The Bride of Brahms

Chapter 2

"Why aren't you scared of me? Why do you care for me? When we all fall asleep where do we go?" -bury a friend, Billie Eilish

The next few days continued to be weird and spooky, and I became more convinced that someone else was in this house. I would wake up in the mornings to find my belongings had been moved around. Jewelry I had worn was moved from one end of the vanity to the other, and some of my makeup had been thrown in the trash bin in the bathroom. There were days I couldn't find the shoes I was wearing the day before, which I was certain I placed next to my bed, only to find them placed next to the front door or next to the back door in the kitchen. Even the mysterious red dress moved – I had thrown out the gross meat hook and threw the dress into the laundry room, only to walk into my closet the next day and find it hanging next to my other clothes. I thought I was going crazy until one night I decided to take photos with my phone of where everything was places, and when I woke up in the morning, I did a comparison. It confirmed what I knew all along – someone was taking my stuff and messing with it while I slept.

Even that fucking doll would move. One morning I left it in the bedroom where it "slept" and went down to the kitchen to brew myself some coffee. I had another sleepless night where I had a feeling someone was standing over me whilst trying to sleep – a sensation I realized may actually bear some truth – and did not think to grab the doll in my sleep-deprived haze. I thought I heard something behind me and nearly jumped out of skin, screaming at the sight of Brahms sitting at the kitchen table, listless and casual as if it had been there the whole time. Anytime I forgot about the doll or left it in a room for more than five minutes, it's like it would follow me and suddenly appear sitting in a chair, its empty eyes staring me down. At first, I was really scared, but as time went on I just became more pissed off. Who the hell was doing this to me, and why wouldn't that coward show their face?

Finally, after several sleepless nights and unsettling days alone with the doll, I hatched a plan. Whoever was tormenting me, I was going to draw them out and catch them in the act. I recalled the very first day here, my music was turned off and unplugged, and I thought surely the person who did that would have to come out if I did it again. Giddy with delirium, I took the doll and my speaker into the study. I placed the speaker in the middle of the floor and played 'Josie' again. "Remember this song? I know you hate it!" I shouted above the noise. "If you want to turn it off, you'll have to come do it yourself!" I sat in the chair with the doll and waited, but nothing happened. Getting frustrated and impatient, I got up and turned up the volume. "Come on, mother fucker! Come out and face me!" I thought I heard a noise, like the cracking of wood, but saw nothing out of place. I maxed out the volume. "COME OUT HERE!" I screamed at the top of my lungs over the deafening sounds of fast paced pop-punk. Then I saw the walls move.

I watched in horror as a panel from the wall swung forward, and emerging from the opening was a man in a mask that looked like Brahms the doll, partially covered by curly dark hair that hung over his forehead. Once in the room he stood straight and I surmised he was over six feet tall, easily making me the dwarf at my meager five and a half feet. He stared me down, his eyes blazing with rage from across the room. I realized then how badly I fucked up; although I was confident that I could drag him out, I didn't plan out what to do when he showed up, and if he was going to hurt me. As soon as I began backing away slowly, he approached and was within inches of me in less than a second. I winced, ready to try and dodge or brace for a hit, when I noticed he instead stooped down and unplugged my speaker, a ringing silence echoing in the room. An awful smell hit me just then, like a locker filled with dirty socks and patchouli had been opened, and realized it was him. Oh my god, how long has he been in the walls here? I thought to myself, raising my hands to cover my nose and mouth to keep from retching.

He stood back up and looked at me, his head cocked to the side as he stared me down, not moving and saying nothing. I gawked back at him, frozen in place and terrified to move. We stood there unmoving and staring for what seemed like hours, both of us uncertain of what the hell we were going to do next. Now that he stood closer to me, I could see that he was very hairy – a black, bushy beard poked out from all sides of his mask and neck like a thick forest, with generous strands of dark hair dappling his broad chest. He was dressed oddly, like none of his clothes fit him properly. He wore a loose-fitting green cardigan that hung past his hips and dark pants held up by suspenders. Hugging his torso tightly was a white tank top covered in grime and desperately needed washing. Taking in the sight of him I couldn't help but think that despite living in the walls for an unknown amount of time, he sure was pretty fit.