A Portrait of Madeleine

Chapter 3: A House of Secrets

In the early hours of the morning before sunrise, the mist enveloped the entire landscape like a duvet upon soft grass. Despite my layers of clothing the cold burned through. It ate away, reaching deeply for my skin like acid. Yet, I had to return. I had to know that I was not losing my mind. That I had seen something real within the depths of the fog, and not mere illusions created by an unbalanced mind. It was more than the disturbances of trauma. Something was out there. It had to be.

Even if my camera had betrayed my trust, in capturing nothing.

With a gentle breeze of ice sweeping past my cheek, I felt I could breathe again, lost within the serene and quiet emptiness. The weight lifted from my neck and heart, if only for the brevity of a minute, and I remembered what it felt like to be alone. The solitude that often defined me. Before I became lost in the shadows, left by the ghost of a woman that I had barely known. Though my mind continued to convince me that it mattered. That in the beginning, before love, there existed only a single spark. Did the spark lose all meaning if the fire never had its chance to burn?

Before the very same tree that had displayed a haunting phantasm, I stood patiently. For so long I waited, that I felt the air grow warmer from the slowly rising sun. I was unsure what it was that I wanted to see. Deep down, I knew that the mist held no answers. Yet I continued to ask it to.

A sound broke through the empty space: the snapping of twigs. Following it, I saw slim tyre threads within the mud at the base of the hill. It was likely one of the servants or Mrs Terblanche herself who took Mr Terblanche for walks out on the grounds. My paranoia however forced me to follow it, even though I could barely feel my arms and legs or see my own hand in front of my face. Soon enough, my sense of direction had lost all focus, and I was once more at the mercy of the fog.

The genius of the mist: the more you wade into it, the less it reveals.

Listening intently, I heard the remnants of speech. I was not alone, and for some reason my fight or flight response activated, favouring the latter. Within, I was unsettled and vulnerable. A single chime of a bell echoed from an unknown place. The metallic jingle of keys disturbed my senses. As quiet as I could be, I took short, measured steps towards the strange sounds I heard.

Embedded in the mist was the faint outline of a person.

And I heard him speak.

His voice was like gravel, absent of any warmth.

"How many days has she been up there? Thirteen, or thirty-one?"

I covered my mouth with my hand to still my breathing.

"What is she painting? Where is she hiding it?"

I stepped on a branch.

The figure went rigid.

His limbs contorted like vines, stretching through the fog like tendrils.

A mirage of the mist; yet I gazed at it, transfixed, believing it to be real.

He spoke again.

"I see you."

I was already running, pumping my legs as fast as I could move. The voice followed me, creeping behind me like a spider closing in on its prey. When I finally reached the manor once again, I flew up the stairs and took refuge in my room once more, collapsing against the door with heavy breaths. There was no doubt that I was losing my grip, and I needed help. Pulling out my cell phone I scrambled to dial Dr. Ava Moreno, hoping she would have a session with me soon to clear my head. My hands were shaking as the phone rang, the seconds going by without an answer.