The Twilight Garden

8

Josephine tied a ribbon about her waist and checked her attire in the mirror—she had doubts that her mother would ever approve of her choice in clothing, but seeing as the woman rarely gave her leave to update her wardrobe, it would have to do. At least her clothing wasn't tattered. She turned to glance at a photograph of her father, which she had moved from her bedside table to the desk, and traced the edges of the frame gently. 'Papa, what did you do?' She asked, breathing deeply. No response came, but then she hadn't expected one. 'What were you researching? Why are there so many missing children and unsolved cases?'

So many questions raced through her mind, she wanted so badly to speak to her father. As she exhaled, the breath fogged the air an ephemeral white cloud; a chill ran over her arms and she felt a biting cold on her skin.

'Josie?' A small voice called from behind her. With fear in her heart, Josephine turned and saw the pale figure of Minnie—Octavia—standing in the centre of the room. 'Josie, he is here. Please, you don't have much time.'

'Who is here?' She called, but the room was once again empty. She looked around her, trying to find a remnant of the child that had just been there, but found nothing. She was alone, and the chill receded shortly after, leaving her confused.

'Miss?' Someone called from the hall. 'Miss, you have a caller.'

A caller? At this time? Who could be calling on her now? 'I'll be there in a moment.' Her mother had said she would be having company, but Lorrena had never said that someone would call upon Josephine. She checked her appearance, which was acceptable, and opened the door onto the bright hallway, catching the maid off guard. She had her ear pressed against the door, as if listening in on Josephine's one sided conversation.

'Yes, miss.' The maid curtsied and left down the hall, her head bowed, her cheeks flushed.

'Ah, Josephine!' A man's voice called from the parlour. 'My, have you grown since I last saw you!' Porter Keane stood near the fireplace as Josephine entered the room—he had been admiring the photographs her mother kept on the mantle, though she could see that he was not truly interested in them.

She gave him a soft smile and sat opposite his jacket, which lay over the back of one of the couches.

'It has been a year, hasn't it?' She asked, gesturing for the maid to pour her tea. She lifted the cup and felt the warmth spread through her fingers, which were still chilled. 'Indeed, you have changed as well, Porter.'

'Ah, yes, well, University will do that.'

'And what is it you have been studying?' Josephine inquired. The air in parlour was cool, though there was a fire roaring and Porter seemed to have a layer of sweat on his forehead. She felt a presence, something behind her, and she (discreetly) turned her head. There, in the corner, shrouded in darkness, was the same skeletal spirit that had terrified her in her rooms. Its face was contorted, twisted in horror as it raised an arm to point at Porter. Josephine turned away, shutting her eyes against the creature, praying that it would disappear and leave her alone. She had no such luck, and heard the creature screech behind her. In an abrupt movement, she rose from the couch and walked to Porter's side at the mantle. Josephine chose to ignore the presence of the creature in the corner, but there was something about it, something that chilled her that drove her mind to glance back at it. It remained there, beyond the sight of anyone else, barely visible even to her, waiting and watching and pointing, always pointing.

Porter's voice drew her back to the present and she turned to face him as he spoke.

'As you know, I am going for a major in History—I am focusing my studies on the Dark Ages and the Occult practices from that time period.'