Ghost Lover: Lumiaar #1 (complete)

    I was called the Cursed Child when I was younger. I was an unexpected pregnancy, happening to my parents when they had thought they were long past having children. The entire thing took a toll on my mother and, from what I have been told, the experience turned her into a ghost. So much so that when I was born, she was as dead as a doornail. My father often made claim she was dead before I even arrived. 

    My only solace was in my big sister, Charlotte. She was the one who took the most care of me when it seemed everyone else would rather have me gone. She was the only one to tell me that our mother wanted me, even if I had been a problematic carry. Charlotte made me feel happy to be in this world, rather than a burden to everyone around me.

    Even still, Charlotte’s love couldn’t mask the curse that I had been born with. Unlike my sister, I was clumsy, had two left feet, and had chaos follow me wherever I went. If I touched something, it broke. If I walked by a painting, it fell. I am not sure how I survived the first eight years of my life, what with everything I breathed on falling and my father punishing me for every slight. Thank God for Charlotte, she knew I couldn’t be the cause of such things and even if I was, I was a child. 

    When Charlotte started seeing Beauregard, I was scared. To my core, I was terrified I was losing my sister for good. She traveled a lot as it was, performing and singing for the opera. She was all I had, the only real love in my life. But then Beauregard came through like a shining knight. He was charming, smart, and every time he paid visit, he brought me gifts.

    “I’m not worried about your father in the least bit,” Beauregard bragged one day over tea. “I know the real one I have to be concerned about is this Holy Terror.” His nickname for me didn’t hurt like some of the other names did. Beau used to tease me that only gods and goddesses had the power to inflict the troubles I did, so therefore, I must be some sort of deity in hiding and I just didn’t know it. 

    Beau was kind to me, just like Charlotte. He didn’t mind if I joined them on dates or outings. I know not everyone wants an annoying kid hanging around them all the time, but for some reason, the two love birds put up with me.

    “I don’t want to leave her in the house alone.” I overheard Charlotte and Beau whispering one day. “I’m afraid of what will happen if she is left in the care of our father.”

    “You don’t have to explain these things to me.” Beau whispered back. “I know you are concerned, but what can we do about it? We have no right to her. If we try and take her, won’t your father just try and recapture her out of spite?”

    “He would be glad to get rid of her,” Charlotte sniffed. “If he did try to take her, I’d shoot him anyways.”

    Beauregard started laughing. “Oh my! Are you going to be this way when we have our own children?”

    “Be silent,” Charlotte giggled in return. “So do you agree? After the wedding, let’s take Helene with us.”

    I couldn’t have been happier to hear such news. After they had announced their engagement, I hadn’t been sure how to feel. No one wanted to take some kid into their new marriage, at least not one that wasn’t their own. I was terrified of living in that cold, dark house with my father alone. If he didn’t outright punish me, he would be ignoring me. Sometimes I wasn’t sure which was worse. 

    It was also around this time, I started noticing strange things happening around the house. It was as if there was something in the house I couldn’t see. It may have been my overactive imagination. Beau would read me scary stories from the penny dreadfuls he often bought me. The tales of ghosts and specters had probably rotted my little head. Charlotte never liked the fact that Beauregard got them for me, but I loved them so much, she felt she couldn’t argue.

    There were times I had walked into a room and candles suddenly lit up. But I convinced myself I simply hadn’t been paying attention to them. There was one night I woke up and saw there were still burning coals in my fireplace. I knew for a fact they had been snuffed out as I got hot during the night easily. 

    I got up to inspect the coals and try to put them out. As I stuck a poker into the fireplace, I felt something splash against my hand. It was hot and I recoiled my hand and stumbled back. I rubbed the back of my hand, finding dried candle wax there. There was the sound of dripping in the fireplace. The ash and soot were being kicked up as more of it came raining down. The white wax began to dribble from the fireplace and spill onto the floor. The puddle grew and grew and from it, I heard a long wailing moan.

    I screamed and ran from my room. I bolted down the hallway, racing towards Charlotte’s room. Only, she was not there. She’d gone on tour again. I heard my father shouting angrily, so I barricaded myself in Charlotte’s room. I hid in her wardrobe, between the skirts of her gowns. I hid there so long, I began to smell like the sachet she kept there to ward off odors.

    When I did return to my room, all the wax was gone, but the coals were still smoldering. I was afraid to sleep in my room after that. I would go and sleep in Charlotte’s room until she finally returned home.

    She and Beauregard married and, one evening, they held a ball at our new home. Beauregard had built the place just for Charlotte. It was so amazing and I was awed by it when they first brought me home. I had my own room, and tons of new toys and clothes Beauregard had been stockpiling for me. I was so happy, I was fit to burst.

    The happiness was short lived. During the ball they held, a great fire broke out. It took the entire house, as well as Charlotte. Beauregard nearly lost his life as well. He was saved, but he was greatly burned by the ordeal. While he was healing at the hospital, I was sent back home. 

    My father told me not to unpack my bags as I would not be staying at home for long. Instead, I was being shipped out to a boarding school. I didn’t want to leave Beau. I knew Charlotte would have wanted me to stay around and take care of him. But I was so young and I had no say in the matter. 

    I wrote letters daily to Beau, knowing he couldn’t reply, but perhaps the letters would mean something to him. I had no updates on how he was doing. The only solace I received was that the letters were never returned. I knew if they were, that meant the worst and that I no longer had someone in my life who cared for me. 

    Things at school were no different than they were at home. Chaos and trouble followed me wherever I went. I was constantly punished and blamed, I was made the scapegoat for other girls and their mischief. More often than not, I was stuck behind cleaning when everyone else had their free time.

    One such afternoon, I am cleaning the commons room. I am mopping up the wood floors when I notice candle wax is dribbled everywhere. It comes from the fireplace where there is a large puddle of it on the cold stones. The drips lead away from the commons room and I follow it to the library. The room is dark and empty. Since everyone is out for the day, the lights haven’t even been lit. I look around the dark shadows of the room and, as I turn to leave, the candelabra bursts to light. Candle wax rains down from the ceiling and takes shape. It melts together and the figure lurches out towards me.

    Without thinking, I grab the broom I am holding and swing it, knocking the waxy creature back, and it stumbles and falls to the floor. The flames on the candelabra die out and the thing starts to moan.

    “Holy fuck, did you just strike me with a broom?”

    I am breathing hard and my heart has quickened to the pace of a hummingbird’s wing. I lurch forward with intent to strike it again, and it disappears then reappears on the candelabra. 

    “Put that thing down!” The creature snaps.

    I stare up at it, my fingers clenched so the broom will not fall. I have long since stopped screaming at things that scare me. There is no point to it. If I do scream, I will only be punished for it anyway. 

    “Different,” the creature murmurs. “This is fear, but-” it hangs over the edge of the candelabra. “It is different.”

    The strange creature looks like a skeleton with wax poured over it. The wax forms a strange shell about it, dripping and flowing, making a sort of vestment upon the bones. The top of the head is high and arched like a pope’s hat. Flames flicker from the top as small drips cascade down, forming peaks on the shoulders. From within the eyes, there is fire burning, keeping the wax melting and flowing down from the eyes and mouth. 

    “What are you?” I whisper.

    The wax thing poses on the candelabra and looks down at me. “Don’t you mean ‘who’?” It asks me. “I am not a thing, I am a person after all.”

    I take a few steps back. “Not from where I am standing.”

    It laughs and disappears from the candelabra, reappearing in a burst of flames from the fireplace.  “Manners,” they wag their finger at me and click their tongue. “Try again, be polite, maybe I’ll answer you.”

    I hesitate to ask. Their words are taunting, and it makes me seize up more than them just appearing out of nowhere. 

    “This fear you have,” the waxy creature whispers. “It is not merely moments, but years.” They stride closer towards me. “Like a layered cake instead of a petit four,” they murmur to themselves. “There are more layers to it, more weight.” They breathe in and the flames in their eyes flicker. “Appetizing and yet much too rich for my taste.” They stretch their arm out and lower mine clutching the broom. 

    “I can only eat so much.”

    I stare them down and drop the broom. “Who are you?”

    They step back and bow. “Lumiaar is the name,” they reply. They rise back up and crack their neck. 

    I hold back a breath as my eyes glance them over again. “Lumiaar?” 

    They then wag their finger in my face. “I remember you,” they say. “You were much smaller then.” They circle around me. “No one wanted to dance with you, so you left the party.”

    “What?” I try to follow them, but they begin moving faster around me.

    “You went into the library. You saw me on top of that general,” they then chuckle. “He was good. But you ran.”

    “Stop,” I command them. “Please!” I trip and fall, and Lumiaar grabs me up in their arms so I don’t careen to the floor. 

    “Your fear is strange,” Lumiaar sets me down on the ground.

    The room goes dark and I look around. Lumiaar is gone, as is all the wax. I am just alone in the dark library. I stand up and collect the broom and, as I step from the library, I see the headmaster is looking for me.

    “Ms. Mulvahil.” He holds out a letter to me. “I’m sorry to report that your father has passed away.”

    I take the letter in my hands and stare at it. I never open it, I simply don’t care to. I am sent home, but because I am still so young, I am assigned a guardian. I have very few living relatives, even fewer who want to even take me in, so I am given to my sister’s husband. 

    It is the first time I will be seeing Beauregard since the fire. I am nervous and scared, as I had been told that since the fire, Beauregard isn’t quite right. He has an assistant who helps keep track of his businesses and affairs, but there is something not quite right with him.

    His assistant is a man named Roger Drogace, who is strikingly handsome. He has a young son, who is my age, he says comes with him often, earning money by running errands and cleaning for Beau. Inside Beau’s house, I am struck by how dreadful it feels. Inside, the fireplace is sealed shut and boarded. No portraits or paintings are hanging on the wall. The only thing I see that gives the place any life is an old piano in the back.

    In my room, there isn’t a mirror. Even the ones that used to be on the wardrobe have been removed. I am told if I have a hand mirror, I should keep it hidden so that Beau doesn’t see it. I am told there are to be no fires in the house, this includes candles. The house is always dark and cold, even in the kitchen where the food is cooked. Most things are heated, but they are served cold.

    I do not recognize Beauregard, not just because of the burns and his injuries, but because he is a shell of a person I once knew. The once vibrant, charming, and wonderful man I knew when I was young is gone. In his place is a man barely on his wits and prone to horrible mood swings. 

    I have fallen victim to his mood swings and they only get worse as I grow older. He will see me and it is as if something inside him will snap. He will yell and scream at me. He will accuse me of leaving him to rot in a world where he can not die. He will cry in anguish and cling to me like a bitter child. It is horrible and, as much as I love Beauregard, it feels like I can not escape my life of misery.

    I can not be around the one person in this world I care about. So I turn to Meyer, Roger’s son, who does not possess half his father’s good looks. But he is kind to me and is strong and dedicated. As I grow older, I rely on his comforts more than anything. His kisses are sweet when I need them and hard when I ask for them. I know it is a mistake to use him in such a way, but I feel I have nowhere else to turn and Meyer is always right there. 

    I married Meyer once I turned eighteen. I had become pregnant and we agreed it was the best solution. Also, Beauregard’s treatment of me had gotten so much worse. It had become impossible to tell me apart from my sister, Charlotte. As such, Beauregard’s mood swings around me became that much worse. Out of fear and because of the pregnancy, Meyer and I wed, and I left Beauregard behind me.

    During my pregnancy and early in our marriage, Meyer is called to war. He leaves and once again, I am alone. Heavy with child, I have a difficult time getting around and the chaos around me only seems to grow worse. I can’t keep staff in the house for the life of me. Eventually, near the end of my pregnancy, I only have one maid and sometimes Meyer’s mother.

    One evening, I am in such misery and pain, but I don’t cry or wail. I remain quiet, afraid I will cause more misery for those around me. I don’t want to upset anyone, so I keep my suffering to myself. I am so scared though, I just want someone near me, someone who will comfort me and ease my anxiety.

    The fireplace lights up and I can’t move in my pain. I see the wax flow out and soon, Lumiaar steps from within. I don’t know why I feel so happy to see them, last time we met, they were horrible and strange. But at least they are familiar and they are there for me. 

    “Look at you,” they scoff. “What a wreck you are!”

    I hold out my hand to them and tears stream down my face.

    They take hold of my hand with both of theirs. The wax on their palms is warm and soft, already I am feeling at ease with them there.

    “Foolish girl,” they whisper. They sit down on the side of the bed. “You’re far too young for this.” They stroke my hair back away from my face. “Your fear is too deep inside you.”

    I nod and sniffle, clinging to them as they hold me. My mother died giving birth to me, and I haven’t known any luck in my life. I am terrified I will pass before I can show my child any love in this world.

    “Your fear now is too strong,” Lumiaar whispers. “Shall I take it from you?”

    I moan and look up at them. “How?”

    Lumiaar lays me against my pillows and smooths my hair back. “I told you before, you’re far too rich for my taste, but I will get over it.” They kiss me and the wax feels warm against my skin. I press closer to them and loop my arms around their neck. I gasp and their tongue slithers into my mouth. Their kiss is deeper and sweeter than Meyer’s kisses ever were. From their kiss, I feel a weight lifted from my body. 

    As our lips part, I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. “Please, don’t leave me,” I whimper.

    Lumiaar kisses me again. We kiss over and over, hungrily clawing at one another. Lumiaar forces themself away from me. Their tongue licks at my lips and they place their hand over my eyes. 

    “How dare you tempt me so?” They snarl into my ear.

    Even in my state, I desire them. “Stay.” I hold on to their wrist.

    Lumiaar moves their hand away. “And why should I?” They whisper.

    “You’re all I have,” my voice chokes. “Meyer is gone. Beauregard might as well be.” I lace my fingers with theirs. “I am so scared of this world.”

    Lumiaar places his palm on my big belly. “You will soon have a gift. It may not be the gift you wanted, but it will be yours.”

    I whimper and sniffle as Lumiaar kisses my forehead.

    The next night, I give birth to a little girl. I name her Charlotte after my beloved sister, hoping she will carry on her spirit. Not long after she is born, I receive word that Meyer has been killed in combat. 

    Lumiaar returns to me, kissing me and taking my fear. When I need someone most, Lumiaar is always there. Their kiss is strong and warm, and in my desperation, they are hungry and powerful. I dance with them on nights when I can not sleep. They hold me when I rock Charlotte to sleep.

    As Charlotte grows, I find Lumiaar starts to appear less and less. Sometimes there are days between their visits, weeks sometimes. I miss them greatly, but I grow busy caring for Charlotte, as well as helping with Beauregard’s businesses and keeping assistants hired for him.

    “You keep yourself busy,” Lumiaar tells me. “That’s good.”

    I pull them into bed with me. “I will never be too busy for you.”

    “You don’t get to decide that,” Lumiaar whispers as they wrap me in their arms. “My darling, Helene,” they purr. We have kissed so much, touched and comforted one another. Their warm, strange body had been imprinted onto mine many times. I suppose they have gotten used to how rich I taste, or maybe, my flavor has dulled.

    One day, when Lumiaar appears and kisses me, I know it is possibly the last. Charlotte is grown now and getting married. I am aging faster than I care for. I am no longer the woman that Lumiaar visited when she was scared.

    “You’re not that girl anymore,” Lumiaar whispers to me after our last kiss. “Your fear is gone.”

    “Thank you,” I whisper. 

    Come morning, the only thing left of Lumiaar is some wax on the bed sheets. I know it will take a miracle before I see them again.