Fiction: “This Sinister Inheritance: Chapter 2”
Depictions of murder, child abuse, assault and imprisonment.
I watch through my curtains, awaiting a scream, the flash of lights, then the wails of sirens. It has become a routine to watch and wait for the house to kill another victim. I could always tell when something was about to happen. Now, something is different.
I wish I could just take them and harbour them safely inside my house. Once you live there, you become infected. You can never think straight and begin to drive yourself insane. The walls breathes sickness. People of all ages mysteriously die or disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. The house is the talk of the town. It stands with all the others, but it stands like a lone bird, fleeing from a dangerous nest. It's only a secret to the new people who temporarily enter, and then die. Sometimes when I'm trying to sleep, I can hear the ghost of Lord Ashter. The townsfolk all think about the presence that Ashter is there, maybe his body was removed, but his soul still lives there. Yet, his body was never recovered after that incident.
The only surviving victim of his murders plagued him by reclaiming herself, something he detested. Some say she was the one who killed him, and that it might be her body that remains in the basement since she was kept in captivity.
Lord Ashter always wanted a son, like any Lord that has ever lived. When the woman was told that her baby would be born a girl, she tried everything to convince herself it was a boy. Some say the woman was his mistress who gave birth to multiple deformed children, so he forced her into the basement, never to be seen or heard from again. People seem to think she made these children deformed on purpose, pouring highly concentrated acid or antifreeze onto their faces just after birth or even clubbing them with her fists and their raw strength. Then, this all changed when she finally had a son. She would tie her wedding ring to a piece of string and hang it over her belly. Her superstition was if the ring swings in a circle, it’s a boy; back and forth means it’s a girl. She was terrified to be punished if it was a girl. It would always swing back and forth, and she would lament for hours. In the history of this town, there is talk of the murders of many baby girls down in the basement. Lord Ashter had warned her that the birth of a girl was a curse, a seed of ruin sown in her womb to last for eternity. Ashter told her a female child would bring suffering; the gods had spoken. The pressure on her to bear another son was immense. She was expected to conceive again quickly to produce a male heir. If she failed, it could lead to political instability or even her downfall. These rumours compared her to Anne Boleyn , except murderous and cunning.
A slow exhale. A decision made. The child writhed, but she was too weak, too young to understand what had been taken from her. A hand curled wrong, a limb that would never heal properly, a deformity that would ensure her death. The finger that would seal the death warrant. The baby girl lay in the arms of the wet nurse, wrapped in fine linens embroidered with golden thread. The deformity had begun to swell—an arm twisted unnaturally, fingers curled in on themselves like the withering roots of a dying tree. A mark of weakness, of shame and fate. The baby was handed to Lord Ashter to do his terrible deed. The baby’s cries grew thinner, more desperate. This child knew her fate and was beginning to protest. The mother, no, she could not deserve this title, the mistress tilted her head, watching, her breath quickening as if she was witnessing some divine ritual. It was justice, it was cleansing; it was fate working as it should. She watched as Lord Ashter took his trusty rapier from his belt. He slowly drove it into the baby's chest, grinning at the suffering he had caused.
Everyone now know that the man governs the sex of the child, but Lord Ashter was clueless to this principle; it wasn't even thought of. She exhaled slowly, her delight settling over her like a warm cloak. It was done.
