“The truth,” replied Holly?
The old lady then rose from her chair and walked towards the window, pausing for a moment as she passes the now opened letter. “You see they're in here dear,” and as she turned to face Holly, she places a finger on her own forehead. “They’re in here. He put them in my head, for safe keeping. I couldn’t tell anyone, the whisper was to powerful but recently the voices in my head don’t seem to be as compelling and I seem to have more freewill - she’s been chasing a ghost, you see, a distraction to fool her, but she’s beginning to suspect.”
“How do you know all this?”
“The whisper is a two way connection, and just for a moment - on that night - as I reached out for help - I could hear their thoughts.”
Julian
A few days had passed since the antiques show, and Mom had just reminded us we had an appointment to see Julian Claridge, at his house, which happened to be called Claridges. I then remembered I had Fu-fu, Julian’s wig, safely stashed within the pockets of my jeans. As I searched my bedroom amongst piles of unwashed school clothes looking for my jeans a feeling of dread crept over me. “Mom, have you seen the jeans I wore for the antique show?” Unfortunately, the answer that came back wasn’t the one I really wanted to hear.
“I’ve washed them dear, there on the line outside.”
I rushed downstairs and into the garden and there, blowing in the wind were the Jeans that had, for the past few days, become home to Julian’s wig. Tearing them from the line tore, I pulled Julian’s Wig from its temporary wet and ink-stained home.
“What one earth are you doing, Barnaby,” inquires Mom?
Breathless, I manage a reply. “Rupert - he stole Julian’s wig - so I took it - for safekeeping.”
“It’ll be no good now dear, it’s been on a hot wash.”
The red wig that had been placed with such pride and splendor on Julian’s head was now the size of a peanut and wouldn’t have even fitted Gregor, who although wasn’t bald did have the head of a two year old baby, and as I attempted to stretch and pull Fu-fu, it became obvious she was going to budge.
“Looks like Julian might need a smaller head,” remarks Ruby as she wanders past. “How earth you will tell him, he’s already had one heart attack?”
“Gently,” I replied, “very gently.”
Arriving at Julian’s grand mansion late in the afternoon, Harriet greets us at the door. “He’s in the study,” she informs us. “Just follow me please, if you will,” pointing towards an open door at the end of a very long corridor, packed full of antiques. As we entered a room labeled, ‘Drawing Room’, I notice hundreds of dolls, scattered all around the room.
“I collect dolls; it’s my passion,” informs Julian, as he entered the room from some secret passage. “Have you brought the doll?”
“I have,” replied Ruby, triumphantly raising her into the air.
“Wonderful... beautiful,” replies Julian, as he reaches for a box of tablets neatly organized on his tea trolley.
“I have a heart condition you know; I might not make the end of the year.”
“You’ll be fine, replies Harriet.” He’s just exaggerating.”
Reaching into my pocket and pulling out Julian’s tiny wig, I decide to hold it up. “I found this Mr Claridge, I’m afraid it shrunk in the wash, I have to admit as I stroke what now looks like a poisoned ferret.
“Fu-fu,” exclaims Julian. “You’ve found my Fufu. Please, bring her over her. How I’ve missed you,” whispers Julian, as he carefully replaced his wide brimmed hat now sitting neatly on his head with Fufu.
“What do you think, Harriet?”
“It’s a tiny bit small Mr Claridge,” replies Harriet, who is now restraining herself from bursting into fits of Laughter.
”With a bit of stretching here and there she’ll be fine,” replies Julian, as he replaces Fu-fu with the wide brimmed hat once more.
“Now - about your doll,” and as Julian slowly rises majestically from his chair, gesturing a hand of help towards Ruby, I felt he had something remarkable to tell us.
“You see, your doll is very special... as I suspect you are already aware. It is of a type given to the young French Princess, Marie-Thérèse Charlotte, the daughter of Marie Antoinette.
“A French queen, sent to the guillotine, in 1793,” and executed, I reply.”
“Yes my boy, it was a ghastly business.” I didn’t have the heart to tell Julian, his arch nemesis - the boy who had stolen Fu-fu, Rupert, was the one I owed my history tutorial too so I let him carry on.
“I can see you like your history Barnaby - may I carry on.”
“Please do,” replies Mom.
“Thank you,” responds Julian. “As I was saying. People were starving within the city walls, whereas the aristocrats, like the Queen, where seen to have all the luxuries money could buy, and unwilling to share their wealth. However, according to history, Marie Antoinette had a change of heart giving a great deal of money to the poor and starving, which unfortunately left nothing for her daughter, Charlotte’s birthday that year except this doll, Lulu. Legend says Marie-Thérèse Charlotte roamed the streets with her doll Lulu, comforting the sick and dying - and that’s not all - the story gets stranger.”
Julian takes out a rather large book from beneath his sitting chair, and open it. “Look - look very closely,” he says.”
As our eyes strained at the old faded pictures, I see Lulu – there - between a group of soldiers - huddled together in a ditch. “
“You see,” says Julian, flicking through every page. “This doll appears throughout history.”
“This book takes a snippet of history- a period in time marked by a terrible and very strong emotional event. Look - you see... the drawing of a young girl. She’s the Vickers daughter from that plague village of Eyam - now look closer... near the young girl’s feet... can you see... a doll... like your doll.”
“The young girl died from the plague five days later and was just one of many that died there that year. I truly believe that the doll, pictured on every page in this book - is your doll.”
As Ruby and I scanned the pages, looking at every detail, it became clear Julian was right and that the doll - our doll - Lulu had somehow travelled through history, finally arriving with us - and according to Gregs - heading us towards some kind of catastrophe.”
“You have a piece of history there,” remarks Julian, “and somehow I don’t really think it came from a car boot sale now - did it? But that really doesn’t concern me at the moment”
“I don’t wish to buy the doll, or even ask any more about it, I truly believe, however, the doll has been given to you for some purpose and I trust you will both deal with it in a sensible and mature fashion.”
For a man covered in jewelry and wearing the world’s smallest wig, Fu-fu, Julian was - on the whole - a very nice man - even if he had made Rupert cry. So we said our farewells to Julian and Harriet and left Claridges behind us.
“What a lovely man,” said Mom, “and what a strange tale. I Hope you two didn’t believe all that, although it was a nice story.”
Ruby and I just looked at each other and smiled.
Tea
As the old Lady finished her tea and night descends, Holly returns to the old staff accommodation rooms still wondering what to make of the hours that proceeded.
“Are you OK,” inquires Gérard?
“Yes, fine - I was just thinking about Miss Durant.”
“She's been telling you those stories again, hasn’t she,” he asks.
“Yes -she has - but this one’s really freaked me out. You know the antique show on TV, the one Miss Durant watches all the time, well... she’s asked me to try and get in contact with someone on the show - a girl – the one who was having that doll she’s been going on about valued by the presenter.”
“If you mean the old guy in the red wig, replies, Gérard, “that’s Julian Claridge. My parent’s watches that show every weekend- and
the repeats - it drives me nuts – anyway - why would she ask you to do that?”
“Apparently, the doll the young girl has is her doll and I think it would make her feel better if she found out it wasn’t.”
“What if it is her doll,” replies Gérard?
Holly thought it best not to tell Gérard about the chain, as she wasn’t quite sure herself whether the experience had been real or some kind of illusion, but the memories and experiences of that night and the whispers in her head were now becoming unbearable, almost like an insanity.
“She wants me to write a letter asking how she came about the doll.”
“How will you find her, replies Gerard.?”
“I could write to Julian Claridge, his address should be easy to find.”
The Letter
“There’s a letter here,” shouts up Mom, “and it’s addressed to you both - I think it’s from France.”
Ruby and I made our way down stairs and into the hallway, where Mom was holding the letter.
“Thanks Mom,” replies Ruby. “I bet this is something from Julian,” and as Ruby opened the letter I could clearly see that from her expression it was most definitely not from Julian.
Ruby’s mouth had only once stayed open before, and it was at a concert - when Justin Bieber said, “Hello” to her as he walked passed.
“Is it a letter from Justin Bieber,” I asked, but Ruby’s mouth just stayed open. “Here take a look, she replied.” The letter was from Aimée.
Dear Barnaby and Ruby
I believe you knew my sister, Lottie.
Lottie was an excellent judge of character and obviously trusted you both, so I shall do the same.
As you may or may not know, my home in France is an old chateau, a home for the emotionally disturbed like myself, although some people might prefer like to use the term insane.
I believe Lottie may not have told you everything of our journey possibly, because of how little she did actually know, and it is only now I am able to tell you more of our story.
I know you have seen them, and I know he has erased any memories you may have of that meeting, leaving you with a night of empty dreams.
The doll you have was once mine, and as you probably know she’s had an extraordinary journey, but now that journey must end. Please, I would like you to return her to me, if not; I feel something terrible may happen to you all.
Please find enclosed the last link of the four, and one that I have kept for over sixty years.
I truly believe you will know what to do with it, but this must happen with everyone connected with that night - the night of empty dreams - the night you cannot remember - and everyone must be connected at the same time.
I hope this helps with your decision.
Yours, Aimée Durant.
“We need to remember what happened that night. She called it ‘The night of empty dreams’ and she’s right. Something happened to all of us that night and we need to remember, we need to find out what happened during that ‘missing time’.
Mom said she couldn’t remember much of what happened that night either - so we really need to find those missing hours.”
“Yes, but that 'missing time' after Mom’s night out is simply explained by alcohol, replied Ruby, with a smirk on her face.”
“Are you taking this seriously, Sis?”
“Of course I am, so listen to this. During the time of the plague, people witnessed figures in black cloaks armed with scythes on the outskirts of town; it says they lived between dimensions. It’s here on Myths and Legends website, listen. It says this dimension housed two guardians of time, the guardian of the beginning known as Life, and the guardian of the end known as Death, who lived on the memories of the living. When they stood up, smoky shadows, which spun around in the air like chains covered his body until they formed a black tattered robe. Then, Life held out his hand and more of these smoky shadows gathered and formed the Death blade, a tall scythe that was black as night. It says the blade formed a crescent moon that was half as long as the staff. Ring any bells?
“You’ve been researching this, haven’t you,” I replied.? Then I told her she was turning into an academic, which I knew she would hate.
“I am not,” replied Ruby, abruptly. “It’s just that those dreams I have seem so real...and that figure in black... she’s always on the outskirts of what appears to be a derelict village, I just find it interesting, and there’s more to the story, if you really want to hear? As Ruby continued, admittedly, I got rather hooked on her story telling.
So she continued. “As they swung their scythes at the crops, witnesses claimed a mist came from the top of the staff and spread across the ground, and after these figures appeared a plague would hit the town. It’s such a well-known event that the figure in a black cloak with a scythe became the figure of death. So, what if the woman in black is Her?”
“So what you’re saying, is... this hooded figure you see in your dreams... was responsible for the Plague?”
“Do you remember the village of Eyam, in Derbyshire,” inquired Ruby, “also called the plague village? Legend says that the plague was spread from London to Eyam through a piece of cloth received by a dressmaker In the summer of 1665 from a supplier in London, where ‘The Great Plague’ was at its worst, and that the parcel contained fleas from contaminated rats, causing the plague by biting the villagers. The tailor was dead from the plague within one week of receiving his parcel and by the end of September five more villagers had died until more than half of the village was dead. Just suppose... it was a toy for a child the tailor received... not cloth... a cloth doll... LULU.”
“So Lulu’s possessed?”
“A doll doesn’t need to be cursed or possessed to give someone the creeps. It might just have a strange facial expression or be missing body parts from years of moving around. Or it may have witnessed repeated acts of HORROR.”
“No, don’t be ridiculous,” at which moment the doorbell rang, making us all jump
“That’ll be Danny and Greg's with a bit of luck. I’ve text them both to come round.”
“This might be the right time to explain what we know,” smiled Ruby. Then she started singing some obscure love song, about Danny, to embarrass me.
We sat huddled together and began to explain to our disbelieving audience about the night of the sleepover, the Bloody Cauldron, Lottie, Lulu, the chains and finally the letter we had received from Aimée.
Gregs then confessed he hadn’t been sleeping well either because of a reoccurring dream, and Danny just sat there in total disbelief.
“Have you ever heard of Patty Reed’s doll,” inquired Gregor. “Patty Read was traveling to California in 1846, she was eight years old and with her family when the snows fell and they were trapped in the mountains and with no food for weeks. They turned to eating bits of leather, mice, old bones... and finally, E-A-C-H O-T-H-E-R. The family survived and reached California, but halfway through the journey back the family had to get rid of most of Patty’s toys to lighten the load, which Patty did, except for her doll, which she managed, somehow, to smuggle beneath her cloak. Patty’s doll is now in a museum in California, and While the doll isn’t possessed people find it difficult to look at it and not think of little Patty Reed... chewing on human flesh.
“That can’t be true,” said Danny, squeezing Barney’s hand for reassurance, “Lulus a pretty doll, and anyway you could be making this all up, how would I know?
“It is true, replied Barnaby, it’s all documented, Julian Claridge showed us, and that’s why some dolls look creepy. We also have this.” I took out the link Aimée had entrusted us with and showed it to Danny.
“It’s just a bit of old chain,” said Danny.
“We need to hold the chain, together.”
The four friends clasped hands and held the chain.
“We need you to hold it too, Danny. Then close your eyes.”
Images of Road Warrior, Aimée and the disturbances of that night i
ntermingled like leaves in snow flurry, along with glimpses of what each other had experienced, ebbing and flowing.
A sudden chill then broke my concentration as the room temperature dropped, and then I heard a voice from the darkness.
“THAT’S ENOUGH.”
As the vague outline of a something hooded appeared from the darkness of my bedroom, I decide there and then I would never go out when darkness descends and stay under the bed covers forever, as opposed to facing whatever had uninvitedly entered my room. As he spoke, a forgotten memory fragment relighted and I began to remember who he was.
“The fact you remembered Katie is down to Her, she placed those memory fragments in your head, not me, I just need the doll...it’s for our game.”
“YOU, caused the plague?”
“Yes, rather good wasn’t it, more accident than by design, although She believes it was in anger. Disease is never merely medical and the word Plague, in ancient languages, simply means ‘The Touch’, much like, ‘The Whisper.’”
Imagine, that in a mere five days’ time, after having seen all this and knowing now what you know, all of your best friends have succumbed to an illness which cannot be explained and that all the residents who live on this street have died, under similar circumstances and in the same amount of time. Now that be terrible, wouldn’t it so give me the doll of your own free will and I will be gone, with ‘no ill feelings,’ that was a joke by the way.
Bending closer to Barnaby, he then asks. “Has your sense of humor deserted you Barnaby because it appears, you’re not smiling anymore.”
“She said, ‘she would prefer... to “take ALL of my memories’.”
“Of course,” replies The Rattler, “she replaced ‘ALL’ those lost memories of Katie, so you could be free, she’s too generous sometimes.” He then turns to face my friends, Danny and Gregor.
Doll Page 7
