A Tale of Two Siblings
Sarah Meneses
Genre: Gothic
Archetype Cards: The Siren and The Dandy
Key Words: Old photograph, dragon, wings, fan, blood, sacrifice
(The following is an excerpt from a manuscript found in a suitcase belonging to Mr. John Gedge after his disappearance in July 1888. It is unknown if Mr. Gedge was the one who wrote it or if the manuscript was given to him.)
“Her heart is still beating,” the little boy said as he surveyed the charred remains inside the oven, hours after the screams stopped.
“I know,” said his sister, and took a pair of tongs from the table. He stepped aside so she could reach in and pick it up. “Have you changed your mind?” She started to slice the heart into bite-sized pieces. A chest overflowing with gold coins and jewels appeared upon the witch’s death, but neither of the two gave it so much as an appraising look. “It’s fine if you have. Like I said, there’s no going back from this. Once we eat her heart, we are going to be like her.”
She had already explained it to him earlier. They will age slowly and their tastes in food will change, but they will be able to cast spells, like she did. It will be harder to kill them, but they can still die. They won’t fear the things the witch did, being born human, but they will be cursed nonetheless. They are never going to feel love for anyone else ever again.
Perhaps the little boy thought his sister cruel to ask him such a thing. They were, after all, just two children unfortunate enough to stumble upon the house of sweets while trying to find their way home. Had things been different, they would not be here, thinking about what to do next. They wouldn’t be deciding whether or not to eat a witch’s black heart or run. Had things been different, they would have died of hunger, or been eaten by the witch, or lived happily ever after with their father and the witch’s treasures.
He looked at his sister then, with his mouth set in grim determination. Perhaps he thought about how they were no longer the same scared children who went into a deceiving forest knowing full well they were being left to die; how his sister alone came from being naive and sweet to a witch’s apprentice, to a murderess, for what he said in reply was, “We’re already like her though, aren’t we?”
#
(The following letter was delivered by a man wearing a pigeon mask to Witherwood Manor, the home of Lord and Lady Weston. The messenger refused to hand the envelope to anyone other than its intended recipient, didn’t accept the butler’s offer to wait inside, and refused to remove his mask or offer his name and affiliation.)
April 13th, 1888
Ms. Gertrude Weston,
We are pleased to inform you that Mr. Crow, the House of Incognito’s chairperson, has reviewed your application and deemed you worthy to join our exclusive club. Henceforth, you will be referred to by the pseudonym you prefer (Ms. Spider) in all our gatherings.
We will present and officially welcome you to our 103rd bi-annual ball on the 11th of May, at 7 o’clock in the evening. You are required to procure a mask that is equivalent to your pseudonym. (Please note that we strictly forbid members from discussing their lives outside the House. Should your identity be revealed by your choosing or by your carelessness, the House will not be responsible for any consequences.)
As for your transportation, we will send a windowless black carriage to escort you from your residence to the House. The coachman will be wearing a pigeon mask and will ask you if you know the way to Oak Street. Please answer him with these exact words: “I believe it has been renamed to Birch Avenue.”
Until we meet in person, we wish you the best of health.
Ms. Robin
#
(The following entries are taken from Lady Sadie Ashmore’s diary. She had allegedly eloped with a lowborn man weeks after her parents disapproved of the man’s request for her hand in marriage. Months later, her body was found by a group of woodcutters among a pile of corpses near the Forests of Valishka. As with the other bodies, her heart was missing.)
28th April 1888
Dear Diary,
I think I am in love.
Properly in love, mind, unlike that time when I was being wooed by that handsome gentleman from France. You see, when I first met Mr. Frenchman, I only thought how jealous the other girls would be if I could make him fall in love with me. Yesternight, on the other hand, as soon as I first made eye contact with Mr. Fox, it was as if time had stopped completely.
Oh, if only you saw him! I don’t think I shall want another man now that I’ve met him. I’ll describe him for you: He’s a tall, well-built man with inky black hair and an impeccable taste in clothes. His fox mask prevented me from seeing his entire face, but I could still see his piercing blue eyes and strong jawline. And his voice! I could listen to him talk for hours even if he were to discuss something incredibly mundane. Have I told you how very nice he was? He could converse with anyone good-naturedly, even the insufferable Ms. Myna. (I could tell that she likes him the way I do. Not that she has a chance, horrible as she is.)
I hope he will choose to spend a lot of time with me at our next House gathering. I would be so incredibly happy if he did.
—
11th May 1888
Dear Diary,
If I’m dreaming, then I don’t want to wake up. Can you believe it? Mr. Fox danced with me all night! Oh, but I’m getting ahead of myself. I shall tell you the story in full.
As you know, we ladies dine separately from the men during gatherings. (I still remember that time when Ms. Shrew said that it was because we women “would just insult the men’s intelligence, or lack thereof if we were to discuss things way beyond their understanding such as politics, military tactics, or philosophy.”) Oh, but you mustn’t think all women share Ms. Shrew’s opinion. She’s just naturally outspoken and loves to make scandalous comments.
But, I digress. As I was saying, we were eating dinner when Mr. Fox entered the room, more dashing than a prince. I was afraid for a moment that he would ask Ms. Myna or, god forbid, Ms. Viper or Ms. Lioness, to dance with him. However, I wouldn’t have minded if he had asked Ms. Spider to dance with him. She is our newest member, after all, and seemed wholly uninterested in him.
But, wonder of wonders! After Ms. Hummingbird asked Mr. Fox not to pick her or Ms. Spider (who I think Ms. Hummingbird has taken a liking to), and after Mr. Fox assured her that he wasn’t going to, he announced that he wanted to dance with me!
Oh, to feel the combined, almost tangible jealousy emanating from the three most unpleasant women in the world! I wanted to crow with triumphant laughter, but I did not. I merely stood, smiled graciously, and took Mr. Fox’s hand.
And then, we danced. Oh, how we danced! With his hand holding mine, and me practically in his arms–the world literally fell away. It was just him looking at me so intensely and with such desire, and me trying to silently convey the words that would be too improper for a lady of my standing to utter to a man I met mere days ago.
The night ended too soon. But before it did, and before he reluctantly let go of my hand, he asked me if I could tell him my name, for he wanted a name to accompany the image of the woman he couldn’t help but think of.
Oh, Diary. I really am in love. And, I guess, unlike Mr. Frenchman who only wooed me for my parents’ money, Mr. Fox (John Gedge, he said his name was after I told him mine) really loves me, too.
#
(The following is an entry from Lord Richard Sangster’s journal. It should be noted that Lord Sangster chose to write his journal entries in letter form and address it to an ‘Elizabeth.’ Inquiries made regarding Elizabeth’s identity led to Elizabeth Carver, a nurse in Dublin who Lord Sangster apparently met, despite her being listed as deceased long before he went to Ireland.)
June 9, 1888
To my dearest Elizabeth,
You know that not a day goes by that I have not thought of you. You remind me of a time when I could simply be Richard Sangster, lord of nothing at all, and people would converse with me freely, without fear of offending.
For many years, I have wished that you were here by my side, to share my joy and help me get through my dark days. I wish it still; though, I’m relieved to say, not as often as I did.
I met someone, you see. I still don’t know her name, only that she wishes to be called Ms. Spider. She is older than me by quite a number of years, but she is still very beautiful. Her hair is dark, like yours, with but a handful of grey hairs; and her wit is sharp, like yours, though she is much more reserved in saying her opinion regarding the more controversial issues. Unlike you, however, her eyes are pale blue while yours are hazel brown.
I met her at one of the balls I attended last month. I regret to say that I met her on one of my dark days, and was quite rude to her. You would’ve berated me, were you in her place; but she took it in stride. I told her to leave me be, and she assented. She only asked that I not do anything foolish and that she wished that I would feel better soon.
It’s been so long since anyone has trusted me to be on my own the way she did. My father’s men treat me like how they would treat a poor, delicate copy of my father, and the people I meet are only ever civil towards me when it benefits them. On other occasions, they ignore me or talk behind my back.
I apologized to Ms. Spider at the House’s next gathering, of course. I didn’t expect her to forgive me so readily, but she did. She even asked me if I wanted to dance. I told her I was abysmal at it, confessed that I never learned, not after I saw Mother…well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? But why would I tell her that? I couldn’t even tell you, not even when you teased me about being as graceful as a circus elephant running amok.
I suppose it was because of the patient way she smiled at me. She got me to dance, you know. We were on the balcony adjacent to the ballroom, away from the eyes of people who would’ve commented on my lack of grace. Well, I said ‘danced,’ but really we just swayed when the music was slow and talked when the music picked up. We conversed extensively about art and even debated some artists’ unusual styles. I told her I dabbled in painting but was never any good. She said she knew even before picking up a brush that she would be terrible at it.
It was the most light-hearted I’ve been in years. I felt that I could talk to her about anything and she wouldn’t judge me, only listen and support me however she could. In a way, she made me miss you and the short time we spent together. I know she’s not you, and I would never ask her to be your replacement. But, Elizabeth, would you begrudge me of my budding feelings towards her? She made me feel hope again. I want to live again. Not just exist, like I’ve been doing.
I will always love you, but I think the time has come for me to let you go. I think I have found a reason to give love and living a second chance, and I hope you will be happy for me.
Love,
Richard
#
(The following letter is unsigned, but it’s believed to be written by Lady Eleanor Chambers to Lady Theresa Martin.) The two women were constantly at odds with each other in public, and it fueled rumors that the two were either an estranged mother and her rebellious bastard daughter or two sisters who fought over the love of a man.
June 11, 1888
Miss Martin,
I thought about forgiving you, you know, for the things you did to my son. I told myself that he was gone now, safe from your greedy hands. I told myself that I could change for the better somehow if the grief you showed during his funeral was genuine.
Of course, it wasn’t. How could it be? You weren’t grieving the loss of your husband; you were grieving the loss of your benefactor. Dare you deny it? Dare you deny your shamelessness when my own eyes have witnessed it not once with my son, but many times now, with the newest members of the House, regardless of their sex?
Yes, my dear. I know.
And I have kept my silence, knowing full well you wouldn’t succeed, what with Mr. Stag forever mourning the loss of his lover, Mr. Fox being too cunning for the likes of you to ensnare, and Ms. Bumblebee entirely too dense to even notice your advances.
Well, no more. I might have done nothing when you tried to woo the aforementioned people, but I will not sit quietly by and watch you destroy the innocuous Ms. Spider’s life as you did my son.
I suppose here is where I threaten to do you harm, but there’s no need for such crassness. Even as I write this letter, a rider has been dispatched to deliver my warning to the House about your proclivities. So live your wretched life, while you are still able. Or run, like the rat that you are. You will not get to live happily for much longer.
#
(The following is a letter from a ‘Theresa’–presumably Lady Theresa Martin, to Lady Gertrude Weston. It’s unlikely, however, that the two women were more than casual acquaintances, as Lady Martin was one of Lord Weston’s mistresses. His last mistress, in fact, before he was found dead in a guest room in Witherwood Manor.)
My beloved Gertrude,
Forgive me for asking this of you, but I am in desperate need of your protection. I am in danger from Lady Eleanor Chambers who you know as Ms. Lioness. I have received a letter from her just an hour ago, and in it she has threatened to kill me. I don’t have time to explain now, but I swear I’ll tell you the entire story when we meet in person. I’ll send this letter ahead of me via messenger, so you might be alerted of my arrival beforehand.
I hope you won’t turn me away, my darling. You are the only one I have left.
Yours,
Theresa
#
(The following letter is sent by Mr. George Smith, one of the Westons’ farmhands, to his mother. The letter never reached its intended recipient, as Mr. Walter Allen, Mr. Smith’s friend whom he asked to deliver the letter, was attacked while traveling. Mr. Allen’s wounds suggest that it was a pack of wolves that attacked him, but he was insistent that he was attacked by a demon in the shape of a man.)
June 24, 1888
To my dearest mama,
I hope this letter finds you all safe and sound. I’m doing good here in Witherwood, despite what happened last week. Lord Weston died, you see. And to hear the maids talk of it, it seems that he was murdered by one of his mistresses. I guess that’s another reason why Lady Weston wants to go back to her family’s estate in Germany. I mean, besides not being a Weston anymore.
Well, because of her leaving, Butler William told us all to get new jobs. Don’t worry about me, though. Walter said he’s going ahead to his cousin’s farm. Make sure I get a job too.
I might get to spend a week with you before going to Walter’s cousin’s farm. I’m excited to see Charlie and Anna again. Do they both still want to become knights? I miss you all and I wish I could leave with Walter today. There are just some things that the farmhands have to do, but once that’s done, I’ll leave for home immediately. Expect me perhaps a week after you receive this.
Your son,
George
P.S. – Please be inside the house after sunset and don’t go out at night. Not even when you hear people calling. Don’t let anyone in, even Walter, if he arrives at night. I will arrive by day. I’m sorry I can’t tell you why I’m asking this of you, only that strange things have been happening here. Just yesterday, the older farmhands stumbled upon dead bodies in the woods. They were arranged, like an offering to the devil. I promise I’ll tell you all about it. But for now, just trust me.
#
(This letter was found in a derelict cottage in the Forests of Valishka. The identity of both the recipient and the sender is unknown.)
July 9th, 1888
Mr. Crow,
Six of our members are missing. Not merely choosing not to go to the House’s gatherings, but missing. The pigeons I dispatched to inquire about their whereabouts proved unsuccessful; their households are looking for them as well. They are, in the order in which they stopped attending the gatherings:
1.) Ms. Bumblebee (Sadie Ashmore), who was said to have eloped with a proletariat;
2.) Ms. Lioness (Eleanor Chambers), who fell sick but was missing from her bedchamber when one of the servants came to deliver her dinner;
3.) Ms. Hummingbird (Theresa Martin), who has yet to return after abruptly leaving one afternoon without telling anyone where she was going;
4.) Ms. Spider (Gertrude Weston), who was supposed to leave for Germany after her husband’s death but went missing in the middle of packing her things;
5.) Mr. Stag (Richard Sangster), who went out for a walk with a lady friend but hasn’t been seen since; and
6.) Mr. Fox (John Gedge), who went to Brighton but went missing, with his belongings still packed inside his hotel room.
I worry, Mr. Crow, that these six individuals have either been kidnapped or murdered. Not for their money or influence, as they are not the richest nor the most influential of our members. Revenge is more likely, although I have yet to find what links them all together.
Please advise me on how to act. The other members don’t know about the disappearances yet, but the more perceptive of them have begun to suspect that something is amiss. Of course, as they are technically bound by the rules of the House not to talk about their lives outside, whatever information they have is only their own observations.
I’m hoping this letter reaches you before it’s too late.
Yours most respectfully,
Ms. Robin
#
(The following letter is found in the possession of a man beheaded near the London Docks in November 1888, identified by his coworkers as Mr. James Bailey. When his widow was questioned if he had any suspicious dealings, she claimed that he came home one night saying that he met a man who, in the dark, resembled him and who offered him a large sum of money to always keep this letter on his person and to occasionally look as if he was reading it in public.)
Dearest brother,
If I’m not at our appointed place by midnight, I beg of you not to wait or look for me. As you know, I’m almost done with my work in Whitechapel. Hopefully, it will be enough to buy us some time. Should you hear news of my demise, whether it prove to be true or not, proceed with our plan. We will find each other again, one way or another.
G (or J, if you prefer)
#
Ms. Red,
As you can discern from the documents attached, the siblings know about the Hunt, and they are on the run. They are also most likely still alive. Your task is simple. Either verify that they are dead and deliver their heads to me as proof, or dispose of them, then send me their heads.
Should you accept this contract, my associate will pay you half the bounty upfront. Should you decline or fail…well, I don’t think I need to tell you what happened, do I?
Until our next correspondence.
THE END
About Sarah Meneses
Sarah Meneses graduated from the University of the Philippines Los Banos with a degree in Development Communication. Her works have been published in magazines, as well as in literary and comic anthologies, since she was fifteen years old. When she isn’t writing, she is usually fangirling, learning fictional languages, and keeping an eye out for blue police boxes.