Chapter 23

 

Ainsley had no intentions of sleeping and found no rest in the confines of his room. The house grew quiet and then the streets below followed suit as he sat at his desk, flipping through his sketchbook. He searched for the images he drew of Julia, finally able to look at them now that he knew she was close to him again. He had meant what he said on the street earlier. He had thought of marriage briefly before but such thoughts were always tethered to the reality of their differences in class. He had never permitted anything but a fleeting thought on the matter, but now he could not deny that it was the single most desirous thing imaginable to him.

Allowing his feelings such open rein over his senses felt liberating and absolutely terrifying at the same time. It was as if a piece of his body would always remain outside of him, wandering the streets vulnerable and yet bolstered by his love. The thought brought a smile to his lips as he leaned into his upturned palm, his elbow propped on the desk.

A noise downstairs alerted him and he sat upright. He listened intently to subtle sounds in the foyer and then came three loud knocks from the front door.

Look. Look.

The voices circled about him in an eerie funnel cloud, layers upon layers of undecipherable whispers and chants.

Not him. Not him. Look. Look.

Shaking them off, Ainsley stood and marched for his window. He could see nothing below. He was at the top of the stairs by the time Margaret’s and Julia’s doors opened. Margaret tightened her housecoat.

“Who is it?” she asked, groggily.

Ainsley shook his head and raised his finger to his lips, entreating her to be quiet. Julia inched toward him in the dark. “Stay here,” he said.

As he came down the stairs he saw a shadow move through the frosted glass of the front door. The streetlamp cast a dim glow onto whoever it was on the portico.

“Careful, Peter,” Margaret cautioned from the second-floor landing.

Ainsley was halfway down the stairs when he heard another bedroom door open, and then another. Margaret was successful at keeping everyone from coming down with him, except Nathaniel, who tiptoed down the stairs.

“Do you think it may be him?” Nathaniel said as he appeared behind Ainsley.

He didn’t care to answer and grabbed the only conceivable weapon at hand, a gold-plated candlestick. Nathaniel was quick to take up its twin.

So much time had passed since the initial knock that it seemed odd there was no other. The shadow at the door moved but no sound was heard. As Ainsley inched for the door he motioned for Nathaniel to stay back.

“State your business!” Ainsley yelled through the thick, exterior door. No reply came except an eerie, high-pitched scratch.

After turning the lock, he curled his hand around the brass handle, giving a quick glance to ensure Margaret and Julia were safe on the landing, before yanking the door wide open.

A black mass greeted them, solid and unmoving. A scream echoed through the hall as Ainsley swung the candlestick, striking the figure square on the chest. The being buckled backward but made no sound, and he realized he had hit something softer than flesh.

A light behind him grew brighter as he stood there. Suddenly the mass took shape and form, mimicking a man, hung from the portico ceiling, still swaying from Ainsley’s blow, the rope creaking against the beam of the portico.

A terrified shriek came from the top of the stairs.

Ainsley gasped for breath and heaved himself up from the chair. He was in his room with the oil lamp dim and his sketchbook pages scattered about the floor. It took a moment for him to catch his breath from the fright.

“It’s all right,” he told himself. “It’s not real.”