Inside the wall - Brahms Heelshire x male oc

1

Vincent gazes outside the car window, yellow and orange painted the sky like a painting. He leans his head against the car window, fiddling with his grey cardigan sleeve.

Vincent looks at the rear window, catching the driver's eyes who has been glancing at him ever since he entered the car. He sighs, turning his head to look out the window again and closes his eyes.

Moments later, he feels the car stopped moving making him open his eyes and looks up at the old, two-story building with large barred windows that almost give the impression of lifeless eyes peering out from behind large, leafy trees.

Vincent steps out of the car and into the shadows of Heelshire Manor. "It's like something out of a book." He said, looking up at the Manor with awe. It's beautiful...

"Yes, it's very lovely. I've taken your things inside." The driver said, pulling out a letter from his pocket and hands it to Vincent. "From the Heelshires."

Vincent unfolds it revealing long, flowing and beautiful hand-writing. But before he can read it, the driver stops him.

"They've stepped out. They beg your pardon, Mister, and ask that you wait in the parlour." The driver said.

Vincent nods and starts walking towards the entrance, looking around, studying his surroundings. "Holy crap." He breathed out.

The entrance-way is cavernous, reaching up to the second floor. The house itself is old-time, solid construction. Thick, wood beams run up the walls.

Vincent walks timidly to the right and pokes his head into the living room. The first thing he notices is there are no windows on one side. In fact, there are no windows on the entire back-side of the house.

The next thing is the furniture. Dusty antiques, all of it. The living room time forgot.

A grandfather clock sits in the corner. It stopped at 6:30 and, from the looks of it, it's been stopped there for a long, long time.

Vincent peeks out of the front window, studying the front yard through thick, steel bars. And then he walks back through the entranceway to the dining room.

More of the same. The eerie lack of window. An ornately carved dining table with a few rickety looking wooden chairs around it.

Vincent moves back to the entranceway, pulling out the letter again, trying carefully not to make too much noise as he unfolds it. There's heavy silence in the house. A formal gloom that Vincent unconsciously is scared to break.

"... we ask that you wait in the parlour..." Vincent said, reading the letter. He looks around. "Which one is the parlour?" And then he looks at the stairs directly in front of him -- a wooden railing almost looks like it's reaching out a deformed, wooden hand to him.

The staircase splits in two midway up -- and where it splits is a large painting of the house's residents -- the Heelshires.

It's not the parlour, but Vincent takes a step on the stairs, breaking the heavy silence of the house. He takes another, softer step -- willing himself to be lighter. A slightly quieter creak up to the painting.

The parents, Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire, each have a hand on their young son's shoulders. The father is tall, dignified looking. The mother is small, squat and stern.

The son looks to be around seven. He's almost disturbingly perfect looking in a dated looking little suit. He has perfectly combed hair, perfect skin with perfect features and a slight, half-smile as if he knows something Vincent doesn't.

But the eyes are what sticks out -- black and huge and lifeless. The right eye has a slight rip in the canvas. Vincent reaches out to touch it when a creak sounded.

The house is settling or maybe a child's footsteps from the floor above.

"Hello?" Vincent calls out, looking up the stairs to the second floor. "That's not the parlour. That is definitely not the parlour." He said to himself, looking back down the stairs where he should go -- and then looks up again to second floor.

The sound of his shoes sounded on a wood floor, shattering the silence of the house.

Vincent slips off his shoes and places them carefully against the wall. He tip-toes barefoot down the hallways.

They're narrow. Claustrophobic. As if the walls were pressing inward.

More portraits are on the wall, and various other family members go back through the years. Each staring out silently as Vincent passes down to a boy's room.

Unlike the rest of the house this room looks untouched, pristine. A child's bed is perfectly made. A few toys on shelves. It looks more like a show room than an actual child's room.

A door shuts somewhere in the house.

Vincent quickly tip-toes out of the room and down the hall, right past his shoes without noticing.

"Hello?" A man's voice filled through the manor.

"Hello?" Vincent calls out, moving down the stairs towards the voice.

"Hello?" The man calls out again.

"Yes? Hello?" Vincent said, moving back through the entranceway to the dining room.

At the other end is the owner of the voice, he looks to be in his thirties and very English looking. He's dressed in a black tie and a white shirt, making him look like an off duty waiter.

"Hello." The man said.

"Hello." Vincent said, standing in front of the man.

The man seems a little bit shocked to see him. "You're the new nanny?"

"I'm not sure yet." Vincent admits, shrugging. "Who are you?"

"I'm the grocery boy. Grocery man. I deliver groceries. I own the store actually." The man said, who seemed flustered. "I saw your bags and I... I'm Malcolm by the way." He said, holding out his hand to Vincent.

Vincent shakes the Malcolm's hand. "Vincent Livingstone." He said, letting go of Malcolm's hand when the man didn't let go.

"I've got to unpack these groceries, care to join me? I can give you a tour of such exotic locations as the pantry and the bread cupboard." Malcolm said.

Vincent nods. "Lead the way."