Her skin was life-like and pale, with rosy cheeks. Her lips were plump and full of youth. Her eyes were no longer painted, but real, wet, and bold, with tiny red veins running in squiggly lines from the irises to the outer eye. Her cute button nose was coated with flesh: pore-less, young, flesh. Then, the human version of Rose smiled at Declan, but her grip tightened. Declan couldn't help but panic.
Suddenly everything around Declan blurred, except Rose. Rose heightened in contrast of colour, and really began to come to life as a young girl of around seven or eight, Declan guessed.
But everything else began to lose it solidity, becoming mixed, twirling around into small spirals of mist. Until, there was nothing. It was completely bizarre, there was no colour, but it was not black. Declan was baffled to a degree that not only perplexed his belief system, but also scared him to no end. The absence of light is black, but the colour that surrounded him had not yet been introduced into reality, it was not even comparable to any other colour, it was unique and isolated from the colour spectrum. From this, he knew, he was not part of this world any more, he was very far from it. But then out of this strange, non-existent colour, bright golden sparks fired. He and Rose were rushed into a tunnel. It was as if they were falling, and only gold embers blurred past them in their plummet. Then another concept disturbed him, he couldn't tell if they actually were falling down, forward, up or backwards, he was completely disorientated. Just when he thought he would rather be in hell, being stabbed by pitchforks and scolded by Satan's fiery breath, they were both dropped onto concrete. Finally, something he knew. Declan was overjoyed by this fact. He looked up to see a lovely homey house with white windows and ivy leaves scattered over red brick making it look very natural and earthy. It had a very large roof with a window peeking through what looked like an attic room, there was also a garage to the right of the property. The garden was superb, and very well maintained, a clean, green lawn, with bushes and flowers plotted in neat and tidy formations. He then realised Rose was no longer holding his hand. He was stood, alone, in a random, unknown location, by himself. Not on a physical earth of air, water, fire and ground, not even in space, but in some strange otherworldly location, where there seemed to be no scientific rules that gave it structure. Anything could happen to anyone. Then somebody screamed.
Chapter 10
The scream came from inside the house and sounded like a young girl. He looked to the windows of the house and could see no one. But where was the noise coming from? It had to be nearby. Then he moved his gaze to the attic window and saw a man hitting a little girl. One thing he hadn't noticed before was that there was a balcony at the attic window, which, with closer observation was a full length window that was also a door. The girl's face turned towards the balcony. It was Rose.
The once doll was being punched by her father. He then lifted up her skirt and pulled down his trousers. Declan wanted to turn away, wanted to help, but the feeling of being stuck was consuming him yet again. The man began to insert himself into her. He felt sick to his stomach; this was revolting, but also incredibly upsetting. Wet stains formed on his face as she was bounced on the man's leg, begging for him to stop.
“Please, Daddy, it hurts.”
Daddy? That was her father! That was Augustus? Then he remembered what he had read in the diaries and it all made sense now. The girl was Rose, and Declan was in the past. This was the closest thing to an explanation he could conceive. She began to cry, and yell, until he held his hand over her mouth. By the few 'blue' movies he had seen he knew by her father's face, that he had just 'came'. That disgusted him, and that level of repulsion was a constantly increasing level that rose and rose like a glass box being filled with water and beginning to overflow, but with nowhere for the water to go. This is how Declan felt. He was overwhelmed by so many emotions that his body was too young, fragile and innocent to hold them all, if he continued to feel such loathing, he would burst. After this, Augustus got up and walked away, while Rose opened the window and crawled out onto the balcony. She sat, not crying, not screaming, not even looking upset, just looking blank.
There was no hint of any emotion being expressed through facial movements, or even a subtle sobbing, there was nothing. She was devastated, distraught, in total shock. A girl so young to experience that kind of feeling from that type of abuse, it was illegal, a serious crime. But he knew this went on, and in his time, should he ever get back there, still goes on. He then had a flashback to seeing the doll version of Rose stood on the balcony at Elizabeth's house, a balcony that is very similar to the one he was staring at now. Only this time it did not have a doll on it creating a throbbing fear within him, but it had a real girl, bringing up sympathy and sorrow from his selection of human feelings. Then everything began to move at a superhuman speed.
Objects and people blurred in his spectrum: cars, busy workers, children, even old people seemed to be moving faster than the speed of light. The sun had set and night was upon this reality. He was dragged forward by an unknown entity. This time he was facing a large field, the house from earlier was way in the distance. Sprouting from the field was a huge, thick tree with hundreds of branches sprouting off it like fingers, each covered in huge leaves. To the side of the tree were two girls playing 'ring-a-ring-of-roses'. They were holding hands and spinning round, giggling, but giggling in whispers, staying quiet. Then this strange world became even more surreal when the scene in front of him played out fast, the spinning zoomed round like the wheels of a race car, and their laughter took on a high pitched distortion. They were cackling like witches. But to disorientate Declan even more, the opposite happened. The circle spun round like an old woman looping a spoon in her bowl of oatmeal. Each girl's hair bobbed up and down, they were both attired in nightshirts which danced along with them, and blew in the gentle wind, swaying in every direction.
Then time jumped forward as if someone had pushed the 'skip' button on a remote control, getting impatient at a boring scene in a movie. But they were still in the same location, the girls were just sat now, and it wasn't until that moment that Declan noticed one of the girls was Rose. She was sat crying with the other girl. Rose had lifted her nightshirt up and was showing her friend her thighs, which were bruised a deep purple colour.
The other girl mouthed, 'Who did that?'
Rose responded, “My daddy.”
Which gave Declan goosebumps. He kept his emotions in check, but was bursting to cry. His soul was stained with a suffering that was so strong no form of bleach would remove it. The girl began to comfort Rose, she hugged and stroked her back.
“It's okay Rose,” she soothed.
To which Rose replied, by crying into the girl's shoulder.
“Thanks Adera,” Rose said through muffled cries.
Then Adera began to stand and said, “I am sorry Rose, but I have to get going now, it is not safe for me to be here.”
“I know, I understand. The men in green don't like Jews, I don't want you to get hurt Adera. Will you come tomorrow and see me?” she asked, tears gleaming in the moonlight.
“I will try,” she gave a soft, empathetic smile.
Then Adera began to creep off, keeping low, and regularly using trees for camouflage. Why were two young girls behaving so adult-like, so grown-up? They should be having fun, enjoying life, not have a care in the world, instead, one is being abused, and the other had her own worries of being home on time, as she was a Jew and the Nazis will attack her. This was no life for two lovely girls, no life at all. Declan became depressed for their existence. How long had this been going on? How long had they suffered? How long will it last? Will it get worse? Questions stung the part of him that cared for others, it stung like it had been trapped in a hive full of bees. Questions also gave his head a dull ache, this was too much to bear. Not allowing him time to recover and deal with what he had seen so far, time began to speed up again.
But this time he was placed inside the house he had earlier been stood outside of. Judging
by the view from the window he was in the attic. Wooden beams above, wooden boards below, a few rugs, tables, a single bed, and a book shelf, it was very similar to Declan's room. It was larger, with similar objects and a comparable colour scheme, except he didn't have a balcony. He saw a photo frame on a bedside table with a woman of around thirty inside it, Declan assumed it was Rose's mother, had she died yet? Declan made the assumption that she had as that was quite a sentimental action, placing a photo of one person in your bedroom, by your bed, so you can still see them every day, to help you through the mourning process. The pain that Rose must have experienced at the loss of her mother, at any age, losing someone that you love, feels worse than dying yourself. But to be so young, full of life and optimism, and still believe in the magic of the world, was almost inhumane. If Rose's father had begun abusing her before her mother died, this would have only added to the incredible burden of mourning. Declan looked over to the bed and saw something move.
It was Rose. She was climbing out of bed, with messy hair, and tired eyes that held a tortured look.
She grabbed the photo from her bedside table and looked intensely at the woman.
“Morning mummy,” she muttered, with depression and mourning drawn over her face.
That pulled on Declan's heartstrings and tears produced from his ducts. She sat for at least ten minutes, staring at the photo, her own tears began to form, at which point she put the photo back, very gently onto the bedside table. Then a stomping sounded, and shortly after the door flung open, her father stood smiling. Declan then heard, what he presumed was one of Rose's thoughts aloud 'not again'. Her mouth didn't move, and no sound came from it, but he heard those two words very clear, painfully so.
“Why are you crying?” Augustus shouted.
Then his eyes sparked understanding as he noticed the photo.
“Get rid of that stupid photo, your mother was a whore,” he said, then raced over to the frame, grabbed it, and hurled it down on the wooden floor. It smashed. The glass protecting the photo shattered, and the frame fell apart, splintering into dozens of pieces. His mind once again flashed back to when his own father had done this to Rose, the doll, in a very similar respect, the likeness was uncanny. He was beginning to sense that this journey wasn't just a random collection of flashbacks, someone was trying to tell him something. But he couldn't work out who it was. Rose had brought him here, so maybe her? But how was any of this possible? Was he dreaming? Dead and in heaven? The possibilities were endless.
Rose began to cry hysterically, which is when Augustus punched her full force in the face. Declan cringed at the awful noise his fist made when cracking into Rose's cheek. Rose went flying to the ground from her bed, and fell into the mass of glass shards littering the floor. She hollered in agony when her hands were cut by the pieces, and blood rushed to the surface. Augustus took the photo from under the wreckage, and tore it in front of Rose's crying face. It was clear by his expression he enjoyed that moment, hitting his daughter, upsetting her, and inflicting physical and emotional anguish. What a wretched man, an abomination, Declan scowled. Just when Augustus began to leave the room, Rose stood, and Declan suddenly became very nervous at Rose's stiff jaw and flared nostrils. She was mad, and was about to act out; he knew it. Her hands were still bleeding, blood trickling down like raindrops on a window pane, and her face was red from squeezing out several tears. She then screamed at Augustus.
“You killed mummy, I hate you,” she shrieked, quivering.
Now Declan was so far beyond nervous.
Augustus turned from the doorway, and the level of acrimony in his eyes was unlike anything he had ever seen or heard of. The closest he could think of, was the most recent encounter with his father, but even then, that seemed slightly tame in comparison.
“Ich werde verdammt noch mal töten, du kleine Schlampe, ich bin euch töten deine verdammte Mutter gerne,” Augustus roared.
Declan couldn't fully translate that, but he knew certain words that were mentioned.
Words such as: 'kill', 'mother', 'I am going to'.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what he had just said, that was a criminal confession, and then a promise to cause more harm to his little girl.
Time began to speed along, yet again, and the sight that lay before him, made Declan howl in sadness.
His throat was dry, brain numb, and his body shook frantically. Rose was laid on the floor caked in blood, with her eyes wide open. She was dead. It didn't take a coroner, or morgue to identify this, it was clear as a blue sky. Augustus had killed her. Then his usual intellect reared itself inside Declan's grey matter. Why didn't the diary mention she thought her father killed her mother? Or did it, and he just missed it in the initial trauma of things? Then again, if this was the first time she truly believed it, or even thought it, it would have been too late. She couldn't write if she was no longer alive.
Augustus burst in and began dragging the body slightly. He stopped, reached down, and lifted what appeared to be a wooden trapdoor. He pulled it open fully and let it clatter to the ground. After which he hoisted Rose and dropped her inside. The very way he went about doing this, was infuriating.
So callous, cold and completely uncaring, with no trace of guilt or regret in the slaying of his daughter. But wait… hold on, Rose couldn’t have died? She went on to have Elizabeth, who then gave birth to Ryan, Harry, and of course, Emily. This flashback cannot be accurate. Now Declan was completely abashed. He quite literally felt as if someone had just brayed his head, leaving him stumped and a siren-like sound circling his skull. But something in all this did make sense. Rose, the doll, had seemingly not liked being hidden under the boards of his room, as she kept appearing on the shelf or bed. If Rose the girl possessed the doll, after what she had been through, it was a given she would not want to spend any more time under floorboards. Even, if she had been dead at the time. Then time didn't speed up as such, it skipped, as it had before. Declan was growing increasingly frustrated at all this time travelling and beginning to feel nauseous. He now faced a house that had seen better days, much better days.
Nothing but rubble surrounded this house. It was a row of small, but tall, town houses. Each one looked as though an explosion had ripped it apart from the inside out. The only visible features of the houses were the foundations: the floors, walls, electrical wiring, pipes, poles; the rest was debris. Nothing more than: smashed up bricks, broken glass, dried out soil, piles of dust and dirt, and various objects scattered among the fragments. It was clear by the objects that at one time or another, they were homes, homes of families. With toys, plates, utensils, towels, brushes, curtains, rugs, clothes mixed in with the dust formed by broken brick. It was evident that these buildings once upon a time were warm, and loving homes. Homes that fathers would return to, after finishing a hard day at work, homes where children could sleep and play, homes where wives from that time would clean and cook. But now they were nothing but the aftermath of bombs, from what Declan had read, and learnt from History lessons at school. Just as he thought it, he heard a noise comparable to the sound of race car, but this only lasted a few seconds until a loud 'boom' echoed. The ruckus triggered people, they started running from the streets and finding shelter in the poor constructions. Everyone was frantic with panic and fear, huddled together, worried they may die, horrified for their lives and that of their families and friends.
During the chaos and scrambling of terrified people, time ricocheted into a time warp, and day became night. He was in the same location, but now the darkness has ensued, and it resembled hell. Utter lack of hope, and the isolation, and abandonment of everything good and pure. A man walked through the tainted streets. He appeared to be rummaging, with his eyes, through the remains, looking for something, or someone. He was probably a father looking for his family, or friends. He was so focused, his eyes full of investigation, then he began to move rubble and debris. Not long after that he stumbled upon the body of a little girl, she had a likeness to R
ose, then Declan looked closely at the man; it was Augustus.
What on earth was he doing? He was a couple of miles from his home, and in such a dangerous place. He didn't seem like the selfless, Florence Nightingale type, to go searching for injured victims of a prejudice war and nurse them back to full health. In fact Declan knew he wasn't that sort of person, so what was he doing? But Declan was shocked when Augustus tapped the girl and put his ear to her mouth, and looked happy. This was bewildering, why would the life of a young girl make him happy, he had just killed his own daughter and locked her under the floorboards in the attic. A man like that doesn't have a caring, or loving bone in his whole skeletal structure.
So why was he happy? He scooped the girl up and as he did, time took us back to the house. Augustus was carrying the girl and laid her on Rose's former bed. The girl was just beginning to wake, and was startled to see a man facing her.
“Aderas,” Augustus whispered.
She nodded, looking frightened and perturbed.
“Your name is now Rose, I will take care of you, and you will be Rose. I know you used to play with her, I have seen you before, you will now be Rose, you won't have to worry about bombs, or dying, and you can be rich, but you won't be Adera anymore.”
Again, the girl whose identity was still a mystery nodded her head. Then he understood, Declan could understand what Augustus was doing. He had killed his daughter, and scared that he would be found out, kidnapped her only friend, a Jewish girl, and planned to make her pose as his daughter. Given their uncanny resemblance it could work.
Frightful Tales #1: Rose's Thorn Page 9
