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Masquerade Ball

The gothic tale of the LeBlanc family.

By Daniela AlejandraPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 9 min read
20

Dr. Beckett silently surveyed the fading ink scrawled on a piece of parchment; it was one of many stacked tidily next to him on the leather seat of the car. The stack possessed the extensive medical secrets of a once well-respected family, respected to the point of veneration. The type of veneration that was bought by wealth, seduced by beauty, and celebrated with lavish masquerade balls where pining poets would sigh at the figures swathed in lace and silk. Figures that would later sway and twirl across their pages in moonlit stanzas written by zealous fingers. The ink would still be glistening on the parchment when impotence and dismay would grip the poets' hearts as they realized that their paths were never destined to intertwine with those of the dancing figures that belonged to the LeBlanc family tree. Or so it was told. Many generations had come and gone; the wealth had been squandered and the beauty had faded into a mist of mysterious maladies and afflictions.

The mansion once teeming with light and music now stood dismal and barren on the hillside. The early LeBlanc’s had built the mansion on the hillside above the town in order to satisfy their unquenchable thirst for grandeur, and to be away from the unseemly sight of the factories that generated their revenue. It was towards this mansion that Dr. Beckett was headed. His colleague, Dr. Payne and his father before him had been the LeBlanc family physicians. They had treated the members of the family for everything, from slight coughs and aches to a variety of catatonic states. Most mysteriously they attempted to treat the string of stillbirths that had slowly but completely stunted the LeBlanc lineage. On this particular day, Dr. Payne’s rheumatism had left him bed ridden, and so he was resigned to send the new young doctor to tend to the beckons of the LeBlanc family.

The mansion slowly loomed into view as the car trundled up the hillside. The peaks and spires that had once attempted to caress the heavens were now heavy with the weight of their unanswered prayers. The pointed archways were overrun by curtains of ivy, and many of the windows had cracks or were completely broken, like missing teeth in a smile. What’s more, the attempt at distance from the factories had not in fact worked. The soot from the coal fires flew on the wind with raven wings to leave shadowy streaks upon the stone face of the mansion. A mocking reminder that they were no longer in control of the factories as each generation had to slowly sell them to cover the debt inherited from the previous generation.

Sprawled behind the mansion was a colossal pear tree orchard. In the springtime, countless white flowers would blossom upon the arching branches, giving the illusion of stationary snow suspended in the soft spring breeze. This was the last beauty of the LeBlanc family manor, but it was marred by the stench of rotting fish that would emanate from the blooms. The breeze would carry the peculiar smell down the hillside where it would hover over the town, much to the townsfolks displeasure. Luckily for Dr. Beckett, his visit to the LeBlanc mansion was in October, when the trees no longer bloomed, but rather hung heavy with the last of the pear harvest. This particular October day was gloomy and gray. As he stepped out of the car, he could feel the static charging in the atmosphere and smell the rain of an incoming thunderstorm. The wind whistled through the trees, rustling the leaves and knocking some of the fruit to the ground where their soft thuds added to the din.

A weary butler answered the door and led him inside to the entrance hall where there hung a magnificent chandelier coated with dust, cobwebs, and kenopsia. A threadbare red velvet carpet led his eyes up a grand split staircase with a lusterless dark cherry banister. A tall, dark haired, thin man in a somber suit was slowly descending the stairs. Even though his complexion was wan and his clothes slightly worn, his gait demanded respect.

“We were expecting Dr. Payne today.” he said in a questioning voice.

“He sends his sincerest apologies to the family. His rheumatism is dreadful today. I am here in his place to help in any way I can.” Dr. Beckett replied.

“Very well doctor, if you would please follow me.” he replied as he retreated up the stairs.

They walked along an ample hallway that was dimly lit by wrought iron candelabra mounted on the walls. They passed heavy locked doors, the portraits of the previous LeBlanc's’ staring haughtily down their noses as if daring intruders to try to get past.

“I did not catch your name.” said the tall man breaking through the muffled silence.

“It’s Beckett, Dr. Beckett.” he replied.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance Dr. Beckett, I am Edmond LeBlanc.”

“Could you please inform me as to what is ailing your wife Mr. LeBlanc?” continued the doctor.

“Yesterday the tremors returned, and she had a hysterical outburst the likes of which we had not seen before.” “She was not able to sleep until the early hours of the morning.” “When she awakened, she remained sitting upright in bed for hours.” “We tried speaking to her to coax her out of bed to eat some breakfast, but it’s like she cannot hear us.” “She will not even turn to look at us.” he concluded.

Dr. Beckett mentally recapped the notes he had read about Catherine LeBlanc. She was Edmond LeBlanc’s third wife. His first wife had died giving birth to his only child eleven years ago, and his second wife had eaten belladonna after a series of miscarriages and a stillbirth. Catherine suffered from severe headaches and tremors, and had recently miscarried her third child. Dr. Payne credited her nervous outburst to hysteria and would bring her a series of tonics for the nerves. Edmond LeBlanc opened the door to her bedroom. Just as her husband had said, she was sitting upright in bed staring off into a point in the distance that only she could see. Catherine was still in an ivory-colored nightdress, her chestnut hair spilled down her shoulders, limp and unkempt. Her skin had an uncomely pallor that greatly contrasted with the purplish circles under her eyes. The picture of fading beauty. She gave no indication that she noticed their presence at all.

Dr. Beckett withdrew his stethoscope from his bag to listen to her heart and lungs. As he was placing the stethoscope chest piece to her back, a thunderous clap shook the atmosphere, while a crack of lightning threw the dim room into sharp focus. The sound jarred Catherine out of her trance, she began to scream and kick at things only she could see. “It’s burning!” she shrieked in agony. A maid rushed into the room; with her help they were able to hold Catherine down and get her to drink a calming tonic. Gradually she drifted off to sleep while Edmond LeBlanc and Dr. Beckett stepped out of the room.

They walked back to the entrance hall where they could see the rain falling in silver sheets outside the cracked windows.

“I’m afraid you must stay the night doctor.” “By the looks of it, that storm is going to last through the night.” “It would be dangerous to drive down in it.” Dr. Beckett hesitantly agreed. “I’ll have Howard lead you to the guest room.” “We will be having supper shortly.” he concluded.

Dr. Beckett followed the butler to a room on the second floor. From the dim light of the candles, he could see a large four poster bed with a dark canopy that almost touched the ceiling. He had barely placed his bag and coat on one of the tables when he was summoned to supper.

Dr. Beckett reached the dining room where three people sat at the end of the ample table. “Dr. Beckett this is my sister Elizabeth, and my son Edward.” stated Edmund LeBlanc. Elizabeth LeBlanc was an elderly widow with a facial tic and nervous twitching hands that barely let her control her silverware. Young Edward LeBlanc was an eleven-year-old boy with light blonde hair who’s muscles tired easily and who would often have coughing fits. However, today he was excited as he had been deemed strong enough to help pick pears from the orchard when normally he was confined to his bedroom or the library. “I must have picked about 80 pears!” he told his father excitedly as the maid brought out a scant supper.

After they finished their supper, they retired to their rooms for the night. Dr. Beckett lay awake unable to sleep due to the ungodly roar of the rain and wind howling at his window like a demon demanding entry. There were also other noises that Dr. Beckett thought he could hear mixed with the sound of the rain. The pounding of fists from within the rooms behind the locked doors, laughter echoing through the entrance hall violently rattling the chandelier, marching steps on the velvet of the grand staircase, all mixed together with the scratching of the pear tree branches upon the stones of the mansion.

Several hours into the night Dr. Beckett twitched out of a light slumber, perhaps it was the complete silence that had settled over the house, or the sliver of a silver moonbeam shining through a crack in the curtain that had awakened him. He shuffled out of bed towards the large arched window, where he drew the curtains to an astonishing sight that made him believe he must still be dreaming. The wind seemed to have blown all the storm clouds away for the night was calm and clear, a luminous full moon illuminated the orchard with its light. Within the trees of the orchard, he could see what he could only describe as veins and arteries pumping molten silver up through the leaves and into the fruit that shone like the face of the moon above.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the movement of a small figure. The moonbeams dyed his blonde hair silver as he struggled through the thick growth of the trees. Dr. Beckett quickly dressed and made his way to the orchard. He came upon the child reaching for a low hanging fruit.

“What is this?” he inquired. “Is it always like this?”

“Always see it on the full moon.” replied the child biting into a pear.

Silver juice dripped down his chin like blood dripping from the fangs of a vampire. The silver juice unsettled Dr. Beckett who felt the urge to knock the bleeding pear from the child’s hand.

“Shall we go back up to the house, it must be very late, you must get some sleep.” he told the child.

“I can never sleep.” replied the child taking another bite out of the pear.

Dr. Beckett made his way back to the mansion thinking of how he could find Edmund’s sleeping quarters, perhaps he could persuade his son to come back in the house. As he reached the front of the mansion, he saw that the windows were aglow with a flickering golden light that waved in greeting as if inviting him inside. He pushed the heavy door open, upon the grand staircase was Catherine dancing in her ivory nightgown, her long chestnut hair streaming behind her, a lit candelabra in her hand. The flames engulfing the banister danced around her, spreading to the rest of the house like merry guests, excited to be invited to the LeBlanc masquerade ball.

Short Story
20

About the Creator

Daniela Alejandra

Life's a journey and I don't have map.

I long to create worlds like the ones I would read about under the blankets late at night.

Magical realism.

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