The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell
Some of my favorite places are rich with haunted history. Like an amateur ghost hunter, I like to visit them and stay a while to see whether I can catch what goes bump in the night. I'd been searching for a place in a world with supernatural phenomena besides ghosts and demonic possession. Then I discovered The Silent Companions, which stood out to me with its premise of realistic painted dummy boards that would wreak terror in an old, Victorian-era country estate.
In case you weren't aware, silent companions are real in your world and date back to the Netherlands in the early 17th century. These flat, life-size wooden figures served as room decorations to surprise guests and presumably scare off burglars. The ones found in the estate, known as the Bridge, certainly did more.
The Bridge was home to Rupert Bainbridge, Elsie Livingstone's husband who had suddenly passed, leaving her a widow. The Bainbridge family has quite a history of death that inspired certain rumors among the villagers. Mrs. Bainbridge, however, was not one to entertain the ideas of spirits and hauntings. She was a strong, rational woman who wanted to dispel unnecessary fear and restore the village. Jolyon, her brother, was no less business-minded.
As a result of the accidents and rumors over the years, staff was lacking. Mrs. Holt, the Bridge's housekeeper, was willing to let me work alongside her only two other housemaids, Helen and Mabel. We were more privileged than most servants. We each had our own modest, yet pleasant guest bedroom. I had little to nothing in common with the girls, however. Helen was friendly but run-of-the-mill, and Mabel, well, she couldn't read.
I did what any other restless, anticipating, magical-librarian-disguised-as-a-housemaid would do and frequented the library. Unfortunately it wasn't a grand palace of dim light, crackling warmth, and the comforting smell of leather and parchment. Instead it was dark, musty, and rather small. A mere five or six bookcases were lined with histories (including one about silent companions), herbal remedies, and some fiction. Sarah Bainbridge, Rupert's cousin, took an interest in reading. Having a fellow reader around was nice, even though she was a bit air-headed at times.
The strange happenings began with saw-like hissing sounds in the night that led up to the garret, where Mrs. Bainbridge and Sarah soon discovered a pair of silent companions, a girl and a boy. They also uncovered two diaries that contained some harrowing answers.
Since the discovery, companions seemed to be manifesting out of thin air. At first Mrs. Bainbridge suspected someone was playing a prank, but obviously none of us were. The boy companion snuck up on me once. Despite the fright he gave me, I took a particular liking to him. He reminded me of myself when I was his age: observant, mischievous, and daring. I sensed that he, unlike the others, did not like the girl. His ink-black stare and the subtle ways in which it would shift to her told me plenty. I found it vaguely amusing. Of course, he wasn't fond of me nor the other residents, either. Like his fellow companions, he was always watching, waiting.
To be honest, I was less worried about the companions than the black cat, Jasper. It's true what they say: animals can sense things that humans cannot—and animals often sense something off about me. They know I am human: I look, act, and smell the part. Yet, it's as if they can get a whiff of a previous universe on me, and it raises hairs.
Jasper seemed to follow only two people around, one of whom was me. At times I felt his green gaze burning into my back, as though he were trying to decipher my true identity, but the moment our eyes would meet, he'd flee.
After a few deadly incidents, I suspected I was next. Luckily, I wasn't new to dealing with the kind of sorcery going on in the Bridge. I concocted a glass bottle of urine with pins and needles and hid it under my bed. Odd and disgusting, yes, but the practice is rooted in folklore that permeates many worlds and, most importantly, it worked. The companions and their mysterious puppeteer couldn't harm me.
Unfortunately, following the aftermath, I was no longer protected and that same faceless force attempted to hunt me down.
I could've returned to my library. Like a video game, there is always the option to exit. But I'm stubborn. I hate quitting. I want to triumph. I sometimes ask myself, "Powers forbid, if I ever lost my ability to visit fictional worlds, what would I do then?"
With my knowledge in folk magic and protective charms, I managed to keep the wicked force at bay and even unmask it. I couldn't say I was surprised. There had been more than one hint from the get-go. But I unearthed more secrets. A deep, vengeful anger filled me when I learned that this entity had destroyed something precious. It had destroyed so much. I could not let it live another day, and so I trapped it and watched it burn.
