Horror Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Bright Pessimism ❯ Chapter 5

"Mistress–Mister Kristopher."

Llewellyn glanced over her shoulder at the maid that had just entered the second-floor parlor. It was now early afternoon, but there was still a sleepy feeling in the air. Kristopher shyly trudged past the maid and collapsed in a chair.

Llewellyn cleared her throat, grinning maliciously. "Little boy, go try it again."

"What?!" he snapped, seeming to suddenly come to life.

"When my maid announces your entrance," she retorted with exasperation, "you should bow and acknowledge me."

"Why?!"

"Because that is how it has always been. Now stop whining; get up and try it again."

Kristopher puffed up his cheeks as he stood up. He then stomped out of the room. The maid glanced back at him as he stood next to her. She raised her eyebrows, obviously annoyed.

"Mistress–Mister Kristopher," the maid sighed.

Kristopher bowed sarcastically before standing upright. "Oh dear," he murmured, "I forgot your name. It started with an L."

"It's Mistress Llewellyn!" she growled.

He bowed once more and again stood up. "Mistress Llewellyn," he flicked off his tongue.

"Little boy."

Kristopher pursed his lips in disgust as he again flung himself into a chair across the room. She glanced up at him.

"Come sit next to me," she commanded. "That is not a request."

Kristopher, sighing angrily, got up and sat down on the sofa she occupied. He kept his distance by sitting as close to the end as possible. As a maid poured tea for Llewellyn and him, he noticed a large box on the coffee table in front of him. It was a fine, black-painted wood with delicate carvings in it. By the looks of it, he could tell that the top opened, and there was also a rather small hole in the side with a panel that opened and closed.

"What's in that box?" Kristopher inquired.

"I'll tell you in a while," Llewellyn responded as she took up her teacup and sipped it thoughtfully.

Kristopher also took his cup in his trembling hands. "Is there possibly anyone else here other than us and your maids?"

"My bats," she answered, never looking up at him.

"Where are we?"

Llewellyn glowered at him. "My mansion, stupid little boy."

"I'm not stupid, I'm not little, and I know we're in your mansion. I'm talking geographically."

"That's a rather big word for a little boy to know."

"Please answer me," he begged.

"I'm not obliged," she informed, supping her tea. "I already told you we were on my land, and your aunt's house is on my land. That should tell you where the Hell you are."

"I don't know the area," Kristopher reasoned frantically. "I just moved here a few days ago–"

"I know." Another fretless sip.

"Please?"

Llewellyn glanced over at him. "No. Would you stop asking now?"

Kristopher bit his lip. "Why did you choose me?"

"What exactly do you mean, my sweets?" She set down her teacup and leaned into the sofa.

"Why did you kidnap me?"

"Kidnap?" Llewellyn laughed, causing Kristopher's heart to sink even lower. "Have you not figured it out by now?"

"No," he whined.

"Of course," she rejoined with a smirk, "you're a little boy. You don't understand anything."

"How did you pick me out?" Kristopher rephrased.

Llewellyn curled her lip. "I like little boys. You're a little boy. Think of deductive reasoning again. Is it beginning to connect?"

"You're… a pedophile?"

She paled. "I wouldn't quite say that."

"You're… a pedophilic predator?"

"No!" Llewellyn sighed. "I just like little boys, okay? I'm always on the lookout for others on my land, and you and your brother and sister were suddenly added to my radar. Got that?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized tearfully.

"There is no need to be sorry," she said with a smile. "I like little boys, and that is why I'm not going to kill you quite yet."

Kristopher stared at her blankly. "Why would you kill me?"

"Because," Llewellyn rolled off her tongue, "I'm thirty, and you are fifteen. In fifteen years, you are going to turn thirty and officially be my age. I do not like men my age or older. So, when you are my age, I'll kill you." She chuckled under her breath at his credulity.


"But I'll always be younger than you," he cried.

Llewellyn smiled to herself as she shook her head. "No, you won't." She called over a maid to refill her teacup and then took the cup back in her hands, sipping it quietly. "Now, let us move on to more important things."

"But how did you find me?" Kristopher questioned. "How did you know that I was in this area?"

"I'll admit that I have supernatural abilities," she bragged. "I just know things. My bats actually found you…" Llewellyn grinned at him from behind her teacup. "Little boys should not be up past their bedtime, you know."

"Do you fucking get off by calling me a goddamn little boy?!" Kristopher shouted at her.

"And what if I did?" She took another sip of the tea. "Be polite and civil, and I just might answer the rest of your questions."

Kristopher curled his lip in disgust as he finally drank the tea. "How did you know I was caught in the net?"

"I just knew." Llewellyn shrugged. "I take in cute little boys that I find out after their bedtimes–only one at a time, though. I've forgotten how many I have had in my household."

"What about others?" Kristopher set down his cup after deciding the tea was disgusting. "What do you do when you find other males and even females on your land in the middle of the night?"

"It depends," Llewellyn answered. "I usually don't care." She paused as her eyes lit up and then continued, "If it's an older man, I usually feed him to my precious bats." A smile spread across her pale lips. "I actually found one last night after I found you."

"Why do you kill them?" he asked wildly.

"I have to survive." She grinned; the boy was gullible.

"I haven't killed anyone and I've lived to my age," he reasoned. "I don't have to kill anyone to survive."

"But you are a little boy," Llewellyn mocked. "And since you are a little boy, I thought you would like a gift."

"And you came to this conclusion through that deductive reasoning bullshit?"

"Do you want it or not?!" she snapped impatiently.

He frowned. "I guess."

Kristopher watched Llewellyn as she picked up the wooden box on the coffee table after setting down her teacup. She next put it down on the sofa between them. Llewellyn opened the hatch on the top and reached into the box.

"Wake up," she cooed.

A minute later, Llewellyn took her hand out of the box. Perched on her hand was a small bat slightly smaller than her thumb. It had fluffy, burnt amber-colored fur on its backside, while its belly was covered with velvety, cream-colored fur. Its muzzle was short and blunt, and it had a leaf-shaped nose. The ears were large and pointy. While it had no tail, it had long and narrow wings.

Llewellyn held out the small bat to Kristopher. He nervously held out his left hand, and the bat hopped into his hand. He brought it slowly closer to his face when it yawned, displaying its rather large incisors. Kristopher jumped but tried not to disturb the bat. The little bat was rather cute and scary at the same time.

"His name is Samhain, and he is a common vampire bat," Llewellyn acknowledged. "You pronounce his name sah-win."

"Samhain–that's an old Celtic festival that's on the same day as Halloween," Kristopher thought aloud as he analyzed the bat Samhain.

"Very good, little boy," she praised.

Kristopher softly stroked Samhain. "Is he mine?"

"You may keep him," Llewellyn replied. "He is quite young–less than a year old. I thought that you needed a familiar."

"How do I take care of him?" Kristopher asked as he cupped Samhain in his hands and hugged him close.

"He is a vampire bat, so he only feeds on blood. Vampire bats, however, generally do not bite humans. But you do not actually have to worry about feeding him because my maids will take care of that." Llewellyn picked her teacup back up. "I would like you to let him out your window every night and keep the window open." She smiled. "You should put him back in the box for now. He's nocturnal."

Kristopher carefully placed Samhain back in the box before slowly closing the hatch. He wrapped his arm around the box and hugged it to his side, curling up next to it.

"How many boys have you kidnapped?" he suddenly questioned.

Llewellyn pursed her lips and glanced around. "I don't know. I lost count after a while." She returned to her tea. "I do know that within days I killed most of them because I ended up not liking them. So, you know, that's a lot of boys I have had. Except there was one certain little boy that died, and I wished I could have kept him forever–" She paused and glanced back at him.

Kristopher frowned as he hid behind the box. "Why would you keep me here with you instead of just letting me go?" he asked timidly. "I'll come back. I promise."

Llewellyn looked back at him. "Do you understand how my land would be invaded by the so-called law enforcement? I cannot let you go after I have told you so much."

"But you've told me nothing…," Kristopher said, his voice fading to nothing.

"There is nothing I can do to keep you from telling the world about me," Llewellyn remarked, "…you know, other than either just keeping you here or killing you."

"But I don't want to stay here! Please let me go," he pleaded.

Llewellyn set down her teacup and stood up, brushing off her PVC skirt. "It all depends on what runs through your veins," she cryptically told him before walking to the door. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "I'll be expecting you for dinner, my sweets."
"When was lunch?! Did I miss it?"

"This was our little late lunch."

"When is dinner?"

"In about three hours."

"But I'm hungry!"

At that moment, about ten maids walked in through the door, each carrying a tray of desserts–tarts, tortes, sundaes, custards, puddings, crème brulèe, soufflés, mousses, crepes, trifles, cobblers, éclairs, dumplings, cream puffs, and other things he could not quite identify. Llewellyn smiled at him before walking away as Kristopher immediately began sampling everything from the trays. All of it had a distinguishing flavor that he could not match to the ones he already knew. He gorged himself to a point of nausea, and though there was no more room in his stomach, he kept on eating until the maids decided it best to take it away.

Kristopher lay on the couch with the box on his stomach as the maids filed out of the room. His mind wandered around outside of his head as he wondered if anyone was looking for him. He wished his mother and father were still alive to keep him safe, and he tried to imagine how they felt then as they looked down on him from Heaven. He hoped they would at least give him clues as to how to get away–

What was keeping him from finding a door outside anyway?

Kristopher quickly sat up, cradling the box in his arms. He rushed back to his room, set the box on the dresser, and exited. Kristopher ran across the width of the mansion and found the helical stairs, descending them. He hurried down a hallway and saw the front door in all of its glory.

The door was nearly twice the height of him, which was not a difficult accomplishment. It was painted a mellow gray color, and the large knob was bright-silver. Around it were handcrafted windows that he could not quite see through to view the sun setting over the horizon.

Kristopher jerked the doorknob as he twisted it, but the door seemed to stay in place. He frantically tugged at it, making sure it was unlocked. No matter how much he pulled, the door seemed sealed. He pushed the other way, trying to see if he was opening it wrong, but it did not bulge.

"Where are you going, my sweets?"

Kristopher spun around and faced Llewellyn, who hovered over him. He fearfully backed into the door as she smirked at him. Something told him to strike her, so he abruptly threw his fists at her.

A feeling of helplessness shot through his body as she caught his fists easily. He attempted to pull himself away, but he could not, for she was as strong as a stone monument. He kicked her as hard as he could, but she seemed unaffected.

"Stop fighting, little boy," Llewellyn barked. "That door only opens for me."

"Please let me go," Kristopher cried as he tried to wrench out of her iron grip.

"Okay," she said with a smile.

Llewellyn let go of his hands, and Kristopher retreated from her. He hugged himself as he turned to the door.

"This only opens for you, you said?" Kristopher asked as he tugged at the doorknob. "How? Is it always locked somehow?"

"It's sealed unless I say otherwise." Llewellyn shrugged. "A little boy like you is incapable of understanding."

"Don't call me that!"

Kristopher turned around, but she was gone. He shivered violently, hugging himself tightly. Kristopher sighed as he then began walking in an unspecified direction. If he was going to live here for a while, he might as well learn how to get around.





The dining room fascinated Kristopher. The height of the ceiling alone was enough to make him feel insignificant. The panels were a rich maroon, and black-and-white tiles patterned the floors. The three separate fireplaces along the wall illuminated the room sparingly while someone played the organ as tall as the room along the other wall.

Llewellyn stood before the largest and centermost fireplace. She, in fact, was not wearing PVC; instead, she wore a gray jacquard corset and skirt with black poplin ruffles. The fact that she pretended to not know Kristopher had entered the room creeped him out.

Llewellyn finally turned toward Kristopher, who stood in the large doorway. Her lip curled as she silently beckoned him over to her. Kristopher chewed on his tongue as he quietly stepped over to her. He stared down at the floor as she studied his slightly new outfit, a black poplin shirt with black jeans.

"You clean up nice for a little boy," Llewellyn told him mockingly. "Sit down."

Kristopher soon found himself seated next to Llewellyn, who sat at the head of the table. He had a hard time looking at her but an equally difficult time not looking at her; a mysterious ruby pendant on a silver chain around her neck begged for his eyes' attention. She leaned back in her chair nonchalantly as she smirked at him.

"Why did you not bring Samhain with you?" she asked.

Kristopher frowned. "I didn't think he would want to."

Llewellyn arched her eyebrows. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know."

"Did you open the panel on his box?"

"Yes. And I opened my window, too."

Kristopher tried to ignore his stomach, which was twisting and stretching all kinds of ways. The eerie glint in Llewellyn's eyes caused his mind to run free with possibilities of what could happen in the next while. Her small smile was more overpowering than calming. However, her pendant asked him to cooperate and told him everything would be okay.

Or at least he thought it was the pendant saying that.

A salad was placed before him, and Kristopher only stared at it. Llewellyn seemed to be lost in her own dark world as she leafed through her own salad. The quieter she was, the bigger her smile seemed to get. Kristopher feared what she may be thinking, and he had good reason.

Llewellyn finally looked up at him, her smile fading away. "Do little boys not like salads?" she asked, looking back down. "Or are you anorexic?"

Kristopher pursed his lips as he stabbed at the lettuce with a fork. "Why are you keeping me?"

She tried not to smile, and it was obvious. He let a few minutes pass, hoping she was thinking of a good answer. Though when Llewellyn did not answer, Kristopher's mind panicked as he tried to connect the dots himself.

"Did you hear me?" he whispered.

"Yes," Llewellyn answered, keeping her focus on the salad in front of her. "I'm just not answering."

In response, Kristopher pushed the salad plate away from him. "I'm not hungry. Could I be excused?"

"No, you can not." She openly grinned as her eyes looked back at him. "Anorexic."

"I'm not anorexic," Kristopher argued. "I just don't like eating."

"Anorexic," Llewellyn chanted. "Anorexic."

He sighed sadly as he pulled the plate back toward him. Kristopher's heart thumped uncontrollably as he ate. Something made him dreadfully nervous, but he did not want to know what it was.

After dinner, Kristopher quietly followed Llewellyn to the upstairs parlor. He was again forced to sit on the sofa with her, though he kept his distance. Kristopher then watched the maids serve Llewellyn a crimson wine.

"What kind of wine is that?" he asked curiously.

"Little boys can't drink," she replied in monotone.

"I was just curious." Kristopher bit his lip as he looked away.

"I'm also curious," Llewellyn said as she took a small sip of the dark-red wine. "You have post-traumatic stress disorder, do you not?"

Kristopher gazed back at her. "How do you know these things about me?"

A smile appeared on her lips. "I told you that I know anything I want to know," she responded. "Now, give me some details about your disorder. I realize the medicine to your symptoms is sweets."

"Yeah," Kristopher murmured.

"Tell me more, please," Llewellyn requested. "Before I end up telling you what you already know, that is."

"I have panic attacks," he said timidly.

"Triggers?"

"Anything."

"Okay… what else? What do you avoid?"

"I used to avoid the study in our beach house because–"

Llewellyn, after he had paused for a minute, urged, "Go on, please."

"You're not my psychologist," he spat.

Her eyes flashed, lending them color for a split-second. "Who else do you have to talk to?"

Kristopher wrung his hands. Llewellyn had a point; there was no one else to talk to in reality. Samhain the bat would squeal like Mattie in a morbid way, and the maids could not care less.

"I avoided the study," he explained, "because that was where my father died. I guess I don't have to worry about it anymore–I'll never see our old beach house again." Tears begged to be released, but he rubbed his eyes with his wrist.

"Nope." Llewellyn took a sip of wine.

"You're so cruel," Kristopher blubbered, fumbling to wipe at his eyes.

"Moving on. If I held out a corded phone like the one your father had in his office and told you that if you used it, you could go free–what would you do?"

"I have nightmares of corded phones," he muttered, holding his head in his hands. "My aunt had to get rid of hers before my family came to her home."

"You went on a highway coming back from the airport–"

"How do you know these details? Are you really my stalker?"

Llewellyn set down her wineglass. "And if I was?"

Kristopher frowned as he leaned against the arm of the sofa. "I'm really just not okay with talking to someone who doesn't know me about such personal things."

"Pshaw. I know you as well as you know you," she remarked.

"Then why are you asking me about me if you know me?"

"Because," Llewellyn murmured, "I don't know what else to say to you. Besides, doesn't it feel better to tell someone about these things?"

"You sound very skeptical." Kristopher traced the pattern on the rug with his eyes.

After a moment of silence, Kristopher felt her beside him as she thumbed through his hair. Serenity would have normally passed over him, but in its place was paranoia. He gripped the arm of the sofa, digging his nails into the cloth.

"What's wrong, my sweets?" Llewellyn questioned as she lightly ran her fingers down his back.

Kristopher was rigid with terror, and no matter how much he asked himself to move, he was left frozen. He felt helpless as she rubbed his cheek and gazed back at him with colorless eyes. Llewellyn softly caressed his neck, and he saw that horrific smile grow on her face.

"Please don't touch me," Kristopher gasped.

"Why?" She leaned against him, wrapping her arms around him.

"Because I don't like it." He pulled himself away from her, not wanting to touch her. "Please let me go."

"If you remember my name, I'll let you run away from me," she whispered in his ear.

"…No, I don't remember." Kristopher tried to wriggle himself out of her grip, but it seemed to tighten.

"Well, I guess I can't let you go," she answered. "Let me remind you just one more time that my name is Llewellyn. If you would like me to, I could make you remember it."

"No, no," he fought. "I can remember it just fine if I simplify it to pedophile."

"What?!" Llewellyn shrieked, tightening her grip. "Why would you think of calling me that?"

"It's really obvious," Kristopher coughed as he attempted to push her away with a foot. "If you weren't one, you would have let me go by now."

"That's not true!" She gritted her teeth angrily. "So what if I would like to have you all for myself in my bedroom right now? That's none of your business!"

"Yes it is!" he yelled, kicking at her. "Let me go!"

"No!" Llewellyn refused. "You're my little boy! I'll let you go if I want to let you go."

Kristopher screamed for help as he struggled against her grip. Usually he would have never thought of a woman's grip as so ironclad. He screamed until he was sure his voice would fail him, and only then did Llewellyn finally release him from her clutch.

"Okay, fine," she spat, running her tongue over her fangs spitefully. "Just go to bed. Leave me alone."

Kristopher remembered that this series of events had happened because he had not heeded Debra when she asked him to go to bed, so he thought it best he do so. He trudged back to his room and instantly collapsed on the bed. His mind was tired and he was afraid, though he refused to show it.

Kristopher heard a knock on the door, and he immediately came to life. Three maids walked in. Two quietly got him off the bed to undress him while the other one turned down his bed. Kristopher found it uncomfortable, for he had just fled from the Mistress. However, the maids were simply doing their job and thought nothing of it as they bade him goodnight, turning off the overhead light and leaving him behind in the dark.

Kristopher retreated under the sheets, shivering. He was rightfully afraid that Llewellyn would come for him during the night and he would be helpless to her. He tried not to think of this, but instead he tried thinking of all the people looking for him.

Kristopher, as he stared out the large window, hoped for his parents to save him, but he regretfully reminded himself that they could do nothing now. However, that did not keep him from wishing that he could still curl up in his mother's warm arms and cry himself to sleep as she softly stroked his hair. Kristopher helplessly desired to be embraced and kissed and told that it would be alright–and it would really be alright.

Kristopher clutched his eyes shut as tears began streaming down his cheeks. He only wanted something sweet to soothe his feelings, but his stomach was still full from the large dinner. He cried quietly into the pillow, begging to be released from the war he lived through.

Kristopher heard something hop along the bed. He froze in place, not knowing what it was. He knew the window was open–perhaps a bird had flown in. Something tugged at his long locks before climbing onto his back.

It was Samhain.

Kristopher lifted his head to see Samhain as he crawled beside his face. He thought it strange for the bat to crawl on all fours like it did, but Samhain seemed to do it naturally. He held his leaf-shaped nose up to Kristopher's cheek, sniffing the tears. He then looked up at him and squeaked.

"Hi, Samhain," Kristopher whispered as he rubbed the bat's soft head.

He rolled onto his back and scooped up the bat in his hands. Samhain comforted him slightly, though he really much preferred to just doze off. In only a few minutes, however, the bat lost interest in him and flew out the window. Kristopher watched Samhain as he glided through the night; he wished he could have been as free as that bat was.

Kristopher fell asleep rather peacefully. However, a phantasmagoria flashed before his eyes, and he unexplainably saw a little boy that looked too similar to him–he had the same blue eyes and the same long, black hair, though his hair was in curls. He also looked like he was from an earlier time period, particularly the Victorian era.

The little boy was crying profusely, and Kristopher tried to run to his aid, but it seemed that each step he took the farther away the boy got. He tried to call out to him, but when he did, it felt as if an iron hand squeezed his throat. Above the boy's crying, Kristopher could hear the clicking of heels from the shadows of the dream, which was characteristic of Llewellyn's footsteps.

Suddenly the little boy began running toward him madly. As the boy approached, Kristopher could see him more clearly–he was dressed in a sailor kilt-suit, which was a common outfit for a little boy during the Victorian era. His clothes looked disheveled, and blood stained the collar of his jacket. Kristopher observed as the little boy ran past him and to a banister. He frantically climbed over it and jumped into the black abyss that was the other side. As Kristopher watched the little boy disappear entirely, he felt something bite him viciously.

Kristopher awoke suddenly, and he was more than surprised when a maid was kneeling over him with a stethoscope pressed to his chest. His left arm, held out straight by a few maids, burned violently. Kristopher chose the most direct course of action: scream.

"Mister Kristopher, calm down," the maid sitting on him urged.

"What are you doing to me?!" he shrieked.

Kristopher glanced over toward the maids holding out his left arm. That was when he saw that a large bowl was being held underneath his wrist, and blood trickled out of a small cut. One of the maids pressed her thumb over the cut, and it somehow healed over and stopped bleeding. Kristopher stared at them disbelievingly as the maids let go of his arm and the one maid got off him.

"What are you doing with that?!" Kristopher hugged his wrist to his chest.

The maids were silent for a moment.

"We, um, subscribe to the Doctrine of Humors," one answered nervously.

"I'm not red and ruddy!" he growled back. "What are you doing with that?!"

"Ask the Mistress," another grumbled. They then exited the room.

Kristopher slipped under the covers again. That Mistress was simply a freak.