Horror Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Bright Pessimism ❯ Chapter 4

The last thing Kristopher expected when he woke up was to feel comfortable. Though he had exhausted himself the night before, this morning he felt revived and alive. Kristopher thought, even before he opened his eyes, that he must have been back at his aunt's house.

Kristopher rolled onto his right hip and opened his eyes, expecting to see Mattie still asleep beside him. Instead of his little brother, a large floor-to-ceiling window gave him a view of the mountain on which he unknowingly was atop. He sat up and looked down to thankfully see his scrapbook beside him.

Until now, he had not realized he had been lying in a king-size bed with black and white silk sheets. He skeptically stroked the pillow encased in black as he glanced around the room. A complicated dark- and light-gray tapestry design was painted onto the walls, and two doors–one to the furthest left from where he was, another one straight ahead–were painted silver. The furniture was made from black-painted metal; of course there was the bed, two nightstands on either side of the bed, a vanity on the wall across and a dresser on the wall next to him, and to his left a sofa with white cushions and a coffee table, both on a rug sharing a similar design as the walls.

Kristopher realized then that he had been stripped to his boxer shorts. He hugged the sheets to his chest, glancing around wildly. He hoped someone would enter the room and tell him what exactly happened after he fell asleep.

And, answering Kristopher's wishes, the door to the left opened. However, he did not expect his answer in the form of three buxom maids. He knew they were maids since their outfits slightly resembled that of a normal maid's, but they seemed to be straight from a fetish magazine. They wore short, dark-red PVC dresses with cap-sleeves and a low, rounded neckline. With this, they also wore black PVC aprons and gloves with black thigh-high PVC lace-up boots. They also had different hairstyles but each had golden-blonde hair.

"That's a lot of polymer," Kristopher said of their outfits under his breath.

"Good morning, Mister Kristopher," the three maids acknowledged in near-unison as they crossed toward him.

"Good morning," he answered. "How do you know–?"

Before Kristopher could actually realize it, the maids had grabbed him, carried him through the door across from him into a bathroom, stripped him, and thrown him into a bathtub already steaming with warm water. As they scrubbed him down, he was left wondering how they had prepared the bath without his knowing. And, to confuse him more, they had known his name.

Of course, Kristopher did realize that they could have looked in his scrapbook to find his name; otherwise, they just knew it somehow.

Kristopher was taken out of the bath as soon as he had been put in it. After performing many necessary morning rituals on him for him, the maids dressed him in an outfit that was not foreign to him–a black tank and black jeans.

"The Mistress would fancy your presence at breakfast," the maids told him eloquently.

Due to the hot looks of the maids, Kristopher imagined the "Mistress" as the sexiest creature alive before even meeting her. He nodded eagerly, and one maid led him out of the room while the other two looped their arms around his.

Kristopher could not believe that someone so rich had found him trapped in the net. His eyes wandered nearly out of his head as he was led through the Victorian-style mansion. He was led down a large hallway, through an upstairs parlor room, and down a spiral staircase. He was then led through the maze that was downstairs before going through a set of double doors.

The breakfast room was mellower in color than the room he had occupied. The back-wall was, again, a floor-to-ceiling window that stretched the wall's width. The walls were painted dark-red while the embossed ceiling was colored gold. The long, black table in the center of the room was clearly from the Romantic era with plenty of small but beautiful details. The maids led him to the right side of the room and led him to a chair, placing a gold-colored napkin in his lap for him.

Kristopher actually became quite rigid when he heard clicking heels enter the breakfast room. The maids quietly said their greetings as they backed away against the wall. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to calm his shattered nerves.

"Good morning, Kristopher."

Kristopher looked up into the nearly-colorless light-gray eyes of the Mistress. Without the help of the thigh-high boots' heels she wore, he knew she still would have been an epic height and much taller than him. She had a sturdy frame that supported her and her bosomy torso with flawless, pale skin covering her, which was never a bad or faulty combination. Her long, wavy pale-brown hair looked just as silky as the sheets he had slept in. As expected, she wore a black PVC corset that was restricted by a purple ribbon on the front side, a pleated skirt of the same color and material with purple details, and fishnets.

Damn, this woman sure did love polymer.

"Good morning, misses," Kristopher said quietly.

"It's Mistress," she corrected with her pale, beautiful lips forming a twisted smile.

The Mistress was seated by her maids at the head of the table next to Kristopher. They placed her napkin in her lap before she shooed them away with a simple hand gesture. Kristopher nervously looked away, instead opting to attempt blinding himself by staring at the diamond chandelier.

"Kristopher, my sweets, look at me," she invited. "Please look at me."

He blushed as he glanced back at her. "How do you know my name?"

"Because I do," she replied, grinning.

Kristopher looked down at his hands anxiously. "You probably looked in my mother's scrapbook," he rejoined. "She had been working on it since I was born."

"Interesting." The Mistress leaned forward in her throne-like chair. "I would like to introduce myself now."

Kristopher looked back up at her. "Okay."

"My name is Mistress Llewellyn Rochester, wife of the late Mister John Rochester," she informed with an air of authority.

"Late?" Kristopher bit his lip. "He must have died when you were younger."

"No, I wasn't any younger when he died," Llewellyn sighed.

"Did he die recently?"

"No–not at all." She curled her lip more. "You're the good age–being fifteen is just peachy."

"Yeah, it is… I guess." He cleared his throat quietly.

"Your breakfast, Mister Kristopher," a maid said to him as she set down a plate of pastries in front of him.

Kristopher eagerly licked his lips as he picked up an éclair off the plate. The mellow scent was irresistible, and he immediately devoured it. Llewellyn plastered a small smile on her face while she watched him and picked at the porridge in front of her.

After the quiet breakfast, Llewellyn led Kristopher upstairs to the parlor room. This particular room was decorated similar to the room Kristopher stayed in; however, the tapestry design on the walls was black and white instead of gray. Kristopher sat down on a white, overstuffed couch while Llewellyn sat down in a chair alike to the couch. Silence was prominent as the maids poured them each a cup of tea.

"If you don't mind my asking," he spoke, "how old are you?"

"Thirty," she replied, sipping quietly on her tea and leaning back in the chair.

"How did you find me?" Kristopher continued looking up at her as he reached for his teacup.

Llewellyn smiled at him from behind her cup. "I like late-night strolls around my property."

"…How did you find me?" He slowly supped the tea.

"I was walking around," she recalled, throwing her head back. "And my favorite pet bats were perched on a net up in a tree. So they got the net down, and I carried a sleeping little boy all the way back to my mansion. Does that sound okay?"

Kristopher frowned. "I'm not a little boy."

"Yes, you are." Her lip curled defiantly as she looked back at him.

"I'm fifteen. I'm not a little boy."

"All little boys are vulnerable," she replied coolly. "You are vulnerable–that must make you a little boy. It is only simple deductive reasoning. Anyway, any more questions, my sweets?"

"You said that the woods were your property–"

"Oh, yes," Llewellyn muttered. "Everything that was my husband's became mine. However, no one seems to acknowledge this because I do indeed own this whole mountain." She paused as she grinned slyly. "Your aunt's house is on my property."

"How do you know about my aunt?" Kristopher shot back, slamming his teacup down.

"I know anything I want to know. Is that simple enough for a little boy to understand?"

Kristopher flustered. "No, you don't know anything and everything."

"Your mother died a week ago. Your father died five years ago," Llewellyn recited in monotone. "You have never been outside until you moved to Debra's house–"

"I need to go home now," Kristopher interrupted. "Do you have a telephone?"

She shook her head. "No telephone."

"What?!" He blinked. "You really don't have a telephone?"

"No telephone."

"What about a cell phone?" Kristopher inquired wildly.

"No cell phone."

"What about a car?"

"I don't drive," Llewellyn answered.

"What about your maids? Do they drive?" His stomach began twisting nauseously.

"No, they don't drive either."

"I know how to drive–"

"I don't have a car." She took a sip of tea.

"How am I supposed to get home if you don't have a phone or car?"

"You're not," Llewellyn enunciated, smirking.

Kristopher stared back at her fearfully. "What?" he managed to squeak.

"I found you," she asserted. "You are my little boy now. You are to stay here with me until I decide otherwise. Understand, my sweets?"

"If you knew everything," Kristopher shouted back at her as he stood up, "you'd know that I need to get home to apologize to my little brother and sister!"

"I know you do," she sighed. "That does not mean I have to let you go, however."

"But you have to!" Tears stung his eyes, but he fought them back. "You can't do this!"

"I'm bored," Llewellyn yawned. "I have heard this too many times before. Could you come up with something original?" She glanced over at her maids. "Lock Mister Kristopher up in his room while I rest," she commanded. "And make sure he is presentable later because I want us to have tea."

"No!" he screamed at her. "I want to go home!"

"Doesn't everyone," she murmured. "Could you take him now, ladies?"

The maids gripped his arms as Kristopher kicked at them. As they dragged him past Llewellyn, she wore a smirk of omnipotence. Kristopher shouted nonsense at her, and she only laughed as he was taken away.

"I expect you for teatime, my little boy!" Llewellyn mocked.

Kristopher fought at the maids as they shut him up in his room. He failed to keep them from locking him in as he furiously clawed at the door. His heart thundered even louder than his rebellious screams. He jerked the doorknob for what seemed a lifetime, but the heavy door did not plan on opening.

He rushed over to the window and threw his fists at it. Kristopher felt his heart rapidly beating, and he clutched it, feeling it would jump out of his hollow chest. He fell back onto the bed as his heavy breathing kept him from screaming any more. His cheeks were soaked more each second.

God, he was having a panic attack, though it seemed more like an aneurysm. Kristopher attempted to control his breathing, but he could not calm down. The phrase little boy echoed through his troubled mind while he grasped for the scrapbook setting beside him. He hugged it to his body, crying into the spine.

Kristopher had underestimated Pain.