In Death We Are United

Time ticked steadily by, the pendulum of the grandfather clock swinging back and forth. Back and forth.

Clara watched it swing, her chin resting on her knees which she’d drawn up to her chest.

“Can’t sleep?”

Looking up, she smiled to Sam before moving over so that her brother could sit beside her on the top step. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Nightmares.”

“Oh.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered. “Next time you go away, promise you’ll take me with you.”

“It depends where I go.” Sam interlocked his fingers with hers.

Sam had recently returned from a three month trip to Florence. Whilst there he had studied the ways of the old renaissance masters. He’d sent letters to Clara, telling her all he’d done. But letters were not him.

“If I go somewhere in Europe I’ll take you, I promise.”

Together they sat for a while in silence, listening as the clock ticked. Eventually it struck the hour; one o’clock.

“Why are you up?” Clara asked, eyes opening.

“I was copying out some of the notes I’d taken.” Sam’s voice was quiet and laden with sleep.

“What sort of notes?”

“Notes on paintings and architecture.”

“They sound boring.”

“They are.”

She sat up, hair falling over her shoulder, and sighed.

“You should try to sleep,” Sam suggested. “You’ll feel better for it.”

She nodded, rose to her feet, gave Sam a small smile, then headed back to her bedroom.

Shutting the door behind her, Clara combed her fingers through her hair. Her dark eyes moved to the window. From where she stood, she could clearly see the moon and the stars glittering high above her.

The world outside was dark, and as she gazed into it, she found her attention drawn down to the garden, to the figure walking towards the house from the fields. A lantern hung by their side, swinging with each step taken.

Placing her hand upon the glass, she watched until the figure moved out of sight. Clara stepped back and drew the curtains before slipping into bed. She reached across to the bedside table and took up her glass of water.

The air grew cold. Her breath froze into vapour. Ice spread across her glass, the water freezing solid.

The candle on the bedside table flickered and danced wildly, the flame growing smaller and smaller. Eventually there was nothing left but a thin trail of smoke drifting up towards the ceiling.

The cold of the glass stung her palm, forcing her to set it back down on the table.

The curtains billowed out into the room. But there was no draft, no breeze. The window was shut.

There was a face amongst the silken folds, the mouth stretched open in a silent scream. Two long, clawed hands rose up, reaching out towards her.

Clara watched with wide, fearful eyes, her knees drawn to her chest.

The sheets at the bottom of her bed began to shift and move as something slid under them from the floor. A mound appeared, two distinct hands reaching up towards her feet.

Clara rushed out of bed, fell to the floor, and scrambled away towards the fireplace. Her breaths were heavy as she watched the thing under the sheets slide back down to the floor with a soft thud. In a rush, she’d clambered to her feet and lunged for the door. Her fingers wrapped around the handle.

It wouldn’t open.

The sheets rustled behind her. Claws scraped against the wooden floorboards.

“Open,” she begged, desperately trying to open the door. “Open, please. Open!”

The scraping of the claws grew louder.

With a cry she was dragged to the floor and yanked backwards.

Cold, bony fingers wrapped around her forearm as raspy, harsh breaths filled her ears.

She was flipped over onto her back. Turning her head away, she shut her eyes tight and prayed for mercy.

Cold air flooded her nose and mouth, rushing down her throat and into her lungs. Her mind was filled with the scent of death and decay. Her spine arched, her body rising up off the floor as she writhed. Spreading her fingers by her sides, she let her eyes roll back in her head.

Shadows crowded the corners of the room, reaching out with thin, needle-like fingers, before rushing towards her.

Everything fell silent. Her body fell still. Her eyes closed as she drifted through a feverish slumber.

The deed was done.

***

Dark strands of hair blew across her face as she watched the snow swirl in the breeze. The air smelt clean, crisp. Cold. She let her fingers brush against the leafless bushes as she walked the snow-choked hills. Below her the pond lay frozen, a thick layer of ice protecting the water from the fury of the winter wind.

Everything was different now. Since that night in her bedroom her head had been filled with dark things. Whispering voices that spoke of endless promises. She was not the same, likely never would be again.

Everything made her angry. She wanted to lash out at the world, set it ablaze and dance as the fires of chaos consumed it all.

And at the same time, she wanted to scream and cry and yell at this thing that had invaded her mind. She wanted to be free again, to be rid of the taste of death that lingered, perpetually, in the back of her throat. She wanted control back.

Clumps of snow fell from her bare feet as she walked back to the house. Her boots had long been abandoned.

“Clara?”

Her gaze snapped to her brother has he jogged towards her.

“Sam.”

He grinned broadly as he approached. “There you are,” he began. “Mother said you’d be here. I was wondering if you wanted to go skating?”

“I don’t have my ice skates with me.”

“Don’t worry, I brought them.” From around his neck he unhooked the pair of ice skates, which he then handed to her.

Clara looked at the skates. Slowly, she nodded. “Alright.”

Smiling, Sam took her hand and led her down to the pond.

As children the pair had adored ice skating. With the pond being so close it had been easy for their father to bring them down every Christmas eve for an hour or two of skating. As they’d gotten older, Clara had lost interest in the sport. There were better things she could do with herself during the winter months.

Once Sam had his skates tied on he headed straight out onto the ice.

Sam was a natural. He glided across the ice as if he was flying, leaving elegant swirling trails behind him.

Clara watched him skate, her dark eyes following his every movement.

Something inside her, something buried deep in her soul, opened its eyes. Those doors that kept the shadows at bay had been thrown open the night that thing had touched her.

Watching Sam glide across the ice with all the elegance of snowflakes fluttering to the ground, Clara felt the thing lift its head, part its jaws and snarl.

Sam was the favourite. Sam was the one her parents loved. It was always Sam. Always had been always will be. It was never her. They didn't care. Nobody cared. Nobody had come for her when she'd screamed as it had pinned her to the floor. Her parents did not care. Her parents did not love her.

It had to change.

As he got further and further away she began to walk towards him, her skates abandoned by the pond’s edge.

“Clara? Why…? Where are your skates?” Grinding to a halt, Sam watched as his sister moved towards him. “Your feet!”

“I know.”

“Clara, you’ll freeze.”

She kept walking, gaze never once moving off him.

A loud rumble rose up from below them.

The ice cracked beneath Sam’s feet.

“Clara, stop! Stay there. The ice is thin here!”

She kept walking.

The ice cracked again, hairline fractures appearing then growing larger, deeper, darker.

The rumbling grew louder. It rang through the air, shaking snow from the tree branches.

It had to change.

“Clara, stay there, I’m going to –“

Crack.

The ice below Sam fell away and he let out a cry. But before he could plunge into the freezing water, Clara grabbed his wrist, saving his head from the icy cold.

“Pull me up!”

Clara tightened her grip, fingernails digging into Sam’s arm. Her hand was slick with blood.

“Ow! Clara, help me, please!” Already Sam’s lips were turning blue. “Clara!”

Falling to her knees, Clara shoved him down under the water.

He grabbed her elbows as he thrashed and struggled against her.

The strength in her arms was not her own.

The bubbles stopped rising.

***

“Samuel! Samuel, my boy!”

Her mother’s voice was shrill as she raced across the fields towards the pond.

A passing farmer had spotted Clara and rushed to her aid. He had dragged Sam up out of the water, but it had been too late.

“My boy! My precious boy.” Her mother fell to her knees beside Sam’s body. She picked him up, cradling him in her arms as she sobbed.

“What happened?” Clara’s father asked, gaze fixed upon the farmer.

“He drowned,” Clara cut in. She slowly lifted her gaze to her father. “The ice was too thin, he fell. I tried to save him but I… I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Drowned?” Arthur looked to Sam’s body, then back to Clara. “Oh no.” He knelt beside his wife, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Clara fixed her gaze on Sam.

His blue eyes were wide open, staring blankly up at the cloud filled sky.

A small smile crept across her lips.

The deed was done.