Etiquette With The Devil Read Free

struggle to suck in one last breath before the world fell to black around her.
    She must move forward.
    Clara trudged along the uneven muddy road until she crested the top of a large hill. Pausing to allow the burning of the healing wound along her side to recede, she spotted a great house in the distance. The wind whistled through the trees, the rain driving down against an unyielding cushion of deep summer green. And still, with the promise of life around her, there was something about the sight of that house that disconcerted her—its bleakness maybe, the way it stood squarely in the middle of late summer ripeness, but was itself dull and dying.
    Clara flexed her stiff fingers and took hold of the trunk once more. She slipped and stumbled in her descent down the hill, her boots sliding deep in the dark mud. Once on level ground, she regained her balance and continued until she reached the large iron gates of the stately home.
    Soaked from the driving rain, Clara stood in awe of the most palatial and decrepit mansion she had ever seen. It was hard to believe anyone could live there. A person could catch his death in that crumbling mass of a house. The long windows on each level of the three stories were void of light or movement. She supposed now would be the moment the ominous caws of a raven would ring through the air, but only the patter of rain broke the unsettling silence.
    The drive was overtaken with weeds and debris. Even the surrounding gardens were tangled beds of vines and thistle. Only a few stray flowers peeked out from beneath the wild mess, reaching toward the sky as if desperate for light.
    Clara hefted the trunk past the stone lions that stood as mossy sentries on either side of the granite stairs, and up to the elaborate carved door looming before her. She did her best to still her chattering teeth as she dropped the rusty knocker against the weathered wood, and waited. And waited. She tried the knocker a second time, rain dripping down the curve of her spine, sending a shiver throughout her body. What she would give to be dry and warm.
    Unable to bear the cold rain any longer, good manners or no, Clara opened the door. She could chastise herself later for her poor behavior, once she could feel her feet once more.
    “Hello?” The only response was a faint echo of her question. She abandoned the muddy trunk by the door, taking a tentative step into the cavernous foyer.
    It felt as if she had tumbled backward into a long forgotten memory. Grand marble columns stretched from floor to ceiling, drawing her attention toward the second story balcony. Strips of murals spiraled off the walls, looking like a mess of discarded ribbons in a rag bag. The air was heavy with dust and age, full of a stagnancy that lent well to a forgotten relic, not a house, certainly not one with young children.
    “Hello?” Clara called out again. A branch tangled with the muddy hem of her dress and she tripped, her hands stretched out before her in a frantic wave. Below her, the yellowed ivory floor tiles were covered in leaves and more debris. She kicked another branch out of the way as she regained her balance, spotting a porcelain doll laying upside down by the stairs, its arms reaching for the door, its brown hair matted and tangled with faded blue satin.
    A flutter rolled through her stomach. Ahead of her, a faint flicker of light from down the darkened hallway ahead urged her to continue. Clara peered back over her shoulder to the door, to that blasted trunk, as the rain pelted against the brittle window panes.
    “Don’t stop now. You’re getting warmer,” a man’s voice echoed from down the corridor.
    Clara stepped back toward the door. Startled, she considered for a moment whether she should continue running for another day or rush toward the unknown. No, she had come too far to run now. She spun around and marched into the darkness, surprised to discover that the source of light came from a large sitting room.
    A man