Valentine

Valentine

By: LC Harrison

The dark room was lit with only a small flame from one candle, sitting in its brass holder on a small desk, pushed up against a window pane, flanked by burgundy curtains, hanging from a brass rod, attached to the wall. A shadowy figure approached the window and picked up the candle. As the figure did so, his face was lit by the eerie glow of the candle’s flame. His skin was pale, and he had long, white hair, that reached past visibility. His eyes were a pale blue, the color of the sky on a clear, sunny day. The figure turned and slowly walked to where I was seated, tied into a velvet upholstered chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him use the candle to light an old oil lamp, that sat on a table next to me. After doing so, he blew out the candle. The figure’s long fingers slowly untied me, as he performed this task, his long hair fell forward. It must have reached his waist. He brushed his hair back with his hand to reveal a pointed ear.

What sort of man was this, that had me prisoner, or was it a man? I looked toward the window and could see the moon shining brightly through the darkness of the night.

The figure allowed the ropes to drop to the floor with a thud. He stood erect and motioned for me to rise. He wrapped his long fingers over my shoulders, and began to speak.

“Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Valentine, and I have brought you here to my home in Salem, Massachusetts.”

“Why?,” I asked shakily.

“In time, you will know,” Valentine said.

As I stood there with him, I saw a body laying on the bed behind us.

“Who’s that?,” I asked, now feeling myself shudder as I spoke.

“That, oh, you mean behind me,” Valentine said, “never mind them, follow me.”

I followed him down a long corridor filled with doors. Finally, we stopped.

Valentine fiddled with a large ring filled with keys, that clanged as he unlocked the door ahead of us. He swung the door open to reveal a lounge, that had a bar at the back of the room. We entered and he closed the door behind me.

“May I pour you a drink?,” Valentine asked.

“No, thank you,” I said, as my thoughts wandered to the prohibition laws.

As I pondered the law, I thought I do not want to break anymore laws. Any more laws? What other laws had I broken?

Just then, my thoughts were interrupted by my captor, who said, “Take a seat.”

I sat on the velvet sofa, that faced a large window, covered with dark draperies.

I watched Valentine as he mixed a drink and walked toward me.

“Valentine, why was I tied to the chair?,” I asked.

“Well,” said Valentine as he sat down beside me, “that was a precautionary matter.”

“I feel as if I’ve lost some time,” I said. “Would you care to tell me what time it is?”

“I could, but that may not be wise,” said Valentine.

“Your name is unusual,” I said, hoping to spur some discussion in the eerily quiet room.

“I never thought so,” said Valentine, “I was born on St. Valentine’s Day.”

“Why did you bring me here, Valentine?,” I asked.

“It suited my purpose,” said Valentine.

“What purpose?,” I asked.

“All in good time,” said Valentine. “You will know in time. Would you care to have a tour of my home?’

“Do I truly have a choice?,” I asked.

“I suppose not,” Valentine said. “Come, I will show you my home.”

We walked out the door and as Valentine stopped to lock it, he said, “There are six rooms on this floor. You’ve already seen two. Would you care to see the room on the right or left of the hall first?”

“I suppose I’d care to see the room on the left first,” I said.

“Very well,” said Valentine, as he turned to the door on his left and fiddled with his key ring until he found the key to unlock it.

“Why don’t you use a skeleton key?,” I asked.

“That would make it all too easy to access the rooms,” said Valentine.

I thought, “too easy,” what could be in these rooms that would require such a tactic? I heard the lock click, and the door creek open to reveal a small child in the middle of a stark, grey, dusty nursery. The little boy was playing with a ragged teddy bear. There was something familiar about the child, that gave me chills. The child was eerie in appearance, very thin with white hair to his shoulders. He seemed to be as unkempt as the room he was in.

“This is the room where the happy memories of child’s play are made,” said Valentine.

“Happy?,” I said, “That child looks nothing more than dreadfully rueful. Whose child is it?”

“Do you not know?,” said Valentine. Valentine’s long finger then pointed towards the wall, and he said, “look.”

My attention drifted to see the writing of a child in the dust on the wall. The words read: “Those who care might as well be dead, for no-one is ever here.”

“Those are odd words for a child,” I said. “May we go comfort him?”

Valentine’s eyes glared into mine, as he said, “There is nothing that can be done for him, now. He has been left alone too long. Tended by unloving hands, and ignored by his care-givers, he is a dejected child.”

“Who would do such a thing?,” I asked.

“You tell me,” said Valentine, as he re-locked the door and spun around to open the door behind us. “Shall we open the next door?”

“Very well,” I said, with my mind still on the poor child Valentine coldly locked in the room.

“This is the room of childhood wishes,” said Valentine.

This door swung open to reveal a child standing in the middle of a very dark room. This child appeared much like the first, but seemed to be more well nourished.

“Is that the same child?,” I asked.

“Not exactly,” said Valentine.

I stared closely at the child. He had bloodshot eyes, and his golden-white hair seemed to be stained a reddish-brown.

“I do not care to see any more of this room, Valentine,” I said.

“Possibly you should enter the room,” said Valentine, “after all it is rather dark. You might be able to see better, if you step inside.”

“Are you mad?,” I said.

“I may be,” said Valentine, as I felt him push me into the room.

As I entered the room, I felt Valentine behind me holding me there. The room was very cold with a musty odor. Something about the air stung in my lungs, and made my eyes well up with tears. Valentine didn’t seem affected at all. The child started to make his way to the darkest corner of the room.

“Go ahead walk further into the room with the child,” he told me.

“What is it you want me to see?,” I asked.

“Go,” he said as he pushed me.

I hesitantly followed the little boy across the floor to see a table covered in blood. Next to the table the boy now sat crouched in the corner. He seemed so familiar to me, but I just couldn’t place him. The child was mumbling to himself.

“They said I was ugly,” sniffled the child, “and they laughed. They said I didn’t look like them. But I took Daddy’s knife from the table, and I made sure I didn’t look different no more. I’m pretty now.”

The child was rocking back and forth now, and he brushed his hair back to reveal his ears to be covered in blood. I drew back.

“Something wrong?,” asked Valentine.

I just stood there a moment, and then I turned to face Valentine.

“May we go now?,” I asked.

“Yes,” said Valentine.

We exited the room, and as Valentine locked the door, I couldn’t help thinking of the next possible horror.

“Valentine, please tell me,” I said, “tell me there aren’t any more children locked-up in cold rooms.”

“You tell me,” said Valentine, as he laughed menacingly.

“That is not funny,” I said.

“No,” said Valentine, “you’re right; it is not. Tell me, what do you think of my rooms?”

“I think this is an insane asylum for children and their ghosts,” I said.

“If only it were,” said Valentine. “Shall we see what is behind the next door?”

“As long as it’s not another child,” I said. “Children bother me; they make me nervous. I feel helpless and inadequate around them.”

“Do you?,” said Valentine. “Well, let’s try this door. This is the room of true love’s hopes.”

As the door swung open, I thought, finally, a well lit room. In this room was a couple. The young woman laid upon a sofa crying.

“Why are you doing this to me?,” said the woman, directing her words to a figure standing in the shadows of the back of the room.

The figure stepped forward and said, “There is no need for this petty emotion. Emotion never got me anywhere.”

“My emotion isn’t petty,” said the woman between her teeth.

“This child better look like you,” he said. “I am tired of them looking like me.”

“Please, please,” whimpered the woman, “please do not kill another one of our babies.”

“As long as the child looks like you,” he said, “I won’t.”

“I promise, I promise the baby will look like me,” she said. “If the child does look like me, could we have just one more, and keep him or her too.”

“If you insist, but if that one looks like me,” he said, “I’ll want nothing to do with him. And if he does look like me, that will be our last child. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, because everything depends upon the child you carry now.”

Valentine slowly closed the door.

“More than I meant to show,” Valentine mumbled. “These rooms are unpredictable,” Valentine said with a smile.

“Are these ghosts of the past?,” I said hopefully.

“In a way, yes,” said Valentine.

“What were those people fighting about?,” I said.

“Don’t you know?,” Valentine said.

“No, I do not know,” I said.

“Shall we continue on?,” said Valentine.

“If we must?,” I said. “Valentine, are you magical or something? How is it that you can show me these images.”

“I never really thought about that,” said Valentine. “I have always been able to see the ghosts in these rooms. I do know that this is all real. These ghosts of events really did occur once upon a time. They are as real as the bustle of children outside, celebrating All Hallows Eve.”

“Is it All Hallows Eve?,” I asked.

“Yes, and it will be All Saints Day soon,” laughed Valentine. “Well here is the last room; shall we open the door?”

“Very well,” I said as I braced myself for another confusing or horrifying sight.

“This is a room filled with the joys of life,” said Valentine.

This room didn’t seem horrifying at all, in it stood two cribs. The room was divided by a wall down the center to about a foot before the door. I stepped in. I walked to the crib on the left, and in it was a little baby. The baby was laughing and playing with a beautiful teddy bear. The sun shone through the window, and glistened on the baby’s face.

“Valentine, what is the baby’s name?,” I said.

“His name is Vincent,” said Valentine.

“May I pick him up?,” I said.

“Aren’t you interested in the other side of the room?,” asked Valentine.

I had forgotten about the other crib; I slowly made my way to the right of the wall.

This side of the room was very dark. The window was boarded up, and I could see a spider’s web where the light bulb should be. I walked toward the crib, and heard a whimper. I squinted to see what made the sound.

“Why it’s a baby,” I said. “Who would leave a baby in such conditions?”

I picked the child up, and dried its tears. The baby had golden-white locks of hair framing its face and his ears were deformed into little points. All in all, the child was beautiful. Just then I realized Valentine was standing behind me.

“You picked him up?,” Valentine said.

“The child needed comforted,” I said.

“We should go,” Valentine said.

“I’m not leaving this infant here;” I said, “I’m going to put him with the other.”

“You can’t!,” said Valentine.

“Why not?,” I said.

“The baby is just a ghost of the past,” said Valentine. “You can not help him now.”

“Well,” I said, “what should I do? We can’t just leave these babies all alone.”

“Put him back,” said Valentine. “The past will take care of its self.”

“What is his name;” I asked, “I wish to sing him a lullaby.”

“It is named for the day it was born,” said Valentine.

“This is you, isn’t it?,” I said.

“Don’t waste your singing on the baby,” said Valentine, “He can’t hear us. We are ghosts to him, and he is a ghost to us.”

I carefully placed the baby back in the crib, and followed Valentine out of the room, as I hummed my favorite lullaby.

“Go to sleep little baby...

You know I love you so...

the angels are watching over you...

so shed not a tear...

have no fear, because

your dreams will see you to the morn...

and when the sun shines,

you’ll wake up to find

me here beside you...”

“I know that song,” said Valentine as he closed the door.

“I used to sing it to my two boys every night,” I said without thinking.

Two boys, I thought, what two boys?

“We should move on to the next room,” said Valentine.

“But I thought you said there were six rooms?,” I said.

“We’re going back where we started,” said Valentine with a sigh.

“You’re not going to tie me up again are you?,” I said.

“No,” said Valentine, “I have something I wish to show you.”

“All right,” I said, as we made our way to the middle of the hall, where we began.

“No,” said Valentine, “it is not all right. It is all wrong.” “I don’t understand,” I said.

“You will in time,” said Valentine.

Valentine edged the door to the middle room open to reveal the dimly lit, all too familiar room. At the end of the room, where the desk stood was a figure that resembled Valentine. The figure appeared to be writing by the light of a candle.

“Do you know what he writes?,” said Valentine.

“How could I know?,” I said.

“True,” said Valentine. “I will tell you. The letter reads:

My Dear Beloved Brother Vincent,

I am concerned as of late. Our parents have been fighting

profusely over the circumstances of your birth. It has been

found that the reason you are not as I am, is because you are

but half my brother. I fear that one of our parents might

harm the other, if you know what I mean.

Devotedly Yours,

Valentine

“What happened after you mailed the letter, Valentine?,” I asked.

“Someone died,” said Valentine.

My mind traveled to a bloody event, that spoke of horrors I could not fathom. Now, I knew who was in the bed, and I knew why they were in the bed. Yes, there had been a death, and I was responsible.

“You understand now don’t you?,” said Valentine.

“I never meant...,” I said.

“I have a favor to ask,” said Valentine.

“What is it?,” I asked.

“Would you kill me?,” said Valentine. “I know nothing but your evil, the evil that created me.”

“I can not kill you,” I said. “You are not evil.”

“How can I be anything else,” Valentine said, “you’ve seen what has been in my home?”

“You can rise above the circumstances around you, Valentine,” I said. “You are intelligent.”

“And what pray tell,” said Valentine, “am I to do about you?”

“What do you mean?,” I said.

“Well, I can’t just go telling just anyone about this home,” said Valentine.

“No,” I said, “no you can’t. They’ll say you’re mad, and may harm you.”

“You really don’t want to see me harmed do you?,” said Valentine.

“No,” I said, “no I don’t. I love you.”

“Then I must kill you,” said Valentine.

I felt a strike against my chest, and then I was free from all that had burdened me for all those years. At last I could have peace. But what had I left behind?

What sort of creature?

The End...