The Axe (complete)

They thought living in the country would be best for Bernadette. The time spent at her family’s summer home out near the lakes were some of the best times of her life, so surely rural living would be the best for her after what happened.

The house was surprisingly chilly, but there seemed to be no attempts at making it warmer, and Bernadette was surprised by the dust on the mantels and the claustrophobic rooms. She walked through the house, thinking she didn’t want it to seem so inhospitable when her husband returned. She wanted to have the place renovated and beautiful, but everything just seemed to keep getting in the way of that goal.

Due to a childhood ailment, Bernadette was almost mute, and could barely speak above a whisper. Most of the time she had to communicate through letters. In youth she had carried around a notepad and pen at all times, so at least she had beautiful handwriting.

But now, in this lonely house, Bernadette often kept to herself, walking around, staring out the windows, and feeling the listlessness that came with nothing to do. The planned renovations were put on hold, due to constant heavy rain that felt endless. Some of the walls had already been taken down exposing the hollow, dusty boards beyond.. It made the house feel even more desolate.

“I cannot begin to describe how empty it all feels without you, my love,” she began one of her letters. “This place and all around it feels lost without your warming presence. The staff does not listen to me. And do not get me started on what else has been going on. I keep to myself to ignore it. I know this is not how you would like me to do things, but I do not know what else to do with myself. I know you cannot write to me as often as you’d like, but I cannot begin to return to my senses without some word from you! I fear I will not be myself completely until you are home. Even if these renovations are not done, I still wish you here. That is all I long for. Your ever-loving wife, Bernadette.”

One afternoon, a day more dreary than the last, Bernadette wandered back into what had been the bedroom. It was the last room to be renovated, and one wall had been removed to open the space. She wanted French doors, to open onto the terrace and let in beautiful sunlight, but now the outer wall was just a blank expanse of brick and mortar, and the connecting wall was partially torn down. She walked around the brick, leaving footprints in the dust.

Bernadette turned to look at the wall where the bed had once stood. She and her husband had spent so few nights there before he had to go, but those moments had made Bernadette so happy. She never thought she would be wed until she met him, and after that their companionship was like a fairy tale. He gave her a voice and helped her to gain her confidence, so without him present, it might as well go on raining forever.

“I know this house is old, but it has possibilities,” he told her. “We can do what’s needed to make it feel newer and lighter. You can make yourself happy here.” His smile as he said this brightened Bernadette’s soul. He lifted her up in a way no one else ever did. “We have wealth now, and we can do everything we need to make this place our home.”

Bernadette turned back to the destroyed wall, peering into the space between bricks where the cold air slipped through. Something was wedged there. Perhaps one of the workers left a tool behind. She reached inside and stretched out her fingers to feel something cool and smooth against her fingertips, then took hold of the handle, drawing forth the tool from within.

It was an axe, quite heavy in her palms, and the blade still looked to be sharp despite the obvious wear. Bernadette looked it over, wondering if it was missed by whoever used it last. She took it downstairs and placed it by the empty fireplace. She had left a note for the staff to light it, but the note had been ignored again.

Frustrated that she was being treated this way while her husband was absent, Bernadette made an addendum to the note. She struck the pen to the paper harshly, hoping to convey her frustration. “... or else my husband will be made aware.” She smiled to herself after penning the addition, then returned upstairs to find something to do.

The staff had been chosen by her stepmother, and she was not surprised they were ignoring her. Bernadette was used to being ignored. Her parents had sent her away as a child, first to relatives, then to school, where she became ill and lost her voice. She was returned home where her mother passed away and her father remarried, and Bernadette’s stepmother had been a source of unnecessary conflict for her. She tormented Bernadette regularly about her voice, constantly asking her to speak up for once, even mocked her frequent scribbling of notes.

“Look at this stupid, vapid, girl,” she would exclaim. She always had company. Her friends, even passing acquaintances, would be invited over so she could show off her newfound wealth and affluence. Everything Bernadette’s mother had so tenderly added to the house had been replaced by her stepmother by something bigger and gaudier. Bernadette was the last piece that needed replacing, but unfortunately she could no longer be sent away. No one wanted or knew what to do with her. Her late mother’s side of the family refused any contact with her father after he remarried. Her stepmother refused to waste any more money on her, so another school was out of the question.

“She can’t speak!” the woman sneered as she circled Bernadette. “And when she does, you can’t even hear her. Say something, child. Anything at all. Surely you can muster a few words in your defense.”

Bernadette would just stare off into the distance, placing herself into the paintings or reading the spines of books along the shelf. Should she dare to speak, or even worse, write something, it would only make the mockery of her stepmother worse.

It was no secret in the household that the woman only wanted her father for his money. Bernadette’s family was extremely wealthy. So it was no surprise when her stepmother began pushing Bernadette to marry her son, who Bernadette had never met. The boy was away for school, finishing up his education for something, but Bernadette never knew why. Her stepmother insisted on the union, which would assure that the remaining wealth of Bernadette’s family all went into her pockets.

It wasn’t until she met the man that Bernadette had a change of heart. It was early in the morning, and Bernadette was the only one awake besides the maids. Most mornings were quiet and peaceful, so Bernadette enjoyed the study while no one was around. He arrived out of the rain and cold, and his cheeks were ruddy and his smile charming. “You must be the lady of the house. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I suppose you’re my sister now,” he laughed.

How such a handsome creature came from such a vile one astounded Bernadette. She led him into the study to help him warm up. He did not mock her voice, or her inability to speak, but instead found her method of communication charming. “It’s fascinating,” he said. “You would think most would just give up, and here you are fighting to be heard. It’s remarkable.”

He had been the first to ever say such a thing, and it touched Bernadette to her soul. It no longer bothered her from there that her stepmother insisted on the union. In fact, she and her husband began to grow quite close, and he wooed Bernadette in seret, kissing her sweetly when they were alone and reading to her. “I do not care for my mother or her desires,” he whispered to Bernadette one day. “I would have been drawn to you even if you were poor. That is how much our souls are connected. You and I were meant to find one another.”

To marry him was Bernadette’s greatest joy. She had never dreamed she would find someone who would even want to marry her, let alone love her as well. The wedding was nothing grand, as her stepmother did not want money wasted on an extravagant affair. They were given a house, but not one of the good ones they owned.

“It will do. This is just for us,” her husband said. “We’ll be together, and that is all that matters.” And all was well, for a while.

Bernadette went back upstairs after placing the axe near the fireplace, into the room where she had been sleeping to sit at the foot of the bed. She had been sleeping there for a while, not just because of the renovations. Just before her husband had to leave, her stepmother had become ill. He insisted on letting her come to their home to convalesce there. Bernadette had been apprehensive, as the woman had been the main source of her torment for the last few years. “Not to worry, we’ll let the staff deal with her. I just ask you to be kind to her. She is my mother, after all, and yours as well. Perhaps she will be kinder, too.” Her husband said gently, calming Bernadette’s nerves.

That evening, Bernadette went back downstairs. Her note was gone from the table, but there was still no fire. She frowned, deciding to take matters into her own hands, but as she went to get the firewood, she noticed the axe was gone. She remembered where she had placed it, so perhaps the servants had taken it outside.

Bernadette stacked wood into the fireplace, then went to the kitchen to search for matches. While there, she saw the axe by the door. She took it, afraid the staff would move it out to the shed, where it would be forgotten. She placed it back by the fireplace, then tried to light the matches. “How pathetic you are,” a voice sneered.

Bernadette flinched, striking the match against the side of her finger and scraping skin from the knuckle. She looked up to see her stepmother standing in the doorway, her eyes narrowed at Bernadette. “You can’t even strike a match. What good are you even for?” She kept her pashmina clutched tight around her neck. “Worthless, that’s what you are.” A wicked smile spread across her face. “Aren’t you going to say something? Cat got your tongue?”

The raucous cackle that emanated from her throat made Bernadette’s blood boil and her heart sink. Bernadette slammed the matches down and walked away, choosing to ignore her stepmother rather than engage her. It seemed that most of her life would be devoted to fighting this woman. “Run away, that’s fine!” her stepmother called after her. “Keep running! You can’t leave me!”

Bernadette slammed the door behind her so she couldn’t hear any more. She went back into her room, sitting down upon the edge of the bed. Once her husband came home, everything would be fine.

Her stepmother had refused the help of the staff, insisting that Bernadette be the one to care for her. She made life hellish for Bernadette, creating terrible messes in the bed, throwing her hot tea and meals at her. Eventually, Bernadette just stopped checking the bed or bringing her food. Her stepmother’s wails could be heard all throughout the house, whining and moaning like a petulant child. Bernadette had even considered closing the door for good and never acknowledging her again. But she could not leave her stepmother to suffer in such a way. She returned to taking care of her, making sure her tea and meals were always lukewarm. But by then her stepmother was too weak to even throw a saucer. “Once my son comes home,” she rasped, taking windy breaths between every other word, “he will hear of how you treated me.”

Bernadette pressed her fingers to her throat so she could speak. “And he will hear of how you treated me.” Her voice was barely audible, but the stepmother heard it.

The next morning as Bernadette opened her bedroom door, something fell to the floor in front of her. Lying there was the axe, and she frowned as she picked it up. It shouldn’t have been placed against her door like that. She carried it back downstairs, placing it on the table while she wrote another note. “This axe is not to be touched. Leave it alone. And please start another fire. My husband will not tolerate this.” She placed the note beside the axe and left in a huff.

“Why don’t you say something?” her stepmother’s voice rattled from her room. “Just speak up!”

Bernadette slammed her stepmother’s door as hard as she could and continued down the hall. As she passed by the window, she saw something moving outside. She stopped, gazing out the window and only seeing her reflection against the gray rain. But for a moment it had looked like another woman was walking beside her.

Her husband had told her that this house once belonged to his father, a poor aristocrate whose family fortune was squandered, leaving mere pennies for him and his mother. He had lived there his entire childhood, and returned when he wished to escape university. Bernadette’s stepmother said many things about his residence, including that her son was a notorious cad. She made up such vulgar stories about him bringing women here to seduce. The stories were so salacious that Bernadette knew they could not be true. She refused to hear of them, and yet, her stepmother would carry on about the affairs, taunting Bernadette with the notion that his affairs continued while he was away.

“His father was the same way,” she crooned one day. “Didn’t matter who or what it was, so long as he could stick into them. Worthless,” she coughed. “It was good when he died. He left us more than nothing. He had no coffin, you know? They couldn’t find his body.” The smile which graced her face was enough to make Bernadette think that her stepmother had something to do with the man’s death. No one smiled like that, except for unrepentant devils.

Her step-mother noticed Bernadette's frightened stare, and slowly the smile melted away. “That is a good thing, dear. He didn’t deserve it.”

It was Bernadette’s constant fear  that her own father could fall victim to that woman. After all, she stood to inherit his wealth, and it would be so easy to do if she’d done it once before. She had sent her father many letters trying to find out why he married such a beast, but he never wrote her in return. He was probably ashamed of the reason.

Bernadette was sitting in the study, writing another letter, when she heard a crash outside. It sounded like something had fallen into the bushes just outside the window. Unlocking the window to look, she peered through the rain, then then looked up to see the windows above her just closing. Bernadette leaned out the window, and saw the axe had fallen into the bushes. She went out into the rain, crawled through the bushes and fetched the blade. It almost looked like there were shadows moving in the room it had fallen from, set against the glow of a fire. Bothered by this, Bernadette took the axe back inside, intending to bring it to whomever had dropped it from the window. It was strange, considering the room in question was her husband’s office, which had been locked since he left.

As Bernadette went upstairs, she heard people talking in low, hushed voices. One voice was a woman’s, speaking in a hurried rush of words. Bernadette opened the door the voices were behind, but she found nothing in the room except lit candles. She looked around, breathing slowly. She knew she had heard something. She set the axe down on the table and approached the window. She touched the glass, then the latch. It felt warm. Had someone actually been there? Perhaps she had been mistaken.

It was easy for voices to carry through the house. Bernadette stepped away from the window, bumping into her husband’s desk. An open drawer rattled, and inside she saw a clutch of letters. Bernadette opened the drawer further, and saw her handwriting - all the letters she had sent to her husband. She grasped the bundle, feeling angier than she did before. Her letters had never been sent! That would explain why her husband had not responded to her. She charged down the hallway, then stopped when she heard a scream. The house fell still and quiet again, only filled by the sound of rain. She took another deep breath, looking down at her hand. She thought she had taken the bundle of her letters, but instead she held the axe in her fist.

‘How odd,’ Bernadette thought, ‘I was sure I took the letters’. She turned around, back down the hallway to her husband’s office. The door closed as she watched, and she could hear the lock click.

The axe slipped from Bernadette’s fingers and dropped to the floor with a dull thud. She slowly approached the door, placing her hand on the wood. Inside she heard muffled panic, low voices and cautious breathing. She took hold of the doorknob, twisting to find it locked. Bernadette twisted again, this time pushing harder. The door banged against the frame, the voices went quiet, and Bernadette tried the knob again. The door opened and she stepped inside the office slowly. No one was there.

Bernadette saw the bundle of letters on the desk. She approached and picked them up, and saw the string that tied them together was stained and crusty, stiff with something dark brown, and the same stain covered the letter at the back. She set them back in the desk drawer, closing it tight, then smoothed her palms across the desktop and took a deep breath.

When Bernadette went back into the hallway, the axe was gone. Chills went up the back of her neck, prickling along her hair and itching over her scalp. She gazed down the hall, endless and hollow in the dark, like the mouth into a void which would swallow her up if she took another step. She turned the opposite way, going into her small bedroom and locking the door behind her. It felt as though someone was breathing down her neck, following her around and using that axe to toy with her.

Bernadette clasped her hands together to pray. She had been having nightmares since coming back to this place. She saw red in her dreams, and heard screams of terror. When she walked through the house, the walls were stained like the bundle of letters, and hands reached from within, pushing against the stone like it was fabric. The long fingers stretched and grasped at her, and Bernadette would run, but just as before the hallway would become endless. No matter how far she ran, the hallway never ended, and the walls began to creep closer and closer together. They grew so close that the hands could touch her. They grazed her skin and pulled at her hair, and moans issued forth, deep, sorrowful, pained. They whined from the walls, stretching out like the fingers until Bernadette could no longer move. The walls swallowed her up and she would wake, staring up at the cobwebs along the ceiling.

The cold air of the house had become normal to Bernadette, serving as an aching reminder of how little people cared for her. She could deal with the temperature, but it was the coldness that came from people she could no longer stand. She wanted her husband to come home. She wanted her father to respond to her. She wanted her stepmother gone from the place.

Bernadette left her room in the morning, finding that the rain had grown heavier and darker than last night. Bernadette stood by the window, looking out over the countryside that had once brought her peace. Outside, the world stretched on and on, ending with the hills falling into the river. Her eyes followed along the grounds, seeing strange objects moving in the shadows. Bernadette turned away and rubbed her eyes, and it felt as if there was sand behind the lids.

Her stepmother’s chambers were downstairs on the ground floor, which Bernadette intended as an insult. As she grew close, she noticed the axe lying beside the door. Bernadette approached gingerly and looked around. There was no sound coming from any direction, no signs of anyone else in the halls. She picked up the axe and held it firmly in her grasp. The handle fit her palm, weighty and elegant. Her fingers wrapped tight around the wood, and her eyes followed along the blade, wondering just how sharp it really was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rasp and wheeze of her stepmother coming out into the hallway, perking her sensitive ears and making her skin itch. Bernadette was sick of hearing her, of seeing her. She reached for the doorknob, gently turning it so it didn’t make a sound. The door creaked quietly as Bernadette opened it to a crack. Inside she saw the curtains drawn around the bed. Her stepmother’s breathing became more urgent, almost as if she couldn’t breathe at all. Bernadette stepped inside, holding the axe at her side. Perhaps it was her stepmother who had been moving it all around the house, her who had kept her letters from being sent. It would make sense that she was trying to torment Bernadette, for she had been from the moment she married her father.

The curtains around the bed shifted as Bernadette came close. She peered in through the darkness, seeing nothing beyond the first few inches of the duvet. Bernadette slipped her fingers around the curtain, tugging just enough so light pooled around the pillows. “What are you doing?” her stepmother’s voice croaked quietly from within. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Suddenly afraid, Bernadette lowered the axe and put her arm behind her back. She still couldn’t make out her stepmother’s face in the shadows. “I came to check on you.”

“You’re not supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be here!” She wailed the words over and over. Bernadette let go of the curtain and stepped away from the bed. Her stepmother screamed the words over and over, shrill and angry.

“Shut up!” Bernadette tried to speak over the cacophony. “Shut up! Shut up!” her voice came out no louder than a whisper, but she roared along with her stepmother. She raised the axe, intending to swing it down through the curtains. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” She nearly swung, but then she heard a knock at the front door.

The world went quiet, save for her stepmother’s breaths. Bernadette’s body swayed as she tried to understand. She left the room, hearing the knock again. She grew frightened, clutching her hand over her chest, and stared towards the source of the noise, her skin cold and her chest tight. Thinking it could be her husband, she went to the door. The weather outside was so dark and foul, how could it be anyone else? She opened her mouth to speak, but found her voice was gone from yelling at her stepmother.

“No one’s answering,” she heard from outside. Bernadette held her breath.

The knob jiggled as someone tried to open it. Bernadette’s eyes focused on the lock, watching it, praying it didn’t fail. “Maybe we should go around,” another voice said.

Bernadette rushed from the front door, running through the kitchen to the staff entrance. She checked the lock, even braced a chair in front of it. Then she ran to the parlor, where there were glass doors that opened to the garden. She locked them tight, twisting a tie from the curtain around the doorknobs so they could not be pushed open.

She was close to her room when she remembered the cellar doors. Bernadette ran. She bolted towards the kitchen, where the door was being banged upon, then rushed down the stairs to the basement. The cellar doors hadn’t been opened, and she felt relieved. But as she moved close to them, they flew open, admitting a spray of rain. Bernadette ran and hid, ducking herself down behind crates. “Something doesn’t smell good,” a man said from above.

“When does a cellar smell good? Try not to overthink this.” two men came down from above, leaving the cellar door open behind them. One of them came in further, looking around while the other lingered behind him.

The first man sighed. “I still don’t like it.”

“We’re looking for trouble.” The other man kept his voice low. “What’s to like?”

Bernadette clutched the axe tight in her fist. These men had broken into her home, probably looking for something valuable to take. She inched back further as the two of them came into the basement, walking right past her towards the stairs. One looked quite big and heavy, and the other appeared slimmer but taller.

The slim one turned before going up the stairs, making Bernadette duck behind the crates. He followed the bigger one up, and they closed the door behind themselves. Bernadette sat there, wondering if she should stay in hiding or try to do something about the invaders. Her mouth felt dry, and she still couldn’t find her voice. She heard their footsteps above her head as they went along the kitchen floor. She heard one of them scream, followed by a dull thud.

Every inch of Bernadette’s skin crawled. She went to the stairs, creeping up them so no sound was made. At the door, she turned the knob soundlessly and peered through the crack, where she saw the slim man run from the kitchen. The bigger one was knelt on the floor. She stepped out, creeping slowly and cautiously towards him. She didn’t breathe as she approached, keeping herself as quiet as possible.

The big man began to rise from the flags, and Bernadette swung the axe down into his back. He screamed, and she pulled back to strike him again. The man fell to his knees and she hit him again, and again. He fell to the floor for the last time, sagging over something beneath him. “What was that?” his companion called out. “What happened?”

Bernadette left the kitchen, creeping down the corridor to the parlor. She heard the footsteps of the slim man approaching and she hid herself in the shadows, moving behind furniture as he went down the corridor. She quickly ran towards the stairs.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Bernadette’s flesh crawled as she looked behind her. The door to her stepmother’s room was open, and she stopped on the stairs and gazed through, seeing the curtains around the bed flutter. Her steps led her back inside, and she stood over the bed as before, only this time she didn’t feel the need to keep her presence hidden. “You’re not supposed to be here,” her stepmother wheezed. “Look at what you’ve done to me!”

Bernadette tilted her head to the side. She could hear the slimmer man screaming in the kitchen. She brought up the axe over her head, and when it landed there was a crunch rather than a sickening, wet thud. She brought it down again, hearing a snapping and breaking.

“Look what you’ve done to me.”

Bernadette threw open the curtains. She saw a shattered skull upon the pillow, and a skeletal arm thrown back over the headboard. A thick brown crust covered the comforter, and decayed skin peeled away from the shattered bones. Bernadette almost laughed, but no sound came from her lips. Bernadette stumbled from the room, giggling to herself, and the axe dragged along the floor behind her as she went towards the stairs.

“Oh, God.”

Bernadette turned around, seeing the slim man standing behind her. His face was pale and grave, but in the shadows he almost looked familiar. “It’s you.”

Bernadette opened her mouth to scream, but only a hiss could escape. She ran upstairs and the man gave chase. She bolted down the hallway, but the hands began to reach from the walls. She evaded and struck them with the axe. She ran and swung, swung again. Her breath rattled as she tried to escape the hands. She heard voices coming from the master bedroom and she ran inside, slamming and locking the door behind her.

There was a weight upon her body and a shroud over her eyes. As Bernadette looked into the room, she could almost see the bed and she desperately wanted to lay her weight on it. She staggered in, towards where the wardrobe had stood. Behind her the door rattled and banged as the man shouted for her.

“Where are you going?” Bernadette whimpered, her voice cracked and frayed. She reached up, touching the broken wall where the wardrobe had stood.

“I didn’t expect you to be so needy,” her husband said. “Isn’t it enough to be here?”

Bernadette saw shadows moving beyond the wall. “You can’t leave me here.”

“I can do as I wish,” he said. “It’s mine now.”

Bernadette watched the fireplace, her eyes not focussing. She slipped into the wall, where she had found the axe before. “I’m yours.”

“Yes, that you are. But that does not make me want to stay here. I hate this place. I wish my mother hadn’t sent us here.”

“I can make it a home,” Bernadette wept. She fell to the floor, dropping the axe, and crawled through the dust and debris to where her husband was lying. “Please, stay.” She touched his face, wiping away decay.

The door burst open and the slim man came inside. Bernadette turned as he approached, clutching her husband’s head in her arms. The man picked up the axe  and threw it aside. “You’re not supposed to be here, Bernadette. We’ve been looking for you.” He was shaking, and he couldn’t look directly at her. “Stay where you are.”.

Bernadette sat inside the wall, clutching her husband’s head and rocking back and forth. As the sun began to shine through the rain, more men arrived. They pulled Bernadette from the wall, dragging her and hitting her so she would comply. She struggled and hissed, kicking and clawing at the men. They threw her to the floor, knocking the air out of her lungs. “Easy now,” the slim man said. “She is still a woman.”

“She killed everyone in this house,” a gruff voice snapped. “This ain’t a woman anymore.” Bernadette was lifted off the ground by the speaker and another man. She was taken from the bedroom and into the hallway where they forced her into the void.

The next thing Bernadette saw was a bright light shining in her face. She looked up, seeing the slim man standing above her. Her arms and legs were bound to a bed, but she didn’t struggle. “Where am I?” Bernadette’s voice croaked.

“Back where you belong,” he said coldly. “You’ve been missing for two weeks.”

Bernadette didn’t try to speak again. She rolled her head away, looking back at the wall. She could remember flashes of bright red and her husband falling to the ground. She could remember being taken away. She ran, found her husband’s grave and took him home. After that, she wasn’t sure.

“I want to know why,” the man said sternly. “Why did you kill them with the axe?”

Bernadette took a deep breath and closed her eyes.