Lydia's Family Secrets [PIC 2016]

She had planned the trip to the attic to be the last chore since her Mother’s passing.
It must be done and today has to be the day. She was due back to her office on Monday. She had been here for two weeks already orchestrating the funeral arrangements, signing the checks, and cleaning out the living quarters of the house. The only thing left was the attic and turning the keys over to the Realtors.

As she climbed the stairs twilight shone through the cold and dirty windows. She knelt down beside the barrel trunk that Mother had brought from the homeland when she sailed across that vast ocean to meet her intended and begin her new life. Mother had been an artist; oh how Mother loved to work with clay and paint and she expected to find secret works Mother had done that she could now, proudly, display in her home. She wiped the years of dust off of the dome top and squeezed the latches, surprised that they opened as they had become rusty from years of dampness and neglect. Being an only child she longed for the companionship a sibling would have brought while peering into the box of art that once contained her Mother’s dowry.

The lid opened with an ominous “creak” and her eyes fell upon a small book. It was a leather bound photo album of sorts. As she turned the first page the inscription read:
“To whoever has found this book, and I pray it is not my loving daughter, this is a book of both horror and truth. Do NOT allow the beast to know that you have discovered it. Keep it hidden as it has been for all of these years. Pray keep the vile secrets locked away”.
She turned the next page…

“This is where I and my captor were married. It turned out to not be a joyous occasion although I was charmed in the beginning. If you are reading this book, it means that I have passed from this physical world, finally, and the chains have been cast aside. I and my parents were tricked into sending me here to be married to the most evil and awful man. This is his temple. He is the Master of Death. His Master was the Evil One and in his realm, he is known as ‘The Collector of Souls’ and ‘souls’ he did collect. You, who have been designated to open this trunk, will discover more as you look deeper.”
The book contained many photos of Mother and Father through the years. Odd, there were many pictures of Mother holding children. There were boys and girls of all ages. Some were as young as infants and others were a little older. Who were they she wondered? Having been an only child there were no siblings that she was aware of and no cousins came to spend summers on the large estate. As a matter of fact no one visited ever. Her father was a very private and dark man though and there was no one but the governesses for her and the staff that kept the home and grounds running nice and tidy.

She laid the photo book aside and picked up the old mirror. She laid it aside, next to her on the floor and removed the compartment just below the album. Inside was a green velvet bag with gold tassels. She picked it up and it rattled. What was that sound? It sounded like bones. She opened the bag and turned it upside down so that the contents spilled onto her lap. It was… the heads of dolls? There was a small wicker basket with even more heads inside the trunk space. Why would Mother have a sack full of broken doll heads?

As she lay the bag aside, she heard a rustling. She reached into the bag and felt a piece of paper. She brought it out into the quickly waning light. This writing, as well, was in her Mother’s pen. It said:
“I was not permitted to keep all of the children. He stole their souls. These, molds of clay, are all I have left of my many children who I loved with every inch of my being. I created them to never forget their precious memory or the pain I felt at the moment of birth and the moment they were taken from me. I fought to keep the only child he let live. My last born. My precious Lydia. My daughter. He allowed me to keep just one.”

Lydia slammed the trunk lid shut and raked the doll heads off of her dress. The mirror wobbled on the uneven wooden floor as she scooted back away from the horror of the trunk. Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt a cold shiver creep up her back. She took the mirror in both of her trembling hands and turned it, in the approaching moonlight, in hopes of catching a glimpse of her own face. To somehow make this all a dream or make believe.

She raised the mirror and peered into the glass. Her reflection was not there! She turned the mirror over and inspected it. What sort of glass was this? Perhaps it was too dark in the attic. She stood up and went to the dingy window begging for any light there may be left of the day. To her horror and confusion there was NO reflection to be seen. Her head began to swim and she felt as if the room was closing in. She must get outside to freedom and air. Lydia dropped the mirror and took off running toward the staircase. Down one flight of stairs, down another, she made it to the grand foyer and cast opens the heavy carved wooden door. She ran down across the gently rolling front yard. She saw something dark and appearing to stand about 10 feet tall standing between her and the front gates so she turned and ran toward the woods.

Lydia hadn’t entered the woods since she was a young girl. She ran with swiftness until something caught her foot and she fell into the briars and ivy. With her head still swimming and night time swiftly approaching she reached for a hold and felt something cold and hard. A brick or a stone? She pulled the ivy away and saw, then, a tiny headstone.

Lydia raised herself up and crawled toward the stone. She pulled more of the ivy away and read just a name and two dates:
Michael John
January 12, 1892-January 12, 1892
Just beyond that was another stone with a name and dates:
Sarah Michelle
November 20, 1892-November 20, 1892
Another:
Mary Elizabeth
September 14, 1893-September 14, 1893

They went on and on. There were many across the hillside..
These were the stolen souls, the souls that her Mother had written about, the souls of her siblings whom she never met!
The horror and shock of the discoveries was too much for Lydia and she blacked out for a moment. She suddenly heard footsteps crunching in the leaves behind her. As she turned there appeared the dark figure from before. It resembled her Father. She tried to stand but, her legs were weak.
The figure spoke, it sounded like Father as well.
It said, “My precious Lydia, you’ve come home. I’ve been waiting for you since your Mother passed. I knew you’d return and she is not here to save or barter for your soul now”
Lydia fainted into the damp, cold ground. She looked up to the sky just before her eyes closed forever and prayed that the end would be quick and she may now see her Mother and her siblings, all of them could be together, finally…

a reply to: TNMockingbird

See your a great writer. Nice story my friend

a reply to: TNMockingbird

Very nice!

a reply to: AboveBoard

*blushing and bowing humbly*

Thank you, I am honored you took the time to read!

Aww Birdy - That was just great!

Very sad, yet very moving.

Well done!


BigG

You are such a good writer!
I always am impressed by your style.
Good story!

a reply to: TNMockingbird

Oh hunny...that was SO good!!

I really enjoyed reading that, it flowed nicely and was really descriptive.
(I'm also really happy that you've entered the contest!!)

It's fascinating to see how everybody is taking the same pictures, and then coming up with their own story. This whole "dark" theme has really got the creative juices flowing, lol.

S&F
Please keep writing! You're good. Trust me.
Love you sista,
jacy xoxo

Nice job TN, I like this one too.

a reply to: TNMockingbird
That was beautifully dark! I could see it and feel it. Nicely written. Good luck!

a reply to: Gordi The Drummer

Thank you kind sir!

That you took the time to read my humble offering leaves me verklempt!

a reply to: jacygirl

Hi my sista from another mista!

Isn't Gordi brilliant to have come up with this theme?

Perfect! You know I love the dark and grey! LOL

I'm sure I won't obtain any 'status' but, it is so much fun to participate and read the other's entries...

I feel like I 'crashed' on of those super elite parties and well, I'll just be over here in the corner with a lampshade on my head...

originally posted by: TNMockingbird
a reply to: Gordi The Drummer

Thank you kind sir!
That you took the time to read my humble offering leaves me verklempt!

I think I may have some ointment for that... somewhere...

a reply to: Errollorre

Thank you Erroll.

And you are well aware that the feeling is mutual!

(that's coffee BTW!)

a reply to: AugustusMasonicus

Thank you Auggie!

I read that simple sentence a few times looking for the 'punch line'...

I know it's there! Between the lines perhaps?

a reply to: natalia

Aww..thank you!

For you that have obtained 'writer' status to even take the time to read is truly wonderful and humbling.

I feel like a child who just made their first handmade birthday card for Mom and hoping she likes it!

a reply to: TNMockingbird

Nope, just being complementary.

originally posted by: TNMockingbird
a reply to: jacygirl

Hi my sista from another mista!


I feel like I 'crashed' on of those super elite parties and well, I'll just be over here in the corner with a lampshade on my head...

*places lampshade on head and goes to stand beside Mockingbird*

Sweetie, you could easily get 'writer' status here...you really are that good!

It's not a big deal, I know....and friends will S&F you, so the scores aren't always a reflection of your skill.

*passes Bird a beer* "Nice lampshade...come here often?"
jacy

a reply to: TNMockingbird

Wow, that was good. You evoked the 19th century long before the dates on the tombstones were uncovered. Beautiful Victorian Gothic - loved it.

B x

a reply to: beansidhe

Thank you!

Your words are flattering!

a reply to: TNMockingbird
Great job Chirp!! I love when you write!! So moving.