Royalty

We received a mundane call for a corpse found in the Downtown Wilson Apartments. Anne Elliot was found rotting in her living room after a foul smell was reported by a number of residents. As we ascended the stone steps in the quiet afternoon, my partner joked that we would be in and out in ten. I wish that had been the truth. We escaped the damp air and scorching sun once inside the brick complex. Her room was on the second floor looking out toward Mackie Park. The vibrant green leaves and joyous cries of children running wild were a stark contrast to the stench and weight of Mrs. Elliot\'s apartment. She was only a few feet away from the window, sitting in an armchair adorned with clothing. Well, we did not know who it was at first, since all we saw was a humanoid figure encased in cloths and fibers. A dark wetness had soaked into the lighter materials that surrounded the arms and head. The landlord, with a ghastly complexion, excused himself, leaving us to investigate.

I had lost the coin toss earlier, and so Adam began to peruse through her wares while I approached the body. The odor was familiar, with any doubt, but the unnerving mummification was newly disturbing. Before a full examination the body, I surveyed the immediate area for the assumed foul play. In the mitted left hand was a string of yarn that connected to a skein near her foot. The yarn atop her head was the same. Her right hand was gloved and held a needle of some kind. Starting from her feet, the casing began with stitched fabrics. I later learned most were from her bedsheets, although other loose clothes were used elsewhere. As it moved up her legs, it switched to knitting or crochet. This changing continued up the torso without any discernible pattern. A pair of shears, some thread, and needles were placed, their placement so meticulous, on the windowsill next to a doll. It was the only one in the room, but we found others in the bedroom later. As I adjusted my position, it appeared that Mrs. Elliot\'s head was fixed toward the window doll. It was quite different from the others. The rest were made with similar fabrics, proportions, and style while the window doll was made of leather and animal furs. It was also larger, maybe the size of a small cat. Its legs dangled off toward the room.

I must have stared for a minute or two in deep contemplation before Adam startled me with his discovery of a journal. I jumped as my eyes broke their connection with the doll\'s. He chuckled at my reaction. Before looking at the journal, I decided we should confirm the identity of the mummy. Using the window shears, I cut and peeled away the sticky fabrics from her face. A haunting air pierced the room as we gazed into the eyeless cavities of Anne Elliot. Her head fell back and a swear escaped Adam\'s lips as we stood back from the mutilated corpse. We exchanged a glance of uncomfortable understanding. Impossibly, there was no blood around her eyes, or down her face. A collection of children yelled and laughed across the street as we scoured the apartment for signs of the murderer.

After a brief, panicked search, we found the eyes. They were placed in the icebox, looking out. Our faces twitched in disgust as we left them there and began to discuss the situation. Adam decided it was best to involve the greater police force and question the immediate neighbors. He left to find a phone and handed me the journal. After one last pointless search for a clue, I leaned against the entryway and skimmed through the pages. Eventually returning to the beginning of what piqued my interest.

October 26th,

Oh, what a day! I was able to finish the dolls for the Scotts. Mrs. Scott paid me well for the two and promised to recommend my services to her fellow ladies! If all goes well, I will be able to move sooner than expected!

November 22nd,

I just completed the dolls and gloves for Mrs. Hedgefield\'s children. I was worried I would not finish by Thanksgiving, but I will deliver them tomorrow morning. I hope the pair will love them! They were so sweet when I took their measurements.

January 19th,

I can\'t believe it! Mrs. Hedgefield gave me the most wonderful gift! Her family returned recently from a vacation in Germany, and was so pleased with my work, that when she saw a one-of-a-kind doll, she just had to buy it! She would not say how much she spent, but only that it was a true gift. The only clue she gave me was that it supposedly was owned by Queen Teresa of the Holy Roman Empire! What a history! It has been so well preserved! I must say, if this becomes common, I may be taken care of! She is so lovely! It is a bit of a strange-looking thing, but it is so incredibly unique! It will be proudly displayed and cherished. There was no given name, so I will have to think of a fitting one.

January 21st,

I had such a strange dream last night, a nightmare really. I was trapped in a room that became progressively warmer and smaller. I woke up with a shriek as it got to be so unbearably cramped! A pool of sweat clung to me. It was terrible! Anyway, I do have a name for the doll now. Emily just felt right. It came to me while looking upon her after dinner. I will leave her on the windowsill. She fits nicely!

Adam came back a bit drained. He said the police were taking over soon and would require all evidence returned. We weren\'t needed any further. I closed the journal and nodded. I was a little dazed. My eyes settled back on the so-called \"Emily.\" I told him to ready the car, and that I would be down shortly. He eyed me strangely but did not argue. I lazily watched him shuffle down the hall before I stepped in again and placed the journal down on the table. The wind was playing with the trees like fingers through hair as I approached the window once more. My eyes lowered and leered at the doll. Its dull beads inspected me. I am not sure what overtook me, but a tumultuous storm of emotions and ideas filled my head until it leaked angrily. In a rush, I seized the doll and journal before fleeing home through the rear stairwell. I avoided treading where Adam would have spotted my manic flight. I needed to figure this out myself. Something was different. I felt different.

Arriving at my apartment building, I slid a few dollars to the lady in the lobby, my hand unsteady, and made her swear to lie about my whereabouts. She looked at me with noticeable worry, but I had no time for it. Rapidly ascending the stairs, I closed the door and took some labored breaths. I then sat Emily in the closet before crossing the room and closing the blinds. My lamp sparked to life as I sat at the desk and readied a paper for notes. The room glowed with a warm radiance, and I scribbled down the events of the last few hours before continuing my reading.

February 2nd,

Oh, I have had such a fire within me! I have never worked so quickly and well! Emily must be a charm of good energy. I finished two orders a week ahead of schedule. If I keep this up, maybe I can quit my job and take on more orders and really make my money!

February 16th,

My drive is still strong! I also have newfound confidence. I left my position and took on more than my usual load and have not faltered one bit! I had to tell Mary we could not meet today to catch up. I think she would just slow me down. I do feel a light regret, but I cannot let her possibly distract me!

March 1st,

I feel so great! My dreams are all wondrous lands of beauty that I could have never imagined before! These grand castles, vibrant gardens, fantastical clothes and oh so much more!

It has become a bit of a mental pain to wake from these images to my more mundane life.

After another few updates on orders and this \"fire\" of hers, daily entries ceased in March. Here and there she scattered personal notes, but something in her behavior changed as her orders ended in May. It seemed she stopped leaving her apartment around the same time. A final lengthier entry was written last week.

July 17th,

Oh! What a life! Emily has told me such fantastic news! Today, I become Queen Elliot! Emily has been so very helpful with my work and has given me a wonderful privilege. I just had to accept! For the last few days, I have worked hard on my greatest creation. Tonight, she will make me queen. My royal garments are so beautiful, and my throne awaits! Emily will help me seal it all up nice and tight before she proceeds with the coronation.

I must, of course, extend my gratitude to Lady Hedgefield for making me her heir. Emily will see fit that once everything is ready, I will awake as the most marvelous queen ever to exist!

Then, she will find me a dashing king to love me and care for my every need. Oh, I can\'t wait!

We will be happy and free!

Now, there are only a few hours to go, and I must purify myself. As instructed by Emily, I must first clean my body, then my mind, and finally rid the sense that blinds me from the true world I rule! After, she will guide me to my throne and set me free!

To the royal scribe that will sequester this text for my followers to worship, thank you for your services.

Your Royal Highness,

Queen Elliot

I set down the corrupt journal, wondering what psychosis invaded the poor woman. With every second that I questioned her mentality, I doubted my conclusions. No one can go insane that fast. I expelled a sharp sigh and glanced toward the closet. I finished my scattered notes and replaced my pen with its elegant holder. An emptiness hollowed my chest as I looked over my writing. Feeling unsteady, I hobbled to the kitchen for a drink. As I poured the rich amber into the glass, I looked upon the closet. It was practically in shadow. She seemed so far away in that darkness, but her presence still caressed my spine. I set the bottle down and began to sip. The more time that passed, the more I yearned to see her. After I processed that disturbing impulse, I swallowed the last burning trickles and lowered my glass with a heavy hand. My other hand gripped the bottle, ready for more relief. I idled, unsure of how to dispose of the journal and doll. I could burn them, but my superstitions overruled this with the risk of setting the evil free from its physical form.

The clock grew louder with its incessant ticking as the silence of a cemetery enshrouded my space. An hour passed as I paced around with another drink or two and reread my notes. Finally, I made my choice. I grabbed a small chest and placed random heavy objects I did not care for at the bottom. I then with care wrapped the journal in a rag and set it inside. Stretching my fingers, I approached the closet. I hesitated as I opened the door and stared at her unmoved form with an exhalation. Like a parent with their precious child, I carried her to the chest and lowered her inside. I covered everything with another cloth and sealed it shut. Darkness had arrived and I set out to the docks. I was damp with sweat as my initial pace turned into a run. With each step, I analyzed every corner with suspicion and the fear of being watched. The wet air and salty breeze welcomed me and soon my feet battered the boards of the docks which echoed over the insipid waves. I put the chest down to catch my breath and scanned the area for signs of life. I believed myself lucky, for not a single common inhabitant appeared. With light pants, I prayed to God to hide this evil and not allow any mortal to engage with her cold eyes again. With a strained grunt, I lifted the chest and prepared to toss it as far as I could. On my last swing before release, my body felt paralyzed by a woman\'s breathy voice singing behind me. She sounded mere feet away. I choked down a struggled swallow and shakily turned around toward the singer. My eyes grew wide and skin cold while my stomach shrunk and convulsed. The eyeless corpse of Anne Elliot, adorned in her chaotic fabrics, ended her song with an inhumanely wide smile. Her gloved hand raised her shears, and she whispered,

\"My King.\"

About the Author

Emerson Bell is a first time writer who mainly writes short horror stories. With a love of cosmic and psychological horror, they attempt to convey a sense of dread and or tense uncertainty in many of their stories.