Always Julia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Love, grieving, loneliness. What is a house without the woman you love inside? The master wakes his love again.

Toujours, Julia 

Day 7

A week has gone by since we last saw Mme Julia. She has never been gone this long before. I wonder what it is we are doing wrong. Whatever it is, I want it to stop. I miss the twinkle in her hazel eyes, I miss the sound of her voice, singing with the birds on the patio of the château du naissance - the house master built for her with the promise of his love. Now it looks darker – the curtains drawn down, dust gathering on the surfaces of the marble tabletops, the mahogany and rosewoods she has polish with loving touch. The fireplace is filled with ashes, the bedroom is cold, even her picture on the wall has begun to lose its lustre just like the overgrown garden with dying flowers. 

I can hear the sound of his feet, pacing about on the floor above me. He has locked himself in. He wants to make himself forget. 

I shall be gathering dust for quite some time it seems.

Day 9

The house seems to be enveloped in an enduring vacuum of silence, even the shuffling above have stopped. The master must have found something to help him drift off from one state of unconsciousness to the next. How selfish of him to flee into those state to be in her cradle. Does he not know that I pine for her warmth too? How long must those shadows flitting across the windows mock me?

Day 12

There is someone in the house with us. I hear voices coming from the east wing-the part of the house I have never reached. The voices are muffled, It is unlikely the master knows yet. He is never aware of these kinds of things, not even that time when a voice in distorted and bloodied clothes took up residency under his bed. However I doubt it to be the same person because I can still recall the thudding on the stairs and the scraping sounds in the garden which followed. 

Master would be quite stumped.

Day 15

The master came for me today! I couldn’t have been more merrier! His wig with rings of white curls piled high on his head, his cheeks ruddy and his face had lost its thunderous countenance. He wore a pastel shade of lavender silk satin habit a la francaise and a dainty white lace jabot tied around his neck. We went to watch the wild horses by the river then we took a stroll around the garden visiting her favourite spots. It was nice to feel the sand again. We did not talk. There was no point to it. The wind echoed our thoughts through the rustling leaves and the impregnated cloud shielded our head. We skipped among the markings and the dying fleur-de-lis, roses and shrivel up lilies bushes, laughing at the thoughts the living had left for the dead. Oh Julia, you should have seen him. He tried to be happy. He really tried.

Day 16

Today, we slept on the together, and woke up to the melody of the house. The creaking stairs, the groaning floorboards and the coldness. The birds were back on the patio, singing in symphony with the loveliness of the morning.

I almost told him about the interloper, then I saw the smile on his face. He is beginning to believe in happiness again. I must not tell him about that yet.

Day 17

The master is limping today. He has little gash on his left toe, but such a small cut cannot account for so obvious a limp. It must have happened when he left me in the night. Yet, that did not stop him from powdering his face, reddening his lips and applying all his vigor to the piano that had erstwhile been gathering dust. The sound that came out was rustic, but I danced nonetheless. I danced because I did not want him to see the shadow at the window.

Day 22

I don’t know why I didn’t notice it sooner. The smell from the east wing. Maybe it is because of all those walks with master. Lately, we have been rarely indoors, seizing every opportunity to bask in the warmth of the sun and lounge in the embrace of the moon. Probably the interloper had met with the other denizens of the house. Those kinds of meetings don’t always end well.

Day 23

We dug a grave beside the old one today. I waited behind the door, while he dragged out a body wrapped in bloodied, white sheets. The interloper has been evicted. The master had found him under his bed, like the other one. And though that thunderous look has returned on the master’s face, I cannot contain the feeling of joy washing over me. 

Julia is coming. I will prepare a bouquet of iris for her. They will adorn her pathway, caressing her supple, white feet.

Day 25

Curse be today! Julia is with us in body alone. The iris wither to her touch. Her mind refuses to live. The master had raged and cried and beseeched, but Julia would have none of that. She wanted to be rid of this existence and nobody would talk her out of it, not even me. The master has consulted all his books and redefined all the lines to no avail. Everything is exactly the way they were the last time.

We dug up all the bodies in the garden - all the bodies whose blood had gone into bringing her back. None of them had stirred. So, why does she not want to stay? Why does she want to sleep like them?

Day 28

The dust have returned. Some crown my head and settled my body, while others flit across the shaft of light streaking through the barred windows. Julia’s will is strong. She does not want to live again. The first time she died was a year ago and the master had made her a promise to always bring her back. But just like his books had said, her time alive will keep fading like burning embers under the snow until the screams in East wings and bodies beneath garden fail. 

Day 30

The master has decided to throw himself at her mercy. They lie side-by-side, entwined as one. It would be a long time before anybody finds them in the cellar. The château de naissance will cuddle them like a mother and protect them from the cold wind and the fierce sun. It will lament their ill-starred love in the creaking of the stairs and the groaning of the walls. It would ward off the uninvited and gobble down the inquisitive as long as the marshes hold and the branches in the overgrown garden wax stronger. But when that evil day comes when it walls will crumble and these marshes will give up their secrets and sacred sanctuary is breached, I shall be found standing sentry near the lovers bodies. A pair of red heel rococo shoe gathering dust.

The End



Submitted: May 01, 2020

© Copyright 2023 Jelina. All rights reserved.

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This is refreshing. Anthony Constantinou likes it

Tue, October 6th, 2020 6:04am

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