+1+
Fierro
I couldn’t let her go until I was certain Rose had enough time to get off the property. She had long since stopped struggling and was now just rather amused by the whole thing. I cautiously let her go and she slid the uncanny masque off her face, though I’d prefer she left it on.
After Essex had hastily left something odd happened. Clara quickly lost interest in the salt she was sweeping up and wandered off. If I’d been paying closer attention I might have noticed the lighter way she walked. The unusually gracefully way she moved around. I’d thought to wait until Essex was home to call him and make amends, then quickly decided call his cell phone. Not that I could find my phone. I picked up the landline but it produced nothing but a dial tone.
Without much of a thought I’d gone back my cigarette. I was exhausted. My mind still reeling from the séance. How foolish I’d been to pay upfront. I truly must be desperate. I didn’t know where else to turn, this was the problem with so-called enlightenment. As long as no one studied the strange things we don’t have names for the more they are allowed to prevail.
It had been a subject of discourse between Essex and I for years. I had been thinking back to one of these conversations when I felt the sharp pain at my neck. My hands instantly went for my throat where one of my ties was being pulled tightly around it.
I’d looked up at a decorative mirror catching a flash of Clara’s blue dress and the loving smile on her face. I struggled against her and she pulled tighter, anchoring herself to the ground. It was bringing back memories I couldn’t control.
“You know”, She’d said pulling harder, a slight accent to her voice, “Ironically, this how Clara feels every day.”
That was the last thing I heard before I woke up on the floor of my bedroom. Though my watch was unreliable I could tell by the light outside that hours had passed. My first instinct had been to find Rose and Clarence. Still in a strange fog, I made it to the hallway and watched Clara descend the staircase in the same masque that Rose had drawn the Specter wearing. She was here. We’d brought her here. I’d watched her approach the children and waited until just the right moment to grab her. I could only hope for the best as Rose and Clarence fled.
“That was a little dramatic, no?” the woman who was not Clara said as I let her go. She seemed harmless now.
“Who are you?” I finally asked.
“I think you know”, she said her English accented with French, “You say it quite often to my face.”
I thought on this.
“. . . Ms. DeLune?”
“Marguerite DeLune. My mother married a Marquis DeLune. His half-brother has a great-nephew you might be acquainted with, Roger?”
“Small world.”
“Small worlds”, she said with a careless shrug. She carefully climbed the stairs and I followed. She was seemingly drawn to my bedroom. When we entered the room a familiar sight was before us.
A high pithed scream echoed from my fireplace and we both looked at the woman
trying to crawl her way out. We watched in abject apathy as the poor woman
attempted to claw her way out of the fireplace only to fail and become consumed
again and again.
“It’s like this when it’s close to the anniversary”, Marguerite said watching the woman in the fireplace, “Just repeating over and over again.”
“What is she? She doesn’t seem like a Specter.”
“She’s a residual Specter”, Marguerite said almost admiring the scene, and “Time and lack of will has made her weak. She’ll fade eventually. That happens…so I’ve learned.”
“What about you?”
She smiled in a secretive way I’d never known Clara to set her features.
“I’m stronger willed I suppose. I’ve kept myself strong all these years hoping someone would hear me. And after all those years, your daughter did. She could hear us, she listened. Something about her…she makes us all just a bit stronger.” She smiled satisfied with herself.
“And the man in the closet? What is he?”
“A residual Specter as well. . . ”, she was silent after that. Somber almost. I knew that look all too well.
“You were lovers?””
“You are as perceptive as you are handsome”, she said laughing to herself.
“What do you want from us?” I finally asked.
“Haven’t you put it together?” I watched her profile. Amusement glinted in her eyes again.
“I don’t quiet have the full picture.”
“Well, then I have a treat for you. Have you heard of the Mad Heir of Hûit Avenue?”
“I take it you’re going to tell me a story?”
“Let’s take a walk, Mr. Fierro”
---
“It was 1919
We knew how to have fun back then.
We were a generation coming out war. My fiancé, Alfred Nostrovs and I met at university. He was a well-traveled Algerian studying in Paris. I was an outspoken girl from an aristocratic family. We were wealthy and arrogant and like magnets to each other. We were young just barley twenty-one. We thought we were the crème of the crop. The children of high society boldly entering the intellectual class. We’d plan to graduate, marry and steer France into the 1920’s with glory.
But Like I said, we also knew how to have fun. Every evening was a competition to see who could throw the most daring most scandalous soirées. One of the wildest party happened right here in 1919 at Chateau Mercier. A party thrown by the man who would become France’s most infamous and notorious serial killer.
Chateau Mercier was his secretive little playground. A little known estate that had been used during the war but mostly forgotten. It was his secret hideaway, He was wealthy enough to adorn it himself. Dim lights, red walls, dizzying passages it was lush and intoxicating.
His party was an underground exclusive masquerade…like an American Speakeasy. It wasn’t just a party…it was more of a celebration of indulgence and free thinking. You had to have a code word to get in and of course masques were required and could never be removed. The masque allowed you to engage in whatever debauched act you pleased and return to polite society with your reputation intact. It was all very dramatic.
In Alfred and I’s invitation there was something else. Another invitation. There was also a game… within a game that was extended to only the wittiest and most intelligent attendees. An after party you could say? It promised big fun, thrills and a priceless grand prize. Alfred and I were intrigued and couldn’t wait to outwit the other players.
We snuck out of our respective townhouses and took a friend’s car, laughing and singing the whole way. I came as Marie Antoinette and Alfred was King Louis-- I modeled my costume after a showcase in the Louvre. It was presumptuous and bold to come as royalty but we wanted to make an entrance. When we turned off Monet drive and I saw Chateau Mercier for the first time I was entranced. If only I knew once I got there. . . I’d never leave.
If I could blush I probably would. The party was small and intimate but the music was endless, the dancing unrestricted. Because of the masques there was hardly any talking, we let out bodies communicate for us. At midnight as others slinked away …the secret game began.
The players were supposed to meet in the Annex. Imagine Alfred and I’s surprise when we found the only other player in the secret game was an Irish woman. . Lower class. She hadn’t seemed smart enough to be in such a game. I mean she couldn’t even read and her garish jester costume was ill chosen for the classy event.
Where was I? Yes. Before the scavenger hunt began the benevolent host of our party arrived.
“What’s his name”, I said interrupting her, “Who was this host?”
“Oh”, she says flashing a smile that is entirely hers, “I haven’t told you yet? His name was Victor Bordeaux.”
“Victor?”
“Yes, I suppose I should tell you Alfred wasn’t my first fiancé. Victor and I had been betrothed since childhood, but war changed things and he didn’t have much of a taste for ‘liberated women”. Victor didn’t take well to ending the engagement but he was cordial.
Alfred, Victor and I were on the way to becoming the best of friends. I thought him inviting us to the party was his way of showing acceptance. I should have known better.
Now then. The game began. It was a scavenger hunt and we were given clues. The first to find the prize would get to take it home. My first clue led me to the study. Alfred’s to the second floor library and the Irish woman’s to an upstairs bedroom
I began searching the study for clues. It was oddly empty. All the books were gone and the only thing in the room was a massive leather trunk. I thought the trunk was clue. I was wary of it at first and as I approached the trunk I lifted the lid expecting to see a clue.
Inside it had this beautiful velvet lining I peered into and somehow I didn’t hear Victor come up behind me and push me into the trunk. He overpowered me and closed the lid. Then he snapped the locks shut and I lost air. It happened so slow and fast at the same time.
He killed Alfred after that, he hung him in the library. And he girl. The Irishwoman? He broke her legs and shoved her in that massive fireplace.
“What did she do to deserve such a thing?”
Marguerite shrugged
“She had her eyes on Victor’s sister or some such thing…”
“Victoria?”
“Yes. That’s the one. Let see then. Alfred and I’s family eventually realized we were missing. At first they thought we’d run away together. Then they got the police involved. The inspector questioned our friends, but the thing was no one dared mentioned the party--what with all the debauched things that happened. And with everyone wearing masque how could they be sure of anything? Chateau Mercier was Victor’s secret getaway and no officials ever thought to look.
Soon the police were too busy to worry about our disappearance because a few days later Victor Boudre was murdered in his sleep.
That place, Mr. Fierro. That place on the other side . . . its temporary isn’t it? It must be because Victor cast us out. He sent us back here and we have been trapped here ever since. We can’t leave we can’t forget because we will never have justice. Our families have long passed never knowing our fates. I’m sure you can relate.”
“What does this have to do with Clara and me?” I asked Marguerite as she looked into the fireplace.
“You bought him here. You bought that vile man back. It’s inspired me to use you. To make sure someone is punished for what happened here. “
“That won’t free you.”
Marguerite picked up the picture of Rose from the mantle and considered it.
“Nothing would make me rest more at peace than to see someone anyone pay. And just like 100 years ago the host…and hostess of this party will kill three people who’ve betrayed them. Except unlike Victor, you won’t get away with it.”
“I would never hurt anyone”, I told her.
“You don’t think will”, she tossed the photograph into the fire, “Until they are standing right in front of you. Fear not. I’ll help you. I mean what are you going to tell the police? A ghost made you do it? Get some rest Mr. Fierro. You have a big day tomorrow.”
“I’m not killing anyone”, I said but I didn’t think she could hear me over her laughter.
“Not again you mean?” she said suddenly introspective, “Clara’s thoughts are so loud. I know what you did to Peter.”
I turned to look her in her eyes. To better beg my case, “I am truly sorry for what Victor has done, but you can’t blame us for this.”
She tilted her head looking around the room.
“But it makes me feel alive, it feels right. Your daughter said she wants to help me rest and I think a few new souls joining Chateau Mercier is more than fair.”
“Surely there is something else.”
“Mr. Fierro, the things that keep us Specters going-- what keeps us motivated is what you might call a curse. This one will be infamous. The Curse of Chateau Mercier”
“. . . Who are you going to kill”, I asked.
“I’ve already told you. You are going to kill the three people who have wronged you and Clara at one time or another.”
I lunged for her and she backed away
“Oh no”, She said, “You know if you hurt me. ... you hurt her to. Though I suspect you’ve been through this before. If you know what’s best you’ll stay out of my way, this time we’re playing my way.”
+2+
Clarence
“It’s a costume”, Rose said with her face in her hands, “It’s a costume party. They were at a costume party. I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid. I’ve wasted so much time.”
“Hey, stop that. What’s going on?”
“Honestly”, Rose said looking up, “There was a party at the house a masquerade and some of the guest never left.”
“Rose what are you talking about.”, Clarence asked.
Clarence held his overstuffed book bag close to him as they settled into their seats on the Northstar train. He felt a great sense of uneasy as it zoomed down the track and away from France. They had run as far and as fast as they could from Monet Drive. Rose had insisted they needed to get to the train station. She was hysterical. Going on and on about finding a taxi. Clarence had only used his phone to call a car because he thought it would stop her from losing it.
Once they reached the train station he’d planned to call his other sisters for help, but no sooner had they gotten there had Rose disappeared into the crowd and then reappeared with two tickets for a train departing in five minutes.
As she darted off to reach the train, he realized he couldn’t leave her. He’d promised her father he wouldn’t and even more so he didn’t want to. Once they boarded a conductor only bothered them once, and his cousin batted her large eyes (eye?) and explained they were traveling between divorced parents.
“The music. There were flashes. I felt it I--”, Rose finally said, “I heard music and I saw just a glimpse of it what happened to…”
Rose stopped suddenly realizing what she was saying and to whom. She was silent and focused back on her hands.
“Hey… where are we going”, Clarence asked. Feeling stupid for not asking before.
“Ireland”, Rose said glad for the subject change.
“Ireland?”
Rose began organizing her overly neat bag, her pale thin hands trembling as she sorted through the clothes, water, sketchpads and pencils she’d packed.
“I have a friend there who can help. It’ll be a while . . . 12 hours or so.”
“Help with what Rose?” Clarence asked slowly taking out his phone. He still wasn’t sure what he’d seen at the house. Clara hadn’t seemed herself. Maybe he’d been so distracted by Rose and her father he hadn’t considered his sister was the one that might need help. , “Your parents are bound to call the police for running away”
“I don’t think so. . .” she said sadly, “It’s alright though . . . we are doing the right thing . . . this is what Papa would want me to do.”
Clarence went to open his phone but the screen was black. At first he thought he’d turned the phone off. It just felt heavy and dead in his hand. He looked back up to Rose who looked up to him.
“Clarence, you know something is wrong. Please just trust me. Give me a day then we can call for help, please.”
“Okay”, he said and she beamed. If anything Clarence had learned that Rose was practical. After all what could happen in one day?
The attendant bought out some blankets, and even though they were safe for the next few hours Clarence still felt compelled to stay up while Rose slept. He entertained himself by looking through her sketchbook. He didn’t understand her art, but it was interesting to look at.
Something on the fold-out tray in front of Rose caught his attention. He turned on the dim overhead light, rubbing his eyes at the strange sight in front of him. One of Rose’s pencils lay at an angle as if being held by an invisible hand. It spun gracefully on its point in a worrying circle.
“Rose!”
She sprung awake and the pencil clattered to the table.
“Are we . . . there?” she asked rubbing her eyes, “What’s happened?”
“No. . . Umm, go back to sleep. It’s nothing.”
“Clarence”, she said half asleep, “You can keep secrets can’t you?”
“I think so.”
“What’s the biggest secret you ever kept?”
Clarence smiled, “Not telling.”
Rose smiled back and fell back into sleep.
+++
Clarence was very unamused by this very strange part of Ireland. He also wasn’t sure how far this “visiting divorced parent” rouse would get them, but by brandishing her mother’s black credit card a cabbie had happily driven them to remote and foggy part of Ireland. It looked more like an abandoned rural town than an Irish village.
“Where are we ?”, Clarence asked as they were let out in front of a set of worn down old timey looking buildings with hatch roofs and sheep milling around. Some of the village people were starting and squinting at Rose.
“Carrigaline” Rose said, “In Cork County”
“Where exactly does your friend live?”
“In a bell tower.”
+++
Clarence barley understood the type English the other kids were speaking as he held on to the back of the kid’s motorbike with his life. The kid must of have sensed Clarence’s fear because he punched down on the gas and the bike sputtered through thick mud and zoomed through the rolling Irish hills. Clarence felt nauseous and kept his eye closed as the bike picked up speed. The kid came to a sudden stop and so did the other boy who was carrying Rose on the back of his motorbike. The boy’s friends came up behind them on a motley crew of bicycles.
“Far as we go”, the kid giving Clarence a ride said in a thick Irish accent
“Nonsense”, Rose said, “The bell tower is only a little farther. You said you’d give us a ride”
“This is it. That old place creeps us out. Now pay up.”
Rose let out a huff and handed each of the boy a note.
“What else you got?” the boy said and Clarence moved protectively in front of Rose.
“This is what I promised you”, Rose said stepping out from behind Clarence.
“I said what else you got”, the boy asked again. Rose narrowed her eyes and Clarence expected something to happen but nothing did.
Clarence reached for his cousin and tried to get her to walk away but the boys just followed.
“Eh, come on. You come here with those fancy clothes and shoes. What else you got.”
One of the boys grabbed Rose’s bag and the contents spilled out. Clarence prepared himself for a fight but Rose stopped him.
“Let them”, she said, “They are just terrible vultures.”
“Shut up”, the boy said kicking Rose’s notebooks and pens, “Let me see that watch.”
Clarence slid off his watch and gave it to the boy. Satisfied the boys got on their bikes and headed down the hills.
Clarence helped Rose pack her belongings and then they headed off into the countryside, he could tell she’d lost some of her zeal .She was tired and probably just now realizing how very very very far they were from home.
She wasn’t lying about the bell tower though. On top of the hill was a massive stone building that reached high into the sky Clarence suddenly wished he’d bought his jacket as he walked into the frosty building, when he blew he could see his breathe. How could anyone live here?
Clarence turned when he saw a shadow in the corner of his eyes. Someone was . . . there. A petite woman with dark black hair cut into a strict looking bob. She had big blue eyes that looked kind of familiar to Clarence but he couldn’t place them. Another adult friend for Rosalie Fierro.
“Can you see me?” The woman said.
“OH”, Clarence said.
“Rose”, the woman said smiling, ”Oh I’m so glad you’re. ..You look terrible . . . what’s wrong? Where is your father?”
Clarence didn’t miss that pained look that crossed Rose’s face at the mention of hm.
“I . . . I didn’t know where else to go . . . I don’t know what to do, Lucie.”
Rose riffled around in her bag and pulled out the crumbled drawing
“What happened, Sweetheart?”
“I thought I could help them. I heard them screaming for help and I wanted to help them. I thought I could do it on my own. Something bad is going to happen… I feel it.
“I told him”, the woman said, “I told your father to stop mixing you up with such things”
The woman stood, or at least he was pretty sure she was standing, she smiled at him and suddenly the woman looked very familiar. He felt like he’d seen her before.
“Oh, Clarence. You look just like you father” she bought her hands to her mouth, “I tell you its times like this that make this unbearable hell worth it.”
“Do I know you?”
The woman looked at Rose then thought for a moment.
“We’re practically family”, was all she said.
Rose whispered to the woman out of earshot of Clarence. Clarence only caught a few words and it sounded like she was talking about their secret and The Cake Lady.
“There was music”, Rose finally said, “I heard music as I left. And a name that sound familiar to me. They were all shouting a name. They were all screaming his name. It sounded dreadful.”
“Whose?”
“Someone named. . . Victor Bordeaux?”
The woman bit her lip and looked up at Clarence, the woman settled on the floor and pulled Rose into her lap.
“Victor was a friend of your father’s . . . until he wasn’t. He’s like me. What has he done, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know. But I think we need to find him. I think he can help me stop this. Perhaps if he apologizes they will be at rest.”
“You poor thing”, the woman said kissing Rose’s hair, “This shouldn’t be on you. I—oh, dear I—“
“What is it ?”, Rose asked. The woman smoothed back Rose’s hair. They did look a little related. Clarence was pretty sure Rose wasn’t adopted but maybe she was?
“I think I know where you can find Victor, but you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
“I’m not alone” Rose said looking at Clarence then back at the woman. Lucie was it ?, “Where can I find Victor?”
“8th avenue… in Paris.” She said, “His home was there.”
“Oh, no”, Rose quickly began to consider the hours it would take to get back, “It will take hours to get back. We won’t get back before the party. What if something terrible happens?”
The woman looked at Clarence and offered him a warm smile.
“Leaving has been difficult for me, I’ll see what I can do, but you two had better head back. I think you’ll find that my kind can be reasonable when they find what makes them peaceful.”,The woman ran a light as air hand through Clarence’s hair, “Such a handsome boy. Are you happy ?”
“I…guess.”
Clarence felt an odd bit of warmth before Rose tugged him away. They ran out of the bell tower and began following the motorbike tracks back to town.
“Rose”, He said, “What’s going on? Who was that woman?”
“I told you a friend.”
“But she seemed to know me. Rose what’s happening?”
“I can’t explain. We just need to get back and fast.”