The Stocking

The world returned to Fawn through a haze of pain, head reeling in the darkness, lungs wheezing through aching ribs. Her first instinct was to touch her face, fingers aching to trail gingerly over her skin for signs of trauma. Yet no matter how hard she willed it, her arm seemed to protest against the movement. Her body felt heavy as lead.

An icy shot of fear streaked through her. She had fallen roughly 60-feet and was still living. Was she paralysed?

"Easy now, Thomas. Almost there."

The velvet voice punctured Fawn's confusion, her memory flooding back to her on the tides of a fresh terror. Looking about herself, Fawn could see the faint outline of familiar treasures, half-lit by pale, blue moonlight. She was wedged deep within the Christmas stocking, her limbs wrapped up helpless and tight in soft, red ribbon.

"No, no, no, no" she whimpered, her body straining against the pull of her bindings. Overcome with panic, she began to thrash wildly until the thunder of the master's voice fell upon her like a blow, immobilizing her on the spot.

"Thank you, Walker. You're a fine man...a gentleman..."

A low laugh rumbled outside the stocking, sending tremors wracking through Fawn's tiny frame. How could such a harmless sound be so threatening?

"Yes, alright, Thomas. Easy now. Just lay down."

The words were followed closely by the muted thump of a massive body collapsing onto the settee.

"And perhaps a little easier on the brandy next time?"

The disembodied voice was growing nearer, the stranger's presence looming so closely over the stocking she could almost feel the weight of his shadow. Fawn smothered a wail as the living walls of her prison shifted suddenly around her, sending her sliding deeper into the pit below: a hand causally inspecting the stocking before letting it swing back into place.

"You do worry me sometimes you know..."

Fawn flinched as the master scoffed, a current of anger bristling beneath his clipped tone. "I'm perfectly well, Walker. Perhaps you should tend to your own house before trying to fix mine."

A long pause ensued, in which Fawn could hear only her own ragged breathing, and the hammering of her wild pulse.

"Forgive me" the master whispered. "I didn't mean...It's just this damn house. Their memories...the emptiness...it weighs on me."

He sighed. "I never wanted it, you know? The house. It was meant to be inherited by William. Every year I come back, I say it will be the last. This time I mean it. I'm going to sell the damn acreage. To hell with it all."

Fawn's stomach plunged. Sell it? He couldn't sell it. This was her home...

"I've said it before, Thomas" the stranger rejoined. "I'll do it, if that's really what you want. I'll draw up the deed as soon as you're back in London. But I'll not accept your word in this state."

The master laughed humorlessly. "This state. Do you know what I did yesterday, Walker? I yelled at a troupe of carolers. Carolers for god's sake! I think they were canvassing for the poor...I must have scared the living spirits out of them."

The stranger chuckled lightly.

"It's this goddamn season, with it's good tidings to you and all of your kin. Indeed. I can't look anywhere without some blasted reminder of their deaths."

Fawn's heart jolted, mind racing to parse out the eavesdropped conversation. Deaths? Whose deaths?

"I miss them too, Thomas," the voice rejoined. "We all do. But you know, you mustn't let it stop you from going on with your own life -"

"You will think I'm quite mad, Walker" he interrupted, as if he hadn't heard his friend at all. "But sometimes...sometimes I'm sure that that their spirits are still here, in this house. It's the only reason I can't bear to part with it."

An uncomfortable silence followed.

"Thomas..."

"No, no, listen to me, Walker. Things go missing all the time, small items are moved...and when I work, I often her the skittering of feet, catch the faint stirring of movement at the corner of my eye..."

"Mice!" the stranger's voice rejoined. "It's an old house..."

"I thought the same at first, but mice cannot hum, and I'm sure I've heard the sound of humming - faintly yes, but recognisable all the same. Last week I even saw a shadow flicker over the wall. It was human in shape...and yet when I turned around, there was no one there..."

Fawn felt the blood drain from her veins. All these years, she thought she had been so stealthy...so discrete, and yet she'd only ever been one glance away from discovery. What's worse, her carelessness had toyed with the master's sorrow, made him believe the house was visited by the ghost of lost loved-ones...

She blanched. What would he think tomorrow, when he found the mantlepiece dressed in yuletide cheer, the Christmas stocking strung up inexplicably? What would he do when he found her inside and realized there'd never been any spirits in the house at all, only a thief...an intruder...

"It's been a long night, Thomas..." the stranger murmured apologetically. "You'll be more clear-headed in the morning. We can talk again then..."

"I may be intoxicated, Walker, but I'm not mad...I'm not..." There was another pause, then the sound of the master's voice, halting and dismissive in its embarrassment. "Yes...yes, of course...forgive me..."

Fawn tensed up as the floorboards creaked, the shifting of clothing and the hush of farewells followed closely by the muted thud of the stranger's gait receding down the hallway.

With a groan of wood, the door slammed shut, sealing the house in a terrible silence. In the heavy darkness, Fawn frantically pieced together the pieces of the puzzle...the photograph on the mantlepiece...the deaths of his loved ones...the end to all Christmas celebrations...

A cold sliver of dread snaked up her spine.

"Oh god," she whimpered. "What have I done..."

***

Author's Note

Oh dear...Fawn's really in a bind now...

Ok, pun's aside! What will our poor borrower? Will she manage to escape before the first light of Christmas morning? Stay tuned to find out. 

New chapter(s) daily until Christmas! And as always: 

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xx