gen_storyteller

Title : Toys In The Attic, part four( 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
http://community.livejournal.com/gen_storyteller/43288.html /

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.

Dru is slowly but surely being driven out of her wits as Angelus continues his wicked games.

Every day there is something new, a wreath on my Mother's grave, the card of that familiar heavy paper, the message in that same script.

"Honour thy Father and thy Mother."

An envelope in my prayer book I’d left behind in my haste (I had been gone but two minutes before I recollected and returned to fetch it). It contained a sketch of my sisters leaving the house, dressed for a party.

“Therefore be prepared for ye know not the time or the hour of your calling."

I live in fear. The maid brings the post into the morning room and I find myself trembling. Always there is something. Today it was just a single line.

"Behold, the bridegroom cometh."

This morning I heard screaming and voices, shocked voices. There was great activity at the front door. I heard Soames call for a claw hammer, water and cloths and a sack. The maid is crying I heard the cook comforting her, heard her keening "Mother of God who can have done such a thing?" But no one will tell me what has been done.

The police came. My Father received them in the study. They talked, their voices too low to hear. I watched from my window as they left. Soames came up from the area steps and handed the younger policeman a sack. I saw him look inside and grow pale then turn to the street retching.

They have gone and Soames is once again calling for a bucket of water to wash the foulness away.

Should I have called to the police? Should I have asked their help? But surely they will watch the house now and protect us. I fear that if I told my story they would think me mad, indeed I begin to believe that they would be correct in such an assumption.

I went out this afternoon and looked at the door, it has four neat holes in it, and there is a reddish brown mark on the step. I am no wiser.

Oh God the poor creature! I threw the picture from me and wept .The dark man must surely be the devil himself, not only to do this but also to take pleasure in it. He means to drive me mad. He means to kill us all. I looked from my window and saw his face; he pressed his fingers to his lips as if to send a kiss, a lover like gesture and one that chilled me to the bone.

I will not open those envelopes. I will not look at those pictures or read those words. This will stop. This must stop! I must persuade my Father to take us back to Yorkshire. I want to go home. He will not follow me there. I will be safe. My Family will be safe.

Ann is dead. Her body was pulled from the river, a note in her pocket. She took her life in her grief for Mother. It is not true! I know that it is not true. I hear the doorbell, I hear the maid answering. She comes to my room. Here is the letter. Into the fire it goes. Let it burn and may he burn for eternity.

To the church. I must go to the church but I dare not leave the house. I dare not! I must not. But I must go to the church I must I must I must.

I cannot.

I hear my Father talking. I will not open the door. I am safe here. I watch the man. I sleep and I read and I talk to Miss Edith and if I do not open the door I will not have more notes to burn. My Father is crying now, begging me to let him in "Please Drusilla," he pleads "Please". Still he talks. Will he never stop talking? He is going to the Church to bring a priest. Amelia believes that a priest may help. She is wrong. No one can help.

A voice in the hall. I have heard that voice before. It is the Father who heard my confession. He was right; I am a devil child, accursed. I will not let him in.

There is screaming and laughter and the sound of running footsteps. Will no one let me rest? I will sing and then I will not hear the screaming.