I slid across the icy grass silently and reached the small stone house, which stood isolated in a meadow, and didn’t dare look back toward the trees as I flung the heavy wooden door open and hurtled through the dark and dusty entrance hall into the kitchen. I walked to the middle of the room, the wooden floor creaking under my feet, and lifted a small carpet off the floor, revealing a trapdoor leading to the cellar. No more than two people had space in the cellar, which meant I would be able to fight them off one by one if, or when, they found me here.
My heart pounded against my ribcage as I bent down to grab hold of the old iron lever. As I began to lift the heavy wooden door, my hands shook uncontrollably, and just as I had it fully opened, I heard their heartbeats surround the house. I squeezed my eyes shut. It was too late for the trapdoor and too late to escape the confines of the cottage. I couldn’t relinquish my tight grasp on the handle even though I knew it was over; somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to let go.
I heard the priest’s boots hit the old wooden floor as he entered through the front door and into the kitchen. He was moving so fast that his black form was blurred even from my sight. I wanted to scream in fear and agony, to cry out for forgiveness in desperation for them to spare my life, but I knew no amount of pleading or remorse would save me now. As John reached me, out of instinct, I lunged away from him, but he was too fast.
“You think you can outrun me?” he snapped, roughly grabbing a bunch of my hair near the scalp.
I cried out it pain—a voice that came from me but that I had never heard before. The fear and anger had changed me; I was a wild animal trapped in a snare.
I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to escape him, but I couldn’t resist the desperate urge for it. I kicked and tried to struggle my way out of his clutches, my fingernails scratching the skin from his arms, but his strength was greater than mine.
“John, please, I beg you, please,” I cried, once again taken aback with how my voice was strained with anxiety. Desperately, I grasped at his arms and tried to pull away as I heard the strands of my hair ripping from my scalp.
“It’s time to pay for your crimes, Astara,” John growled. “I’ve waited a long time for this moment.”
“Please, John, no, please don’t do this. Please,” I moaned and tried to push back against him. The group of men waited outside for me—all Dark Soldiers in their black sable cloaks. “Oh God, please don’t do this,” I cried as he dragged me to the front door. “I’m begging you, no.”
He ignored my begging and dragged me outside with ease. The others were waiting, swathed in blue light that threw dark shadows on their faces, their black eyes flickering, following my every move. John threw me down to the ground so roughly that the gravel sliced my hands. The sting coursed its way through my nerves, and suddenly it all felt real. The dust that had erupted from the ground with my fall choked me, a cough ripping through my lungs. Fighting was futile; every one of these Dark Soldiers would be only too happy to take my life.
“Take care of this,” the priest ordered and walked away.
My long hair fell over my face as I tried to turn my body to face them. Tears of frustration and fear streamed down my cheeks, meeting with the dust that had settled on my face, creating a muddy river. None of the soldiers moved as I looked at each one of them circled around me, and footsteps sounded in the dry dirt, coming toward me. I lifted my face and wiped the hair out of my eyes. Without needing to see his face, I recognized his heartbeat immediately: it was Viktor. I was saved. My tense muscles relaxed, and I finally allowed myself to exhale.
“Viktor, thank God—there’s been a terrible mistake,” I breathed, shaking my head and trying to stand up. But before Viktor replied, the first fragment of the rising sun broke through the horizon. The sky was suddenly blood red. Something glistened in Viktor’s right hand.
My eyes widened in fear, and I fell to the ground, crawling backward. Viktor gripped a knife, his hands shaking slightly. A scream ripped through me again and again, and I dug my fingers into the ground in desperation to do something, anything.
I looked into Viktor’s eyes. He took a step closer to me, his jaw clenched, and his hands now shaking around the knife’s handle.
“Viktor,” I screamed, “please, don’t do this to me.” My voice shook. His face flinched.
You have to stand up, look into his eyes, and make him to truly see you, I thought, suddenly feeling an odd sense of calm come over me. I forced myself to stand. Surely this would make it more difficult for him somehow?
“Viktor, please, I love you,” I whispered, protecting my heart, my hands pushed tightly onto my heaving chest.
Viktor flinched and hesitated. He lowered the knife and glanced around. He transferred the ornate blade from his right hand to his left. As hope started to fight the terrible fear, I tentatively lowered my hands to my sides to show that I trusted him.
The other men all stared at me, any one of them ready to complete the task if Viktor found himself unable to do it. He took a deep breath and stepped back, dropping the knife on the dusty ground. The other hunters tensed, but I took a deep breath for what felt like the first time in an age and felt the overwrought muscles in my back ease. Viktor could never kill me, he loved me. Would he perhaps let me go? Exile me?
His face softened, and the anger in his eyes turned into sadness. He took a step toward me, so close that I inhaled his familiar scent and felt comforted. I placed my arm on his shoulder and opened my mouth to tell him that they were wrong, that the girls’ deaths had not been my fault, but before I could speak he did.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The entire forest echoed with my anguished scream as I felt his right hand break through my ribcage so forcefully that each of my ribs shattered. I gasped as his hand wrapped around my heart, and my eyes widened in the realization that it was over. Our eyes met at the moment he pulled my heart from my chest and darkness took me.
-
“Evelyn,” I heard a woman’s frantic voice echo from the mist. “Evelyn,” the voice persisted and became clearer. “Wake up, it’s just a dream,” she said.
There was something oddly familiar about that voice, and relief washed over me. A hand reached out and grasped my shoulder.
My eyes flew open; my breath still coming in painful gasps. I sat up, not in the forest, but in the canopy bed, carved wooden angels staring at me while a bead of sweat trickled down my forehead.
“Are you all right?” Kate asked, still gripping my shoulder and frowning in concern.
My eyes narrowed in the morning sunlight that crept through the gaps in the bed’s black lace curtains. My heart still pounded, and my hands shook. I desperately needed a glass of water to swallow down the dry sandpaper that was my throat. The woman’s scream replayed in my ears, and I closed my eyes as I realized that the woman in my dreams had died.
I nodded. “It-it was—” I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. “A bad dream,” I finally breathed, thinking about the woman with the long silver hair as the distinct smell of cherry blossoms and pine trees lingered in the room.
Chapter Four
It took longer than I wanted to get up, mainly because Kate had been reluctant to leave me and then as soon as I placed my feet on the cold wooden floor, a dull ache passed through them. I lifted my right foot to examine it and felt a deep frown etch into my forehead. It was covered with dozens of indentations from stones.
“Impossible,” I murmured as I lifted the left foot, which mirrored the right. Had I walked outside on the gravel in my sleep? I rubbed my clammy hands on my pajama bottoms. My throat was still dry and burning. Water.
I rushed to the bathroom, bent over the basin, and drank directly from the tap, feeling the relief of the cold water on my dry throat. I glanced around the bathroom, exhaled loudly. Crimson tiles and a bath, shower, and basin straight out of one of the nine circles of
hell surrounded me. In my rush and desperation for water, I hadn’t even noticed that the floor was covered with a faded black carpet. Why would anyone lay carpet in the bathroom but not the bedroom?
For a minute, I closed my eyes and tried to remember my light gray stone bathroom at home. Grace was a renowned interior designer praised for her natural, earthy, and sustainable designs. I think she would have had an anxiety attack in this bathroom. I noticed that Kate had fresh brown towels ready for me. Between the crimson, black, and brown colors in the bathroom, I suddenly felt overwhelmed. How had my mother lived here for eighteen years?
The entire time I was in the shower, the close-to-boiling water trickling down my skin, all I could think about was the woman with the long, wavy silver hair and how I had woken up with painful indentations on my feet. Kate had explained that my screaming had woken her. By the time she arrived in my room, I was apparently lashing around in the bed, gripping the black Spanish lace covering the canopy.
I wrapped the ugly brown towel around my skeletal frame. In front of the steamed mirror, my image was as distorted as my state of mind. Since the accident, I had woken every morning and written the word somewhere: notebooks, mirrors, even on the windows, and now I ran my index finger on the steamed mirror.
“Guilty.”
I erased the word with my hand and closed my eyes. The number of times I had played out in my mind the events of the night of the accident felt infinite. I replayed my decisions and things I could have done differently to avoid what had happened. It all came back to one single decision I had made. I never told anyone, not even Serena, but the accident had been my fault without a doubt. My shoulders tensed, and my throat grew tight.
Don’t cry.
I had never been much of a crier, even as a little girl; I knew how worried my dad was about me after my mom died. I could sense his anxiety around me, and so, I made it a point to be constantly fearless for him.
And now all you ever do is cry.
I walked back into the bedroom and leaned against the dressing table to examine my feet. The marks were gone. Had I imagined them? I darted my eyes around the room at the downcast décor and my clothing strewn across the floor, and my jaw clenched as my breathing became shallow.
“I have to get out of here,” I whispered desperately. I had never felt so trapped in my life.
I grabbed the first pair of jeans and a sweater I could find and got dressed quickly. I scanned the contents of the bag, and when I couldn’t see a hairbrush, I pulled my wet hair back into a ponytail and wiped my damp hands on my jeans. I forced on my sneakers without bothering to untie the laces and walked out of the door, leaving the bed unmade and the brown towel on the floor. My ponytail was still dripping, lukewarm water seeping into my sweater as I walked down the hallway of closed doors save one. I glanced inside and noticed Kate looking up at me from a writing desk.
“Oh. Hey,” I said, pausing in the doorway.
She scanned my appearance and raised her eyebrows. “Are you planning to go somewhere?” she asked. I could tell that she was trying to keep her tone light, but her narrowing eyes and wrinkled brow gave her away.
Failing to hide emotion must be a genetic flaw in this family.
“Yeah, I thought I would have a look around town—if that’s okay?” I asked, my eyes darting around the room to avoid her gaze.
“Don’t you want to eat something first and maybe dry your hair?” she asked, opening one of the desk drawers.
“I just want to get some fresh air for a little while,” I explained, watching her rummage through the drawer.
“I see,” she said, finally grabbing something bronze from the drawer. She got up and held out a large old house key. Her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t lose this key. It’s a skeleton key, it opens every door in this house.”
Not very safe. What would ever happen in a small village though?
“Evelyn,” she added, looking into my eyes. My forehead folded into another frown.
“Yes?” I said when I realized she wouldn’t continue until I acknowledged her.
“Don’t wander too far. It’s a small town, but with all the forest, you can easily get lost. And whatever you do, do not cross the bridge that leads out of town,” she said, forming each word carefully.
I nodded, which seemed to reassure her. Does she think I am going to run away with wet hair and a damp sweater?
“Please take a jacket or a coat,” she said, pressing the key into my hand. “It’s freezing out there. Take mine hanging at the bottom of the staircase if you don’t have one.”
I nodded, and she shut the study door, leaving me standing in the empty entrance hallway, the only sound coming from the echoing grandmother clock downstairs. Had I offended her by wanting to leave the house?
You can be nice later, just get out of here for a bit, she doesn’t get how horrible this house is.
I ran down the stairs as quickly as possible, ignoring all the photos and paintings on the wall as I passed.
The entrance hall was dark and murky, the only light coming from the stained glass window near the stairway. I looked toward the curtained door, and a chill crept down my spine. Just get out of here. It will be better outside.
I unbolted the heavy door and pulled it open, pushing it closed and all but running out into the gray day. The chill in the air took my breath away and instantly froze my wet hair. I groaned. I had forgotten to take the coat.
For a second, I considered going back inside.
It’s a ten-minute walk, you won’t die.
I pressed my lips together and walked away from the front door toward the main gate. I glanced back and shivered. The house was as terrifying during the day as it was at night, and the nearby forest that surrounded the entire circular garden full of dead rose bushes was just as uninviting.
Oh God, I can’t believe I have to live here.
I reached the end of the driveway and stopped in front of the tall black cast-iron gates. Among the ivy that overwhelmed them, the same fallen rebel angels from the front door met my gaze. Dad would have loved this ridiculously ornate gate. As a curator and art history lecturer, this entire house would have delighted him. What would he think of me now? As I pushed the gate open, I wondered if in his last minutes he knew that it was my fault, that his last thoughts had been of me making a dreadful mistake?
My arms and chest felt heavy. Dad.
Why couldn’t you just have listened to Justin? Don’t think about that. Not now.
I took a deep breath as the gate closed behind me. Not only had I refused to go back inside for a jacket, but in my rush to escape I had also forgotten my phone, not that it would help me in a town with no signal.
I hesitantly walked out into the middle of the quiet road. “Uhh?” I mumbled, rotating slowly on the spot.
The street was made of ancient massive flat stones without a bit of tar in sight. I noticed a building to my right. It looked like one of the houses I had seen in Pompeii on a family holiday to Italy four years ago. The house next door seemed to be an old Scottish manor and the one next to that looked like a hybrid between a Roman and Victorian house.
I rotated on the spot once again. The entire town seemed to be nestled in a forest. Every road I walked down repeated the same pattern: forest, house, forest, house, forest, house. After about ten minutes of endless trees, the dark clouds finally decided to cry, and I felt the first few water droplets, which turned into a light drizzle, on my cold skin.
“Time to go back, Ev,” I whispered. My ten-minute walk had already turned into a walk in a maze. I turned around and started following the road I had turned onto five minutes ago.
A few moments later, after passing more Scottish, Victorian, Roman, and hybrid mansions as well as hundreds of bare trees, it dawned on me that I had no idea where I was. Kate’s warning about getting lost echoed in my
mind. I immediately tried to visualize the way I had come and where I had turned right and left.
Just trace your steps back, I thought, turning around and walking down the stone road I had just been on.
I sped up and turned onto a road I thought I recognized, but once again I was met with more of the same scenery: forest, black gates, and paved driveways. My toes were numbing with the cold, and my damp hair had come loose, sticking to my face, provoking a creeping aggravation with myself. Why had Kate not come to look for me? The eerie silence was starting to creep on me like a tentacle around my panicked lungs. No children laughing, no people talking, no birds singing. It was as if the entire world had died.
“Okay, Evelyn, just calm down,” I said, trying to focus on anything familiar.
I kept walking, unable to accept that I was lost. After about ten minutes, I started thinking about the fiery-red hair I had seen on the edge of the forest last night and the dream I had had, and a creeping sense that I was being followed started building in my chest. It stuck to me in the same fashion that my wet clothes were sticking to my freezing skin.
Stop being ridiculous.
No one even knew I lived here save Kate.
Is that rasping breathing?
I tried to listen intently, but all I could hear was my own beating heart and the blood rush to my ears. My chest constricted as I clenched my hands into fists and stretched my fingers back out again. I kept my eyes firmly focused on the road, too anxious to turn around and confirm whether I was alone or not.
I wrapped my arms around my waist and took another step. A twig snapped, followed by a distinct sharp intake of breath right behind me. I froze. The hairs on my nape and arms lifted, and I held my breath for a few seconds.
The Eternal Page 3
