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From a distance it looks as if the curtain moves on its own. Shifts open then flutters close to an invisible breeze or draft that courses its way through the manor. Up close, it is clear that there is something that moves the heavy fabric. A man with a pale face and striking blue eyes that pierces through a veil of darkness that is his backdrop. His hand holds open the curtains as he looks down at the lawn, down at Eliott. Down at the guests who trail after him for a tour of the self proclaimed, “haunted manor”. Eliott waves, a smile stretching impossibly on his face.
The master does not wave back. Instead he lets go of the curtain. a silent swoosh and he’s gone from view.
The Lallemant Manor stands rigid and stuck. It's a timeless piece of architecture that sits atop a picturesque hill with rolling grass. Ivy colored autumn reds, oranges, and yellows climbed the inlaid brick walls, making the building stand out against the grey storm clouds in the near distance. It is breathtaking, if a little eerie.
“The master of the manor was acutely named Lucas—bringer of light—having brought much joy to his mother when he was born. He was the only bright spot in the family’s dark history.”
Eliott turns to the girls in front of him. A Chloe Jensen, there on vacation with her girlfriend Lucille. Big doe eyes stared at him with wonder and amazement past choppy bangs, hanging off his every word. She blinks slowly at him, bowed lips parted slightly. Her girlfriend stands stock still, looking down at a map of destination brows furrowed, mouth moving as she talks to herself.
The other brunette doesn’t look up, not even to spare a glance at the Manor they stand outside of.
“I ask that once we step into the Lallemant family home, nothing is touched and if it is, everything is placed back the way it was. We should treat this as their home, despite it being unoccupied.”
Chloe nods enthusiastically, hands coming up to clutch at the straps of her bag. Eliott shoots her a thousand watt smile. Eliott pulls open the door and steps to the side waiting for the other two to walk through. The metal frames creak and the sound of it cuts through the air slowly. The other brunette looks up, green eyes sharp as she stares past Chloe and Eliott and into the greeting room.
A slight frown pulls at her lips.
“Hear that Lucille, no touching random things— we put back everything the way we found it.” Chloe swivels on the spot, smile wide and eyes even wider as Lucille shakes her head and puts away the map.
“Whatever. C’mon, let’s do this.”
She’s the first to step through, her sneakers echoing in the empty building.
Chloe turns towards Eliott with a tilt to her head. “Sorry about her, she really didn’t want to come to this but I forced her. Haunted houses are kind of my thing—not hers. She thinks it’s all bullshit.”
Eliott shakes his head fondly, gestures for Chloe to enter.
“Don’t worry about it. Most who visit think the same.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Mm, yes. Though the sentiment tends to change.”
Chloe pauses in the doorway, body twisted and fingers clenched on the straps. “Really? I wonder why that’s the case.” She shrugs for a moment, as if mentally telling herself not to worry over the possibilities of strangers catching sight of odd happenings in the supposed haunted house.
Eliott leads her with silent steps, watches from his peripheral as she takes in the shining chandelier that hangs overhead. Grand staircases with blood read carpets that ran the length of them. The floors sparkle and gleam like they’ve been washed just for the visit of these girls.
Lucille pauses in front of the twin staircases, eyeing them wearily before shaking her head and taking a left, her head moving back and forth, eyes surely ticking over anything and everything that held to the test of time. Her shoulders relaxed. Her movements are careful.
"Oh my god, what's that wonderful smell?"
Chloe drifts closer to Lucille walking like her nose is guiding her.
Eliott laughs at the sight.
"This is an immersive tour, my dear. What you're smelling is an apple spiced bread— known to be the young master's favorite dessert. It holds a bit of significance in the fact that Mrs. Lallemant would make her way to the town's market herself and pick out the apples that she would then use to personally bake her son his favorite treat."
Chloe sighs, eyes taking in the site of the workers, dressed in the basic white garb, rolling out dough on the kitchen counters, eyes averted from the three visitors.
"Is that man playing the young master?"
She whispers it conspiratorially. Eyes looking over at Eliott for confirmation.
Eliott watches as the other man silently grabs at the bread, pulled fresh from the stone stove. Shoulders dropped and tension gone, Eliott answers, voice soft.
"Indeed it is the young master."
Chloe whistles, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Handsome, mother baked him goods. This man was living the life. He must have had many suitors lined up at his door.
The grin that crawls its way on his face is sardonic. Twisted cruelly.
“Back in the early 1900s, Lucas Lallemant called this his home. Born and raised in this manor, he lived here until his death." The maids weaved their way between all three bodies as if they weren't there. Lucas himself left the kitchen without a glance backwards, his steps oddly silent.
"After his death, a team of historians were given a grant to unearth some of the mysteries that this manor carried. It was believed that things were not as they appeared. People wondered why, for a family so rich did the lives of the Lallemant's end so tragically. For example, Lucas lost his mother at the young age of twelve. She simply disappeared one day. Only after the untimely death of Lucas Lallemant, at 20, did the historians find that the body of Mrs. Lallemant was buried underneath the floorboards of this very kitchen."
Eliott looks down at the spot where Chloe stands and the girl has the sense to jump away, whole body shivering.
"Jesus christ, warn a girl."
Eliott keeps his grin, eyes like slits, half formed crescents as he watches her skivvy her way over to Lucille.
"Babe, what are you looking at?" There's a quake in her voice. One she tries to hide, like she doesn't want to give Eliott the satisfaction that his words had shaken her.
Lucille turns quickly, brows drawn together, hazel eyes rolling. "Not much. Let's check out the upstairs. Maybe you can eat me out on one of the beds or something."
She walks away murmuring about the usefulness of a hundred year old beds in run down manors, promptly ignoring Chloe's sputtering.
Eliott lets out a guffaw as Chloe tries to hide behind her hands.
"God I'm sorry about her. I promise we will not defile the beds."
Eliott waves her away as they make it towards the main room. He stands carefully on Chloe's right as she trails more than halfway behind Lucille.
"You said earlier, Mr. Lallemant—"
"Call him young master or Lucas. Mr. Lallemant was his father. And he was a nasty man."
Eliott guides her to the left of the staircase with a gentle palm on her shoulders and she moves with him without question. In front of them Lucille mirrors their movement.
Lucille pauses at the landing, playing a mental game of rock, papers, scissors— Lucille takes the west wing and calls after Chloe,
"Let me know if you find anything interesting on the other side."
To his left Chloe huffs a sigh and she rolls her eyes up towards the high raised ceiling half in exasperation, half in awe at the intricate designs in gold.
"Sometimes, I swear she's in her own world."
Eliott shrugs then gestures with his chin.
"Down this way, you'll find the young master's bedroom. This is where he spent most of his time."
Elliott watches as Chloe gingerly steps into the large hall that hosts the servants quarters and Lucas's rooms.
Doors slammed open and shut behind busy bodies carrying linen and sheets and woolen blankets back and forth past Eliott and Chloe. The everyday happenings of the manor as if it was still 1911 and the world has stopped, keeping time in place. Every so often Lucas is seen walking down the halls, turning back around, bending to speak with a worker and then disappearing into another room.
He existed in front of Chloe and Eliott, going through silent motions and playing a role that he executed with perfection.
Chloe moved to the side for an incoming maid whose head remained bowed.
In two steps, they are both in the room. To the side, Lucas stands with his back towards them, looking out the open window ignoring the movement in his bedroom.
The bed, centered to one side of the room, is dressed in royal blues with plump pillows and appears fit for a king.
Eliott steps up behind Chloe, bends to peer over her shoulders and whispers, like he doesn't want anyone to hear.
"It was recorded that Lucas was a great young master, treating his workers kindly whenever he could. Unfortunately he still lived with his father who was controlling—a man who made his fortune dealing with blood money—and Lucas was forced to bend to his will. Historians found evidence that Mr. Lallemant had plans to marry young Lucas off into the Demissy family upon his 21st birthday."
Chloe shivers, puffs out a crystallized breath then wraps her arms around herself to ward off the sudden cold. She pulls in air through her clenched teeth.
"Holy shit. You mean Manon Demissy, right? Wife of Charles Demissy, literally the only female Demissy to be born in the last 200 years? The big oil tycoon that owned like, half the continent 'cuz of their wealth?"
She steps to the side and looks at Eliott.
He nods, solemnly.
"But the books tell us she married Charles."
Eliott nods again, suddenly looking tired.
"Lucas was contractually bound to marry Manon Demissy as soon as he turned 21. He began the process of courting her in the two years leading up to their—"
Eliott swallows, voice tightening as Lucas turns away from the window, blue eyes glued on Eliott, a haunted look on his face. Between them, Chloe slides her gaze back and forth.
Lucas says nothing as he steps out of the room, closing the door behind him.
"—arrangement. But Manon called off the wedding the autumn before they were meant to marry. She had more of a say in her choice in partners than Lucas did, being the sole female heir of the Demissy fortune. It came to light that Lucas had his heart settled on a different individual and Manon, a romantic at heart, refused to marry a taken man."
Chloe sags into the air mouth in a frown and eyes wet.
"That's beautiful. I would have never known the Manon Demissy was a romantic."
"It's true, she was a lovely lady. Unfortunately, her calling off their wedding meant Mr. Lallemant had setbacks in his plans. With just a little digging he was able to locate Lucas's lover and in an act of punishment, Mr. Lallemant murdered him and his son."
Chloe gasps, taking a step back from Eliott.
"Eliott! Your bleeding!"
There’s a feeling of dread that fills the pit of his stomach as he reaches up to touch his lips, fingers coming away wet and sticky and red.
"So I am." He whispers, staring at the blood.
There’s a loud thud outside the door that shakes the walls of the room and Eliott turns towards it slowly. Like the barrier was an enemy, but Eliott doesn’t move towards it.
“E…Eliott are you okay?”
Another thud and an agonizing scream that rips through the air startles the brunette. Chloe runs a hand through her hair, ponytail becoming more and more loose in the move that spelled out her anxiety.
Eliott turns to look at her, smile gone, eyes a little sharper. She shivers under his gaze.
“W-why, is it so cold in here.”
“Apologies, in old buildings such as these ones, heating is always touch and go.”
Chloe waves away his apology and gestures to the door with a jutting chin.
“Uh, should we go out there?”
“Of course!” Eliott brings his smile back and gestures for Chloe to open the door. Before they’ve even made it past the threshold there is a scream that causes Chloe to falter and step backwards, into Eliott.
He brings his hands to grasp at her shoulders, steadying the both of them.
“The autumn before master Lucas’s 21st birthday, Mr. Lallemant found the man that his son was in love with and brought him to the manor. We only know what happened because word spread among the workers that Mr. Lallemant was behind every tragedy that befell this home. He brought the only son of the Demaury’s here and in front of Lucas, attempted to murder him. Things didn’t go according to plan however,”
Chloe gasps, stumbles when the door opens and there is an anguished cry that hits her at full force. They hear sobbing, a hollow sound that echoes through the both of them.
“There was a scuffle between the three men and in the end, Lucas took the blow that was meant to end the life of his lover. Lucas died at the hands of his own father, throat slit from one ear to the next. He bled out in this very hallway, with his lover curled up next to him. Unfortunately, Mr. Demaury suffered severely to a blow on the back of his head during the altercation as well."
With a slight nudge, Chloe takes an unsteady step out of the room and to her left she sees a pool of blood soaking into the carpet and a still form.
Eliott steps to the side of her and siddles up until he's looking down at cloudy blue eyes. Eyes that looked back up at him. The body on the ground shudders and a steady stream of blood bubbles out of Lucas's mouth. Trails down the side and stains the carpet a horrible dark crimson.
Chloe moves up next to him, her mouth dropped down in horror.
“God this is terrible.” She whispers, brokenly.
“Some say Mr. Lallemant declared they were not to be moved; that they longed so much to be together in life, he would grant his bastard son his only wish and let them rot together in death.”
“What a fucking asshole.” Chloe claims, eyes shooting up at Eliott.
Eliott who was still looking down at Lucas like he saw a ghost.
Face pale and eyes sunken. Unsure.
“Tell me, that Mr. Lallemant suffered.”
Eliott shifts, hands clasped behind his back as he turns his attention away from Lucas who was cooling on the ground. The blood spilling and spreading, soaking the bottom of Eliott’s shoes.
“Sad to say, no. He didn’t suffer. He lived a long life and amassed an even larger fortune than he had when his son was alive. He was never caught for the murder of his wife or son. The bad rarely ever get their just dessert, no matter how much they deserve it.”
He sees the way Chloe’s fingers clench and her brows furrow. “That’s awful.”
“It is, but you know, they say sometimes, if you listen close enough, you can hear the laughter of two men echo down these hallways, see the maids as they once were, working,—sometimes, you can even catch a glimpse of the two of them resting against one another in the resting room downstairs. It’s as if they haven’t moved on because in life they never got the chance to explore their love, so they do so in their death, in this very manor.”
Chloe closes her eyes and sags. “God that is tragically beautiful.”
Eliott walks her to the stairs, his shoes leaving behind bloody footprints that neither one of them pay attention to. They find themselves outside and waiting on Lucille, the wind whipping their hair all around, signaling an oncoming storm. The clouds look thunderous.
“Thank you for the tour, Eliott—that was fascinating. I mean it would have been super cool if we saw some ghosts but I think… I think learning about the story of those boys was a great substitute.”
“I think the stories they left behind is the ghost you’re searching for Chloe.” Eliott steps up close to the open door, just as Lucille tumbles out looking frazzled, the furrow in her brows deeper than ever. She walks past Eliott without so much as a glance and Chloe mouths an apology in his direction.
Which he shakes his head fondly at. In a way that says, it’s okay, it’s not her fault.
“Find anything interesting?”
He hears Lucille ask Chloe, and Chloe responds with a broken sound.
“‘Only one of the saddest love stories.”
“Oh cool, you can tell me all about it when you treat me to lunch.”
Chloe shifts through the menu unable to see the words in front of her, thoughts preoccupied.
"That was a really good tour."
Lucille snorts into her drink.
"If you think a dilapidated and termite ridden old manor with a self guided tour was really good. I'd hate to know what your thoughts are on actual ghost tours."
Chloe frowns at her. "What? Speak for yourself. Eliott did an amazing job walking me through the manor—and the reenactors were amazing. And for a manor that no one lives in, they do a damn good job at keeping it up to date— I mean they dust the chandelier for fuck’s sake."
Lucille grows quiet, eyes narrowing.
"Who the fuck is Eliott?"
"Lucille!" Chloe slaps the table appalled. It was one thing to be aloof and it was another thing to be outright rude.
"Fuck Chloe, I'm serious. Who is Eliott."
For a split second, Chloe feels a chill travel down her spine and she feels a lump in her throat.
"Lucille, don't fuck with me, Eliott… Eliott was our tour guide." She feels the sudden urge to run back there to look for Eliott and drag him back to shake him in front of Lucille and say,
"See, see this is him. This is Eliott!"
But from the way Lucille shoots her a concerned look, Chloe finds that her stomach curls violently. She thinks back on the body coughing up blood, throat split from ear to ear.
"Chloe… baby, that was a self guided tour through an abandoned building."
Chloe shakes her head.
Sometimes, if you listen close enough…
"Lucille,"
I think the stories they left behind is the ghost you're looking for, Chloe….
"I don't think I'm okay."
They leave a trail of laughter as they disappear down the hill and are out of sight. Eliott watches as they walk away when he feels a wetness on the back of his neck. His grey blue eyes look up at the sky that has barely broken and then his hand moves to the back of his neck.
His fingers come away red and there is a dull throb in the back of his head, a phantom pain. He looks down at the white shirt he wears and the collar has soaked up the blood pooling from the back of his head.
He turns and steps back into the building, floors creaking under his weight. Cobwebs hanging from the chandelier that dangled precariously, broke. He steps silently on shatter glass, molded wood and peeling paint.
The manor is rotting from the inside. Eliott makes his way up the winding stairs, avoiding the holes and carcasses of dead animals who've nested in dust, dirt, and weather-worn building. Outside, Eliott hears the wind howling and the clouds breaking as rain starts to pelt the brick and broken windows.
He stops just under the high ceiling where the roof was broken away, where the rafters are left bare and a shoddy attempt at thatching took place a long time ago. The rain pours in and there is grey light shining down like a spotlight.
In the spotlight stands Lucas, drenched. From head to toe as the rain pours into the place he once called home.
His neck is a bright red, blood still running down and spilling, soaking into the fabrics of Lucas' white shirt. It colors the stitches and threads, stains them with a memory.
Eliott moves until he's standing under the downpour with Lucas, feeling the way his clothing clings to his body, his hair plastered on his skin. His wound keeps bleeding but there is no ache.
"Are they gone?" Lucas asks. Head tilted, eyes on Eliott.
"They are. We get this whole place to ourselves now." He moves until he can comfortably rest his forehead against Lucas's. Hands coming up to grip at a slim waist and pulling them flushed together. The sharp scent of rusting copper fills his nose as he breathes in deeply.
He feels more than hears Lucas chuckle from how close they stand.
"Why you do this is beyond me."
Eliott bites his lips, closes his eyes and thinks how he will have eternity with Lucas. How he has this now, but didn't get a chance to cherish it when he was alive. Even when this building falls and crumbles into dust. Even when something new replaces it.
Eliott will still have Lucas and Lucas will still have Eliott.
"Didn't you hear? We are exploring what we were never given the chance to explore in life."
Lucas looks down contemplative. The wound on his neck still undulates blood. Fingers clench into Eliott's shirt with desperation, and when he finally looks back up, lips parted and teeth stained red, his blue eyes were wet.
He stands on his tip toes, neck straining as he lays a bloody kiss on Eliott's lips.
"Are you sure you want to stay?" With me. Forever. Here. Lucas whispers wetly into his skin and the sensation nearly makes Eliott shiver.
He hears everything. Every single question in that one kiss and he responds in kind.
Pulls Lucas close and latches on, molds their lips together in a sweet kiss that he would never grow tired of. Because this is Lucas. And Lucas owns every part of him in life and now in death.
When he pulls away, Lucas is looking up at him in grey light with rain dripping from his lashes, drenched in water and losing blood.
They stand in a puddle of it. Eliott's fingers ghost over the slit in his throat, trembling. Hating it but still loving Lucas so much.
"I won't go where you won't follow. You're my home, Lucas."
The smile that Lucas gives is a sad one. Broken and formed like a half sob. His fingers curl and he pulls until he can rest his head on Eliott's chest. Ears pressed close trying to listen to a heartbeat that isn't there.
"Boys? How about some lunch?"
Eliott turns his head and down the stairwell Mrs. Lallemant stands in a torn dress, her face beaten black and blue, neck bent at an odd angle.
Eliott blinks and suddenly there is no rain. He's staring into blue eyes that look calmly at the both of them. The scent of spiced apples curls around the both of them; his stomach calls out in hunger.
He's covered in a warm glow, mildew and mold gone. The chandelier shines brightly above, glittering with a glory that could no longer be captured in stories.
He feels the trail of fingers on his cheeks, reaching back to curl in the hair at the nape of his neck.
When he looks at Lucas, his cheeks are flush. There's color on his skin and there is life in his eyes the way he remembers. There is no cut that marrs his neck.
"Should we?" Lucas whispers the question like a secret.
"Can't keep mama Lallemant waiting."
Lucas shakes his head and his hair ruffles.
"That would be bad manners."
Eliott acquiesces. Bends to drop a kiss on Lucas's nose before grabbing his hand and leading the way down the stairs, with carpet free of dust and floors that gleamed for them.
The whole way down he keeps his eyes open.