It was the opportunity she needed. And at just the right time.

Diane had been out of work for a month, and her finances were running low. Very low. She had enough to pay her rent for two weeks, as long as she ate meagrely. But she had been doing that since she lost the job to that bitch Ann. Ann had been taken on trial at the same time as Diane, but where as Diane did her job, Ann was doing the boss. It was no contest. When the time came to make a choice. Jeff had chosen Ann, and more sex, over Diane who had not played ball with him.

She had been given the chance, more than once, but she preferred to keep work and private life separate. That was he loss. And since then, she had not been offered any chances. Every job she went for they sounded interested, but a few days later the same thanks but no thanks letter arrived in the post.

Obviously, Jeff , as her last employer, was making sure she didn’t work, unless she agreed to have sex with him. That would never happen.

But the last job she had applied for, a live in secretary, out in the sticks, seemed more interested. And when the letter came offering her the position, she jumped at it.

It meant leaving the city, but the city no longer held anything for her. Her flat? She would lose that when she could no longer pay the rent. And she knew getting another flat, even if she could afford it, would be hard.

The job fitted the bill perfectly for her.

An old man and his spinster sister. An old mansions far away from the city. And live in, all meals found. It was perfect, and she immediately wrote back accepting the position as their secretary.

She wasn’t really leaving any friends behind. She had never been the social type, and the so-called friends she thought she had, had all drifted away when she became unemployed.

She chose not to tell any of them she was leaving.  They wouldn’t miss her. And she would not miss them.

She arrived at the railway station the following Monday, her two suitcases held her whole life inside them. Her few clothes, and a couple of mementos from before she left the States to come to England. She hadn’t been in touch with her family since she arrived, not after what her father had tried to do to her.

How could any father try to have sex with his own daughter? Even if he had been drunk, it was still wrong. She left home the following week, and arrived in England a month later.

Since then, as far as she was concerned, her family was a thing of the past.

And now. So was the city.

There were no other passengers getting off at the station, and no one in sight as the train pulled away. Leaving her alone there.

She could hear a horse and carriage, and moments later an old lady appeared.

The old lady smiled, and addressed her by name. And told Diane she had come to collect her. The old lady led Diane out of the station towards a carriage, being pulled by an old shire horse. She had only ever seen this in old films. Surely people didn’t still travel this way?

Her two bags were stored in the back of the carriage, and Diane and the old lady sat on the stoop, the woman taking hold of the reins, and shooing the old horse into motion.

The journey took over an hour and a half, during which time the woman said nothing. Diane looked in awe at the beautiful countryside surrounding her, but it took her some time to realise she had not seen any houses. When she had been told the mansion was remote, she hadn’t really known what to expect. Certainly, not this.

There were no telephone lines across the sky, and it was as if she was being driven back to a time long ago.

Reaching the mansion, the old lady stopped the carriage outside a pair of old oak doors, brass knockers, once shiny and new, now old and dulled by time.

Entering the house the woman seemed to glide effortlessly across the marble floor of the entrance hall. And led Diane to a large stair case. Moments later, she was following the woman up the stairs, and was shown to a large room on the top floor.

This, apparently, would be Diane’s room, and the large four poster bed seemed to cry out from the past. As did the rest of the décor. Nothing seemed modern in this room.

The  woman took her leave, saying she would collect Diane in time for dinner, and to make herself comfortable.

Diana had been in the room, sorting out her few belongings for over an hour, when she suddenly noticed there were no electric lights overhead, and no switches on the walls. She searched the room, but found none. Only candles in large candelabra in four places around the room. Obviously, the mansion had no electricity supply. She doubted it had a telephone, but that didn’t matter to her. She would not be calling anyone. She had burnt her bridges, and was now going to enjoy working for this old couple.

A knock at the door and the old spinster stood there. She escorted Diane down the stairs to the kitchen. Everywhere they went, Diane spotted candles. Confirming her suspicions that there was no electricity supply.

It would be unusual, in this modern age, to only have candle light. It did mean, of course, no radio and no television. That would take some getting used to. Though not an avid follower of the television soap operas, she did occasionally watch them. And quiz shows.

The whole of the house seemed to belong to years gone by. No modern furniture, even the kitchen table and chairs were from the days before Queen Victoria.

It was. Diane thought to herself. Like living in a museum. But all was clean, and tidy. And very well looked after. She wondered how many maids it would take to keep a house this size so clean. She looked forward to meeting them. At least it would give her someone to talk to.

Obviously, there would be no computer, so if, as was planned, she was going to transcribe the old man’s memoirs for him, it would be using a typewriter, did anyone actually still use them? She hadn’t, not since her college days when they were first being taught. Everything these days was done on computer.

She had her lap top, but that wouldn’t last long. Once the battery dies, so would her lap top, and her link to the modern world.

At the dinner table the old man sat at one end, and his sister at the other. Although there were several other chairs, only three places were set for dinner. As Diane sat half way down on one side of the table, between the two siblings.

Nothing was said during the dinner, but as the meal ended the old man spoke. His voice sounded as old as he looked.

“Miss Robins. Your duties are simply to type my memoirs for me. I have written many years of my life, but there are still many to come yet.”

His breathing seemed laboured, and he spoke in shirt sentences.

“You will be given paper, and a typewriter on which to work. There is no electricity, and no gas supply to the mansion. Nor is there running water. The water is pumped from the well in the yard, and heated as we need. Through a coal fire”

Again he stopped and caught his breath.

You may be used to life in the city, Miss Robins, but life here, at the mansion, is totally different/ here we live life the old way, as will you during your stay”.

Diane could hardly believe what she was hearing. No electricity. No gas. No running water. The stove in the kitchen had logs by it, and she guessed this was what fired the stove up for cooking. There was a large metal tub, shaped like a bath, hanging from the wall close to the door. This, she guessed, was the bathroom. She had not seen any other yet.

“The conveniences are not so convenient.” He said, as if reading her mind. “There is a small wooden hut fifty yards from the back door. This is the toilet. It leads away to a cess pool and waste is removed that way.”

Diane looked from one to the other of the brother and sister.

“One other thing. Miss Robins. After dark would you please stay inside your room. From dusk to dawn. I could explain, but it is far too complicated and would take too long. Maybe as time goes on, things will become clearer.”

The sister, still smiling as she had done since she had collected Diane from the station stood up, and walked to where Diane still sat.

“It will be dark soon, and we need you to get into your room before then. We shall see you in the morning my dear, when you ca start work on my brother’s memoirs.”

Diane didn’t know what to say, but she obediently followed the old lady from the kitchen, and back up the stairs.

She was hardly in the room when she heard the door close, and a key turn in the lock.

She tried desperately to pull the door open, but it would not budge. They couple may be eccentric, but surely, locking her in her room at night was going a bit too far.

She knew she would have to have this out with them tomorrow.

But now. Diane felt tired. It had been a long day, but Diane was used to long days. She would normally get up early. And go to bed long after midnight, but she could feel her eyes getting heavy, and moved slowly towards the large, inviting bed.

She knew she had to undress, but she simply didn’t have the energy, slumping onto the bed, barely awake.

Strange. There were no candles alight. The room was getting darker by the second, but she couldn’t pull herself from the bed to light the candles. And Diane had never slept with the light off since the day her father had got drunk and tried to rape her.

Her eyes closed, and Diane fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER TWO

Diane woke with a start. The sun was streaming through the windows, and, although she didn’t remember actually getting into the bed, she was now covered by the sheet and blankets.

She moved the blankets and stopped. Not only had she, at some stage, got into bed. She had also undressed. She was sure she didn’t, but obviously she had been so tired, she couldn’t remember doing to.

She stood up and walked to the wardrobe where she had hung her clothes, and stepped back, not sure what was happening.

None of her clothes were there. On the hangers were long dresses, corsets. Nothing she had ever seen before.

At that moment the door opened, and Diane ran back to the bed, covering her nudity with the blankets.

“Miss Robins” the old lady spoke as she entered the room. ”We have placed your own clothing in storage whilst you are here. They will be returned when you leave. During your stay with us we would prefer you to wear clothing more suitable to out lifestyle. And in custom to the mansion”

Diane looked nonplussed at the old lady.

“You will find the clothing left for you will fit nicely, though it may take some getting used to.”.

The old lady opened the wardrobe and pulled out a corset in red and black.

“Here, let me help. Don’t worry Miss Robins, I have seen nakedness before, and I am not put off by it. Once we get you dressed, breakfast will be ready.”.

it took Diane several minutes to finally move from the bed, and only then after the old lady had locked the door to ensure her brother could not enter unannounced.

The old lady first picked up a corset and placed it around Diane. It covered her from bust to waist and. As the old lady started to fasten it, Diane knew her movements would be restricted.

Her normal waist of twenty four, was being reduced to only twenty, though it did push her breasts up higher, making her look three sizes more than her normal thirty four D.

But the dress. It was obviously Victorian, and covered Diane from her neck to her ankles. As Diane looked in the long length mirror, the woman looking back was definitely not of the modern world. The dress, and the shaping. Was all Victorian. Her breasts forced high, but still covered looked as they had never looked. Her slimmer waist, and the roundness of her hips, made her look older than her twenty five years.

Only when she was dressed, did the old lady lead her from the bedroom. Where breakfast was waiting for her.

It was a traditional full English breakfast, though, because of the corset. Diane had to eat a lot more slowly than she normally would. Her breath was more shallow, and as she sat at the table. She could feel her back was upright, not the normally slumped posture she had.

After breakfast, she was led to a study where a leather bound desk awaited her. On t6he desk were two wooden trays. One held, as she saw. Blank sheets of paper. The other was empty. In the centre of the desk stood an old fashioned typewriter, and to one side a sheaf of hand written papers.

“These are my brother’s memoirs”  The woman said. Still smiling, as she had been since Diane had first met her at the station.

“You are to type them exactly as they are written. If he has made spelling mistakes. Do not correct them. You are to type exactly what you see.”

Diane was a little put out. How could anyone who made mistakes in spelling. Wish for those mistakes to be left unaltered? Surely she should be watching grammar and spelling?

The old lady said it was not necessary. But her tone, regardless of the smile. Told her that she was expected to obey. Spelling mistakes would be kept in, and so would any grammatical errors.

Obviously. They had reasons for this that Diane was not aware of.

Using the old typewriter was bad on Diane’s fingers. Although she was familiar with the layout of the keyboard, it was the pressure needed to depress the keys that she found hard. Coupled with her actual inability to lean forwards as she normally would, due to the restrictions of the corset, the first hour produced only five sheets of paper. Using her computer, she would have at least doubled that.

For over three hours Diane laboured away, before the old lady brought her a cup of tea.

The old lady didn’t speak. Though she did stay until Diane had finished her drink, and started work again.

It wasn’t easy to decipher the old man’s handwriting, which also seemed to e slowing her down. Some of it was almost indecipherable. But she worked hard, and by lunch time she had actually typed twenty pages, though her finger tips felt very sore.

Lunch. Like the dinner the previous night, and breakfast that morning, was served in the kitchen, all three present. There was no small talk, and when lunch was finished, she was quickly led back to the study to continue her work.

Even though she was getting used to the typewriter. Diane found it hard going. Every time she felt she was doing well. She had to stop and decipher what was written. The old man certainly didn’t have the best handwriting in the world.

She worked tirelessly all after noon, and into the early evening. There were hundreds of hand written pages, and she had managed to transcribe only a few. Each page of handwriting equated to almost three typed pages, and she had only managed fifty pages when the old lady announced dinner was ready.

Following the old lady to the kitchen, the meal was once again eaten in silence.

That was the thing Diane could not get used to. The silence. She as used to the hustle and bustle of the city, noises everywhere. Screeching of brakes, horns being sounded, sirens, and the general sounds associated with city life.

Here, there was nothing. Pure unadulterated silence. It was hard to accept for someone so used to hearing every day life going on around them.

After dinner the old man asked how she was progressing, and she told him honesty that she had managed some pages, but it was slow going trying to understand his handwriting. He told her, without a smile, that she would get used to it.

As dinner finished, the old lady once more ushered Diane to her room, telling her the light would fade soon.

Again, maybe though trying to read his handwriting, Diane’s eyes felt heavy, and she knew she would soon need to sleep. But first. She needed to sit down, and relax.

She sat on the edge of the bed, and tried to focus on what had happened. But her mind seemed mixed up. She was seeing things in her head she had never witnessed, and it disturbed her.

She was till trying to figure out what the images in her head were, when sleep claimed her. And she collapsed onto the bed.

She didn’t hear the door open to her room. And nor did she hear the old couple discussing her. They were happy with the way things were going,. Soon, Diane would be ready.

CHAPTER THREE

Once again when Diane woke, the sun was streaming through the window, and for some strange reason she actually felt great. Any aches and pains gained the day before, had totally vanished. In fact, she had never felt better.

As she rose from the bed it didn’t dawn on her that she was, once more, naked, and that she couldn’t remember getting undressed.

The door opened, and the old lady entered, smiling at her as she did. I seemed sort of normal and natural when the old lady picked up the corset and approached Diane with it, the younger woman turning so the old woman could lace it up tightly.

Choosing a floral dress that covered her from her neck to her ankles, Diane was soon dressed, and following the old woman down the stairs to the kitchen, and breakfast.

There was no conversation while they ate. They always seemed to eat in total silence, as if there was some rule in the house that forbade them to speak. It didn’t bother Diane. Her mind was already on the hand written sheets in the den that she would be working on. She knew she had to do better than yesterday. Although her fingers had hurt by the end of the day, she had been disappointed with herself for not having done more. Perhaps she could do better today.

Although the man had hardly spoken to her at all, and the old woman had only spoken when she had to do, Diane had this strange wish to please them. It was important to her to please them, and she didn’t know why.

After breakfast she was escorted to the study where the old typewriter awaited her. For hours the keys tapped away as she laboured at her task.

Maybe she was getting used to it a little better today, but understanding his hand writing was becoming easier. She still wanted to correct his obvious spelling mistakes, but remembered she had been told to type it exactly as he had written it, mistakes included.

It still made no sense to her, but Diane obeyed.

She was lost in her work when the old woman came and interrupted her for lunch.

Diane had not felt hungry, but as the woman mentioned lunch, there suddenly seemed to be a hole in Diane’s appetite that needed filling.

Because of the corset, Diane was eating slightly less than she would normally have done, but she told herself that she needed to lose a little weight anyway, and this would help her. By the time she finished the memoirs, she would be a lot slimmer, and fitter.

Once again, after lunch, she made her way straight back to the study. She could not understand her own urgency. Although the story she was typing out weaved its way nicely through the old man’s early life,  there had been nothing to make her want to read it. But she had this crazy urge to get as much typed today as she could.

She was till working hard when the old woman re-appeared and told her it was dinner time.

Diane had no idea where the afternoon had gone. Her fingers were red raw, and she had been typing as fast as she could. Today she had typed almost twice as much as the day before, and yet she still felt she could have done better.

The three sat and ate dinner, and even as Diane looked around, she knew the old couple would be looking down, eating slowly, but not prepared to talk to her.

As with lunch, Diane was unable to eat all of her dinner, though she knew that before she started wearing the corset, she would have easily cleared the plate. She had always enjoyed a healthy appetite, and though she may have been a pound or two overweight, it had never been a problem.

But now, she couldn’t finish what was on her plate, and though she felt guilty, she knew, somehow, the woman did not want apologies.

It wasn’t as if the food was bad, in fact, Diane had never tasted food as good before. It was totally delicious, but she was just unable to eat it all.

Over the old woman’s shoulder Diane could see dusk approaching, and without being told to do so, she stood up and looked at the old woman.

The woman smiled, and stood up, escorting Diane back to her room, and, once more locking the door with Diane inside.

Diane sat on the edge of the bed, watching the daylight disappear and turn into velvet darkness of night.

There were no street lamps here. Nothing except stars and the moon to give any light after darkness fell. It had not even dawned on her that she had not yet seen any candles alight, nor evidence that they had burned overnight.

Her eyes felt heavy, and she slumped to her side, deep sleep claiming her once more.

The room to her door opened and the old couple entered. Between them, they began to undress their young guest, the old man taking pleasure in looking down at her youthful body.

“She will soon be ready Evelyn” the man said. “A few more days”

The woman smiled at her brother.

“It cannot come soon enough, Richard. It has been far too long already.”

Between them, they pulled the covers over the girl, and walked out of the room, closing and locking the door behind them.

Diane would never know they had been in, and waking in the bed itself, naked, was now soothing she no longer worried about.

For the next week things continued in the same vein. Diane woke feeling bright and totally refreshed. Within seconds of getting out of bed, the old woman appeared and helped her to dress. Whatever dress she had worn the day before, had disappeared, and  a new selection appeared. Diane seemed to always choose one that would cover her whole body up, even though she knew her breasts were clearly visible under the dress, she was unconcerned.

Her trim waist seemed to show her dress of perfectly, and her hair, now worn in the Victorian fashion made her appearance complete. Had she been around in Victorian times, she would certainly not have looked out of place.

After breakfast each morning she hurried to the study, to begin her work.  The only noises in the study were the rustling of papers, and the non stop tapping of the keys on the old typewriter.

The silence surrounding Diane as she worked no longer seemed to bother her. It was, in fact, welcomed, allowing her to concentrate on her work. Never had she known her work feel so important. She tried, each day, to get a little more work done than the day before, but the sheaf of handwritten pages never seemed to diminish. The more she typed, the more there seemed to be typed. The old man was obviously a fast writer, and had lived a long and strange life.

The only odd thing was that Diane could never remember what she had typed. It was as if she wasn’t actually reading the hand written pages, just simply copying the letters from his pages to the typed pages.

She no longer even noticed spelling mistakes of bad grammar. It was no longer annoying her that he misspelled words, she hardly even noticed.

She had been in the house ten days when the old woman came one morning and helped Diane dress.

“Diane” she said, helping the younger woman into her dress. “I have to go into town to get a few things. Would you like to come with me?”.

Diane drew away from the old woman. Out of the house? Away from her work? Away from the mansion?

Diane had  a sense of foreboding at the very thought of leaving the mansion, and stopping work. Didn’t the woman understand how important her work was?

“Oh no. Madam. I have no wish to leave the house. I have much work to do”

Her voice sounded strange even to herself, and she realised it was the first time she had actually spoken since her arrival at the mansion.

The old lady smiled, and nodded. Finishing dressing Diane, before leading her to the kitchen fro breakfast.

The old lady never wanted Diane to sat yes, though she would have allowed her to go had she done so. She simply wanted to know if Diane was ready for the second phase yet, and her answer had signified she was.. she would inform her brother later, when he awoke.

All day Diane worked at the typewriter. Her speed had greatly increased, and she was getting through the work much faster. But for every page she typed, yet another page appeared overnight. It would be a long job to complete this memoir.

As she typed, about Victorian life, she could imagine the sights she was seeing in print. Dark nights with low gas lights casting shadows in all directions. The hustle and bustle in the town squares as markets sold their wares. It was almost as if she were there herself. The old man was telling a wonderful story, and she knew it would carry the reader with it.

It was with a certain reluctance that Diane stopped typing when the old woman came for her at lunch time. But, she could not refuse. She knew the woman had toiled over a stove to create her meal, which was also reminiscent of Victorian times. In fact, everything in the house related to those days, including the dresses she wore every day now.

As soon as lunch was finished, Diane was back in the study, and working again. There was just something about the story the old man was creating, that was spellbinding.

The old man had said it was his memoirs, but it couldn’t have been. To be about himself, the old man would now have to be close to a hundred and sixty years old, if not more.

But she was not going to argue with him. Perhaps it was based on family stories handed down through generations. It didn’t matter. It still held Diane’s attention.

The light was already fading outside as the woman finally came to get her. Again she was led to them kitchen, where dinner was waiting for her. Her appetite had certainly taken a hit, as she ate only half of what she had been given, and looked at the old woman as if to apologise for not eating more. But the old woman simply smiled back, and stood from the table.

Diane knew this meant she was to follow, and moments later she was entering the door of her bedroom.  She heard the door close, and lock, ass it had done every night, and as she sat on the bed, her eyes once more became heavy, her head swimming, and overwhelming tiredness taking her. She never even felt herself slide sideways onto the bed.

It was half an hour later when the couple entered the girl’s room. Not through the locked door, but through a panel in one of the walls. The same panel they had used every night since Diane had been with them. Every night they had carefully undressed her, and laid her in the bed, and covered her up. But tonight was going to be different.

Tonight would start phase two.

CHAPTER FOUR

As always, the couple lifted her gently from the bed, and undressed her, laying her in the centre of the bed, where she would remain until she awoke the next morning.

Until now, it had been only slight traces hidden in her food, but now, they felt she was ready for more. Diane had acted favourably, and had shown no unexpected side effects.

The man took a small test tube from his pocket and removed the top. The powder inside it was a deep black. Small traces of this had been in every meal since her arrival, but now she was to get a larger dose. The woman produced a small decanter of water, and a small soup bowl.

The man tipped a small amount of the powder into the bowl, and the woman added a small amount of water, just enough to moisten it. The powder started to foam a little, as the man picked up a syringe, and began to pump the black liquid into it.

Diane would not notice the small pin prick the needle made in her arm, as the man located her vein, and pressed the needle in, pumping the liquid directly into her veins.

This was only a small amount, but enough to start phase two. She would have more in the coming days, depending on how it affected her.

Covering the sleeping girl with the bed sheet, the couple left the same way they had arrived, leaving Diane alone, and asleep.

.The sun once more woke Diane, and moments later, as always, the old lady entered and helped her dress, before leading her to the kitchen for breakfast.

Although Diane did eat some food, she spent more time playing with her breakfast than actually eating it.

“Something on your mind dear?” the old lady asked.

“I am sorry” Diane replied. “I had a strange dream, and now I cant remember it. I am sorry but I really am not hungry. Is it okay if I get to work?”

The old lady smiled warmly and rose to her feet, taking Diane’s hand and leading her to the study.

For the first half an hour, Diane did no work. Her thoughts were on a dream she though she remembered, but really couldn’t get the pictures into her head. She knew she had not been alone, but she could see no-one.

Eventually, she cleared her head and picked up the first page, ready to transcribe it. She glanced at the sprawling writing, and then, almost as if she understood every word on the page, typed it out, not even looking at the page again.

It felt strange, but as she typed, she felt she knew what was happening. The old man was describing a street down which he was walking, and Diane could see the street in her head, smell the people, hear the cries of the dirty kids. It was as if she had been there, with him.

The next page also took only a single glance, and she recreated it word for word, including the spelling mistakes. It was uncanny. And it frightened her. The more she typed, the more she felt she was there. No longer seeing what he had written, but seeing what he had seen. Hearing the sounds from the cobbled streets as hackney carriages went by, pulled by their dark horses.

Bu lunch, Diane was completely confused. She had typed the next two pages without having even glanced at them first. Only after she had typed, did she read the hand written pages, finding them identical to her own.

This couldn’t happen.

At lunch she again seemed only to play with her food, eating very little.

“What is wrong, child?”. The old woman asked

Diane knew it sounded crazy, and that they would laugh at her, but she explained the morning as best she could. She even mentioned having typed two pages without having even seen the old man’s writings.

“And it frightened me” she finished.

“I don’t know what to say, dear. Would you like to take the afternoon off? Walk in the grounds and get some fresh air? You have not had any since you started on the book. You deserve a rest”

Diane looked from the old lady to the old man, as if he was trying to decided something more important than whether or not to take a walk in the grounds.

Eventually, she nodded. Maybe fresh air would do her good. Maybe taking the afternoon off would help.

The old lady led Diane to a door at the back of the kitchen and walked outside with her.

“Feel free to wander where you want, child. I will come and get you when dinner is ready. Hopefully you will have built up an appetite by then”

for over three hours Diane wandered around the grounds. Like the insides of the house, the gardens were Victorian in their lay out. The faded gazebo showed signs of age, but refused to give in to the ravages of time. It was still complete, though and could be restored to it’s former glory with a little work.

Be flower beds also seemed to need work on them. They were neglected, but still alive. It was as if time had somehow caught the house and grounds, and held them still. The world around had moved on, but not the house, it had stood still, as if waiting for something to bring it back to life.

Diane hardly noticed but she had walked all around the grounds, and was back at the house, just as the old lady opened the door to inform her dinner was ready. It was as if the old lady knew everything Diane was about to do, even before she knew herself.

After her walk, Diane’s appetite returned, but completely. She ate more of her meal, but could still not finish it all. She felt guilty about not having worked that afternoon, but there was something about the memoirs that was troubling her.

She didn’t know what it was, but something was missing. She knew this, even though she was only transcribing the old man’s writings. There was something definitely missing, and Diane could not put her finger on what it was. And that troubled her as well. She felt she should know what was wrong, what was missing, and be able to put it right.

The old lady led her to the bedroom, as usual, and watched as Diane lay down, and was asleep in minutes. Within half an hour, the old man had joined her, and together they slowly undressed the sleeping girl.

Once again he pulled a syringe from his pocket, and a repeat of the night before, soon had the end of the needle buried in Diane’s arm, the dark fluid hitting her vaiens.

“It wont be long, now” the old lady whispered, even though Diane would not hear them. “And it is going to get worse for her, isn’t it?”.

The old man simply nodded his head. There was nothing either of them could do now. They had done everything they had to do. Time, and Diane herself would now take over.

CHAPTER FIVE

The couple watched as Diane began tossing and turning in her ed. The dreams of the previous night had come back in earnest.

She could see, hear and smell the sights, sounds and aromas of decay all around her. The littered streets, the urchins sleeping under whatever cover they could find.

Carriages dragged at high speed through the dark streets, not caring if anyone or anything got in their way, charging through as if they owned the streets.

Someone was running. It was her. Someone was chasing her. She couldn’t see her pursuers, but she could feel they were gaining on her, and she couldn’t be caught.

Her breath was racing, her heart was racing, trying to out run those behind her. But all the time, she knew they were catching up to her.

She turned a corner and felt herself lose her feet, falling, sliding down an embankment. A scream ripped the night air apart, her own scream. And then, nothing. Total darkness. Not just in the room around her, but in her mind as well.

The bed was drenched with her sweat, her whole body glistened in her own sweat, as she still tossed and turned.

Daylight arrived, but Diane didn’t waken. The old lady was still in the room, tending her forehead with a damp cloth, trying to bring down the fever that raged in Diane.

No breakfast was offered, nor lunch. Diane, even had she been awake, would not have been able to leave the bed. Her body was weakened by the fever burning her up.

For two more nights, the fever raged, and the dreams returned. Each night, more intense than the previous night.

There was nothing the couple could do to stop the fever, except wait, and hope, that it would all be over soon.

It was the fourth morning when Diane’s eyes slowly opened. She looked as if she had no idea where she was.

She tried to get up, get out of bed, but her legs were too weak to hold her, and she slumped back down.

The old lady smiled down at her, but made no attempts to help Diane out of bed.

“Rest, child. You have been ill. You will be better soon, but you need to rest.”

The old lady covered Diane up, and walked to the door.

“I shall bring you some soup up later dear. But try to sleep.”

With that, the old lady left the room, leaving Diane alone again.

Diane fell back to sleep almost as soon as the old lady left. The dreams had stopped, but there was something niggling her, even as she slept. The memoirs.

The more she thought about it before she was ill, the more she had been sure that something or someone was missing from the story. She needed to know what it was. It troubled her that any story, especially one so detailed as that one, had something missing.

Was the memoirs trying to protect someone? If so, how could it harm them now? The story was set in Victorian times, and even had they done something drastic, they and their name would be lost in history by now.

Waking suddenly, Diane knew she had to go read the memoirs. Not type them out, she could do that without even reading them. She had proved this already. She needed to know what was missing. She was sure it was more of a someone than a something, and that made it even more of a reason to discover who.

The door to her room was, unusually, unlocked. She knew the old lady always locked it during the night. Maybe, as it was day time, she had forgotten. Quietly, she made her way down the stairs and to the study.

The memoirs were there, as was the typewriter. Undisturbed since she had been ill.

She sat at the desk, pushing the typewriter to one side, and picked up the first few sheets of hand written paper.

Even as she read it, she could once again feel the sense that she had done all of this herself. That was impossible. Maybe the story had dragged her mind into it. A good story could always make you think you were there. But it was more than that.

The old man and lady watched Diane through the one way glass. They had expected this, but not as soon. They had expected Diane to eventually realise what was wrong, but it had happened ahead of schedule.  She was definitely the right girl.

They watched as Diane leafed through the papers. She was hardly reading them, it was more as if she was remembering them. And maybe, she was.

Diane knew who they would meet, before they met them. Would see the horse careering down the street, even before it had turned the corner.

Where it came from, Diane didn’t know. A sudden thought swam through her mind, and she pulled the typewriter towards her. She typed mechanically, not looking at the paper, or the machine.

Moments later, she collapsed onto the desk. The old man and lady quickly carried Diane back to her room, and placed her in the bed, covering her up in the usual way, on the way out, the old lady locked the room.

The old man went back to the study and picked the single sheet out of the machine, and handed it to his sister when she joined him.

Only three words. But they meant so much.

WHO IS RACHEL?

The old man stopped in his tracks, the old lady supporting him as he lowered himself into the chair.

Nowhere in the book had Rachel been mentioned. Diane could not have gleaned it from there. The old couple looked at each other. It was happening. There was now nothing they could do to stop it. They had put the wheels in motion, and hoped, but now, it was out of their control. Out of everyone’s control.

The dreams came again as Diane slept.

Even more vivid than previous. Someone, herself, was running through strange streets. She was lost. She had strayed out of her own neighbourhood, and her surroundings confused her. Someone was chasing her, screaming at her. She couldn’t let them catch her, through dark streets she ran, her breathing harder.

Fear ran through her body. She knew what would happen if they caught her. It couldn’t happen.

She looked frantically for signs to leaf her back to more familiar territory, but nothing was familiar to her. She was too far from home, and going back the way she had come, even if she could remember it, was not an option. Going back would take her into the arms of those chasing her.

The hole in the street came without warning. She saw it, but too late to stop herself, as she fell headlong into it. It was over six feet deep, but it wasn’t the size of the hole that was the problem, as the scream was torn from her lips.

Someone had thrown rubbish into the hole, sharp pieces of wood.

Even as one of them pierced her chest, she knew it was all over for her. There was no way back, no more Richard and Evelyn. They had been together for so long, but now it was over.

Once more her body was covered in sweat, the sheet below her drenched. The dream was too real. Too vivid. It tormented her, wouldn’t let her go. The sheet had fallen from the bed, her heart beating faster, her eyes rolling beneath the closed lids.

Richard and Evelyn watched on helplessly. They could sense what was happening, but could not help.

A sudden scream filled the air, blood curdling screams that would waken the dead.

Diane sat bolt upright. Her eyes slowly opened to show pools of pure darkness. No colour, no whites. Her skin tone had changed, lost it’s colour. The dark hair now in stark contrast to her alabaster flesh.

Richard watched. It was more than he could have hoped for. He should never have let her go out by herself. She had been with them for fifty years, but was still learning. And it had bee over a hundred years since that fatal night. A century of trying to undo a single night.

He had found her, of what was left of her an hour after her death. There was little to see, hardly anything. He had managed to scrape up what blood he found, and stored it safe, knowing one day, he could use it.

He and his sister had gone on the rampage that night. No-one was safe. They took no prisoners. No-one they touched, survived.

Before the sun rose, they had left the area. It would be no longer safe for them. The mansion had become their home, and their prison.

Evelyn had been out of the mansion, mostly looking for chances to repair the damage. Richard had locked himself away, writing.

Then came Diane. She looked so much like Rachel it was unbelievable. It was like looking back a hundred years.

Originally, she had been hired to type Richards memoirs. But her uncanny looks had given Richard other ideas. He didn’t know if it would work. It had never been tried before.

They began by lacing her food with trace amounts of Rachel’s blood. Almost immediately they had noticed the effects. Diane looked tired, and was asleep as soon as she hit the bed. But each morning, she had awoken with the sun.

What they were planning seemed to be working, but slowly. Richard was impatient, as always, and had talked his sister into trying to speed things along. They both wanted results.

The dark powder that had injected Diane with, was Rachel’s blood. They didn’t know if the small amount they had would work, and there was only a single chance to try. If it failed, they would have lost her forever.

But here she was. Sitting up on the bed, her eyes aimed straight at the siblings.

Richard moved closer, unsure. There was no smile of recognition, as Richard closed in. but they eyes flickered for s second.

He knew what he had to do. He placed his arm in her hands, and prayed.

Rachel looked down at the arm. Hunger raced through her body, as she lifted the arm to her lips, as if to kiss it.

Sharp fangs appeared, and her mouth closed over Richard’s wrist. The teeth breaking flesh. He could feel the years slip away as Rachel drank from him. It would leave him weak, but it had needed to be done.

Evelyn stood close, knowing her turn would be next. As Richard slipped to the floor, Evelyn offered her own wrist to the girl. Once again sharp fangs flashed in the light, and sank slowly into the old lady’s arm.

A scream echoed around the room, as Rachel took from her.

She. Too, slipped to the floor, as Rachel wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

She didn’t know where she was. She could only remember running through the streets, and then total darkness.

Changes were happening in Richard and Evelyn, even as Rachel watched. Time seemed to be travelling backwards. The age fading from the brother and sister, regressing.

Within minutes the old lady and old man had gone. Still weak, but certainly still alive, Rachel looked down at her friends, her family.

Together, at last. With a new world to explore. But explore together.