Wall Breaker (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

Chapter Two

I felt like a mad man reading those words, especially when there was a doll in front of me whose face was filled with cracks. I set the papers down on the floor, and I once again crouch down to take a better look at the toy. Slowly I begin to rest my hands on the doll's face, running my thumb through some of the cracks, feeling the broken spots that were put together. For something that had clearly been broken into several pieces, it was in surprisingly good shape. It was being cared for by someone, someone who cared about it.

"Are you Brahms?" I ask the doll, realizing how ridiculous I must seem. Anyone who came from an outside perspective must have seen me as insane. Yet what else was I going to do? This seemed like the only way to communicate with the supposed other entity in this house, human or something else. It wanted me to stay here, and I would not be taking my chances of attempting to irritate it.

Slowly, I pick the doll up, holding it in my arms. "For a broken doll, you were restored very well." My hands find their way back on its face, finally noticing all of its small features. Pinkish lips and eyebrows whose hairs were drawn on one by one. What was truly unsettling was how the doll seemed to be meant to resemble a young boy, yet it didn't, it didn't even seem human. The way its eyes were open in an unnatural way, they looked afraid yet the rest of his expression was so oddly neutral, it didn't make sense. As I looked over at the notes once more, I huffed. I didn't know where to start, so why not just begin with what seemed the simplest? Preparing a meal should be easy enough.

Still holding onto what I assume must be Brahms, I make my way downstairs, attempting to find the kitchen. Yet once I step inside, the broken furniture follows by my side. The corners of the table were broken, chairs thrown to all different directions, pots and pans scattered amongst the ground. In the sink there were knives and forks, all of them dirty. I sigh as I pick up one of the chairs on the ground, placing the doll on it. Next to the sink was an open book, old and warry with pages which were beginning to grow yellow. It was opened on a page who's title read: "Chorizo & Mozzarella Gnocchi." I began inspecting it, tracing my hand over the handwritten recipe which laid in front of me. "It looks like you've picked something out."

I glanced back at the doll who remained sitting in the same position as I left it, part of me expected for it to have disappeared, and maybe I even wanted it to. It felt like it was glaring at me whenever I didn't face it, like it was angry that I wasn't paying attention to it. "I've never made this before. It might not come out too great, but I doubt you'll have a problem with that." A small chuckle escapes my lips, but I receive no reply to my slight hint of humor.

To cook I had to clean several dishes, all of them noticeably had been reused several times with several scraps of multiple different meals stuck together on their sides. Yet finding the ingredients as well and having the patience to execute all of this was what I found the most annoying and tedious of the process, only to have the result being slightly burnt.

"I'm sorry for burning it, I'm a bit new to this." I spoke as I set the dish in the middle of the table. I sat next to Brahms and served a part of the meal for both of us, half expecting him to eat it, yet of course he didn't. Why did I always expect for this doll to be sentient? Was it because of the notes? "I truly am unsure of what you want from me," I chuckled to myself, "You asked me to help you but never went into any specifics. Am I just meant to wait for you to give me another card?" Yet again there was no response, and all I could do was groan, beginning to grow tired with the idea of constantly having to talk to myself, completely isolated in a house which I barely knew.

"I know you can hear me," I say in a more annoyed tone, huffing slightly, "You told me not to leave, but you don't even want to talk to me. Do you not like me or something?" My hand rested on the doll's cheek, my thumb running over the porcelain. "Was it something I said? Or were you maybe expecting someone else?"

As I debated with myself, fork in hand scrambling the food which I was hesitant to eat, I heard a knock on the door. How awfully well timed, finally something that might be able to entertain my boredom. I stood up, apologizing to Brahams because I'd have to leave him alone for a moment. Whoever was outside was most likely going to be unnerved by seeing someone holding onto a more vintage doll. I walked towards the door, and when I opened it I was faced with a young girl with curly red hair and freckles, mouth wide.

"Wow! I've never had someone answer the door here before!" Her surprise turned into happiness, a smile spreading across her face. "I'm Willow! I came here to drop off your groceries!" Behind her was a bicycle with a basket, filled to the brim with paper grocery bags.

"Willow, it's a pleasure to meet you," I smile back at her, reaching out to shake her hand which she eagerly takes. "I'm only here for some time," I paused for a moment, searching for an excuse, "I'm just here to visit a friend."

"What friend? Do you know the person who owns the house? I haven't ever seen them before, they must be all secretive and mysterious! Such a big and spooky house, it must be so cool inside!" She attempted to peek through to the inside of the house, yet I stepped forward and closed the door behind me, not wanting her to see the mess of broken furniture.

I nodded, slightly feeling guilty about lying to a kid. They were clearly so happy with finally finding someone outside of the house and I had to live up to the expectation, despite how much I didn't want to. "Yes, Brahms, that's the owner," I nod at her, unsure how to go on, "We've been friends for a bit, just wanted to check up on him you know."

"Can I meet him!" Her voice became high pitched as energy surrounded her small being. I quickly shake my head which causes her to pout, "Why not?"

"Brahms is very shy, that's why he doesn't pick up his own groceries!" I attempted to make an excuse, and thankfully Willow bought it.

"You know, I used to be super shy, but look at me now! Maybe he'll get less shy as time goes on, then I could meet him!" She seemed so pleased with the concept of meeting other people, and I couldn't help but find that heart warming. "Oh! Sorry I didn't even give you your groceries!" She shuffles to her bicycle and attempts to take as many bags as she could, but I quickly go help her, not wanting her to drop anything or fall. Both of us set the groceries next to the entrance, and with another large smile she waves me goodbye, already making her way to her bicycle. Soon she was gone, buried back into the distant view of the forest.

I hadn't expected a young child to have gone through the woods in such a remote area, yet this had become the least of my concerns considering the situation I was in. Stuck in a house which might have been haunted by some type of doll or ghost, a child shouldn't be the thing consuming my energy.

I step back inside the house with the groceries in my arms, making my way back to the kitchen to set everything down. Yet as I glance back at the table, I notice that Brahms is no longer there, and in his place was a note. Another one which I was sure to despise. Hesitantly, I made my way back to the chair, picking up the note and it only said one thing.

"Don't leave me alone."

It was underlined twice.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to whoever wrote the note, expecting them to pop out and do far more than just threaten me with a piece of paper. "She was at the door, I couldn't not answer her, I'm sorry."

The walls of the house rambled in response, it was as if they were screaming at me, shrinking so that they'd trap me there forever, just for me to be squished like a bug between them. "I'll go find you, I promise, I won't leave you again! I'll take you everywhere, I won't leave you alone." My hands went to my head, quickly going up the stairs, searching for the doll. I made my way into the room where the screwdriver was, it was on the floor. My hands reach out for them, trying to find refuge in a weapon with a history which was unknown to me. If it had once made the person who sent me those notes bleed, it was able to do that again. As I stand my ground once more, I go to the room beside the one I was in, only to find Brahms sitting on a small bed pressed against the wall.

I ran towards the doll, causing myself to lay down on the bed, gripping onto the small figure as tight as I could, closing my eyes. Quiet fills the small room, yet it takes me a moment to open my eyes, just playing with the doll's hair to keep myself feeling alive. I finally opened my eyes, glancing at the porcelain face which looked straight forward towards the wall in front of us.