Brothers Bethune & Baird Part One (special preview)

“I know the feeling,” Bethune writes slowly. “I don’t even know how long I have been trapped in this book. All I know are the distance between these blank pages and somehow my soul lies in between them. I just want to go home.”

Your heart goes out to Bethune. You understand, wanting something you can never return to. “Where is home?”

“Scarebrooke,” he answers. “Well, it’s not so much an actual place as it is a destination.” He writes fast and excitedly. “You see, Scarebrooke is an attraction within the Children of the Night Carnival! It’s where my father grew up, and for a while, that is where me and my family lived. Well, until my father passed away unexpectedly. My mother was so heart broken, we left for a while. That’s when Pan got to her.”

You can understand Bethune’s pain completely. “I’m so sorry. He did the same to my mother.”

“I have heard many tales of Pan’s children,” Bethune writes. “I think the only person he likes is himself and everyone else is kindling for his fire.”

“Sounds about right,” you sigh. “He keeps me isolated. I’ve only ever seen him and that creature from before. I feel suffocated sometimes. The only chances of escape I have are those books.”

“You deserve more than books,” he tells you. “Unfortunately, at this moment, that is all I am. If I could, I’d be more.”

You smile to yourself, realizing for the first time, you’ve made a friend.

That evening, you sleep with Bethune under your pillow. Pan still has not returned, so you were able to talk to Bethune all day. You had fallen asleep first at your desk, waking up when your back started to hurt. 

You wake a second time when you hear something in your room. You play asleep, listening to the sounds of someone shuffling about. You sit up in bed, staring through the pure darkness at an even darker shape. It is over your desk, rummaging through the drawers and shelves. It then turns away, coming back towards the bed. 

You quickly lay back down and cover your head, hoping that it doesn’t see you. For a moment, you think it is your father, but no. If he was looking for something, he would have screamed at you to find it for him. As you lay there, you then feel something under your pillow. Its hand is searching for something. You quickly grab Bethune, but their hand grabs it as well. You struggle, pulling on Bethune while they try to pull him back. You knock over your lamp, which turns on as it hits the ground. The light from the overturned lamp shade creates a spotlight on the creature fighting with you. It’s the sad one, the only other thing you make contact with. Only he is not made entirely of limbs. All the limbs are brushed back, forming a long ponytail. Underneath them is a body that is strikingly thin with extremely long limbs. His face is pure white, painted with black features so he resembles a mime, only thing is, his face looks as though it is made from hands wrapped around an object.

“Let go!” You nearly lose grasp of Bethune and fall forward. “Please!” You struggle to keep the red book in your hand. “He’s all I have!”

A hand reaches out and pushes against your face. You chomp down on the finger and he recoils, loosening his grip enough that you slip away with Bethune in your hand. You fall off the side of the bed so that it’s between you.

Bethune opens up and he begins to write. “Are you ok?”

You look over the edge of the bed, seeing the creature is miming crying. The way the face moves, it manipulates the makeup to create black tears falling from the eyes. He sees you watching and wrenches back, kicking aside the lamp so the light doesn’t shine upon him. Despite this, there is no sound. Anything he touches, it’s as if he absorbs all sound into him. There is no rustle from the curtains, no sound of his footsteps, the lamp doesn’t clatter until it is far from him.

It is then that you realize the mime appearance may have been connected to who he was before. Bethune had mentioned he was a clown and that his brother had been a performer as well. You take your pen and ask the question.

“Was Baird a mime?”

“What does that have to do with anything? Yes, he was! But are you ok?”