Disclaimer: Crimson Peak is Guillermo Del Toro's property, Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke, The Lodgers to Brian O'Malley. Emma, Constance and I are self-inserts. The old lady from Camden Market belongs to Chibimelodee.
Summary: Ghosts are real and everything happens for a reason. Is this why Marina and her friends find themselves trapped in Allerdale Hall a few days away from Christmas?
Author's note: This story was written for me by « Emma » and « Constance » from Chibimelodee as an Advent Calendar two years ago. Please note that all three of us are french and while we do know our way around English, we might still make some mistakes. Feel free to let us know! As the three girls are french and start to speak from this chapter, I'll put the translations of their sentences right next to them so you know what they say.
At the Candlelight
Chapter 6: They are real!
Constance came face to face with the man she had seen in her dreams. They stood there a moment, glaring at each other, clearly both shocked. If Thomas had still a heart capable of beating, he could have felt it raced… She could see him… How was it possible ? He had spent the entire evening with the three women, near the fireplace without any of them noticed his presence… And now, she was seeing him… A shy smile graced his lips, hoping to replace the surprise in his eyes.
« You scared me ! Can you not do that ?... Vous savez, apparaître sans prévenir… » Constance whispered, her voice still shaking with fear. (You know, appearing with no warning!)
She wasn't able to hide the shock in her eyes. Something seemed to feel uncomfortable. Thomas lowered his gaze shyly and took some steps back, his eyes locked on the suitcases near his feet.
What now, my love, now that you left me ?
How can I live through another day
Frowning slightly, he apologized, his voice as sweet as honey : « I am really sorry,
Miss P. … I didn't mean to… You… Were you leaving ? A snowstorm is coming, it would not be wise to… »
« Pourquoi est-ce que vous êtes tout blanc ?... et transparent ?... Je ne sais pas si vous êtes au courant, mais il y a une sorte de fumée rouge qui sort de votre joue ! » the young woman interrupted, glaring at him with intensity. (Why are you all white ? And translucent ? I don't know if you are aware but there's some kind of red smoke coming out of your cheek!)
Thomas rose his eyes to meet hers, not seeming to understand what she had just said. He slowly put his hand on his cheek before answering in a sigh :
« Oh ! This ?... It's where Lucille stab me… »
« Who's Lucille ? She must be really mad… Why did she do that? » Constance asked, curiosity mixing with confusion.
« What is this dog doing here ? How is it possible it's still alive ? » the Baronet exclaimed. The little dog woke up and ran to him, clearly happy to meet him again. Thomas glared at it, frowning with a mix of fear and disgust.
« Is it your dog ? It's so cute and seems to like you ! What is its name ? » she asked, amused to see Thomas bending and awkwardly petting the head of the dog who, happy, went to go back to sleep again on the bed.
Clearly uneasy, Thomas ruffled his hair and cleared his throat : « No, no ! It's not my dog… Let's say it is the… Well, I let it live here, in my house… And… I don't know if it has a name… I just call it « dog » ! ».
« Oui, d'un certain côté, j'aurais trouvé ça bizarre si vous l'aviez appelé « cat » ou « bunny » !... Et donc, pour en revenir à nos moutons… Who's Lucille ? » Constance asked again, staring at him with suspicion. (Yes and come to think of it, I'd have find it weird if you had called it cat or bunny. And yes, coming back to our business... Who's Lucille?)
His behaviour was really strange,
« Lucille is my sister… As I was saying, I don't think it's wise to leave now ! You should… » the Baronet answered, clearly not eager to see the young woman leave and not prone to answer some of her questions.
Watching my dreams turn into ashes
And all my hopes into bits of clay ?
Once I could see, once I could feel
Now I'm numb, I've become unreal
I walk the night, oh, without a goal
Stripped of my heart, my soul
« Ne changez pas de sujet ! Pourquoi votre sœur vous a-t-elle fait ça ?... Attendez une minute… Vous ne seriez pas un psychopathe par hasard ? » She retorted, frowning, trying to look down at him, even if he was taller than she. (Don't change the subject! Why did you sister do that yo you? Wait a minute? Wouldn't you be a psychopath, just curious?)
« Good Lord, no ! I must admit I had made some… mistakes… while I was alive, but my mental sanity had never been questioned ! What could have made you think that I… » he exclaimed, not able to look offended, couldn't stop from laughing in front of her attempt of intimidation… She was truly adorable…
« Je ne sais pas… Peut-être le fait que vous apparaissiez de nulle part sans prévenir !... Oh et puis la chemise de nuit… » Constance answered, trying to keep her harsh look despite his laugh. He was so cute…
(I don't know, maybe the fact that you appear out of nowhere with no warning! Oh, and the nightgown...)
« Was it not at your taste ? » he asked, suddenly worried.
« Oh ! No, no, no ! Not at all !... It's really pretty… And I like it… Le problème n'est pas là ! C'est juste que… Enfin j'aurais aimé savoir… Comment se fait-il que je me sois réveillée dans cette chemise de nuit ? » she asked, trying to avoid his eyes. Despite his pale color, she could swear he was blushing and he lowered his head, trying to hide his embarrassment.
(This isn't the issue! It's just that... Well, I would have liked to know... How come I have woken up in that nightgown?)
« Ah !... Err !... Well… It's not what you think it is… Well, actually, it is, but… Do believe that I didn't… » he mumbled, clearing his throat. He straightened up, seeming to act with a newfound assurance : « Miss P. it is not proper for a woman… a young woman… to wear pants… even in the intimacy of a bedroom ! »
« Non mais attendez une minute, espèce de pervers ! Ma tenue était tout ce qu'il y a de plus correct ! Ce qui ne l'est pas en revanche, Sir, c'est votre attitude ! Déshabiller une fille dans son sommeil n'est absolument pas « proper »… Et en plus, je vous signale que je n'étais pas la seule femme en pantalon dans cette chambre ! Alors expliquez-moi un peu… Vous n'aviez pas envie de les déshabiller ou alors vous avez tout simplement manqué de temps ? » the young woman flared up, clearly outraged by his answer.
(Hey, wait a minute, you pervert ! My outfit was more than proper ! What isn't proper however, Sir, is your attitude ! To undress a girl in her sleep is absolutely not proper ! Besides, I remind you I wasn't the only girl wearing pants in that room ! So tell me ! Did you not want to undress them or did you simply lack time?)
He slowly went near her, he held up both hands, to signal he meant no harm, apologies written in his eyes. He breathed deeply before he spoke, seeming to think every word : « Miss, I think I badly expressed myself… I didn't mean to offend you… I'm sorry if my attitude hurt you… It was not my intention… I… I just wish the woman I court… »
« Je vous demande pardon ? La femme que vous quoi ? Cette dame est-elle au courant que vous vous amusez à déshabiller de pauvres femmes sans défense ? » Constance interrupted, her mouth and eyes wide open.
(I beg your pardon? The woman you what? Is this lady aware that you enjoy undressing defenceless poor women?)
« Miss, your reaction is a little disproportionate… You are mistaken. I assure you that I do not amuse myself… and yes, I think she knows ! Maybe you don't understand the word « court » ? » he asked with shyness, insecurity filling him again. Could it be she didn't understand his intentions ? Could it be he had misled the link that seemed to be woven between them the night before ? Or maybe she just didn't understand what he had just say.
« Euh non ! Je pense avoir compris le sens de ce mot… Merci ! Ce que je n'arrive pas à comprendre en revanche, c'est la situation actuelle ! Nous nous sommes rencontrés cette nuit… dans un rêve… Et vous parlez déjà de me « court » ! Qu'est-ce qui a pu vous faire penser que j'étais d'accord pour me laisser « court » par vous ! Me demander mon avis ne vous est pas venu à l'esprit ? » she asked, her voice full of sarcasm, her body shaking with rage.
(Err no, I think I understood the word's meaning, thanks. What I do not understand however is the current situation! We met last night... in a dream... and you're already talking of courting me? What made you believe I agreed to being courted by you? Asking for my approval didn't come to mind?)
At her words, he froze a moment… How could he have been so stupid ?... How could he have believed she was sharing his feelings ?
Once I could see, once I could feel
Now I'm numb, I've become unreal
I walk the night, oh, without a goal
Stripped of my heart, my soul
What now, my love, now that it's over ?
I feel the world closing in on me
He had promised to protect her and all he has managed to do was scaring her and pushing her to leave ! He was, still and always, a monster… sentenced to remake the same mistakes ? He looked at her broken, his eyes shining with tears he was barely holding.
What now, my love, now that you're gone ?
I'd be a fool to go on and on
No one would care, no one would cry
If I should live or die
What now, my love, now there is nothing ?
Constance felt something in her broke in front of his depressed look and couldn't help herself but softened. He saw the anger attenuating on her face and regained hope. He just needed to make her understand. He slowly took her hands, stroking them slightly with his thumbs to try to soothe her : « My dear Constance, since I met you, I feel as if a link, a thread, exists between your soul and mine. And that, should that link be broken by distance or time… Well, I fear my heart would cease to beat and die… for a second time. And you, my Darling, you'd soon forget about me… »
« Caramels, bonbons et chocolats… C'est pas bientôt fini, Alain Delon !... C'est drôle mais j'ai l'impression que c'est pas la première fois que vous récitez ce genre de chose… Votre discours a l'air bien rodé, félicitations ! C'est du grand art ! On pourrait presque y croire… » Constance exclaimed, rolling her eyes, tugged between exasperation and incredulity. She wanted at the same time to laugh at his surreal declaration, to shout her anger and to take him in her arms, whispering that, deep down in her heart, she felt exactly the same.
(Caramels, sweets and chocolates... Are you done Alain Delon? It's funny but I have the feeling this isn't the first tome you recite this kind of things... Your speech seems well ground, congrats! Masterpiece! We might almost believe it!)
« Yes, it is true that I had already said those words, but it doesn't mean they are false… I assure you I mean every one of them ! My feelings for you… How did you call me ? My name is not Alain Delon ! And, is this what you want ? Candies ? » Thomas rushed to answer, raising an eyebrow, confused by her sayings. He wasn't absolutely sure to understand what she was saying anymore… And maybe she didn't understand him as well… Which might be, to his opinion, the only possible explanation! Languages evolve with time… He doubted now of his few notions of French he had.
« Ah bon, sans blague! » she exclaimed, bursting out of laughter. (No kidding!)
His confusion was just too hilarious. He was trying the best he could to hide his fears she might become mad, without succeeding… How could she stay mad at him ? It was just impossible…
« Je sais parfaitement que vous n'êtes pas plus Alain Delon que je ne suis Dalida... C'était juste... Vous savez la chanson... Euh non! Vous ne savez pas... Elle est sortie bien après votre... Vous savez quoi ? Ce n'est pas grave !... Pas grave du tout... On va essayer d'oublier ça... Allez hop ! On rembobine... Ah zut... Vous ne devez pas non plus être très familier avec cette notion... ».
(I'm perfectly aware you aren't Alain Delon just as much as I'm not Dalida. It was just, you know, the song! Err, well, no, you don't, it came out way after you... You know what, it does not matter, not one bit, we'll try and forget it! Let's rewind... Damn, you aren't very familiar with this notion either!)
She was trying the best she could to control her laughter, which was not easy, facing his more and more perplexed face. He stared at her with bewilderment, frowning, his lips forming a pouted thin line, his head cocking slightly on the side like he was trying to understand what could possibly make her laugh. The only thing he could think of was that this woman was a mystery… a very pleasant mystery… but a mystery nevertheless.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to be serious again. She slightly tightened her grip on his hands and stared sadly at him :
« Monsieur Sharpe... Thomas... Je suis vraiment flattée par l'intérêt que vous me manifestez... Je ne pourrai sans doute jamais vous remercier pour votre hospitalité et votre protection... Oh Thomas, vous avez l'air de quelqu'un de très bien, mais vous êtes... Enfin ce que j'essaie de vous dire c'est... C'est que je ne suis pas... »
(Mister Sharpe... Thomas... I'm really flattered by the interest you are showing me... I might never be able to thank you enough for your hospitality and your protection... And Thomas, you seem like a very good person but you're... What I'm trying to tell you is that... I'm not...)
« Pamela ! » he sighed, fear suddenly clouded his eyes before he disappeared, leaving Constance alone in the bedroom. Her hands hugging now emptiness, she sighed. It was now her turn to be lost thanks to his repartee.
« Euh... Oui... Merci pour cette précision de la plus grande utilité ! J'allais dire que je n'étais pas morte, mais ça fonctionne aussi... Il me paraît maintenant évident que je ne... suis... pas... Pamela ! Je ne m'étais pas rendue compte que je me prenais pour Pamela, mais cette révélation va vraiment changer ma vie ! » Constance screamed sarcastically, her face up to the ceiling, hoping he could hear her, wherever he was.
(Err, yes, thanks for this most useful precision! I was going to say I wasn't dead but this works too. It now seems obvious to me that I am not Pamela! I didn't realize before that I thought I was her but this reveal is going to change my life!)
Without an answer from him, which wasn't a big surprise, she rolled her eyes and shrugged with an exaggerated sigh… She had had too many rots for the day, for the week even, if not for the coming month… Blasted ghosts !
She took the suitcases and got them out of the room. Coming to the door, she turned back, one last time and yelled :
« Et j'espère que ce n'est pas à cette Pamela que tu as raconté les mêmes salades, oh lucky owner of this lovely house ! »
(And I hope this isn't the same Pamela you wooed with your lies, h lucky owner of this lovely house !)
Emma and Marina were silently strolling in the corridor of the second floor, their vision clouded by their ghost disguises. They had waited without moving for long… very long… minutes… at most a quarter of an hour, hidden in enhancement on the first floor and had grown tired to not see a single soul. Emma had then doubted her plan that was yet unstoppable and Marina had started to believe that all of this story of haunted mansion was just one of Constance's joke. Both women had decided to haunt another floor. After all, they hadn't seen a thing here and preferred to ignore the squeaking and slamming of the doors. It was an old house, so it was normal that the doors gritted sometimes, wasn't it ?... And the fact that these squeaking looked like dying moans was not pertinent at all… and absolutely not worrying… After having jumped for the umpteenth time, they thought that if the « ghosts » didn't come to them, they were coming to the « ghosts » ! Of to the second floor, they went… What could a psychopath do against two adventurous, courageous and reckless young women ?... Nothing ! He had just to watch out… It's really not proper to scare people like that. He will only have to blame himself.
The second floor looked exactly like the first one : the same heavy layer of dust, the same English spiders which, unlike the psychopath, didn't try to hide at all, the same endless corridor which would have made Stephen King shivered with envy, the same dark molding which looked like sharp teeth, the same creaking doors they didn't want to open. Ghosts could stay hidden as long as they wanted behind them, it was just out of questions they would open them… In fact, Constance had been completely mad to have opened one last one to find them a bedroom. No wonder she had been assaulted when the door itself seemed to have murder ideas… It was simple, if they had been at her place, they would have slept in the corridor… It would have been perfect ! Who needed to sleep on a bed when you had an adventurous soul ?
Marina suddenly stopped Emma's wheelchair and leaned to whisper to her ear : « Em, tu vas rire ! J'ai vraiment l'impression d'être en mission secrète... Tu sais, comme dans Galavant ! ».
(Em, you're gonna laugh but I feel like I'm on a secret mission, you know, like in Galavant!)
Emma burst out of laughter and nodded : « Oui, oui ! C'est tout à fait ça !... Everyone ! We're going to find the psychopath ! Drinks are on me ! »
(Yes, that's exactly it!)
The two young women shared a « partner-in-crime » look behind the holes of the sheets before resuming the corridor exploration with a liveliness step, singing with a Stentor's voice :
« We're off on a secret mission !
A totally secret scheme !
We'll slyly do in your next of kin
And quietly make him scream. Ahhh !
We're gotten be swift and stealthy !
So no one'll raise a stink.
We're off and away,
But first another drink !
Da da da da da da !
Secret ! Secret !
Hush ! Hush ! Hush ! »
« Ah non, non ! Pas de « Hush ! Hush ! Hush ! »... Tu as dit qu'on devait attirer l'attention des « faux fantômes » ! »
(Oh no! No hush, hush! You said we had to draw the fake ghosts' attention!)
Marina interrupted, between her laughter. Emma wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, trying to catch her breath. She was laughing so much she was crying :
« Tu marques un point ! Pas de « Hush ! Hush ! Hush ! »… On reprend ? ».
(Good point! No hush, hush! Shall we start again?)
The two young women shared a nod and resumed :
« Ooohhh !
Secret ! Secret !
Thirthieth verse, same as the first... »
« Woah ! There's some serious acoustics in here » Emma chuckled. They were having so much fun with their new way to chase ghosts they didn't see the one who appeared behind them… Thin… Black… Threatening…
If the eyes of Lucille Sharpe could kill, the two young women would be – without a shadow of a doubt – pass through the state of « false ghosts » to « real ghosts » … The revolting attitude and the ridiculous setting of these two probably saved their lives. Lucille had been, at first, dazed to see them strolling in her house, hidden behind sheets – what kind of living being, she didn't know if the term « human being » could still be used, could consciously dress like that ? And in what purpose ? – and decided it would be unworthy to stoop on their level and to carry them any importance. Ignorance would be for now her best weapon… Ignorance and disdain… She knew that excess of alcohol could have this kind of harmful effect on the brain… That is if they had had a brain one day ! Was it not shameful to behave like this and to beg for another drink with such vehemence… It was clear they were drunk !
An idea suddenly struck her… Could it be they were doing this to mock her ? To turn into ridicule her miserable actual condition ? She knew they had spent the night with Thomas… He had come back… She could feel his presence… his scent on them… She wanted to vomit, to let her rage exploded, to dismember their body with her bare hands… Thomas was too much of a coward to get out of his room… But it was okay… She would wait. He would come back to her ! He always came back to her… All was a matter of time, and time… she had a lot ! The idea of Thomas stuck to stay with these abominations made her suddenly want to laugh. It was just too ridiculous, he couldn't sincerely be interested by such vile beings who were visibly devoided of all intelligence and fineness... She couldn't believe she had dared to criticize this poor dear Edith ! He must had been too weak to leave this room, that's it ! He would come back to her…
Her amused smile quickly turned into a satisfied and scary smirk when she saw where these parasites were heading to… The attic… Yes ! Decidedly, this time, she didn't even have to have her hands dirty…
It's squeaking and creaking
I move silent in the night…
Ha ha ha ha ha
Could be the boy from next door ?
You'll never guess my disguise.
Ha ha ha ha ha !
Arrived at the last floor of the grimy house, Emma and Marina were surprised for the change of decoration. Like the rest of the house, the place was dusty and in bad shape but it was, in a certain way, almost happy… or at least, the two young women would guess it once was… Happy and full of life… Huge moths had replaced the ugly english spiders of the other floors and filled the room with a thousand of wing rustling. The dark cold walls full with creaking doors had left room to faded-colored frescoes. The two friends took up their sheets, putting them in their forehead so they could admire what was surrounding them. They came closer of a partly cracked fresco which represented a little boy who seemed to be falling. The moths didn't seem to be disturbed by their proximity and carried on to forage the painted flower. The whole, seen from close, gave a curious sensation of discomfort… The cracked painting, the falling boy… It was like contemplating a childish innocence where innocence had disappeared…
« Em… » Marina whispered, clearly uneased. « C'est une chambre d'enfant… Qui peut avoir l'idée d'installer une chambre d'enfant dans un endroit pareil ? »
(Em, this is a kid's room. Who could have the idea of setting a kid's room in such a place?)
« Des gens qui ne voulaient sans doute pas être dérangés par leurs enfants… » Emma answered with a shaking voice, trying to ignore the discomfort that slowly filled her. Something was wrong… It was like this room shouldn't be here… Or they shouldn't be in this room…
(People who certainly didn't want to be bothered by their kids.)
« Les pauvres… Ils devaient être tellement seuls ici… » Marina whispered.
(Poor dears... They must have felt so alone here...)
She could feel all the sadness and the isolation of the place. The joy they had felt when they had come in was now far away, taken away by the moths' wings… Only stayed unfathomable and oppressing melancholia.
With a heavy heart, they resumed their exploration of the place. The first room they came in was unbelievingly dusty and filled with random objects, giving to the place a true look of an ancient attic… The kind of attic you could find in your grandparents' house, where you could spend your Sunday afternoon exploring… An attic filled with mystery, memories and items belonging to another era… An attic which smelled like dust, wax and wilted flowers… An attic enclosing precious treasure : a bag of marbles, a pirate map, some teddy bears which fur witnessing the love they had received, an old chest full of ancient dresses, allowing to travel through time to a place populating with princesses, dragons and knights… A magical attic giving life to what's already gone, to what's shouldn't be anymore… An attic giving life to imagination…
Their eyes fell on an old wooden cradle, beautifully crafted, and a toy chest occupying a corner of the room, near a small window. So, their assumptions were right… This place had really been a children room… Marina smiled, pointing a blackboard and a small student desk to her friend :
« Il faudra que l'on montre ça à Constance… Elle va adorer ! »
(We'll have to show this to Constance, she'll love them!)
« Tu parles, elle voudra qu'on les ramène à la maison, oui ! Ça ne rentrera jamais dans ta voiture… »
(No kidding, she'll want to take them home! It'll never fit in your car...)
Emma said with a sly smile. If she brought Constance here, there was little doubt that her sister wouldn't want to get out of this room… She already pictured her teaching some ghostly children. Emma was about to share her vision with Marina when her eyes fell on an object which didn't seem to belong with these fragments of childhood : an old wicker wheelchair. A shiver went down her spine and she pushed her friend to explore another room.
Now I can see you…
Oh no, please no !
Now I can touch you…
Oh no, please go !
They came in a far darker room, full of clocks, gears and mechanical toys. Automatons of all sorts filled the place, giving it the look of an old toyshop workshop. They found there what had seemed to have welcomed them at the entrance of this floor : joy… A real warm joy that seemed to come from every crafted toy that seemed to say, at their own way, welcome. Marina took in her hands a little pale-faced gentleman, a red harlequin-diamond painted under his left eyes, two small golden cups in each hand.
« Par contre, ça tu ne le montres pas à Constance ! » Emma said, shaking her head, an amused smile plastered on her face.
(However, don't show this to Constance!)
« Pourquoi ?... Contrairement au tableau noir et au bureau, ça, ça rentre dans la voiture ! » Marina asked.
(Why ? Unlike the blackboard and the desk, this fits in the car!)
« Oui… mais elle a peur des clowns ! Elle va vraiment le trouver creepy celui-là… » Emma exclaimed.
(Yeah but she's afraid of clowns and she'll find this one quite creepy!)
« Il est mignon pourtant… » the youngest hit back, willingly pouting to accentuate her talking.
Their discussion was interrupted by a sudden noise seeming to come from the child bedroom. Their hearts beating fats, the two young women froze, unable to hear anything but their shaky breath.
(He's cute though.)
« Qu'est-ce que c'était que ça ?... Tu as entendu ? » Marina whispered, visibly shaken.
(What was that? Did you here it?)
« Constance… Ca doit être Constance… Elle doit être en train de nous chercher… Elle a dû finir de ranger les valises… » Emma answered, her voice shaking with fear.
(Constance... Must be Constance... She must be looking for us... She's finishing packing the suitcases...)
« Oui… Oui… Tu… Tu as raison… Il faudrait… Il faudrait qu'on aille la rejoindre » the youngest whispered, her body shivering uncontrollably. Her friend nodded and she pushed her wheelchair out of the workshop.
(Yeah, yeah you must be right, we should... we should join her.)
Once in the child room, Emma shrieked with terror, pointing an empty space to Marina :
« Le fauteuil… Il y avait un fauteuil… Où est le fauteuil ?... Le fauteuil a disparu ! »
(The armchair... There was an armchair... Where's the armchair ? The armchair's gone ! )
« D'accord, on part d'ici… Accroche-toi ! » Marina yelled, starting to push her friend while running, her movements slowed down by her sheet which threatened to fall on her face.
(Okay, we're leaving, hang on tight!)
It was only when they were in the corridor they heard a scream… an inhuman shriek… a moan mixed with agony, madness and wrath ! Marina turned around and saw it… This tortured form, this womanly emaciated body similar to a skeleton… covered with a crimson material, slimy and dripping… in this grotesque wicker wheelchair… eyes filled with huge hate… The corpse looked bad at them and opened its mouth to scream a silent and scary yell, its jaw dislocating… Then, it began to move, centimetres by centimetres… The wheels cracking pleadingly… Getting closer… Even closer… Always closer…
I'm right here now…
Oh please, tell me where !
Ha ha ha ha ha !
I(m in a nightmare…
You better run…
I'm back to hunt you down !
Halloween, in the death of the night,hear me scream…
I'm coming ! I'm coming !
Halloween, is the fear that I fight, in my dream…
« Le fantôme de Dunkerque !... Sauve-toi Em ! » Marina screamed, her back glueing on the wall, covering her face with her hands, fear avoiding her to do a single move.
(Dunkirk's ghosts! Run, Em!)
Emma turned around, struggling with the sheet that was still on her head to try to see what was following them. She then was confronted with a horrible vision : a bloody, skeletal woman was moving towards her, one of her arms making the wheels of her chair turned, the other outstretched in their direction, impatient to catch them. Emma fought like a demon to make her wheelchair moved, the sheet blocking her movements, avoiding her to move. She could already feel the hooked fingers of the ghost on her neck.
Then, he appeared… Imposing… Imperious… White… Dressing between the two young women and this grimacing shape…
Qu'est-ce qu'il fait, qu'est-ce qu'il a, qui c'est celui-là?
Complètement toqué, ce mec-là, complètement gaga
Il a une drôle de tête ce type-là
Qu'est-ce qu'il fait, qu'est-ce qu'il a?
« Run !... Now ! » he screamed with an excellent accent Emma was incapable not to notice.
The young woman screamed and threw herself out of her wheelchair. She took off her ghost disguise and threw it at the white man's head who looked surprised at her. Making use of his surprise, she took Marina's hand and rushed to the stairs, bringing her friend in her race… Stairs… A corridor… Stairs… A corridor… Suitcases… Sta… Why suitcases ?... Then she noticed her sister, near the suitcases, staring at her like she had grown another head…
« Reste pas plantée là ! On part d'ici… tout de suite ! » she screamed at Constance.
(Don't just stand there, we're off, now!)
« Mais, Em… tes jambes… Mais qu'est-ce qu'il t'arrive ? » Constance asked, not having descended a single stair.
(But Em... Your legs! What's happening to you?)
« Ben oui, je me sens mieux… Ça doit être la neige… ou alors un miracle de Noël ! » she retorted, raising her arms and shrugging, stopping brutally her race in the middle of the stairs, Marina almost falling on her. She waved at her sister to follow them and resumed her running.
(Well yes, I feel better... Must be the snow or a Christmas miracle!)
Once the three young women were in the hall, they rushed to the main door. Constance and Marina tried the best they could to open it – the door was probably blocked by the snow – while Emma chanted :
« Ils arrivent… Ils arrivent… Au fait Constance, on s'est fait agresser par ton amoureux ! »
(They're coming, they're coming... By the way, Constance, we got attacked by your loverboy!)
« Tu es sûre ?... De quoi il avait l'air ? » Constance asked, frowning.
(Are you sure, what did he look like?)
Marina and Emma shared a terrorized look before answering at the same time :
« D'un psychopathe ! »
(Like a psychopath!)
The door brutally opened, thanks to their efforts, making them almost falling at the feet of four men who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, fixing them with incredulity from the doorstep… The three women screamed… One of the men screamed… And they closed the door !
Once locked inside the house again, they sighed from relief. They were sure, these men truly looked like psychopaths… Especially the one who screamed… And the old tenuous one with his cap… And the tall one with strange hair… And the guy who seemed to have no idea why he was there… Well, no ! Finally, him, he didn't look like a psychopath… But the others… It had been a close call !
It was then that a dark woman appeared, wearing a black dress, a murderous look, a knife in her hand… The three women stared at each other, screamed again and rushed outside… Right in the middle of three and a half psychopaths… Better to deal with living psychopaths than dead ones ! They closed quickly the door, imprisoning this thing inside and smiled at them like nothing ever happened !