Storytelling Short Story: The Omens

Short Story Final Draft: The Omens

by Samantha Mask

My sister, more precisely, my twin, Florence and I agree on most things. It’s simply in our nature to understand one another thoroughly and completely. But one thing we could not agree on was which of us was going to be wearing our favorite crimson red dress to the Davish Manor Ball later that Fall evening.

“You wore it last time,” I argued, pressing the dress against me as if it were my partner, and danced around the room.

“Ruth, dear, we both know I look better it in,” Florence said as she powdered her face in front of the candle lit vanity, her voice velvety and playful. We both laughed at this, knowing there was hardly a difference in either of our appearances, save for the birth mark we each bore on the back of our hands. Florence’s jagged, butterscotch colored mark that was about the size of a thimble was on her left hand. Mine was on my right.

“You can wear it if you want,” Florence said, throwing her hands in the air. She skipped towards me, taking the dress’ place as my dance partner. “But this dress will not be the thing keeping me from dancing with Lord Davish first tonight!”

“It’s not up to you!” I giggled, twirling my twin across her bedroom. “A lady never asks a gentleman to dance!”

“But perhaps I shall ask him!” Florence threatened, her auburn hair flying around her like a halo.

“What a scandal you’ll be. We’ll never get invited to another Davish Ball,” I pouted playfully. I was growing dizzy from the twirling and pulled Florence down to the floor with me. We collapsed in a heap, giggling and throwing elbows towards each other. We must have been making quite the fuss because our housekeeper, Ms. Rose, a dowdy older widower who never cared for any ruckus, knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a response. She opened it with such vigor that the candles extinguished from the movement.

“I sounds as if benjo* has come early this year.” She said with a temper, her face red from having just climbed the stairs.

“Now Ms. Rose we couldn’t be hosting a benjo with you expelling all of our candles,” Florence said charmingly, blowing hair out of her eyes and squinting through the dark.

Ms. Rose simply huffed, the way she always did. She wiped her hands on her apron as if that would rid her of our snark. “The carriage will be around in an hour. You two best be ready when it does or your mother will be in a rage.”

“That’s just her face,” I said without hesitation. Florence fell back in a fit of giggles. Ms. Rose left, mumbling as she always did.

When the time had come for us to be presentable for the Davish Ball (and for Mother), Florence and I locked arms and strolled downstairs arm in arm as we always did. Florence wore a gold gown, her new favorite acquisition. It hugged her body, unlike mine which was voluminous and structured. Florence’s curves were the only tailoring her dress had and she wore it proudly. Mother was going to hate it.

The devil herself was waiting at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, her graying hair pinned perfectly, her mouth set to its usual grimace. Something about the light in the room made her cheekbones look sharper and her frown more harsher than normal. Florence would say that’s how she always looked: hard and cold.  “Ruth darling you look lovely,” was all she said, and all she needed to say to get her disapproval of Florence across. Both Florence and I had been on the opposite end of Mother’s disapproval plenty of times to know when saying less was her tactic of hurt.

Florence glanced at me and gave me a smirk. “Well you do,” she whispered happily. Florence had learned long ago that if she ever wanted to be happy in this world, she was going to have to stop wanting Mother’s approval to do so. She hid her disappointment about it well. But I knew. I knew only the way a twin could. Florence longed for Mother to compliment her for being her, for having the courage to wear something new, something striking. That day, if such a moment might ever existed, was nowhere in sight.

It was raining outside, the kind of rain that blinded you and splashed up under your skirts soaking your socks. The trees were all bare and striking in their twists of branches. The air was chilly and threatened to bite you. I stepped over a newspaper, the Daily Telegraph, London’s primary source of news, that was slumped against the sidewalk, having missed its mark that morning. I could just make out the date in the top corner of it: October 30, 1890. I couldn’t make out the headline. The ink had begun to run from the rain. There was a picture underneath it. The picture was of a person and the bleeding ink streaming away from his face, setting it in a perpetual scream. It made me anxious, although I was hard pressed to understand why. It was that same feeling I got when Florence was in distress. But I could sense her now and she was happy, aside from being a little heated because Mother was nearby.

A cold wind shook me from my daze and I followed Mother and Florence towards our carriage that was now waiting. Mother went first into the carriage, as she always did, her nose high in the hair as she went. The wind seemed to blow around her, afraid of her just like everyone else. Florence followed, sitting as far away from her as possible and I took up the seat next to my sister. We started towards the Davish Manor, which was across town, and I was trying to get rid of my goose bumps when I heard shouting up ahead and the carriage suddenly shook violently.

“What the Dickens-“ Florence and I both started.

“Good heavens,” Mother sputtered both at the commotion and at our language.

The cabin was dark and the air stagnant. I went to open the door when Florence caught my hand. She shook her head quickly, as if she didn’t want to make much movement. ‘I don’t have a good feeling about this,’ I seemed to hear her say without her actually speaking. I squinted through the windows, only seeing darkness and raindrops. The street lamps had yet to be lit and the city seemed to be cast in a perpetual shadow. I felt Florence move beside me, looking over my shoulder.

‘We’ve hit something,’ I heard her voice in my head.

‘Or someone,’ I added silently. A second later something dark whisked past the window hitting the window as it passed, quicker than lightning, darker than night. I couldn’t make out anything about it. I felt Florence’s hand clench on my shoulder. She’d seen it too.

“What is the hold up?” Mother started to fidget in her seat. She didn’t like not moving. She went to open the door but Florence touched her arm, same as she had mine.

“Let’s just wait for Tommin to tell us its okay,” she suggested gently.

“Oh do stop being so melodramatic. I’m sure it’s just some mutt or one of those homeless men that linger around. Perhaps we’ve done our civil duty and offed one of them.” Mother said hotly, “Nothing that should delay us this long anyways. We will be late at this point…” She reached for the door again, but before she could grasp the handle it flew open, a crack of lightning lighting up our chauffeurs terror stricken face.

“Tommin, is everything alright?” Florence asked.

“Someone came out of nowhere, ran right into one of the horses. Spooked them. I swear they were like a ghost. They’ve run off just now,” Tommin said, practically yelling to be heard over the pounding rain. It had seemed to grow harder since the commotion at begun.

“Well, what’s the trouble then? On with it!” Mother snapped impatiently, slapping Tommin with her cane. Tommin nodded obediently and we were back on schedule towards the Davish Ball, slightly worse for wear.

We arrived fashionably late, Florence and I locking arms, Mother leading our entrance. The Davish Manor was beautiful, old and quite large, much larger than our house which was quaint by the upper society’s standards, whose company Mother often sought after. She was immediately swept away by her ‘friends’, ladies of similar birth and wealth, other widows. Florence called them “The Church Bells” because they never stopped chiming in. Florence and I made our way to the ballroom, where the bulk of the attendees were congregated.

“Ruth, Florence over here!” called a friendly voice. Florence pulled me towards our friends, her dress sweeping beautifully as she did. I saw many admiring faces as we navigated the ballroom.

“Lord Davish has been asking after you,” one of our friends said pointedly to Florence. I could feel a jolt of adrenaline pump through her veins, but she didn’t show it. She stayed cool as if that news was nothing new to her.

“Oh has he?” Florence said with a small smile.

“He’s dancing with Lady Mary right now, but I would bet a few pounds on the odds of him stealing you away after this dance is over,” another friend said.

“Well it would be rude of me not to accept. If he even comes this way at all. I’m sure he has a list of ladies he has to dance with before the night is over.” Florence said as if she cared little for Lord Davish. We both glanced over our shoulders towards the dance floor and picked him out. He was easy to find with his dark hair and winning smile, everyone around him giving him a wide berth, except for the girl in his arms who stared at him as if he hung the moon. He looked up then, as if he sensed us watching and made eye contact with Florence. He smiled confidently and I could feel the adrenaline in her rising quickly. She smiled back but only for a second and turned back to the group. ‘Can’t seem too eager,’ she said through the bond.

Our friends filled us in on the latest gossip but I knew Florence wasn’t really listening. She was waiting for the orchestra to finish the current song so it would be her turn to dance. Sure enough, within a few moments after the violins held the last note, a voice of velvet entered our small group.

“Lady Florence,” he said with a smile. “Might I steal you away for a dance?” He extended his gloved hand and bowed slightly. She nodded smoothly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and took his hand.

‘See you at the end of the night’ I pushed through the bond. I wasn’t sure if she heard me because I received no response physically or mentally. Through the bond I could feel her excitement. Her hormones were shutting me out. Typical.

The lights in the room flickered as a clap of thunder shook the whole house as I made my way to the side of the room where tables and tables of food sat, laid over crystal, intricate dishes on table cloths softer than my dress. I picked at the food lightly, careful not to over indulge, half afraid of Mother swooping down and slapping the food out of my hand. A humiliating experience I’d gone through once, at my very first ball in order to understand that any proper lady wouldn’t dare overeat, at least according to Mother. Most women filled their stomachs with wine, I was taught to be no exception.

I participated in small chatter here and there, sipping on different kinds of wine, most of which cost more than our carriage, meeting new people and gossiping with old friends as one tends to do at this sort of soiree, especially someone who doesn’t have a gentleman caller like my sister did to sweep them away. Smiling at the thought, I glanced over to the dance floor and then frowned. I couldn’t see Florence. Startlingly, I realized I hadn’t been feeling her emotions either for quite a while now. I knew instantly it was the wine that had numbed our connection. I replaced my wine for water and snacked on some crackers until I could feel the tingling of our bond again.

I was suddenly overcome with fear, but it wasn’t my fear I was feeling, it was Florence’s. “Stay away from me!” I heard her scream in my head.

The ballroom seemed enormously large in that moment and my wine heavy legs did nothing to help. It took all I had not to push every person in my way aside as I headed towards the other side of the room, Florence’s voice getting louder and louder in my head. Each step was met with thunder. The chandeliers shook from the lights flickered. Each step took more effort than the last.

Once I was out of the crowd and in an empty hall, I broke into a run, away from the party and towards what I assumed to be the residential area of the large manor. “Florence!” I called loudly, once the light from the party had faded behind me and now only the moon streaked through the rain splattered windows. I heard a thump far down the hall to my left, past a number of darkened doorways. I couldn’t move. Those tall doors seemed to shake around me, menacing. I could feel Florence running in my head, running away from the sound. Suddenly, there were hands on my shoulders and I screamed, only to realize they were Florence’s hands. Lightning lit up the hall and Florence’s tear stricken face.

“Quick Ruth, there is someone back there, they attacked Lord Davish and I; we must go help him.” She pulled me as she said this, wanting to go back into the dark. I stood my ground and pulled her the opposite way, away from the dark, foreboding halls. As we started to run I could hear footsteps behind us. They were soft and light, as if a child’s, not heavy and threatening like one might suspect of a monster’s footsteps to be.

It was only when we reached the bright and crowded ballroom did Florence and I stop to assess what we must look like to everyone around us. Many people took quick notice of our dishevelment and whispered behind champagne glasses and silk gloves. The orchestra stopped and turned as well. I ignored them and pulled my sobbing sister farther into the room, away from the dark corridors and towards our mother who might not have been the best trade off when it came to choosing the dark hallways to her fiery glare.

“What on earth…?” She started but Florence and I quickly rushed past her, ignoring her completely. I was too focused on getting us as far away as possible to offer a sympathetic look or apologize to anyone we came across.

“What did you see? Who was it? Where did Lord Davish go?” I whispered frantically as we reached the edge of the room, away from the eyes and ears of the High Society of London. I risked a glance behind us half expecting to see the mysterious figure pushing through the crowd. I was met only with confused and scandalized looks of the faces we’d come to know throughout our years of attending these parties. None had never quite been this exciting though or as I’m sure my mother was thinking, ‘as socially demeaning’ as this.

“I don’t know, or I…I don’t know if what I saw was true.” Florence said as we reached the foyer and called for our carriage. She was breathing heavily and her face was flushed. It was only now did I realize the bodice of her dress was torn, as if someone had tried to rip it. Anger welled up in me and I immediately suspected the overly charming Lord Davish.

“Did he touch you?” I asked grabbing her coat from the Butler and pulling it tightly around her. The Butler left and called for our carriage per our request.

The anger from the idea of Lord Davish molesting my sister went away quickly as she said, “It looked like us.”

“What do you mean-’’ I started to ask.

“I mean he…she I don’t even know. The person that attacked us looked just like you and me.”

“That’s impossible.” I said just as the door opened and Tommin ushered us out into the rain and into our carriage. The cold of the rain went straight to my bones as we stepped outside. “It was dark,” I reassured Florence. “You couldn’t have possibly been able to get to a good look. Could it have been their mirrored room? That’s where Davish takes all his…ahem escorts.”

“I know what I saw,” Florence said tensely as the carriage began to shake and we headed home. She completely ignored my comment about Lord Davish’s many known flings. “I saw one of us,” was all she said.

We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride home. Florence seemed to be stewing in the fresh memories of terror and I was too confused to ask anything specific. How had she ended up back there anyways? What had she meant by another one of us? Another sister? Florence and I were no strangers to the fairy stories that surrounded twins. How people tended to associate witchcraft with the birthing of twins. Tribes in Africa were known for expelling sets of twins into the woods, claiming they were bad omens and cursed the families they were born into. Twins were rare enough, but could Florence be suggesting there was a third one of us? No, that’s impossible. We’d have known. Some things you just know.

“I don’t think I can sleep alone,” Florence said quietly when we were inside the house. We stood in the foyer for a moment, listening to the rain outside and for someone else, half expecting a monster to jump out of every shadow we crossed. Tommin had already gone back for Mother. We were alone, save for Ms. Rose who had just taken our coats away. Ms. Rose wasn’t much for comfort though. She’d been muttering to herself more than normal that evening, very confused on why we were home so early, as if we shouldn’t have been, as if we weren’t allowed to be. Florence chalked it up to Ms. Rose being Ms. Rose.

I took a deep breath. I needed to be the strong one for Florence right now. I could see by the way she looked off in the distance, cringing at every creak and clap of thunder, that she was in a dark place, no doubt stuck in that dark corridor running for her life. No doubt worried for Lord Davish. Ms. Rose came back downstairs then and asked if she could help us undress. Her face was flushed and her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been running up and down the stairs since we’d left.  I asked her to run a bath for Florence and to light the fireplaces. We would be awake for some time now and the darkness did nothing good for the imagination.

“You two seem shaken up,” Ms. Rose said, patting our shoulders, still lost for breath. “I think I’ll make some tea and wait till your mother gets home.”

“We look shaken-“ I started to contradict Ms. Rose, intending to voice the fact that she looked as if she was about to pass out but Florence cut me off and thanked Ms. Rose for her kindness and then retreated upstairs.

Mother came home about an hour later, an almost perceptible steam fuming from her ears. She went on and on about what a scene we’d made. How we’d never find husbands and how we might as well go live under a rock from the shame we’d brought on tonight. Florence and I said nothing in response, both coming down hard from an adrenaline high. After Mother had run out of things to shout about, she went to bed, slamming her door and locking it. She always locked her door, even when we were little girls and got scared during thunderstorms. She’d lock her door to keep us from disturbing her. I think that was the defining moment when Florence and I started looking to one another for reassurance and stopped looking at Mother as any sort of a protective figure. Tonight would be no different.

It was half past midnight when I heard Florence calling me from downstairs. I had dozed off in my brightly lit room on top of the covers. I hadn’t thought about how long it had been or that Florence should still be in the bath. I reacted to her call like any sister would: instinctively.

My feet padded softly against the rugs as I headed towards the stairs with a candle in hand. “Ruth, would you come down here please?” I heard her call. I was two steps down the stairs when the door to the bathroom opened behind me. Florence stepped out, her robe hastily thrown on.

“Don’t,” she whispered, terrified. “I heard her too.”

“Ruth?” I heard ‘Florence’s’ voice again from downstairs. I was frozen to my very core. I stared at my sister’s face, unsure of what I should do. I didn’t know whether to run or to stand my ground. Someone was downstairs and they sounded exactly like my sister and I, right down to the inflection. I’d spent too long thinking. I could hear footsteps on the stairs, the same soft ones I’d heard earlier following us at the Davish Ball. The light of the candle I held was the first light that hit her face. It was harsher, more defined than Florence’s but it was the same. Those rich brown, almond shaped eyes and the high cheekbones and long nose. She raised her hands towards me as if transfixed, and I could see the same birthmark Florence and I bore but on both of her hands not just one.

“Ruth?” She asked, something glittering in her eye that I couldn’t make out. Her stance was on the offensive, as if she could strike at any moment, but her face was serene, almost thoughtful as she looked at me, evaluating the same details I’d just noticed. She smiled the way a person does when they don’t smile often. Cold and stiff, more of showing teeth than showing joy.

“How –’’ I started but was cut off by Mother’s bedroom door being thrown open, the girl in front of me blew out my candle as I turned away. In a second she had me pinned against her, her arm tight around my neck. I dropped the candle I was holding I felt something sharp poke into my back and gasped from the surprise of it. She’s had a knife.

“Ellis dear, please stop,” Ms. Rose voice called from behind Mother who looked beyond inconvenienced.

Mother interrupted Ms. Rose by slapping her across the face. “I can’t believe you’re alive. You can thank stupid Ms. Rose for that, because if it were up to me you would have died 20 years ago.” Mother said hatefully. Ellis looked towards Ms. Rose with concern but kept her feet firmly planted on the stairs.

“You,” Ellis, spat towards Mother, her voice shaking, her grip on me tightening.

“We didn’t get rid of you when you were born for you to come back ruin us,” Mother said, crossing her arms as if she wasn’t surprised at all by the existence of this girl. I felt something tug at my mind then, through the bond that I normally shared with Florence. But this memory wasn’t Florence’s, it was Ellis’.

The memory was faded and blurred, but the emotions were there. It was her very first memory of being scared. She was barely a few hours old. She didn’t know it at the time, she couldn’t have, but she was being left to die in the woods. It was cold and snowy, the blanket around her doing very little to keep her warm. A dark figured shuffled away from her as if planning to leave her there, the snow crunching under their boots. But after a few steps the figure faltered and looked back, obviously torn. Within a heartbeat the figure came back, picked Ellis up and cuddled her close to her chest, “I won’t leave you to die dear, I’m here for you now.” Ms. Rose’s voice floated through my head.

Ellis growled, pulling me out of the memory and spat towards my mother. Then she pulled me down the stairs and into the darkness of the house.

“Ruth!” Florence exclaimed, clamoring down the steps after me without a second thought. I could sense her terror through our bond. She came charging downstairs like I had tried to do only moments before when I thought she was the one that had called for me.

“You’re a monster,” Ellis called back upstairs towards Mother as she pulled me down. “She won’t save you you know,” she whispered to me. “She’d never risk her own life for her child. I’m nothing but proof of that.” Ellis bumped into the wall then as I struggled against her, knocking down one of the many family portraits that hung throughout the house. This one was of Mother. Ellis stared at it for a second, her arms still stronger than anything around my neck. She stomped on the portrait until it ripped through Mother’s face.

I whimpered helplessly, clawing at my captor’s arms. Ellis pulled me into the sitting room then, towards the fireplace that now held only slightly glowing embers. Florence wasn’t far behind us. She kept her distance from Ellis though, wanting to make sure she could see me and react if something were to go wrong. She wouldn’t be the one to initiate though, in case it was her fault if I were injured.

“Please,” Florence whispered. “We don’t understand. Who are you?”

“Who am I?” My captor cackled. “Isn’t it obvious! I’m one of you. I’m your sister!”

“Ellis isn’t one of you though, are you Ellis?” Mother’s cold voice called from the bottom of the stairs. She’d followed us down, silently, observing, Ms. Rose glued to her side, tears streaming down her face. Mother’s voice was confident but she kept her distance. It was the first time I’d ever seen her slightly on the defensive.

“What does she mean?” I whispered. Ellis pulled me tighter, cutting off my airway for longer than comfortable.

“She means,” Ellis crooned, “that I’m not fully a girl or fully a boy. Or I am fully both. I’ve got both parts-”

“She’s an abomination. The doctor’s didn’t know what to do with her. But I did.” Mother said walking towards us. I could feel Ellis shrink away, as much as she was playing the villain in this scenario, I could sense the fear in which she regarded Mother, the same fear both Florence and I always had. Through the bond though I could sense a hatred that surpassed anything I’d ever felt before.

“Ellis, dear please you know you don’t want to do this,” Ms. Rose called pleadingly. “You may not be her daughter but you’re as good as mine. I’ve cared for you, loved you all your life. Isn’t that enough?”

Ellis wailed and threw me towards Florence; bringing the knife in her hand up to Mother, who now stood only a few strides away. Her movements were rough and almost unnatural; her hip knocked over a pedestal that held Mother’s face vase. “I never did anything wrong. I just existed and you decided that it. You couldn’t let the whole world know that you made me. It was you that created me. You’re the monster maker.”

“You’re the devil’s work,” Mother hissed, her face contorting in anger. “Both sets of…privates. We’d never have been able to survive in society if we had let you go on.”

“So you are-“ Florence stepped towards Ellis, her eyes taking in every detail.

“I’m just like you.” Ellis said in a pained voice. “I only ever wanted to be just like you. I only ever wanted to be with you.”

“You could never be,” Mother said, pulling Florence away.

“Mother. Stop,” I said loudly, a clap of thunder following my words. Ms. Rose whimpered at the sound. As it faded I saw Florence watching Ellis, so much pain and confusion on her face. She wanted to believe Ellis. I could feel it through our bond. She believed fully that Mother was capable of casting off a child whose birth threatened her way of life. The look on my Mother’s face confirmed it all. She practically oozed hatred and disgust, towards someone who was obviously her blood.

I took Florence’s hand and stepped towards Ellis, who instinctively backed away. “We won’t hurt you Ellis,” I said calmly. “We’re your… sisters.” Ellis wailed then, so loudly it hurt my ears. She fell on Florence and I, dropping the knife with a clang.

“We’ve been apart for so long,” Ellis whispered through her tears. “I just wanted to be with you, just once. I have heard your feelings and voices in my head for as long as I can remember.” I could see clearly, through the bond Florence and I now shared with Ellis, that she had lived a very quiet, closed off life. She lived far beyond the city, in a house hidden amongst the densest part of the woods. I could see a younger Ms. Rose in Ellis’ version and an older one that must have clearly been Ms. Rose’s mother, the woman who cared for Ellis. I could see the moment when they told Ellis she wasn’t like everyone else, that she had family somewhere, two sisters, but that they weren’t like her and she could never be with them, for her own safety. Through the years Ellis had never been satisfied with being alone, apart from us. And as the voices from our bond got louder the temptation increased. “I just wanted to be with you, to be your sister.”

“I won’t let you escape again,” Mother growled, her hand now gripping the fallen knife firmly. “The first time was a mercy and had Rose gone through with it we wouldn’t be dealing with you now. If it were up to me you would have died within hours after your birth.”

“She’s your child!” Florence yelled over the storm outside. “She’s no different from Ruth or me. How can you be so hateful?” Florence knew that answer though before she even asked the question. Mother had always kept her distance from us, as if we were some bad omen, like those twins in Africa. It made sense now. Whenever she saw Florence and I, she was reminded of Ellis, the cursed omen.

“Don’t you see?” Mother started, closing the distance between her and us. “I spared you two from the humiliation that would have come. You would never have been able to build a life with that thing around. We would have been ruined! I saved you.”

“You saved yourself,” Ellis whispered, tears seeping into her words.

“Maybe I did. Maybe I-’’ Mother started to say something else, but before she could finish Ellis had grabbed the iron fire poker from beside the fireplace and shoved it deeply into Mother’s stomach. Ellis’ face was calm then. Serene, as if she’d finished a book and was pleased with the ending. But her calmness was over with suddenly as Mother thrust the knife she’d been holding into Ellis.

Mother took her death quietly, as if in shock, Ellis cried out loudly from the pain, holding the knife in her chest as if it was the bringer of life rather than death. Ms. Rose cried even louder, running to Ellis’ side and catching her as she fell.

I could feel Ellis’ pain, ripping through me like that blade. I could hear her shouts for life in my head. I realized then that I had heard her all my life. I just hadn’t listened. She’d been so far away, so distant, her thoughts and feelings muted to me. Now, they raged like storm above us.

THE END.

*Benjo – “Nineteenth century sailor slang for “A riotous holiday, a noisy day in the streets.”