The Legend of Martha Kempe (Closed for Graybread)

[DeliciousMaiden]

OOC:

My thanks to Graybread for offering to unravel Martha's past history and moving into the recently vacated house.

Although this is a closed thread, please feel free to read along and PM any comments/obervations/suggestions.

I hope you will enjoy exploring this "Legend" as much as I will enjoy writing it!

Thanks to all!

{{{huggs}}}

DM x

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

IC:

Prologue:

The house had stood empty for months now.
They never stayed long.
It wasn’t that the old curse was a threat.
It wasn’t that they feared the apparitions.
It was simply the feel of the place, the loneliness, the sadness, the despair.
It hung, tangible even to those who prided themselves on possessing no intuition whatsoever.
And so it had remained empty a full nine month.

It had been occupied now and again, but nobody ever stayed for long.
It was all too easy for a tenant to flee.
Even the last tenant who had professed his intent to settle for the full 6 months of his lease and hinted at extending his occupancy had left.
But not until after stirring up the “inhabitants” of the house.
Not until after good intentioned “meddling”,
But just like the others … he too left!

So now the house was for sale.
The attempt had been made before, but even given its “history” the price was outrageously low!
Surely someone would be tempted?

Many had visited.
Those who did not know better thought it a bargain!
They entered the house and exclaimed about the architecture, the original fittings, a great Georgian style manor house.
They walked the boards, ascended to the rooms above, and yet …
None had seen fit to buy the property… until now...

Mrs. Hatchard could barely believe her good fortune as she accepted the offer, which met her asking price.
She knew the new owner must have heard of the stories, the rumours associated with the house, but he hardly seemed to care.
And who was she to try to discourage him?
She hoped he might have luck with the house.
But she for her part, was relieved to finally have it off her hands!


And so the house stood: silent and shabby, awaiting its new owner.
A shadow, a faint tread on the staircase, the muted sound of weeping …
These were the only signs that Martha was waiting … watching … wondering
The only sign that she was moving listlessly through the house, retracing the same path,
A path that might be interrupted for a while by the intrusion of occupiers, but one that Martha always returned to, trapped in the familiarity of the same path, the same tread, the repetition of decades, centuries…
It was never ending...

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

Thomas Rosenthal, or Tom Rose, as it said on the covers of his novels, stood in the yard in front of the now empty house, their house, his and Linda’s. But, Linda was gone; breast cancer had taken her two long years ago now. He stared up at the empty house, the curtain less windows, through tear-filled eyes, and they stared back.

“I miss you.” He whispered softly.

Tom and Linda had been married twelve years, short years in his opinion. She had meant everything to him, she was his inspiration, his love, his life. When she died, the heartache, the loneliness, the despair nearly took him over the edge. He had lost the will to write and very nearly the will to live. His family and friends urged him to sell the house, it was filled with too many memories for him to deal with. His Publisher reminded him of his deadlines. So in hopes of starting fresh he had done what they had suggested. With the help of an overseas realtor, he had found, what he thought was the perfect place. An old Georgian, just like he had grown up in as a child. Mrs. Hatchard, the realtor had accepted his offer, and he hadn’t tried to lower the selling price by bringing up rumors of ghosts and goblins, he didn’t believe in them anyway, he just needed to get away.

As he stood in the front entrance of the new ‘old’ house, a smile crossed his face. It was indeed much like his childhood home. Yes, he thought, maybe I can forget and start over again. I think I'll like it here. He could almost feel the inspiration to write coming back already.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Mattie/Martha

From the shuttered upstairs bedroom, the soft notes of a musical box tinkled out into the otherwise silent house.
The sound of a child’s giggle rang out, seeming to echo in the heavy stillness of the abandoned building.
The joyous outburst seemed to hang in the air, until it was smothered by the pervading gloom, which seemed to smother any hint of cheerfulness.

The sound of soft footfalls scampering along the upstairs landing could barely be heard.

The sound of the key turning in the lock was much louder.

The box snapped shut with a discordant jangle.
It sat immobile covered by a thick layer of dust, as if untouched for years.

The child melted away.

In her place, an indistinct shadow.
An undetectable presence, which moved to hover at the top of the staircase.
Watching … waiting …
As the whole house seemed to hold its breath.

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

As soon as Tom stepped into the Foyer, a sense of foreboding came over him.

“Damnit,” he said in a low voice. “Will I never shake this?”

She’s gone, let her go, let her rest in peace. he thought.

He tried to shake the feeling off as best he could, but it hung on him like a death shroud. He knew it was just the loneliness, the depression that made him feel this way. He’d hoped that coming here would help him with that, maybe with time. He walked through the rooms of the lower level of the house. It was dusty but the cleaning staff would be there tomorrow, and his belongings the day after. He checked the faucet to make sure he had water, he did. It was very much like his childhood home, he could almost see his mother standing at the sink, and his dad reading the paper at the table. He smiled to himself as he inspected the rest of the downstairs, making his way back around to the stairway. As he looked up, he thought he saw a child standing there, but no, he guessed it was just more of his childhood memories coming back.

He ascended the stairway and went through all the rooms, trying to decide which to use as his room and which to set his office in. as he entered the last room he found a small box sitting on the floor. He picked it up and blew the dust off it, lifting the lid.

“A music box,” he said surprised.

He turned it over and found the key, turning it a couple of cranks. The box began to play, a child’s tune that he couldn’t put words to. He smiled as he listened to the tune. He decided that this would be his room. He carried the box over and sat it on the window ledge so that it would not be broken when the cleaning staff arrived. He had brought a sleeping bag and pillow, candles and his shaving kit, having planned to spend the first night in the house. He went down and out the door to the rental car to retrieve them.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Mattie/Martha

Martha kept her distance and watched from the top of the stairs as the stranger moved about the house looking, exploring.
Each occupant had been different and so it was with this one.
A man … on his own … for now …
Martha shuddered at the idea of another woman in her house.
That was when she seemed the closest.
That was when Martha would be caught up in the sequence of those final events.
Trapped in reliving those painful events that so tormented her restless spirit!

No ... she much preferred the childish “walk” she could usually take refuge in.
Events where she could let herself experience her chilidsh optimism, her blind faith in her parents.
Ever fixated on finding the father who had never returned to her, the inevitable childish despair was more bearable than that final anguish!

”Papa … “

She heard the child whisper as the adult looked down at the man’s raised eyes.
Mattie was straining to escape, impulsively drawn to seek out the stranger and yet Martha was stronger this time and held her in check.
Not yet ... not until ...
As ever Martha tried to protect her inner child, trying to hold her back until she could be sure the intruder posed no threat.
She Martha had learned to hold back, learned that these visitors could not help her find meaning and solace.
They merely interrupted or redirected her for a time and then left … oblivious to the chaos they had wrought.

Martha’s shadow hung undetected as he passed on his way up the stairs.
This man was sighted, and yet he did not see.
Did not see, for he did not look, she mused.
He merely inspected the rooms, moving slowly from one to the other until he came to her room.
Martha held her breath, not wanting to move forward, not wanting to see what his reaction might be.
She did not want him to sense her, to sense anything about her.
It was easier that way.

The sound of the soft notes drifted through the air and filled the house.

“A music box,”

His voice was soft and filled with wonder at finding such an object.
Martha sighed as she released Mattie and allowed her to press nearer, drawn inevitably by the tuneful tinkle.
Her advance was cut short by his sudden and unexpected exit from the room.
Without looking about him, the man made his way swiftly down the stairs and out of the front door.
Martha stared.
Despite her determination to keep her distance from him, this man had roused her curiosity… there was something about him … something different ... something she could not quite place …

”John … “

The name came unbidden to her mind.
Quickly she suppressed it.

”Noo…”

She shook her head firmly.
She would not allow herself to think of him!
She could not …

Footsteps interrupted her thoughts.
The stranger had re-entered the house and was making his way up the stairs, carrying a slection of objects in his arms.
Quickly the troubled adult retreated.
It was safer to let the child have full reign.

And so the atmosphere lightened imperceptibly.

By the time the stranger walked through the door of his newly selected room, the musical box was set once more on the floor, its lid open as the tune played merrily.

It was as if he had never touched it.

The box was once again thickly covered with dust:
Covered that is, apart from the delicate fingerprints, marking the lid and sides.
It appeared to have been newly wound and yet … that could not be…

A muffled childish giggle was barely detectable beneath the diminishing notes.

This man had moved her toy…
Mattie was looking for mischief.
Beyond her, Martha smiled indulgently.

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

“What the….” Tom said as he entered the room, hearing the tinny music from the box. “I put that over….” He looked to the windowsill.

He looked quickly about the room, then turned to the door, backing farther into the room.

“Is someone here,” he asked tentatively.

He looked down at the music box at his feet, and noticed the small prints in the dust.

“If someone is here, please come out.” He pleaded.

He heard the laughter of a small child, near but sounding distant. The adrenaline rushed through him with a roar. He backed to the wall and could go no farther. He heard the laughter again. He dropped the sleeping bag and other items he had brought in, grabbing his head, covering his ears with the palms of his hands.

“Please, not now…..not now,” he whined as he slid down the wall, squatting near the floor.

He could feel the loneliness, the depression, the insanity taking over again. He squatted there, his knees to his chest, his hands on his ears, rocking gently back and forth. The music from the dusty box now a jangled melody of disjointed notes. He heard the laughter again and slowly looked up. The form of a little girl appeared, sitting next to the box, smiling at him. She was thin, transparent, an apparition in his mind. He watched her, unthinking, knowing the insanity had finally taken him.

“Who are you,” he asked, barely above a whisper.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Mattie watched, her face full of mischief as she watched the gentleman stare at the music box.

“Is someone here,”

She watched as he looked at the toy.
She laughed at the panicked tone of his voice.

“If someone is here, please come out.”

Somewhere beyond her, Martha stirred, stirred and drew nearer.
Mattie was enjoying the joke.
This man played better than the others.
She drew closer as he cowered on the floor.
She giggled and sat beside the box looking up at him curiously.
No one had ever played like that before.

“Who are you,”

He spoke directly to the little girl.
The child opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to have been silenced by something … or someone.

Martha hadn’t intended to get involved.
And yet she could not fail to sense his distress, distress caused by the child's game.

Abruptly the music box became silent.
Instantly the apparition had faded into nothingness.
Martha watched as the stranger stared wide-eyed, the disappearance of the little girl almost as frightening to him it seemed.
She heard him call into the emptiness once more.
There was something in his voice…
A fear ... desperation that pulled at her heart …
emotions that she understood all to well.
Martha watched, studying his face, seeing his frantic eyes as they searched the room.

As Mattie was drawn to her toy, so Martha was unable to resist the urge to offer comfort.
Despite her intentions, Martha found herself moving closer,
an invisible and yet a calmer presence that her younger counterpart.

Kneeling beside him, a whisp of a shadow only, Martha extended her hand and laid it gently upon his.

”SSshhhhh….”

Her soft voice was a breathless sigh.
She squeezed his trembling arm soothingly.

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

The jangle of the music stopped and the wisp of the figure faded. He knew it was just in his mind. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths as the psychologist had taught him, calming himself.

“Ssshhhhh….,” he heard the soft voice whisper.

He felt the light touch on his arm. He raised his head and looked toward the source of the voice, unafraid, uncaring.

“I’m so tired,” he said, willing the insanity, the depression to take him.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha

Martha watched the man before her and heard his weary words.

“I’m so tired,”

Her hand on his arm remained there, filling with warmth.

"Shhhhh.... rest .... "

She whispered as she studied his expression in fascination.

Why should she sense a ... kindred spirit in him?
She had managed for so long to avoid these temporary inhabitants ... but now she found herself wanting to soothe him.

"Ssshhhh.... "

She continued to croon watching and hoping he would relax ...

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

Tom felt the hand on his arm. It was warm and comforting. He heard the words also, they too were a comfort.

“Shhhhh…..rest…….”

His emotions seemed to calm and a bit of his rational mind took over.

This doesn’t feel the same. he though. I know it’s not real,……but….it’s doesn’t feel like it’s coming out of me. Like I’d created it before, so many times. This seems different.

His writers’ imagination slowly stepped in, allowing him the possibilities of a separate reality. He’d written about it many times, expecting his readers to accept it, why couldn’t he.

He tried to focus on the point of the faint voice. He didn’t want to move his arm for fear the touch might go away, it was calming, reassuring. His eyes narrowed and eyebrows came together.

“Is…someone there,” he asked softly, hoping for an answer and fearing to hear one. “Please,…tell me I’m not insane.”

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Martha knew she should pull away, but as she touched his arm lightly, she sensed the same lonliness, the same devastation that she felt.
It seemed to hang like a shroud around him, smothering him.
She saw him raise his head and try to focus.

Every other "visitor" who was aware of her presence had sought her out, pursued her.
And she had hidden.
She had let the child play with them, tease them, distract them.
And Martha had held back ... content to watch.
Just the once ... she had thought that ...
John
The name ran through her mind, but was dismissed.
This was not John. She knew that clearly.
John had been strong, determined ... until ...

“Is…someone there,”

The voice timidly asked of the empty room.

“Please,…tell me I’m not insane.”

The urge to comfort and reassure this man was overwhelming.
Martha squeezed his arm, and once again tried to soothe him.

"SSSsshhh... noo ... "

She crooned, seeing his eyes lift towards her and blink wide.

Only then did she realised that he could see her clearly as she knelt beside him.
Mattie had frequently taken on substantial form, seeking contact with the mortal world, but she never had.

In her wish to draw near to him, she had become a reality.
She met his wondering gaze steadily, almost as shocked as he ...

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha

pic:

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

A rush of fear ran through his body as the figure appeared before him. His body tensed in the ‘flight or fight’ mood. His jaw dropped open as he stared into her eyes. His fragile mind trying to grapple with this ‘appearance’. Was she real or a manifestation of his own loneliness. Had he manufactured her out of his own depression.

No. his mind told him. If he had done that, it would be Linda before him, not this other person, not this other woman.

He stared at her for a long moment, a weak smile on his face, while his mind tried to sort reality from non-reality. His fear ebbed away as he listened to her soothing voice. He felt no malice or ill intent, just a feeling of caring.

The words ‘ghost, spirit, phantom’ raced through his mind.

Is she one of these? he asked himself. Spirit, perhaps. The other two words carried bad connotation with them. She seemed to have no malice in her eyes or in her beautiful face. She is beautiful, his mind beginning to accept this new reality.

He looked down at her hand on his arm. He wanted to touch her as well but was afraid she would leave him, and he would lose her comfort. He looked back into her face.

“Hi,” he said weakly, trying to sound friendly. “Do you live here?”

Of course she lives here, you idiot. Or she wouldn’t be here. He admonished himself.

“Is that your music box,” he asked, glancing toward the box still sitting in the middle of the floor. “I didn’t mean to move it, I didn’t know.”

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Martha watched his face carefully. She saw the conflicting emotions, almost felt the battle that went on inside of him.
She could understand that too.

“Hi. Do you live here?”

Martha smiled softly.
His voice was uncertain, but gentle.

“Is that your music box?
I didn’t mean to move it, I didn’t know.”

She turned her head to glance in the same direction, allowing herself to see the music box through her adult eyes, as if for the first time.

"No ... it's not mine ... it ... it was mine ... long ago ... "

She turned her head abruptly as rememberance flooded her mind.
As the child Mattie she could feel the pleasure of the new gift.
As the adult she knew it was the last gift her father had given her before ...

She looked up at him, pushing quickly at her tears.

"I live here ... I've always lived here ... always ... alone ... "

She whispered, her hoarse voice thick with repressed sobs.

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

“I live here ... I've always lived here ... always ... alone ...”

Tom felt the emotion is her voice, saw it in her face. Any fear that he had had was gone, instead replaced with compassion for this ‘spirit’. He understood her loneliness, her sadness. It mixed with his own, tears formed in his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

He opened his arms to welcome her into an embrace of shared loneliness. It didn’t crossed his mind that she was of a different reality, he just knew that she needed comfort now. The same that she had given him only moments before.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Martha turned and gazed deeply into the stranger's eyes.
Eyes that too sprung with tears, tears that tracked down his cheeks even as her own spilled free.

“I know ... I know.”

And somehow she knew that he did.
Somehow she sensed a connection with this man:
This stranger who was just one of many to invade her house.
One she had assumed would stumble around, upsetting the balance of things and then leave her in turmoil ... just as each tenant had ... and each owner.

But ... he was different.
He was the only one Martha had felt drawn to.

And when he opened his arms, Martha did not think.
Craving contact, comfort, she drew forward and rested against him with a sigh of surrender.
Her young body rocked with soft sobs as her heat grew and radiated into the man who offered her solace.

Images, names flitted through her head.
Papa .... John ... Mellie ... Brad ...
So many people had touched her ... and abandoned her ...

And yet with this physical touch, Martha felt the child she had used to protect her for so many years receding.
How that could be, she did not pause to question, but somehow it were as if this this man shared her lonliness, her isolation, her fear.

Somehow, Martha sensed, he too was trapped, reliving a cycle of events ...

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

The tears flooded down Tom’s face as the woman came into his arms. His emotion released and flowed from him like his tears. He felt her, she was real, and he could feel the warmth coming off her. He held her close for a few minutes until he gained control of himself again.

It had been to long since he had held a woman. Thoughts of Linda entered his mind, and a pang of betrayal.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

He knew he was holding a spirit in his arms, but it didn’t matter. He needed her and she had come into his arms willingly, perhaps she needed him as well.

“Who…are you,” he asked softly, realizing the irony of the situation.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Clinging together, tears flowing and bodies shaking, the man and woman united in grief and loss, a union that transcended centuries and planes.

“I miss you, Forgive me.”

Martha barely heard his whisper.

"Forgive me ... "

Father had said that ... and John ...

"John ..."

The memory hit her almost leaving her breathless in its intensity.
She pressed her eyes closed and waited for the pain to pass.

“Who…are you,”

She opened her eyes to find the man had drawn back slightly, the better to look into her face.
She too eased away from him, a hand running through her hair, but the tears still hanging on her cheeks, unchecked.

"Martha ... I'm ... Martha ... "

She glanced across at the music box and whispered almost to herself.

"Papa called me Mattie ... but ... I'm ... Martha now ... "

Would she ever be able to take refuge behind her child self again, she wondered as she watched the man whose arms were still wrapped around her.

"Who are you ... when are you leaving ... ?"

She asked him, curiously.

"Everyone always leaves ... "

She added wistfully.
She was calm again now, only her eyes spoke of her sorrow.

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

“Martha ... I'm ... Martha ...
Papa called me Mattie ... but ... I'm ... Martha now ...
Who are you ... when are you leaving ...?
Everyone always leaves ...”

“Hi Martha,” he said smiling at her. “I’m Tom….Tom Rose, like the flower. I’m a writer, ya know, books, paperbacks mostly. And,…I wasn’t planning on leaving. That is,….I mean if you’ll let me stay, this being your house and all. I’d like to stay,….I’d like to get to know you,….Martha.”

He looked around the room, at the dust and cobwebs in the ceiling.

“There’s a cleaning crew coming tomorrow to sweep away the dust. Is that okay?” he asked realizing he was invading her house. “If you want I can stop them. Then the movers are suppose to be here the next day, with all my furniture. Is that okay with you?”

He still held her in his arms. He felt a comfort in that and hoped she would agree to his staying. He really did want to get to know her, to share his feelings with her and maybe hers with him.

“I promise not to get in your way.”

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

“Hi Martha, I’m Tom….Tom Rose, like the flower.
I’m a writer, ya know, books, paperbacks mostly.
And,…I wasn’t planning on leaving.
That is,….I mean if you’ll let me stay, this being your house and all.
I’d like to stay,….I’d like to get to know you,….Martha.”

Martha blinked as she heard his voice chatting lightly;
chattering in a way that no one else ever had.

"You can stay ... "

She responded quietly.

“There’s a cleaning crew coming tomorrow to sweep away the dust. Is that okay?
If you want I can stop them.
Then the movers are suppose to be here the next day, with all my furniture.
Is that okay with you?”

Martha followed his eyes and fleetingly saw the dust and cobwebs.
Then she blinked and all was as it always had been.
Cleaning ... furniture ...
It was a routine she was used to, a routine she did not understand.

“I promise not to get in your way.”

She raised her eyes and nodded.

She always stayed away when her house was filled with strangers.
Many intruders only made trouble.
That was when she hid.
Only Mattie was ever curious about such visitors.

Martha eased away from him and rose gracefully to her feet.
She walked past the music box to the window and stood against the frame, her eyes looking outside as she murmured;

"This was my room ... always my room ... until ... "

She turned abruptly banishing the thought.
Her eyes met with the stranger's and again, she felt her heart leap in compassion.

"This room ... it is a good room ... safe ... you will sleep well ... Tom ... "

She reassured him as her form began to melt into the wooden frame.

"Good night ..."

The whispered words hung in the silent room, as did Martha's now insubstantial presence.
Indistinct now, she drew close, surrounded him in an ethereal glow, and placed a kiss to his cheek, preparing to withdraw...

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as she faded from sight. Once again reminding him of who, or what she was.

“Good night,” he heard her whisper as he felt the light kiss on his cheek.

“Good night Martha,” he whispered back.

The feeling of loneliness swept over him again, but it had a different dimension to it now. ‘Yes he was alone, but no he wasn’t.’ He knew Martha was in the house, perhaps in the same room, and that made him feel better. He smiled to himself as he bent over and picked the music box up. Blowing the dust off it as he went back to where his sleeping bag was, still rolled up on the floor. He sat down and turned the crank on the bottom of the box, sitting it down in front of him and lifted the lid.

This time the music was a comfort, not the jangle tinny, surreal noise it had been before. He sat there listening to it until he slumped over, his head landing on the sleeping bag. His dreams were of Linda, as usual, but not memories of her, of the good times and the time before her death. Instead, it was like she was coming to him, telling him things would be okay. To let her go, so she could rest.

The banging on the down stairs door brought him out of his sleep. He know who is was so he picked the box up and stumbled sleepily down the stairs, opening the door.

A man and four women stood there waiting for him.

“Mornin mate,” the man said. “We’re wit the cleaning company.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve been expecting you.” He replied holding the door open for the them.

“I’ve cleant’ this ‘ouse afore.” One of the ladies said leaning over to whisper to another. “Is ‘aunted ya know.”

That struck a sour note with Tom.

“How long will this take,” he asked the woman.

“Not long Sir, she replied. “Just needs some dustin and sweepin, an it’ll look like new.”

As they continued to work, Tom walked around the house hoping to catch a glimpse of Martha, or even the little girl Mattie. he roamed through the house getting more in the way than anything. He finally snatched a cleaning rag from one of the women and sat on the top stair, carefully rubbing the music box. When he was done cleaning it he turned the crank and opened the lid.

“I ‘eard the music afore,” the cleaning woman said, peeking around the corner, her eyes wide.

“Pretty isn’t it.” Tom said smiling down at her.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha/Mattie

Again her house was invaded.
Again the women banged their way through it, dusting, cleaning, and interfering.
Martha retreated the presence of so many strangers filling her with fear.
Martha watched the women, almost with a twinge of recognition.
Women were always trouble.
Women thought they knew her, knew about her past.
Even Melinda had said … such things about her …

Last night, the connection with “Tom” had been irresistible.
He had even asked permission to do this … to invite strangers into her house… to clean it.
But what could she do?
How could she explain how it had ever been thus?
That when strangers ran riot in the house, disturbing how things had become, the shift in the energies caused untold sorrow.

And so amidst the noise and calling and banging, the underlying silence was heavy, tense.
Only the notes of the music box cut across the tension as Martha watched the man carry it through the house as if it were a talisman, as if he somehow sensed the change in atmosphere.

And yet she stayed away.
And so did Mattie.
And as if sensing a hostile presence, they held back, watching, lisening.
Until the notes danced forth once more, luring Mattie closer as she craved her precious music box.
She did not want it seen by strangers.
She too became anxious, willing him to return it to her bedroom where it would be safe.
How could he not understand that he mustn’t take it downstairs and that he mustn’t take it to the front bedroom, the room that was so unbelievably cluttered?

And yet there he was still holding it as he sat poised at the top of the stairs.
Where would he take it next?
She had to stop him!
She waited until the disgruntled cleaning woman had moved away and drew close to him.
A tiny hand rested on his arm, pulling at him gently.

”Papa … come … play … “

She whispered, her fingers squeezing into his arm as he concentrated suddenly trying to see her.

”You want us to start on the front bedroom…?”

The woman was back.

”No …“

The answer sprung from the air.
The voice was neither his nor the child’s.
The woman’s face paled as she glanced around.
She turned her eyes to Tom’s as if ready to flee.

The soft urgent cry echoed and faded.
In the tense silence that followed, the sound of soft childish sobs could just be heard from the bedroom Martha had stated had been hers.

 

[Graybread]

Tom Rose

Tom felt the small hand resting on his arm, pulling at him gently.

“Papa … come … play …,” he heard her whisper.

He squinted, his eyes trying to see her beside him.

“You want us to start on the front bedroom…?” the cleaning woman asked.

“No.…” the voice sprang for nowhere.

The woman’s face paled as she glanced around. She turned her eyes to Tom’s as if ready to flee.

“NO!” Tom yelled, startled, jumping to his feet, holding the music box in front of him. “I mean no….please,” he said in a calmer voice. “I….I can get the rest of it. Please….go. You’ve done a good job, thank you, but I can get the rest. Please go….now.”

He could hear the soft sobbing coming from his room,….no Martha’s room, as the cleaning crew began to assembly at the front door. He willed them to hurry. The cleaning woman looking up at him, shaking her head slightly. As soon as the door shut Tom ran to the bedroom, sitting the music box in the middle of the floor, then hurried to his place beside his still rolled up sleeping bag. Sitting on the floor, he brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“I’m sorry Martha,” he whispered, staring at the box. “Please….can I see you?”

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Mattie / Martha

“NO!
I mean no….please,” he said in a calmer voice. “I….I can get the rest of it. Please….go.
You’ve done a good job, thank you, but I can get the rest. Please go….now.”

Curious now, Martha heard his words, knew he had ordered them to leave, to leave that room untouched and yet she still hid behind the child. It was easier to feel the loss of the music box then to fear what had happened to her all those years before.

“I’m sorry Martha,”

His voice spoke to the woman.
Strange that … others had found the child much easier to take to … but she had not let them “see her” … a passing glimpse perhaps.

The sobbing ceased as she watched him.
He had placed the music box back in the centre of the room then retreated as if offering it back to her.

“Please….can I see you?”

The little girl moved forward materialising out of the shadows where she had hovered watching him.
She moved forward and knelt by the box, running her hands lovingly over the object.
She wound it carefully and sat back, a smile of pleasure on her tear stained face as the tune wove its magic.
Without speaking, she raised her head to look over to Tom, her eyes travelling over him slowly as he sat watching her.

Then as he watched, unspeaking, unmoving, the figure before him seemed to change:
Somehow the face grew solemn, aged, the tearstains became real tears that ran silently from wide frightened eyes.
The child was replaced by the adult.
An adult still more distressed and vulnerable than her younger counterpart.

She met Tom’s eyes and held his gaze.
Her eyes did not accuse, they merely held a wealth of sorrow and … entreaty …