by Cross, Amy
“Forget about her,” a voice says behind me. “She's nothing.”
Turning, I look up and see the ghost of Katinka Ashbyrn towering above me, smiling with her wretched, ravaged face. Her lips are almost completely gone, yet still her cheeks are raised and her teeth are showing, and the smile is impossible to miss. After a moment, she reaches down toward me with a thin, bony hand.
“Come, my husband,” she says calmly. “I should have cleaned this mess several days ago when it first happened, before you saw it all. Forgive me, I had a lapse, but I so enjoy watching you work.”
“You killed her,” I stammer, pulling away.
“Of course. She didn't want to let you work.”
My hand slips into a patch of Vanessa's dried blood, and I look back again at her dead eyes. How could I have sat at my desk and worked, and been completely unaware of her cries and screams? Was I really lulled into such a powerful reverie that I remained oblivious while the love of my life was being murdered? Because that's what she was, despite everything I said and everything I did. She was the love of my life, and now she's gone.
“I'm so sorry,” I whisper, as tears start streaming down my face. “Vanessa, you should have run. You should never have come back for me.”
“Exactly,” Katinka Ashbyrn replies. “If she'd left you alone, I wouldn't have had to hurt her.”
“You're a murderer!” I shout, looking up at her.
“I'm a wife,” she continues. “Anything else is secondary to that role. I am your bride, and there's nothing I won't do to make our home perfect for you.”
I stumble to my feet, while slowly backing across the kitchen.
“You love me,” she says, stepping around Vanessa's corpse and coming closer. “I know that. You never would have married me if you didn't love me with all your heart.”
I open my mouth to tell her that she's insane, but suddenly I realize the truth. She is insane. Not just crazy, not just deluded, but deeply and irreparably insane. As much as I want to scream at her for what she did to Vanessa, I know I can't reason with someone who sees the world from such a cracked perspective. In fact, I get the feeling she must have lost her mind long, long before she died.
After a moment, I look down at Vanessa.
Maybe there's still a chance. Maybe if I get her away from here, I can make a miracle happen.
“I'll clean up this awful mess,” Katinka says, stepping toward me. “You must work.”
“No,” I whisper, turning to her again. I hate the sight of her ravaged face, but I can't look away. Not yet. Not if I want to trick her. “I should take her outside and... I'll dispose of her.”
“That's my job,” she replies, shaking her head. “You're my husband. Your job is to write.”
“But this is heavy work,” I point out, hoping against hope that I can appeal to some twisted sense of propriety that might linger deep in her soul. “A woman shouldn't be doing such things. As the man of the house, I should carry the body out.”
I wait for her to reply, but I think maybe I'm getting through to her.
“You should clean up the blood and the glass,” I continue, trying – but not quite managing – to smile. “This place is a disgraceful mess.”
“I'm sorry,” she stammers. “You're right, I -”
“So get on with it!” I add. “Do you think a wife should let her home fall into such disrepair? I shall do the heavy lifting, I shall move the body, but you must make the place neat again.”
“Of course!”
“Thank the Lord we don't have visitors,” I continue. “What would they think if they saw our house like this? How do you expect me to work, when you're not carrying out your wifely duties?”
“I'm sorry!”
To my surprise, she drops to her knees and starts gathering the broken glass in her hands. She seems frantic, almost desperate, and I think she's actually trembling a little.
“Please forgive me,” she whimpers. “I know I'm not a perfect wife, but I'll get better. I shall become worthy of you!”
“I'm sure you will,” I reply, watching her for a moment longer before reaching down and gathering Vanessa's body in my arms. Lifting her from the floor, I take a step back. “I'll bury her in the forest,” I continue. “It won't take long. I'll dig the pit myself.”
Katinka looks back up to me, and once again there are tears streaming down one side of her burned and rotten face.
“My dear,” she says cautiously, “what if -”
“I'm the man of the house, aren't I?” I continue. “I don't think you should question me. I'll be back soon, and by then I hope this kitchen will look decent again.”
“I promise,” she stammers, frantically gathering more glass into her hands. She's clearly filled with panic, which in turn should mean that she's distracted.
I watch her for a moment longer, struck by how pathetic she seems, and then I turn away. My damaged leg is stiff and painful, and I feel it might buckle at any moment, but I keep going until I'm out of the house and on the edge of the lawn. I want to run for safety, but I know I can't risk arousing Katinka's suspicions. Instead, I glance over my shoulder and see that she's working with furious intensity. She even seems to be muttering under her breath, as if she's genuinely angry with herself for letting me down.
Turning, I start to carry Vanessa across the lawn.
“Can you hear me?” I whisper, hoping against hope that I'm wrong, and that she might yet possess a flicker of life. “I'm getting us out of here.”
There's no response at all, so I simply keep walking, heading past the pond. With each step, I have to fight the urge to run, but finally I allow myself to look back toward the house. Sure enough, Katinka is still working in the kitchen, and it's clear that she's focusing on the task at hand. After a moment, she looks this way, and we briefly make eye contact before she turns and resumes her work. The woman is insane, and she seems to genuinely believe that she's being a good wife.
“I'm going to get help for you,” I whisper to Vanessa as I carry her past the edge of the lawn and into the forest. I can already see the wall ahead, and I'm certain we'll be okay once we get to the other side. I stumble slightly, almost dropping Vanessa's body, but I manage to keep going until finally I get to the wall.
I turn again, and although the house is a long way off now, I can just about see Katinka still rushing around in the kitchen, still trying to please me.
“It's now or never,” I mutter, looking back down at Vanessa's glassy eyes. Deep down, I know the odds are slight, but I also know I have to try.
Pushing against the pain, I lift Vanessa up and shove her onto the top of the wall. Then, even though my arms are throbbing and my leg feels as if it's about to break again, I reach for the wall's edge and take a firm grip, before finally hauling myself up. I almost slip a couple of times, but somehow I find the strength to keep going as I haul myself higher and higher.
“Stop!” Katinka screams suddenly. “What are you doing?”
I glance over my shoulder and see her rushing toward us, crashing through the trees as she lets out an ear-piercing cry.
Realizing that this is my last chance, I throw myself over the top of the wall, knocking Vanessa's body off in the process and sending us both crashing down against the grass verge on the other side. At the same time, I roll away from the wall and look up, just in time to see the faintest hint of Katinka's outline starting to push through the bricks before she finally fades to nothing.
Her scream hangs in the air for a moment longer, before that too is gone.
Scrambling to my feet, I pick Vanessa's body up and start stumbling along the road, heading toward town. I can hear someone still screaming in the garden of Ashbyrn House, but I don't dare look back, not even as I limp past the main gate. I just have to get Vanessa to safety and pray that there's still a chance she can be saved. Or, better yet, perhaps I'll find that she wasn't here at all, and that she was just a hallucination like Charlie.
“It's oka
y,” I whisper as I carry her through the cold night air, ignoring another scream from Katinka in the distance. “Everything's going to be fine. You're going to wake up.”
Suddenly I see lights ahead, and I realize that a car is heading this way. We're saved.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Katinka - 1859
“The stones of the church will fetch a fine price,” Charles continues, as morning sunlight streams through the windows and into the study. “I know a man in Chelmsford who will most certainly be willing to come and take them. You mustn't worry, Mrs. Ashbyrn. I shall not desert your family in its hour of need.”
“You are most kind,” Mother replies, still dabbing at her tear-filled eyes. “I don't know what I shall do with the place, not now that both my daughters are...”
She hesitates, before breaking down into a fresh series of sobs.
“When does your sister arrive from Goostrey?” Charles asks calmly.
“Tomorrow, I believe,” she whimpers. “Or the day after.”
“It's a shame she wasn't here already for the wedding,” he replies, “although I understand that Katinka suffered rather poor relations with much of your family.”
“Oh, she was not popular,” Mother continues, wiping her eyes again. “You saw the other day, there were so few people in the church. Katinka was...”
Her voice trails off for a moment.
“Well,” she adds, “it would perhaps not be kind to speak ill of the dead. After all, Katinka was only buried yesterday.”
“Indeed, and it was a sad occasion for us all.” Charles pauses, before offering a broad smile. “Still, life goes on, does it not? Such a shame that nobody was able to pull Katinka from the pond before it was too late, but these things happen. And Mrs. Ashbyrn, I know that this next matter might seem a little delicate, but I believe I might have come up with a solution to your most pressing problem.”
“Really?” Now she, too, manages to muster a smile. “And what might that be?”
He pauses again.
“Well,” he adds finally, almost as if he's a little nervous, “as you well know, your position would be greatly improved if you yourself were a married woman. And society is not oblivious to the needs of those who have been widowed for some considerable time. Re-marriage is certainly an option for you.”
“I doubt I shall find anyone who wishes to marry me ,” she replies, chuckling at the idea. “I am no spring chicken, Charles.”
“But a marriage could be arranged,” he continues, “if you were able to find a suitable, and understanding gentleman.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but suddenly she seems rather shocked by his suggestion.
“Oh,” she gasps, “you mean...”
“If you are in need of a husband,” he adds, “then I would remind you that I, in turn, am in need of a wife. The situation is rather unusual, granted, but sometimes unusual situations can be overcome. I am sure some of the less liberal-minded people in the area would have their doubts, but that need be of no concern to either of us. I rather feel, Mrs. Ashbyrn, that you and I could help one another immeasurably if we were to marry. And I think this course of action would help you to keep Ashbyrn House safely in your family's possession. Perhaps, after all the tragedies of late, some good might come out of the situation.”
She stares at him for a moment, before getting to her feet.
“I must give the matter some thought,” she tells him, rather haughtily. “I shall let you know my decision by the end of the day.”
With that, Mother heads out of the room, although it's clear from her smile that she has already decided. She intends to marry Charles, despite the age-gap, and together they will strip Ashbyrn House of its value. The church will be only the first asset that they will destroy, and soon Father's great house will have fallen into ruin and disrepair.
Even now, Charles sits at Father's desk and adds notes to his plans, before suddenly he gets to his feet and crosses the room, stopping in front of my painting. He holds his hands behind his back, and for a moment he seems rather lost in contemplation. Perhaps he feels that he is finally on the verge of getting everything he ever wanted.
Now that Mother has left the room, I step out of the shadows in the corner and start making my way over to Charles. I move silently, without causing the slightest disturbance in the air. I do not even breathe. I have learned, during the past few days, that the living members of the household do not seem to notice me very easily. Still, I believe I know how to make them see me, and I have waited until the perfect moment to reveal myself to the man who was once going to become my husband.
“What an ugly thing,” Charles mutters under his breath, still looking at the painting as I stop behind him. “Utterly foul and horrid in every way. Why, it's barely suitable to go on a bonfire.”
I stand right behind him.
Watching.
Waiting.
He takes another sip of tea.
Slowly, I reach up and place a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't react at all, but I'm quite certain that he'll notice eventually.
He observes the painting for a moment longer, before taking another sip.
“Hello, Charles,” I whisper, unable to hide a faint smile. “Did you miss me?”
“Very old-fashioned,” he mutters, tilting his head slightly as if to get a better look at the painting. “Then again, old Katinka always was a stick-in-the-mud.”
I lean closer to the side of his head, until my lips are so very close to his ear.
“I know you let me drown on purpose,” I tell him. “Not just you, either. There were others who could have saved me. Was I really hated so very much? Was -”
Before I can finish, he reaches up and brushes his ear, as if he sensed some faint disturbance.
“Was I really despised?” I continue. “So despised that you would stand at the edge of the pond and watch as I died? Was I really such an awful person while I was alive?”
I wait, but now he seems to have fallen silent.
After a moment, I realize I can hear a faint rattling sound. Looking down, I see with great pleasure that his hands are trembling with such force that he can barely hold his teacup.
“Hello, Charles,” I say again.
The teacup falls from his hands, shattering against the floor.
“I have been watching you for some time now,” I continue. “Preparing for my funeral. Returning. Talking to others about me. I have watched, and listened, to so very -”
Suddenly he turns, clearly startled, but he seems not to notice me even though I am right next to him. He looks around the room, before straightening his shirt and muttering something under his breath, something about staying calm. Ignoring me completely, he makes his way over to the window, where he stops again and looks out at the beautiful lawn. Still, I know full well that I have begun to get through to him. It might take time, but I am finally on the verge.
I pause for a moment, before making my way up behind him once again.
Outside the window, the church stands tall and proud, looming above the line of trees. I honestly cannot believe that Charles would dare tear down such a beautiful structure, or that Mother would let him. Still, they are clearly a craven pair, and they give more thought to money than to the importance of this house and its grounds. Father would be horrified, as am I. Charles might think that he has hit gold, that he will be able to marry my mother and take control of Ashbyrn House, but I rather think he is mistaken. Even now, as I stand right behind him, I can somehow sense that fear is creeping through his chest.
A moment later, I look at the window and see his reflection staring straight at me.
I smile.
Suddenly he turns and looks into my eyes, and then he lets out a stricken gasp as he stumbles back against the wall.
“No,” he stammers, “it can't... You're dead!”
I watch him, amused by his panic as he clutches his collar. Sweat is pouring down his face, and a moment later he drops to his k
nees.
“Please, Katinka,” he groans, his voice filled with pain. “What do you want from me? I only -”
He lets out a sudden grunt, and now he appears rather red and flustered. A moment later he grips his left arm and winces, as if he's in a great deal of pain.
“Help me!” he gasps, as if he is trying to call for assistance. “Myrtle! Somebody! Come and... help...”
Sweat is pouring down his face now, and he looks red enough to burst as he continues to grip his arm.
“Help me,” he whines. “Please, God...”
His terrified eyes stare at me for a few seconds longer, and then finally he lets out a long, low and very breathless groan. Even his eyes are becoming redder now, and he seems to be holding his breath. Finally, just as I'm starting to wonder how much longer he can last, he emits one final shocked gasp before slumping dead against the carpet.
“This house is mine,” I whisper calmly. “Now, and forever. You will not even be remembered in the pages of its history. You wretched, frightful, unworthy worm of a man!”
I pause, before turning and looking over at Father's beautiful mahogany desk. Charles was not fit to sit there, he was not even fit to set foot in this house, but one day I shall find a real man. A better man. When that day arrives, I shall take my place at his side. Why, even in death, I feel I have much to offer the right man. And he, in turn, will come to rely upon me as we work to uphold the glory and beauty of this splendid house. Though my body might rot in the grave, my mind persists.
Hearing footsteps in the distance, I turn to look over at the door. Mother is coming back, and this time I shall make sure that she, like Charles, sees my face. I shall not grant her a quick death, however. No, Mother must suffer.
Ashbyrn House is mine. All I need is a husband, but I am patient. I shall wait, and eventually a good man will surely come to me and sit at Father's desk.
Epilogue
Many years later
“Wait,” I stammer, suddenly looking out the taxi's window and seeing a familiar street flash past. “Where are we?”
