I couldn't sleep that night.
I couldn't get over the feelings that overtook me while I was in the bath.
I ran my fingers down my neck, hoping to feel the strange sensation again.
But...No matter how much I wanted it, it didn't return to me. I turned to August, who had his back to me.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and snuggled close to him. He stirred slightly as I slipped my hands beneath his shirt, caressing his chest and stomach with my fingertips.
He moaned gently in his sleep and rolled over to face me.
"You still awake?" He asked, not opening his eyes.
He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face, sleepily, into my neck.
"Make love to me August." I sighed, kissing his hair, and trailing my fingertips down his back.
"Please..." I breathed, scooting down so that my lips were inches from his.
His eyes fluttered open, and without another word, he pressed his lips gently to mine.
His lips parted against mine as his kiss became deeper, with intent.
He maneuvered himself on top of me, and as the moments passed during our intimacy, I became increasingly discouraged that the feeling I'd come to crave didn't find me.
It didn't take him long to finish, in typical August fashion.
He fell asleep soon after, leaving me with my dissatisfaction, and the thoughts that came with it.
I felt confused, disappointed, and most of all, restless. I lit a candelabra, and grabbed my fur lined coat.
I knew it was foolish to wander about this decrepit house alone, especially at night, but I couldn't shake the impression that something is here, something that I need to find.
The halls seem so much bigger at night, and even darker when ones alone.
I came upon another set of stairs, seeming to lead up to the top floor.
August and I had been keeping to the lower levels, and hadn't been to this part of the house yet. 'Perhaps I shouldn't...' I thought to myself, remembering the potential dangers these unexplored parts of the house could hold.
"Sybil..."
I turned to the sound of my name, a soft whisper, the same voice that I heard in the bathroom.
"Sybil..."
There it is again.
Suddenly, a brisk chill passes through me and flows up the stairs.
It almost feels as if it's pulling me.
I should've ran. I should've leapt back into bed with August, like any sane person would do.
Don't get me wrong, I was frightened, but I was much more curious than afraid.
I made my way up the stairs, each weakened stair creaking louder than the last. Once at the top, one door stood out to me more than the others.
I wrapped my icy fingers around the knob, and tried to twist it.
"Damn. It's locked..." I whispered.
A feeling of dread began to creep up my spine, and the feeling that I was being watched returned to me.
I decided to turn around and head back to bed, maybe I'll try again some other time, in the daylight.
I didn't take, but two, maybe three steps toward the staircase before I heard the knob jiggle, and the sudden groaning of the hinges.
I shined the light toward the sound. The door had opened.
I began to tremble in fear.
Something wanted me up here.
It became apparent that I wasn't alone, and that frightened me much more than being alone ever could.
I paused for a moment, waiting for something to jump out of the shadows and grab me or something.
Oddly enough, even though I was spooked, deep down, I didn't really feel as if this entity wanted to hurt me.
"Ok... I'll check it out. Please, don't hurt me..." I whispered, shakily.
I must be going mad, I'm speaking to it now.
I treaded lightly, trying to keep as quiet as possible. The room was so dark, I placed my hand on the wall to keep my balance.
In the shadows, I could see silhouettes of different objects stacked in a way that created eerie shapes in the dark.
As I glided my fingers across the wall, I felt something.
A light switch?
When I flipped it on, the old bulbs Hummed as the room flooded with a dim light.
"Ah...that's better." I sighed, blowing my candles out. There was so much stuff just left up here and forgotten.
Over in the corner, there was an old woodworking table, with rusted tools coated in a blanket of dust.
I picked up the small screw driver.
It, along with the other tools, seemed to have little engravings on the bottom.
"T.S...." I read, thoughtfully, wiping the dust away with my thumb before placing it back on the table. As I explored the room, I found so many trinkets and what looked to be children's toys.
When I picked them up to examine them, each one had the same thing etched on the bottoms. "Made by Thomas Sharpe", with dates ranging from 1878-1882.
"Grandma Edith's first husband..." I whispered to myself.
Suddenly, I felt the tiny electrical pulses again, on the side of my neck.
"Hello again..." I purred, as the feeling tickled down toward my shoulder.
"It's you?...You're still here?"
I breathed, turning toward the invisible force that had excited me, so.
The feeling stopped when I addressed it, almost as if I startled it.
A sudden strong wind blew in from one of the broken windows and knocked a large frame off of one of the walls, making it fall on top of a chest of drawers sitting in the far corner of the room.
I walked over to investigate.
One of the smaller drawers at the top were opened slightly, and when I pulled it out the rest of the way, a large black moth flew toward my face, making me yelp out in surprise.
I caught my breath, and proceeded to look through the drawer. Little things like buttons, screws, and earrings without mates were most of what I found.
But, way in the back, I felt a cold metal object, bulky, almost like a large broach.
When I pulled it out to examine it, I realized it wasn't a broach, but a small framed picture.
A young man. Handsome, dark haired, with deep sorrowful eyes.
I wiped away the dust and turned it over.
There was an etching in the back.
"For my darling sister, Lucille...Always together, Never apart." As I read the words aloud, the glass in the frame began to crack and it shattered in my hands.
I shrieked and dropped the picture on the floor as I jumped back. Have I upset him, somehow? The impact on the floor forced a corner of the picture to poke out of the frame.
I bent down and swept the glass from the image with my fingers. In small print on the back, in the bottom left corner was his name.
"Sir Thomas Sharpe. Year 1886"
I look at his face again, and my mind wondered back to the bath. I imagined the possibility of this beautiful man having his way with me. My stomach fluttered at the thought and I shook the absurd fantasy from my mind.
"There's no way..." I giggled to myself. Still, I placed the photo in my pocket. Fantasy or not, I'd become bewitched by this house, and the secrets it holds within.
YOU ARE READING
Crimson Lace: A Crimson Peak love story (Thomas Sharpe)
Paranormal*COMPLETED* Sybil McMichael was happy to accompany her husband, August, to the place his grandmother, Edith Sharpe, wrote about in her most famous Novel. Once there, she finds that her husbands intentions were fueled by more than mere childhood curi...
