Oxford Shoes and Cigarettes

Written by Rowan

The Mistress woke in an awkward foetal position, arms draped at her sides and neck craning at a strange angle to rest the crown of her head at her knees. She woke with the force of her violent shivering. While she groggily began to unfold her limbs, she somehow managed to step on her own foot, tumbling down a few more steps on the splintery staircase.

‘Wait- stairs?’ she questioned herself, a confused twist in her lips. Her brain was trying to adjust to her waking in the dullness that wasn’t morning sunshine. The warm yellow illumination and the chill that made her hands jump of their own accord seemed to clash, confusing her further.

The first thing that registered was that she was definitely not where she had fallen asleep, and the second thing was that her butt hurt. She repositioned herself on the stairs, plunking down on the third step from the ceiling. The waifish girl shot up with a crackly screech not a moment after, and as she stood smacked her head on the ceiling.

She crouched on wobbly legs ; rubbing her head and listening to the clunk resonate. It sounded as though the roof above her head was hollow. After carefully plucking the offending sliver of wood from the back of her knee, for once happy the injury hadn’t drawn blood, the very lost girl moved her hands over the ceiling frantically. Her pale hands had swept over almost the whole surface when she struck something. Her knuckle gave a slight throb which she paid no notice-she’d acquired many bruises her night in the catacombs.

Her hands drifted in the blackness over something cold; metal... a door handle. Both her hands moved to grasp it and she shook the door violently, twisting the metal knob at every angle. A nervous glance was cast over her shoulder. The usually quiet Mistress was making enough noise to summon Satan himself, and she couldn’t be entirely sure that he wasn’t down there somewhere, slumbering on a dusty mattress or scribbling away at a writing desk. Her seldom-used and never loud voice clawed up her throat, the word bursting from her mouth.

“Help!” she screamed. “Help!” her voice cracked in the middle.

The door above her swung open suddenly and a hand reached down toward her, along with a wash of even colder air and bright fluorescent light. She took one last look at the crumbling exposed-brick walls, then took the extended hand and heaved herself onto the linoleum floor. She quickly stood to catch sight of her rescuer, but all she could see was a sweep of blue hair that quickly melted into the shadows. “Thanks, Lesron.” She murmured with a rough exhale, and began to examine her clothing.

 A long streak of brown dirt trailed from the stomach of her silken nightgown to over her hip, until she could no longer see it just by looking down. Eyes widened with both shock and puzzlement, she clutched the hem of the knee-length skirt and tugged it around, twisting to check out the back of her dress. A few granules of dirt fell to the floor. The dirt extended across the width of her hips and washed off the edge of her skirt. This state of filth her (new) nightgown was in explained why she had woken on a set of stairs and not in a hallway scattered with books and dried-out ink wells. She had been dragged.

A glance at the red clock hung on the wall to her right reminded Mistress Hemorrhage that she had an orientation to be on time for, along with many potential members of the school to scare. She cast a last look at the doorway by her feet and then dashed off quickly, a few particles of dust and dirt left in her wake.

On her way from the kitchen to her bedroom, the council member passed the Hall of Nightmares. It was one of the only plain-looking places in the mansion; with hardwood floors and two walls lined with dull gray steel. Being that it was The Gory Details, The Hall was only slightly normal in appearance, and anything but normal in character. Basically, it was a giant filing room- the metal boxes that hid two of the walls were humongous filing cabinets. One could open a drawer and crawl into it if they liked- although nobody would ever have a curiosity strong enough to dare.

See, the Hall of Nightmares was named so not because it was any adventurous, curious, or easily-bored person’s nightmare-bland, and normal looking with little to explore- although it was all of these things but the last. The Hall of Nightmares was filled to the brim with bad dreams; some were tucked away carefully in a cabinet, waiting to be revived. Some few nightmares made their homes in the shadows behind the cabinets, scurrying across the floor every now and then.

The Mistress’s mind turned back to the previous night, and the fitful sleep she had actually spent in her own room before being drawn away to the grandfather clock. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the dream she had been having was important in some way or another, however miniscule.

Decidedly, she stepped through the entryway to the hall, reminding herself that she had plenty of time to get to the orientation. After all, she was on time somewhere, as the cafeteria wall covered in clocks with different times dutifully reminded students.

As soon as she stepped past the empty door frame a drove of rats came swarming from the far end of the hall, racing towards The Mistress. They chattered at each other and clawed their way over her feet, while she simply stood and waited for the crowd to disperse. The click of their sharp nails on the hardwood made her twitch nervously, a shiver rushing through her limbs, but she knew they weren’t quite real. Just as soon as the noisy rodents had appeared, their bodies simultaneously collapsed into ash.

Quietly relieved at the disappearance of the rats, but doing nothing to show it, The Mistress cast her eyes downward at what was left of them and began to clear a path through what had been a horde of furry creatures, brushing the ashes away with an extended foot before continuing down the hall.

Ashen footprints followed her bare feet until halfway down the long hall, where she paused at one of the huge filing cabinets and pulled it open. As they always did, the drawer slid open quickly and with ease. A few impatient moans and groans sounded as The Mistress ran her hands over the filing tabs; the sound of irritable monsters eager to escape their imprisonment in pale yellow folders. Smirking, a soft laugh sounded from her throat and she chimed “Not toda-ay.”  , teasing them.

  Her long fingers shifted over the file she was looking for, and she reached in a hesitant arm. Something soft wrapped about her fingers, sliding up her forearm. Gently, she pulled  away, and a string of words followed her hand. She reached another hand downwards, pulling once more until the string became a rope, and the rope became a cluster of words oozing over the edge of the drawer.

Soon enough the shapeless mass was as tall as three or more of her, looming over in all different fonts. All she could manage was to stare up at it- whatever it was- with huge eyes and her lips parted as her jaw dropped. And suddenly the words became violent, tearing at the wooden floor board by board, with a brute strength that was powered by something completely different than muscle; it was advancing on her. She backed away.

Before Mistress had a chance to get very far, a beautiful tendril reached out towards her, elegant script forming the words ‘the Floorboards’. She paused to admire it there, as it gracefully twisted around at the floor. With an unexpected speed it whipped around her bare leg, digging into her skin and pulling her feet from under her. Her eyes flew open again, and she twisted and turned, reaching to each side of her body in desperate search of something to hang on to. Her nails scraped shavings from the wooden floor and those shavings turned into words as well. ‘the Floorboards’ they said. ‘the Floorboards’.  

She wasn’t able to scream; not to mention it was likely useless. Still, her lips spread wide, unable to produce more than a feeble squeak. More terrified scrabbling at the wood commenced, while the rope of words continued to drag her forward with a slow deliberateness.

A long wail burst from her lungs.

It vanished.

Yes, the monster had vanished; the words disintegrating into a gray-blue mist until Mistress Hemmorhage was left sitting alone and dazed and wrapped in a blanket of fog. She gathered her composure and turned to stand, making a careful but confident stride through the misty hall and out into the rest of the mansion. Sure, the mansion could swallow you alive, kill you, or even just keep you prisoner, but it was much safer than the filing hall...For her, at least.

~~~

Exhaustedly, The Mistress flopped down onto her circular bed face first, letting all her muscles loosen and her limbs just sit there. A long sigh breezed past her lips. She had time to rest that way only for a few moments, and so savoured them.  Prying open her eyes reluctantly, she forced herself away from the plush white blanket and made her way across the ebony wood floors to her bathroom. It was small, and stark white save for the black marble countertop of her sink and her closet-sized shower.

She needed a shower, which became even more apparent to her after a wary sniff of her armpit. ‘Yes, Shower. Definitely.’ She told herself, although there was little time to spare. Deciding that she would have to be late for orientation- fashionably late, for the sake of the Council’s noses- she rested her hand on the inside of the marble shower and turned the taps, discarding her dirt-streaked, torn sleepwear and standing under the steady stream.

Smoothing her black sweaterdress over her stomach with two hands, Mistress Hemorrhage briefly wondered how, when her wardrobe consisted of strictly black and white, she could never seem to make up her mind. Fully dressed aside from shoes, she stood by the foot of her bed with hands on her hips as she studied the row of shoes in front of her.  A small advance was made towards a pair of black flats with white buttons at the side, then a sharp pull back. 

One corner of the young lady’s mouth tugged upwards, her lips pursed.  Finally, she had a decision, and pulled a pair of oxford-inspired heels onto her feet, sitting on her bed to shine a smudge off the black toe of the shoe with her sleeve.  After the gruelling decision-making process was finished, she ran a brush through her ink-toned hair and secured it in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, letting a few strands fall forward.

She started to the red door of her room, allowing the bat wings that sprouted curiously from the back of her neck unfold. The cramped wings protested at first, but then The Mistress revelled in the feel of the stretching. Her wings, whose only purpose seemed to be decoration, had been cooped up under her hair for weeks; and after all, it was always enjoyable to see the new kids stare at her with wide eyes.

Click, clack, her heels sounded on the hardwood floors as she strode. Click, clack, click, clunk. She paused, eyes flicking around warily. She leaned back and then stepped again where the clunking noise had sounded from. Clunk. Slowly, The Mistress tilted her head downward, staring at the floorboard for what seemed like minutes. With a tense hesitance, her body lowered until she was kneeling on one knee.  Letting her fingers rest where the board should have been secured by nails, it was quite a while until it registered that there were only two small holes. By a short rap from her fist, the floorboard rattled easily.

Mistress Hemorrhage hadn’t happened to have a crowbar nearby, as she wasn’t in the habit of prying things often. Instead she returned from her closet with an umbrella in hand and tried as best she could to pry the floorboard up. Eventually it gave way, springing up violently. The umbrella at the same moment also gave way, snapping in half.

Sitting in the hole the board had just been pried from was a box, ornately carved from cherry wood. Music tinkled quietly as the small box creaked open, and in a bed of red silk laid the pieces of a dismembered ballerina doll and a slip of paper, while a platform rotated mechanically, minus the dancer, and a quiet tune chimed against the curved bedroom walls.

She shifted her eyes over the scrawl on the paper, her lips moving in time with the words in a whisper too quiet to hear. When she had finished, her eyes darted back up from the scrap, narrowed as she processed what had been written for her. Delicately and hastily the paper was folded and slipped into the top of The Mistress’s shirt for safekeeping as she swept through the door and, almost as an afterthought, swiped a lipstick the colour of a dried scab onto her lips.

 

~~~

Not soon after Mistress Hemorrhage had begun to rush down the hall, she came up behind a girl who was characterised mainly by a fitted faux leather jacket and long auburn waves, hair which came down to the middle of her back. Oh, and the spiral of gray smoke that curled out from her mouth when she exhaled.

 “Excuse me.” The Mistress said in a voice that would have sounded timid on anyone else; a tight, sarcastic smile tied into her lips. The girl turned with a questioning look on her face, and then tapped her cigarette as some ash floated to the floor.

“Huh?” The girl eyed Mistress Hemorrhage up, and then down. “Oh, you must be that other chick; the fifth one.”  She commented with mild disinterest in her voice. Her eyes were nearly half-closed and she took another drag of her smoke, blowing a cloud into The Mistress’s face. “Why aren’t you doing that orientation thing?”

The Mistress did nothing to confirm her Council status nor to answer the redhead’s question. Instead, she only nodded at the cigarette perched in the no doubt newly-applying Desk’s petite hand. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” And the comment seemed like a mixture of strict warning and worry.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because...” Here The Mistress paused as if in reluctance, and leaned forward onto her knees. Her eyes flicked conspiratorially to each side and her words were almost a whisper when she stated “The mansion doesn’t like it.”

The girl stopped mid-drag and slowly removed the burning cylinder from between her lips. Almost in a careful manner, as if she thought the walls wouldn’t see if she moved slow enough, she exhaled the gray cloud and stubbed out her cigarette on the banister. The Mistress’s waiting hand received the butt, and she snapped what was left of the cigarette between her fingers, dropping it to the floor.

“Now, why aren’t you at orientation?” Mistress Hemmorhage demanded, to which the girl responded with a shrug. She started to usher the girl forwards, intending on escorting her to the meeting.

“I ditched.” She said simply, and for some reason The Mistress got the feeling this girl, however unenthusiastic, had talent.

~~~

Just as they reach the bottom of the stairwell, there was a loud cracking noise and suddenly everything went black. There were a few shrieks and squeals and frantic shapes pushed their way past the two at the bottom of the stairs hurriedly. The Mistress, obviously, was amused at the reaction to a sudden blackout. However, she was surprised to hear Laura (she’d since learned redhead-girl’s name) chuckling to herself. “They’re afraid of the dark!” Laura snorted, and kept walking. “Maybe I should have come earlier. Seems like it woulda been fun.”

  A small smile curved at Mistress Hemorrhage’s lips and she followed the short girl into the room where orientation was taking place. She began to make her way through the crowd, softly cooing at students in an attempt to hush them. “It’s perfectly normal.” The Mistress calmed antsy teenagers, half- listening to the gentle hum of their muttering as students threw their voices about nervously. “We’re in a snowstorm right now.” She explained to a tall, gangly boy, who just snapped his eyes to the wings on her neck and watched them until she slipped away.

Eventually she found her way to Lady Emergency, who had her long hair tied back and was lighting candles. Sliding herself smoothly onto the school leader’s desk, she tapped the chocolate-haired Lady on the shoulder. The nervous look Lady Emergency gave her was returned by a grave flash in The Mistress’s own eyes, while swiftly sliding the note from the floorboards into one of the many pockets the petite girl’s dress was composed of. “I think we have a problem.” The mistress mouthed at her, and then sat back to bask in the flickering candlelight.

 

Reviews

[deeps]

Wow! I guess I need to read the other chapters before this one.
I like this alot, full of suspense of drama.
I like it alot, has amazing imagery.
I may just have to read the other chapters.