Mrs. Crowley

Lancashire, 1911

If a man were to open the door and peer into the small room, he would invariably notice two things. The first, a woman laying on a bed, a cloud of hair framing her not-unpleasant face. Greying hair, the remains of auburn clinging to it like a shadow. He may think to himself that the woman must have been a great beauty many years ago. The second thing being that the woman looked peaceful, almost angelic, her white nightdress like the robes of an angel. Full lips reminiscent of Cupid's bow. The man might feel compelled to touch the skin of one so virtuous. And so, he would creep quietly towards the bed. Once he stepped closer and looked down at the woman, he would see a face twisted in anger, she would no longer appear angelic. The word hag may loiter on his tongue like a rotten piece of meat. Something to be spat out. He would quickly form the opinion that she had at one point or another, been acquainted with the Devil. After realising this, the man would doubtless flee the room, locking the door behind him.

For now, the woman is alone. She sleeps. Her body desperately seeking relief. Instead, her mind is always at work playing images over and over, some would call them dreams. She sees herself walking through the candlelit halls of the manor, bare feet on cold wood. The creak and groan of the planks beneath her. Chill air at her skin. The thick scent of leather and spice. The dreams feel real and she tries to grasp the happiest parts. They say she confuses reality and dreams, that she is lost, her mind has vanished. She sees them whispering behind their hands. The nervous sideways glances as she walks by. Do they fear her?

She stirs. Her arm stretches instinctively in the dark, a pale hand seeking the warmth of another. Instead of softness, there is a sharp pain as arm hits lime-washed wall. Her eyes flick open. Two pools of darkness. On waking the pain comes back in floods. The desperate loneliness. She pulls the thin cover up under her chin. Eyes closed tightly, willing sleep to take her again. The plain iron bed squeaks as her body rocks from side to side. Groaning, she pulls her knees up to her chest. Making herself small.

A door slams in the distance. Heavy footsteps echo down a long desolate corridor. She wipes the back of her hand over dry lips. A thick crust has formed during sleep. She clutches the memento mori that falls at her breast, a black-rimmed locket. Fingering the glass cover under which a single golden curl lays. Then the ache of grief. A dark wave rolling onto the shore.

A white beam of moonlight cuts the darkness. Shining through a window at the top of the wall. Memories come to her in fragments. She wonders if they are memories or something else. Stories her mind has made up. Perhaps what they whisper about her is true. How can she trust what is real? They come to her now. Like silent films playing on the white wall. Silvery ripples on the water as she crossed the Seine. The brightness of the moon as she sat with him inside the King's Chamber. Watching the sunrise over the hills from the windows of Boleskine Manor. And him there smiling at her. His face, the magnetic eyes fixed on her. Of all the fragments of memories she knows that one to be real. The hypnotic stare. She had been mesmerised. Spellbound by the glamour he exuded, and then the spell was broken.

The darkness pulls her under. He had made her heart full and then with his sorcery, he emptied it. She tries to remember what happened. The feeling of pain in her chest. A scraping sound pulls her from the nightmare.

A hideous scratching at the window. Scrape, scrape. Fingernails on a blackboard. She shivers and looks up. A small black creature is staring into the room. A bat? She sits up straining to see in the dim light. A crow presses its small feathery head at the window. Two beady eyes shining like glass. They are wide and fixed on her with a strange look of recognition. After a time, it scratches and squawks. Then swoops away. Gliding softly. Floating beautifully through the starlit sky. She stares up in awe and lifts her arms by her side. How she would love to have wings. There was a time when she would have believed flying was possible. The bird floats. Black feathers glisten in the moonlight. She imagines taking the plumage between her fingers. Tickling her skin.

The crow changes direction and heads towards the window. Faster and faster, it flies. Powerful wings beating the air. Too fast she thinks. She jumps out of bed her hand at her throat, eyes wide in horror. Then a loud crash. She covers her head waiting for the shards to burst into the room. She looks up slowly and sees the window is still intact but the bird isn't. Blood spreads slowly across the glass dark like wine. The small lifeless body slides down and out of sight. She places her hands over her face and screams. A thick, grating sound. Echoing through the room and out into the hall. Like a black cloud of smoke, it spreads, creeping into corners and under doors. Thick at first then thinner as it moves away. Spreading thin until it is nothing more than a whisper.

The Scottish Highlands, 1904

A fine mist hung in the air as we stepped off the train at Inverness. The journey had been long, and I was eager to see the house Aleister loved so much. His heart lay here in the highlands. I wanted to love it as much as he did. The gloom that greeted us as we began our journey down to Loch Ness was a shock after the vibrant blue skies of Cairo. As the carriage bumped along the uneven road Aleister pointed out landmarks along the route. He spoke excitedly, like a little boy. I smiled. His enthusiasm was infectious.

The carriage window framed the expanse of dark water that was Loch Ness. They said a monster inhabited its waters. I shuddered looking at the dark surface. It would be easy for something to hide beneath. Aleister told me the story of a body found on the beach further north and how it had wounds that could not have been made by human hands or any known animal. He was thrilled at the prospect of a monster. He’d paid double the asking price because he was convinced of its spiritual connections. He had lived here in the months before we met in Paris. I wondered what state the rooms would be in. Had he sent someone ahead to prepare the house for our arrival?

The road was lined with trees on both sides. As the carriage slowed, I could see a burial ground on one side of the bank. We turned off the main road and through two tall black gates of iron. Large stone birds sat on each side. In the distance, I could just make out the glow of a faint light in one of the windows. The house sat stark against the grey sky. It was low-walled with a wide frontage. As the carriage stopped, Aleister’s teeth shone in the darkness. He was happy to be home. I stepped out of the carriage placing one foot and then the other onto the gravel drive. I looked up at the manor. A face was staring back at me from one of the windows. Aleister had said we wouldn’t require staff at Boleskine. He wanted to complete his work away from prying eyes. Who was looking out at us?

He handed me a case and I followed him up the stone stairs. Something crunched beneath my feet. Dark sand poured over the front steps onto the path as if coming from inside the house. I almost slipped and Aleister grabbed me with his free hand. Before I could straighten my skirts, the door opened with a long low creak. A rush of hot air hit my face causing my eyes to water. When I looked up, I was stunned to see a tall dark woman framed by the doorway. Her dark brown hair hung freely to her waist. Her smooth face was lit by the glow of the candle she held in one elegant hand.

‘Lord Boleskine,’ she said her voice deep and musical.

‘Arabella,’ Aleister smiled in greeting. My giddiness turned to disappointment. I’d been excited to be alone finally after being outnumbered by staff in Cairo. I stood waiting for Aleister to introduce me to this woman.

‘And you are Rose,’ she said in a strange way. She looked at me slowly from head to toe and as her eyes met mine, I shuddered. She had one green eye the colour of a deep emerald but the other was completely white. She tilted her head to the right and shook it slightly. Her hair fell over the white eye covering it from view.

‘Well come in out of the cold,’ she said and moved so we could pass. Aleister gestured for me to go. As I passed the threshold, I could smell something strong and warm, leather mixed with incense. Her green eye followed me. I stopped at the foot of the stairs waiting for Aleister to show me where to go. As I turned, I caught sight of her hand clutching his arm and her head moving away from his as if she’d just kissed him. Shocked I turned away quickly.

‘I made up the red room for you,’ she said looking at Aleister. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be staying together or in separate rooms,’ she had a strange look on her face and her eyes didn’t once move from my husband’s face.

‘Together,’ I said sharply. And she finally turned looking at me a little stunned. She was beautiful. I touched my hair and turned to the mirror on the wall. Dark circles clung to the skin beneath my eyes.

Aleister laughed and we both whipped our heads to look at him. He coughed nervously.

‘Yes, we will stay in the red room. Rose needs to rest. I need to get on with some work,’ he didn’t wait for an answer. We watched as he disappeared down the dark corridor. I looked around me at the dark wood panelling on the walls. Everything was made of wood and the scent of leather hung oppressively in the air. I removed my coat feeling suddenly very warm even though no fire was lit.

‘This way,’ she said. I followed struggling with my heavy suitcase in one hand and my coat in the other. Arabella seemed to float rather than walk. Her footsteps made no sound. The old floor creaked and groaned under my weight. The hall seemed to go on forever and as we walked the candle lit up small sections of the space. The head of a deer hung on one side. A pained expression on its face. The portrait of a woman dressed in black with an old-fashioned widow's cap, and another of a small child dressed in white with a blue ribbon around the waist. The subjects looked sombre, and their eyes appeared to follow me. I was startled on closer inspection when the whites of the boys' eyes were red. We continued in silence and finally, Arabella stopped. She took a key from within the folds of her loose dress and placed it in a lock. The door swung open revealing a dark room. She floated around the room lighting candles. With each flick of the flame, another detail was revealed. A floral pattern ran along each wall. As the third candle was lit I was startled to see grotesque beasts emerge from the flowers. Their faces distorted in inaudible screams. Women with their dresses torn tried to escape but were stopped by the large, hairy hands of the beasts. I shivered.

‘You can rest here,’ Arabella gestured to the four-poster bed, ‘If you are hungry, you may go down to the kitchen,’ I wondered if Aleister would have to make his own food as well. I suspected she would do it for him. And why was I being invited to make something as if it were her house and not mine? I felt very strange and heavy. My palms were wet. I held one hand up to the light and saw the slick sheen of sweat.

‘Thank you,’ I managed, placing my coat over a chair covered in thick tartan. The fabric scratched my skin, and I pulled my hand away quickly. ‘How long have you…worked at Boleskine?’ I asked. She laughed and I was taken aback by her manner and her casual way of dressing. Everything about her was abnormal.

‘I’m sorry, what is funny?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I am not a housemaid. Did he not tell you about me before you arrived?’ she studied me with the strangest expression on her face.

I rubbed my temples feeling very ill.

‘You should lie down,’ she said, ‘I’m sure Aleister will be up to check on you once he has finished working,’ she stood for a moment watching as I removed my shoes and sat on the bed. I nodded and turned my back to her. I waited but there were no footsteps. I only knew she’d left because of the receding light of the candle and the sound of the door being closed. I was glad to be alone. As I looked around the room, I couldn’t help but notice that everything was indeed red. The walls were covered in a wallpaper of dark red with a gold pattern. I stood up and ran my hands over the wall. I picked the candle up and drew it nearer to the wall. The hideous face of a small devil stared back at me. I jumped in fright. When I looked again the face had been replaced by entwined roses and leaves. The ceiling was red too and made the room feel small. The fireplace was petite and unlit. Heavy scarlet curtains framed two small windows. The canopy bed was of a dark reddish mahogany and engraved with an elaborate design of flowers, even the covers on the bed were a deep red. The room clearly needed a woman’s touch. I walked over to the window. The view looked over to the burial ground and across the loch. I lay on the bed and was soon asleep.

When I woke the room was dark. The curtains had not been drawn and the room was cold. I could hear laughter, far away and muffled. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I began to get out of bed. I picked up my coat and put it on buttoning myself against the chill. Slowly I walked over to the window. The cemetery and loch lay ahead shrouded in black. The sky was moonless, and the stars shone dully like little pinpricks in a black veil. The wooden floors groaned as I made my way around the room. Opening the door, I was glad to see the hall bathed in a warm glow. A single candle sat on a console. The candlelight bounced off the mirror opposite. I picked it up and tried to remember which way I had come earlier that afternoon. The sounds of a violin being played floated up. I followed the sound with my candle in one hand and the other holding my coat against the cold.

The house wasn’t what I’d expected. It was dark and cold. And who was Arabella? Why was she here? The music had stopped and was replaced by voices. Aleister’s loud and serious. The door was open revealing the sitting room with a large fire lit. Aleister was standing by the fireplace as if he were giving a speech. Arabella lounged on a chaise, her bare feet tucked up and her head resting on her hands. A violin had been set down on the floor by the chaise. They hadn’t noticed me and so I stayed there in the shadows for a few minutes, the silent observer.

‘I shall invoke my guardian angel,’ Aleister said swinging his arm out. Liquid splashed over the side of his glass.

‘My Lord, you will,’ Arabella interrupted her voice high. I stepped into the light and their heads turned.

‘Darling,’ Aleister walked towards me. He kissed me briefly on the cheek, the scent of whisky filled the space between us. ‘Are you sufficiently rested?’

I noticed Arabella had not moved. She should have risen to greet me.

‘Yes. It’s rather cold isn’t it?’ Aleister pulled a chair close to the fire.

‘Sit. You’ll have to get used to the Scottish Winters!’ he laughed. Arabella still sat silently. We were newlyweds. She should have made herself scarce. Surely she had cooking to do. My stomach grumbled loudly.

‘Excuse me,’ I said. Finally, Arabella lifted herself from the chaise, smoothing the skirts of her dress with both hands.

‘Lord, would you like me to set the supper for you before I leave?’ she asked. I felt a wave of relief.

‘Yes. You’ll be back in the morning?’ he asked looking over his shoulder at her.

‘Yes, my Lord. I’ll be back with the items you asked for,’ she left the room.

I sat looking at the flames dancing. My relief had turned to dread.

‘I’ll be back in a moment. Warm yourself,’ he kissed the top of my head. I heard his footsteps as they went down the hall and then the sounds of muffled laughter. He’d gone to her. I picked up the glass and threw its contents down my throat.