Little Doll (Blackmoth House #1)

CHAPTER 13

Nova

We rumbled home in the carriage. I laid my head on Fane’s lap, and he stroked my hair while Astrid reached across and held my hand. All I wanted to do was sleep and chase away the awful headache with dreams. But the scratching grew ever louder, and sleep would not come as the carriage jostled my body.

Once we arrived outside our front door, I sat up and slowly maneuvered to leave the carriage. But before I could even think about it, Fane had swept me into his arms.

“Fane, you don’t have to-”

“Shhhh, I’ve got you, Little Doll.”

His low soothing voice hushed the monstrous noise in my head slightly. I rested my head against his shoulder.

He stepped into Blackmoth House with me in his arm and Astrid at his side. Then, just like that, we were inside my stone bedroom. He strode across the room and laid me on my bed. Astrid scurried up onto the bed with me and draped herself across my chest. Her breath was hot on my cheek, and I smelled the blood on it. She was fast asleep in an instant.

Fane stood over us, looking down into my eyes. “Shall I take her to her room?”

I smiled, but even that tiny movement hurt and caused me to wince. “No, she’s fine here. I’ll take her when she wakes.”

He smiled and caressed my forehead, brushing the hair back off my sweating brow. “I hope you feel better, Little Doll.”

My heart melted for my brother just then. I’d never thought of him as a kind soul or gleaned the slightest bit of comfort from him. But since I’d become afflicted, he’d been nothing but doting and wonderful to me. My parents had missed out on knowing him and I thought he would end up making some woman a marvelous husband one day.

“Thank you, Fane,” I whispered, my eyes drifting closed.

He went around and extinguished the candles in the room. One by one, the lights blinked out, and he left us quietly in the dark.

Except that it wasn’t quiet. I pressed a pillow to my face, hoping to smother both the pain and the noise. I squeezed my eyes shut. I covered my ears. I held my breath. Nothing worked, so I wept. Astrid stirred next to me and then turned over and placed her back against me.

I decided I had to find the origin of the scratching. Even though the infernal noise had come to haunt me anywhere and everywhere that I went, my instinct told me it was real, and it was coming from inside Blackmoth House. I moved quietly, carefully climbing over Astrid to get out of the bed. Every movement caused my stomach to lurch from a new onslaught of vicious pain. I’d begun to believe the scratching sound was the cause of my recent headaches and that finding it would be the cure.

As soon as my feet were on the floor, I became dizzy and toppled down. I cried and buried my face in my hands, fighting the urge to faint. I crawled across the stone floor to the door. I grabbed onto the ancient door handle and used every bit of strength I could muster to haul myself back to my feet. I stepped across the threshold and then found myself standing at the top of a stairway leading into an attic.

The space was enormous and packed with antique things. Dingy sheets covered some furnishings. Other things, like eerie paintings in gilded frames and stacked trunks and dress forms with old, outdated gowns, stood uncovered. Moonbeams glistened in tall dormer windows and cast an ethereal glow around the place. It smelled of dust and antique books. Everything was draped in cobwebs so thick I could almost imagine the sound of spiders’ skittering feet.

The scratching had grown to an all-time high in my mind. The pain that accompanied it was almost like a scream in and of itself.

I peered around the room, though my vision was blurry, and it felt as though I was looking at everything from underwater.

I spotted a big steamer trunk to my right and shoved in the furthest recess of the attic. As soon as I laid eyes on it, I heard a sound coming from it that sounded like knocking. I realized the scratching was coming from that direction too.

I wanted to go back to my room. Back to my bed cuddled with my little sister. The last thing I wanted to do was find out what was in that trunk.

But I had to make it stop.

I made my way across the attic, climbing over things, and being careful where I placed each step, afraid of tumbling through the attic floor. Every step closer made the noise a little louder. I stood before the trunk. There was a window right next to it and the pale moonlight washed over the worn leather of the trunk, showing how very old it looked.

I saw it was fastened closed, but not locked. I pushed the button to release the fastener, and I pulled open the heavy lid. It groaned, and so did I.

As soon as I got it up far enough to let the hinges take over, I let it fall back. There was a bang like a gunshot, and then all the noise in my head stopped.

Utter silence enveloped me as I peered down into the musty trunk.

It smelled of dust and decay.

The trunk contained an old, faded and tattered wedding dress splattered with blood and crumpled into a messy ball.

And the fabric of the dress twisted and curled around the withered brown bones of a perfect human skeleton. The eyeless skull lay with its mouth gaping open as though it had died screaming, and a few limp wisps of hair still clung to it.

1873