More from the journal of FTL Collings I. I put myself in a headlock and forced myself to make it shorter this time. Super bad at that.
Content Warning: Captivity, restraint, stress position, fire, mention of mind control, slightly religious tone, supernatural whump, persecution. Let me know if I missed anything you would like tagged for.
Thea was certain she had finally cracked the cypher, frantically pulling out more blank paper to set about transcribing the journal. But letter by letter, the page seemed to yield up only gibberish, and she frowned in frustration.
“YONCREATURHAÞ”
She stared at what she had so far, feeling her eyes lose focus as she sat back. Oh! The spaces were hard to decipher in Sir Collings’ cramped shorthand, but it dawned on her that this was, in fact, turning into English. Just very, very old English. With her sense of hope renewed, she leaned forward over the book and started again.
...its struggles grow weaker in the day, and resume their fervor with the setting of the sun. Once I have even seen a fog of darkness rise up within the cabin itself, though with countercharms I was able to dispel the creature’s foul magics. Were it enfeebled by the darkness we could simply black the windows and keep it hooded; instead its power ebbs with the light, and I endeavor to grant it no shadow for its sustenance.
I bound it kneeling before the fireplace and stoked a roaring fire, allowing it fall back a few inches from a position whence I could hear the minute sizzling of its argent hair. There I splayed its arms out wide, forcing its head toward the floor, and secured it thus with ropes. I have set torches upon the walls, and lanterns at all compass points around it.
Since being thus surrounded by light, its devilish speech has taken on a tone one could describe as pleading, though I will not allow its words to enrapture me. Holbrook had been speaking with it, claim’d in the end he could understand it, before he went into a frenzy and injur’d two of our company before he was put down. I know myself to be a stronger sort than he, nevertheless I shant the give the creatur any opportunity into my mind.
On the opposite page was a sketch of a face, front and side. The drawing was rough but decent, and Thea assumed it was the “monster” Sir Collings described. The thing he talked about caging before an open flame and starving, to Thea’s eyes looked like a man -- young, pretty, with almost ethereal features, but a man none the less.
This couldn’t be right. The journals Flash had so badly wanted decoded, these ancient musty tomes were, what? His grandfather’s record of kidnap and torture? There were no lost family treasures here, just fairy tales. Thea had struggled for sleepless weeks to crack the eldest Collings’ code, and now she imagined she would be out of a job. There wasn’t even a safe way down from the lodge until the snow started to thaw -- what if he was angry enough to kick her out? She couldn’t show him this, not yet. She’d just have to keep working, tell Flash she needed more time, at least until she had a way home.
This was meant to be for Whumpmas in July 6, but since it’s just story setup, no actual whump happened. I’m so sorry, I’ll do better in future.
Content Warnings: Watched while sleeping, injured while sleeping, unknown injury, dehydration, fainting, sleep deprivation, character questioning their own thoughts
***
Thea woke to an abject silence, the sort that only follows a jarring sound. Each night so far in Kennedy House, she’d found her sleep either delayed by the unfamiliar surroundings, unhelped by the imposing furnishings and unsettling architecture; or interrupted by the creaks and groans of the mansion’s ancient bones settling.
As old as this place is, shouldn’t it be all settled by now?
She snorted gently. Unless it’s slowly sliding down the mountain.
Her eyes widened in the dark at the unbidden thought, and she curled herself tighter under the blankets, as though they would be the difference between safety and a mile long tumble down Mont Sarseine.
She waited in the lengthening silence to see if whatever sound had woken her would come again. She didn’t feel groggy or bleary, as she believed she would had she fallen out of a quickly forgotten dream. Part of her wondered if she was awake now at all, or if she’d lay awake in this room so many hours, so many nights, that her mind was now replaying the habit in her sleep. Groaning inwardly, she considered just getting up and getting some work done, knowing a few more hours failing to sleep wouldn’t make slogging through her texts any easier. She looked toward the corner of the room by the door, knowing her phone was plugged in on the table there. No light came from the screen, and she was about 90% sure she had it silenced anyway; though the more she tried to remember actually going through the action of muting it, the more that percentage dwindled.
The room was cast in an utter natural dark that should have been serene, without the ambient glow and attendant background noise of the million electronic devices she was used to being surrounded by. With the moonlight filtering weakly through the curtains, all the heavy wooden pieces around the room were just slightly lighter shadows in the nothingness surrounding them. She was fairly certain the outline of the table was just her mind filling in what she knew to be there despite her inability to actually see it. She was almost certain that the shape above it on the wall was just a trick of the absence of light. She was not-quite certain that she didn’t see the shape move.
A shadow, almost like a person, only upside down. Her eyes flitted to the window for just a moment, to confirm there was no figure standing there to block the light. She quickly looked back, and the thing remained, unmoving. What might have been arms and legs splayed out from the center, as if the shadow was not cast, but clinging to the wall itself, spider-like. It had seemed to have a head before, down toward the floor, and while she couldn’t possibly have seen it in the gloom her mind supplied the information that its face was now arched back, away from the wall. Looking at her.
She had to stifle a gasp as the thought, and her heartbeat rushed in her ears. Now that her mind’s eye had seen it, she couldn’t unimagine unblinking dark eyes, wet enough to shine in the light that couldn’t possibly illuminate that far, though the rest of the figure was without form or detail. She focused on keeping her breathing slow and steady, hoping that the darkness concealed her wide, terrified stare.
Thea jerked awake, spinning around to survey the wall while frantically patting the blankets around her, as if to make sure nothing had skittered under the sheets with her to hide from the sunlight beginning to struggle through the heavy curtains. When had she fallen asleep? Why was she so sure someone else had been here?
She tossed the blankets aside, kicking free from where she’d tangled herself in them, and swung her legs out of bed. The moment she stood her face felt flushed; the heat from her cheeks seemed to roll down her body in a wave as her muscles gave out and she went to her knees on the ancient rug, barely catching herself with one hand on the end table at the head of the bed. The spell passed quickly, and her mind was present enough to catch the out-of-place tremble of glass as she steadied herself.
She sat back on her heels, and quickly spotted the source of the noise: A simple, clear glass of water sat center on the otherwise empty table. No condensation dripped down its surface, no ring marred the old wood beneath it, but it was glorious, and she found herself letting out a shaky sigh as she suddenly felt she’d never been so thirsty.
By the time she began to question, she was already taking in greedy mouthfuls and swallowing them heavily, breathing through her nose, intent to finish the whole thing in one go. I don’t bring drinks into my room. I don’t bring water around the books. God, what if I’d knocked it on my research?
You haven’t been sleeping, she argued with no one. Or, clearly, hydrating enough. Obviously you do bring drinks to bed, it’s here isn’t it?
The last swallow wasn’t a full mouthful, and it felt a strangely unsatisfying end, but as the glass emptied she gasped and pitched forward, both hands around the cup thumping to the floor. After a few heavy breaths, she began to smooth her hair back from where it had tossed into her face. Her hands grazed over the wispy curls at the top of her neck, behind her ears, and she felt a jolt of soreness, not from poor sleep, but like a bugbite without the itch.
Thea focused on the spot, poking and prodding at it. Her first thought was to check the mirror in the bathroom down the hall, but she shied away from it as the only girl on this floor, and she didn’t want to field any complaints at spending more time in there than usual, having to explain why she might have a mark on her neck.
She remembered the foundation in the caddy by her desk, and dug out the little compact, angling it up behind her, straining her eyes while she felt around. She thought she could make out a bit of redness, but the whole of her neck was irritated with her ministrations by now, and standing at an odd angle was already tiring. She needed more water. I’m going to be absolutely useless today. She snapped the compact shut and tossed it on the untidy pile of zipper bags in the basket. Gathering her towels to shower and face the morning, she stepped out into the hall and pulled the door til she heard it click, leaving the empty glass still sat on the floor by the bed.
***
The day hadn’t been a complete loss. Once she’d fallen back into routine, Thea had managed to shake off her fatigue and felt like she’d actually made some progress through her translations. At least the research fellows seemed happy with her work.
Dusk fell quickly and she was almost glad that the hours had raced away, as with the set of sun she felt her exhaustion returning. She excused herself from dinner as soon as she’d eaten enough to be polite, and in her room she dumped her materials on her desk without bothering to straighten them. She changed her clothes, and set the alarm on her phone with practiced motions, plugging it in by the door. Turning back to the bed, her unconscious routine shuddered to a halt. As the last light of day slipped below the horizon, Thea stared at the end table and a full, clear glass of water.
I refilled it and brought it back. Obviously. I’m sure I’ll be glad for it in the morning.
She held her shoulders straight and tightened her jaw, moving stiffly past the table with her sight firmly on the bed, sparing no more attention for the glass. She slipped under the comforter, pulling it close up under her chin and turning to face the wall, away from the lengthening shadows of the room.
