Chapter Summary

It's clear something odd is going on here, but she's not White People In A Horror Movie™ levels of stupid. She's not about to go investigating a bump in the night every time it happens. Instead, she'll keep a journal of the oddities in the house, and go from there. Simple, harmless. And record to keep in case it's just the side effects of being alone in a big, old house like this. Then again, it could be of use if something actually were to happen- but she doubts that'd be the case.
She wouldn't stay if she felt like she was in danger. Canon Divergent AU, written in the style of journal entries with no dialogue.

Notes

More world building than anything for the Reflections of Trauma au, with little notes written down as things happen up to Brahms's eventual reveal, when she stops. An exercise of sorts to see if I could do this and have it feel authentic-ish. The entries might get a little rambly at times, but given it's Ruby writing down her thoughts from the day, I think that makes sense. Some of the entries may become fleshed out fics in the future, but I haven't decided which just yet. Anything struck through is things she herself crossed out after writing

Entry 1, Evening

I'm here! The house is old and lovely, and a bit isolated. Perhaps if Brahms is up for it, we could take walks amidst the area. Maybe there's a good spot for stargazing….I could tell him the stories behind the constellations. He might like that.

Ah right. Brahms. It was a bit startling to expect a child and find a doll, but I'm sure the Heelshires have their reasons for it. And it's clear Mrs. Heelshire loves him. I know my confusion was apparent when they introduced us- but I hope I was able to push past it quickly enough to greet Brahms properly so that it won't make a bad impression. He approved of me as his nanny in the end, so I suppose he didn't mind, or perhaps he understood my reaction.

I suppose it could seem to an outsider that I'm taking advantage of them- it almost feels that way. But…I feel as though I might react similarly, if my child I loved was taken from me so suddenly.
Then again, maybe I'd be like my own mother. Not an ounce of care given, regardless of the child's status.
No. That is not important right now. This job and Brahms are important, not my unresolved issues.
I won't be abandoning Brahms. I won't be like her. So there's no need to think about it.

It's interesting that Brahms prefers classical music- I wonder if that's his parents' influence, or if he truly enjoys it?
Perhaps both are true. Perhaps I could ask him later. Not that he'd answer, exactly, but….
Regardless. It gives him joy, so it will be played. Nothing more to it! We all find joy in different things, and something as simple as music is an easy joy to fulfill.

I am concerned about the fireplaces not being usable. It's bound to get cold here, even with the windows painted shut, but if need be I can just layer up, and knit lots of blankets. Besides, it gives me an excuse to rock my pom pom socks every night! I just hope that there's never an emergency I'd need to open the windows for.

Mr. Heelshire's comment about their son being here, and very much with them, was a bit confusing. But perhaps he simply means he's sensed Brahms's spirit in the home? To lose a child seems a tragedy; I can't imagine how hard it'd be to move on.
It's curious that he didn't say this in front of Mrs. Heelshire, but perhaps it was simply to prevent upsetting her. She seems to have had a harder time coping, from what I've seen- then again I've known them for less than a day. I could easily be wrong, it could simply be that she's more open about how she feels. Their generation is likely the more 'stiff upper lip' towards men, I think.

Overall, it's a little isolating here, but…I think it'll be ok. I'll have Brahms and taking care of the house to occupy my time, after all. And I've always dealt with loneliness well enough back home. All that's changed is my location.

Entry 2, the next morning before getting dressed

My GOSH. I underestimated how loud an old house like this would be, with so many little creaks and groans in the night. I know older houses settle a lot, but this is going to take some getting used to- maybe I could ask Malcolm to get me some earplugs next time he brings the groceries.

Curse my being a light sleeper! Going to need coffee for sure.

Entry 3, after the Heelshires left. Written while eating breakfast.

Brahms definitely doesn't like his parents leaving, it seems….his room was a mess this morning. How I didn't catch wind of what happened I'll never know- perhaps I got more sleep than I thought.
Odd though. His parents likely had to have been the ones to do it, and yet Mrs. Heelshire seemed shocked. Perhaps her husband did without her knowing?

The rules they gave me seem simple enough as well. Additionally, their schedule is simple enough, though I wonder if Brahms is comfortable with rearranging it in cases like an upcoming storm, so we're not outside emptying traps during it? Most likely not- I get the impression that they keep to their set instructions. The 'not like other children' comment combined with them makes me wonder if Brahms was autistic- from what a classmate who was told me, schedules are important. It provides them with a sense of stability- always a good thing! Especially given that he's bound to feel a little unstable given the recent changes. Hopefully I can ensure a smooth transition.

It seems the routine affected his parents as well, given how unsure they seem about leaving. I hope their holiday is a lovely one, and that they're able to relax soon.

It feels as if Mr Heelshire had more to say earlier, though. "Be good to him, and he'll be good to you. Be bad to him…?" I assume he'll be bad in return, but why did Mrs. Heelshire cut him off? It's an easy enough guess to know what the next sentence would be.
Not that it matters- I don't plan to be 'bad' to him, regardless of what happens. I don't think he could cause too much trouble while they're away, and I don't plan to give him a reason to be bad.

…I wonder why she said she was 'sorry' though.

It's strange.
Their leaving felt less like a 'bye for now' and more a 'goodbye forever' because of that apology. I hope I'm wrong.
Brahms deserves better than to be abandoned like that.
…Maybe that's me bringing my issues into things again.

Entry 4, That Night

Brahms and I had a lovely day- I think he'll be ok while it's just us. I do feel bad about using the free time in the schedule to unpack, but he was wonderful company to have in the room, though I imagine I looked silly pausing as though he was able to answer me, not that anyone was there to see.

It's odd though. Sometimes, if I listened, I thought I heard something tapping on the walls when I paused. I hope it's not a rat- we emptied the traps earlier, but one could have slipped past them and gotten in.
Then again, it did start storming shortly after- maybe I just heard the first pitter-pattering of rain and supposed that it came from the walls.

Either way, Brahms is nice and cozy in bed- I hope the storm doesn't bother him too much. I'll have to see if I remembered my rainboots in the morning, it's going to be muddy when we go out.

Added on, in the middle of the night, in a different hue of ink signaling that she had grabbed a pen at random
Woke up due to the thunder and went to check on Brahms. He was fine- still snug in bed- but there was water on the rocking chair. I think there's a leak- I'll have to mention that to the Heelshires when they return, so they can get that patched up. I went and got a towel for now, to fold and put on the chair so the water hopefully won't cause any damage.

Entry 5, a few days later

Nothing too noteworthy- Malcolm came back and I think he was flirting? I remain forever baffled at people's ability to flirt without knowing someone.

Shame about the food, though- it's surely going to waste. Even so I appreciate his help cleaning out the icebox. I wonder if I should start eating leftovers more? I didn't think to ask about that before, but Mr. Heelshire supposedly ate them- so I imagine it would be ok. Less food is wasted if I do.

I was able to get the story on Brahms, too. I can put up with a little awkwardness for that- makes my heart break. Poor Brahms- dying in a fire sounds terrifying. I wonder, if he'd lived- would he be ok now? Or would he still have trauma that was never dealt with?
Maybe we could have worked on our trauma together

Malcolm and I do agree that the doll is a harmless way to cope, at least. It almost reminds me of the Reborn dolls, how they helped parents who lost babies. Just less creepily realistic.

He did again make things a little odd by inviting me out- I'm not supposed to leave Brahms alone, or leave with him. I'll have to think about it and call him later.

Entry 6, That Evening

My favorite dress went missing. I could have sworn I packed it, and put it out to wear- because I decided to indeed go out so I could maybe make some friends- but it wasn't there when I got out of the shower. Guess I didn't bring it- must have remembered incorrectly, I've worn that dress so many times it's easy to assume I just thought I had it.

Entry 6 was scribbled out in the morning.

Entry 7, Morning

An arrow points to the scribbled out Entry 6

I didn't do that this time. I know I cross out things in my journal but I didn't this time. Very odd. I wonder if my dress didn't just go missing- maybe it's with the blankets I've been knitting that seem to vanish.

I'd called Malcolm last night to cancel at least, so he wasn't left wondering where I was. Think I'm going to take a hot shower to start the day- feels like a good start.

Entry 8, The Next Day

Holy shit. So, to start- yesterday was fully a waste. I heard something upstairs when I was getting out of the shower, and when I checked the hall the attic door was open- I could have sworn it was locked or blocked off somehow. I Did the smart thing and threw on the first things I found- which turned out to be sleep shorts and a t-shirt- before going upstairs to investigate…

Only to fall through the floor and knock myself out. Like an idiot. I'm lucky I didn't break a bone.

Someone was definitely here, though. I was going in and out but the last thing I consciously remember was someone picking me up, and then I woke up in bed, with a cup of tea and a sandwich on the nightstand.
I don't think it was Malcolm because he would have stuck around or left a note if he couldn't.

Currently feeling sore and a little cut up- though the cuts are bandaged so I guess that's ok?
Anyone else would bolt but….I don't think I'm in danger. If I was, when better to take advantage than when I'm knocked out?
No reason to leave yet, just gotta take it easy today. Maybe I can clean up the mess tomorrow? Or ask Malcolm to help with that, if I can explain without sounding crazy mentioning the being-carried-to-bed part

And make it up to Brahms for fully missing out on yesterday- hopefully he's not too mad about that.

Entry 9, a week later

Not much has happened since the attic incident. It was a pain to clean up- I hope the Heelshires won't be too mad about it when they get back. Don't feel too sore anymore- painkillers and hot showers have helped a lot with that, I feel almost fully back to normal.

Another storm today. Caught us just as we were finishing the traps outside, so I had to jog in so we didn't get too wet. Left my sneakers by the front door so I wouldn't track mud in and then got us both in dry clothes- we didn't get all too wet, but still. Dry, warm clothes after being in the rain always feels nice.

Time for comfy cuddles and reading on the couch with a snack- still had a blanket left in the chest in my room for extra comfort, despite the rest going missing.

The second serving I left in the kitchen was gone when I went to wash my mug and plate as well- hope whoever's here likes it. It was half a test, and half an offering of sorts. I hadn't thought of another way to say thank you for helping last week that wasn't likely to be ignored, but I thought that was obvious enough they'd know it was for them.

Entry 10, The Morning After

The mystery person paid my room a visit last night. The storm was making it hard to sleep, but I was listening closely and heard footsteps, so I pretended to be fast asleep. Glad I perfected that as a kid so I wouldn't get roped into the fighting.

This just confirmed they're not a threat, in my eyes. Not that I thought they were to begin with, but the confirmation is nice. All they did when given a chance was hold my hand- I guess the storm was bothering them. I wonder if they've come into the room before, when it stormed. This wasn't the first one since I arrived, after all.

My guess is that they came out of the walls, so that also solves that question- it's not rats moving about, it's them. I hope.

Knowing they're there makes me twice as concerned about the rats, honestly.

But I'm already concerned about them in general. Maybe I could try leaving them a note somewhere, letting them know it's ok to come out when I'm awake and up and about. Maybe leave paper and a pen by it so they can write a reply?

I don't know. How does one go about talking to someone living in the walls of a house you're working living in?

It doesn't really feel like work. This feels more like it's just…day to day life with a routine to it. Honestly, I'm glad I found this ad.

Entry 11, final entry. Two weeks later

I ended up not needing to write the note.

Burglars broke in last night, so naturally I rushed to Brahms's room as soon as I realized, only to remember that the windows were painted shut.

Not that it'd be an easy escape anyways, especially while carrying him. But it meant that I had to sneak down the stairs, and since there's creaky ones I've never had to skip before, I got caught.

Tried getting away, and that pissed them off.

They took Brahms from me and smashed him.

My throat still hurts from screaming when it'd happened- I didn't realize just how attached I'd gotten to that doll. I felt like I'd been stabbed in the heart when they did that.

Then…the mirror… exploded. And he came out.

And he protected me.

Everything makes sense now. I don't need to journal anymore. After all, it'd simply be much easier to talk to him.

Talk to the man in the wall, to the one who'd carried me to bed when I was hurt and held my hand when a storm raged outside.

Brahms.

The real one this time.