Still can't find a good quote!!
- Ri
I searched an old bookshelf underneath a dim light, hoping to find something on Brahms' past.
There were a few books, and old boxes of clothing but nothing useful. I huffed loudly, discouraged at my lack of discovery.
Just as I was about to turn around and go back downstairs, a red leather book with gold bordering caught my eye. I grabbed it and yanked it off the shelf. A few other books and papers flew off of the top of it as I held it in my hands.
After blowing as much dust as I could off of the cover, I read the label, "Brahms," a surge of excitement ran through my body as if I found a lost treasure chest full of gold.
I flicked my tongue out and moistened my lips as I opened the cover. Dozens of pictures of a small round baby in little dapper outfits filled the pages. Each one was marked, "Brahms," with a date and his supposed age. He had large doe eyes, and black curls on top of his plump head. His mouth, drooling and a light pink seemed to smile and giggle at the camera.
I grinned to myself as I looked at the baby Brahms. He really was an adorable infant. Some photos had his mother or father in them, which were marked, "with mummy," or "with daddy."
I sighed and smiled a little relieved that Brahms was turning out to be a normal child. Each picture reflected that of a happy and content child.
That was, until it didn't anymore. Once I got to Brahms' three year mark in his photo album, he began to smile less and less. His eyes darkened, and his face paled. My smile quickly disappeared as I advanced in his album. He became more and more ominous and miserable.
At the end of the album, he was eight years old. There was a young girl also present in his photos. She had bright red hair and a slight smug expression. She seemed like the kind of girl to avoid on the playground. The label read, Emily Cribbs age eight."
From the looks of the photos, she and Brahms seemed to be friends or at least that's what the pictures were trying to portray. He never smiled at her; only glared, and she didn't seem to mind as long as the camera was on her. I flipped through the few photos Brahms had with Emily and they were all the same. He seemed like he strongly disliked her company. I didn't blame him.
Slightly content with what I had found, I gently shut the book and held it high to place it back on the shelf. Once I placed the photo album on the top shelf, I couldn't shove it to the back, something was blocking it.
I stood on my tip toes and grabbed what was causing the blockage. A small box sealed with a strap clunked in my hand. I curiously pulled it to the edge and grabbed it with both hands.
After wiping the dust off of the box, I opened the strap, and peered inside. Dozens of letters, newspaper clippings, and articles were folded inside.
I sat down on the floor and dumped the papers in front of me. Digging around the pile, I found five letters, three newspaper clippings, and a photo of the girl, Emily, that had been in Brahms' album.
I chose to read the letters first. The first one I picked up was dated, 1993. It was addressed from Mrs. Heelshire to Brahms.
"My dearest Brahms, I understand the annex is not your ideal place of living, but you've done something so unforgivable you must learn to cope under the circumstances. Your father and I blame ourselves for this terrible occurrence and we can't apologize enough to you for neglecting your very obvious mental needs. We are trying everything in our power to move on, and to make right, but what you've done is something no soul can forget. You must learn to understand your permanent situation and make do. Stay inside the annex at all times, as that is what is best for all of us. God help us all,"
- Mummy and Daddy
I dropped the letter to the ground, what was Mrs. Heelshire talking about? Brahms had to live in those walls that long? What had he done to be forced to live hidden from the world?
I picked up another letter and opened it. It was another letter from Mrs. Heelshire, it was dated in 1998,
My Brahms, your father and I have had to make the regretful decision to lock and seal all entrances to the annex from the outside world. I know you understand why. You can't be seen by anyone, not even the postman. You almost got yourself caught last week by Mrs. Maple. Another outburst from you and daddy will have to take different measures in your concealment. We do love you Brahms, but you must stay inside of the annex,
- Mummy and Daddy
My heart dropped, why was Brahms being hidden away? What had he done?
Another letter caught my eye and I picked it up, from the date 2002, it read:
"Dearest Brahms, the body has been exhumed for further research on the cause of death at the request of Mr. and Mrs. Cribbs. I cannot express how sorrowful I've felt these past few days thinking about the sweet Emily being dug up from her eternal rest. You of course feel no remorse I'm sure. Putting your father and I through such ridicule and pub talk that we had to "allow" our own son to die in order to save our reputation. You do know we love you very much dear. It's because we love you that we can't let you go. All of our love on your seventeenth birthday,
- Mummy and daddy
My eyes widened, the news paper clippings on the floor read in bold letters, "Mysterious circumstances both boy and girl die strange and unexplainable deaths."
"Eight year old Emily Cribbs was found dead in the woods just off of the Heelshire estate in the late hours of Sunday, April 22nd 1993. Local Coroner, Dr. Smith reckons her skull had been crushed killing her instantly. A suspect has not been found at this time."
Just under Emily's article was Brahms'.
"Eight year old Brahms Heelshire perished in a house fire that took place on his family's estate just hours after the death of former acquaintance Emily Cribbs was reported. There has been no body recovered at this time." Plastered on the back of the article was a picture of Brahms' tombstone. I gasped as I saw it.
That's when it hit me. Brahms killed Emily Cribbs and his parents had faked his death and stored him in the walls his whole life. My throat formed a lump, and I began to feel sick. For almost a month, I had been living with a child murderer.
With shaky hands, I placed the letters and newspaper articles back in the box and shoved the box in the corner of the shelf. I stood up and made a run for the opening of the attic floor where the ladder was waiting for me.
I hurled myself down the steps as fast as I could, shutting the attic door with a loud thud. I hobbled to my room and shut the door, locking the lock, and sinking to the ground.
What was I going to do? Brahms killed someone. Would I be next?
I tried my best to calm myself down and think rationally about the situation. Brahms never had hurt me before. But, I knew I couldn't trust him, especially now.
Just calm down, act like nothing happened.
I wiped my eyes with my sleeves, and stood up. My best bet was to pretend like I didn't know anything about Brahms. It was the only way to ensure my safety.
I opened the door slowly and stuck my head out of the doorway. Brahms wasn't anywhere to be seen.
I walked slowly and quietly down the hallway. I needed to avoid him so make sure I wouldn't crack at the sight of him.
The house was silent, almost too silent. I hurried down the steps and into the kitchen where Brahms was standing.
"Kátalin, we need to talk," he said, his back to me.
I gulped, my throat knotting up, "yes?"
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So hopefully this is a good enough update, I've been quarantined due to coming in contact with a classmate of mine who tested positive for Covid this last weekend. Expect a new update shortly.... I have all the time in the world right now to write lol! As always, thank you so much for reading,
- Ri
P.S. please feel free to comment however much you'd like!! I'd love to see your feedback on the story :)