Horror of Relived Memories

X

Takeshi gulped. "Is this really gonna work, Eve? I mean, without the doorknob?"

Eve nodded, hand skimming down the length of the door frame. "Yes, it should. I pray it does."

"How do you tell how many swirls are on it?" Takeshi wondered, leaning forward over Eve's shoulder.

She froze, feeling his warmth so close, and something began to beat within her translucent soul. The miraculous pounding ceased after a few long seconds, but even Takeshi had felt it, heard the harsh thumping. Eyes wide and bewildered, he turned his head a fraction to glimpse Eve's reaction. She disengaged herself quickly, stepping forward and away from his touch.

"Eve," Takeshi gasped , "your heart—"

"We'll know when we pull this door back," Eve said, ignoring his urgency. His pleading eyes bore into her back. "We'll know when we see them. If there were three when last contacted, then there will be one this time."

"Eve, your heart—" Takeshi started again.

"Why, you ask?" She interrupted casually, surprisingly without fumbling her words. "Because I've rarely ever seen a two after a three. They shift from time to time, but it's almost always a one after a three, then a two."

"Eve!" Takeshi exclaimed angrily. "Listen!"

"Our energy can reach this door because it is a portal to our own world, not just the living one," she continued to Takeshi's immense frustration.

"Your heart was beating!" He shouted.

A pall fell over her; Takeshi could sense the melancholy distress welling up inside of her. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly and her chin lowered in a sort of resignation, as if she were giving up a long desired dream. Slowly, she reached forward and curled her ghostly fingers around the side of the door, prepared to reveal whatever was behind it.

But Takeshi couldn't stand her ignoring him. He couldn't let her forget, not after something miraculous had just happened. He didn't understand why, and he suspected she might not either, but, as far as he knew, it was impossible for a ghost's heart to beat, and hers just had.

And it had been the most amazing sound he'd ever heard.

"Don't open that door," he snapped fiercely, moving forward to corner her against the door. "Don't you dare ignore me! Your heart started beating, Eve, and then it just stopped. Why did it do that? Why did it stop?"

She shrugged irritably. "I don't know why. Maybe it was reflex."

"Bullshit!" Takeshi exclaimed, slamming the side of his fist against the wall. "Why are you acting like it's not a big deal?"

"Because it's not!" She turned to push him back. Upset she had lost her temper, she inhaled shakily and shrugged. "I've no idea why it began beating. It was fascinating while it lasted, but it stopped, and, frankly, I don't really care. It's just an organ; it wasn't meant to last, like most other things."

Horror contorted Takeshi's face. "You—you don't mean that!" He gasped incredulously. "You can't mean that."

"Why not?" She snapped sharply. "It's true. Nothing lasts longer than you wish it to."

Takeshi's expression was one of acute hurt. "Eve…" He could sense her pain and wanted to share it with her. Eve's armor cracked a fraction; he could see the resignation from earlier in her eyes, but it was softer, calmer. "Don't believe that…You've been alone for so long."

She winced.

"How could they have left you so lonely?" Pain swam in her pale eyes, tearing at his heart. "I can't believe you just came up with something that awful by yourself. Someone must have made you believe that. No, think that. I don't think you honestly believe that. What kind of family were you living with?"

Hesitantly, Eve lowered her head and began to speak.

X

Wandering around this dungeon for so long has given way to many memories from my young childhood. I've had lots of time to think about what happened to us—my family and my brother and I—and I've figured out some things, between newspaper articles and the rumors of the town. I've learned many things…

My mother was an old, wealthy name of Japan: Fau. Which was fine…but her family was very biased. My father, a wealthy Polish man, met her during a tour with his business associates. I suppose they fell in love instantly, but not because it was an instant physical attraction or even a mental one. Not for my mother, at least.

"I hear he's the wealthy son of a king's cousin," one of the girls murmured in giddy excitement. "He's one of Poland's wealthiest bachelors."

Margaret rose her head, faded green eyes meeting the depths of onyx. "One of the wealthiest?"

My mother's family was losing money quickly; her father was a heavy gambler and he was running it all down the drain. After years of sinking, she'd found a way to recover herself. As for father, well…he'd been having too much fun with his privileged life…with women and spoiling himself rotten until it was sickening to be near him. And my mother was very beautiful.

My Aunt Grace had always told me beauty was the best way to satisfy lust. I never thought much of that statement until later in life.

They married later in the year, barely five months after meeting. And they never seemed to argue or complain because they had it all—money and beauty. It was a compromise marriage…it was disgusting.

My brother was born ten years before I was. A dark haired beauty, my aunts liked to call him. He looked so much like my father, but he had my mother's pale green eyes. But there was always something strange about them. They were so…dull. As if the world held no excitement for him. He was born with a mental deficiency, but not much was known about it during those times. He never cried, never smiled. The doctors suspected he was autistic, but his brain functioned like any other.

I heard stories of him from my cousins. He used to disappear for hours out back the mansion in Kalisz. No one knew what he did during his little adventures, but he usually returned with scratches and bruises. My Aunt Grace suspected there was abuse involved, but no evidence to make such a claim was ever discovered, nothing besides the wounds. Mother and father decided to ignore it until something definite happened.

You see, back in those days, it was embarrassing to have mentally or physically challenged children. For example, my cousin Margeri was raped by her neighbor's boyfriend. Instant embarrassment ascended upon her family, though it wasn't even her fault.

An older Margeri was seated on a velvet cushion, eyes averting her psychiatrists. He was asking her intimate questions she felt too uncomfortable to answer.

"Miss Gregory?" He murmured softly. "Your parents placed you in a ward. Is this because of your neighbor, Arthur?"

Margeri pressed her lips tightly together, frightened to answer. Memories filled her mind, tightening over her brain, squeezing it until she felt as though her ears would bleed with the stinging pain of terror as the fiend crawled through her window for three months straight, clawing at her cloths and hair. She couldn't face those memories again. Not yet.

Her parents were ashamed of her. Ashamed of her weakness. And it wasn't even her fault. She had had the life of a princess, and she'd lost it within seconds. Extravagance doesn't last, nor does purity.

Most my cousins were sent to wards. Jeremy was born with a hole in his heart, but lived his eighteen years in a ward. Vivian was placed under care of a ward after losing an arm to polio and attempted to throw herself out a window. Gabriel lived his last three years in a ward after attempting suicide during his fourteenth birthday when he realized his friends only liked him for his money and his possessions.

It was the same cycle with my family. My parents didn't want something serious to happen to my brother. If there was any evidence of abuse like my aunt suspected, he would be tossed into a ward like Margeri was. She wasn't able to escape until she was twenty-one. She wasn't insane; there was nothing mentally wrong with her. She was just eternally ashamed of herself and her poor, impure body.

Ten years later, my mother discovered she was pregnant again, but it came as a surprise. My parents hadn't wanted another child. They thought my brother was already a mistake for his strong desire for solitude and his social awkwardness during the charities my parents superficially took part in. The most humiliating thing: they hadn't made love in three years. Father promised he'd never mention anything so inappropriate to anyone; it could cost them their name. He suggested an abortion, but mother wouldn't dare do something so dreadful to her beautiful body. Their only hope was for a son that they could present to the public as an heir.

But it wasn't a son. It was me. Born against their wishes and dreams.

Her final hope shattered, mother became infuriated, admitting to an affair with her sister, Sumiko's, then-fiancé.

Sumiko covered her ears, tears drenching the collar of her chiffon dress. Her sister stormed the kitchen, breaking plates and shattering cups, eyes blazing with a ferocious fury.

"He slept with me—twice!" She shrieked, slamming a pot against the wall. "Just this March! The bastard's been with me two years, you imbecile, but you're too blind to see past your own nose."

Sumiko lowered her head and began to sob, covering her eyes with her frail, gloved hands. The shimmering beads slipped through her fingers if they weren't immediately absorbed by the thin cotton.

"Why would you?" She whimpered, heart clashing in a combination of grief and bewilderment. "How cou—could my own s—sister be so heartless?! Do you know wha—what you've done?!"

Her sister scoffed humorously. "What does it matter now? What's done is done. I don't ever want to see that bastard within ten feet of me. Mother! Do something about him!"

Seiko Fau sat across the breakfast table, trembling hands clasped in her lap where a lady's should be. "What could I do?" She snapped, laughing darkly. "You really think there's a way to cover this from society? The newspapers will know within time."

"Mother, do something!" Her oldest begged furiously.

Her mother cackled, a gruesome sound among the birds and butterflies outside the window. "You foolish girl. There is nothing any of us can do."

"Mother—"

"This is your fault, you pretentious fool. You have dug your own grave. You believe you cannot be touched because we are an old name of honor and tradition." Her neck craned grossly, her dark eyes meeting her daughter's appallingly. "Where is your honor, Akita? Where is your honor? You have none, I see. You are indeed a hopeless, foolish girl who is too selfish and too arrogant for your own good. I did not raise you to be so wretched. If you lose the respect of society, then you've no one to blame but yourself."

My grandmother received word from her sister in northern Japan. She had recently invested in a large mansion and was inviting family guests to visit. Father caught word and decided it would be good for mother to get away from the accusations and gossip circling our family. It was an escape plan. And they weren't going to be bringing me.

"No, take her."

Seiko glared at her oldest daughter and shoved the bundle gently back into her arms. "She's your daughter, you crass girl, and I will not have you abandoning her. That is a sin worse than adultery."

Her daughter pressed her lips together tightly. "We already have one child who could be a hazard to your family—"

"If you do not care and love this child, I will send you to the ward." Her mother's voice was firm, her leer condescending as she gazed at her poor, ignorant daughter. "Your husband may be supplying your allowance, but he will not argue with me should I decide you need some time away from society."

Her daughter's wide, horrified eyes narrowed into vindictive slits. "I can't believe you call yourself a mother."

Eventually, grandmother convinced my mother to take me with her. My father was more than happy to. I was his daughter, no matter what I was to society. I was a love child, but he still accepted me.

For the first years of my life.

We moved to Higashiyama later in the year and stayed with my great aunt for several years. The family was suspicious but they were respectful and didn't ask too many questions. Mother seemed to gain ground on reality again, but it was a slow process. She still unfairly blamed her younger sister and her infant daughter, sometimes even her unsociable son.

It wasn't until I was older that my brother's true condition was revealed. And it was his unfortunate psyche that paid the heaviest price.

"What are those gashes on your back?"

He sucked in a breath and turned casually, shrugging at his mother with a nonchalant air. "I don't know. Probably some kinda—"

"Don't you dare tell me what you think it is, you useless wretch. What were you doing today?"

He tried a more formal approach: "Mother, I don't know—"

"I saw you return from the woods. What were you doing?"

Congenital analgesia. Do you know what that means? It's a term for insensitivity to pain. Some people aren't affected by it and some people can't feel it at all. My brother had fascinated himself for years with hurting and scathing himself because he couldn't feel the sting. It was a condition he was born with. It was the one thing he couldn't seem to get over. I imagine he was hurting inside. He was desperate to feel something, anything, but his skin was completely numb.

I lied when I told you I had no memories of my brother. I was five then. But even I could sense the humiliation and the terror in his eyes when my mother accosted him. She hit him and hit things and the noise filled the house until I thought the windows would shatter. I hid behind the couch in the living room. She was ranting in front of the staircase and I was too frightened to make a run for my room. I remember her yelling about mistakes—two of them she had now—and I didn't know what she meant. I loved my mother unconditionally. I didn't realize until much later that she didn't return my feelings. Not in the least.

It was hell for my brother and I. It was hell for him, not being able to feel his own skin. I can imagine the horror he must have felt, unable to control his own body. He must have felt miserable, unable to speak to anybody about his internal fights of pain and hating himself. He must have felt cornered, unable to voice himself, to express his feelings outside his body. If he ever confessed himself to anyone, he would have disgraced his family and himself. It had to be that way because of our social status.

He was sent away to the same ward Margeri had been condemned to. My father was…thoughtful enough to hire a psychiatrist for him to talk to, vent to. But he wouldn't speak. He was already humiliated by his mother and he believed her when she told him he was a mistake. She never told our family or anyone of my brother's…"predicament". She simply told them he was away at boarding school due to his inability to focus in class. Father was very disappointed in her lack of concern for her son, but she insisted that he could mean the carnage of our "good name"…I didn't see what was so "good" about our name.

"Mommy, where is he going?" A young Eve whispered to her mother. She stood on the porch watching the van disappear down the driveway. Her brother's face was gazing out the back window, an expression of desperation twisting his face. "Mommy, is he going away for good?"

"Yes," was the sour reply. "And he best not come back. He's not worth missing, Eve. He doesn't even deserve to live under me. Why did God give me such a foul creature? He could be the downfall of our good name. All his fault. Already folks are talking. As of now, I denounce him as my son."

Eve looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of her mother's face. Was she sad or angry? "Mommy," Eve murmured meekly, "I love you."

An amused chortle tore from her mother's pale throat. She stared down at her daughter with such malice Eve shrunk from her. "Your ignorance is appalling, Eve. Love? Love is for the weak, for the dirty. I didn't get this far with love. You really are a foolish girl. Life is meaningless without a good name and good money. If you love, your life will always be half empty and never full. Your life is worthless and so is this godforsaken world. Only money lasts in this world. Nothing else. Not life, not fame, not beauty, not love, not nothing. Never forget that."

Several years passed and I grew with the imprint of hatred boiling in my family, curving it like a bent sword. What I had thought was once so loving and pure was actually twisted and loathing. My world was meaningless, just as my mother promised it would be. I loved my family, but with each day, they seemed more distant, further away from me until my love did not touch them. Nothing did. I wanted to show them the depths of my unconditional love, but they did not want to receive it. I gave them my unconditional love in hopes for something even remotely similar in return, but I never received anything but contempt. The more I tried to love, the more I was discouraged to reach out. Life was so confusing and I found it harder and harder to ignore the expressions around me; I saw their amusement in their eyes. I was some sort of show because I acted differently than they did.

When I was ten, my family moved again. My mother's cousins had left their manor in a hurry and for unknown reasons. Unfortunately, they were never heard from again, but they had left their manor under my mother's name…Perhaps they were just as desperate as my aunt and my grandmother to get rid of her.

They left Fau Manor under her name.

It was substantially larger than the home we were presently living in, and mother was excited to immediately move in later that week, within a few days. Her selfishness and greed was never excluded in her mind.

Eve stood outside the old manor, nose pinched. "Father, this place is so…"

"Rural?" Her father finished humorously, eyes twinkling. "Well, it's got charm, and I like that."

Charm. Yes, charm. That it did have. Eve changed her mind quickly to fit her father's expectations of the manor. It was sufficient and charming and she liked it.

"Can I choose my room?" She asked hopefully.

Her father pursed his lips. "Ahh…I don't know, Eve. Your mother has her own ideas for the rooms. Ask your mother."

Eve hummed, heart sinking. Ask mother. Silently, she walked through the doorway. If father asked of it, she would do it. Anything to gain his acceptance.

During the first few nights I spent time wandering around down there in the basement, investigating and exploring. Each room was a secret chamber, a new mystery for me to discover. During the second week, however, I began hearing screaming…and howling…and caterwauling from deep within the labyrinth. It was as if invisible beings were chasing me. The nights here were always lonely and frightening. I never left my bed after eight.

Eve rounded the corner, innocent brown eyes wide and curious. She'd heard the cry from down the hall; it sounded as if it were resonating from the mannequin room. Where those creepy little wooden dolls were settled dominantly on the tabletops, eying her every time she passed. Cautiously, she walked down the hallway and paused in the doorway, simply waiting for something to happen. The little dolls' eyes were marbles, but she still felt as though they were watching her. Their glazed gaze continued to stare her down, laughing at her, until she ran back down the corridor and back toward the basement door. Agony ripped through her as a loud wailing followed. She could hear the misery in the voice, loud and desperate, and Eve began to cry at the thought of being caught by something so despairing.

And something so terrifying.

Naoki was around then, too. He had a close friend from the city, Hoshiro Kasaki. Hoshiro was persistent on meeting with us every other day. Sometimes he would visit for tea, sometimes to simply talk. I had taken to books and music my entire childhood. Whenever Naoki or Hoshiro was around, I hid in the library. Sometimes I'd sit outside the parlor and listen to Hoshiro and my mother chat. She liked him, more than she should have.

Eve pressed her ear against the parlor door and settled down on her knees, one palm pressed against the heavy wood.

"…such beautiful eyes."

Her mother's giggling reached her ears. "Thank you, you're too sweet. Oh, Hoshiro, I wish you would visit me more often…oooh…"

"Whatever you wish."

An appalling sense of fear washed over poor Eve. She stood quickly and ran for the library door, hiding away inside.

Even my father became increasingly aware, but he never said anything, never mentioned his worries. He found me cowering in the basement pump room once after hearing a more embarrassing conversation. I remember him asking me why I was there…I couldn't tell him. I was terrified of what I knew and I was terrified of what he'd think of his wife, my own disgraceful mother. I was ashamed of what I knew…and I was ashamed of her.

My brother returned to us when I was twelve. My mother was quite upset, but my father did his best to ignore her. He rushed outside to bring in my brother's baggage. When I saw him standing in the doorway, I thought I would never have to be lonely again. My brother had returned to me. He was there to save me from my solitude, just as I'd always dreamed.

But there was something wrong. I could sense the darkness surrounding him, shrouding him from the world with a veil of mystery.

Something jutted out from his pocket. The corner of a small, black book.

He also thwarted my desire to love him for the first few months. I knew it must have been the aftermath of mother's hatred, of his disappointment in himself. He couldn't be hurt again; he wouldn't have found the strength to continue living if one more person in the world despised him as she did, especially someone close to him, someone kin to him.

But alas, I finally touched him and we became the siblings we once were.

Mother was appalled by our strengthened relationship. Two mistakes living in her house now. When I was older and nastier, I turned on her.

"Don't you have another man to attend to right now?" Eve spat maliciously.

Her mother's eyes widened furiously. "What did you say?" She seethed through gritted teeth.

"Forgive me; I thought Hoshiro was still in the parlor." Eve cleared her throat, a sardonic apology, and turned on her heel, lips curling deviously at the corners.

She wouldn't stand for it.

Eve lay on the cot, eyes adjusting to the darkness. After refusing her mother's order of confinement to her room, Eve had been confined to the attic. She preferred the basement much more than this drab place. But she wouldn't complain, refused to let her mother win.

Age brought on sudden changes in my personality and in my behavior. I was more of a rebel than ever. I suppose one can only take so much disappointment and anger before they take it and twist it into offensive defense and wield it. I think I finally realized I was never going to be given what I gave to my mother, and so I turned on her. Gradually, father became oppressive, too. Whether it was my mother's influence or not, he began to treat me differently. I thought it might be because of the way I was treating mother, but that didn't seem to be it. He didn't talk to her anymore, didn't look her way. I think he finally figured out what was going on behind the parlor door. Something more than talking. And he was taking his anguish out on me.

During the next few years leading to our demise, my brother became increasingly aloof. He would fidget restlessly when he sat and didn't seem to hear anyone when they spoke to him. Mother scolded him for ignoring her, but father thought he might have gone deaf. Whether he had or not, we weren't sure. Father scheduled a doctor's appointment for him, but his eardrums were intact. The doctors conducted multiple experiments, but no conclusive evidence was drawn. My brother was otherwise healthy.

Which meant it was another mental problem.

Eve tapped her brother's shoulder, eyes wide. "Hey, are you crying?" He did not reply with words, but with soft grunts and whimpers. "Why won't you answer me? You've got a mouth, you can answer me."

His blank gaze landed on the windowpane. Rain drops splattered the glass. Normally, Eve wouldn't mind the rain, but there was nothing serene about the drizzle. Something felt strange. Shivering, Eve glanced down into her brother's lap. The corner of a small black book peeked out from his coat pocket, beckoning her to examine it. When she extended a tentative hand, her brother jerked away and snorted angrily. Disturbed, Eve slowly backed out of her brother's room and left the door wide open. Glancing up at the window again, Eve gasped and slowly backed out of the room when she glimpsed the demonic, goat-faced figure hovering behind the blurring glass.

He would have been sent back to the asylum if it weren't for father. If the ward didn't solve my brother's problems the first time, how would a second trip make a difference? Despite mother's complaints, father resolved to keep my brother at the manor under his supervision.

An older Eve wandered the basement once more. She would be leaving in the morning, departing for collage in Madrid. She was a mature woman now; she didn't believe in demons or ghosts. Whatever she had witnessed as a child had been hallucinations conjured up by her creative mind. Deeper down, however, she knew that was a lie. Everything she had seen and heard was real, but she had been suppressing the urge to speak of the horrors. She wouldn't be like her cousins, wouldn't be another victim of the curse. She refused to be another victim of a ward.

Her brother stood in the doorway of the mannequin room. His back was turned to her, his shoulders slouched.

"I've come to say goodbye," Eve called softly. He didn't turn or reply, simply stared vacantly into the room, steadily watching the dolls lining the shelves.

Eve paused in the hallway, watching him warily. Cautiously, she stepped toward him and patted his back. Before she could utter a greeting he jerked and turned, eyes wide and glazed. He looked like a deer in the headlights. He wildly began rambling words in some unknown language, then continued to turn and sashayed down the corridor past Eve back to the basement door. She watched him go awkwardly and shook her head, raising a hand to rake her hair back.

I left for collage in the late winter. While I was gone, I received no direct word from my family. However, unfortunately, My Aunt Grace wrote me a letter during my final week of junior year. My family had fallen apart. My father was in agony; Hoshiro had denounced my hysterical mother when she insisted on leaving the countryside with him and my brother had fallen deeper into his trance. There was also word of my grandmother, who had been ill with tuberculosis for well over half a year. She was dying, I already knew, but her health had taken a drastic nosedive and she wasn't expected to live another week. As a sort of last request, she, my Aunt Sumiko, and my Aunt Grace were staying at Fau Manor until she passed. In the last paragraph, she said she felt this collapse was her fault. She hoped there could be a way to right what was wrong and make amends for the haze of anguish hovering over them all.

I flew home straight away. I couldn't bear for them to face such a tragedy without me. I needed to be there, whether I was sufficient support or not. It was my family, my troubles; therefore it was my responsibility to be present. I owed it to them. They were important to me.

The house was deadly silent when I arrived. My mother, father, Aunt Grace, and grandmother were seated inside the parlor. Aunt Sumiko still couldn't face her sister after her betrayal. She sat on the sill in the living room. My brother sat before the fireplace, scanning the pages of the strange black book. I tried to catch a glimpse over his shoulder, but he hunched forward until his shoulders blocked my gaze. Shrill cries and screams echoed from the parlor. The three of us simply sat quietly in the living room, neither ignoring the commotion nor listening to it. The haze of anguish blanketed us until I became so exhausted with worrying that I fell asleep under the rocking chair beside the sill.

When I woke, it was twilight. A soft chanting resonated through the walls, almost as if it were beckoning me to follow, but I had the inexplicable feeling that there was something grotesquely wrong. There was trouble. It wasn't exactly a genius decision on my part, but I followed the murmuring regardless. It trailed into the basement, where I found my brother standing in the hallway outside the mannequin room.

With the little black book in hand.

"What are you doing?!" Eve shouted, racing down the corridor to restrain her brother. The walls were crumbling like ash around her, suffocating her, but her brother didn't take notice. "Stop!"

With a sharp grunt, his hand flew out and knocked Eve against the wall. Stunned, she fell to her knees, trying to figure out what was happening around them. A soft chunk of ash broke over her head. Eve rocketed to her feet and lunged at her brother again with a fierce cry. Again, his hand flew out and collided against her jaw. Determined, Eve curved her nails around her brother's sleeve and ripped his arm down. He lost his grip on the book and dropped it. Furious, he raised his head, black eyes shimmering in possession, and his hand sliced through the air to strike his sister. While she was disoriented and sagged against the wall again, he reached down to pick up the book and finish the spell that would release the demons upon the manor.

"No!" Eve screamed, dizzily pushing to her feet. "Stop, damn you!"

A small flame appeared at the crux of the book's spine. It disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Not a moment later, a plethora of blazing flames erupted from the same spot and cascaded like raging stars all over the walls. Though they licked like razors at the wood, Eve not her brother could feel the burn. A strong gust molded the flames into a whirlwind, singing the tips of Eve's hair. She blinked and all but shrieked; the tips of her scorned bangs had blown into her eyes.

Her brother laughed maniacally and raised his arms in elation. "Surgent! Resurget ex favilla! Umbre!"

Umbre? Eve thought wildly, hands covering her tearing eyes. She forced one open and watched her brother through a watery blur. A bright red light had lanced through the floor between her brother's feet and through the spine of the little black book. From her position on the floor, Eve could just make out the label: The Black Velveteen.

A spell book.

"No!" She cried, surging toward her brother a last time. "STOP!"

The light enveloped them both they glided into oblivion.

It must have been hours before we came to on the basement floor, surrounded by paramedics and officers. The flames had died away, but the walls were charcoaled and crisped. I called to them, asked them what happened, rushed out with my story and what I had seen, what my brother had done. But no one heard me.

"Please!" Eve sobbed, trailing desperately after one of the taller paramedics. "Please, listen to me, God, please! Why won't you listen to me?" She pulled her nails through her tangled hair with a distressed rake. "Please, please, please, God, oh, God, listen to me…Why won't you look at me? Why won't anyone look at me?!"

She swiped at his back, expecting to feel her pale skin meeting cloth, but what really happened surprised her and horrified her beyond describable emotions.

Her hand sailed right through him.

I realized we had to be dead. We were in some spiritual realm with no possibility of ever returning to our own world, to life. My brother said nothing, never blinked. He simply hung his head and sighed. We discovered our parents outside the front gates, speaking and interrogating the officers. I thought it was funny; the officers should have been interrogating them. I felt some relief, knowing my parents really did care whether or not my brother and I were safe.

But then I came nearer and heard her questions: "What's the damage? My priceless vase was shattered?! The living room sofas are ashes?! How much will replacement windows cost?"

No inquiries about my brother or me. I listened a while longer, just to make sure it wasn't my biased ears that were playing tricks on me. But they hadn't fooled me. My father had bitten his tongue and would not mention us. Neither would my aunts. I was so disappointed and furious. My grandmother died later in the evening; a heart attack had taken her as an after effect.

My brother and I spent the next few days observing the people that came to the mansion; the officers investigating and the curious tourists that snuck in at night. My brother, I believe, snapped; he didn't seem to mind he was dead and terrorized any trespassers. He sought solitude in the basement like I once had, wandering around until he was lost. I believe he was searching for the Black Velveteen. We never found it. I wondered where it had disappeared to. I searched for hours in the basement, but to no avail.

Eventually, the fire was written off as an accident due to the lit candles. Maybe they had taken the book with them as evidence, I thought. I left my brother in the back hallway and watched the officers leave through a window on the second floor. After they had driven into the forest, I began searching for my teetering brother.

Eve paused before the back hall's doorway and pressed her back against the stairs. There was a faint murmuring wafting through from the other side. The voices were low and electronic, like the devil's voice broadcasting over radio, ominous and disturbing.

"Follow us," they whispered. "We're going to take you somewhere safe. We promise."

"Safer than an abandoned house?"

Eve jumped at the sound of her brother's voice. He hadn't talked since he'd returned to Fau Manor.

"Yes," came the individual reply. "It's a little cramped, but it's safer than any else place you could be."

"You want us to take you there?" Another voice said.

"Sure"—Eve could hear the shrug in her brother's voice—"Why not. By the way, you said you knew where my aunt was?"

"Yep—her family is there in that haven."

"Come, we'll take you."

I faded into the stairs as two amorphous men led my brother upstairs to this very room. I heard the violet one murmur, "Two is the key." The red one slowly melted into the heavy frame, his partner and my brother following solemnly. I waited a few seconds before treading through myself. I barely had to submerge my head to see through to the other side…I wish I hadn't looked.

X

"Why not?" Takeshi blurted anxiously. "Why was it bad to look?"

"I wasn't even finished, idiot!" Eve exclaimed callously.

"Well, you talked for a long time," Takeshi pointed out sheepishly. "And I can't take the waiting thing."

Shaking her head, Eve sighed. Deep down, she admitted that it felt damn nice to tell someone what had happened. Hell, it felt nice just to talk to someone after so long. But what she had just confessed…it felt wonderful to share her memories, to speak her heart, after so long. Maybe that's why she had fallen for…No. No, she hadn't.

It couldn't happen so quickly!

"Well," Eve murmured, turning to the door, "why don't I just show you what I was about to describe?"

"Show me…?" Takeshi gaped and bonked his forehead. "Oh, yeah! Right! Duh! Okay, show me, show me, I'm ready."

Eve glanced over her shoulder bashfully. Was this really the same skittish, fearful Takeshi she had met just a couple hours ago? Where had this enthusiasm come from? They were about to go somewhere beyond death and he was begging her to show him hell.

"All right, all right," she said. At least he had forgotten her heart had been beating a mere few minutes ago. "Let me just…"

Her hand passed through the swirl on top. Ker-chunk—the door jolted and teetered wide open. "I never actually opened it before…But it's through here, Takeshi. It's right on the other side…"

Takeshi inhaled deeply and laughed nervously. "All right." Eve flushed when he took her fragile hand. "You ready?I'm ready." He fixed his shirt. "Let's do this."

X