Horror Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Bright Pessimism ❯ Chapter 6

"Good morning, little boy."

Kristopher stomped into the breakfast room as Llewellyn looked up at him. She curled her lip into a smirk when he stopped beside her chair at the head of the table. He held out his left arm before her colorless eyes.

"What's this?!" Kristopher demanded, pointing out the small cut on his wrist.

"I didn't know you were emo," she replied coyly.

"No!" he puffed. "Your maids did it."

Llewellyn raised an eyebrow as she lightly gripped his arm and pressed it against her lips, kissing it gingerly. Kristopher pulled his arm away quickly and jumped back. She pulled her plump lips tight.

"There. I kissed it for you. Does it feel better?" she retorted condescendingly.

"Why did you tell them to–to…?" Kristopher glanced down at his wrist. "…do that?"

"So now you are accusing me?" She pursed her lips.

"Who else is there to accuse?"

"Sit down." Llewellyn glanced toward the chair to her left.

Kristopher slinked into the chair, and a maid slung a napkin into his lap. He kept his gaze lowered as his breakfast of pastries was set down in front of him. He knew it was futile to ask Llewellyn anything, for it seemed she always answered deviously.

"Would you answer my question please, Mistress?" he inquired quietly.

"Mistress," she huffed. "Let me guess: you forgot my name again, did you not?"

Kristopher bit his lip, looking away. "It's an unusual name," he muttered. "I know it starts with an L."

"Two L's. Does that give you a clue, little boy?"

"…Do you call me that because you also can't remember my name?"

Llewellyn frowned. "No. I know everything I want to know. Kristopher is not a hard name to remember. So what is my name, may I ask?"

Kristopher imagined that he heard crickets in the background.

She tilted her head. "Are we going to have to wear nametags to remember the other's name?"

Llewellyn reached over and grabbed Kristopher's hand. He tried to pull it away, but she began spelling her name with her finger on his hand.

"L-l-e-w-e-l-l-y-n," she spelled out and glanced up at him.

"Llewellyn," Kristopher enunciated.

"Very good, my sweets." She reclined in her chair. "Now be a good little boy and eat your breakfast. Afterward, I may tell you about the bloodletting."

Breakfast passed slowly and quietly. Kristopher kept repeating Llewellyn's name in his mind throughout the meal so he would remember. When breakfast was over, he followed her upstairs to the parlor. He reluctantly sat down on the couch next to her while the maids served tea. As they did, Kristopher glanced up at the fireplace across the room and saw a portrait of a light brown-haired man wearing garb from an era long ago.

"Mistress Llewellyn," he said, "who is the man in that portrait?"

She glanced over at him as she raised her teacup to her pale lips. "Why do you acknowledge me so formally? It is not quite like a modern boy to be that way."

"I thought you would approve," Kristopher muttered. "Could you answer my question instead of changing the subject?"

"That man…," Llewellyn whispered. "That man is my poor Jacob May, my only older brother."

"When was that portrait painted?"

"A long time ago." She shrugged. "I painted the portrait. Painting is one of my favorite hobbies."

"I draw," Kristopher replied. "I used to sit on the pier behind our beach house and draw my brother and sister as they played on the beach below me." His eyes watered. "Not anymore."

"You want to know more about my brother Jacob, do you not?" She stared into the painted man's dark-brown eyes.

"If you would actually be telling me something," Kristopher remarked. "You know, instead of being roundabout."

"I will tell you one thing." Llewellyn supped her tea. "He was the only one who truly understood my sickness."

He picked up his teacup. "…Pedophilia?"

She glowered at him. "So you wanted to know what the bloodletting was about."

"Yes." Kristopher tipped the cup against his lips, letting the warm tea flood into his mouth.

Llewellyn smirked. "Your father's bloodline has served you well."

He stared at her. "…Is that it?"

"Yes. Are you not satisfied by that answer?"

"Do you have something against answering questions?"

"I like to answer questions indirectly," she answered. "I do not understand why you do not like the mystery. It makes me frightening, I like to think."

"I'm not afraid of you," Kristopher returned bravely, "despite the obvious fact that you're really tall and overtly pedophilic."

"Stop making fun of me," she murmured. "So what if I like having sex with little boys?"

Kristopher imagined the crickets again.

"…I just thought that you had the right to know." Llewellyn took a sip of tea.

He set his teacup down. "I'm sorry, but could I be excused?"

"May I," she corrected as she stood up, also setting her cup on the coffee table. "I would like to show you something. I am sure you would enjoy it."

Kristopher bit his lip. "What is it?"

"Follow me."

Llewellyn strode across the room, and Kristopher followed suit. She led him down to the first level and then down a set of stairs into the basement. It was dank and dark, and it winded like a labyrinth until they came to a door. Llewellyn opened the door and walked into another room with Kristopher following.

The new room had soft lighting, but it was not quite dark like the maze they had gone through. A tiled pool took up most of the available space; it gradually slanted downward on the right side to the depth of twelve feet and then was level until it came in contact with the wall to the left. The room was so quiet that Kristopher could hear the small ripples of the water striking the wall.

"I know you like to swim," Llewellyn remarked. "This pool has not been used in a while, however."

"I never knew old mansions had pools in the basements," Kristopher replied as he kicked off his steel-toe boots.

"It was quite common actually." She turned toward the door again. "Would you like me to leave you alone for a while?"

Kristopher frowned. The room made him slightly claustrophobic, and he was unsure if he wanted to walk back through that labyrinth alone. Then again, he disliked the idea of possibly fueling Llewellyn's fantasy by swimming in front of her.

"Or would you like it better if I came back later to get you?" she asked.

"That would be nice," he responded.

Llewellyn curled her lip as she turned from him and walked out the door. The thundering thud it made when it closed caused Kristopher to nearly jump out of his skin. In fact, the noise echoed, bouncing against the tile walls over and again.

Kristopher slowly shrugged off his shirt and jeans before wading into the pool. He could tell the water itself was old and oddly dusty-feeling. He sighed; an old basin of water in the basement of a mansion just was not the same as the pool he had been to just a few days prior with his family.

Kristopher sighed despairingly. The plop of the water's ripples echoed in his shallow heart. The feeling of loneliness made him shiver as he lightly splashed the water.

"Why am I so alone?" he whispered to himself.

Kristopher waded in a few more steps until the water rose to his chest. He swam a lap around the pool, but it felt as if it were a necessary, monotonous task. He treaded the water a moment before falling back and floating on the surface, staring at the dirty ceiling and then closing his eyes.

Oddly, Kristopher suddenly found himself in a crowded room. He recognized it as the large dining room; people dressed in strange garb stood around, and the organ as large as the room emitted a low rumble as it was played. He wondered how he had gotten there when he saw Llewellyn.

She wore a bustled, floor-length, red-and-black striped dress, which he thought was ultra-conservative for her. Kristopher could see that she was searching for someone in the chaotic collection of people. Llewellyn raced through the labyrinth of people, and he followed the clicking of her wooden heels.

Kristopher chased her until she found who she was looking for in the downstairs parlor. He immediately recognized the man that she walked up to as the man in the portrait that hung over the upstairs parlor's fireplace. However, beside him he saw a little boy with long, black curls and pale-blue eyes–it was the boy from his dream!

Kristopher could not hear the words that were exchanged, but even if he could have heard them, he would still have been confused. He walked over to them and tried to tap Llewellyn's shoulder, but his hand went through her. He took back his arm and held it close to his chest.

"What is this?" he gasped.

He stood for what seemed to be hours watching as the three exchanged words. During the entire time, he felt a dark energy surrounding Llewellyn, and it struck a certain fear in his heart. In reality, the scene he was experiencing was very dull and ordinary, but it was her presence that made it seem otherworldly.

The scene began to fade away into darkness. Kristopher reached out and again tried to grasp at something his hand would not fall through, but he soon opened his eyes. Though his eyes were now open and he was back in the real world, blackness shrouded his view. He could feel he was cradled in someone's arms, and the person carrying him was walking. Kristopher again shut his eyes and leaned his head against her bosomy torso.

Bosomy.

"Put me down!" Kristopher shrieked, flailing his legs. And he was promptly dropped.

"Aw," Llewellyn cooed as she hovered over him. "You're just the cutest little boy when you're sleeping. Did you know that?"

Kristopher pursed his lips as he stood up. His vision suddenly returned, and he noted that he had been redressed and they were in the labyrinth-like basement. Brushing himself off, he puffed up his cheeks.

"I'm not cute."

"You just don't get to see yourself when you get all huffy." Llewellyn walked past him. "When you get angry, it is nothing but adorable."

"I'm not adorable!" Kristopher stomped after her.

"Fine then." She turned around to face him and flicked his nose. "You're precious."

Kristopher frowned as he rubbed his nose and blushed. "I'm not sure, but I think I would rather be cute than precious. The latter sounds more childish."

"What? And you think you are too old for that?" Llewellyn spun away from him and began walking.

He quietly walked behind her. "I'm just wondering," he spoke up, "but did Jacob have… a son?"

Kristopher waited for her answer, but she ignored him. He followed her out of the basement and to the upstairs parlor room. Llewellyn took a seat on the couch, pretending that he was not there. He timidly sat down beside her.

"Llewellyn?"

"Good little boy!" she abruptly piped. "You still remember my name. Do you know how frightening it is to find you floating unconsciously in the water?"

Kristopher wrinkled his nose. "I think I sleep better in water. I've always done it."

"Well, stop it." Llewellyn sighed as a maid poured her a cup of tea, and she took the cup and drank from it.

He glanced away and leaned against the arm of the couch. Kristopher observed the portrait of the man, Jacob May, over the fireplace. It was unfortunately an excellent painting, and he found himself wondering if Llewellyn would paint him.

"Mistress Llewellyn, did Jacob have a son?" he repeated.

She gazed at him. "Unfortunately."

"Does that mean yes or no?"

Llewellyn shrugged. "You like the painting."

"Yes." Kristopher shifted his position uncomfortably. "When will you allow me to see my family again?"

"What family?" Her lips formed a defiant smirk.

"I hate you," Kristopher spat as he stood up and glared at her. "I hate you and your slimy basement pool."

Llewellyn rolled her eyes. "Why should I humble myself enough to allow you to see them again? I thought we had an understanding that you are my little boy; therefore you are under my authority. Now sit back down, please. Be mature and speak with me if you want me to actually listen to you."

Kristopher distanced himself as he sat back down, crossing his arms tightly. He clenched his eyes shut and turned his head away from her. Llewellyn chuckled bitterly.

"Very, very mature," she commented mockingly. "Now do you understand why I continue to call you a little boy?"

"You're the one who can't understand," Kristopher grumbled. "You really didn't think I would notice the difference between a nicely kept pool outside in the sun and an underground water source, did you?"

"Stop mocking my pool!" Llewellyn snapped. "It was state-of-the-art in its day."

"I don't care. It's slimy and nasty."

Llewellyn forcefully seized his chin, getting in his face. "Open your eyes and look at me."

Kristopher tried to pull away, but her hand tightly gripped his chin. He grabbed her arm and dug his fingernails into it, but she did not flinch.

"Let go of me, you freak!" he shouted at her, finally glowering back at her.

"Do you really think this is so bad?"

Llewellyn cackled, and he stared blankly at her. She had loosened her grip, so Kristopher pushed her arm away. He hugged himself tightly.

"What are you laughing at?" he whispered.

Her lips curved into an evil grin, and that was her answer.

Kristopher stood up and backed away. "You creepy old woman!" he growled at her. "Stay away from me!"

"I'm already having fun with you," she cackled. "How much more fun can it get?"

He twitched fearfully as his face paled. Llewellyn also stood up and crossed over to him. Kristopher somehow could not move but only tremor as she hovered over him. She pulled on his hair, tilting his head back. Llewellyn then pressed her plump lips against his. Kristopher tried to push her away, but she was like a stone monument. He clenched his eyes shut.

She finally broke it off after a moment, smiling back at him. "You liked that, did you not?" she whispered in his ear.

Kristopher gritted his teeth and yelled, "That was my first kiss, you jerk!"

"I can believe that," Llewellyn mocked. "You are a jewel of a homeschooler, but they can't see that."

He snarled, wrenching at her hand that pulled his hair back. "Let go of me now."

Llewellyn laughed rebelliously as her eyes scoured over him. She slowly ran her pink tongue up his neck and face. Kristopher shut his eyes and bit his lip sharply, and he could taste the blood trickling out. She nibbled on his ear softly, and he could unfortunately hear her hideous laughter.

"You've made me wait," she said in his ear. "I'm tired of waiting."

Kristopher again tried to pull himself away from her. However, when he did, the root of every single hair cried out in pain, for Llewellyn still had an ironclad grip on his hair. His heart fluttered, but he was afraid of having a panic attack.

"Are you trying to get away from me?" she quietly said. "I guess I'll just have to tighten my grip."

Llewellyn reached behind him and trailed her fingers down his back. Kristopher could hear his heart thunder, and he knew that she could, too. He was frightened, though he refused to sob crazily despite the tears that stung his blue eyes. A smile lit up Llewellyn's face as her hand found his posterior.

"What's this nice and tight thing?" she asked coyly.

Llewellyn licked his cheek as she smacked his rump and squeezed it. Kristopher flinched and blushed shamefully. She rubbed his backside playfully, her smile enlarging. A single tear found its way down his cheek, and she promptly licked it up.

"Let gooo!" Kristopher whined.

As she laughed spitefully in his ear, Kristopher felt an unfamiliar anger flare up in his chest like violent heartburn. He reared back his fist and struck her in the bosom. The smile that was previously on Llewellyn's face was immediately wiped off, and she held her hands against where he struck her, bewildered.

Kristopher ran from her and retreated to his room. He breathed wildly, and the usual panic returned to haunt him. He stumbled into the bathroom, finding a washcloth. Kristopher wetted it in the sink and wiped it wherever Llewellyn had touched him or kissed him. He wiped his tongue on it while spotting a bar of soap.

Kristopher picked up the soap and hesitantly licked it. The strange taste was indescribably nasty, but he rubbed it over his tongue anyway. Cleaning it off with the washcloth was hard, for the taste remained. He then spotted the toothbrush next to the sink, and he could hear it mock him.

He also brushed his teeth, which he realized he could have done instead of licking a bar of soap. He then cleaned the seat of his jeans with the washcloth. Kristopher sighed gloomily as he sunk into the floor; he knew what was coming.