The old Derne Manor always seemed like it could suck you in. Each room, shrouded by sheer curtains, gave off a warm, yellow light. The groundskeeper neatly mowed the grass and trimmed the hedges, despite the fact the owners had died years ago. A driveway extended from the garage to the street, and a short sidewalk connected the driveway to the front door.
I stopped as I walked past. Every facet and notch in the glass door glistened in the sunlight. The grass seemed especially green today, as if someone painstakingly painted each individual blade. I wondered what lay inside the house, having only seen its exterior. The past owners were a private couple, and rarely invited anyone inside. The maids and chefs of the manor, though, could still be seen coming and going from the house as if the owners had never passed away.
A breeze blew by, and the glass door creaked open. Nobody walked out; nobody passed through the foyer. An old curiosity bubbled up inside my mind, and I began fantasizing about the inside of the Old Manor. My head churned and spun with questions.
Soon, I realized I'd walked across the lawn: I was standing on the doorstep of Derne Manor.
I stepped inside and looked around. Light shone in through a window and struck a chandelier hanging in the foyer – little rainbows spotted the walls. The room was circular, and had a wide spiral staircase that led up to the next floor. Outward from the center were three hallways: one straight across from the door, one to the left, and one to the right. I pondered for a moment as to where I should go, but I halted my pondering and bolted down the right passage when I saw a shadow coming into the middle hall. As I hid behind a large house plant, I watched a pair of maids turn down the passage that was on my left. One of them mentioned a lock and a cell. The other one replied with something about a key.
I shrugged and continued down the hall after I was sure they wouldn't suspect me. As I wandered along the plush-carpet hallways, I spied many paintings and house plants – some exotic, some domestic – and all manner of interesting statues. Some were human, some were simply abstract sculptures. Along the undecorated parts of the walls were doors and light fixtures at regular intervals. I didn't dare open any doors, though, for fear that someone might be waiting inside.
I turned a few corners and climbed an odd staircase. It felt claustrophobic, as if it led to the attic. The floor it led to appeared to have narrower and emptier hallways. The carpet looked faded. The lights had a sickly yellow color to them, rather than the bright, pure white that lit the ground floor. All the hallways seemed the same, and they branched out continuously like a maze, a trap.
Footsteps shuffled somewhere behind me. I turned to see them and saw a shadow looming around a corner. As quickly and quietly as possible, I ran to hide at the next junction in the hall. Something caught me while I hurried down the passage, though, and I fell into a dark room. The door closed, and a hand fell over my mouth.
“Please don't scream,” pleaded a voice. It sounded female, near my age. I heard something weak and unsteady in her voice. She flicked on a flashlight and propped it up against a shoe. I could see that we were in a closet. Her face was thin; her cheekbones protruded. I saw her hands shaking from weakness and apparent malnutrition. But as much as she trembled, her eyes stood still. Fear and pain poured out of her eyes like blood from an open wound; badly-healed wounds covered her body. Her wrists bore abrasions from rope. Her emaciated voice begged again, “help me escape. Help me.” I could feel the desperation radiate off her face like the heat from the flashlight in the corner. Something inside me came to life, as if I'd long forgotten a lust for vengeance or vendetta. It scared me, but what scared me more was the thought that if I left this disheveled and lonely girl behind, something worse would happen to her. Gently, I peeled her fingers off my lips and whispered, “I'll try.”
I had no idea who she was. But despite that, I cracked the door and peered out into the hall. Behind me, the girl switched off the light. Devoid of life and footsteps, the hallway was clear. I tapped her lightly on the wrist and pointed out into the hall. We crept toward a nearby stairwell. The girl kept her bony hand on my shoulder the whole time. I clasped my hand over hers to reassure her as we descended the stairs. I checked around the corners at the bottom. Empty halls, save for a few house plants and sculptures. Bright white lights lit the hallway.
It wasn't the hallway I walked through earlier, though. It had windows instead of doors, meaning I probably had a good long sneaking ahead of me to reach the door. “We'll be out soon,” I lied. Weakly, the girl smiled. I wished I could have been right about leaving soon, but I smiled reassuringly and led the two of us to the right. Between checking for hiding spots and watching for signs of housekeepers, I looked out the windows. It didn't look like the front lawn – in fact, it didn't look like any part of the property I'd seen. The view was full of trees and had a cobblestone pathway leading deep into the woods. I concluded we were on the backside of the house.
I pressed us onward, though I could tell by her panting that my companion was tired. In her condition, she had every right to be, but I had to encourage her to keep going. I wished as much as she did that we could just rest, but wishing would only land her back in whatever nightmare she crawled out of. I held her hand with my arm awkwardly twisted behind me. When I glanced over my shoulder, I could see a light smile of relief. I nodded.
We reached a corner, and I peeked around it. A well-placed houseplant provided adequate cover, though it wasn't needed: the passage was clear, and had the familiar pattern of door-light-door along its wall. The statues and paintings seemed more dense. I squeezed the girl's hand, and whispered, “nearly there.” She squeezed back tighter; I felt fear and hope in her grip.
Before I could hear her whisper back, though, I heard a far more terrifying sound: the clunk! of a door as it shut. I whirled around to see a maid standing, staring back at us. I felt my companion freeze up – her hand seemed to turn to stone in mine.
“An escape!” shouted the maid. It shook the house. A painting looked as if it nearly jumped off the wall. I pulled at the girl's arm, but she stood still. I quickly hoisted her onto my shoulder and steadied her with my free hand on her back. The cleaning lady swiftly gave chase.
I felt the girl fall limp in my arms, but I could still feel her breathing. I clutched her closer and pushed myself onward, as I could still hear the shouting of the maid, and a dozen other pairs of feet stomping and scrambling above me. But around another turn in the hall, I could see a glorious sight: the foyer. Still, the little rainbow spots dotted the walls, and the afternoon sun shone in through the door. I dashed toward it. People began to pour down the wide spiral staircase.
But through a door blown open by a summer breeze, I managed to escape, girl in arms. Angry voices spread across the lawn behind me, but I didn't turn back to look. I didn't stop to think, to rest. I only ran. Past the hedges along the edge of the lawn. Past every mailbox and driveway. The branches of willow trees seemed to reach out to me as I sprinted, but I didn't accept their invitations: I only ran. Footstep after footstep, heartbeat after heartbeat. I embraced the girl tightly to me as I carried her.
A friendly sight came into view, eventually. The sidewalks of the two sides of the street looped around and merged into one, encompassing a circle of black asphalt. Beyond that cul-de-sac lie my house. My hand left the girl's back and fumbled with the doorknob at the front door. I didn't hear any angry voices, but all I could hear was the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
I entered and shut the door. Breathing heavily, I lumbered over to the couch. The stranger I carried in my arms spread out peacefully on its cushions. I slumped down into the chair across the room and panted. Her breathing was steady, slow. She seemed peaceful, almost happy.
And I wondered how I would explain trespassing in Derne Manor and bringing home a complete stranger. I wondered how she'd feel upon awakening. I wondered what they did to her.
And I wondered what her name was.
(Edit: Second Revision - 4/6/11)
