Camille Boudreau
Stories (1/0)
Magnolia
July 17th, 1998 Long fingers dragged across the soot covered curve of the banister. I caressed the old wood and tapped along it like ivory piano keys. Everything was in ruin, the curtains, once heavy scarlet brocade, now fell in blackened whisps like burnt spiderwebs. The heel of my satin pump was broken off, it’s jagged edge making a rhythmic thumping as I moved across the room. Spinning, I watched the taffeta tear and the smell of burnt hair crescendoed in my senses. Arms outstretched I spun like a swan with singed feathers, letting my body move with the music only I seemed to hear crackling from the old record player in the corner. I watched my wide eyes in the window, or what was left of it, my face fragmented in the shards of glass. The chandelier on the ceiling moaned above me, sending her crystalline tears smattering the floor. I remember my mother’s pearls making the same sound when the strand broke off her neck. I recall watching them roll under her dressing table one by one, their opalescent glow seemed drawn to the shadows. Her fingers reached underneath, inching around like a copper colored spider, but she only found the sharp end of a hat pin. I had waited until she had left before reaching under myself. She had darted from the room, sucking her wounded finger and smearing a little blood on the corner of her mouth. I lifted my skirt and bent to my knees, holding out my hand for a moment until I felt one of those pearls roll right into it. I closed my fist around it like a small pink clam and when I finally opened it again, the pearl was red.
By Camille Boudreau3 years ago in Horror