[LAS1: Uncanny] Family Ghost
Title: Family Ghost
Characters: Elizabeth, James Norrington's grandson
Word Count: 870
Rating: PG-13
Challenge 1: Uncanny
Summary: Fleeing a ball in his celebration James Norrington's grandson meets an old acquaintance of his grandfather's. But something isn't quite right,
Family Ghost
The cheerful noises from the ballroom were dampened by several long corridors leading to the huge family library and Timothy breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him. He’d be missed too soon, he was sure of it. This ball was for him, after all, to celebrate his coming of age. And once they realized he was not among the dancing, gossiping guests they would know immediately where to find him. Timothy pulled a face at the closed door; he really hoped the rest of his life would not follow the pattern of this night - being trapped in a room with wealthy females while only longing for the feel of a book’s strong spine under his fingertips.
Timothy sighed and turned around to spend at least a few precious moments in the company of his books but he almost jumped in surprise seeing that he wasn’t the only one hiding in the library. A beautiful woman was walking along one of the long shelves, her long, delicate fingers hovering over the spines of old, precious books, never actually touching them.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said without turning around, her voice filled with lazy amusement. Timothy shook his head slightly and opened his lips to say something but no words came out. He’d never managed to learn the high art of charming women, no matter how much old Uncle Ted tried to teach him.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked, seemingly distracted by a worn book that had once belonged to Timothy’s grandfather. A small smile tugged at her lips for the briefest of moments before it disappeared again. Timothy struggled to find something witty to say to her but in the end he just forced his stiff back into a small bow and introduced himself.
“Timothy Norrington.”
“Ah,” she finally faced him, a teasing shine in her eyes. “So your father did learn after all that naming your children after dead friends brings bad luck.”
Timothy frowned in confusion.
“I don’t…”
“How is dear Andrew?”
“He died… a few months ago,” Timothy was proud of himself, it was the first time he’s managed to say the words without choking up with tears at the too fresh loss. A flash of something he couldn’t quite decipher appeared on the woman’s face but it disappeared so soon he almost thought he’d only imagined it.
“You knew my father?” Timothy asked timidly, unable to hide his surprise, not even realising how that might have been interpreted as rudeness.
But the woman just smiled.
“We met a couple of times. I used to know your grandfather.”
Timothy’s eyes widened slightly at the unlikely statement. He knew he was an unreliable judge of other people’s ages, especially of the opposite sex, but he would have sworn the woman couldn’t have been past her early thirties. She couldn’t have been over twenty when his grandfather had died at a respectable age of sixty-six, and the idea just seemed absurd to him.
She laughed at his poorly masked confusion, a hollow, emotionless sound that made Timothy shiver to the bones and he instinctively took a step back when she approached. She had the air of a lady in her elegant, if somewhat old fashioned dress. Her pale, unblemished alabaster skin, her long, slender neck, and the intelligent, always alert darkness of her eyes would have made her the dream of all men, but there was something chilly about her appearance.
“Who are you?” Timothy couldn’t help asking, though he feared the answer.
The wind, the early messenger of an approaching storm, that had been sweeping through the London streets all evening was now rattling at the half open window. The woman’s cold smile seemed sharp and deadly in the dim light as she stood too close to Timothy as if to warm herself in the heat of his quickly mounting fear.
“I was your father’s nightmare,” her low voice mingled with the howling wind. “And now I’ll be yours.”
The words were barely out when a strong gush of wind slammed the window open, filling the room with the sound of glass shattering, it made the heavy curtains flutter like the wings of spooked birds, allowing pale moonlight to flood the library with its eerie shine. Timothy’s cry of horror froze in his throat seeing the sudden transformation of the beautiful woman into a monster as the light hit her. Her attractive face, her smile, her perfect skin all morphed into the semblance of a dark grey rotting corpse. Her elegant dress was nothing but a tattered rag now, hanging loosely on her skeletal form, her golden locks were flying in the wind like dark green snakes, intent on killing with their poison.
“The moonlight shows what I really am,” she said, speaking the words like a memory, reaching out with a bony joint to caress Timothy’s jaw with fake affection but before she could touch his skin he wretched the door open and fled back into the cheerful warmth of the ball.
The woman smiled and looked up at the old portrait above the door.
“He’s a lot like you, James. It will be my pleasure to haunt him.”
Characters: Elizabeth, James Norrington's grandson
Word Count: 870
Rating: PG-13
Challenge 1: Uncanny
Summary: Fleeing a ball in his celebration James Norrington's grandson meets an old acquaintance of his grandfather's. But something isn't quite right,
Family Ghost
The cheerful noises from the ballroom were dampened by several long corridors leading to the huge family library and Timothy breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him. He’d be missed too soon, he was sure of it. This ball was for him, after all, to celebrate his coming of age. And once they realized he was not among the dancing, gossiping guests they would know immediately where to find him. Timothy pulled a face at the closed door; he really hoped the rest of his life would not follow the pattern of this night - being trapped in a room with wealthy females while only longing for the feel of a book’s strong spine under his fingertips.
Timothy sighed and turned around to spend at least a few precious moments in the company of his books but he almost jumped in surprise seeing that he wasn’t the only one hiding in the library. A beautiful woman was walking along one of the long shelves, her long, delicate fingers hovering over the spines of old, precious books, never actually touching them.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said without turning around, her voice filled with lazy amusement. Timothy shook his head slightly and opened his lips to say something but no words came out. He’d never managed to learn the high art of charming women, no matter how much old Uncle Ted tried to teach him.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked, seemingly distracted by a worn book that had once belonged to Timothy’s grandfather. A small smile tugged at her lips for the briefest of moments before it disappeared again. Timothy struggled to find something witty to say to her but in the end he just forced his stiff back into a small bow and introduced himself.
“Timothy Norrington.”
“Ah,” she finally faced him, a teasing shine in her eyes. “So your father did learn after all that naming your children after dead friends brings bad luck.”
Timothy frowned in confusion.
“I don’t…”
“How is dear Andrew?”
“He died… a few months ago,” Timothy was proud of himself, it was the first time he’s managed to say the words without choking up with tears at the too fresh loss. A flash of something he couldn’t quite decipher appeared on the woman’s face but it disappeared so soon he almost thought he’d only imagined it.
“You knew my father?” Timothy asked timidly, unable to hide his surprise, not even realising how that might have been interpreted as rudeness.
But the woman just smiled.
“We met a couple of times. I used to know your grandfather.”
Timothy’s eyes widened slightly at the unlikely statement. He knew he was an unreliable judge of other people’s ages, especially of the opposite sex, but he would have sworn the woman couldn’t have been past her early thirties. She couldn’t have been over twenty when his grandfather had died at a respectable age of sixty-six, and the idea just seemed absurd to him.
She laughed at his poorly masked confusion, a hollow, emotionless sound that made Timothy shiver to the bones and he instinctively took a step back when she approached. She had the air of a lady in her elegant, if somewhat old fashioned dress. Her pale, unblemished alabaster skin, her long, slender neck, and the intelligent, always alert darkness of her eyes would have made her the dream of all men, but there was something chilly about her appearance.
“Who are you?” Timothy couldn’t help asking, though he feared the answer.
The wind, the early messenger of an approaching storm, that had been sweeping through the London streets all evening was now rattling at the half open window. The woman’s cold smile seemed sharp and deadly in the dim light as she stood too close to Timothy as if to warm herself in the heat of his quickly mounting fear.
“I was your father’s nightmare,” her low voice mingled with the howling wind. “And now I’ll be yours.”
The words were barely out when a strong gush of wind slammed the window open, filling the room with the sound of glass shattering, it made the heavy curtains flutter like the wings of spooked birds, allowing pale moonlight to flood the library with its eerie shine. Timothy’s cry of horror froze in his throat seeing the sudden transformation of the beautiful woman into a monster as the light hit her. Her attractive face, her smile, her perfect skin all morphed into the semblance of a dark grey rotting corpse. Her elegant dress was nothing but a tattered rag now, hanging loosely on her skeletal form, her golden locks were flying in the wind like dark green snakes, intent on killing with their poison.
“The moonlight shows what I really am,” she said, speaking the words like a memory, reaching out with a bony joint to caress Timothy’s jaw with fake affection but before she could touch his skin he wretched the door open and fled back into the cheerful warmth of the ball.
The woman smiled and looked up at the old portrait above the door.
“He’s a lot like you, James. It will be my pleasure to haunt him.”