Venom

Chapter 58 Lucky

Lucky

The Woman In The Portrait

“Fuck!” The bedroom door shut behind me as I shivered and trembled.

Snow flurries sprinkled from my body and onto the floor around me like glitter.

I couldn’t believe I had managed to escape the storm and make it to the estate in time.

And all on my own. A whistling sound made me rush to the stained glass window.

“The storm,” I breathed. My words fogged the colored glass.

“Where are you, Finn?” I touched the window and looked out into the blanket of white, hoping to spot him. “Please be safe.”

And keep your promise.

My body turned and I noticed all the candles and light still lit in the bedroom. It was oddly warm and comforting.

I walked to the bed and tossed my bag onto it, then peeled my snow-covered coat from my limbs, the old leather-bound journal bouncing along the bed as it landed with its pages open.

My curiosity got the better of me as I looked down at the pages.

It was nearly impossible to read some of the writing, due to water damage and age, but what I could read, I did.

“The patient continues to exhibit strong resilience to experiments.” I stopped, unsure if I wanted to read more.

But I did, skimming further down. “She continued her hunger strike, refusing any kind of substance…The decision was made to thus force-feed the patient by strapping her to a medical chair, and…” I stopped, feeling sick to my stomach.

“A tube was forcefully inserted into the patient’s mouth and snaked into her stomach as staff poured the experimental substance into her body. ”

Wait…the substance.

“The patient tried to resist, but staff only continued as told, despite the obvious complications.” I dropped the journal and stepped away, the memory of that awful tasting black liquid still fresh upon my tastebuds. “No.” I shook my head in denial.

The pages of the journal flipped frantically, stopping suddenly.

I glanced down to see a photograph of the same torturous experiment.

Only, the patient they had strapped to the chair, was the same woman I’d seen in this very room.

“Oh my god,” I breathed as I bent down and picked the photo up.

I pulled it closer and gazed at the face of the very ghost that had haunted me. The pale-faced woman. “It’s you.”

And just then, all the lights in the bedroom flickered.

The journal flipped again to a new entry as I read the words aloud.

“The female patient has grown violent, harming staff and other patients. It is my belief that the experimental substance we have force-fed her, inserted into her veins, and injected into her brain, has permanent effects of extreme violence, altering her personality. The woman was admitted for melancholy, speaking very little, and interacting with no one. And now, she has transformed into the polar opposite of that woman. A shadow self.” I stopped.

Shadow self.

I flipped the page and continued, “The newest experiment has me fearful of its outcome. My favorite patient, the woman with raven hair, has completely withered away. Little remains of the woman she once was, and she has grown thin and pale. I fear the injection into her left eye may have resulted in a similar aftermath of the infamous lobotomy, leaving the corpse alive but brain scrambled. It saddens me to see her fade away, for I shall miss—” I stopped, choking back tears.

“I shall miss spending my nights with her, for she endured many experiments in her time. Ice baths, force-feedings, injections, surgeries, skin removal, and even the removal of her liver.” I flipped the page to see hand-drawn renditions of the horrors he described; various photographs of the same methods of tortures tucked away in the pages.

Oh my god.

My hand covered my mouth as I gasped. A tear fell from my left eye and landed on the page, only it was a black drop that blended the handwriting. I touched my eye and noticed the substance had returned. And then, her lavender scent returned.

She’s here.

I raised my head and saw the ghost standing a few feet away.

She was back to her shadow self, the demonic thing that tormented me.

And she didn’t look happy. “This.” I tapped the journal.

“This is about you. You’re the patient, aren’t you?

” The ghost slowly inched closer as the temperature began to drop.

“Wait…if you died in the asylum, how are you here?” Despite her mouth opening wide, she didn't answer. Only the sounds of her gurgling left her lips. My breath fogged around my face as the woman continued towards me. I rose to my feet and slowly began to back away. “Wait, please.” I bumped into the side of the bed. “I don’t mean any harm. I just want to talk.” The ghost inched closer and closer.

Why isn’t she listening?

“Where is the woman I saw before? The one who smiled at me from the window bench? Why can’t I speak with her?” The ghost tilted her head and screamed.

I crawled back onto the bed, knocking my bag around.

The ghost’s claw-like hands clutched the back of my neck and rolled me onto my back as she pinned me down.

Her mouth widened more and more until it completely snapped and dislocated, that black substance pouring from it and onto my chest and neck.

“Please!” I cried out, trying to break free. “Please! I only wish to speak to the woman!” The ghost leaned closer, and I thrashed harder. “Please!” The contents of my bag spilled from my impact and the small wooden box hit my temple.

The ghost stopped and glared at the box as my eyes followed.

Wait.

I looked back at the ghost and took a deep breath.

“Ophelia?” Her head snapped and those two-colored eyes met mine with a hiss.

“It's you, isn’t it?” The woman snarled.

“Ophelia.” The ghost flinched as I said the name again, releasing me.

She backed away, clawing at her skull and crying out like an animal in pain.

It was brutal to watch as she peeled away at her flesh, and that black substance poured from her wounds.

“Stop.” I sat up and reached out to her. “Stop! Don’t hurt yourself!”

The ghost screamed, and the whole room flickered and shook. The curtains drew shut and the candles blew out as if the cold wind had slipped inside. Everything amplified as the woman began to rise, screaming in such agony.

“Stop it! Please!” I covered my ears as the ghost’s head snapped. “No! Ophelia!”

The room lost power and everything fell into darkness.

The only sounds I could hear were from the storm outside and a gentle sob.

I quickly rushed to the window and yanked the curtains back as the faint moonlight drenched the room in pastels.

Sitting on the floor, next to the bed, was the woman.

She had her head tucked between her legs that she clung tight to her chest, crying beneath her long raven-black hair.

It wasn’t the white dress she wore, but instead the black Victorian dress.

“It’s you,” I whispered. “Ophelia Grimshaw.”

Her cries stopped. “Who are you? How–how do you know my name?” She spoke in the most gentle voice, one that oddly soothes my nerves.

I lowered myself down to her level and sat across from her. “My name is Lucky. Lucky Flowers.”

Ophelia sniffed and wiped her face as she turned to look at me. I nearly gasped at her face. The same as the portrait downstairs, except like her shadow self, she had one fogged-out eye. “Lucky Flowers?” She wiped her black tears. “What an odd name to have.”

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing faintly. “It’s fitting, being that I am an odd thing myself. You should hear my brother’s name.”

Ophelia blinked. “What is your brother’s name?”

I smiled. “Finn Flowers.”

The woman laughed to herself. “Such odd names!”

I shrugged with a smile.

She’s so different from her ghostly self. So opposite. Just like the journal mentioned.

My smile fell. “Ophelia? Can I ask you a question?” She nodded. I slowly reached for the leather journal and flipped to the pages that mentioned her. “Is this you?” I tapped the photographs within.

Ophelia looked away. “I don’t want to see that.”

“Ophelia, please.” I turned the journal around for her to see. “Is this you?”

Her eyes met the page, and I could see the swarm of emotions overcome her. “ I said I don’t want to see that wicked thing!” Her voice raised and distorted as her ghostly pale face morphed into her shadow self. The room became frigid as she began to transform before my eyes.

The journal must be a trigger. Fuck.

I slammed the journal shut and raised my hand. “It’s okay! It’s okay! I closed it! See? It’s gone!”

Ophelia slowly shifted back to her calmer self; and her crying returned as those black tears streamed down her face. “I’m sorry, Lucky.” She lowered her head. “I didn’t mean to lose control.”

“No,” I breathed. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known better than to just show you such graphic things.” I slid the journal under the bed, away from us both. “I’m sorry, Ophelia.”

The woman looked me up and down for a moment. “How can you see me?” she asked. “Not many humans can see me.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, my brother says I’m gifted. But the term most people like to use is clairvoyant." She looked confused by the word. “It means I can sense and see things. Not things—ghosts.” I hoped my word choice didn’t offend her.

“Are you a witch, too?” she asked.

It was an odd question. “Not that I’m aware of, though I don’t really know much about witches. Why? Are you a witch?”

Ophelia shook her head, slowly easing her posture. “No, the last woman who stayed here was. She could see me, too. But only one side of me.” Her eyes fell. “She learned of the darkness of this place and was able to escape.”

Escape?

Opehlia stood and walked to the stained glass window.

She raised her hand and touched the place I’d felt an odd sensation before.

“She left these around my room, to help keep me inside.” I stood and looked at the glass, realizing it was words.

Latin words. “I guess she used some kind of magic. Ever since she left them, I haven’t been able to leave my room. ”

“That’s terrible.”

She shook her head. “No. No, it’s not. It’s a mercy. One I don’t deserve.” Her hand dropped. “I’m just like the others…A monster.”

Others?

Ophelia rushed from the window to her vanity. “As long as I’m trapped in here, I can’t hurt anyone else! You shouldn’t even be here, Lucky! It’s too dangerous! I’m dangerous!” Her black tears flowed from her eyes as she sobbed into her hands.

I felt heartbroken to see her so tormented. And felt this strange pull to comfort her.

“Ophelia.” I walked over to her. “You are not dangerous.”

“Yes I am!” she snapped. I flinched at her words, but remained still.

“I hurt you, Lucky. And I’ve hurt others before you.

” She wiped her face. “The woman in the journal? The one you had? It is me. I am the patient.” She looked at her own reflection.

“My parents forced me into the asylum long ago, for choosing love over duty. My father wanted me to marry a man twice my age with a tendency to run through wives faster than most. He was heavy-handed and loved nothing but his alcohol. I didn’t just refuse, but I told him I couldn’t marry when I loved another.

” I listened carefully as she continued to tell her story.

“Her name was Penny, and she was my everything.” Ophelia smiled as a new tear rolled down her cheeks.

“She used to call me her little raven because of my hair.” She reached into the vanity and pulled out the brush.

The flickered memory of a woman brushing raven-black hair, the same as before, flashed into my mind.

I’ve seen this before. But…how? This isn’t just a glimpse into the paranormal. No, this is something else. But what?

Ophelia handed me the brush with a smile.

“Do you mind?” I shook my head and gripped the handle as an odd sensation washed over me.

I gathered her long hair into my hand, somehow knowing exactly where to begin and how to properly brush it.

“Eventually, my father found out about us. He used his power to send Penny and her family away, and when I continued to defy him, refusing to marry, he locked me up. Little did I know the very man he wanted me to marry would be the same one who spent every day torturing me…testing out his endless experiments.” Ophelia touched her white eye. “It was hell. And he was—”

“The devil.”

Ophelia looked at me through the mirror in shock. “How did you know that? I never told a soul…only Penny, in a letter I sent before my death.”

“I-I-I don’t know.”

She turned to face me and stopped, realizing I had braided her hair.

I couldn't tell if she was fearful or angry with me. “Why did you do this?” I shrugged, unable to speak. Ophelia examined her hair closely, trying to understand the way I had braided it. “I don’t understand. Only Penny knew how to style my hair in such a way.” She turned back to me and stood. “What game is this? Explain yourself.”

I waved my hands around. “No, no game! I just—I don’t know. When I was brushing your hair, it’s like an instinct came over me, and before I knew it, I was braiding your hair. Honest!” I touched the locket around my neck and her eyes followed.

“Wait.” She stepped closer, eyeing the necklace. “Where did you get this?” Her eyes looked me up and down. “Where did you get this necklace, Lucky?”

I looked down at the heart and tried to remember. “I-I don’t know. I’ve always had it, as long as I can remember.”

Ophelia reached out. “May I?” I nodded as her fingers touched the locket. “It can’t be,” she breathed.

“What can’t be?” I asked.

Her eyes raised back to mine. “It looks the same.” Black tears swelled in her eyes. “It’s not possible. It’s not possible!”

Ophelia pulled away, but I didn’t want her to leave.

I needed to know what she meant. I needed her to tell me what she was talking about.

“Ophelia, wait!” I grabbed her hand and was hit with an overflow of emotions and memories.

They surged past my eyes, playing like a movie.

I watched as her memories flooded me, revealing her entire life and all its pain.

But then, I began to witness something else. Another’s life. No…my life.

It can’t be…

Ophelia…My little raven.