sir thomas sharpe // crimson peak

{ 10 }

Song: Lose My Mind - Dean Lewis

᯽᯽᯽

Crimson Peak was a dull, ruddy shape half hidden behind a new, heavy snowfall. Thomas was helping Lucille get into the motorcar in front of the house. I was there to see them off. "Will you not come with us? Promise me you won't summon forth new beings from the netherworld-" Thomas had worry in his voice. "Shh. Stop. I'm going to work like a scholar. It's high time I got back to the book." I fixed the collar of his suit. "Then write, do you hear me? You have a whole day to yourself! Make the most of it!"

As they drove off, I waved from the bottom of the snow-covered front steps. I picked up the little dog and regarded the front door, open and gaping as if ready to gobble me up. A gust of wind and the house moaned. I shivered, then went inside shutting the door behind me.

᯽᯽᯽

I stood in the middle of the coal shed, studying the gloomy corners. Silence. I loaded the coal scuttle, took a defiant last look around and left. Outside, the snow was piling up.

The sound of typing...

"My...dear....Eleanor..."

The coal fire was glowing, the faithful gig laid at my feet as I typed, translating the letter from Leipzig with the air of a German dictionary.

"...why, dear cousin, will you not answer my letters? Your little Lotte must be walking and talking by now...and still, no word of any kind. What are your English relatives doing to you?" I lifted my eyes. The oil portrait of the late Lady Sharpe gazed down on me.

I sat atop a rolling ladder, just below the portrait. I moistened a handkerchief and rubbed it in the canvas, exposing on the woman's finger, a diamond ring. I compared it to the ring I was wearing: the same. The dogs bark reached my ears.

I walked through the foyer, glancing up. More barking from upstairs. I found myself at the lift. On impulse, when I git in and move the brass handle to "up": clunk - the unseen electric motor whined and the cab raised me out of view. From the doorway of a wood-paneled study, I surveyed a workbench strewn with metal parts and blueprints - all relating to Sharpe's miniature steam drill. I smiled at the chaos.

I entered Lucille's austere, sparsely-furnished bedroom. A framed photo of brother and sister, to ounger, posing arm in arm in Brighton Pier stands on the bedside table. At the desk I inspected a pile of account books, legal papers and a key ring. Some of the documents were in German, including a letter from a bank in Leipzig. I came upon an envelope with my name in it: Edith Cushing, Boston 1900. In the envelope were snapshots of myself back in Boston, the Kodak pictures taken by Thomas.

Using Lucille's key ring, I unlocked a dusty room that once served as a nursery. The wallpaper featured a parade of merry animals. A cradle and toy chest occupied the corner near the window. On a shelf bear a dented silver rattle and christening cup, I found a black rubber ball.

In the corridor I heard the dog whining in the other side of a heavy pair of double doors. I tried the brass knobs: locked. Using another of Lucille's keys, I opened the doors onto a long-forgotten passageway. A few snowflakes drifted in from a half-open skylight. No sign of the animal. As I latched the skylight shut, a sudden yelp...and the dog was sitting at my feet. "There you are! All right, little girl, fetch!" I threw the rubber ball. With a bark, the dog took off after it, disappearing into the gloom. Then, nothing. "Come on silly, come on." Thumb...the ball came bouncing back. I moved deeper into the frigid passageway, moving in and out of shafts of light from the other skylights. "Here girl. Here...?" I passed a stack of bricks, large glass bottles filled with roofing nails, an old wicker wheelchair...and finally reached a rusty iron door only three feet high.

Hearing scratching on the other side, I kneeled down and tried the handle. But it wouldn't move. "How'd you get in there?" The scratching became intense, frenzied. I looked down and realized the dog was sitting alongside me - !

Flesh crawling, I gathered the dog up and ran.

Reaching the double doors, I glanced back. Something small and skeletal was coming, scuttling over the floor, in and out of the light. It was a bony hand! The jar of nails exploded! The pile of bricks tumbled over... I slammed the door and threw back the lock. I backed away, but, like a spider, the fingers wriggled out from under the door...! I ran to the elevator.

I charged into the lift and yanked the lever - nothing happened. "Down, dammit! Down!" My breath was quick and beads of sweat formed on my forehead. I panicked. Then the cab finally jerked, swayed and started moving. But the hand, covered in rotten flesh, was pressed against the outside of the glass, riding along! The dog trashed in my arms, strangling in my grip. The ground floor was in sight! But the cab dropped right past it! "No!" I cursed under my breath. I pulled on the control handle desperately - to no avail.

A filthy basement came into view. Shelving, canned goods, an ancient washer and mangle. And the elevator kept going, passing dark, abandoned tunnels once active with iron miners.

Finally, a gentle bump as the elevator stopped. The hand dropped off the glass and withdrew. I put down the dog and tried the lever, but the elevator wouldn't budge. My groping fingers encountered a light switch. I twisted the knob and a few brownish bulbs came up. Inky tunnels were everywhere like an enlarged termite nest. No movement, no sound except for the distant drip of water. I started down steel, rickety steps, which creaked in protest. The dog trotted ahead. On the rough-hewn walls hung mining tools, chains and lanterns.

I moved carefully, keeping an eye out for the terrible hand - or anything else.

In an alcove, I discovered a pile of women's shoes. The dog sniffed at them, unleashing a stampede of cockroaches. I lifted the lid of a steamer trunk and found... A straw hat. A white cane. A woman's spectacles with black lenses. And an adorable flock of Finlay's hand-carved sheep. I examined a lace handkerchief with an embroidered monogram: ES. I smelled it - recognizing the perfume. Below it, I found three albums of Kodak snapshots. The handwritten labels on each album:

Pamela Upton - London - 1887

Margaret McDermott - Edinburgh - 1893

Eleanora Schott - Leipzig - 1896

I remembered that day at my father's office....

*FLASHBACK*

Cushing peered at Sharpe at the conference table. "So you come to us, having failed to raise capital in London." My father lifted his eyebrows. "London, Edinburgh, Leipzig-" My father cut him off. "Where your family name seems to have counted for very little."

*FLASHBACK END*

I opened the albums. They all featured Thomas and several beautiful, well-dressed young women. They looked young and healthy, in carriages or in formal wear. The youngest of them was blind and carried a white cane. The German woman was holding the cute little dog that befriended me. "Oh, my God-" A thin, malevolent whisper from the darkness... "Edith! Verstorben! Verstorben!!"

I snatched up an iron bar and strode out into the empty tunnel. "Who is it? Shoe yourself!" No answer. I frowned. Flies were buzzing. The dog started to trot forward, into the dark... "No. Stay-!" The dog obeyed, looking up at me.

Brushing away hordes of flies, I climbed up the stairs and threw open the doors of the elevator. Waiting inside, a decomposing young woman with a dead baby caught in my long hair. The seeking thing holds out the infant's remains. "Er ist gestorben! Während Sie wird..." I screamed and lashed with the iron bar. The figure swirled like oily smoke... And reconfigures, it's eyes bulging in supplication.

Retreating, I tumbled down the stairs. I hit the bottom landing hard - something snapped! I screamed, my face contorted in pain. Somewhere, an infant was wailing, a mother was shrieking. Mercifully, I lost consciousness.