Shadows of the Plague

Shadows of the Plague

Violet Collins once lived in a grand old house just outside of London with her family. She loved to play with her dolls and would pass the time laughing and dancing with her father and sister whilst her mother played jaunty tunes on their piano forte. Together with her sister, Jane, they would spend many a fine afternoon walking into town to visit with their friends for tea. On one such occasion while passing the shops, Jane purchased a very fine china doll that Violet had been quietly admiring for quite some time, yet had never mentioned.

Jane, possessing within herself a kind and generous heart, soon noticed her sister’s interest in the doll, and allowed her to play with it on occasion. She placed the doll beside Violet during a terrible thunderstorm that seemed to shake the great walls of their house, again after a terrible incident when she was bitten by a black dog, and for the last time on that fateful day when Violet became terribly ill.

Like the ensnaring strands of a horrible web, the illness had spread in all directions throughout London and the surrounding countryside, the black spider of death soon following to drain the life from its trapped victims.

Violet and Jane were no longer allowed into town to see their friends nor visit their relatives. Words like “quarantine” and “isolation” were whispered fearfully between their parents as they kept the curtains drawn, and the windows and doors locked. The faces of friends, family, and acquaintances soon grew dim as all that remained of their memory were the crumbling photographs and shadows on the walls, echoes of joy long forgotten.

One day, Violet awoke to learn that Jane had been sent away, “on account of her health”. But she was assured that “Jane did leave her doll to keep you company until you get well.”

After her departure, they rarely spoke of Jane again. Whenever Violet asked about the prospect of seeing her sister again, her parents uttered little assurance or waved off the question altogether. Always, however, there were tears.

Violent coughing fits wracked Violet's poor, little body and left her feeling faint in bed for weeks, with only the doll for comfort. The family doctor became the sole visitor of Violet and her family, feeling her forehead and pouring new and horrible-tasting tonics down her throat. She loathed the medicines, and the constant barrage of large words the doctor spouted so importantly. Her parents seemed to despise them, too, along with everything else the doctor seemed to say. She heard her father curse him more than once, and was, therefore, all the more relieved when he stopped coming altogether.

Soon after, things seemed to go back to normal. Violet’s cough and chills subsided. Her mother began to play the piano again, and Violet’s parents were making more time for her now. They sang songs and told stories together, and her parents would assure her of how much they loved her. Yet they insisted she wait before returning to the outside world again, and still no one came to call at the house, not even Jane.

The first visitor they had since the doctor’s final departure was one Violet would never forget.

It was during a game of hide-and-go-seek with her parents that there came a prompt knocking at their door.

All inside the house froze at the sound, it had been a good long while since anyone had come calling. Her parents muttered questions to themselves as they made to see who it was.

From her hiding place, an old pine chest full of blankets, Violet could see her father open the door to a tall, smartly-dressed gentleman with sharp eyes and a cool, professional air about him. His fingers were preoccupied with a shining pocket watch which he wound casually as he spoke to her father.

It was difficult to hear exactly what they were saying, Violet could only catch bits and pieces of it, mostly small mumblings like “rather soon,” and “considering everything that has happened,” and “what, with the plague…”

Hoping to catch more of the conversation, Violet peaked further out from under the security of the chest, the lid squeaking horribly as she raised it.

The adults, hearing this, all turned their eyes to her. Perhaps it was because she had not seen a stranger in so long…or, perhaps, because of the terrible, deep, blackness within his eyes, but the gaze of the stranger sent shivers down Violet’s spine. It was not a fear of some great evil, or danger, but a terrible helplessness and surrender to a higher authority. His shoulders were strangely strained, not like the hunchbacks in her storybooks, more as if his shoulder blades were being held up by invisible strings.

It was her father who finally broke the silence, gesturing towards her as he implored something of the stranger.

Hesitantly, the man finally nodded, winding his watch before bowing politely and departing.

Violet had caught her parents discussing the man on more than one occasion. She rarely caught any solid details, mostly just phrases.

“We can finally move on from this horrible house, Martha!”

“Must we leave, Thomas?”

“What choice do we have?”

Violet liked the thought of finally getting out and seeing the world, yet she hated the idea of leaving the house where she and her sister had grown up.

Her sister, there was a thought. Would she finally have the chance to reunite with Jane after so long? She suggested the idea to her parents, who promptly dismissed the thought.

“Not yet, dearest.”

Three days later, as the sun began to set into the horizon, Violet searched for her doll through the shadowy rooms of their great house. As she turned down a dark corridor in the second story, she began to hear noises echoing throughout the empty halls. It all started with the creak of door hinges opening and closing. Floorboards groaned as if great crowds were milling beneath her feet and all about her.