I have a lot of my work (all finished AND edited work) on Amazon in digital and paper format, but honestly, I don't really like the way Amazon does business with indie authors and we literally make pennies on the dollar for our hard work so I decided to find another route to sell my work digitally (paper copies can still be purchased through amazon because I obviously make better money on those).
I chose gumroad and all of my work that you would find digitally on Amazon, you can get on gumroad and if you believe and supporting artists, this is a good way to do as I manage everything and actually make profit. Visit my website on gumroad for all of my current and future books.
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Mental Miss Noxx “How was your first day, Miss Noxx?” Mrs. Moss greeted me at the front of the halfway house after I left Mr. Sharpe’s side and arrived “home”.
“Wasn’t what I expected, but then again I don’t know what I expected.” I replied, noticing that she had my carpet bag in her hand. “Such is life.” She returned, her expression one of anxious anticipation. “Why do you have my bag?” I figured I’d ask before I entered the home. “Because someone is coming to get you, Willa. The judge decided that it wasn’t enough for you to stay out of trouble on your own, but you need to be kept. They wanted to send you to the jail or an asylum, but Dr. Sharpe vouched for you and said he’d take you in and make sure you stay out of trouble.” Mrs. Moss explained. “So, he knows now. I made it a point to keep that part quiet.” I spoke through gritted teeth as I took my bag from Mrs. Moss. “I don’ t know how much he knows, Willa. But the police came looking for you and I told them you were at work; that’s when they told me. I’m sorry.” I could tell that Mrs. Moss felt terrible, but there was nothing she could do. “What am I supposed to do? Walk back? He never mentioned anything about this to me. And why didn’t you?” I didn’t know when this could have happened. “It happened while you were at work, love. I’m sorry if I’m not being clear, but they spoke to Dr. Sharpe this morning, maybe after you left for work? I’m sorry I don’t have any more information for you.” Mrs. Moss handed me my bag as I stood there confused. Why hadn’t he mentioned it to me before I took a cab back home? It would have saved me so much trouble, but I felt like Sharpe enjoyed giving me a hard time. “It’s alright, Mrs. Moss. I’ll start walking because it will take me a bit to get back to Mr. Sharpe’s. And—and you keep calling him doctor?” I just realized that she had been using a different prefix for his name that I never used. “Oh, he’s sending for you, I think. A man came round not long before you got here and said that a carriage would pull up for you around eight.” Mrs. Moss held her hands in front of her with a pained smile on her face as I pulled my pocket watch from my tattered waistcoat to see that it was only a few minutes till. There was complete silence between the two of us until the carriage pulled up and she bid me goodbye, giving me a kiss on the cheek with a tear in her eye. I had been living at the halfway house for most of my life and now here I was being sent away to a man’s house that others called Doctor without knowing what lie ahead. I didn’t know the whole story, but it seemed like others knew plenty about mine. (*) “This is your stop, miss. Dr. Sharpe said to knock and you’d be let in.” The carriage pulled up to a large home oddly set in a bad part of the city. The lanterns were lit in front of the brick building as I climbed out, walked up the stairs, and then knocked on the door. The carriage pulled away before anyone answered and I felt completely exposed to the foreign surroundings, holding the only possessions I had in one hand as I leaned all of my weight into the door, hoping that I could just phase through it. I went to knock again when the door opened and I stumbled forward, rough hands catching me by the shoulders as they kept me from falling. “You’re late.” Mr. Sharpe took his hands from my shoulders and scooted me out of the way so he could shut the door behind me. “I’m—I’m late? I didn’t know I was supposed to be going anywhere but the home. Somehow you managed to forget to tell me that the judge changed his mind about letting me continue to live there and instead handed me over to you as if I were property.” I immediately started in on Sharpe, angry that he had known all day about my fate and yet told me nothing. I was also angry at the way he was treating me, but now I assumed it was because he knew about my past and what I had done. “Are you really going to scold me, Willa? Because if it wasn’t for me, you’d be in an asylum because of your crimes.” Mr. Sharpe took my bag from my hand and set in on the narrow stairs that led to the second floor. “I take it you know everything, then? Well, it isn’t true. Not completely—” I decided to tell him my side and see how long he kept me around. I dared him to revoke his care of me because I didn’t need anyone keeping me out of trouble. “I know that some very bad men convinced you to help them harvest bodies where you worked for a private mortuary. That wasn’t your fault; you’re touched.” Sharpe tapped his temple and my anger boiled over. “Yes, yes I am touched. I’m a bit mad, a bit off kilter, but I’m not stupid. I knew what I was doing. I sold bodies to what you would call grave robbers. There was no turning a blind eye while they raided graves, I sold them whole bodies for science. Was it wrong? Technically, yes, but I wasn’t letting them steal precious family heirlooms or giving them someone’s mother or dead child, I was selling them the bodies of people off the streets, people with no names or homes and no one to claim them. They would just be burned and forgotten. At least the way I did it, they could accomplish something good in their life and I could make a little extra money to put food in my belly and new shoes on my feet. You heard what that woman said about me today; I’m dirty and she’s right. The system failed me and others like me so I made a little profit off of what they do nothing about and now I’ve been completely displaced. What was the judge’s reasoning for revoking my home stay?” I asked furiously. I was ready to go back to the asylum or jail if need be, though they would probably place me in the asylum indefinitely after I pummeled Mr. Sharpe within an inch of his life. “He thought that maybe you needed some rehabilitation on top of a new job that specifically helps others who are grieving. I’m a doctor, so I obliged.” He smiled at me. Now I was even more confused. “You’re a doctor and a photographer?” I was surprised he would do something so far removed from his occupation. “I am many things, Willa. I am a doctor of biology, anatomy, and psychology. I’ve been city coroner for the past six years and I have seen some horrible deaths and done hundreds of autopsies. I saw people in agony over the loss of a loved one and how they talked about not having anything to remember them by. I was just picking up photography so I could take photos of the bodies I dissected and transferred that over to the post-mortem portraiture for families and loved ones. That is why you were placed with me and that is why I have taken you into my home.” Mr. Sharpe gestured for me to follow him into his parlour as he spoke. “I still don’t quite understand why you took me away from my home.” I sat down on the edge of the sofa in anticipation. “Because your file interested me and I wanted to see what made you tick; you were intriguing to me. Orphaned at a young age, left behind by a prostitute mother on the streets. Raised on those streets and in sweat shops till you found the halfway house and the sweet Mrs. Moss took you in. I was allowed to read the documentation from your various stays in lunatic asylums and hospitals. They diagnosed you with dementia praecox but since you weren’t deemed violent or dangerous, they couldn’t hold you. But you always went back to Mrs. Moss so they always knew where you were. They knew about your job at St. John’s Mortuary, unaffiliated with any church or institution, but they didn’t report to anyone that a mentally ill person was employed at a place that worked with the dead. I find that very neglectful on their part.” Mr. Sharpe went on to sum up my file as he poured himself a snifter of bourbon. “I’m impressed on how thorough your research was on me. But my employers knew of my condition; they didn’t care. They needed the help and I had the credentials.” I held my anger back at his insensitive words and stood my ground. “Credentials? Credentials in what? Grave robbing?” He scoffed at me as he drank his bourbon. I scoffed back, slowly standing from the sofa, “Excuse me, Doctor Sharpe, but apparently you didn’t do your research as thoroughly as you thought. I have had various jobs over the years, all with similar occupations involving the deceased. I worked in three mortuaries or mortuary type settings, I helped with body pick-up and drop off for the city coroner when the murder rate rose a few years ago, and I also worked as grave-digger and caretaker of two private cemeteries. Despite my illness, I worked to try and take care of myself as best I could. I did the work that a lot of people don’t want to do.” I defended myself. “Like sell bodies?” Sharpe glared at me. “For science, you—you asshole! They were the bodies of those who would have ended up in pauper’s graves after their organs were harvested for what...science. Don’t be so haughty about my past transgressions as if you have none. I did what I did to survive, not to support a habit or gamble my life away—to survive. I’m grateful you have taken me in, I suppose, but I don’t have to take this abuse from you. I can go back to the asylum...at least there I get consistent meals and a room of my own.” I was shaking by the time I finished, but I felt good knowing that I had defended myself, no matter what stupid crime I had committed. Mr. Sharpe was staring at me. He blinked a few times, but never moved; his hand still holding the empty snifter. Finally he opened his mouth and spoke, “For someone with dementia praecox, you’re very consistent in your truth. That’s very interesting.” Sharpe poured himself another glass and began to pace in thought. “Did you goad me for your own amusement? Or is it psychological research or something of the sort? I don’t appreciate being a guinea pig without my knowledge, Mr. Sharpe.” I was getting agitated now. “It was a little bit of both, but mostly I was curious. You don’t behave exactly like your records paint you and it has me intrigued. Next time I try to pick your brain, I’ll let you know first.” He held his glass up to me before he took a gulp, “And will you please stop calling me Mr. Sharpe.” Oh, now I was going to be scolded for not referring to him as doctor like I should… “And what should I call you then?” I couldn’t wait for the inevitable response. “Finneas. I feel like maybe we can be friends and friends shouldn’t be so formal.” His response surprised me, but I knew what he was doing. He had come closer to me as if to prove that he was no threat. “Right, friends. Alright, Finneas, since we are on a first name basis and I have heard you call me by mine several times, you may continue to call me Willa. I’m so glad we’ve gotten past the formalities of employer and employee and I would very much like it if you would quit with the misogyny and comments about my mental state or we’re not going to get along very well as friends and you will get nowhere with your research.” I smiled sweetly at him as I stepped forward, took his drink from his hand, and swallowed the rest of his bourbon in one gulp. I definitely made a point because he said nothing as I set down his glass and started to walk out of the parlour. Eventually he found his voice and called for a woman named Bianca to take my bag and escort me to my room. She appeared shortly, tall and thin with raven dark curls pulled back with a fancy barrette. I didn’t know what role she played in this house, but she looked well-off and had such a charming face with a genuine smile that told me she was treated well. “Your bag has already been taken to your room, but I can escort you there now.” She spoke with a rich deep voice as she gracefully gestured towards the staircase behind her. “Bianca will take care of you, Miss Noxx. I hope you have a nice rest of your evening.” Sharpe nodded at me and I chalked that up to a win. I didn’t say anything as he exited the parlor and across to the dining room where he disappeared around a corner. “Right this way, Miss Noxx.” Bianca smiled at me as she directed me towards the stairs. “You can call me Willa. Mr. Sharpe can continue to call me Miss Noxx till the end of time because I won’t be friends or even pretend to be friends with someone like that.” I growled, mostly venting to myself as we climbed the staircase to the second floor. “Well, Willa, Dr.. Sharpe isn’t all that bad. He’s a little harsh and doesn’t really show his emotions well, but overall he means well. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know where I would be right now.” Bianca confessed, turning over her shoulder to speak with me as we got to the top of the stairs. “What do you mean?” Now my curiosity was piqued as we walked down the hall and up another flight of stairs. “He found me on the streets, selling my body for money to keep myself alive. I got kicked out of my home when I was seventeen for—for getting caught wearing my mother’s dress and pearls.” Bianca forced a smile that had pain behind it. I didn’t understand why wearing her mother’s dress would warrant such severe punishment, but then it started to dawn on me...a mother might not want to find her son wearing her dress. “Oh, Bianca.” My heart broke for her. “That’s when they still called me Clark, when I was still their son. It’s awful how quickly the people you thought loved you can change when they discover you aren’t who they wanted you to be.” Bianca instantly opened up to me and I felt myself identifying with her in a way; we both were different from what people thought was normal. “I understand to an extent. Never knew my father and don’t remember my mother. Never really had much of a formal education and I was branded a mental case so I have become a sort of pariah. I thought I was doing just fine until today.” I felt like I could open up to her like she did me—mostly because I needed someone who was used to being viewed as mentally unwell to try and dissect what I experienced today. I just didn’t really know how to approach it. “What happened today, if you don’t mind me asking?” Bianca took the initiate as we arrived at the top of the third floor and she directed me down the hall to a room at the end. “I didn’t know what sort of job I was hired on to do with him, what his hobbies were. I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies, but they were usually in various states of decay; they were dehumanized for me, nothing more than flesh and organs. I know it sounds morbid, but they were very obviously dead and I never spent much time with the more living looking ones—but what I saw today was unnerving. I thought the boy was just sleeping, but he was..he wasn’t sleeping. And I swear, I swear I saw him open his eyes; his brother swears too! But then I thought I saw him sitting up in his little coffin and...I know it as just a hallucination, but it felt so real.” I had opened the door to my room and found my bag sitting atop the bed. Bianca hesitantly followed me in as we conversed. “Has this happened to you before? Hallucinations like this?” She asked. “Yes, all the time. It’s a large part of why they diagnosed me with dementia praecox but—but I’ve never had anyone else experience a hallucination with me. And then I come home to no home and now I’m here. It’s been a bit too much for me today.” I opened my bag and took out my favorite jumper, an over-sized pea-soup green abomination that Mrs. Moss made me when I turned sixteen. It was my comfort; my sanity in my insanity. “Then maybe it wasn’t a hallucination. Maybe you really saw what you saw.” Bianca scooted closer to the bed and leaned against it. “And if I did, then what did I see? A ghost? Because what I saw wasn’t possible otherwise unless it was a hallucination.” I was still doubtful about what really happened. “A ghost would seem likely, I suppose.” Bianca agreed with my absurd suggestion. “Sure...a ghost. A ghost seems most likely.” I grimaced with a shrug. A ghost was the last thing I wanted. Sleep, that’s what I needed the most. “You look tired; I’ll let you get some rest. If you need anything, my room is just across the hall.” Bianca left with a smile, clicking the door shut softly behind her. “All of this is so unreal. Maybe, maybe this is all a hallucination. Today didn’t happen. It was all in my head.” I spoke out loud, yawing a few times in between. I wrapped myself in my sweater and curled up on top of the bedspread, turning the flame down on the kerosene lamp before I buried my face in the feather-filled pillows. I would probably wake up in the morning and find myself at home with Mrs. Moss who had been given temporary care of me while my mental state leveled back out. None of this happened. None of this was real. (*) I woke up screaming, or at least I was screaming while I was in my nightmare. What woke me was more of a honking sound as I cried out into the dark, flailing myself into consciousness as I toppled off the bed. I sat up panting, clambering for my sweater as I wrapped it around me and tried to calm down. I kept seeing those eyes, those smooth grey, unseeing eyes. They were staring at me while Robert smiled in my face, his small cold hands wrapped around my throat. I couldn’t shake the image from my mind, no matter how hard I tried. Water, maybe water would be good at for me, even though I read somewhere that it was good to drink right when you woke up for dream recollection—and I definitely didn’t want to recall this dream. “Maybe some fresh air instead.” I spoke quietly to myself as I silently left my room and padded down two flights of stairs to the main floor. There were candles and lanterns still lit here even though the house was quiet. I searched around on tip toes for a door to a back porch because I didn’t want to stand outside the front door at this time of night. I finally discovered a door that looked like it may have led to the outside, but when I opened it I found a study instead, and a passed out Sharpe in his desk chair, a bottle of almost empty bourbon in one hand. “How professional.” I whispered to myself. “I’m off the clock.” Sharpe muttered, lifting his head from the desk. “You’re right; my apologies.” I started to bow out of the room when he stopped me. “What are you doing awake at this hour?” He sat up and looked at me through squinted eyes. “I—I had a nightmare. Thought maybe I would get some fresh air and was looking for another door that led out back, but I found you instead.” I took a few steps back outside the door to his study. “Down the hall there. It’s in the kitchen.” Sharpe got up from his desk and set the bottle down on top before he went over to a basin in the corner and soaked a cloth to rub down his face. “Thank you, Mr. Sharpe.” I tried to be polite after my outburst earlier. “Seriously, call me Finneas. Even if you don’t want to be my friend, I’d rather you not call me Mr. Sharpe; makes my feel old.” He smoothed his hair back with damp hands. “What if I call you Fin instead?” I pushed my luck, wrapping my sweater tighter around myself. “I haven’t been called that since first year of medical school. I suppose that’ll do.” He gave me an impish grin. “Alright then. But I still want to be addressed as Miss Noxx.” I winked cheekily at him as I turned around and walked down the hall to the kitchen. I found the door to the backyard and opened it to find a garden full of early autumn herbs and the golden hue of the coming fall on the trees. The air was fresh and it felt good in my lungs as I inhaled the slight crispness of the cool breeze that blew around me. The nightmare slowly faded from my mind as I let the excess energy from the dream drain from my body and into the greenery around me. When I finally felt like I was centered again, I went back inside to find darkened halls with only the slightest sliver of light from the moon outside that fell through the windows. Everything was still, quiet. Fin must have gone to bed and left me with no light so I had to find my way back to the stairs and up two flights to my bedroom in the dark. “So inconsiderate.” I muttered as I picked my way down the hall and felt across walls till my eyes adjusted and I could make out furniture and hanging pictures. I didn’t know the house well, so I would just have to continue feeling my away across the wall until I found the banister to the stairs. Before I got to the bottom of them a glow emanating from the parlour caught my attention. There was a fire in the fireplace, a high backed chair propped up in front of it. I figured that Fin had probably come in here to finish off his bourbon and had fallen asleep in his chair. Even though I was still unhappy with him, I figured that I should check on him and make sure that he didn’t drown on his drink in his sleep. I crept quietly into the room and over to the chair, careful not to trip on anything and startle him awake. Instead, I decided to quietly whisper his name to alert him to my presence before I chose to wake him any other way; he would thank me in the morning when he didn’t have a crick in his neck. But he never responded to me, never stirred or made a noise. I took that as him being a deep sleeper and I knew I would have to put myself in front of him to physically wake him. “Mr. Shar—er, Fin.” I stepped around the chair. What met my eyes caused a scream to catch in my throat. Robert was sitting propped up in the chair like I had positioned him earlier in the day, his eyes wide and colorless as they focused on me. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream...all I could do was stare and try not to panic. I found my breath and took a few good inhales and exhales before I firmly spoke. “You aren’t real. You’re just a hallucination of a poor, defenseless child.” Poor and defenseless, most likely, but eerie none the less. The hallucination didn’t disappear, though. It continued in front of me, Robert’s blank stare boring a hole into me like a life-like ventriloquist dummy. His small hands were crossed in his lap like I left them, but I swore I saw his pinky twitch. “Go away, Robert. You aren’t really here! You’re dead and this,” I rose my voice slightly, waving my hand at what was surely a vacant chair, “This is all in my stupid head!” The pinky definitely moved this time. “Why won’t you go away. If you won’t go away, then I will.” I was tired of my own hallucination ignoring me and went to march off when I felt something brush my skirt, snagging the fibers. I thought maybe a loose upholstery staple… Robert’s fingers were closed around my skirt, his body laid haphazardly over the chair like every bone in his body was broken, his neck twisted around so that he could stare up at me with those milky eyes. This time a scream was able to escape my lips as I yanked my skirt from his fingers and stumbled backwards, falling onto the cushions of the sofa. I scrambled to get up, trying to focus my attention on the chair, but Robert wasn’t in it anymore. I had undoubtedly woken the house and possibly make a fool of myself when someone would find me scared out of my wits end by something I conjured with my own mind. “Breathe, Willa. You fool.” I scolded myself as I planted my feet on the ground and pulled myself off the cushions, but movement in the corner of my eye caused my head to snap towards the door as something scuttled by on six legs, two pairs of eyes reflecting back at me in the firelight. It was then that I began to get hysterical, tears welling hotly in my eyes as I backed towards the door to the parlour after it had passed by and crossed the far wall. I could hear whatever had scuttled by now climbing up the front of the chair and I would soon be faced with it because I was sure it wasn’t going to let me go that easily. I had completely lost control of my brain and for a split-second I wondered if I had even woken up at all from my initial rest because it all seemed like a nightmare at this point. “Keep moving, keep moving. This isn’t real, Willa. It’s all in your head. It’s in your damn head.” I continued to nag myself quietly as I willed my legs to keep backing up until I got to the staircase and could run up the two flights of stairs to my room. But it was moving again, throwing long, jointed appendages around the back of the chair. Just the sight of the skeletal spider legs made my head swim and I knew that if I didn’t get away, Fin or Bianca might find me dead of fright. I took a few more steps backwards, my breath coming in wheezing inhales as the legs gripped the cushion of the chair in front of me tightly, causing deep indentions in the fabric as it lifted its body to come over the top of the chair-- “Willa.” I screamed again, but this time I was able to stop myself before it woke the whole neighborhood. I instantly broke down, clutching my middle with one hand as I held the other over my mouth and sobbed. “Willa? What are you doing down here? What happened?” It was Bianca, the look of fear shining in her eyes. “I—I don’t want to talk about it now. Can you just help me to my room, please?” I tried not to beg, but you could hear the helplessness in my voice. I forced myself to look over my shoulder at the chair, but there was nothing there. Nothing in it, nothing around it, nothing at all. There was also no fire in the fireplace, but the chair was in the same position. “Alright, come on now.” Bianca put her slender arm around my shoulder and held me close to her as she led me back up the stairs and to my bedroom. I was still crying when we got to the door, but I tried my hardest not to get out of control until I was in my room with the door locked. “Are you going to be ok in here alone? I don’t want to leave you by yourself.” Bianca opened the door for me and I stepped over the threshold. “I’ll be fine. I think maybe I was sleep-walking...it’s been a while.” I lied, not wanting to explain anything to anyone right then. “If you say so. I’ll be just across the hall if you need anything.” Bianca gave me a half-smile before she took the few steps across the hall and went back in her room. I was finally able to go in my own, shut the door behind me, and start sobbing uncontrollably all over again. What I had seen had quite possibly been one of the worst hallucinations I had ever had and even though I was aware of what was going on, I couldn’t make it go away and that frightened me. Was my brain slowly deteriorating because of my illness? Would it get to a point where I just existed inside a hallucination of my own device with no way to escape? I tried not to focus on these foolish ideas and instead changed out of my skirt, waistcoat, and blouse to put on wool trousers and a chemise. My jumper was the finishing touch at putting me at ease just enough to lay down on the bed with my face towards the door. I made sure that my oil lantern had plenty of oil to burn through the rest of the night because there was no way I wanted to be left in the dark. Chapter 1: "Robert" The sky was gray and cloudy, as it generally was this time of year. My new employer said that the weather suited the mood of the day and where we were headed; I would have agreed with him had I known where we were headed. I had only just been hired, and Mr. Sharpe seemed simultaneously reluctant and displeased to even take me on as an employee. But he was desperate, that much was apparent from his behavior, so he hired me and probably against his better judgment.
“I can hear you huffing out of boredom over there. I know how you women are; have to be constantly stimulated and busy to stay out of trouble and not fall into hysterics.” Mr. Sharpe sneered and I bit my tongue. I was in the position I was in because of my mouth...and I was lucky. “Just a little tired, sir; I didn’t sleep well last night.” I stifled a yawn, turning my face towards the window in the carriage. “That’s very irresponsible of you, Miss Noxx. What if you had been late? I would have left with you.” Mr. Sharpe lashed back, picking at me for no reason other than his own amusement as a man. “But I wasn’t late. I may not have slept well, but I arrived on time like one does with a job.” I snapped, forgetting my manners. “Bite your tongue, young lady. We’re here anyway. Get my bags and carry them inside.” Mr. Sharpe instructed as the carriage came to a halt and he was out the door before I had a chance to say yes, sir. I hoisted the bags over my shoulder before I stumbled out of the carriage and practically dragged myself and his equipment to the front door. He rapped thrice and after a moment of silence, the door opened up. The man on the other side looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, his eyes ringed in black, the whites bloodshot and red as if he had been crying. I instantly felt uncomfortable and hung back a few steps from Mr. Sharpe. “Mr. Dugan?” Sharpe asked, taking off his top hat to gesture towards the man standing in the doorway. “Yessir. You must be Mr. Sharpe. Please, do come in.” Mr. Dugan opened the door wide and swung his arm out jerkily as we entered his house. “My wife is finishing getting herself and the boys ready. She should be with us shortly.” Mr. Dugan spoke hollowly as he led us down a hallway, past the parlor, and into a living area. The furniture here was nice, a bit worn, but nice none the less. There seemed to be added seating that wasn’t there normally, and an extra table laid out near one side. In the corner was an old arm chair, a little boy about the age of nine sitting in it, asleep. I thought it odd that the boy was asleep since it was well past breakfast and he was dressed so nicely in little velvet breaches, a bow tie, and his hair slicked back from his face. By the looks of his skin, he may might have been a little ill, and that would explain the late morning nap. Mr. Dugan stood to the side of the chair, shifting his footing as Mr. Sharpe set down his bags and began pulling out equipment: a wooden tripod, a small table, a few other strange devices, and at last something that I had only ever seen in shop windows and was reserved for those with money; it was a camera. Oh, he’s a photographer. Must be doing a family photo. I thought to myself as I waited for instruction. A woman entered the room then, behind her two boys and one adult male. The last boy looked a bit old to be the woman’s, but the other three fit the age. None of them smiled except for a turned corner of the mouth and a slight nod as they came to stand by their father and husband. Mr. Sharpe had finished setting up the camera and was waving his hand at the family to get in position. They made their way around the chair, mother and father directly behind, while the three sons gathered around their brother seated asleep in the chair. “Just a little to the left, Mrs. Dugan. Yes, that’s it. Now we just need to get little Robert situated and we can begin.” Mr. Sharpe spoke to the family. Little Robert mush have been the sleepy little ginger boy in the chair. But non of the family members moved. Mrs. Dugan’s face completely drained of color and Mr. Dugan placed a strong arm around her waist; she looked as if she was going to faint. “My wife isn’t doing well today, Mr. Sharpe.” Mr. Dugan choked, pulling her closer to him. “I understand. Miss Noxx, will you please assist the family.” Sharpe turned to me and I stared at him in confusion. I understood that the mother was going through some sort of ordeal, but I didn’t know why it prevented her from waking her child to get him ready for their family picture that they probably paid a pretty penny for. Mr. Sharpe cast me a scathing look that said I better do my job as he instructed and I tried not to sigh loudly as I walked over to the boy to wake him up and get him still and settled for the picture; I knew that much about photography. “Robert.” I whispered softly as I reached out my hand to gently rouse him. His mother burst into tears at the sound of his name and, startled, I looked up at her with questioning eyes. I was thoroughly confused now and was only trying to do my job, but I had somehow made this woman upset even more than she already was and I didn’t even know why. “Willa, why are you talking to the boy? He—he can’t respond to you; the dead don’t talk.” Sharpe scolded me. It was then that it all clicked. The boy wasn’t asleep; he was deceased. “Oh, I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” I stood up for a moment, taking a deep breath as I realized I was looking down at a dead little boy dressed in his Sunday best propped up in his father’s armchair...I was disturbed. “You didn’t...know?” Mrs. Dugan’s face was an unreadable mixture of emotions and I feared that I would cause her hysteria. “No, ma’am. I just took the job, but I didn’t know what it entailed.” I was still in disbelief as I talked to the mother, but I never took my eyes off of her son. “Ignore her, Mrs. Dugan. She’s not all too bright and apparently didn’t read the fine print of her work contract. Now, Miss Noxx, please stage the boy for me; it shouldn’t be that hard.” Mr. Sharpe stood by his camera, narrowing his eyes angrily at me. “Yes, sir.” I didn’t argue as I smiled meekly at his parents and knelt back down in front of him. I could see the signs of death on him now that I was closer. His lips were a pale blue and his eyes had started to sink a little, but makeup had been applied to his face and from farther away, you would never know. Robert was ice cold to the touch, his skin waxy and doll like under my fingers as I carefully lifted him from the corner of the arm on the chair and sat him upright. He was still just stiff enough that his head stayed in place when I rested him against the back of the chair and didn’t loll forward like I feared it would. I wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, but I figured gently laying them in his lap would look angelic and I crossed his ankles for the proper good boy effect. I stood up and surveyed my work; for it being my first time ever posing a corpse, I had done rather well. “Ah, good job, Miss Noxx. The boy looks absolutely angelic.” Mr. Sharpe complimented me; I was surprised. Before I could nod in thanks, the mother blurted, “I want his eyes open. I don’t want to look at this portrait and be reminded of my son’s death, but his life.” She began to sob. Sounds of crying soon came from the other two younger sons while the eldest tried to hold it together for them. I crossed the room over to Mr. Sharpe and whispered, “Can we do that?” “Not really. The best we can do is draw them on. From this distance, it won’t be noticeable in the picture.” Mr. Sharpe whispered back, “There’s an ink pen in the front pocket of my leather bag; you can use that.” “I can use—you want me to do it?” I wasn’t prepared to draw realistic eye-balls on a dead boy. Mr. Sharpe narrowed his eyes at me again, “It’s your job, Willa.” “Sure, it’s my job.” I responded. I went over to his bag and found the pen after a moment of searching. I expected Mr. Sharpe to explain to the parents what I was doing, but apparently he was going to let me do that too. “Mrs. Dugan, it isn’t possible to open the eyes once they have closed after death and keep them open where they look natural. I will—I will have to draw them on if you want them to appear open.” I swallowed hard after the last few words, the fountain pen feeling bulky in my hand. “You—you could never do them justice.” Mrs. Dugan began to cry, her reddened eyes welling as she dabbed at them with a handkerchief. I tried to think of something to say, my eyes carefully scanning the room. I caught sight of a painting near the fireplace, a very realistic painting of young Robert and his icy blue eyes. They were so light that they were almost inhuman looking; I understood what his mother was saying now. “His eyes are beautiful.” I smiled sympathetically and she nodded at me. “Thank you.” “We can add color to the portrait after it is developed; a new technique that I learned from a Frenchman.” Mr. Sharpe cut the mood and received an agreeing look from Mr. Dugan. “I’ll start drawing then.” I faked a smile for Mrs. Dugan’s benefit and knelt down in front of her son again. I had to try and find a way to lean over him without being disrespectful. I chose to stand back up so I could look down at him, locking my knees against the front of the chair to keep me steady. I had never done makeup like this before, not in this manner. This whole thing shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was, but for some reason the whole situation was rattling to me. Nevertheless, I placed my left hand on the side of his face and gently pulled the skin taught so I had a smoother surface to work with. His lids had become tacky due to the powdered face and high humidity of the room and I worried his drawn on eyes would—run. I took a deep breath and began with light gentle strokes as I outlined the shape of the eye exposed in the socket, glancing at the painting every so often for reference. Then came the pupils and the gleam in the eye that the boy should have had, even though it wasn’t there in the painting. The painted eyes of it, the artistically realistic eyes, were...hollow. There was no emotion in them despite there being a spaniel puppy in his lap. I tried the best I could. I was almost finished with the second eye, getting close to the boys face to make sure that I didn’t mess up. A chill ran up my spine as I re-positioned my hand on his face, a sensation that sent the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I chalked it up to being in close proximity to a dead boy that I thought was alive when I first saw him—but the sensation was peculiar. “Are you almost finished?” Mr. Sharpe asked impatiently and I turned to cluck at him, “I am trying to make his eyes look as realistic as possible; that’s what Mrs. Dugan wants and I am going to give it to her.” I showed him up a bit and was sure I would hear about it later, but he didn’t need to boss me around like some child. I turned around with a quiet huff to finish my work… And the boy’s eyes were wide open, their shocking color masked by the milkiness of cataracts. I screamed, there was no avoiding that. It startled me bad enough that I lost my balanced as I backed up and toppled over a brocade ottoman. I was somehow graceful enough to not crash down into Mr. Sharpe’s camera and I rolled out of the way, losing the fountain pen under the sofa. Mrs. Dugan was now fully into hysterics, her sobs more like loud wails as she struggled to get a breath in between. Her husband had pulled her away from the chair as the brothers followed to comfort her, only the eldest stayed behind, staring at me as I stood up and straightened my skirts. I didn’t want to look at Robert...but I had to. His eyes were closed. Had I imagined it? Had someone gone back and closed them while I was trying to pick myself up off the rug. “Willa, what in the hell is wrong with you?” Sharpe hissed at me as he yanked me back by my collar. “His eyes were open, Mr. Sharpe. When I turned around they were open.” I pointed at the boy. “They aren’t open now.” Sharpe looked at me like I was crazy. “Then someone closed them!” I exclaimed. “No. No one closed them. You screamed, flailed about like a demon-possessed woman and then fell over the ottoman. You set off Mrs. Dugan and now here we are.” Sharpe scolded me again. “No, they were open.” I finally felt bold enough to walk over to Robert and look him in the face. His eyes were closed, that much I could see, but the ink of the drawn on eyes I had been working on had yet to dry and were now smudged and blurry, just like it would be if someone had opened their eyes before the ink was dry. They had been open, but how? And why were they closed again now? I felt Sharpe walk up behind me, “Shoddy work, Miss Noxx. I’ll get you a cloth so you can start over. Now, can we please get through this without any more ridiculous theatrics? You’re going to ruin my reputation.” He taped me on the back of the head just hard enough to make me scowl just out of sight. “Yes, sir.” I spoke through gritted teeth. Mr. Sharpe retired to the kitchen while I got back down to the floor to find the fountain pen. “I, uh, I couldn’t help but overhear you say that his eyes were open.” I voice above me caused me to bump my head on the underside of the sofa as I finally found he pen. I withdrew to find the eldest son still standing by the chair with his brother. “I thought they were, but I think I’m just seeing things. I didn’t really know what the job description was when I took it so the whole thing has me a little frazzled.” I admitted though I was partially lying. “You’ve never seen a dead body before? Watching you draw his eyes on the way you did, the way you handled him with kid gloves, shows me you have respect for the dead and that you’re not afraid. You’re not a physician; are you a mortician?” He asked curiously. “I’m not sure that is really any of your business. I’m just a photographer’s assistant, young man.” I didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing anything about me, but why was he so curious? “Maybe you’re right, maybe it isn’t my business, but I don’t like being called ‘young man’. I’m an adult, Miss Noxx; twenty-three next February. All I was trying to say in the first place was that I saw his eyes open too. I saw them open before you turned and saw them yourself.” The oldest boy stepped around the chair and got close to me, forcing me to look up at him. He was a decent bit taller than me and even though he was practically ten years younger than me, I was still a little intimidated. “Well, I’m glad that you saw it too. If it wasn’t bad form, I’d ask you to tell my employer that.” I joked with a chuckled just as Mr. Sharpe came back in the room with a wet cloth and a glass jar full of face powder. “Get to work. I think Mr. Dugan has finally calmed his wife down and we have a very slim window before she loses her mind again.” Sharpe slapped the rag in my hand and I set to work cleaning the boys eyelids before applying a fine veil of powder and tried to remember what I had made them look like before, but all I could see in my head was that foggy blank stare. I managed to make it through and watched the boy for a moment as the ink dried before I stepped away and took my position behind Mr. Sharpe. He readied the camera again, positioning it just right so that the whole family fit in the frame. All the while, the eldest boy watched me and not the camera. I guess that Sharpe didn’t notice, because he took the shot while the eldest was still watching me behind him. “Alright then, that’s done. I’m going to develop it here on the spot. If you’d like copies, we can have them printed on heavy parchment from the negative. I just need a dark space to develop the shot.” Mr. Sharpe announced. “The basement is just the spot, Mr. Sharpe. Right this way.” Mr. Dugan stepped out from behind the chair to guide Sharpe to the basement as Mrs. Sharpe gathered the two younger boys and disappeared from the living area. That left just me and increasingly unsettling eldest son alone in the room. “Am I scaring you?” He came around the chair again and right up to me, eyeing me in a strange way that made me feel like prey. “You’re making me uncomfortable.” I tried to busy myself, but couldn’t find anything to do and wasn’t quick enough to come up with a reason to excuse myself. “I’m not meaning to, I just thought that maybe I had found someone who believes in the things that I do, or has at least experience things.” He apologized and I could feel the sincerity in his words, but I didn’t know what he was getting at. “What do you mean?” I didn’t dare make eye contact as I spoke with him. “Spiritualism? You know, the occult? Ghosts, talking boards, mediums?” A sly grin crept across his face. I understood then. He thought that we had both had witnessed a simultaneous spectral event as they called it, but I don’t think he really saw what he thought he saw. What he saw was me having a hallucination and responding in a panic. He had picked up on it somehow and inferred that it had to do with the eyes or...something. “It was a hallucination. I have them all the time.” I willingly admitted; I wasn’t ashamed of it. “A hallucination? You see things that aren’t there?” His face fell as he asked. “See, hear, sometimes smell. I have dementia praecox which is just a fancy way of saying that I’m a nutter and my brain doesn’t work well.” I smiled at him. “You’re mental?” He suddenly looked disgusted. “Mental, mad, nuts, crazy, insane—a lot of names for the same thing.” I continued to smile, know that I was now the one making him uncomfortable. “I swear I saw his eyes open though. And that’s not the only weird thing that has happened with him.” The young man stepped even closer to me. “Alright, before you go telling me your life story, can I at least get your name?” I would feel better at least being able to address him if we were going to have a strange conversation. “Lennon, sorry. You’re Willa? Can I call you Willa?” He asked with a slight smirk. I sighed and rolled my eyes, “I suppose. You sure you want to be talking to a crazy person? Most people think its contagious and stay far away.” I goaded him just a bit more. “I’ve been around you for the better part of an hour and I seem fine. Either that or we both hallucinated because I contracted what you have.” Lennon laughed nervously. “Maybe, but you said that wasn’t the only weird thing that’s happen and we’ve just met. By that logic you’re either fine and really experienced some things or you were mental long before we met.” I tried to get comfortable as I prepared myself for some young bachelors spooky tales of trying to woo me. Not saying I am any man’s first, second, or even third choice, but I’m not to had on the eyes either. “Robert was Elenor’s last. She wanted to have four, but after Rober almost killed her during child birth, her and my father decided that he would be the last. She didn’t care that I even existed in the equation, but she should have been grateful because I helped with Robert when she couldn’t. He was sick for the first four years of his life to the point that he never left the house. He was rail thin, weak, paler than a ghost, and on the verge of death with every breath. My father was surprised he even made it as far as he did, but then he started to get better. It was slow at first, but he started to eat on his own, to talk, to even walk. It was rough, but within a year it was as if Robert had never been sick at all.” Lennon explained, speaking in a hushed tone. “Was he seeing a doctor? What did they say about it?” I was now intrigued by the story he was revealing to me. “We have a family doctor that was there right after he was born and saw him through his years of illness; he was baffled. Called it a miracle and wrote it off.” Lennon shrugged. “That is really strange.” I commented. “That’s not even the strangest part. After about six months of perfect health, I started catching Robert talking to something that wasn’t there. I figured it was innocent, children have imaginary friends, but then Robert started getting into trouble for things that no child his age, or anyone for that matter, should be doing. I don’t want to go into all the details, but—it was like he was putting himself and others in danger. He ended up going blind two years ago because of it; poured lye in his eyes while his mother was having a glass of wine and the house maid did the wash. They fired her and Robert was left with permanent damage to the eyes. It was all just—” Lennon was interrupted as his father entered the room. “Lennon, help me get the coffin in here and move your brother; people will be arriving soon.” Mr. Dugan ordered. “Yes, sir.” Lennon gave me a wistful look as he followed his father from the room and now—now I was alone with Robert. I could hear Mrs. Dugan scolding the two younger boys in the other room, the sound of Lennon and his father out back getting the coffin, the pulsing noise of my blood in my eyes as I stared at Robert. He was still propped up from the photo, eyes closed and hands laid out in his lap. He really looked like a doll in that moment, but the thought didn’t leave me feeling any less uneasy. Had I just been seeing things? I saw the all the time, the doctors told me that my mind was unbound and I couldn’t discern fiction from reality—but Lennon had seen this also. I wasn’t alone this time. My eyes never left Robert as I kept my ears open for my employer, Lennon, someone...anyone. “Knock, knock. Is anyone home?” I heard a voice from the foyer and instinctively moved myself between Robert’s body and the line of sight of anyone else. A woman appeared in the doorway with a tray piled high with tea sandwiches. She was dressed in her mourning clothes so she knew what was going on, but I thought it kind of rude that she just barged in without knocking while the family was unprepared. “And who might you be?” She asked me, setting the tray down on the hall table. She walked into the room, lifted her mourning veil, and placed her hands on her hip in a demanding manner. “Willa Noxx, ma’am. I came with Mr. Sharpe.” I blessed her with my polite voice and waited for her response. “Mr. Sharpe? Is he the butcher that fills in for Willy Chapman?” She asked. Clearly she had no idea what I was talking about. “No, Delilah. Mr. Sharpe is the Momento Mori photographer from the city. He was just finishing up our family portrait.” Mr. Dugan had appeared in the door with Lennon as the two tried to maneuver the fine wooden coffin into the room. “And who is this girl then? She looks—poor.” The woman named Delilah remarked, scrunching up her lips as she turned her nose at me. “Delilah! I don’t care how you choose to speak or talk about people in your own home, but that will not be tolerated here. You may be my wife’s aunt, but this is my house.” Mr. Dugan put his foot down as he set the coffin up on a carved stand. I felt him come up behind me with Lennon as they took Robert from the chair and carefully laid him in the coffin. “Oh, is that my poor baby? Sweet, sweet Robert.” Delilah elbowed past me to the coffin and started to weep—loudly. “And that’s our cue to go to the kitchen for refreshments while you wait for Mr. Sharpe to finish with his photo.” Lennon came up behind me and placed his hand on the small of my back, directing me out of the room, down the hall, and to the kitchen. He poured me a glass of water and the two of us stood silently for a moment as I stared out the open back door. “Robert didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” Lennon finally broke the silence and I almost choked on my water. “No, he was a complete gentleman.” I responded, possibly a little insensitively. “Good.” Lennon returned, finishing his water as he went for a tray of cheeses and exited the kitchen without another word. “Ah, good, you’re in here. I have developed an initial shot, but they want several duplicates which will have to be done back at the shop. Are you ready to go?” Mr. Sharpe appeared in the kitchen doorway and I must have had a dumbfounded look on my face because he followed with, “Are you alright, Miss Noxx?” “Mm? Oh, I’m fine. I just wasn’t prepared for any of this and it’s taken a toll on my mental state, I suppose.” I set down my glass of water and covered my eyes with my hand. Suddenly the room had grown very bright, but I wasn’t sure if I was the only one seeing it. “Alright, let’s get you out to the carriage then. It should be pulling back up right about now.” Mr. Sharpe checked his watch as he guided me out into the hall, not letting me back into the living area. “Straight out the front door and wait. I’ll be out in just a moment.” He directed me down the hall and I nodded. My feet felt like they were being sucked in by wet sand, hard to lift as I plodded down the hall. I passed the open door of the living room and I shouldn’t have looked, but I did. Mr. Dugan was in there with his wife, talking to the rude aunt as the younger boys sat on the sofa talking quietly to themselves. But Lennon was standing next to the coffin where his youngest brother lay, except Robert was sitting straight up in his coffin. Both he and Lennon were staring at me, their eyes burning holes through my body, but I couldn’t take my eyes away. Everyone else in the room was oblivious, but me… Finally the trance broke and my legs worked sprinting my right past the open door to the living room and out the front where the only thing that would be waiting for me was the carriage. My first day at this new job had been jarring at the least and I didn’t even care how much scolding I would probably receive for me behavior...I just wanted to get as far away from this house and Robert as possible. I have various little blogs all over the place. Things that started with good ideas, but fell flat because things don't always hold my attention for long.
But why the hell didn't I put a blog HERE. It makes so much sense yet...I apparently have none. I could have sworn that I did have a blog here at one point...but it doesn't exist now. So, here it is. A blog. A blog by me, a writer/whatever the hell I am at the moment. I figured it was a good time to create one since Halloween is coming up and I am doing a video series for scary stories AND working on a horror story that I will be posting here in chapter as I write it. Stay tuned. |
E.M. MoonStories from the World Wide Weird Archives
December 2021
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