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Derby Kennith had been the wife of the respectable Mr Brunt for as long as anyone in the neighbourhood could remember, that no one knew her as anyone but Mrs Brunt. The kind old Mrs Brunt who never hesitated to pass around the cookies at gatherings. Nothing was ominous about the lady…until the fateful day when I unintentionally stumbled upon the Brunt Estate and met what was to haunt many dreams thereafter.
I don’t understand why in the first place I ever wandered in the direction of Brunt Estate, it was reasonably far away from my home and I had only ever taken fleeting glimpses of the old couple – and had never given the ancient mansion a second thought.
Perhaps my night-time wandering was due to the sharp, spasmodic shrieks I could have sworn I heard each night just as I was drifting off to sleep…disturbing my thoughts and stirring up curiosity I didn’t even know I possessed to silently seek out the source of my suffering.
After tirelessly tramping through mounds of dirt in the dead of the night, I had almost given up when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught the distant outline of a hobbling old lady and the sharp, unmistakable glint of a dagger clutched in a knobbly hand…
I froze. Afraid tht she might see me while simultaneously frantically scouring my memories for any evidence that might have led to this scene. I came up with none, leaving myself confused and, I admit, frightened. I wasn’t close enough to see her features, and I had no wish to, for I was well hidden amongst the bushes and did not want to endanger myself.
A string of thoughts ran through my head—mostly unanswerable questions. Who was this strange lady? How did she get here? Why was she here? What was she doing? And…the question most obvious—what was she doing with a dagger?
All those distractions kept me rooted to the spot and drowned in my thoughts, so that I only just noticed in time that she was hobbling away in the direction of Mirror Lake.
I had to make a decision, and quick.
Without further analysing the predicament, I gave in to my curiosity and followed her. Sticking to the shadows cast by an eerily bright moon, I creeped around the bushes and tried not to snap any branches beneath my feet.
She was gaining speed, and appeared to be impatient to meet whatever, or whoever was waiting for her at Mirror Lake.
I tried to follow, but my fatigue was finally beginning to show, and stumbled, quite noisily, over a moss-covered rock.
How on earth I managed to do that, in the most dangerous situation, I still don’t know, but, amazingly, the lady didn’t hear. I briefly wondered if she was deliberately ignoring me, and leading me to a trick, but it didn’t seem possible.
My heart was beating furiously, as if angry at my rash decisions, but I gave it no acknoledgement. Something was happening, and I intended to find out.
The lady arrived at a little, run-down shack overlooking the Lake, peaceful and ripple-less as it always was. I expected the shack to be locked, as it had been whenever we visited Mirror Lake, but it opened at the lady’s push with only a creak of the hinges.
I edged closer, sweat breaking out over my forehead in nervousness. I once again asked myself why I was doing this, a sensible part of me wanting to run at the chance. But something kept me immobile with my ear stuck to the peeling varnish on the shack’s door, listening with the attention that had never been given to any of my lessons in school, listening as if my life depended on it. Which, in a way, it was.
“Who’s there?” the voice low and rough, but distincly disgruntled “What are you doin’?”
“Good morning…Mr Brittlebank.” I gasped, almost unaware of the two who were in very close proximity to myself, almost missing the next line, “…apologise for the unexpected visit. I’m Mrs Brunt…formerly Derby Kennith.” Instead of the sweet, motherly voice belonging to Mrs Brunt, this voice was transformed and filled with venom then coated with sugar. A feigned sweetness that hid poison in its depths.
The man’s gasp, however, was louder and conveyed even more surprise than mine.
“D-Derby?” I was confused with his sudden awareness of Mrs Brunt, and baffled as to why he was more surprised at her than at the dagger. But since I could only rely on my hearing, I couldn’t be sure. “Derby Kennith?”
I could almost see a smile curling up somewhere as Mrs Brunt replied, in her sugary voice, “Of course, you might not remember, after such a long time of my absence. Need I remind you?”
“Look, Derby. There’s a misunderstanding—”
“Do you intend to tell me that there was no connection between you and the death of my parents?” Mrs Brunt’s voice had lost all pretence now, her anger was obvious, her voice icy.
“I was only doing my job—I was doing the right thing. Your parents were in the wrong, Derby. I was helping our country.”
“So you expect me to thank you for that?”
“I never expected anything, and certainly not this.”
“Then why did you live here like a hermit since my arrival twenty years ago?”
There was a pause.
Then, suddenly, a scraping sound escaped the shack, as if someone was hurriedly getting out of a chair, and a struggle followed. I heard the flapping of their clothes, and had a strong suspicion that Mrs Brunt was striking. Seeing that I could do nothing and would most probably get in the way, I fled.
I sprinted back the way I had come, not worrying anymore about the noise I made, my intention only to arrive home in one piece.
A familiar, shrieking sound pursued me, clearer than those heard from my bed, and a thousand times more terrible…undoubtedly the last sound the old man…Mr Brittlebank, would utter. I tripped countless times back up the hill in my haste, shock fogging my brain and complete disbelief clouding my mind. I was nearly in frantics and half-convinced that I would be Mrs Brunt’s next victim. Sobbing, muddy, and shaking, I arrived at my front porch.
For weeks I was terrified of being discovered, and even afterwards I couldn’t ever look Mrs Brunt in the eye again—I was sure she would figure it out. I couldn’t understand how she could act like nothing happened, but I silently swore never to have anything to do with it again.
Now, I lie in bed, waiting for sleep to come. It never came easily now, though the nights are silent…deadly silent. It has always been like this since that night. Always.
I sigh, and close my eyes. Almost immediately, I sit up, as if shot by an electric current.
There’s a sound…a sound that I now know so well…a shriek that pierced the night’s silence like a knife. Except this time, the voice is my own.
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Posted by Bubbly on 2008-06-25 08:55:07 | Rating: | Views: 40
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