#snowyghostbat

snowyghostbat: Dorian, with the doll I made for him. :3

Eulalie sat in silence with her mother as they peeled potatoes in the kitchen. Neither spoke often, and they usually found the shared quietness comforting. Today, though, there was a thick, almost electrical tension in the air between the two women. Eulalie felt if she were to lean closer to her mother, her head would bounce back like it was smacking off an invisible wall. It hadn’t been so smothering in the house since her brother was admitted to the asylum, and that was three years ago.

Eulalie’s cuts were becoming quicker and shorter. It was only inevitable when her annoyance got her thumb nicked. By the time she let out a few Yiddish curses, her mother was already up and getting a rag.

“Press it tight.” She handed Eulalie the cloth. “And I’ll clean it.”

“Mama, it’ll be fine. I just have to give it a moment for the bleeding to stop, that’s all.”

She was ignored, though, as ointment was smeared on the cut, followed by a bandage and a kiss.

“Take a break, Eulie. We’ve got enough for now.” Then Mrs. Ghast bustled to the sink to wash dishes.

Between the squeaks of the pump, her mother’s back being turned to her, and now loud humming, Eulalie knew she was purposefully being pushed aside. “Mama?”

More humming.

“Mama…” She frowned and balled her hands into fists, ignoring the sting of her cut. “Mama!”

Mrs. Ghast sighed. Then she lowered her hands and pan into the sink. She sounded so weary when she asked, “What is it, my dear?”

Anger was giving way to guilt. Eulalie almost gave up, thinking of substituting a lie, but then gritted her jaw and pressed ahead. “You haven’t said anything about Reginald’s proposal.”

Mrs. Ghast went back to scrubbing, only much slower and quieter this time. “It… It isn’t in my place to say, is it? He’d be your husband, not mine.”

“So you don’t approve?”

“I didn’t say that…”

“But it’s the truth.”

With a sharp exhale, Mrs. Ghast flung her dishes back into the sink and turned around. “He’s not what’s best for you, Eulie.”

“He can provide for me.” She stood up. “He–He already has a house. A business–”

“It all sits on cursed land!”

Eulalie rolled her eyes. “Not this superstitious mess again… The Graceys are long established, a wealthy family. They’ve been here for generations.” She smiled a little. “Reginald said he’ll take care of me. No more scrounging for coins come bill time.” Taking her mother’s wet, soapy hands, she gave them a loving squeeze. “You and papa can stay with us. Maybe we’ll even get Beau back.”

Tears welled in Mrs. Ghast’s eyes. “My baby boy… But Eulie, you’re selling your soul.”

“No I’m not, mama,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m securing our future. Reginald isn’t a bad man. I know it isn’t as romantic as how you and papa met… or as bizarre… but modern times aren’t full of paupers sweeping ladies of the royal court off their feet and over the palace wall.”

Mrs. Ghast gave a choked, tearful laugh and tried to wipe away tears with her damp wrist. “That’s not *exactly* how it happened… I just want you to marry for love.” She cupped Eulalie’s cheek. “Whoever it is, I don’t care, as long as you’re happy.”

The guests had gone back downstairs, but without them shuffling about, my prey would be easier to find.

“Marco!” I waved my arms in front of me.

“Polo!” Babette sputtered.

Her giggles were to my… left! I spun, and smacked right into… Had to lift the blindfold… a dressmaker’s dummy.

“Garçon ridicule!” Now she was giggling behind me.

“I don’t know what you said, but I take offense.” After tugging the handkerchief back down, I turned and went back to the hunt. “I’m gonna get you! Marco!”

Nothing.

“Marco!”

Still quiet.

“Now, now, I won’t tolerate cheating.” Lifting the cloth, I peeked from one eye. There was a giggle, and I whirled to face her.

Millimeters from my nose was a rotted, worm-eaten piece of flesh loosely attached to a skull. Yellow, glowing eyes bore into mine.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak.

“Polo,” the thing whispered. Then with a raspy cackle, she pulled a veil over her face and floated back into the corner of the attic she came from.

“Babette!”

She popped out from behind a trunk. “Mon Dieu! Are you all right, mon amour? Your scream… Are you hurt?” Smacking dust from her dress, she hurried over.

I couldn’t move. I was shaking too hard. “There was something–Something came from there.” I pointed. “She was dead… Beyond dead. Decayed…”

“Shh.” She took my hands. “Let’s head back downstairs, amour. This place, it’s getting to you.”

“Papa, look!” Ellie called, searching for her father, “I found the most beautiful flower! I do hope that Dori doesn’t mind that I plucked it. There were more, and I just had to show… you…” Her voice trailed away as she noticed a small picture that she had never seen before sitting on a dresser in his room. She picked it up and examined it. The pretty lady smiling back at her seemed familiar. Ellie’s brow creased as a thought came to her.

“Is this… is this her?” she asked as she heard footsteps from behind her, “Is this my… my mother? Why haven’t I seen this picture before? Where have you been hiding it all this time?”

***

Beau froze. He could hardly look her in the eye. His gaze flicked down to the photograph. "I... It was in my dresser drawer. I've kept it there since she passed. This morning I took it out and forgot to put it back." His voice cracked as his throat tightened from emotion.