A New Estate - Crimson Peak

Chapter Six

The rest of the night had been entirely restless, my mind was racing too much after all the occurrences to settle down and allow sleep to come.

It had only been two nights, how could I have become this paranoid?

I tried to rationalise my thoughts time and time again, convince myself that it was all in my head due to the house looking rather spooky by design and the stories I had been told were adding an extra impression.

Yet somehow it didn't convince me in the slightest.

It was around sunrise that I decided to get out of bed, believing there to be no point in me staying in bed if sleep wasn't returning to me.

The hand holding the candelabra shook as I carried it down the dark hallway, but I couldn't tell if it was from the constant draft in the house or fear for what may occur next.

The rational part of my brain was telling me to leave the house and never return, but Father had spent so much money already, what with buying it and beginning the touch ups, that I would feel guilty if I told him I had ditched my first real home because of some bumps in the road.

He'd understand, Father isn't a cruel person, but I'd feel ashamed and disappointed in myself if I wasted the money he'd spent on this place.

The slow walk to the kitchen did nothing to calm my rattled nerves, in fact they seemed to get worse the closer I got.

Reluctantly, I poked my head around the door frame and surveyed the kitchen beyond.

Nothing appeared to be damaged or knocked over, in fact nothing really seemed to be out of place in the slightest.

Despite the lack of evidence of anyone having been in there the previous night, I still stepped into the room with caution. My eyes constantly scanning for any signs of an intruder or animal, anything to justify what I'd heard and settle my nerves.

Something had to have been here last night, those noises and the presence I had felt couldn't have just been the house settling, that was impossible.

Surely it was.

Logic dictated that a house this large would make all kind of noises, but could it really produce something that vivid and specific?

Then again, it was only my second night in the manor and the kitchen's self activating lift had rattled me fairly hard, maybe these were just normal sounds for Allerdale Hall to make and I was letting my imagination get the better of me.

Besides, it had all happened during the night and most things seem strange and scary in the dark, especially in a house you were still wholly unfamiliar with.

Although that wouldn't explain what I had felt as well.

A jolt of pain coursed through my hip as I absentmindedly bumped into the table corner, far too lost in my thoughts to take notice of my still fully unacquainted surroundings.

I let out a soft hiss and take a step back, rubbing the aching area gently, I could already feel a bruise rising on my skin as my fingers grazed the spot.

Through my inner self cursing my own ignorance, it took me a moment to take note of the additional sound that accompanied the light table jostle.

The small rattle of porcelain.

My breath hitched in my throat as my eyes trailed to the cup, a flat and wide tea cup on top of a saucer with matching intricate decoration.

I knew for certain that that cup had nothing to do with me.

During my sorting the other day I hadn't come across crockery with such a ghastly, dark red design. Though it fit in well with the rest of the houses mismatched decoration, something felt off about the items.

Yet it wasn't the fact that the crockery has just appeared either, something in my gut dropped as I stared at the offending objects.

How could the fact a full cup of tea appeared overnight not be the most ominous thing about it?

An unpleasant shiver ran down my spine, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from the cup. My mind once again racing with a million thoughts all at once, causing a dull pain to rise around my temples and behind my eyes.

And yet, I found myself strangely drawn to it and I soon began reaching for the offered drink.

Somehow this felt beyond my control and I couldn't stop myself despite being aware of my actions.

My fingers delicately wrapped around the thin handle and I was surprised to find that the porcelain was still warm, as if the drink had only just been prepared for when I woke.

The saucer clattered a little as I lifted the cup away, the tea spoon which sat beside it slipping further into the center. My other hand secured the bottom of the cup with the palm as I lifted it towards my lips, seemingly in delayed motions as if to savour the moment.

The steam rising from the hot tea had a uniquely powerful scent to it, one that seemed to help me realise just how parched I had become. My throat had suddenly gone dry and scratchy and despite me not having an appetite mere minutes earlier, I now had an overwhelming need to drink.

Just a small sip should help me quench this thirst.

The cup was mere inches away from my lips when I felt my arm halt its movements, a feeling of ice cold wrapped around my wrist as if a clamp had been placed upon it.

I frowned and gently jostled my arm whilst trying not to spill the contents of the cup with the movement, the pressure on my skin felt as if it was getting tighter and then I noticed strange white imprints of fingers appearing on my skin.

A small gust of air brushed through my hair and ghosted past my ear, almost like someone's breath had moved the strands and before I could register anything further my arm jolted violently, as if someone else was shaking it to make the tea cup slip from my grasp.

As it crashed to the floor, I felt splinters of smashed china brush against my dress and I could only watch as the once contained tea slowly creeps along the floor, seeping into the material of the skirt around my feet.

For a short moment I found myself staring at the broken cup and splattered tea before being shaken from my reverie, my eyes flickering to the wrist which felt like it had been grasped so tightly.

It was undeniable that there were white pressure marks which now had begun to turn red, the print having the appearance of a hand with long fingers encircling my wrist.

The sides of my wrist had a dull, pulsating ache, typical of constrained contact.

Tears pricked at my eyes as my chest tightened painfully once again, reminiscent of how it had been last night.

"Father," I gasped brokenly to the empty air around me, "I don't like Allerdale Hall anymore."