Dancing With Your Ghosts

Books had taught me this was a place happy people went to become even happier; a grand piano, ornate oak doors, chandeliers hung from ceilings that resembled the Sistine Chapel. But books had mislead me. The ballroom resembled the face of a clown; makeup poured onto a somber face until its lips had been stitched into an arduous smile. Our family was as dysfunctional as it was wealthy; the type that would gladly gauge each other's eyes out yet present itself to the world as a pride of lions, cubs suckling gently on their mother's skin. The surname 'Du Pont' was like being born with a sack of bricks strapped upon your shoulders. I was followed by eyes glimmering with awe: for people assumed flamboyant gowns, extravagant housing and an opulent lifestyle was the equivalent of happiness. Father owned a cotton mill in Manchester, until tuberculosis struck and gauged on his lungs until all that was left of him was a pile of ashes, kept just above the fireplace in a rusted mason jar. Mother had been a callous woman ever since, not a single tear shed at her husband's funeral. Each day suitors begged for my hand in marriage. Each day I rejected them. In defiance of common beliefs, I had made a vowel to myself that I would not marry until I found a man that proved himself worthy, a man whom I loved.

The piano sparked to life singing an orchestra through empty corridors. Something about the scene before me was hauntingly beautiful. Rather than hiding from the ghosts dancing before me, I embraced them. I let them guide me into the bustling ballroom, kiss the silk upon my fingertips, wrap their steady hands around my waist and twirl me to the sound of laughter and music. I danced with them until my feet could no longer waltz and my lips could no longer smile.

"Lady Du Pont", he curtsied before me, "Would you like to dance"

Before I could speak he grabbed my waist, pulling me roughly towards him. His face was close to mine, too close. His breathe suffocated me with the stench of cigars and whiskey. A wizened face revealed itself behind a black top hat; the only thing left on his head besides a mottled scalp and sparse fringe of white. His eyes were lidded down with wrinkled folds, almost as if he was sleeping. Though, he seemed quite alert, shriveled hands making their way steadily down my body; caressing a waist that had once been commended for shrinking to the mere size of a peach. He grabbed my hand as soon as the pianos song came to an end, whisking me away to a lull room.

The room before me was lavish; velvet couches and tables decorated in roses, illuminated by a small lamp adjacent to them. Perhaps, under different circumstances I would have enjoyed being in that room. Now, all I wanted to do was escape.

He locked the door behind him, revealing decayed, crooked teeth in a sinister smile.

"Miss De Pont," He edged closer to me, "I have been admiring you for many weeks now. You are well mannered, quite gorgeous and incredibly desirable. Please, allow me to take your hand in marriage."

I took a step back, staring out the window to avoid his cool glare. "With all due respect sir I decline your offer"

He scoffs, "Are you not aware of who I am? I am the Duke of Bristol. Being my Duchess would ensure a life filled with opulence, wealth and good health."

"I am aware of your attributes sir, however my decision may not be wavered"

The Duke grabbed my shoulders, pushing me firmly against the wall. "You will regret this. You are nothing but an arrogant woman who will never find a suitor that pleases her. Did I not make myself clear, I am wealthy!"

"And did I not make myself clear, I will not marry you."

The room shook as he grumbled quietly, slamming the door shut.

Silence. Why was silence so loud? Silence was like a drug. You inhaled it, it coursed through veins and arteries, and then it devoured you; ceasing every inch of mentality left in your rotting brain. I needed to escape the silence. The garden consumed me, yet in a different way; geraniums sprouting from botanical leaves, creepers hanging from canopies and dancing swiftly in the night's breeze. I sat silently on the gardens bench, rubbing a finger gently across the swelling on my shoulders. Fine hairs on the back of my neck stood suddenly, goosebumps covering my skin and a sickness stirring in my stomach; as if eyes were being laid upon me. Only then did I see him; a dark, slim figure standing beyond the plantation: barely visible. I jumped to my feet quickly, taking a step back.