I didn't like this weird house.
To be honest, I still don't and I've been here for a while now.
I walked back through the door and this time was not in front of the set of stairs that would lead to the white room we'd come from. I was instead inside a long, dimly lit corridor that seemed to carry on for some length. So far away was the end of it, that the darkness at its conclusion made everything blurred.
'Right' I thought, shaking my head. I walked on after casually kicking the door behind me shut.
The corridor, I thought, and probably do still to be fair, reminded me of a boat. An old boat, like a galleon. It was a perfect rectangle made out of wooden planks, floor to ceiling. It was lit by candles that had been shoved on top of the remnants of other spent candles, making their holders look like molten rumples of livid flesh.
What struck me as odd (not that everything I had witnessed so far wasn't odd) was the fact that there were no visible doors. Considering the length of that corridor, I thought that was just strange. Of course, I now know better.
I just dumbly wandered up this long corridor, idly thinking about how Weirdo was going to kill me.
By the time I reached the small red door at the end, I was torn between slow and painful and quick and easy.
Now pondering on what method he was thinking of using, I reached out to the round brass handle, turned it and entered.
Inside stood Weirdo by the fireplace.
Hang on, I bet you think it's wrong of me to call him 'Weirdo' don't you? Right, well, I had no name for him at that point and given the circumstances, felt it was apt. Still think it suits him to this very day.
Back to the story.
There was, as I've just said, Weirdo stood by the modest looking fireplace, his arm across the mantle and his eyes peering into the flames below. He didn't make any movement when I came in, he just stood there, gazing into the fiery depths.
The flames in this room where not that odd green colour at all, they were red. Dark red, the colour of blood. It would be hard to imagine it if you had never seen such a thing, but unlike the green flames, there was a tremendous heat coming from these. So much so that I kept myself close to the door and considered leaving it open to let some air through.
This room was small and simply furnished.
The floor was the same wooden planks as outside in the corridor, but a well worn red woven rug sat in the centre. There was a dresser in dark wood, a broken bookcase in the same material, with books propping up the broken shelves. There, stood directly to my left and straight ahead, was a couple of easy chairs made from battered red material of some sort.
Oil lamps lit the room from the walls and a candelabra sitting on top of the dresser helped a little.
On top of the mantle, either side of were Weirdo was stood, were too little ebony trinket cases. I took a step closer, away from the door, to peer at them. They caught my attention as they were quite literally the only decorative things in the entire room.
One was easily discernable as a Scorpion, so finely sculpted I wanted to look closer to observe its fine details. The other was an insect of some variety. It looked like a cricket but I have subsequently learnt that it is in fact a Grasshopper.
Weirdo did not move despite the fact I had entered and moved slightly closer to him.
I shrugged behind his back and stood feeling bored for a moment, considering what I should say in order to get this particular show on the road.
I observed him briefly.
A shock of black hair, a mask, long black coat, black suit, black shirt and no tie. He wore dress shoes though, shiny black ones that caught the light.
Not your average murderer or kidnapper, but I figured there was little point in pondering this further. I couldn't have cared less if he was dressed as Mickey Mouse as long as he just got the hell on with it.
I looked round the room again. It appeared to me that, if the white room would have been where you'd film a Jane Austen adaptation, then this would be the room you'd film a poverty stricken Victorian family piece in.
It just sort of had that vibe.
The ceiling was not wooden; I noticed as I sighed audibly and looked upwards. It was made from cracked yellowing plaster, which, as I glanced downwards, so were the walls.
"Come on then" I said eventually, folding my arms across my chest "Let's get it over with".
Still not even a flicker of movement.
I tutted and then stomped over to him and poked him with an index finger, the sort of action you see people do in movies when they want to check that the bad guy truly was dead.
To my surprise, what I touched, wasn't Weirdo. In fact, it wasn't anyone.
I didn't touch flesh as I poked his arm through his long black coat, but instead something hard, like wood or bone.
Feeling faintly confused, I bent down a little and peered at the face, only to see that it was in fact a dummy. I laughed out loud at myself. This was just another trick, an illusion. I supposed that this was the moment were I get lulled into a false sense of security and then... BAM!
"Oh yes, very original" I muttered and poked the head of the dummy in annoyance.
I looked at its hands, resting on the mantelpiece, covered in black leather gloves.
With no other exit visible and nothing better to do, I thought I would mess about with the dummy.
I could not understand what Weirdo hoped to achieve by doing this, nor could I have cared less about his motives. Perhaps I was supposed to be overwhelmed and upset, like a virgin in a horror movie. Needless to say, I wasn't nor was I going to throw myself at his feet and beg for mercy.
I pulled off the gloved and looked at the wonderfully carved hand it revealed underneath. It looked like it had been carved from marble, not just wood. I ran my fingers over it, trying to detect flaws or splinters, but found none.
I dropped the glove to the floor and turned my attention to the mask.
It was tied at the back of the head with black satin ribbon and I went about loosening the knot until I could free it from its head. I looked at it in my hands. It was identical to the one he was wearing. It had a shiny brass interior, which I could not understand how anyone could have found it comfortable to wear. The outside had a shiny black lacquer or possibly jet finished to it and gleamed in the strange glow of the fire place.
I turned it over in my hands and wondered for a moment about what makes a person wonder about wearing one of these and kidnap random girls from the streets of Paris.
Then I thought 'Meh. Don't care.'
I peered towards the face and only saw the blank white face of a mannequin, the sort you see in trendy clothes shops.
On top of the head was this thick main of black hair, long enough to tuck behind his ears. I didn't for one moment think the actual version on Weirdo's head was his and that he was sporting a syrup. I considered goading him with that right before he kills me.
I was bored now and huffed as I slumped into one of the worn chairs, shuffling to try and get comfortable. Maybe this was my oubliette and he was going to wall me up in here.
I flapped my lips as I let out a big sigh, he better get the hell on with this as I was getting fed up of his games.
I glanced down again at the mask and tried to guess its age. Knowing Weirdo, it probably was Greek.
Out of my peripheral vision I saw a movement in front of me where the dummy was and my eyes shot up in its direction.
My heart just stopped and then thumped so hard I thought I was going to pass out with the fear that suddenly gripped me.
The dummy was moving.
First its head moved upwards, then its arm from the mantle. It wasn't the blank white face I had just looked a moments before, it was wearing a mask. No, not just a mask, the mask I had in my hands. I looked down, my eyes wide in shock, only to see the mask I was holding was white and thin like paper.
How did I not notice the instant swap and change in weight? How had this happened?
My head spun.
It took me a few moments to gather my senses.
"Oh very clever" I said, my bravado admittedly shaken "Ha. Ha." I concluded pointedly.
I swear I could see the mirth behind his mask when he turned to me.
He backed towards the chair opposite me, on the other side of the fire.
"I do not know what you mean, love" he replied simply.
"Whatever" I said, sitting up straight "now, shall we get on with it? You've brought me here for a reason haven't you?"
"Yes" he replied simply.
My heart was still racing and my mind had turned to cursing myself for being so stupid as to be taken in by a silly parlour trick.
"Well..." I urged.
"I have brought you here Christine, because I love you. And because you are mine".
I pulled a face at him.
"I see. So you've been stalking me or something then?" I asked curiously.
"Not exactly" he said, frustratingly not yielding much information.
"So what exactly have you been doing? I couldn't have been much fun to stalk. I barely went to school, or outside my father's farm. Sometimes, I didn't even leave the house. What did you do? Disguise yourself as a hedge or something?" I was laughing cynically at him. I could not for the life of me understand how he could have 'not exactly' stalked me.
He leant his elbows against the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers together.
"I have been in your mind for years" he said quietly, almost reverently.
I laughed at him, full, heavy laughs.
"You kill me, you really do!" I laughed "You've been in my head and you love me. That is just magic that fella. I mean, if I was giving you a psycho rating, it'd definitely be four and a half chainsaws" I said, calming my amusement.
He did not flinch (not that I could tell from behind the mask), he just sat there, his long fingers encased in gloves, still steepled.
"So, seriously, why me? Come on, there has to be more deserving girls out there that need stalking. I don't live an interesting life. I'm not rich or pretty or have any talents. I'm just a farm hand and little else." I said, being more serious at this juncture.
"You are wrong in so many ways and on so many levels, Christine" he said.
"Well come on then. What's the attraction? What makes me so irresistible to the psycho community?" I asked, fiddling with the white paper mask in my hands.
"You are talented, it is just that you have never had the opportunity to bring it out in this life. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Ever seen. I love you, because the first time I saw you, I knew I never wished to see another creature again, as you were the embodiment of all that was great and perfect. You have lead an unfortunate life, but not via your own doing. This makes me sad" he said, his words drifting across the room to meet my ears.
"When did you first start to sta- I mean, er, when did you first see me then? Was I on my way to school or something?" I asked, my interest piqued.
"In a manner of speaking you were on your way to school. I taught you to sing" he said.
I pressed my lips together to make one long thin line.
"Sorry Mr Nutcase, you've lost me. I think you and your mates might have nabbed off with the wrong Christine" I smirked.
"No. It is definitely you Christine. I even went to the hospital the night before I came for you, just to be sure".
His words hung in the air and a shiver of nausea for some reason squelched about in my intestines.
"You were that weird thing that turned up at the door to my hospital room?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes" he replied.
"Hmm. So what you're saying is, you went to check that you were about to kidnap the right person and still messed it up? Wow. You can't even do the nutcase thing well can you? Honestly. If I knew I was going to be kidnapped and murdered by an amateur I'd have brought a book" I sneered at him.
He again, frustratingly, did not rise to the bait. He just sat there like he was the mannequin again.
If was I perfectly honest, the whole illusion thing with the coloured flames and the moving rooms was pretty impressive, but I was getting annoyed with his responses. Nothing tallied up and nothing made sense. What was worse, was that he was not giving me anything to go off, just stupid, meaningless twaddle.
I heard him sigh, a gentle sigh that you could easily mistake for a breeze.
"You must understand Christine, that it has been a very long time since we saw each other last. You have changed my dear, but I understand why. We were quite literally different people when we last saw each other, my love. Or rather, you were. I know there are many things that do not make sense, but I will try and ensure that they do. You are spirited and I will enjoy bringing that out in you, despite your rough manners and contemporary speech inflections."
His voice had this sumptuous feel to it. I can't explain it. It was like you could weave a blanket out of it and wrap yourself in it and be comforted forever.
I think my reaction at the time was to laugh in his face.
"Whatever mate, I'd remember if I'd seen a mental-case like you knocking about. Either that or I already know you, hence why you wear the mask. Is that it? Are you some dodgy farm hand or something? Well take it off then, what am I going to do? Run away? No. I'm ready to die, and have no fear of death. So you have nothing to worry about." I said in an even tone.
He cocked his head to one side again and observed me for a moment.
I remember thinking that I'd struck a nerve with that, was he someone I knew?
"You have not seen me for over one hundred years Christine. So no. I am unlikely to be someone from your life away from this place now, am I not?" his voice had a bit more life to it now. I was certainly glad about it. That sort of sing-song coolness to his voice just made him sound more other-worldly. Now he seemed a bit more real during this exchange.
I smiled at him sarcastically, narrowing my eyes.
"Let me guess, you are a phantom, a recluse and you live on the underground lake thing under Paris. I am the reincarnation of your long lost love. Right? I bet you even have portrait of me in your bedroom and your fawn over it daily. Is that right? Have I got it right this time? If so, I'm disappointed" I said, frowning.
He shuffled in his seat for a moment and said nothing.
"Is that it? This whole thing is because you've based your entire psychosis on the plot of a terribly b-movie. Is that it? Seriously? I am bitterly disappointed. I thought you were going to say pixies told you to do it, or God. I mean, that would have been enough for me. Now you're just being plain boring" I huffed again and sat back in my seat, ensuring my arms were tightly folded and a firm scowl was smeared across my face.
"I think you need to be taught a few things, my dearest girl" he said, speaking in a calm, soothing tone that just made me more annoyed.
"Tonight, I will let you sleep on the shore outside the house and you will, by morning, come to understand the way of things. I do not wish to do this to you, my darling, you have to understand. But this modernistic life you have lead has corrupted your beautiful mind. Oh Christine, my love..." and his voice trailed off as though he was fighting with his emotions.
"Just so you know mate, nothing you have said to me so far even remotely makes sense. Nor have your weird little games, so as much as I should be pained to see you upset, I'm not and I could not care less if I tried" I spat at him with venom threaded through my words.
He shook his head at me very slowly and before I could open my mouth to ask what he was doing that for, I felt my eyelids involuntarily close and darkness arrest my being.