Bride Read online

  Victor was my sole companion. He fed and dressed me, combed my hair, and bathed me every day—all those things parents do for their children. Our lessons began almost at once, though in the beginning they amounted to little. It was not unlike housebreaking a new pet, as I was still operating mainly on instinct and emotion. Fortunately, Victor was a patient instructor. My movements gradually became smoother and more coordinated. By the end of the first week, I could eat without assistance, albeit messily.

  When the work became too much, Victor took it upon himself to amuse me by playing his violin. Rarely, he even lent his voice to the music. The vast majority of these tunes were sad melodies, full of pain and despair, but I hardly noticed. This strange new force overtook me wholly. I listened, transfixed as he played. In the evenings and sometimes throughout the day, he also read to me from one of the many volumes plucked from the library beneath the attic. Although the words didn’t register initially, it was clear something magical was happening between the yellowed pages.

  My memory of those first few days remains out of focus. My body was still adjusting to the process of my rebirth, and I spent a great deal of time drifting in and out of consciousness. One morning sometime during that first week, I woke with a smile, gleeful to start a new day, the storm over at last.

  I craned my neck, listening for rain, but none came. It was utterly quiet inside the attic for the first time since my birth, another foreign sensation—one peaceful and pleasant. I looked for Victor, to share my discovery with him, but the attic was empty. He was gone. At first I was afraid, until I saw that the door leading downstairs had been left open, and my sense of curiosity overtook my trepidation.

  I crossed the threshold and descended the staircase step by step. I wandered downstairs with no set direction in mind, guided only by whatever captured my interest in the moment. At ground level, I stopped short at the entrance to the cottage, where a door barred my path forward. I pressed against the door with one hand, then both, but the heavy door held firm on its hinges. My hands blindly swept over the wooden doorframe, seeking a pathway to the other side, and eventually they somehow fastened themselves around the doorknob. I must have fiddled with the knob for ages before it twisted against my grip, and the door fell open.

  It was my first time beholding the sun. With the storm over, radiant light streamed inside the cottage through the doorway. Taken aback, I held my hands in front of my face as if to ward off an attack, until my eyes adjusted to the brightness. As my surroundings came into view, my jaw dropped in awe. Until this point, Victor and the attic had been my whole world. Now it seemed for the first time that the world was bigger than I could ever imagine. I ventured outside, wholly occupied by what lay before me.

  The soil was still wet from the rains. My first step landed my bare foot in the moist earth. I drew my foot back, surprised by the feeling of dirt clinging to my heel, and saw the print left behind in the mud. My mouth folded into a widening smile, and I leaned forward and pressed my hand into the mud, leaving another print to my utter delight.

  An axe was buried in a nearby stump beside a pile of firewood in the shadow of the trees. The narrow trail that led from the cottage vanished inside the neighboring woods. The towering trees and boundless acres were meant to shield the insular property from prying eyes and unwanted guests. The nearest village was miles away—the isolated location was Victor’s intent. The forest surrounded the swath of land on three sides, with the rear of the cottage bordered by the sea.

  The house itself was a two-story thatched cottage on the shore of one of the Orkney Islands, a smattering of isles on the northern coast of Scotland. The cottage had once been a part of an estate of which little now remained. The property also boasted a barn with stables for horses, as well as a smokehouse and a freshwater well. All these features were clustered closely together, as if confined by the encroaching forest.

  Most haunting were the graves.

  The ruins of a cemetery rested a short way from the cottage; had there been a window above, the graves would have been directly visible from the attic. Moss and weeds grew freely over the tombstones that were left. Many were cracked or fallen, the names once etched on their surfaces having faded with time. Boulders were scattered nearby, perhaps the remnants of a foundation of stone, hinting that there might have been a church on the land at some time in the distant past. Whatever the case, the property was clearly forsaken in the present.

  I looked around, savoring each new sensation. The sky was a serene blue, interspersed with a never-ending expanse of puffy white clouds. The smell of saltwater lingered in the air. The rhythm of the rolling tide echoed where the waves crashed against the rocks. Wind whispered gently to me from the forest.

  One of the horses neighed in the barn, an unfamiliar sound I had never heard before. It occurred to me this might be where Victor had gone off to, and I found myself acutely aware of his absence for the first time. I started toward the barn, but before I could explore further, something entirely new captured my attention.

  It was only a common rabbit, hopping away from the garden’s remains. It was also the first living thing I had seen apart from Victor. The rabbit looked soft, with big, round eyes. I wanted desperately to stroke its fur, but as I reached for it, the creature hopped away. A frown replaced my smile, and I shuffled down the path after the rabbit, passing along the trees. I was no match for the rabbit, however, and it soon disappeared into the bushes. I was left standing there in the woods, listening to the whistling howl of the breeze creeping over the branches.

  The wind faded, and all was quiet in the forest. I was suddenly aware that I was not alone. Hidden in the shadows, a small distance away, a tall figure was partially concealed by a tree. Victor? I wondered.

  When it saw me glance in its direction, the shape disappeared before I could get a good look at it. I started to follow, but a few paces away, a gray wolf blocked the path. I stared at the wolf without making a sound. It was lanky and hungry looking, with sharp, glistening fangs and unforgiving amber eyes. Its maw was buried in the rabbit’s desecrated corpse as it savaged the unfortunate creature.

  Without warning, the wolf stopped what it was doing and stiffened. It gazed away from its meal, its face stained with fresh blood, as if it sensing a threat. A twig snapped under my feet, and the wolf noticed me for the first time. When our eyes met, the wolf bared its fangs and began pawing the earth with a series of menacing growls.

  I was not afraid. This was only the second animal to cross my path, and I knew nothing of predators and prey—or of pain or suffering, for that matter. I did not yet realize that some innate instinct in the wolf perceived that I was unlike other living things, humans included. I remained where I stood, mystified.

  The wolf took my failure to heed its warning as a challenge. With a final howl, the beast bounded toward me, its jaws open wide. My thoughts and movements were too slow to react as the wolf leapt at me. The impact knocked me off my feet, and I landed hard on my back. I brought up my arms to shield myself, but the gesture was of little use. The wolf tore at my dress, biting and clawing me. A sharp sting burned in my arm where its fangs buried themselves in my skin, and I cried out in pain.

  Without warning, the wolf was lifted off me, torn free by the grasp of an unseen force. Before I knew what was happening, something had dragged the wolf toward the bushes. Though the wolf scrambled like mad to free itself, whatever had it by the tail pulled the beast into the foliage. I heard another howl, followed by a desperate yelp, and then nothing.

  My attention returned to the gash in my forearm. A small amount of black-colored blood leaked freely. I drew back my fingers from the painful wound, covered in blood, and fled back toward the cottage, having felt the taste of fear for the first time.

  Chapter Two

  Suddenly, the outside world didn’t seem nearly as inviting as it appeared. Nature held out beauty with one hand and cruelty with the other.

  Ahead, the cottage materialized at the end of
the path. I heard a voice cry out to me, and Victor came running from the barn. He caught me in his arms outside the door to the cottage, which I had left open.

  “I heard you scream.” His words barely registered. Victor followed my gaze to the forest, where I was certain something monstrous would emerge at any moment. He shook me to elicit a response, his tone angry. “You shouldn’t be out here. You might have been seen!”

  Then he spotted the claw marks and the blood on my arm. “You’re hurt.” He again glanced down the trail, this time with a very different expression. His gaze lingered on the spot for a long while, as if sharing my silent dread of what lurked within the woods. When he heard me whimpering, Victor finally looked away and cradled my injured forearm. “Let’s get you inside,” he said, leading me back to the house. He shut the front door and bolted it for good measure.

  I willingly followed Victor back inside, having had my fill of the outside world for the moment. Instead of returning me to the attic, he led me through the parlor and into the adjoining sitting room. Victor released his hold on my hand and gently lowered me onto the sofa. When he returned a short time later with some bandages, a basin of water, and a suture, I was still shaking.

  “There, there,” he said calmly. He offered a smile to reassure me. “It’s not as bad as all that.” He cleaned the wound with a wet towel, washing the dark blood away. “A wolf, most likely,” he muttered to himself after inspecting the injury further. “You’re lucky there wasn’t more damage.” I cringed as he slipped the needle into my skin to stitch up the wound, although there was very little sensation of pain. “It’s my fault for leaving the attic door ajar. I should have been more careful, but you mustn’t venture off on your own,” he said seriously. “It’s not safe for you. You’re not ready to be out there alone.” He glanced over his shoulder at the door, which remained shut.

  We did not return to the laboratory. In venturing beyond the attic, I had thrown open a window to a new world, and there was no closing it now. After my limited display of independence, Victor decided it was time for me to have my own living space. He settled me in a second-story bedroom down the hall from his room. The room he prepared for me was neat and tidy, with a mirror over the dresser and a window overlooking the forest.

  Many of my happiest memories unfolded over the days that followed. In the mornings we ate breakfast in the kitchen, where Victor’s feeble attempts at cooking were greeted with disproportionate enthusiasm on my part. Afterwards our lessons commenced in the study, surrounded by the dusty books of the cottage’s extensive library. Gradually, I was able to respond to simple commands, such as ‘sit,’ ‘stand,’ or ‘eat,’ and although I was still incapable of speech, I learned to nod or shake my head to indicate yes or no.

  Victor spent much of his time trying to teach me new words. He often showed me the same object again and again, repeating the word until it sank in. Occasionally I attempted to echo the word back to him, but invariably all that came out was unintelligible babble. Sometimes he showed me sketches instead of objects. Victor liked to draw, and he was a talented artist. His sketches and scribblings were all over the cottage on loose paper or draped over easels. The subject matter ranged from science and anatomy to wildlife and nature. I pored over his drawings of various woodland creatures, endlessly fascinated. He even sketched me on more than a few occasions when we retired for the evening.

  It didn’t take long for my sense of exploration to return. Victor shepherded me on brief excursions outside, although he was careful that we never strayed too far from the cottage. We spent time walking along the cliff behind the cottage, watching the waves roll in below, or else in the forest, studying the woodland creatures. Around every corner a new adventure was waiting, and the world itself seemed to open up to me.

  Whenever I think of home, I always come back to those days living in the cottage. We spent our evenings in the sitting room, when the chill set in long after the sun died away, in the heat of the fireplace Victor fed with wood gathered from the forest. Still frightened by the fire, I stayed just close enough to feels its warmth on my skin.

  Although Victor often read aloud or played his violin, on other nights he sat quietly without saying a word for hours. His moods were unpredictable. At times he played the role of dispassionate scientist or appraising teacher, in contrast to his place as my friend and companion. There were moments when it seemed he couldn’t bring himself to look at me. Even then it was evident he was growing restless, burdened by some terrible secret that could not be spoken. I frequently observed him staring at the forest outside the cottage, as if preparing himself for something that waited for him within.

  All the while my thoughts were beginning to take shape. What began as a loose association of instinct and emotion soon evolved into wants and desires of my own. Finally, the day came when I spoke for the first time since the night of my birth. It was an unseasonably warm day, and light poured inside Victor’s study from the overhead sun.

  “Bird,” Victor said, pointing to the detailed drawing that hung on an easel. I sat quietly in a chair across from him, distracted by the sights and sounds outside. We were both tired; I was bored after hours cooped inside on such a glorious day, and Victor was frustrated by my lack of progress. “Bird,” he repeated. He gestured to his mouth. “Now you try.”

  He again pointed at the illustration, but once again I was only able to let loose a disconnected clash of syllables. Victor reached for his sketchbook with a sigh and flipped through a series of animals and objects, asking the same question and receiving the same response. Finally, he hurled the sketchbook across the room and threw his hands up in the air.

  “It’s no use.” Victor swept his books off his desk, causing me to shrink back in surprise. “We’ve been at it for days without so much as a single coherent word. I thought we were making progress, but it was all for nothing. The damage must have been too extensive.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at the flood. “Another failed experiment.” It was clear that I had disappointed him, and my eyebrows arched in concern. “Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, wearing a dark expression.

  He stormed out of the study, and I followed him down the hall. I found him in the sitting room, his back to me.

  “What am I going to do with you now?” he whispered, though the words seemed directed not at me. I was afraid to approach him.

  The window had been left open due to the heat, and the smell of salt from the sea hung in the air. At that moment, a robin fluttered through the window, tearing my attention away. I watched, spellbound, as it flew across the room before perching on the mantle. Victor hardly registered the intruder, but I stared up at the robin, my eyes burning wide with the flame of recognition.

  The word slowly rattled off my tongue. “B-b-bird.”

  Beside the window, Victor perked up. “What did you say?” He turned around, suddenly animated.

  “Bird,” I repeated deliberately. I approached the mantle, and the robin flew away, flapping about the room as it sought an escape.

  Victor’s face lit up with excitement. “You did it,” he said, grabbing my arms. “You spoke.” I grinned, delighted at his display of pride, and he pulled me into a hug. “I knew it. I didn’t fail—not this time.”

  Together we danced across the creaky floor in the sunlight as the robin flew wildly above. Before the day was over, I successfully added the words ‘Victor,’ ‘yes,’ and ‘no’ to my vocabulary. We worked until long after night descended over the cottage, when finally we were both too tired to continue.

  Victor lit a candle for me and left it on the windowsill beside my bed before bidding me goodnight. He gently shut the door behind him, and I stood quietly in the dim light, listening to the wooden floorboards groan under his weight as he disappeared.

  It was unusually quiet outside the cottage. My bed was cold, bereft of the sun’s warmth. Shadows of the trees’ branches crept across the walls like withered limbs reaching toward me, and I pulled the
covers around me tightly. I looked to the candle beside my bed for comfort, like any child fearing the dark, and something outside the window happened to catch my eye.

  A pair of yellow eyes gleamed in the forest, where a man stood at the edge of the trees, watching me through the window. Distance and the night hid his features, but when I focused on the creature, I saw that he was impossibly tall, dressed in a long, sweeping coat that flapped about in the wind. My breath caught in my chest, and I pulled the covers over my head like a shield from the night. When I was brave enough to lower the covers, the forest was again deserted.

  I lay in silence and waited for sleep to take me, with the haunting image of the sinister yellow eyes stuck in my mind.

  The next day it began to storm again. The memory of the night’s events was all but forgotten, like a distant dream. The candle sat idly on my windowsill, having long ago burnt out. There were dark clouds outside my window as far as I could see. It was difficult to discern even the shapes of the trees amid the torrential downpour.

  As I rose, I noticed my reflection in the mirror for the first time. I moved nearer to the mirror, drawn by the stranger looking back at me through the glass. I held out my hand to her, and she did likewise. I ran my hand over her cheek, and it dawned on me that we were the same. Before this moment, I had little awareness of my own image.

  My skin was utterly devoid of color. I was pale, lifeless, and cool—a walking corpse, though I did not yet realize it. My lips held a blue, cyanotic tint. My hair, a wavy mess of ash brown, hung down to my waist. White and gray streaks were strewn erratically over both sides. I stared at my reflection, unblinking. Something felt off about my appearance. I leaned in closer to the mirror and pulled back the skin under my eye. The eye was a bright amber shade, not unlike the wolf that had attacked me in the forest, without a fleck of brown or blue. I frowned, uneasy. The sight of my eyes troubled me. They were wrong somehow, as if they should have been another color entirely.