"WHAT!?" I couldn't contain my outrage.
"Darling, I couldn't tell you. Not until I knew the house was suitable." He said, not looking up from his shoes.
"August! What you're suggesting is a crime! You can't be serious!"
Avoiding the draft?! I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"You said you wanted to come see this place before you enlisted! That was the plan! I never agreed to this! You've made me an accomplice, August!" Hot, angry tears began to glide down my face.
The whole time I yelled at him he wouldn't look me in the eye. I don't know what infuriated me more, that he lied to me and tricked me into coming here, or that he didn't even respect me enough to look me in the face.
"They would've killed me, Sybil." He said, softly.
I scoffed and slapped the hood of the car.
"They would...they would and you know it. I'm not strong enough to go to war. Truly...I don't believe we're strong enough to face the Nazi's."
His cowardly words disgusted me.
"Have you really so little faith in your country?" I asked, shakily.
There was a long beat of silence between us. Finally he looked up, his eyes were fearful and on the verge of tears.
"I'm afraid...Sybil." He whispered, placing his hand over his eyes. He sobbed softly as he rested his weight on the side of the car.
"I'm sorry! I wish I could be a stronger man for you, but I'm not!" He cried.
"They'll find us, August." I added, flatly, I've seen this 'poor poor pitiful me' routine before, and needless to say, I'm not impressed.
"No. No they won't." He said, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. He walked over to me and placed his hands on my arms.
"It's late Autumn. Within a few weeks, this place will be shoulder deep in snow. Nobody will be able to get to us, and by the spring, I'll have another plan in place. We'll be safe here I promise." He said, hopefully.
I paused for a moment, trying to take it all in. I was so angry with him, and yet, I understood his reasonings.
"I just-" I started, sighing hard.
"I just wished you would've discussed this with me first. You can't keep making these decisions without consulting me..."
He leaned in and kissed my forehead before pulling me close to him.
"I know darling. I know I should've." He said, swaying side to side gently.
"But I promise, my intentions were pure." He smiled in his gentle way, and I felt my anger for him begin to soften.
I forced a half hearted smile in response.
This felt wrong. The situation, the house, all of it feels wrong. I looked back up at the decaying estate, and for a split second it seemed as though one of the curtains in one of the top floor windows shifted, almost as if someone was spying on us.
My expression must've mirrored my concern.
"Darling? You alright?" asked, August, pulling my attention from the window.
"Oh...yeah. I'm-I'm fine." I nodded.
After we packed our bags into one of the upstairs bedrooms, I noticed everything in the room was covered in a thick blanket of dust. My nose began to tickle at the very sight.
"Well. I'll go into town and get some provisions. I'll set up an order with the grocers to send a delivery once a week until the snow starts. After that, it'll be once a month. How does that sound, pet?" He asked.
"That's fine, I suppose..." I answered.
"I guess while you're gone, I'll try to tidy up some."
"Wonderful idea, darling. This is home now, I'm sure you'll make it very cozy." He smiled, adjusting his hat.
"Hmm...yeah..." I replied, unenthused.
As he made his way toward the door, he suddenly turned to me.
"Oh. And by the way. Our names are Mildred and Johnathon Flint. Just in case anyone asks...might want to write that down, dearest." He nodded, before hastily leaving the room.
"Bye!" I called, as he made his way down the stairs. He must not've heard me because he didn't answer. He's so caught up in the fact that I've complied, yet again, in another one of his hair-brained schemes.
I love August, truly I do, but he can be dreadfully selfish sometimes.
Down in the kitchen, I found an old tin bucket, and some old tattered rags. "Great!" I thought to myself. "Now let's see if we have water." The spigot, like everything else in this house, was ancient. Hard water stains and rust encrusted the pipes that ran along the walls.
"Please, please, please." I prayed, as I turned the stubborn faucet. It didn't want to budge at first but after a few hard turns it finally loosened.
The pipes began to clank and bang along the walls, and a violent spray of red ooze spilled from the spigot, splashing all over my cream colored dress.
"Eww! Bloody Fuck! " I shrieked.
I grabbed one of the rags and began wiping away the clumpy red clay.
As the sputtering water began
To run clear, I thought I heard a faint, but slightly deep chuckle behind me. Almost like a Mans voice.
"August?" I paused, and looked back but I saw no one there. The hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle and stand on end.
"Must be the pipes..." I told myself. Trying not to let myself get spooked.
I've never believed in silly ghost stories. Not even as a child. I refuse to start now.
YOU ARE READING
Crimson Lace: A Crimson Peak love story (Thomas Sharpe)
Paranormal*COMPLETED* Sybil McMichael was happy to accompany her husband, August, to the place his grandmother, Edith Sharpe, wrote about in her most famous Novel. Once there, she finds that her husbands intentions were fueled by more than mere childhood curi...
