The Lady in The Casket

It was cold, and a chilling silence hung in the air. Up in the sky was a full moon. The clouds had parted and allowed the moonlight to illuminate the dank graveyard. The soft light reflected off the mist hovering above the headstones, increasing the dreary eeriness emanating from the place.

The silence of the night was broken by the sound of footsteps. Out of the thin mist emerged the figure of a man. He was tall, young, and carried himself with an air of dignity. His pale complexion stood in contrast with his dark suit, cut from expensive fabrics. He would have been very handsome were it not for the sorrow etched deeply on his face, distorting his features.

The man stopped walking and then turned back to look at the barely visible headstones behind him. He stood still for a moment, as if expecting something – or someone – to come out of that mist and join him. Seconds passed, and he quietly turned back to the path and resumed his gait.

---

The man walked slowly, his steps heavy. His mind was somewhere else, in a realm of his musings. He was free to ponder; he had gone through this path so many times that he could even find his way asleep. Suddenly something caught his eye and he stopped. The path was not bare anymore – it was now surrounded by Weeping Willows, indicating that the mansion was not far off. He was still, and for a second a vision appeared – the very same trees, decked in lights and colourful ribbons… and in the middle of it all… her, an angel sent from the heavens.

Her. His angel, his light, his love.

He stomped abruptly and shook his head, physically trying to stop the onslaught of memories. It worked, and all the whisperings of the past ceased and left him alone. Reprieve… but it made no difference. The wind blew and the wispy branches moved – reached out to him – reminded him of wispy locks of brilliant red hair - mocked him. He paid them no heed and continued walking, but this time his steps were significantly heavier.

---

Blades of grass.

That meant the bare earth, the path, was far behind him.

He looked up. There was the manor – abandoned, foreboding, haunting. It stood over him menacingly, a grim reminder of his happiness – so close, and so cruelly snatched away. Ignoring the vice that squeezed his heart, he walked up the marble steps stained from years of neglect. As he approached the massive doorway, the vice squeezed tighter and made it difficult to breathe. He stopped to catch his breath, laying a palm against the cold stone walls. These walls, he noted with a grim sense of irony, they protected him from the elements outside, but they did nothing to protect him from the true horrors that lurked inside.

With a sigh, he straightened up. He pushed open the ornately carved doors and walked inside the foyer. He expected it to be dark, and was therefore sufficiently surprised when he saw that the manor was lit aglow with candlelight. He knew it was the work of his butler, George, who he had sent away on vacation that very same day. The man had remained steadfastly loyal to him, having stayed by his side even during his long and arduous period of grief.

He knew the man meant well, that the candles were there to make sure he did not fumble around in the darkness. But instead, the soft glow lit up all the wrong crevasses and made shadows flicker everywhere. It made everything seem more macabre.

He pushed the thought away from his mind and walked down the hall towards the kitchen. Shadows danced on the walls, and once or twice he thought he saw something move from the corner of his eye. Surely a trick of the light, he thought.

Soon he was in the kitchen. He wasted no time in preparing some laudanum for himself. It had nearly become a ritual, for the concoction not only helped him sleep, but also deprived him of his haunting dreams. When he was finished, he took the glass to the sitting room and sat on the armchair facing the fireplace. There was no fire, and it was cold, but he didn’t mind. The laudanum would soon provide him with all the warmth he would need.

He took a sip and leaned back, waiting for the draught to work. The flickering flames of the candles painted mesmerizing figures on the wall. It was relaxing, even a tad hypnotic, and soon images started to appear in his mind. Red hair on milky white skin. Blood-red lace on a corset. Red lips curved into a smile. Hazel eyes that gazed into him, permeating into his soul.

And then a sound, laughter. Soft laughter like the tinkering of snowflakes on the ground.

He shifted and moaned. He did not want these memories, but they came. The drug was starting to take effect, and he felt himself slipping away. Another image flashed before him. Red hair on a white gown. Stunning, angelic, ethereal beauty.

His nymph, his siren, his muse.

Her.

---

She was exquisitely beautiful.

She had the same name as the queen, and rightfully so. For she was a queen; a royal maiden who surpassed every one of her subjects with her beauty. She could be compared to a goddess, and legions upon legions of men came not only to worship her, but also to try and woo her.

And of them all, he was the blessed one. He managed to capture the goddess’s heart.

Her heart. Victoria’s heart.

They were to be married.

He was so happy, and so was she. He remembered her hazel eyes, shining with excitement as she clutched her hand, the one with the ring on it, to her chest. He remembered her soft lips on his, and the scent of marigolds on her hair as he held her close.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he found himself standing in the middle of the sitting room. Bewildered, he looked around. There was no Victoria. It was just a dream –

- and then he saw himself, slumped on the armchair. His hand clutched the empty glass - the remaining laudanum had dripped into the floor.

He was himself and not himself. He stood, enthralled by himself sitting just a few paces away from him. He just stood there for what seemed like an eternity and wondered when he on the chair would break out of this bizarre reverie.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck twelve.

Then he heard it;

The tinkering of snowflakes.

He started, and then dashed past his body, determined to find the source of the sound. He was out in the hallway, the sound seemed to reverb off the walls. Then his head snapped up. He rushed up the stairs, towards the bedroom they were to share. The sound was definitely coming from here. He threw open the door and stepped in.

The sound was all around him. Soft, light laughter. Mocking, teasing… For a while he could see nothing, darkness engulfed him and he groped around to find something to hold on to.

And then several candles burst into flame, illuminating the spectacle in the middle of the room.

The bed was gone, and in its place was a pedestal. Black candles were perched atop it, and rose petals were scattered on top, forming a makeshift bed. Lying on the makeshift bed was a wooden casket. He looked inside it…

Her.

Nothing had changed from the last time he saw her. She looked angelic, as though she were only sleeping. Red hair on milky-white skin, red hair on a white gown, slender arms folded on top of her breasts, those long lashes resting on pale cheeks…

Eyes closed, never to open again.

The vice materialized again, squeezed his heart until he was sure it would burst and kill him on the spot. The pain blossomed, spreading from his chest, spreading to his limbs. He found it difficult to breathe. He tore his eyes from her, with much difficulty, and moved away from her, towards the door, anywhere away from her.

He opened the door, but instead of the hallway, he saw the same bedroom. This bedroom was the same, but not dark, and there was no pedestal. Victoria was there, alive and well. She was sitting in front of the mirror, brushing those beautiful red locks. Someone knocked, and she, in her soft voice, told them to enter.

A man did. He recognized the man as Paul, one of Victoria’s many suitors. He was the most ardent one, unyielding even after she had announced her engagement to him. He was dressed in servant attire, and held a glass in his hand. Laudanum to soothe your nerves, he said.

Then he knew. He knew what was going to happen next. He rushed to Victoria’s side and knocked the glass out of her hand. It fell onto the floor, staining the rug with a dark red colour. He looked back at her and the glass was in her hand again. He looked back at the floor; there was no glass, no stain, and no indication that he had done anything. He tried to snatch the glass but it was too late. She had already begun to drink from it. He watched in horror as her lashes fluttered on her cheek and her eyelids closed over hazel eyes, as she fell back on to the bed. Sleeping, seemingly asleep. But this time it was not the Brother of Death who had come to visit her, but Death himself.

He stood there, watching as a younger him walked in the room. He watched as he talked to her, as he slowly noticed something was wrong, as he started screaming, as he started crying for her to open her eyes.

The vice tightened its grip on his heart.

He turned away, closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was back in the dark version of the bedroom. The pedestal was there again, but something was different.

The casket was gone.

Hazel eyes were staring at him, she was sitting up.

Lord Edward, my love, she said.

Victoria, he whispered.

Why don’t you come join me love? It’s terribly lonely in there. She stepped down from the pedestal and walked towards him. She stopped short of a few inches in front of him, and gazed into his eyes.

He dimly noted that after all those years, her eyes still held the ability to pierce through him, to see into his soul.

Edward, she crooned. I missed you a lot. Those blood-red lips formed into a pout, her slender arms snaked around his neck. Did you miss me?

I missed you terribly, he found himself saying. I pined for you everyday for ten years.

And now I’ve come back to you. She smiled, and then kissed him. Her lips were as soft as he remembered. She smelled of marigolds, exactly as he remembered.

Her. His laudanum, his absinthe, his opium, his drug.

They broke apart. She touched her nose to his. Come with me, she implored.

A small part of his mind was still working, and he stated dully, Victoria… you’re dead.

What of it? I’m very lonely Edward. You said you would stay with me forever.

He cleared his throat. How can I possibly come with you? How, when you're already dead?

Why, are you afraid of spending the rest of your life with a less than beautiful corpse?! She screamed, pushing him away. You promised you would stay with me. You told me we would be together forever!

Her hazel eyes were livid, alit by a flame he had never seen in there before.

Victoria, he murmured, and took a step towards her. She took a step back accordingly, and they stared at each other.

You promised me, Edward. Tears fell from her eyes, staining those fine cheeks.

I know I did.

Now make good of that promise.

I don’t know how.

I shall show you how. And her eyes were livid again.

The shutters of the window snapped and they opened. Wind blew in the room, too strongly. Leaves were blown into the room. The rose petals were blown away; the candle flames flickered and were out.

In the midst of the chaos stood Victoria, unmoving, her crimson locks strewn across her face, her white dress billowing in the wind.

Come with me, she beckoned.

He stood unmoving, and merely looked at the spectacle before him.

Her. His lover, his succubus, his own personal demon, asking him to join her hell.

You know this would never have happened if you had only let me go, she whispered.

Then suddenly she shrieked, NOW!

The sound was unbearable, too different from the soft tinker he was accustomed to. Like nails on a chalkboard, like the shrieking of a thousand banshees.

Oblivion chose that moment to claim him. The last thing he saw before darkness closed upon him, were tears flowing down her face, distorted by rage.

---

It was cold.

It was cold, and silent.

There was a faint stench in the air.

He shifted, and found that there was something on his right. A wall.

To his right, he felt something that felt like a cane.

He opened his eyes and found that he could not see.

Then, a distant sizzle and the smell of a burning match.

Light slowly replaced the darkness around him.

His first thought was that the thing on his right was not a wall. It was wood. A plank, perhaps.

His second thought was that there was also a wooden plank in front of him.

His third thought was that the thing to his left was not a cane. It was a bone.

All this combined brought forth an epiphany that struck him with such horror that he nearly choked on his screams.

He started pounding on the wooden lid, screaming, beseeching, and crying for help of any kind. His throat was sore but he kept on. Even after he tasted blood, he kept on shouting.

Then came a moment when he had to pause, and he heard a soft voice.

Now we’ll be together forever. Just like you promised.

Above the ground, the mist started to thin. The headstones became more visible. The sky started to take on a dark red tinge. The chilling silence remained.

Somewhere in the distance, wolves started to howl.