Insecure

Ad Infinitum

She was a woman of small stature, her paling ghostly figure illuminated by the protruding stars. T'was a chilled night and the breeze let a tremulous pain course through her bones to the point where it was unbearable. While gliding across the frayed russet carpet Lady Bennett came upon her beloved terrace. Oh, t'was the proper night to gloom over it's wondrous edge. She stood rigidly and placed her delicate crinkly hands, one on top of the other, wishfully gazing at the stars. They served as a reminder of her existence, a very slim one indeed. Lady Bennett's movements flowed out with regality as she embarked on her ever-changing voyage.

The pattern of the terrace still etched around and down below, t'was so long ago that any soul had passed into the manor. She was aching now, craving the company of an inquisitive mind, but none had dared to face her. For the past twelve years, she had been trapped inside herself. Her crumbly skin overcoming that naïve, beautiful complexion of youth; graying hair overlapping erratic roots of pale brown. She was fading away and the darkness was holding her within her home.

Lady Bennett wore a floor length emerald gown that bore two missing buttons and a slight tear at the bust. Pinned onto her gown was her favorite pearl brooch in the shape of a hummingbird. It had been in her family for generations, an heirloom passed down by her mothers, mothers, mother and so on. Moreover, it was the only item, which had not lost its luster and reminded her of where she came from.

She tapped her fingers lightly against the creamy wood, while gazing upon the vines that entangled her dreams. Beside her was an old rocking chair, a small table, two teacups and a kettle. She began to pour tea from the kettle into her teacup. The cups were from a set her mother had given her as a child. There were small hand painted roses around the rim of each cup. She had kept them in the glass cabinet ever since, well since then, but tonight she would remember.

She moved to the right side of the room and poured tea into the other cup. She hesitated with shaking hands, that made it impossible to finish. There was a wad of dust lying in the bowl of the teacup, she did not notice and took a sip. Her face contorted into a mask of horror, she was diving further into the unknown. She proceeded to sip her tea in soft gagging breaths, struggling for her last bits of strength. The teacup; dust filled and molded with age had little bugs moving inside, swarming pleasantly in her throat. Bugs that had made their way in Lady Bennett's dry lips and down into her belly. She moved her body; ripples of the bitter lemon tea swirled outwards in large circles. When she brought the glass down the ripples moved inwards in small circles. She began to stare into the cup watching as the tea moved in and out of its slender frame.

In the reflection of the teacup, she caught a glimpse of her face. The tea moved in waves, her hand slipped and the teacup slipped between her fingers. When the teacup hit the floor it shattered into pieces. The roses had become a wonderful nightmare, the pattern moving endlessly, without seeming to end. She pricked her skin, a small drop of blood formed at her fingertips. They had been crippled from old age and some of the fingers were slightly bent. Plop, plop, plop went the blood onto the banister of the terrace. She clutched onto the banister of the terrace for dear life, the pain becoming her. Her luck was gone she treaded forward until her legs gave way. Even then, she clutched at the air; she found something sturdy that she could drag her body across. It was in those moments that she lived the most. Persevering for the unattainable need. Moving forward to get inside her house to be far away from that which she had once loved. Her last memory on this earth was her best, and so she lay to rest.

She died sitting up on the floor, her hands outstretched and when they came upon her they were frightened. They often spoke of her sunken in eyes haunting them; her smiled joyously creeping from those scaly lips. T'was a wicked smile, her wrinkles were eating her wrinkles. And even in death she was regal, a mystery that would forever be unsolved. No one had come to save poor Lady Bennett; let that be a lesson

But even so, the curious citizens began to go through the manor, looking in awe at the dusty old house. Although it appeared to welcome the outsiders there was a darkness that permeated the human flesh. It crept into every living thing, it moved into every life unnoticed like a disease. There was not a man in town that day who didn't wonder of what had happened to old Lady Bennett.

The truth was; they were curious as to what treasures the old woman had been keeping to herself all this time. Human beings. One might hope that in death she might have been alone, but that hope was a lie. It would be unfulfilled for all those who came before and after her. They left as soon as they felt they had seen enough of her secrets; some had taken trinkets they had fancied, jewelry, clothes, something to hold onto. However, the tea set had stayed in the glass cabinet on the wall. Ad Infinitum.