The Murder House

Two - Letter One

I have so much to say yet no voice to speak.

I am mere bricks and mortar, I am cement and wood and plastic and metal melded together to create the grand Bellerose House. I am the one to dry my children's tears, I an the one to raise them up, I am the one to dry them when the rain soaks them, I am the one who warms them on winter days and cools them during the summer months. I am the House who does it all, yet I am brandished a murderer for actions outside of my control. I was never quite attached to the notion that us Bellerose's are vicious animals that needed to be put down, nor was I completely adoring of the idea of my brothers pretty princess Ophelia. She was as beastly as Aurélian, hands deep in a body attempting to save a life while he was hands deep in a body attempting to take a life. Maybe I wished to rewrite history, maybe I wished to change the story, maybe I wished to rewrite my tale or maybe I wished to tell the truth, though my motivations have no relation to this letter. I stand tall shadowed by death, squeezing my walls around the weeping author who can barely type out two sentences without feeling that crushing guilt. I wish I could hold her close and remind her she did everything she promised, she did not plan to be his minder nor did she promise to keep those vile cretins alive. She promised to tell the truth of the Russo's, and tell the truth of the Russo's she did, alas I can not for she is too stubborn to accept my love, and she is yet to be a Bellerose. She is only a Bellerose by name, but by the end of this tale I do believe you will see her as more Bellerose than my descendants. Being a Bellerose is more than being blood related to the man who created me, it means being a loyal companion, a sturdy force against whatever society throws at you, it means being the voice for the mass of London's rejects.

She came into me admiring my beauty, of course I was charmed but I am a creature of grand beauty it is to be expected she was to gawk and wonder how I am still standing. For heavens sake I often wonder how I am still standing let alone a child younger than my hinges. She demanded the respect she gave the spirits back forcing them to see her as an equal not as a living they could manipulate and run out, she gave them a second chance at life and for that I owe her every room I have the pleasure to light. Her family came demanding the same, her father didn't ask much just a comfortable bedroom with a television and the souls of the cats which haunt me to spend some time with him. In return for the peace I gave him, and quite frankly he did me a favour getting rid of those pests, he spent time with the forgotten spirits of my walls, the children. Her mother oh do not get me started on that woman, once upon a time I would have said I wanted to be her when I grew up. She stormed around my floors in glittery pink slippers and a tea towel slapped over her shoulder, she refused to acknowledge the spirits as dead and allow weakness to break her stride, so instead she treated them as children younger than her. Even though my youngest spirit would be four years younger than her. Oh and I must warn you of the rest of them, her suitor what a waste of space I doubt she could even call him that, not once did he get her flowers to adorn my windowsills, useless prick. The uncles, oh goodness the uncles my children when I tell you they are riffraff I mean the dirtiest or dirtbags. From criminals to bikers to well, whatever Matthias is, as Dylan called him a ball of cotton candy personified.

They are the runaways who run the night, they ruined my halls when they were youths I tell you, dancing around with Bonnie singing until all hours of the morning. Even I grew slumbersome just watching their antics, oh what I would give to go dancing amongst the stars as my dear brother and I once did, reflecting the dance of death Aurélian and Ophelia danced every single night. I do wish to charm him into that pitiful smile he holds, it is as if he is worried his teeth will fall upon my shoes if he smiles. Enough of they Bellerose, I do believe this is a introduction into what you are embarking upon, I like my brother are two houses built upon the sacred land Aurélian bought. No one knows how he come across his wealth, he was never secretive about it if you asked he would tell you that Monsieur Esclave was not who he said, a slave who had no money to his name. He instead was the illegitimate son to the King, he lived in the palace his whole life though he was never recognised as royalty, when he met the beautiful Marionette Rose he vowed his life to her. He turned her tears to diamonds, she refused any gift he gave apart from one of his last, he gave up his title and his comfortable place in the court to become another slave with no name. He fathered Aurélian as if his own blood, when Marionette had Aurélie he became even more protective over the woman who did not have the time to love him. Once he buried her at an unmarked grave he left everything he collected to his true son. Monsieur Esclave saw the road Aurélian was going down, he was watching one of the few people he trusted dying without anything to do. So the old little drunk told him to do whatever he needed to be happy, Aurélian protested saying he had his own money but the drunk refused and said he didn't want the money to continue to rot. He watched proudly as Aurélian built his kingdom with each of his loved ones in mind, Ophelia and her basement for her operations, Poppy with her love of art, Flynn with his garden, Raphaël with his clothes, Zhen with his interest in herbs and medicine, Arcelia and her love of the sea, Noah and Kai's love of animals, Isiah's way with words, Eden's occupation of teaching, Laurence and her ability to command an army. He continued to build me up throughout his life to accommodate his children as they grew, Monsieur Esclave even got his own home where he always had a full cellar of wine and rum and gin.

Willowdale is a living creature as are my brother and I, it is not as sophisticated as us though our energy flows within every piece of dirt you walk upon with no regard of how it came to be. Get wise my child, you must open up your eyes and read between the lines, look for things that aren't there and hear the things the dead whisper in your ears to get through this recounting without missing a clue or two. I refuse to make this easy for, for even I miss the simplest of clues dangled beneath my doorframes or in front of my windows. I am easily lead astray contrary to your belief, I am forever on edge wondering when the next attack will come, when the next death will come, when the next reporter will break my door for answers.

I have emotions too, I feel everything!

Do forgive me, how am I meant to write this? I am a big feeler, I feel my emotions for both me and my brother for he feels nothing but the trickle of discomfort when faced with social situations. I may prance around in my red heels and black corset like an over dressed poodle but I am so much more than what I appear to be. For example you would not believe I hold a library with nineteen hundred books in my possession, books from before I was built stand in solidarity with me. I may look and act like a petty House who has nothing else in her attic bar boxes and dusty air but I can confirm to you I am filled with more thoughts than you will ever think. The oxygen flowing through my walls brings new thoughts and ideas crashing into my walls and pushing open my doors, it finds its way into my core and heals the burnt side of me.

What I am trying to say is I am a living creature as are you, and if you do not wish to treat me with the respect I so deserve and demand then this is not the book for you. This is a recounting, a telling of my truth, it gave me the voice which was ripped from me and my spirits. Lives were lost and families were broken apart, minds were snapped and deep buried lies were uncovered like a rotting carcass. Throughout the retelling of my tale I will write letters on my brothers suggestion, to break up what is happening and also to add my perspective onto it. For you will learn of my spirits and I wish to fight their cases, no one else will they have no else on their side bar me. I suppose I also wish to right my wrongs and explain some things of this recounting, the Author knows what the ending is this time and her writing will communicate that. Even I do not know her side of this tale, for I know the dead's not the livings, all I know is she never came crying to me saying Bellerose help me please! she was happy to continue herself leaning on me when she needed some comfort. I do hope I have not bored you, though frankly I do not care past the politeness I was built with. Beneath my smile I am envisioning slamming your head in my doorway and throwing you out my windows, trapping your fingers in drawers and leaking freezing water onto you while you sleep. That is unless you stay on my good side, I am the one who has it all, I am the master of this fate, I do not need anybody in my life bar my brother. Alas I opened my arms to the dead and gave them a chance at a afterlife they never got in life. I sat wasting with an unlocked door until the children came along, once I believed I needed no one until I was abandoned for thirteen years and left to rot. The filth of society trailing through me defiling my walls and my name. You may think I was built upon the filth of society, thieves and assassins, slaves and pirates but I am much more than that, I was given their compassion and their camaraderie. I learnt to take in those who needed it while the rich toss people onto the streets believing they shall work it out.

Money buys everything they argue.

In this recounting you will find out money buys nothing but betrayal, like every good weapon you must learn to wield it well. This is a story of naivety, of fear and abuse, the Author will twist everything you think of these people into what is the truth. For now I shall leave you, the Authors tears are soaking her device I must close my walls to her dingy office I am disgraced of and remind her of the good she has done.

The souls she saved and the souls she gained.

Till next time my child.

— The Murder House, August 2024.