Toys In The Attic . Part three

[deborahw37.livejournal.com]

Title : Toys In The Attic, part three ( of six)
Summary: A discovery in an antique shop leads to trouble.
Rating: PG13.
Warnings: It's getting rather dark .

previous parts here
http://community.livejournal.com/gen_storyteller/40058.html#cutid1
http://community.livejournal.com/gen_storyteller/41549.html?view=385613#t385613



Thanks to stir_of_echoes for the first read through and to hesadevil for being a great beta.


Previously :

Antique shop owner Ella finds a diary hidden in the pocket of a Victorian cloak . The diary contains increasingly troubling scenes from the life of tormented young woman.



I have been seeing again. I have tried and tried not to and Mother will be so very angry with me but I cannot stop. She is still refusing to admit me to her room. Ann and Amelia say that she is distressed about the accident at the pit but I know better. There have been accidents before and Mother has merely remarked that these things happen. Mother is angry with me but I cannot help what I see; what I know. I told The Priest this evening. I confessed my sins and he was shocked. He called me a Devil child and advised me to accept that I was evil. I can still hear his soft persuasive tones as I begged him for mercy, for penance and he relented. But I could not say my prayers, could not get through the Act of Contrition, for the face of the dark man and his pretty mocking companion seemed to float before me keeping me from my Saviour. Even in that holy place I could not feel safe. Please God, make this stop.

He is everywhere! I catch glimpses of him at parties; I see his face in the evening crowds. Last night at Mass, I felt his gaze upon me and turned to see a man leaving the church. It was him. I am sure it was him. He is outside now. I see him loitering by the gas lamp in the square. He gazes at my window and smiles that sweet cold smile. I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. I have no peace. He will come for me, of that I am sure. Every night, as soon as the gas is lighted, he is there. He waits, he watches and he is always there.

My Mother, oh God I cannot write this! My Mother is dead. If I can write it, it must be true, and I do not want to believe this. A carriage accident in the park last evening as she returned from playing cards. They say she was thrown clear, her neck broken. The Coachman is dead too. I heard the servants talking. They believe that as the carriage fell, he must have fallen under the wheels or been trampled by the horses, for his body was horribly mangled as if torn apart... Oh how can I think of such things? How can I write of such things? I must go to my sisters and comfort them. But I have no comfort to give. I thought that we would be returning to Yorkshire for the funeral but Father telegraphed "no". Mother is to be buried here in the city that gave her birth, amidst the noise and bustle, which I find intolerable but which to her was very life itself. Oh my dear Mother. My poor dear Mother.

It was him! I do not know how he did this but I am sure that it was him. Today amongst the cards and notes of condolence, there was a heavy cream envelope. I opened it and nearly fainted from shock. Inside were not the expected sweet words of comfort, but a picture, a drawing of my Mother lying dead her head at a horrid angle, a look of terror on her face. There were words on the paper but my eyes blurred. I had to force myself to read the sprawling script. " Soon sweetheart, soon". I thrust the paper into the fire and only then, as it burned, did I think of taking it to the police. But the police would not believe me! They would think that my Mother's death had unhinged me if I were to babble of dark men and danger.

No! It cannot be true. My Mother's death was an accident, a tragic accident. I must believe this. I must! Oh sweet Jesus help me. I do not know what to do. I do not know what to do, and I dare not look outside the window for I know that he will be there. He is always there. Always.

Comments

[hesadevil.livejournal.com]

I love the way you build the tension in this chapter, Drusilla's increasing desperation about her 'seeings' going hand in hand with the gradual realisation that she is being stalked by the man responsible for her mother's death.

[deborahw37.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

Poor Dru

Its no wonder she ended up insane

I'll nip in and see if I can fix that , thanks for pointing it out

[petzipellepingo.livejournal.com]

I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. I have no peace. He will come for me, of that I am sure. Every night, as soon as the gas is lighted, he is there. He waits, he watches and he is always there.
He really did do an excellent job of driving an already unbalanced young woman insane didn't he?

Today amongst the cards and notes of condolence, there was a heavy cream envelope. I opened it and nearly fainted from shock. Inside were not the expected sweet words of comfort, but a picture, a drawing of my Mother lying dead her head at a horrid angle, a look of terror on her face. There were words on the paper but my eyes blurred. I had to force myself to read the sprawling script. " Soon sweetheart, soon". I thrust the paper into the fire
Brrr. Angelus, of course, used the same tactic on Buffy with the same scary results.
Nice sense of menace and foreboding in this chapter.

[deborahw37.livejournal.com]

We know that Angelus killed Drus's family and drove her mad and we know exactly how he went about trying to make sure that Buffy was " nothing remotely resembling a threat" I choose to believe that he'd honed that technique over the centuries and had become a master of the art of slow building menace and terror.

Thanks for the feedback !

[scarlettlily.livejournal.com]

Wow you are really getting into Dru's mindset in her journals and I cannot wait to see what happens with her next.

[deborahw37.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the feedback! I'm glad that you're enjoying the story

[bookishwench.livejournal.com]

Poor Dru. This was a heartbreaker of a chapter. Angelus and his little drawings. ::shudder::

[bookishwench.livejournal.com]

By the way, I think the link back to the second chapter in this is off somehow.

[deborahw37.livejournal.com]

Thanks for letting me know , I'll see if I can fix it

[deborahw37.livejournal.com]

"Passion" always made me shudder and Angelus wsa so good at this form of torture that I imagined he'd had centuries of practice