Oz has fallen into a routine.
Wake up, eat, read, eat, tend to the garden, eat, draw, shower and brush his teeth, sleep.
Then repeat, repeat, repeat.
And sometimes he goes to the bathroom.
The attic has been cleared of the boxes, and replaced by a small blue bed and writing desk. His few possessions were unpacked only to be shoved into a large wooden chest, and the window has had the boards removed. Still, the dust and shadows linger, though it is not unfriendly.
He welcomes the emptiness of his new room, even finds it relaxing.
And in that room, he has the perfect view of the garden, and the rusty iron gates that guard the property. So far, there have been no visitors, except for the moving company and those Ms. Kate hired to refurbish the house. There are no friendly neighbors, no salespeople, or even a stray cat. Not that he has a problem with that.
He shuts himself away from the world, left alone with his books, the photograph (which he hides under a bunch of scrap paper in a desk drawer), and the garden.
Still, his favorite place in the house is not the attic, but the library. It is a reasonably large room, filled with shelves upon mahogany shelves of books. A skinny, steep staircase leads up to an overhang of sorts, a thin walkway, where there is a more recent selection of works. A grand chandelier hangs from the sky-painted ceiling, and the stone hearth provides plenty of warm, buttery light and heat.
It is a safe haven for him, a place where he can drown himself in intricate words and tales of far, far away. It takes his mind off of the violet-eyed girl, if only for a couple of hours.
She haunts him, but he's not sure that that's a bad thing.
"Oz, get your nose out of those silly fairy tales and go get the mail! There are important letters for me about the house!"
Silly fairy tales? He snorts derisively, shutting War and Peace with unnecessarily angry force. But he does not object, instead stands and stretches with the laziness of a teenage boy who had spent the last few weeks shut up in a dusty old room. With an awkward sort of gait, he makes his way out the chipped front doors to the mail box, which leans on the hedges just outside the gate.
He opens it, and takes out the letters, his movements sluggish and his mind even slower. The rest of his actions are a haze, his body moving before his mind even begins to comprehend what is going on. Oz then shuts the gates and walks up the path, slouching as he flips through the mail listlessly.
"Hey, I've never seen you around before!" A cheerful voice giggles. It startles him, and he drops the mail.
There is a girl, no older than eleven or twelve, standing behind the gates, staring at him with large, clear blue eyes. The way she leers at him is unnerving. He thinks quietly to himself that she looks rather like Little Red Riding Hood gone wrong, with her long, garishly red cloak. Her bob cut auburn hair, pumpkin pants, and frills make her look like an innocent child, but the tattoo on her face says differently.
"Are you listening?" She inquires in her high, sing-song soprano. "Hellooo?"
"W-Who are you?" He mentally curses himself for stuttering, but there is something about her that he does not like.
"I'm Lily!" She chirps, like it should be obvious. "And you're Oz."
"How did you know my name?" He responds, bending down slowly to pick up the letters. They are all addressed to Ms. Kate about the house. He does not take his eyes off of her.
"It's a small town," She says simply, rocking on the balls of her feet.
She does not speak for a few moments, and he takes it as a sign that he should leave. Oz edges his way up the path uneasily, and when he is just at the door, she calls out,
"Hey, did you know your house is cursed?"
"Cursed?" He echoes, turning his attention from the door back to her.
"Mmhmm," Lily nods, smiling eerily. "That's the rumor. Curses follow the Baskervilles all around, yes they do."
"Baskervilles?"
"Oh, yes. Baskervilles, haven't you heard of them? They're said to bring misfortune everywhere they go!" Lily grins slyly. "Once upon a time, this house used to be the Baskerville's home. No one was allowed to enter except them. No visitors, not even a door to door salesperson. Do you know why? The Baskervilles had a prisoner. A girl—I saw her once… She had very sad looking eyes. They kept her locked up in the attic."
He freezes.
"Then one day, she disappeared. Gone. And one by one, the Baskervilles left the house," She says ominously.
"What happened to them?" He wishes he didn't ask.
"Some went insane, others…" She shrugs innocently. "I don't know."
Suddenly, the grin is back.
"But one of them is locked up in the asylum at the edge of town—completely bonkers, that one. I heard she tried to strangle one of the nurses!"
He keeps his silence.
"And did you know? Did you know? She has visitors today! I saw them!"
"How do you know all this?" Oz blurts out, putting a hand on the doorknob.
"Like I said," She laughs. "It's a small town."
Oz turns the doorknob, and is about to close the door when she yells, "And I'm a Baskerville!"
He slams it.
He'd be lying if he said that he isn't scared to go in his room again.
Oswald clears his throat, and from where Alice stands, she swears she can see his eyes watering. He brushes himself off and backs away a little. Lacie fixes her attention back to her book, eyes unblinking.
"Lacie," He addresses her once more. She looks irritated when she looks up again. "I'm your brother, Oswald. Would you—would you like to meet your daughters?"
"Brother," She repeats distractedly. "Daughters."
"This is Alyss," He takes the pale twin's hand and guides her to stand next to her mother. "And this is Alice."
She stiffly walks over without having Oswald pull her, and a chill dances along her spine. She feels as though her mother, her insane, unfeeling mother, can pierce her soul. All the lies she's told, all the things she's ashamed of, she thinks numbly that Lacie can see it all.
"Alice? Alice?" Lacie's eyes seem to darken, as she fixates her gaze on Alice, who looks small in the presence of her own kin. "Alice, how did you fall down the rabbit hole?"
They cannot think of what to say, and Mrs. Finn watches nervously from the door, ready to call for help. Alice's mouth is dry, as Lacie's scarlet eyes burn holes in her face. Those red eyes search her hungrily, desperate for the answers that she does not have.
"Could you… Could you guide him down this deep, dark hole?"
"Him?" Alyss murmurs curiously.
Oswald tenses beside the twins.
"He said he would stay forever…"
"Alice, Alyss," Oswald says, his voice tight and strained. "Go out in the hall, please. I need to speak to her alone."
"B-But Oswald," Alyss whimpers in protest, but he shakes her off.
"Go."
As they leave, Alice catches a few snippets of the Oswald's hushed words to Lacie, who sits like a porcelain doll, staring at the white walls that Alice suddenly sees as a cage. She has to strain her ears to make out the words, as they are fleeting like morning frost. They are barely murmurs, more breaths than tangible words.
"Levi….Jack… Gone."
She turns to her sister, who seems to have heard as well.
"Jack," She whispers.
Author's Note: What am I doing to this story? I have no idea. This plot confuses me as well, but I've grown really fond of it. I've decided everyone's roles except for Jack. I just know he plays a major part—what's wrong with me? Oh right, everything. I just feel like burying myself under six feet of sand. Thanks for reading and a merry Christmas (late) to all!