chapter 2

the girl with the ribbons

The sun lit up the holes in the curtains, so that it looked like the windows had been fitted over with giant moth wings. A cool breeze flitted in, bringing with it the sound of pelting rain. I rose from bed, feeling more energised than I had been in weeks. My feet felt cool on the smooth wooden floor. The clock on the wall told me it was past 11. I hadn’t slept in for a long, long time.

I dressed myself, then brushed my teeth in an antique copper basin. After getting ready, I tapped my phone screen to check the time again. Low battery. I took a glance around the room, then walked along the four walls, searching high and low for an electric socket. No such luck.

​

I made my way downstairs, my bare feet crunching on the carpeted steps.

“The best of mornings to you, my dear Sophie!” chirped a voice.

I reached the final bend in the staircase and found Holden waiting for me at the bottom. He was dressed in the same brown, worn out suit as yesterday; it was even crumpled in the same places, as if he never took it off at all.

“Thank you, Holden.” I said. “Well! You seem happy!”

“A natural reaction on my part, I should hope!” he cried. “I am very much excited to have you as my guest. Will you be taking breakfast?”

“That would be lovely,” I replied. I followed him into the doorway on the left.

Like the main entrance, the walls in this room were completely covered with photos and mirrors. An inactive fireplace was stacked against one wall. On the mantel, there was another animal encased in glass; this time it was a crow with beady eyes, which were strangely watchful and full of life.

“Please,” said Holden, rousing me. I looked. He had drawn out a chair for me, and gestured for me to come and sit. I walked over to his end of the long, long table, seeing for the first time the plentitude of food laid out on top of it. It was far more than what two people could finish for breakfast: large bowls of muesli and oatmeal; a wide selection of honey, jam, and butter; dozens of cold cuts; jars of cookies, berries, and nuts; pitchers full of milk, juice, coffee, and tea; stack upon stack of scones, eggs, and sausages, and brimming baskets of bread rolls were plated amongst doilies and tall, unlit candles.

“Wow,” I said, sitting. Holden pushed my seat in gently. Before me was a napkin, folded alongside multiple bowls, plates, and sets of cutlery. “This is amazing.”

”Yes,” he said excitedly, his suit flying up as he settled himself at the head of the table. “I hope it is to your satisfaction.”

”It is, it is,” I agreed. ”Holden, I was wondering if I can charge my phone anywhere? It's on low battery, and I couldn't find a socket in my room.”

​

”Ah,” Holden said regretfully. ”No, unfortunately you can't. This is an old, old house, and it just doesn't come installed with the modern instruments.”

​

I sat there for a moment, wishing I hadn't used up my battery. But then I realised that maybe it was meant to be. I had wanted a rural retreat. It was time for me to embrace that.

​

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Holden picked up one of his many utensils and helped himself to the eggs.

“Should we wait for the others?” I asked. 

“No,” he said, without any further explanation.

“What about the guests?”

“You are my only guest today,” he replied, and began to eat.

I was confused — I could’ve sworn that he had told me otherwise. All this food  — surely most of this would have to go to waste, if only the two of us would be taking breakfast! And how many housekeepers must there be, if they had been able to prepare all of this in one morning? I chalked it up to rural hospitality, and, deciding that I didn’t want to look rude, loaded up my plate.

The food was delicious, but somewhat cold. Once or twice, as I ate, I snuck a glance at Holden, who seemed to be looking at me, too; but every time I caught his gaze, he would look away and become absorbed in his meal. 

As we finished, Holden drew his tongue across his teeth. Then, with a bashful smile, he informed me that the rain had not stopped since the previous evening — that if anything, it had gotten worse — and so regrettably we would be shut inside for the day, with only each other for company; not that he had any objections to such an arrangement; as it were, it would be his honor to take me through a little house tour, “if it please you, ma’am”. Again, it was that strange, old-fashioned way of talking, like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in a long, long time, and was stuck with the semantics of a bygone era.

I cocked my head to the side and looked at him out of the side of my eye. He gazed at me hopefully like a large puppy. It was really quite charming — in an amusing way.

“Well, sir,” I grinned. “Lead the way.”

He jumped to his feet and clapped. “Excellent,” he chirped, his eyes gleaming. And with a jolly step, he swept out of the dining room.

I looked back at the table, still covered from corner to corner with heaping platefuls of food. All of these seemed untouched, plastic, as if pulled straight out of a painting; in our reckless, gluttonous feast, we had barely put a dent in it. I glanced around, wondering if anyone was going to store it away or even dispose of it. But the house was quiet, except for the sound of Holden’s footsteps padding away.

With one last look, I rose from my chair and quickly followed my host.

Holden was already fast disappearing into the doorway across the main hall. It turned out to be a sitting room of sorts. A green, ribbed couch stood at the center. It was placed opposite to a small, antique television with two wiry antennas. By the door, an antique telephone hung in its case. And all along the walls, on the mantels, by the bookshelves — were creature upon creature upon creature, all encased in glass.

“Holden,” I blurted. “These animals—”

“Ah, yes!” he spun to face the taxidermies with outstretched arms. He drew near a great horned owl, whose head was eternally fixed in the opposite direction. “This is Mr. Keeper.” He gestured to a stuffed bat, its feet glued to a twig so that it hung upside down. “That’s Mr. Twinkle.” He moved to a stuffed fox; its tail was subtly raised, and positioned in such a way that I could’ve sworn it was wagging ever so slightly. “That’s the Thiever; he’s happy to make your acquaintance.” And one by one, he introduced me to his collection of cats, spiders, and reptiles.

“You're a collector, then?” I asked when he was finally finished.

He frowned, shaking his head emphatically. “Good heavens, no. These are my friends!”

Then he laughed heartily, as if he had made a great joke. I chuckled along, thinking to myself that that was just the sort of thing a collector might say.

But just as suddenly as he had begun laughing, he stopped. “Shall we move on?” 

What an eccentric man!

We went through another doorway and entered into a narrow back passage. The entire floor was carpeted, again with that same green, furze-like material, muffling our steps. There was only one door at the very end of it. Holden opened it and entered.

The room was small. One wall was draped in a long, velvet curtain. I could make out a large table in the middle of the room, which held a globe made entirely out of metal wires. Books were squeezed into shelves and sprawled out on the ground. As I looked around, Holden made his way over to the curtain, and with a single flourish, drew it back.

A large window that was almost as high and wide as the wall itself was revealed. Sunlight spilled into the room, spotlighting the dust particles in the air, which whirled around in surprise.

Antique maps were spread out on the large table in the middle, held in place by paperweights shaped like important landmarks. I saw a miniature Tower Bridge and Arch of Triumph pinning down a yellow sheet that featured the eastern and western hemispheres. Pencilled sketches of the British Isles and a large diagram of the constellations were held respectively by a tiny Eiffel Tower and Taj Mahal. Unlit gas lamps peppered the room, along with a multitude of collectibles and little wonders. More taxidermies, of course, were present; these were of exotic animals, animals I hadn’t seen before. Most charmingly, a large model of a sailing ship in a bottle was placed on one of the shelves, tilting slightly as if perched on an eternal crest.

“This must be my favorite room in the whole house,” Holden began. His voice was softer now, and he looked fondly upon all his treasures.

He walked slowly to the maps on the table, tracing his finger first around the Atlantic, then through the Ursa Minor.

“Can you imagine sailing with Magellan’s crew across the stormy strait, with only the Magellan Clouds to guide you through it? Or braving the dark and volatile nights on the open ocean, alone except for the company of the north star?”

Holden took my wrist gently and placed my hand on the constellations. My eyes widened. He sighed, looking at me with sparkling eyes and a white, white smile.

“Isn’t it magnificent to think,” he breathed. “That the same star an old sailor would make his wishes on, the same star that he spoke to on all those lonely nights, away from his wife and children, would be the one to guide him thus, and lead him home to them?”

I only nodded. There was something about the mystery and magnanimity of the universe which so captivated him, that took my breath away, too. His was so unlike our modern way of life, which had studied, dissected, and rearranged everything to pieces. We spared no room for wonder like this.

“That’s why this is my favorite room,” Holden said, as if he could read my thoughts. “It is so amusing to imagine how our forefathers achieved such things as I never could, with something so arbitrary as the science of stars.”

After a moment of solemn silence, I snuck a glance at him. He was staring at the maps with his hand on his chin, lost in thought. His eyes shone.

I decided not to rouse him, taking it upon myself to explore the room instead. I strolled along his shelves, running my fingers over an ocean of pages that had been softened by years of love and rereading. I didn’t get far, however, before my thumb crashed into a hard spine. I winced and looked. 

It was just another book, but it was not like the rest. It was small and black, and it was thin, compressed, as if its pages were a set of tightly pursed lips. I wouldn’t have looked twice at another book of its size; but a dreadful energy radiated from it, with all the tremors of an unceasing, silent snarl.

I reached for the little book and tugged it out of the shelf. I turned it around in my hand, and saw again, the “New Testament” inscribed on its surface.

“Well!” Holden clapped, giving me a start. “Let me show you back to the main hall before I thoroughly bore you.”

“Not at all,” I said, hastily, shoving the book back into its place. I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t want him to see that I had touched the book. Somehow I felt that I had done something wrong, that the book was too sacred to be picked up without a purpose.

Holden swept out of the room through another doorway. I was beginning to notice that we almost never left the way we came. If we weren’t weaving through countless rooms, we were taking long halls that twisted and turned beyond recognition. I was so thrown off, that without Holden’s direction, I couldn’t have made it back into the lobby myself.

At last we arrived at another long, long passage. Hanging from the walls were a few orange lamps, which grew sparser — and caused the hall to grow dimmer — with each step. It seemed to go on and on, yet Holden sped down with determination. 

When we got to the very end, it was so dark that I could barely see my own outstretched hand. Holden muttered angrily as he fumbled about. Finally, he seemed to have found a switch, and with a click, another lamp flared to life.

My hands reappeared. Holden materialised next to me. And there, someone else was waiting to greet us — one tall, slim figure draped in a dark veil, its pale, bony fingers reaching out into the lamplight.