Beloved: Memoir of a Phantom

Chapter 26- Outside looking in

Chapter 26- Outside looking in

I found very quickly that I also no longer required sleep as I lay on the dusty down filled mattress, trying desperately to catch some rest before the approaching dawn. I eventually gave up on it and instead decided to arrange my plan for the following day.

I needed something to wear; something that would completely cover me from head to toe so that I wouldn’t be recognised or be gawked at for my horrific appearance.

I perused the dresses in the wardrobe trunk until I found exactly what I needed: a long black silk dress that looked as though it were from around 1900. It had a high neck, three quarter length sleeves and the skirt came down to the floor. I slipped it on and was surprised to find it a perfect fit, albeit it was quite old fashioned, but it served its purpose for covering most of my scarred body. I also ended up taking a pair of black leather boots that were near the point of crumbling and a pair of long black gloves from the wardrobe as well to add to my outfit. Now I needed to find some way to hide my face. I rummaged through another chest which I knew contained a wide collection of hats to search for an idea. It wasn’t until I came across a wide brimmed felt hat with a white ribbon around it that I finally had an idea. I took it and went back to the wardrobe and took out two large sheer black scarves from one of its drawers. I slipped the ribbon off and tossed the two scarves over top of it, one overlapping the other. Then I pinned the ribbon back into place. I tried on my new creation and looked in the oval mirror on the vanity. The dark veil just fell to  my shoulders; completely shading my face from recognition. On the whole I thought I might just pull the charade off, except for one errant physical trait I could not hide so easily; my long and very recognisable red hair snuck out the back of the veil to cascade down my back. I searched desperately for something I could use to get my hair up under the hat and out of the line of sight; eventually stumbling across a box of hairpins in the vanity and a rubber band in a box of my father’s office supplies with which I made a quick but secure bun. It worked perfectly.

Now that I looked like someone else I needed to cook up a false identity as well to accompany it. There was no doubt in my mind that questions would be asked of me and about me; so I was considering how best to answer them. I tried disguising my voice in a variety of different ways until I settled on one that was easy for me to do and made me sound convincingly different. I made up a story and a name to accompany it as well.

I adopted a first name meaning eighth and I adopted my descendants’ last name to make me now Octavia Hume. My story was that I was writing letters to my pen pal in the Lunaville institution from a hospital I resided in London after being in a horrible car crash that had left me horribly disfigured. I figured that should suffice and the rest I could make up as I go along.

I heard voices in the bedroom below my feet a little while later and I knew that my parents were up and getting ready. Judging by the low position of the sun in the sky I would say it was probably close to 7am. I sat on the bed remaining perfectly motionless until 9 am when they were out the door and on their way to the cemetery.

I was now left alone in the house and I realized that there was one thing I didn’t consider; how was I going to get out of here? There was no way I could climb out the window and float to the ground in broad daylight! I could go down the attic stairs and walk out the front door. There was always a key under the mat I could lock up with after…

Deciding that would be the best way, I kicked down the collapsible attic stairs and entered the home that used to be mine. I walked past my bedroom half expecting everything there to be the way I’d left things two years ago before my absence. I was surprised to see almost everything was covered in white sheets like the furniture in the attic; everything had been stripped from the bedding to the walls in what appeared to be a rush. It seemed to have been done awhile ago, as if I had died two years ago and not 3 days ago. It brought more sooty mascara filled tears to my eyes, so I quickly closed the attic door and escaped the upsetting place, to make my way to the cemetery on foot.