest over, she was instructed to eat elsewhere. She was never allowed to touch anything on the tables, and the only time she was allowed in here was when she was sneaking into the kitchen or when there were family meals. There were rarely family meals though, it seems almost every day there were people here to eat. Sometimes the cook forgot about the child not getting a meal, in those cases, those were the days she would hide in her secret world and snack on canned fruits.
The child was okay with this, she was okay with all of this. Not having to eat with her old man, and not having to sit in this room. The china cabinet on the interior wall was filled with old bone china she would have been beaten for if she ever thought of touching it. On two of the walls it was covered in windows, tall arching ones with suits of armor between each one. At night she use to swear she heard their metal joints moving and squeaking as they roamed the house at night. She knew they were possessed and would kill anyone caught in their halls at night.
Elisabeth had known this as a child in her heart, and this was her reason for always locking her door at night and pushing a chair against the handle before bed. There had been times when the vengeful spirits in the suits of armor would bang on her door all night scaring her until first dawn. It was night now. Would these suits of armor come after her as they had as a child? She didn't want to find out, but in her heart she knew that they would.
She did not trust them; there were probably demons in them that walked in them. Hoping to distil the evil within them, she walked over to each suit and removed their heads, setting them beside the suits of armor. Her heels were noisy on the old wooden floors, and if it wasn't for how disturbed that she was over the armor, she would be concerned that her father would hear her in here. That did not matter though at the moment.
One, two, three, four... Were there not five suits of armor? She turned around on the spot and found one more suit of armor in the room. It had been hiding in the corning near where she had entered. She had been so consumed by thought and her fears that she hadn't realized she had walked right passed it.
She took the first step towards it to remove the head, but took no more. The house started to quake as a moaning roar moved the house. She found herself whimpering as she looked at the ceiling above her. She could hear footsteps that was her father's room, was it not?
Deciding against beheading the suit of armor she hurried out to the hall, closing the door to the dining room behind her. She had no time to marvel at the grandeur of the entry hall, she needed to act fast. If she wanted to survive this and kill her father she needed to find a weapon. Where was the best place for this though? If she went upstairs now to face her father she would have nothing to use against him. Her best shot was her father's work lab in the cellar below. That was accessible from this floor. Behind the stair case going up was another set that went down. Her father had always kept it locked before and never let anyone down there, but perhaps he had forgotten.
She lifted up her skirt with both hands and hurried over to the stair case, trying to make as little noise as possible. She gripped the rails when she was at the descending steps. The dark iron door loomed ahead. She did not see a lock on it, but it had always been in the door, had it not? She would have to push on it to see if it was latched or not.
She was only a few steps down when she felt the hairs on her neck stand up. She was being watched, but by what? She didn't hear anything or anyone coming, and on these wooden floors, that was near impossible. She turned around and stifled a scream by covering her mouth with her hand. Fear washed over her as she looked up at the suit of armor with a head. It had followed her. She took a step backwards and stumbled down many more until her back was to the door. She felt that if she took her eye off it for even a moment it would do unspeakable things. She didn't blink, she didn't turn her back to it, not even when she started slamming her weight into the door and feeling it. How was this thing supposed to open? Her father had always unlocked it and pushed it; that was it, it was locked after all. She had known it from the start, that was just how her father was. She would have to search for a weapon elsewhere, preferably where there wasn't a possessed suit of armor. At least it wasn't bothering her at the moment. That was something to be thankful for, was it not? Maybe it could not move as long as she was looking? That seemed likely, it would explain why she was not dead, it could have easily done that with the sword it had in its hand.
A sword... Now that he thought about it, that was a weapon, the question though was did she want to risk getting that close to the suit of armor? He was clearly active after all, he had come here. She decided against this and started to walk around the suit of armor, back up the stairs. Father's work room was locked and she didn't want to touch the armor here, so what other options did she have for something to wield? Did she run across anything in the past rooms to use?
In her room she recalled nothing, she had turned that place inside out after all and had found nothing but tinderboxes the pantry was also bare of weapons unless you counted canning goods. Maybe it could be used as a projectile, but the best she could do with that was bruise a head, possibly cause some bleeding. There were most defiantly knives in the kitchen; would that be of any use?
Ugh, that kitchen, the idea of going in there for a knife caused her stomach to churn. The very thought of the smell from that baking, ill pig made her want to retch once again. If it was at all possible, she wanted to avoid that room again, even if it did mean she would have a knife.
The dining room was a possibility. The cook always had kept the silver in the hutch in there, and in there she could find dining knives and forks. They weren't the best weapon, but maybe they would be useful.
She stumbled up a stair and grabbed the railing to try and steady herself. She didn't blink; she did not want to tear her eyes away from that suit of armor. She could not risk it getting any closer to her, not with it's...
"The other suits swords!" She exclaimed to herself, her thoughts turning to the swords they had been holding. Their heads had been removed, so surely the magic spellbinding them was broken and their swords would be safe to hold. This was better than any flatware the silver hutch held! Joyous at the thought she had located a weapon, moving herself one step closer to her goal, she walked backwards to the dining hall doors, making sure she kept her eyes in the direction of where she left the suit of armor. Her view of him slowly became blocked by the staircase going upstairs. It didn't seem to matter though. As long as she kept looking in the direction, it couldn't sneak up on her. She paused at the door, hand on the handle. Silence, that was all she could hear over her racing heart. Her adrenalin was really rushing right now, eyes darting around the open room. Every flash of lightning which created long and foreign shadows made her want to jump, but she restrained herself. She needed to stay as calm as possible.
Her hand pulled down on the porcelain L shaped door handle, and she took her eyes off the stairs for just a moment to look into the room before she ran in. She stifled a scream when she found her entry was blocked by the suits of armor. All of them had their heads again and they were bubbled around the door, looking as if they had been ready to burst through. Her breath caught in her throat and she hurried to slam the door on them, but when she turned to flee the accursed dining room, she found the set that had been chasing her right there. Out of fright she jumped back, her scream having no air to be audible. Her landing from her action of shock didn't stick, the heels of her boots caused her to tilt back and she fell to the ground with a thump. She could feel her tail bone crying in pain from meeting the hard wooden floor, but she couldn't say anything or do anything, she could only look up frightened.
What did it want? Why was it doing this? She wanted to scream at it, but she couldn't, she had to keep quiet.
After what had probably been five minutes, Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet. She wasn't going to be foolish; she did not let her eyes leave the armor as she circled around it, backing towards the other side of the entry hall, backing towards the sitting room. She would just barricade herself in here and devise her own weapon. Lightning flashed again followed by the roar of the thunder, the light that washed the room shimmered off the polished metal, making it almost blinding to look at. She didn't blink though; she simply felt behind her for the touch of cold porcelain and pulled down on the handle.
"I'm onto you accursed beasts!" She hissed at the glistening, hallow man in the raw electric light as she slipped into the room and locked the door behind her.
She had always been fond of the sitting room; this was one of the few rooms she was allowed in. It was the only room she had been allowed in when guests were over. As a proper child, she was to be seen but not heard. She had always been a proper young lady too, sitting quietly in her little rocking chair when her presence was requested. She would sit, outside of the circle the furniture created for gossiping, by her window. She would often stare out of it and day dream. When the windows were open and they would stir the white cloth curtains, she would dream she was in the clouds, flying. Of course this was all just foolish thoughts. Childish even, her father would have beaten her if she has spoken of what her imagination would play in her head.
The frightened young woman glanced around the room. It was in the same fashion as when she left, of course now covered in a few layers of dust. The entire room was dressed in a faded shade of red. From the rugs, wall paper, and furniture it was all the same. Same lumpy, velvet couches surrounding a long oak table (unfortunately now having a bowl of rotting apples on it). The fireplace was empty, only allowing the cold wind that partnered the storm outside. Elizabeth ignored the cold, and instead turned her focus on her lone wooden rocking chair. Nostalgia washed over her as she walked over to it, brushing her hand over the polished wood. It was hard she was ever this small as a child. That poor, innocent child forced to bare such a heavy burden. What she would have given to be able to just think back on old memories like that, but she couldn't, she still had work to do. She had to find a weapon, and the low, ghastly roars from above her were there to remind her of that.
She walked around the room, looking in every corner for something she could use. The best she had found so far though was an old candlestick made of cast iron. Her father use to tell her that when suitors started to come for her, he would use that to measure how much time they were allotted the visit. She couldn't recall how it worked, but she hardly thought it was a lethal weapon.
A flash of lightning followed by the immediate roar caused something to grab her attention. Elizabeth looked where a glistening of a golden shimmer had drawn her attention. There in a darkened corner she saw an old gramophone this caused a smile to form on her face and her fears to be forgotten for just a moment. She approached the equipment and stroked it, cleaning off the dust. Memories of dancing to the music it produced flooded her head, and she found her hand resting on the handle to crank it. On the turn table there was a disk on there. Curiosity washed over her as of what the disk contained. Was it gospel music or dancing music? She hoped for gospel as she turned the handle, the sound of Amazing Grace would surly give her the strength to carry on in this night.
Her eyes watched the needle on the arm bounce over the warped disk, but it turned, and started to produce a scratchy replay. For a moment she questioned what would happen if her father heard, but her mind dismissed that thought immediately as her voice started to sing out from the device.
"Marry had a little lamb,
Little lamb,
Little Lamb!
Marry had a little lamb, who's fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Marry went,
Marry went,
Marry went!
Everywhere that Marry went, the lab was sure to go!"
The child voice paused, and there was a moment she wondered if that was the end of the record until her younger self spoke up again.
"Mother, did you like that song? I sang it about you, because you're Marry! I'm still your little lamb, aren't I? See Mother? I sound just like a lamb!"
There was no response from her mother in the recording, but Elizabeth remembered that she had been in the room this had been record in. She had been there in her bed, wasting away.
"Mother? Why don't you sing with me anymore? Look at me!"
Those were the last words before the recording ended.
Elizabeth sighed, there had been hope she would hear her mother's voice one last time at least. She turned to return to her searching, but found herself gripped in fear. She was no longer alone in this room. There on the other side of the room was a grotesque form.
It looked like a terrifying cross between a man and demon. It had no distinguishable face, but rather its entire head was split open with jagged teeth. Diseased ridden, sick skin hung onto its frame, barely covered by a ragged, green dress of sorts. It almost as if there were large tumors on his legs where great bulges seemed to weigh its legs. None of this embarrassed her or terrified her as much as the strange metal frame and needles protruding his skin, or the large, cleaver like sword for a left arm.
Young Newcastle barely had time to register what she was looking at before the creature charged her, his left arm raised to slash her. All that she could do was stand frozen to the spot, immobilized by her own fear.