
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4213221.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Ramsay_Bolton/Sansa_Stark, Damon_Dance-for-Me/Arya_Stark, Jeyne_Poole/
      Robb_Stark
  Character:
      Sansa_Stark, Catelyn_Stark, Robb_Stark, Arya_Stark, Bran_Stark, Rickon
      Stark, Ramsay_Bolton, Roose_Bolton, Hot_Pie_(ASoIaF), Lommy_Greenhands,
      Damon_Dance-for-Me, Myranda_(Game_of_Thrones), Jeyne_Poole
  Additional Tags:
      Haunted_Houses, Supernatural_Elements, Murderers, Death, I'm_just_gonna
      throw_ages_out_the_window, Ramsay_is_his_own_warning, Horrific_Deaths
  Series:
      Part 6 of The_Thirteen_Tales
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-26 Updated: 2015-08-21 Chapters: 9/? Words: 19565
****** Murder House ******
by DuschaPendragon
Summary
     The Stark family have moved into a new house to try and move on from
     the death of Ned. The Starks quickly acquaint themselves with their
     new neighbours. But there's something not quite right about their new
     abode, and there's more than a few things that are going bump in the
     night.
Notes
     Game of Thrones with a shot of American Horror Story in the system.
     Of course, there will be more characters and their stories will all
     be different, but I watched AHS and became inspired!
     Stark family (with the usual Stark luck) moving into a haunted house.
     What could possibly go wrong?
***** Sansa *****
“So what do you think?” Sansa looked up at the house and feigned a smile as her
mother wrapped an arm about her shoulders, and squeezed her arm tight.
“It’s nice.” She said. It wasn’t a lie. The house was pretty; a Victorian
structure, but not old and decrepit. She had yet to explore the interior, but
Robb had promised it had been updated and modernised, though some of the
original features had remained. But it wasn’t home.
“It’ll be weird not living in the country though.” Sansa added, glancing up and
down the quiet street. There was only a man walking his dog on the pavement and
only one car drove past, but it would still be odd not to see vast, rolling
hills outside her window. The air felt different here too. Sansa wasn’t
complaining at all, she was quite excited that there would be more people
around.
“You’ll get used to it.” Her mother promised, smiling warmly at her. “This move
was the right idea.” Catelyn Stark said with the same sad, wistful voice she
always used when she talked about their moving away. Her mother’s eyes seemed
to glass over and grew distant, as though she were far away.
“Mum?”
“Yes sweetheart?” Catelyn said vaguely.
“Perhaps you should go check on Bran and Rickon. Make sure Rickon isn’t tearing
the place up?” Sansa smiled warmly. Her mother came back to the present and
turned to look at her. “Yes, I’ll go do that.” She smiled, her face creasing.
Every time Sansa looked at her nowadays she seemed to have gained another
wearisome wrinkle. “Such a good girl.” Her mother placed a cold hand on her
cheek and Sansa placed hers over it. Her mum found that a source of comfort,
she knew. It let her know she was there with her.
Watching her mum walk away, Sansa’s shoulders slumped and she dropped the
smile; her cheeks aching from the effort of it.
“Boo!” Sansa shrieked and span around to see her older brother Robb grinning
down at her. “Made you jump.” He laughed.
“Wow Robb. You’re so mature.” Sansa rolled her eyes at him and turned back to
face the house.
“Does look kind of spooky though doesn’t it? An old house. Maybe it’s haunted!”
“Don’t be so stupid!” Sansa muttered, though a shiver went through her. She
hated scary things, and now she couldn’t help her mind as it ran wild. Was that
a figure she had seen in the window? Had a breeze picked up or did that bush
just rustle of its own accord?
“Bran and Rickon love it already.” Her brother moved to stand beside her,
crossing his arms over his chest and seeming to grow a foot taller. The beard
he had started to grow made him look older too, even though she constantly
mocked it. “And Arya?” Sansa asked. Robb just shrugged and sighed in
exasperation. Sansa understood. “Do you think mum likes it?” Sansa asked, her
voice filled with concern.
“Of course she does. The interior could do with some touching up too, some of
it’s still a bit 90’s. She always did like interior designing. And it will keep
her mind off of dad.” Robb never tiptoed around their father’s death. Sansa
hated how he approached it all so matter-of-factly, but she could never bring
herself to chastise him for it. They all had their way of dealing with it; her
mother went distant, Robb accepted it, Arya argued with everything or locked
herself away, Bran tried his best to do what Robb did but would be found
sitting in silence up in a tree somewhere, and Rickon was prone to fits of
frightening rage. Sansa kept herself so busy dealing with them all that she
hadn’t yet worked out how to channel her own grief. It scared her that, even
alone at night, she couldn’t bring herself to cry for her father. She wanted
to. She had loved him, hadn’t she? Her inability to weep made her feel guilty
and retched. Ned Stark had given all his children his love, yet she couldn’t
even shed a tear for him.
“The removal trucks are here. I’ll go deal with them, make sure they haven’t
broken anything.” Robb declared, Sansa smiled as he unknowingly puffed himself
up to look older and strode off. He was trying so hard to be older than his
twenty years. Had their father not died, he would still be at Oxford, starting
a life for himself.
Sansa pushed these thoughts aside. Robb had chosen to leave university, there
was no point mourning the loss of their stable future. That was dead and buried
with their father. She would have to help them all pick up the pieces now, and
that all began with this new house. It would be good for all of them, to leave
the dead behind and move on.
The best rooms had all been taken by the time she was inside, but Sansa didn’t
mind as long as they were all happy. The room she ended up in was on the second
floor and faced out towards the road; large bay windows allowing the light in.
The walls were covered in a pretty, light green wall paper. It was still quite
a large room, and the large windows made it seem even bigger. All the bedrooms
had their own bathrooms too. Bran and Rickon had adjoining rooms on the top
floor. Arya had her own room and had disappeared inside it. Sansa had checked
on her, but only received a sullen “I’m fine” before being told to get out.
Sansa had obliged her, feeling all the worse for it and knowing they would not
see her again until dinner time.
Out of all her siblings, Arya had taken their father’s death and the move the
worst. She wasn’t the type to run from something, which was why she despised
leaving home so much. Arya looked the most like their father too; with shoulder
length brown hair and grey eyes. The rest of them had their mother’s colouring.
Except for Jon, but he had remained in Yorkshire. He and Arya had been close,
and it had made the move even harder for her, Sansa knew. Arya never wanted to
talk about it though and Sansa was at a loss what else to do with her, so she
had let her be for now and had committed herself to helping Robb and their
mother with the move.
The kitchen was empty when she went to get herself a glass of water, and the
house had fallen quiet as they had all retreated to their rooms to unpack.
Sansa could faintly hear heavy rock music coming from Arya’s room, but that was
all. As she sipped her water, she looked around the kitchen. A rectangular
breakfast bar was in the middle and it was fully kitted out with a fridge,
stove and dishwasher. Sansa again wondered how the house had been so cheap.
She was busy inspecting the stove when the doorbell sounded; a slow, rolling
bell chime. It felt odd to not hear the sharp, brisk chimes of their old
doorbell. Holding herself a little taller like Robb would have done, Sansa went
to answer it. She was sixteen. An adult. She was fully capable of dealing with
strangers and taking care of guests. But she still paused to look through the
peephole, just to see who she was dealing with.
A young man stood on their porch. He seemed to be staring right back at her
though she knew he couldn’t see her. His hair was dark brown, almost black, his
skin pale. His eyes were a queer, ghostly grey. He couldn’t have been much
older than her and he was clutching a bunch of flowers in his hands. Sansa
chewed her lip, a thing that Arya would have done, but Sansa was feeling
nervous. He was rather handsome and the thought of having to speak to him sent
butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
When it looked like he was about to ring the doorbell again, Sansa opened the
door, her cheeks burning bright red as she wondered how long she had been
standing there staring at him. “Hello.” She said, smiling warmly and praying
she hadn’t gone red as a beetroot.
“Hi. Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you.” He smiled back. When he smiled, the
cold eyes lit up like fairy lights and his smile made her feel alive.
“No, not at all.” Breathing was hard to do, as was speaking without stuttering.
“I’m Ramsay. My mum sent me over with these to welcome you to the
neighbourhood.” He held out the flowers for her; sweet smelling lilies. Sansa
found it hard to stop her smile from faltering and her heart from breaking.
Lilies had been the flowers on her father’s casket. But Ramsay hadn’t known
that, and it was unfair to make him feel guilty for it.
“I’m Sansa. That’s very sweet of you, thank you. Would you like to come in?”
She asked, taking the flowers.
“Sure.” Sansa stepped back to allow him in, closing the door behind him. “The
kitchen is this way.”
“I know.” Ramsay said quickly. Sansa glanced over her shoulder, frowning at
him. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t seem rude. I lived here years ago.” Ramsay said,
glancing around with nostalgia in his eyes.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Feels like only yesterday I was wandering down this very hall.” He
grinned, running his hand along a wall.
“What made you move? If you don’t mind me asking.” Sansa added quickly. Ramsay
seemed so easy to talk to, and she was suddenly afraid she might offend him.
“Parents split up. Turned out dad was gay. Mum walked in to find him being
screwed by our postman. And the gardener. There was a plumber watching too I
think.” Sansa stared at him, open mouthed, desperately trying to think of
something to say next. Ramsay laughed at her expression, making Sansa blush.
“You were joking.” She giggled.
“About the gay part? Yes. About the dad fucking off and abandoning us? No.” He
shrugged as though it wasn’t such a terrible thing. Sansa looked away. She
wondered if she would have preferred her father and mother to separate. At
least he’d be alive.
“Would you like some tea? Coffee?”
“No. Thank you.” He smiled warmly at her and Sansa felt herself grow hotter.
“I’m sorry if I came across a little sharp.”
“It’s fine, really.” They stood in silence for a while, Sansa staring at the
breakfast table, desperately trying to think of things to say.
“So how old are you?” He asked her.
“Sixteen, you?”
“Seventeen. Nearly eighteen.” He glanced down at his hands. “You going to
college?”
“Yeah. Kingsland College. I start next week.” Sansa paused, worried that the
next question might be too forward. “Do you go there?”
“No.” Ramsay laughed. “No, I was home schooled. Now I’m just…home.” He chuckled
at his own joke. Sansa felt bad for him. They’d only just met, and she
shouldn’t judge by first impressions, but she couldn’t help but think he was
stuck in a rut. He hadn’t furthered his education and had no job, and he was
clearly not all that happy at home by how he spoke about his father.
Sansa was about to ask him more questions in an attempt to keep the
conversation going when Ramsay’s head snapped up and the smile died.
“Are you alright?” She asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Look, I’d better go, I’ll see you around.” He muttered,
standing up.
“Okay, I’ll see you out.”
“It’s fine, I know the way.” He insisted. Sansa suddenly remembered the flowers
and turned to pick them up. “Thank you for the-“ By the time she turned back to
face him, he was gone. Sansa frowned and peered down the hallway, but he wasn’t
there either. He must have been in a great hurry to leave. Perhaps his mum
needed him at home.
Sansa felt another wave of anxiety when the doorbell rang once more. Placing
the lilies back on the kitchen side, Sansa hurried to the door, not bothering
to linger at the peephole this time. Her next guest was a middle-aged man; thin
of both face and body with a receding hairline. His eyes were a similar grey to
that of her last guest. Eerily similar, though they did not hold the same
bright energy. He offered what could have been a smile.
Sansa made him a cup of tea before excusing herself and going to fetch her
mother. The man was not someone she wished to handle by herself. It wasn’t that
he was an imposing figure, but she doubted they had anything in common to speak
of. It made her feel like a little kid, running to fetch the grown up. She
forced herself to remain in the kitchen while they spoke, for her mother’s
sake.
“Roose Bolton, I live just down the road.” He informed Catelyn. Sansa busied
herself with the lilies Ramsay had brought; filling up a vase with water and
arranging them inside. The hair on her arms stood on end when Roose Bolton
looked her way. His eyes settled on the lilies, then on her, and he smiled
another thin-lipped smile. “Lovely.” His voice was cold as frost.
                                      ***
“He’s gone.” He declared once the thin figure was safely on the pavement
outside. He turned away from the window before his father could look up and see
him watching. Crossing the room, he crouched down and peered beneath the
cabinet, remaining a safe distance away from him. “Are you going to come out
and play today?” He asked gently. Silence was the only answer given. Ramsay
pulled out the ball from his pocket, tossing it from hand to hand and sitting
down cross-legged. “I brought you the ball. Your favourite.” He said the words
as though it were a dog he was talking to. A dog probably would have been more
talkative. Ramsay sighed and rolled the ball along the floor until it
disappeared into the darkness beneath the cabinet. That was where it remained.
“Being grouchy today?” Ramsay stuck out his bottom lip in mock upset. “Fine.”
He shrugged, standing up. “We have more fun without you anyway.”
***** Arya *****
                                     1958
There wasn’t a speck of blood on him as far as he could tell. How was that
possible? There had been so much. He could remember every face, and in his head
they were still screaming; begging him not to pull the trigger, telling him
they weren’t ready for death. That was their problem, not his. Death was ready
for them. He was just the messenger.
He sat, flinching and wincing at each piercing scream, the gun still beside
him, coat hung neatly on the back of his desk chair. All his school books lined
up neatly, ordered alphabetically. The record player sat in the corner. He
hadn’t used it for so long and a film of dust had settled over the surface.
Damon noticed none of it. He could not see his familiar room. Only the faces of
those he had saved. Classmates, his brother, his father. He’d left his bitch of
a stepmother in the kitchen; bleeding, but not dead. She didn’t deserve it.
Their cries rang in his ears, so he didn’t hear the sirens. When the police
kicked his door down, he looked up slowly, raising his eyebrows as if he were
surprised to see them. Eight men crowded into the room, each aiming their gun
at him. There were more men outside. This wasn’t fair. He was outnumbered, and
they had armour on. Cowards. What was there to be afraid of?
“Hands behind your head!” The order sounded as though it were from far away. He
didn’t move, besides the flinching. “Damon, hands behind your head!” He did
move his hands then, but only to bury his face in them. He leaned forward until
his elbows were resting on his knees and he was hunched over, then he released
a mournful moan.
“Why did you do it Damon?”
The knife cut him as he freed it from his boot. Blood gushed from his calf.
There would be a scar there.
They were all too happy to pull the triggers, and watch as the monster’s chest
was torn apart by bullets.
                                    Today
Stamping out her cigarette, Arya shrugged her backpack onto her shoulder and
left the sheltered safety of the bike shed. Robb had dropped her off early so
there were hardly any students around. Not that Arya minded all that much.
“Can I help you?” The receptionist asked, chewing her pen and looking like
she’d rather be anywhere else. Arya could relate.
“I’m new. I need my timetable and stuff.” She chewed her lip, wondering if she
should have attempted to word what she’d said better.
“Arya Stark?” She nodded. The woman threw a file onto the desk and returned to
her daydreaming and pen-chewing, suggesting she was done talking. Arya, on the
other hand, was not. “And how the fuck am I supposed to find my way around this
dump by myself?” Arya snapped. The receptionist stared at her in stunned
silence, probably wondering if she’d imagined the outburst. Blinking and
glancing away, she pulled out a map and slid it across the desk, too shocked to
reprimand her for swearing at a member of staff. The receptionist took her hand
away quickly as if Arya might bite it off. Arya considered asking her for her
full name too, just to freak her out further, but restrained herself. She could
save that for another day. Arya had a way of freaking people out nowadays. The
way she stared was sometimes enough to get them to back off. She sometimes felt
guilty about freaking people out, but most of the time she didn’t intend to.
She’d just snap.
In form, she was introduced to everyone at the front of the class like she was
some show poodle. To make matters worse, the teacher pronounced her name wrong,
so all the kids now called her Aria. By the end of the hour, she felt like
screaming at them all.
The day only seemed to go downhill from then on. It turned out that she had PE
first, but Arya had no kit and there was no way she was going to wear the
unwashed things the teachers would find in lost property. It was a shame,
because sports and science were the only two subjects Arya was actually good
at.
With nothing to do for an hour, Arya headed back to the bike shed she had been
smoking in earlier. She used to smoke with her brother Jon back home. He’d
hated it and felt ashamed to give her cigarettes, but gave in anyway, and after
their father died it was a good excuse to be alone. Those were the only times
they talked about how they felt. Jon had been the only one who seemed to
understand, but now she had no one. Sansa tried, but she just didn’t get it.
She was always so fucking perfect; handling everything with grace and ease.
Arya hadn’t seen her cry once. Even at the funeral, Sansa and Robb had stood
beside the hole in the ground; sombre of face and dry eyed. Arya sometimes
wondered if they cared about their dad’s death at all.
“You’re in my shed!” She span around to see a fat kid and a blonde boy standing
in the doorway.
“Sorry. I didn’t realise it had an owner.” Arya scoffed, taking a pull and
turning her back on them. The fat kid moved closer. “Don’t touch me!” She
growled when he forced her back around to face them.
“Give me your lunch money.” He ordered, shoving her.
“No.”
“Give me your lunch money!”
“Why? It’s not like you need it. In fact, I’d be doing you a favour if I take
your lunch money. Obesity kills you know.” Arya retorted dryly. The blonde boy
stared at her wide-eyed. There was only time to blink before the fat boy
whacked her around the head and Arya fell to her knees, gasping for air.
“Lunch money. Now.”
Arya span around on her knees, swift as a deer, and punched him square in the
balls. He doubled over, screaming and wheezing, and Arya took her chance to
escape. Sometimes you had to run in order to live and fight another day.
Robb had agreed to let her get the bus home, once he had found the route and
had given her instructions on a piece of paper. She hadn’t seen the fat boy
again, but a student in her English class had passed on a message from him;
that she was in for it tomorrow. “He doesn’t scare me.” She’d growled back. If
looks could kill, the messenger would have dropped dead; his body cold before
it even hit the floor
The bus had dropped her off at the end of her road and Arya turned up the
volume of her music so that she could pretend not to hear Sansa if she came
across her and she tried to ask about the bruise above her left eyebrow. To
double her chances of slipping past any humans unnoticed, Arya decided to enter
through one of the back doors. She had gone exploring last night, once everyone
else was asleep. The house might not be home, but it was pretty neat. There was
even a super creepy basement that Arya had considered using as a smoking den.
It would be too creepy for Sansa, too useless for Robb, and too quiet for her
mother. Bran and Rickon might wander down there, but she could always bribe
them with sweets to keep them quiet.
“Basement’s your best bet if you don’t want them to hear you.” Arya gasped and
span around, yanking the headphones out of her ears.
The boy leant leisurely against one of the oak trees, dressed in a Harrington
jacket, white t-shirt, light blue jeans, and chunky black boots. His blonde
hair had been gelled up. He kind of reminded her of James Dean, whom Sansa used
to have a poster of. Arya remembered being forced to watch as Sansa swooned
through his movies.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He grinned.
“I don’t get scared.” Arya insisted, tilting her chin up. His grin only widened
at her brazenness. “And what is this? Rebel Without a Cause?” The boy’s brows
furrowed and he looked down at his outdated clothes. “What are you doing here
anyway? You know you’re trespassing, right?” She arched an eyebrow and crossed
her arms.
“What can I say? I’m a rebel without a cause.” Arya chewed her lip to stop
herself from returning his amused smile. “I know I’m trespassing, it’s just
that a friend of mine used to live here.”
“Who was he? Danny Zuko?” She asked dryly, making him chuckle. He couldn’t have
been any older than sixteen, but he was tall for his age.
“So how do I get to this basement from here then?” Arya asked, her curiosity
getting the better of her. He smiled again and moved towards her. His height
was imposing, but Arya refused to move away.
“There was an extension built in the early 50’s. There’s a slight alley between
the old building and the new and it ends after about ten feet. The stairway
down to the basement is down that alley. Go around the back, look out for the
gap between the two buildings. Go down the stairs and turn left, you’ll see the
door to the basement then.”
“What are you? A fucking satnav? Or did you and your friend just have a stoner
den down there?” Arya asked with an air of sarcasm.
“You shouldn’t speak like that to people bigger than you.” He warned.
“Then I wouldn’t get to speak like that to anyone.” He laughed and held out his
hand for her to shake.
“I’m Damon.” His hand was cold, but he must have been outside for a while.
“Ar-ya.” She replied, ensuring he wouldn’t get it wrong like everyone at school
had.
“See you around, Ar-ya.” She screwed her face up before laughing, to show she
didn’t approve of him mocking her.
Thanks to Damon’s directions, Arya managed to slip under Sansa’s radar and made
it to her room unscathed, but there was no escaping dinner time.
Arya kept her hair down and put a beanie hat on to try and cover the bruise,
but her mother ordered her to take it off the moment she sat down and hair thin
brown hair was not enough to shield the bruise on its own.
“Is that a bruise?” Sansa asked, her eyes filled with irritating concern.
“No.” Arya snapped scathingly.
“Did someone hit you?” Bran piped up.
“No.”
“Are you being bullied?” Robb abandoned his knife and fork and clasped his
hands together, frowning at her.
“No!”
“Do you want to move schools?” Arya flinched away as her mother reached for her
hand.
“I just fell over okay? I’m fine.” She growled, glaring at each of them. Robb
and her mother exchanged worried looks and Sansa offered a sympathetic smile,
but Arya ignored them all.
“Okay, but you must let us know if anything does happen.” Robb ordered sternly.
Arya nodded and chewed her lip to prevent herself telling him to stop
pretending to be dad.
They all resumed eating in uneasy silence.
“One of our neighbours came around today.” Her mum said, clearly desperate to
fill the silence.
“Really? Which one?” Sansa asked, her eyes lighting up with genuine intrigue.
“Mr Bolton, the gentleman we met on the first day.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember.” Sansa seemed a little less interested.
“The poor man, I do feel sorry for him. He was a psychiatrist, but retired
after his two sons died. Now he just has an adopted son. The boy gave me quite
a fright. Roose spends his days caring for him now, the poor boy seems quite
damaged.” Arya could sense how desperate her mother was to make conversation.
It angered her beyond belief.
“Wow mum. He sounds great. I had no idea you were planning on replacing dad so
quickly.”
The table fell so quiet they could hear the leaves rustling on the trees
outside. Her mother set her cutlery back onto the table and placed her hands on
her lap so they wouldn’t see them trembling. From the end of the table, Rickon
started to blubber and they could sense a tantrum brewing, Sansa quickly moved
to soothe him.
“Mum, I…”
“Go to your room.” Robb ordered. The look he gave her almost caused her to
cower away.
“But I…”
“Arya. Room. Now.” The feeling of guilt was embodied by her tears and Arya
brushed them away angrily before standing up and leaving the table. She hadn’t
meant to be so horrible. A part of her longed to apologise; to turn back and
run to her mother and cry into her lap and tell her how much she missed dad.
And Jon. Jon may have let Robb send her to her room, but he would have come to
her after and mussed her hair and listened to what she said. But in this
strange house, she was left alone with only her tears and sobs for company.
***** Catelyn *****
                                     1983
She was dusting the shelves in his study, humming ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’
to herself. Her voice as sweet as a songbird. So engrossed in her work, she
never realised he was behind her until his hand slid over her thigh and up the
skirt of her work dress. “Girls just want to have fun huh?” His voice was
husky, his breath hot on her neck. He slid a finger underneath one of the hold-
up straps, running it up and down. She moaned as he pulled it back and
released; the elastic slapping against her skin, leaving a flushed red mark on
the pale flesh. He planted kisses on her neck and her head rolled back onto his
shoulder. Turning to face him, she allowed him to shove her against the wall.
God, how she loved it when he was hungry for her. It made her feel so wanted.
So special. This powerful man with his perfect house, his perfect family, his
perfect life. And all he wanted was her.
“I need you…right now.” He groaned, thrusting against her, yanking her skirts
up. It wasn’t until she felt his rock-hard cock through his trousers that she
remembered and her desire suddenly waned.
“Wait.” She gasped, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away slightly.
He stepped back, frowning. “Myranda? What is it sweetheart?” He asked, his
voice full of concern.
“I…um…I have something to tell you.” Her voice trembled a little. She hated it
when she got nervous. She was usually so confidant.
“Well what is it babe?” He asked gently, brushing her pale cheek with his
thumb. Myranda gazed into his eyes. His pupils had dilated, and his eyes were
filled with lust. He must love her if he wanted her so much. He would be okay
with this. He had to be okay with this.
“I’m pregnant.” Myranda confessed.
He took another step back. His gaze fell down to her stomach. His eyes met hers
again, and she struggled to tell what it was he was thinking.
“You’re sure?” He was frowning still, and her stomach was filled with
butterflies along with his child.
“Yes. I went to the doctor.” Myranda placed a hand over her stomach, massaging
it gently, hoping to ease her nerves.
His taught mouth quivered into a warm smile and Myranda’s fears melted away.
“That’s wonderful news!” He exclaimed.
“Really?” Myranda asked, tears blurring her vision.
“Of course. You, beautiful girl, are carrying my child.” He touched her stomach
then, and Myranda placed her hand over his.
“But what about your wife?” The nerves suddenly returned, and she glanced over
his shoulder as though fearing she would see her mistress standing there.
“That old crone? We’re through. I want to be with you.” He beamed. Myranda
beamed back, relishing the feeling of being loved and adored, and worth ending
twenty years of marriage for.
“We’ll tell her now, shall we?” He asked, taking her hand.
“Now? She’s home?” Myranda’s eyes grew wide. He had been all over her a few
minutes ago. She must truly drive him wild if he was willing to do it with his
wife in the house. He must truly love her.
“Yes. Come on, we’ll tell her together.” She threaded her hand through his and
allowed him to lead her down the stairs.
“She’s in the kitchen I think.” He said, breaking away from her. The kitchen
was empty when they went in, and he looked about, frowning. “Wait here, I’ll go
find her.” Myranda just nodded wordlessly, and looked around the kitchen whilst
she waited for him to return.
She had cleaned this kitchen so many times. She had scrubbed every inch of it.
And now it might be hers, and she could pay someone else to clean it.
Staring out of the window, Myranda began to hum to herself again.
Once again, the humming drowned out his approach.
Myranda gasped as she felt the cold steel bite through her torso. When he
twisted the blade, she released an ear-splitting scream that he soon muffled
with his hand.
“Did you really think I’d marry you, and ruin all my life’s work? What a stupid
whore you are.” He hissed into her ear. Myranda cried out in agony as he shoved
her to the ground, her hands clasped over her stomach where the knife had left
a hole, and blood gushed through her fingers.
“Please…” She begged, her voice high and childlike. She stared up at the man
she’d loved and trusted pleadingly. It was hard to tell what hurt more; the
knife he had driven through her stomach or the disdain-filled gaze.
“Please, don’t…” He gritted his teeth and knelt over her. Her eyes bulged and
her face turned ugly as his hands tightened around her neck and choked the life
from her.
                                     Today
Catelyn couldn’t help but feel guilty when she woke to find the house empty.
Robb had taken the kids off to their new schools, and she should have been up
to go with them. She should have been there to see them off at least, but she
couldn’t blame Robb for not waking her up. He’d clearly thought it was for the
best, but the house seemed so big and empty without the children around. It
felt colder too.
She made herself a coffee, and began tidying the kitchen. It had been left in a
mess, not that she minded. It was a distraction, and she knew only too well
what the morning rush could be like. Robb must have been tearing his hair out
at the disorganisation. Sansa would have helped too; swallowing her nerves
about starting at a new college in order to help her brother. Catelyn was
impressed by their efforts. They’d even taken Rickon too, though he was not yet
old enough to start school. Catelyn swore to make an effort with dinner that
evening, to thank them for their help.
The kitchen was just about tidy when Robb returned home. “You didn’t have to do
that.” Robb said, gesturing to the counter tops.
“It’s the least I could do. Thank you for taking them this morning.” He just
smiled weakly and poured himself a cup of coffee. “You look tired.” She said.
Robb just sighed and smiled. “You should have woken me up. You can’t handle it
all on your own.” She hadn’t meant for it to sound so harsh, and guilt flooded
through her when Robb looked wounded.
“I had Sansa.” He shrugged wearily.
“Sansa is sixteen, and should be focusing on her studies. As should you.” Robb
tried hard to cover the mournful look he got every time he was reminded of
where he should be. She remembered the day they received the letter from
Oxford. Sansa had cried, and Catelyn herself had done her best to hide her
tears. Ned had put an arm around her before hugging his son tight, and
announcing how proud he was of him.
“Mum?” Catelyn focused in on him again, the happy memory swiftly fading. Robb
stared at her, concerned.
“I’m sorry sweetheart.” She said, moving towards him. Catelyn longed to hug him
tight, but instead settled for touching his cheek. “I’m sorry if I sounded
harsh. I appreciate what you’re doing, I really do. I just…don’t throw your
life away, that’s all.” She smiled at him weakly.
“I’m not. It’s just on hold for a little while. And I’m sure there is a small
law firm nearby that might take me on as an assistant. Once you’re all settled
here and everyone is happy, I’ll go back to Oxford. I promise.” He smiled back.
“I know you will.” Cat replied, feeling the hope warm her through. She planted
a kiss in his auburn curls and stepped away quickly. “I should go food
shopping. If we order another takeaway Sansa might just insist on living at the
gym for the next week.” She laughed.
“I’ll take Rickon out to the park. It’d do him good. There might be some kids
his own age there too that he could make friends with.” Robb stood up and
downed the rest of his coffee. Catelyn went to argue but Robb held up a hand to
silence her, smiled, and left the kitchen before she could stop him.
He’s not my baby boy any more Catelyn told herself, but she could see the
weight of adulthood was a heavy one on his broad shoulders.
She had overspent. Quite a lot. It was easily done, and she knew the excessive
amount of food would please her children, so Catelyn didn’t feel bad for it. If
a bowl of ice cream was enough to see them all smile, she would gladly pay for
it a hundred times over. Still, the possibility of smiles didn’t make it any
easier to carry the shopping bags inside, and Cat struggled to link her fingers
through the bag handles. Usually she had some of the children to help.
“Yes!” She hissed, as she successfully managed to lift six bags all at once.
“Excuse me.”
“Heavens!” Catelyn span around, dropping several bags in the process and
placing a hand over her thudding heart.
The man stood on the pavement, his feet only inches off the driveway, head held
low. His hair had fallen over his face, but she could still see a pair of large
blue eyes stared up at the house. He flinched and twitched uncontrollably.
“Who are you? What do you want?” She asked angrily, immediately chastising
herself for it. He was clearly unstable in some way, she should be trying to
help him.
“You’re going to die in there.” The man’s voice was shaky, his large blue eyes
haunting as they continued to stare up at the house. Catelyn could still feel
her heart racing. Holding her breath, she followed his gaze and glanced over
her shoulder towards the highest window.
There was no one there, of course.
“Theon!” Catelyn turned and breathed a sigh of relief as their neighbour, Mr
Bolton, hurried across the road towards them. “Mrs Stark.” He smiled his
almost-smile at her.
“Please, call me Catelyn.” She insisted, placing what bags she still had in her
hands onto the ground and returning his smile.
“Theon, it’s time you went home. I’ve put Finding Nemo on for you.” The man
turned to face him and seemed to grow smaller with each passing second. After
one last glance up at the window, he walked away, twitching and muttering to
himself.
“I’m sorry about him. He’s had a fascination with this house ever since we
moved out. Don’t worry, he’ll never trespass. He just stands outside.” Roose
informed, watching Theon as he walked away, making sure he made it back to the
house safely.
“Is he your son?” Catelyn asked.
“Adopted son. He’s rather damaged. His father was…well, nothing short of
monstrous. I could give you a psychiatrist’s diagnosis, but I wouldn’t wish to
bore you.” Roose Bolton smiled. Catelyn just laughed, unable to think of a
reply.
“Would you like some help with those?”
“Oh, it’s fine, I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” She insisted, making another
attempt to pick up too many shopping bags. Roose let her struggle on her own
for a minute.
“It’s not a bother at all.” He said, swooping in and helping her. Cat just
smiled gratefully and moved away quickly, aware of his closeness.
With his help, they managed to get all shopping bags inside in one go.
“This must seem odd, me having so much shopping. You only have to cook for
two!” She forced herself to laugh.
“Yes.” Roose said, settling the bags on the counter. “I had more children
once.” Catelyn turned around, her face going pale. She hadn’t meant to bring up
painful memories. Roose’s gaze had turned distant, much like her own did
whenever she thought of Ned.
“I’m so sorry.” She breathed.
“Two sons. Both from different mothers, much to my own shame.” He nodded
solemnly. Catelyn swallowed the bitter taste of grief, and tried to banish
thoughts of her losing any of her children. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to
cope.
“I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.” Roose smiled weakly, grateful
for her sympathy.
“It was many years ago now. And they’re still around, I’m sure. I’m not one for
superstition, but sometimes you can just sense them, you know?” Catelyn did
know, all too well. Sometimes at night, she’d wake and feel Ned’s solid body
beside her, keeping her safe from harm, until she remembered it wasn’t
possible.
“And I have Theon. He moved in with us here about a year before they died.”
Catelyn recalled him telling her the other day that he had lived here back in
the 90’s. Perhaps he moved out to escape and start anew, just like she had.
“He was very close with one in particular. It helps me; taking care of him
takes my mind off them. God, that sounded terrible didn’t it?”
“No, no not at all.” Catelyn understood completely.
They sat in silence for a moment, smiling sadly at one another.
“Well, I’d best be going. I can’t leave Theon alone for too long. Who knows
what he might do to himself!” Roose chuckled, shaking his head and smiling
fondly at the thought of his adopted son.
“Thank you very much for your help.” Catelyn said, leading the way to the front
door.
“It’s no trouble at all. If you need any help just let me know.” Roose replied.
Something made her pause at the peephole to watch him as he walked away. Once
on the pavement, he stopped and turned; looking up at the window Theon had been
staring into earlier. He smiled again, perhaps recalling a fond memory of his
sons.
Somehow, by some miracle, she managed to hold in her tears until she was alone
in her bedroom. That much she was thankful for. The children had seen her cry
enough, and it was not fair on them. She was their mother, and she needed to be
strong now for their sake.
But what Arya had said, the viciousness of it, had hurt her. It was more the
way she’d said it than the actual words. The hatred in it. It had been her
fault that they had all moved away from all that was familiar to them; the home
that had been theirs even before Robb was born. Arya had perhaps taken this
move and everything that had happened the worst. What hurt more was how much
her daughter missed her half-brother; that he had been the only one Arya had
confessed her true feelings to. Cat was her mother, and it should have been her
shoulder she’d cried on. Not that Catelyn could blame her. She hadn’t been
strong enough to deal with her own pain, let alone anyone else’s.
She’d handled Ned’s death terribly, and wasn’t sure if the children would ever
forgive her for it.
Once her tears had dried, Catelyn went to her dresser and took out some
sleeping pills. She hadn’t taken any for some time, as her nights had gotten
easier, but now she felt she needed them. Her mind would not stop picturing
Arya’s hurt gaze and hate filled words, and if she did not take them she may
not sleep at all, and if she did she might dream of her youngest daughter, and
all the pain she’d caused her.
Even in the drug induced sleep, Catelyn still dreamed. But it was a sweet
dream. Ned was with her, in this strange new bed.
“Ned? This is just a dream, isn’t it?” She could feel tears burn her eyes as
she took in that familiar smile.
“Yes, dearest Catelyn. And we must make the most of it.” Then his lips were on
her, and Catelyn clung to him as though holding him would make him real and he
would never leave her side again. “I miss you.” She breathed, as his soft, kind
lips moved down onto her neck. “I miss you too Cat.” He replied, looking up at
her and smiling again, before returning to work at her collar bone.
It had been a long time since Catelyn had had a dream like this one. Ever since
Ned’s death she hadn’t been able to touch herself without weeping and she would
beg for him. Just for him to come back to her, not for his mouth on her like it
was now. She knew this was just a dream, but it felt so real. Catelyn spread
her legs a little wider for him and sighed with relief as she felt his tongue
dip inside her. She could feel his hair tickle her thigh, and the sensation was
so real. So vivid. It were almost like it wasn’t a dream at all.
Catelyn arched her back, feeling all the sweet heat in her body gather between
her legs as she neared her climax. Fearing he might disappear once she was
finished, she entwined her fingers in his soft hair and tugged gently, glancing
down to look at him.
“Do you mind? You’re messing up my hair.” The tongue stopped lapping and looked
up at her. Catelyn’s eyes grew wide with fear and shock. It was not Ned’s face
she looked upon. For a start, it was a young woman; her face pale, eyes black
and mischievous. Her smile was wicked and cruel. As the girl began to laugh,
Catelyn screamed.
***** Robb *****
                                     1914
Outside, snow had begun to fall. She could appreciate the beauty of it from
where she was sat beside the window, remaining untouched by the cold due to the
roaring fire and the blankets the housemaid had insisted she be wrapped up in.
When she pressed a hand against her bulging stomach, a different kind of heat
spread through her; warming her from head to heal. She smiled fondly. Her gaze
moved away from the window to the photograph of the handsome young man that
smiled at her from his place on the table beside her.
“Here we are, sweet baby.” She cooed, continuing to stroke her stomach with one
hand and picking up the photo frame with the other. “That’s your father there.”
Smiling sadly, she felt her heart begin to ache. Missing him was a daily agony,
and no sense of patriotic duty could dull it. “Isn’t he handsome?” She sighed.
He was. His proud smile made his cheeks dimple and his cheeks were straight and
pearly white. His auburn hair peeked out from beneath the hat of his uniform in
neat curls. His blue gaze shone with energy; excited by the battles to come.
“You’ll be just as handsome.” She promised. The child kicked in reply.
Even when the bell rang, Jeyne did not bestir herself; too content where she
was. The housemaid would see to it for her. It was rare that they ever got any
callers at all. People frowned upon men that eloped with girls below their
status. Especially if they were already betrothed.
But Jeyne cared not for their looks or their whispers. “I care not what they
think, because I love you. With all my heart.” He used to say to her any time
she felt particularly victimised by others.
“Miss?” She turned in her chair slowly. The housemaid stood in the doorway. Her
hands trembled and she gripped hold of a telegram tightly.
“What is it?” Her voice was barely higher than a whisper. Jeyne’s heart began
to pound and the baby writhed and panicked inside her, as if it had some
knowledge of the telegram.
“A…man, came…he left you…a telegram.” The maid blubbered. Jeyne didn’t move.
The blankets were now pinning her down, suffocating her. Her breaths came in
sharp, short bursts. “Miss?” The maid moved closer.
“Tell me…tell me what it says.” She commanded, though her voice was not strong
enough for it. Jeyne listened to the sound of rustling paper; tears already
searing her fair cheeks.
“The master…he’s…he fell…in action, miss.” Jeyne replied with a mournful wail;
the photograph slipping from her fingers. The photo frame shattered on impact;
breaking apart like the world around her.
She had almost pulled herself together enough to say that that was what he
would have wished if he were to die; with a bayonet in his hand, doing his duty
for his King. But then the child contorted inside her again and Jeyne screamed,
lurching forward, collapsing onto the ground; the shattered glass biting into
her hands.
“My goodness!” The maid helped her up and Jeyne could feel something hot and
wet slide down her thighs. The trail of blood she left behind her as she was
helped to the bed made her scream in fear. “Hush now child, I’ll get the
doctor.” The maid’s voice was distant, but Jeyne was well aware that she had
been left alone.
She continued to wail, both in agony and grief. The doctor made good time, but
the birth was a difficult one. Partially because the mother did not have the
will inside her to fight. Jeyne clung weakly to the maid’s hand, but it was not
the hand she wished to hold.
He’d promised he’d be home by Christmas. This Christmas just passed. They were
going to be a family.
“He’ll be here.” She murmured. Smiling, Jeyne closed her eyes. “He’ll be
waiting for me.”
                                     Today
Despite how drained he felt, Robb still ran when he heard his mother screaming.
He reached her room, cricket bat in hand, unsure if he was actually awake
enough to defend anyone. But he would die fighting rather than allowing them to
hurt his family.
Still, he was somewhat relieved to find only his mother in her room, pale of
face, eyes wide with fear and shock as though she had seen a ghost. “I’m fine.”
She insisted. “Just a bad dream, that was all.” Sansa had arrived shortly after
he did, but their mother ordered them both back to bed. Robb was worried about
leaving her on her own, but he had no energy left to argue. It had been a busy
day, what with his siblings starting at their new schools. He’d had to get up
early to sort out breakfasts, make lunches, see to it they all had the correct
uniforms and had everything they needed in their school bags. There was little
of a break during the day either as he had Rickon to look after. The boy had
pushed a kid off of the swings in the park. Fortunately the mother had been
understanding. He’d taken him home after that. Robb was supposed to be
studying; keeping everything he had been taught at Oxford fresh in his mind for
when he tried to get back in. But with Rickon clinging to his trouser leg and
demanding his attention, Robb had gotten little work done. He also needed to
find a job somewhere, but he couldn’t do that whilst mum was so unstable and
Rickon was unattended.
Robb thanked Sansa for her help, and warned her against doing so in future. “If
it had been an intruder, you could have gotten hurt.” He said. Sansa nodded and
apologised. Robb wondered if she ever had a negative thought about anyone or
anything. Did she ever get frustrated when he treated her like a child? If she
did, she did well not to show it.
With Sansa back in her room, and their mother settled again, Robb’s thoughts
turned to his own bed and he dragged his feet back to his room, not even
bothering to remove his dressing gown before flopping down on the bed and
falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
The next morning was no easier. If anything, knowing what was to come made it
harder to get out of bed. But Robb forced himself out of bed, did a couple of
stretches to wake himself up, then showered, dressed, and went downstairs to
ready the kitchen for war.
To make things worse, everyone seemed to be in a terrible mood. Sansa was
groggy from sleep; her pretty face marred by dark shadows beneath her eyes from
her late night. Arya sat in sullen silence with her headphones in, volume
turned up so loud they could all hear the pounding rock music. Bran was
desperately trying to calm an argumentative Rickon. He had tried to dress him
too, resulting in Rickon’s top being inside out. Getting them all out the door
was the equivalent of a military operation. Sansa was barely awake enough for
his orders to make sense, Arya couldn’t hear him over her music, Bran was
chasing Rickon who had his shirt off after they had tried to put it on the
right way.
“FOR GOD’S SAKE CAN YOU ALL JUST GET IN THE BLOODY CAR!” He yelled. Even Arya
heard him. Rickon started to cry, but Robb ignored him. He put on his shirt as
gently as he could. Robb then took his hand, holding it tight so he couldn’t
tear away. “Let’s go.” He muttered. They followed him out the door, pale faced
and wide awake after his outburst. Robb immediately felt guilty. Their father
had never shouted at them, and he could only recall their mother yelling at him
once. He hadn’t meant to shout, he’d just let his fatigue and frustration get
the better of him.
I’m never having kids he lied to himself as he drove them to school, Rickon
still wailing in the backseat.
He must have drifted off for a second, but the doorbell startled him and he
stood up, glancing around in confusion. Where was Rickon? What time was it? Had
his mum got up yet?
The doorbell rang again; a slow chime that sounded as woozy as his head felt.
Looking around to try and catch a glimpse of his little brother, Robb went and
answered the door, pausing for a moment to wipe any sleep from his eyes.
A girl stood on the doorstep, perhaps a few years older than Sansa. She had a
kind, solemn face. One that looked as though she had experienced too much pain
that seemed fair for a girl her age. Her hair was a deep brown, falling over
her shoulder in a neat braid. She wore a modest, though old fashioned dress,
despite how the day was quite cold due to the onset of autumn.
“Can I help you?” He asked. For a moment, she just stared at him as though in
shock. Robb suddenly wondered if Rickon had drawn on his face while he was
asleep. Then her sweet face broke into a pretty smile. “I’m awfully sorry to
disturb you sir. It was just that, well, an acquaintance of mine informed me of
your arrival in the neighbourhood. He told me you also had a great many
children and I wondered if…I’m a…a governess you see.” She stammered
endearingly, clutching her hands together tightly.
“A governess? You mean, like a nanny?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m a nanny.” Her warm smile was infectious. Robb thought her a
little young to be a nanny, but her demeanour was so sophisticated and her
smile so gentle, he was sure any child would love her.
“I was wondering whether or not perhaps you required my services? I was
informed you had four children.”
“They’re my siblings, actually. I don’t look that old do I?” Robb joked,
leaning against the door frame.
“Oh no, not at all. I must apologise, I didn’t mean any offence.” The girl said
anxiously. Robb laughed warmly at her worried expression and stepped aside.
“Would you like to come in?”
“Oh…if I may?”
“Of course. Can I get you a drink or anything? Tea? Coffee?” Robb led the way
towards the kitchen.
“A tea would be marvellous, thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your
name.” The girl looked around with wonder-filled eyes.
“It’s Robb. And you are?” He continued to smile, amused by her obvious
admiration for their home.
“Jeyne…um…Poole. Jeyne Poole.” She replied. Robb offered her a seat at the
breakfast counter while he made them both tea.
“So you were wondering if I required a nanny?” Robb asked, sipping his tea. He
hadn’t missed the way Jeyne stared at him. She was pretty enough, though Robb
knew he could not think of her like that if he hired her. He wasn’t sure what
his mother would make of hiring some extra help. He didn’t want to insult her,
nor undermine her place, but he could truly use the help. Even if it was just
for a little while. Hiring a nanny would allow him to focus on studying and
work instead of taking care of Rickon.
“Indeed. I’m able to begin as early as you like, though I do require Sunday’s
off. God’s day of rest.” Her hand rested on her chest, where a crucifix hung on
a silver chain.
“Of course. The truth is I could do with the help, it’s just I would have to
speak with my mother about it. I need to make sure she’s okay with…you know…a
stranger looking after her children.” As if on cue, Catelyn entered the
kitchen. Her gaze settled on Jeyne and she turned to look at Robb
questioningly. “I thought I heard voices.” She said, smiling a secretive smile
that made Robb blush.
“Mum, this is Jeyne Poole. Jeyne, this is my mother, Catelyn Stark.” Robb
looked away from his mother, hoping she hadn’t noticed his cheeks redden.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs Stark.” Jeyne stood up gracefully and offered
Catelyn her hand. “And may I say what a lovely home you have.”
“Thank you Jeyne. The pleasure is all mine.” Robb watched as Jeyne infected her
mother with a warm smile. Jeyne then turned to Robb expectantly. “Jeyne came
here to offer her services as a nanny.” Catelyn’s smile faltered a little, as
Robb knew it would.
“I do not mean to interfere with the upbringing of your children, Mrs Stark. I
will treat them as you see fit and will always inform you on any concerns I
have. I am simply here to…relieve stress, as it were.” Robb felt no need to say
more.
“Thank you, but I’m not sure if we can really afford it.”
“I can work for free perhaps? For a month or so. If you aren’t satisfied with
my work then you can release me from your service and I will understand
completely. This is your home, for you to run as you see fit Mrs Stark.” That
and Jeyne’s winning smile seemed to do the trick. Catelyn warmed again and
nodded her consent. “Alright, we’ll have a trial run.” She said. Robb couldn’t
help but smile, pleased by their new employee.
“Wonderful, thank you ever so much. I hope you won’t regret it.” Jeyne looked
from Robb to his mother with gleeful excitement. “I’ll start immediately shall
I?” He didn’t have the heart to refuse her.
“Where is Rickon?” He asked, turning to his mother.
“I thought he was with you?” Catelyn’s smile fell away to concern. They looked
around them, suddenly worried about the child’s absence. The house was too
quiet.
“Not to worry!” Jeyne piped up. “I think I heard him in the basement when I
came in.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll go get him…”
“There is no need to trouble yourself Robb. It might be good for him and I to
meet in private. Then he can make his own conclusions about me. It is sometimes
important to let a child be independent and make their own judgements, don’t
you think?” Jeyne blinked endearingly, waiting for their consent.
“Very well.” To his surprise, his mother spoke first. Jeyne smiled gratefully,
bowed her head to each of them, and practically skipped from the kitchen and
down the hall. Robb and Catelyn waited until her footsteps had died down before
speaking. “She seems sweet.” Catelyn looked at Robb in that knowing way again.
“Yes. And you’re sure you don’t mind hiring her?” Robb clasped his hands
together, brows furrowing in concern.
“Of course I do, but I think it for the best. You and Sansa shouldn’t have to
shoulder such responsibilities. Besides, now I can help too. Perhaps I could
get a job, as long as the children warm to her. You seem to have done so.” Robb
blushed again, grinning.
“She’s charming. But she works for us now. It would be improper.” He said it
more to himself than to her.
“Of course.” Catelyn said, smiling.
                                      ***
She followed the childish giggling until she found the boy. He was crouched
down, laughing into a dark corner. He held in his hands an old fashioned toy
truck and rolled it into the shadows, oblivious to her approach.
“Rickon?” She called. The boy’s head snapped up and he stood up sharply. Jeyne
knelt down in front of him. “Hello again.” She said, slowly and softly. Rickon
just looked at her. The toy car rolled out from the shadows and bumped into her
knee. Jeyne picked it up and peered into the dark corner. After a moment, she
took hold of Rickon’s hand. “Is he frightening you?” She asked.
“No.” The boy shrugged. “He wouldn’t show his face. He said he would if I went
into the shadows, but I didn’t want to.”
“Clever boy.” Rickon smiled as she did, pinching his cheek. “Next time he asks
you to go into the shadows, or if he scares you, all you need to do is squeeze
your eyes shut, like this, and yell ‘go away’, and he will.” Jeyne told him.
Rickon just nodded, glancing back towards the shadows as a low growl sounded.
“Your mother is worried about you Rickon. Why don’t you go say hello to her?
I’ll be right behind you.” Jeyne promised, letting go of his hand and pushing
him gently towards the stairs. She waited until he had begun his ascent before
turning back to the shadows. Jeyne stood up, brushing off dirt from her dress.
“Not him.” She snarled into the darkness. “Not again.” He simply growled a
reply. Jeyne did not deign to answer and turned back towards the stairs,
leaving him to the darkness he deserved.
***** Arya *****
 
                                     1958
Knife and fork were poised over the beef, waiting for starters orders. He could
feel saliva filling his mouth, making his teeth ache with longing for the rich,
succulent meat.
The moment his wife sat down, he sank his fork in.
“Shouldn’t we say grace first?” His son looked at him, his eyes pleading and
full of an innocence he couldn’t bring himself to trust. Nevertheless, for the
sake of avoiding yet another confrontation, he placed his knife and fork back
on the table and smiled tightly at the blonde haired youth, glancing at his
wife who was watching the boy warily. “Of course Damon.” He sighed. His younger
son required no instruction. Beaming at his older brother as though he were the
best thing in the world, he held out his hands. They all linked themselves
together around the table, though he saw his wife flinch as Damon captured her
hand. She had told him countless times. Warned him. But the idea was mad, mad
as she was. Yet he was enraptured in her spell; bewitched by her red beauty.
“Dear lord, we thank you for the animal carcass you have seen fit to bless us
with. I pray for forgiveness for all our worthless souls…”
“Damon.”
“…for all our worthless souls, as such fair was obtained through sinful means.”
“Damon.” He growled again in warning.
“I also pray for forgiveness on the behalf of the butcher, who gave into the
sin of lust the moment my whore of a stepmother flashed her tits and the fat
fuck came in his pants.”
“Damon, enough.”
“While I’m at it, I might as well pray for the damned souls of the postman, the
milkman, and of course your faithful servant, the vicar, all of whom the red
bitch has been screwing…”
“That’s quite enough!” He roared.
“…all underneath my fool of a father’s nose, which is shoved so far up her arse
he can’t smell the adultery through the scent of her shit.”
He tore his hand away.
“Amen!” His youngest son grinned. Damon smiled back at him warmly.
“What on earth is the matter with you? What is it that your mother and I have
done to warrant such behaviour?” Damon’s smile faded and his face turned
thunderous as he turned to face his father.
“She isn’t my mother. I don’t want her. I don’t need her. I have a mother.”
Damon hissed angrily.
Exasperated, he put his head in his hands. “For heaven’s sake Damon. Do you
insist on driving that dagger through me again and again? You know how much it
pains me, but perhaps that is what you want. Your mother died in 1945, during
an air raid, when your brother was just a babe in arms and you were…”
“I know!” Damon slammed his fist down on the table, fixing his father with
crazed eyes. “You don’t get it do you? I know! She may not be my real mother,
but she’s more than a mother than that bitch could ever be.” His voice was low
and threatening. Damon no longer allowed himself to show his grief.
“I understand Damon.” They were both surprised to hear her speak. “And you
should look to your own sins. Your years with those damned souls has weakened
you. You are consumed by the darkness. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Bullshit!” His eldest son stood up abruptly, sending his chair toppling
backwards. Damon appeared oblivious as it crashed to the ground. He loomed over
her, shaking with a toxic mixture of adrenaline and rage.
“You understand nothing. And I will never be your son.”
Melisandre looked away from him, no longer able to keep looking into the
maddened eyes. They each stared into nothingness as they listened to him march
from the room, flinching as he slammed the door leading down to the basement.
                                     Today
He squealed like a pig as she pressed the cigarette butt into his arm, burning
the flesh. The fat boy rolled off of her, screaming for help. But Arya wasn’t
done yet. The moment he was off her, she stood up and kicked him in the ribs.
He squealed again and Arya dealt another blow to the ribcage just to shut him
up. All around them, students had gathered and were chanting ‘fight, fight,
fight’ at them. As if they needed any encouragement. Unfortunately for Arya,
the fat boy known bizarrely as Hot Pie, had back up. Before she could deliver
any more kicks, his friend grabbed her by the arms and yanked her back until
she fell ungracefully on her arse, then it was their turn to kick.
“Lunch money!” Hot Pie demanded.
“Speaking of lunch, I am rather hungry.” Arya sneered. Mr Piggy squealed again
as she sank her teeth into his chubby leg.
“Arya Stark!” The chanting ceased and the crowd of students dispersed like a
panicked shoal of fish when danger was nearby. Arya sat back down, wincing into
the sunlight to see her design and technology teacher, Miss Mordane, glaring
down at her. Arya released a groan as Hot Pie continued to whimper beside her.
“Headmistresses office now.” The teacher barked sharply. Arya was about to
argue about how unfair it was that she was being sent there and Hot Pie wasn’t,
but Miss Mordane turned away before she could say anything.
“You’re in the shit now Stark.” Lommy smirked. Arya spat in his face, then
scurried away before they could attack her again.
“It’s complete bullshit! I don’t even start the fights! I’m just minding my own
business, smoking in the bike shed, and the fat fuck comes in demanding I give
him my lunch money. As if he needs it!” She paced up and down her room angrily.
“School sucks.” Damon admitted, spinning around mindlessly in her desk chair.
“And then the headmistress calls up my mum to tell her to come and get me. She
says I’m getting into fights and then gives this bullshit lecture about
bullying and how it won’t be tolerated at school. Like I’mthe one doing the
bullying. Can you believe it?”
“It’s inexplicable.”
“So now the only thing mum and I actually talk about is how I shouldn’t be
picking on people. She thinks I’m bullying him because of his weight. Like I
give a shit! She only goes on about it so we can tiptoe around the fact she’s
got some other guy in her life now, even though it’s way too soon after dad.”
Arya immediately felt bad for saying it, but she was just so angry.
“Parents suck.” Damon stopped spinning in the chair and gripped the arm rests
tightly. “So what are you going to do about this Hot Pie kid? You can’t just
let him walk all over you like that.” Arya ceased pacing and crossed her legs,
slumping down onto the rug with a dull thud.
“I know.” She muttered. “What do you suggest?”
After her outburst at dinner the other night, things with herself and her
family had only gotten worse. She and her mother rarely spoke unless it was
about the whole bullying thing. Sansa was just polite and courteous. Robb was
being all adult, always coming up with excuses as to why he couldn’t talk. Bran
and Rickon were distracted by their new nanny, who seemed nice enough, but a
little too perfect for Arya’s taste. Jeyne seemed to get on well with everyone,
and Arya didn’t mind her being around except for the fact Bran and Rickon
always wanted to play with her instead of Arya. She called Jon regularly, but
he had just started working as a police officer back home, and so didn’t have
much time to talk. The only person who seemed to actually want to listen to
Arya was Damon. She’d found him hanging around outside again the day after they
met and, while he seemed a little weird, they’d spent quite a bit of time
together. Damon smoked, and so they would share a fag in the basement. After a
few days Arya invited him upstairs to listen to music. Their tastes were very
different, but Damon was open to listening to new things. His main love was
fifties music, but he listened to Nirvana as well, and that was good enough for
Arya. What’s more, he and Arya shared the same troubles; his mother had died,
his father had remarried, he hated school. When she was hanging out with Damon,
their new house didn’t seem quite so bad.
“We could kill him.” Damon suggested, his face completely serious. Arya burst
out laughing. “That’s a bit extreme.” She chuckled. Damon shrugged. “So you
really want him to leave you alone? Besides killing him, there’s only one other
thing you can do.”
Arya leaned forward, hanging onto his every word. Damon leaned forward too,
smiling madly, his eyes wide and crazed.
“Scare him.”
Arya would have been lying if she’d said she didn’t think his plan was madness.
There was small chance that it would actually work, no matter how many times
Damon claimed he and his friend used to use the same plan all the time when his
friend lived here.
To her surprise, it seemed to work almost immediately. Arya had a small group
of people she hung around with at school. She wouldn’t call them friends
exactly, but they were people to make small talk with and sit next to in class
and at lunch. None of them shared any interests except for the fact they
struggled to make friends. They were a pack of lone wolves; outcasts too weak
or dangerous for the mainstream pack. They listened, or at least pretended to,
as she slipped in remarks on graphic details about the basement in her house,
like how there was a back door leading down into it, and about how this
Saturday her mum was out and she was just going to chill down there and watch
horror films. They all stopped eating when she mentioned she might smoke a bit
of weed as well.
Arya tried to bring the subject up as often as possible, and slyly glance over
her shoulder to make sure the fat boy was listening. He and his friend always
seemed to be nearby nowadays, and always sniggered darkly when she caught them
watching her. Arya had to chew her lip to stop herself from smiling.
Saturday came, but there was no sign of Damon anywhere. He’d said all she’d
needed to do was get them into the basement, and he’d take care of the rest.
But he wasn’t in the basement, nor was he hanging around outside. Arya was
kicking herself for being too awkward to ask for his number.
At seven o’clock, when the sky had begun to darken, Arya headed down to the
basement and went to the back door to check it was unlocked, ready for her
intruders. Arya span around as she heard a strange hissing noise behind her.
“Hello?” She called out, moving forward, glancing around. The only spot she
couldn’t see was a dark corner, and Arya eyed it warily. Did something just
move in that corner? She waited a moment, steadying her breathing. “Damon?” She
muttered, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“Shit!” Arya span back around at the sound of his voice behind her. He loomed
over her, grinning at her shocked expression. “You asshole!” She laughed,
shoving him back and glancing over her shoulder. “I thought you were…I could
have sworn it was you…over there, in that corner.”
“Are you afraid?” He asked, his grin faltering.
“I’m not afraid of anything. It was probably just my imagination.” Arya
shrugged. Damon stared at her intently for a moment and Arya shifted nervously
from foot to foot, suddenly aware of how close he was.
“You’re late.” She said, unable to think of anything else to say. “I don’t even
know what the plan is.” Arya stepped back to put more space between them,
though a part of her wished she’d remained where she was.
“You got a TV? One we can move down here?” Damon asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good. We’ll need some entertainment while we wait. Grab some horror films
too.” His grin returned and Arya smiled back. She actually loved horror films
and was certain she could freak Damon out with her collection.
“Sure thing.” She nodded, grinning darkly.
“Grab some food too! I’m starving. I’ll set things up here.” He turned away and
hurried into one of the adjoining rooms. Arya couldn’t stop herself smiling as
she hurried to begin her task.
Hours later, the two teens were lying side by side on a blanket and some
cushions. They were on their second horror film now, Dead Silence, and both
kept slyly checking to see who was more scared. Arya’s lip was raw from where
she had been chewing it so much to prevent herself from smiling.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Damon asked, stuffing some popcorn into his mouth,
eyes transfixed on the telly.
“Not sure. I guess I think seeing is believing, and I haven’t seen a ghost yet.
But I’m open to options. What about you?”
Damon was silent for a moment and he stared down into his bowl of popcorn. “I…I
have…”
“Shh.” Arya slapped his arm. “Did you hear that?” They paused the film quickly
and listened. From outside they could hear hushed voices.
“You scout for me. I’ll go in and scare the bitch.” Arya recognised Hot Pie’s
voice.
“That’s him.” She muttered. Damon nodded and they both leapt up, pressing play.

“The TV will lead him into this room. I need you to go and turn off all the
lights. Turn them back on when I tell you, and stay quiet.” He grinned wickedly
and seemed to melt into the shadows. Arya felt nervous excitement bubble up in
her stomach as she wondered what he was going to do.
Biting her fist to stop her nervous laughter, she listened as the door to the
basement opened and closed noisily. Hot Pie seemed to shuffle forwards, unable
to go any faster due to the pitch black basement. Holding her breath, Arya
placed her finger on the light switch, ready for Damon’s orders. The shuffling
of feet stopped and she sensed he was just around the corner.
“Here’s Johnny!” Hot Pie roared, leaping out from behind the wall. Arya pressed
herself back into the darkness, biting down harder on her fist. She wished she
had a picture so she could capture the look on his face. He stared about in
confusion at the empty room; the blanket with abandoned bowls of popcorn, the
movie still playing. She could hear him whimper and see him tremble. Then he
seemed to grow angry with himself. He moved forwards, swearing as he stepped on
a packet of crisps.
“Lights.” She heard Damon whisper, as though he were right behind her. Arya
flicked the switched and frowned. He was sat at the far end of the room,
smirking darkly at Hot Pie. Had she imagined his voice? Had he actually just
called out to her? Yeah, that had to be it.
“Welcome to hell, you fat fuck.” Damon chuckled.
“What the-“
“Arya, get the lights.” Arya just nodded and flicked the switch again, plunging
the three of them into darkness. The glare from the TV was all the light they
had, until the lights overhead began to flicker on and off wildly. Even the TV
was switching on and off spasmodically, allowing glimpses of Mary Shaw as she
tore out the tongue of another victim. The basement filled with laughter and
Arya watched in stunned silence. Damon could only be seen for a moment before
the darkness would consume him again. The flickering basement lights were like
the strobe lighting Arya had seen at a night club Jon had smuggled her into one
time. It made all Damon’s movements distorted as he rocked back and forth,
cackling madly.
And then, as the lights continued to flicker on and off, Damon was gone. In his
place was something monstrous. Its stench filled up the room and made Arya want
to vomit. He was ugly and knarled, his skin creased and dry, flaking off him as
he rocked back and forth. Hot Pie was screaming and Arya could just about make
out the scent of piss over the reeking creature. As the lights flashed, she saw
him fly through the air and knock Hot Pie to the floor.
It’s just Damon. He must have a costume or something.
But she knew it wasn’t Damon, because Damon was behind her. Arya span around to
see him staring at the creature as he attacked. His face was filled with fear,
but he looked at her and forced himself to smile. Arya glanced back at the
creature, then back at Damon. How was this possible? If Damon was with her,
then what the fuck was attacking Hot Pie? Arya’s screams joined that of the fat
boy’s and she slammed her hand down on the light switch.
Hot Pie continued to writhe and scream on the floor, trying to fend off an
invisible enemy.
Damon was sat in the chair, his legs slung over the arm rests nonchalantly. As
she caught his gaze, he smiled at her.
“Mummy!” Hot Pie screamed, scrambling to his feet and fleeing before Arya could
stop him. Blood gushed from his cheek from where the creature had bitten him.
“Well he won’t be bothering you anymore.” Damon grinned. Arya stared at him,
dumbfounded, her mouth gaping open. When her senses came back to her, she
balled her hands into fists. “What the fuck was that?”
“What was what?” Damon frowned, but she didn’t trust the mock innocence.
“That…the thing…the creature…” She stammered.
“I’ll try not to take offence. It was me.”
“No. No it wasn’t, you were stood right behind me!” Arya insisted.
“That’s crazy!” Damon stood up and moved towards her. Arya backed away, tears
stinging her eyes. “Come on Arya, this is what you wanted right? The kid
fucking pissed himself!” He was laughing madly again.
“Get away from me you psycho! I don’t ever want to talk to you again!” She
yelled at him, turning and running away, too scared to turn and see if he was
behind her.
                                      ***
“You said you weren’t afraid of anything!” Damon roared, trembling with rage
and fear. He didn’t want her to go. He didn’t want to be left alone.
“Aw, poor baby. Did your girlfriend dump you?” Myranda cooed, sauntering out
from the shadows.
“Leave me alone.” He growled, shrugging her off as she ran a pale hand over his
shoulder, stroking his chest.
“Oh come on. I can cheer you up. I’ll even let you fuck my stab wound if you
want?” She looked up at him through her lashes, turning the corners of her
mouth down in mock sadness and sticking out her bottom lip. Damon squeezed his
eyes shut. “Go away!” He yelled. When he opened his eyes, she was gone. Damon
whimpered pitifully in the darkness, hugging himself tightly and bowing his
head as though he were a small child.
“Hush, my sweet.” He raised his head at the sound of her soft voice and she
brushed away his tears, kissing his salt-stained cheeks.
“Mother.” He whimpered.
Jeyne smiled sweetly and opened her arms, allowing him to come to her. He was
taller than he had been when he was younger, and embraces had been few and far
between since he had been a child, but now he rested his head on her shoulder,
and remained there until the crying ceased.
 
***** Sansa *****
She was staring out of the window when he entered. If he was honest, he hadn’t
expected to find her there. At least not yet. He hadn’t realised she’d noticed.
He’d wanted to keep Sansa to himself just for a little while. Never mind, at
least her discovery allowed for some fun.
“Hm, I do like these short-shorts girls wear nowadays.” He hummed into her ear,
slipping his arms around her slim waist. “Hold ups are just so…” He ran a hand
down and pulled at the strap, making it smack against her pale thigh.
“Eighties.” He finished with a smirk. Myranda tried to shrug him off, but
Ramsay’s grip only tightened and she was forced to continue watching Sansa as
she warmed up for her run.
“She’s very pretty isn’t she?” He whispered, chuckling when he heard Myranda
growl.
“If you want I can see to it she has a stab wound for you to fuck.” She spat.
Ramsay caught her around the throat and turned her around to face him, slamming
her against the wall. “Touch her and I’ll make your afterlife hell.” He
snarled.
“It already is.” Myranda croaked miserably.
“Even so, stick to your old crone. Leave Sansa to me.” He warned, returning to
the window to watch the red head as she stretched.
“The old crone has grown rather boring. There’s plenty more meat in the house.
Think I’ll start with that dishy older brother.” Ramsay rolled his eyes as she
batted her eyelashes and tilted her air-filled head as though deep in thought.
“Like he’d go for a dirty scrubber like you. What exactly are you going to tell
him when he sees that hole in your stomach?” Ramsay’s lips twisted into an
amused smirk.
“In my experience, men can rarely wait for me to get my clothes off.” He
chuckled then, which he knew she had not been expecting. “What’s so funny?” She
snapped as he continued to laugh.
“Look at her. She’s practically dancing on your grave.” He cackled. It was
true. Sansa’s warm up routine was being performed right on the spot where she
had been carelessly buried. “Now that is funny!”
“Yeah Ramsay, you really do put the fun into funeral.” Myranda spat. He turned
just in time to see her pick up Sansa’s nail scissors. In one smooth movement,
she plunged the blade into his shoulder. “Ow! Fuck! You little…” Before he
could finish, Myranda was already gone, leaving him to yank the scissors out by
himself. “Stupid bitch.” He grumbled, rubbing the sore patch.
                                      ***
Her college timetable wasn’t as good as the one at her old school had been. For
a start, she was expected to go in every weekday, then there was the fact she
was in all day Monday and Friday, and her lessons were all in the morning for
the rest of the days. It meant she couldn’t help Robb out as much as she felt
she needed to, as she had to get herself ready in the mornings, though things
were definitely easier now with Jeyne around. Even Rickon had calmed down and
was less prone to his violent outbursts. The nanny didn’t tread on any toes
either, not even their mother’s even though she was helping to take care of the
children. Sansa liked her a lot. She could only have been a few years older
than Sansa, but she still treated her like an adult, which Sansa appreciated.
Despite her timetable, Sansa was enjoying college. Her subjects (textiles,
dance, and English literature) were all taught well, and the teachers were
better than her old ones too if she was honest. They seemed to be a lot more
modern in their thinking. She’d made some friends too, and had already been out
on a shopping trip with them.
It felt as though her life was starting to get back to normal in this new
place, which Sansa was thoroughly glad for. She’d even started to go running
again whenever she could, and returned from a run one afternoon to find the
house empty. Jeyne was in the garden playing with Rickon.
“Your brother went for that job interview in town. He’s picking Bran up from
school on his way back, Arya’s getting the bus. Your mother has gone to buy
some paint to redecorate the lounge.” Jeyne told her after she asked where
everyone was. “I do hope she doesn’t get anything too bright. These modern
styles can really ruin a house’s character.” The nanny added, her brows
furrowing with concern.
“You can rely on my mum. She has good taste, I think.” Sansa laughed. “I’m
going to shower, then I’ll do some homework. Let me know if you need a hand
with anything.” Sansa told her. Jeyne smiled and thanked her before returning
to play with her charge.
Sansa had just entered the house when she heard a strange scratching sound. Her
first thought was rats, but then there came a whining sound made by a far
larger animal.
“Robb? Mum? You home?” There was no human reply, only the ceaseless sound of
claws against wood. The rooms on the ground floor were all connected by
archways instead of doors, and Sansa could see no animals around. Spurred by
her own curiosity, she followed her ears. The scratching only grew louder and
more insistent as she neared the stairs. Sansa noticed the door down to the
basement was closed, and seemed to be where the sound was coming from. As she
drew closer, she heard a low growl. Was that a dog? It would be typical for
Arya to find a stray on the way home from school and coax it home, or perhaps
she had fed it and it had come looking for more food. There was a way into the
basement from outside; Arya used it to sneak in once she was finished smoking.
Perhaps she had forgotten to close the door?
Sansa inched ever closer, and stretched out a hand towards the doorknob. As she
did so, the dog barked from beyond the door. She certainly wasn’t imagining
things. Then another bark joined the first. Then another. Then another. There
was more than one down there, four at the very least! Sansa’s hand faltered and
she released a fearful whimper as the door began to rattle and give a little as
the beasts flung themselves against it. They could smell her. Any moment they
could burst through the door, and then…
“Sansa?”
“Oh my god!” She cried, spinning around. The house was silent now, the door
behind her firmly shut and still. “Ramsay, what…”
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He chuckled, though his pale
eyes were filled with concern.
“Um, no…I just…I could have sworn…I heard a dog down there!” She felt stupid
the moment she said it. Ramsay just smiled at her and laughed. “I know it
sounds stupid, but there was definitely something down there!” Sansa insisted.
“Okay, okay,” He chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You want me
to check it out for you?” Yes. She did. But that would only prove that she had
imagined the whole thing, and she didn’t want to look any more foolish than she
did already. “It’s fine. I probably just imagined it.” Sansa forced herself to
laugh it off, but Ramsay continued to look at her questioningly. She needed to
bring the conversation back around to him. She didn’t want him thinking she was
crazy.
“How…how did you get in here?” She asked. Her mother would have locked the
front door for sure, even if Jeyne was around. Ramsay frowned at her and
laughed again. “You left the back door open.” He stated incredulously. “I did
knock, but you were too busy hearing dogs.” Sansa had to force herself to laugh
again. The truth was that she didn’t find it very funny, the whole thing had
left her more than a little shaken.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” She asked, trying desperately to put her
rationale mind back together.
“I’d kill for one, thanks.” He said, stepping aside and allowing her to lead
the way to the kitchen. Sansa blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her
ear. She’d forgotten how handsome he was, and here she was in her running
clothes. Her face was probably still flushed too, though Ramsay was clearly too
much of a gentleman to notice. “Let’s hope you can stick around a little longer
this time.” She smiled at him brightly.
“Huh?”
“Well, when we met you just sort of disappeared, you know, when our other
neighbour arrived?” Sansa reminded him over her shoulder as she went.
“Oh yeah. Well, I’ve been told to avoid that guy.” He said the words a little
darkly, and it worried her a bit. Sansa knew her mother had seen the man a few
times. “How did you know it was him?”
“People around here talk about him. I think I know enough to know that if he
hears of a widow with a pretty daughter, he’s bound to come around sooner or
later. Like a moth to a flame.” Sansa turned on him then, her voice strained
with concern and, surprisingly, anger.
“What exactly are you implying?” She asked, putting her hands on her hips. “I
hear the man has given up most of his life to take care of his disabled son,
whom he adopted shortly before the death of his own two sons. Village gossip
can be amusing, but not when it attacks people just trying to live their lives
and pick up the pieces of what’s left.” For half a heartbeat, Sansa thought
Ramsay might hit her. He had looked so angry. Then the moment was gone,
replaced instead by a look of guilt. “I’m so sorry Sansa. I get it from my mum,
she’s the sort of person who gossips a lot, you know? You’re absolutely right.
We shouldn’t mock Mr Bolton and his…disabled son. I hope you can forgive me for
what I said?” He looked so ashamed of himself. He couldn’t even meet her gaze.
Sansa’s hands fell away from her hips. “I’m sorry for snapping at you like
that. You were only repeating what you’ve been told. I just think it’s
important we make our own opinion on people after we’ve gotten to know them a
little.” Ramsay looked up at her and smiled that handsome smile.
“You’re right of course. You have a good heart Sansa, I admire that.” She
couldn’t help but smile herself then, and had to turn away to hide the blush
creeping into her cheeks.
They were still talking when her mum had come home, and Sansa had had to
awkwardly introduce them while her mum was giving her that knowing smile. She
prayed Ramsay hadn’t spotted it, but tried to get him away from her as soon as
possible. Fortunately, Ramsay said he needed to be at the local learning centre
for people with mental and physical disabilities in an hour for voluntary work.
“I didn’t know you did voluntary work?” Sansa had said, the surprise evident on
her face.
“I help the poor tormented souls as best I can.” He’d chuckled. “Perhaps I
could call around again though, some other time.”
Sansa had, of course, readily agreed, despite feeling her mother’s knowing gaze
on her.
To avoid any confrontation from her mother as soon as Ramsay was out the door,
Sansa made her excuses and hurried off to her room for a shower, her mind still
recalling that cute smile and the curious eyes.
Wrapping a towel around herself, Sansa smiled when she felt that warm, fuzzy
feeling she got whenever she used to get crushes. It made her blush too, and
she turned to the mirror to check how red she’d become. Sansa stared at the
glass; eyes wide, heart hammering in her chest. The steam from her shower had
caused the glass to mist over, the film of condensed steam only broken by the
ominous 10 written by an unseen hand.
***** Robb *****
“No word yet?” Jeyne asked, making him jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle
you.” She smiled apologetically and wet to get two glasses and a plastic cup
out of the cupboard, filling them with juice.
“Nope. Nothing.” Robb muttered miserably, tossing his mobile from hand to hand.
Finding a job was proving harder than expected. A lot of law firms weren’t keen
on hiring a university drop out, even if they had dropped out of Oxford. “I’m
sure I’ll hear soon.” He assured himself.
“I’m certain of it.” Jeyne’s words seemed to make the weight of worry on his
shoulders a bit lighter. He smiled gratefully. “Where’s Rickon?” Robb asked,
knowing how much Jeyne liked talking about her charge.
“Upstairs, building with those brick things. Lego, is it? I think he was trying
to build some space vehicle.” Robb laughed. Their nanny was so young, yet so
old fashioned. “Juice?” She handed him a glass.
“You’ve done wonders with him. I can’t thank you enough for that Jeyne.” He
admitted, staring awkwardly into his cup to avoid her gaze. It was true that
Rickon had calmed considerably since they’d hired Jeyne, and it made all their
lives a little easier. Bran liked her too, and spent less time brooding in
trees nowadays.
“Time is the real healer. Nothing is worse for a child than to lose either
parent.” A sadness seemed to sweep over her then, and Robb assumed those words
had a deeper meaning. He didn’t wish to pry into her private life though.
“It hasn’t been easy.” He said. They both exchanged sad smiles, suddenly aware
that both had suffered. Neither knew the true extent of the others suffering,
but just knowing the other understood was a comfort in itself.
“I’d better get back to Rickon.” Jeyne said, turning away quickly, but not
before Robb glimpsed her blushing cheeks. Smiling to himself, he watched her go
without comment.
She’s the nanny Robb reminded himself, trying to prevent his own cheeks from
flushing. Fortunately, before he could spare another thought about Jeyne’s
pretty face and sweet smile, the doorbell rang. Robb rushed to answer it.
“Hi.” The girl on his doorstep trilled. Robb’s mouth gaped open a little.
Painted red lips were drawn up into a sultry smile. A pale, beautiful face was
framed by soft, brown hair, perfectly curled. Her eyes were what really
captured him; they drew him in with the promise of trouble and adventure.
“I…um…err…hi?” Robb stammered, unable to stop the blood from rushing to his
cheeks this time.
“You must be Robb. I’m Myranda.”
“Um…nice to meet you.” He said, trying to lean nonchalantly against the
doorframe and going red when he realised it must look as awkward and
uncomfortable as it felt.
“Mind if I come in?” Myranda inquired. Robb instantly wanted to hit himself for
being so stupid and not inviting her in sooner.
“Sure, of course, come in.” He said, moving out of her way. Myranda wore a
black trench coat that covered her from neck to knee. She wore tights over her
slim legs and sleek black heels on her feet, but didn’t seem uncomfortable
walking in them. She looked like a model that had walked straight out of one of
Sansa’s magazines.
“How…err…how can I help you?” He stuttered. Myranda laughed; the sound was like
music to his ears. “I was just seeking work.”
“Seeking work?” Robb’s eyes widened and he looked her up and down again. Shit.
“Yes, I’m a housemaid.”
“A house-? A housemaid! Good…I mean, cool.” Robb almost sighed with relief.
“Look it’s good of you to enquire and everything, but I don’t think-“
“Are you redecorating?” She cut in, looking around.
“Huh?”
“I can smell the paint.” Myranda giggled, striding into the lounge which their
mother had begun redecorating that very morning until she realised she didn’t
have enough paint and was out getting more.
“Yes, I always did think this room could do with an upgrade. And what a great
colour! Your mum has the best taste.” She gushed.
“You alwaysthought?” Robb repeated, frowning.
“Oh, yeah. I worked for the previous owners. This house and I are old friends.
You’ve really got to take care of it, you know? It has a personality.” Without
warning, Myranda went down on all fours and pressed her nose to the wooden
floorboards. Robb looked away, but not before glimpsing the hold-ups and bright
red panties underneath her skirt. He was fighting off the urge to blush until
Myranda hummed into the wood and made his face turn the shade of beetroot.
“Do you know what floor cleaner your mum uses?”
Yes. Robb did know that. And it was awkwardly apt for his current situation.
“Bona, I think…um…why?”
Myranda tutted. “That was naughty of her. That’ll take the varnish off like no
tomorrow.” She told him, shaking her head. “I have my own formula that works
wonders.”
“Okay, what is it?” Robb didn’t know anything about cleaning floors, he just
wanted to keep the woman distracted so he didn’t notice that his face had
turned the same shade as her underwear. Myranda stood up and smiled a wicked
smile. “If you hire me you’ll find out.” How did she manage to make floor
cleaner sound sexy? By now Robb was certain all the blood in his body had
rushed to his cheeks.
“I don’t know, it’s not really my place to hire a maid, you know?” He swallowed
nervously, trying not to notice her trench coat had undone itself a little,
allowing a view of her cleavage.
“A mummy’s boy are you?” Myranda laughed.
“No!” He insisted. Myranda began to move towards him then. “You’re the man of
the house now. You don’t need your mother telling you what to do. You can hire
who you want, and you want me, don’t you?”
Yes.
“I’m not sure, how much do you work for?” He asked, taking a step back. If she
moved any closer, he wouldn’t be able to think straight.
“You can see how good I am, then we’ll base payment on that.” Her tone was
promising.
She’d be good…she’d be really, really good.
“Hours?” Robb was unable to say more than one word. His throat was as dry as
sand.
“I take Thursdays off. Want to know why?” She raised a brow suggestively.
Yes.
“No, Thursdays off are fine.” She was still moving closer, and Robb continued
inching back.
“So am I hired?” Her mischievous, enchanting eyes lit up with triumph.
“Yes…yes you’re hired.” Robb gave in, taking another step back. He had no idea
the wall was so close. His back hit it first and he felt something wet and
sticky cover the fabric. “Eurgh!” Robb exclaimed.
“The paint!” Myranda gasped. “You should take it off, I can wash it and it’ll
be good as new.” Before Robb could protest, she had hold of the bottom of his
t-shirt and pulled it off over his head in one smooth movement. Somehow it was
possible for Robb to turn redder as Myranda took in his torso with her hungry
eyes. “I’ll start right away.” She said to his abs.
Robb just watched her go; mouth gaping and eyes trained on the hold-ups he
could glimpse when she took off her coat, revealing a traditional maids outfit.
“Robb?” He turned to see Jeyne stood at the other end of the lounge, her face
pale and pinched with concern. “What’s going on?”
“I think…” He paused to laugh in disbelief. “I think I just hired a maid.”
                                      ***
“Oh don’t be so precious Jeyne! It’s only a bit of fun!” Myranda snapped.
“Why though? You don’t care about him! You could have any man here. Why him?”
Jeyne wailed, wiping her tears away angrily.
“Because I’ve had all the men here, and I’m bored.” She crossed her arms and
rolled her eyes as the other girl started to wail again. “Come on Jeyne.” Her
voice was a little gentler now. She sat down on the bed beside her. “Honey, it
never would have worked out. You’re dead. Deal with it.”
“I know.” Jeyne sniffed. “It’s just…he looks…so much…so much like…”
“So much like who?” Jeyne howled out her answer but it was incoherent.
“Pull yourself together for fuck sake!” Myranda snapped. Jeyne just cried
harder. “Fine, stay here and bawl like a baby. I’ve got work to do.” Smirking,
she left the weeping girl on Sansa’s bed and went into the ensuite bathroom,
waiting until the mirror had steamed up before writing a nine on the glass.
***** Catelyn *****
Catelyn came running when she heard Sansa screaming Arya’s name in rage.
“What?!” Her younger daughter snapped back.
“Stop it! I know it’s you just trying to freak me out.” Sansa cried.
“I haven’t done anything you nutcase! I don’t even know what you’re yelling
about.”
“What is going on up here?” Cat barked, placing her hands on her hips. Sansa
was clutching a towel she had hastily covered herself with. Droplets of water
dotted the floor suggesting she hadn’t paused to dry herself off after her
shower. Arya wasn’t even out of her school uniform yet; her headphones hung
around her neck with heavy rock music still blasting out of them.
“I know it was her but she won’t admit it!” Sansa’s voice was shrill and her
eyes were wide and frightened. Whatever Arya had supposedly done, it had
clearly upset her.
“And what is it you think Arya has done?” Catelyn tried to remain calm and not
appear to be taking sides.
“She keeps sneaking in while I’m showering and writing a countdown on my mirror
to freak me out!” Sansa babbled. “On Tuesday it was a ten, today it was a
nine.”
“I’ve never been in your fucking bathroom!” Arya yelled, balling her fists.
“Arya, language!” Cat scolded.
“Argh, you’ve got to be shitting me! I was still at school when you were in the
shower on Tuesday you stupid.” Arya crossed her arms defiantly.
“It had to be you…who…who else could it be?” Sansa gasped, her face pale.
“Maybe it was a ghost. Or a serial killer. Or a serial killer ghost.” Arya
mocked, knowing how that sort of thing freaked Sansa out.
“Sweetheart, maybe you just imagined it.” Catelyn suggested before they could
start arguing again.
“I…yeah, I guess I must have.” Sansa offered a small, shaky smile and Cat
immediately felt guilty. Sansa shouldn’t have to go along with a suggestion she
didn’t believe in, but she had for her sake. All because she didn’t want her
mother to worry. It’s my job to worry Cat thought solemnly.
“Sorry Arya. It was wrong of me to just assume it was you.” Sansa said
miserably.
“Thank you.” Arya replied bitterly, putting her headphones back on and heading
upstairs before they could say another word to her.
“I must be going mad.” Sansa forced a weak, unconvincing laugh. Cat smiled
gently. “Do you want to come and help me decorate the lounge?”
“No, it’s fine. Thanks. I’ll just do some homework.” Sansa muttered, heading
back into her bedroom and leaving Catelyn on the landing, remembering the days
when Sansa had wanted to help her with everything she did.
When it was time to start preparing dinner, Cat set about tidying the lounge a
little. After pulling down the sheets that covered the curtains, she spotted a
lone figure on the pavement.
Theon was staring up at the same window he had been looking at the last time he
was there. It was a little unsettling, but she couldn’t help but pity the boy.
He looked like a lost child. Checking her watch, Catelyn concluded she had a
few minutes spare; enough to see him safely home.
“Robb, I’m just going out for a minute!” She called, grabbing her coat off the
banister. There was no reply, but at least she could say she’d told him if he
noticed her absence at all.
Theon didn’t notice her at first and continued to stare up at the window.
Catelyn couldn’t help but follow his gaze. Her heart skipped a beat when she
thought she’d glimpsed a face at the window. But the light was thinning rapidly
and she dismissed it as a trick of the gloom.
“You’re going to die in there.” Theon repeated the same words with the same
flat voice as he had when they’d first met. Catelyn shivered but refused to be
perturbed by his behaviour. “It’s time for you to go home now Theon.” She said
firmly.
Theon ducked his head and flinched as though she had struck him.
“Not Theon.” He sobbed. Cat reached a hand out to try and soothe him as she
would one of her own children. “No!” He cried, leaping away from it as though
her fingers were shards of glass. “You can’t! Don’t touch me. You don’t have
permission. You haveto have permission. You have to know your name!” He babbled
hysterically.
“Calm down Theon, it’s alright.” Catelyn tried to sound gentle, despite her own
rising panic. She couldn’t have him going back to Mr Bolton in this state. The
man had been so nice to her and she’d hate to lose his trust by upsetting his
son.
“Not Theon, Reek. Reek! It rhymes with weak, meek, and shriek!” He yelled at
her; eyes wild and twitching from her to the uppermost window.
“Okay, okay. Let’s just calm down and get you home, alright?” Cat sighed with
relief as all the panic seemed to drain from him and his shoulders slumped.
After a while, they began to shake as sobs tore through him. Theon covered his
face with his hands. “But I am home.” He insisted.
“You poor thing.” Cat muttered, tilting her head sympathetically. He must have
got confused; all the houses looked the same around here. “You live in that
house over there, with Mr Bolton, remember? This is where I live.” She
explained it all slowly as she would if Rickon got confused.
“I remember. You have to remember.” Theon’s voice was barely higher than a
whisper now and he wiped his nose on his sleeve in a childlike manner.
“Do you want me to walk you home?” She asked gently.
“No…no thank you. I’ll be fine.” With one last, longing look at the house,
Theon turned away; head hung low and shoulders sagging as though he had the
weight of the world upon them. Catelyn watched him as he hobbled back to his
own home, waiting for the stumbling figure to disappear inside before she did
the same.
Much to her surprise, she was met by the scent of garlic wafting from the
kitchen. Perhaps Robb had forgotten she was going to cook dinner tonight?
It wasn’t Robb. It definitely wasn’t Robb. Catelyn tried not to let her gaze
linger on the hold-ups, but soon found that the rest of the maid’s outfit was
no more appropriate. When Catelyn met the girl’s gaze and took in her face, she
soon wished she hadn’t. She couldn’t help but blush when she recalled where she
had seen that face before.
“You must be Mrs Stark.” The girl smiled a wicked smile. “I’m Myranda, your new
maid.”
***** Arya *****
“What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the
sun!”
“Fuck off.” Damon growled.
“It is my lady, O, it is my love!”
“Fuck. Off.” He growled again.
“Oh, that she knew she were!”
“I said FUCK OFF!” Damon roared, shoving Ramsay away, only to have his hands
slip through mid-air. Damon landed, face-down on the concrete, groaning as he
sensed Ramsay reappear in front of him.
“From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers
take their life!” Myranda swept in dramatically.
“Nah that won’t work, one of them is already dead.” Ramsay laughed.
“Oh right, I forgot…oh wait, no…he forgot.” Myranda giggled. Damon raised his
head and looked up at them. “Leave me alone.” He muttered miserably.
“Do you bite your thumb at us sir?” Ramsay boomed with a voice fit for the
stage. Grinning, he walked away from Damon and slumped onto a chair, hooking a
leg over the arm nonchalantly.
“Argh…you’re such a…” Damon’s voice trailed off as he searched for a decent
insult.
“Such a what? Such a fucking what?”
“Dick.” He spat, spurring on more laughter. “Where did you learn Shakespeare
anyway? Never seen you whiling away the hours learning lines from Romeo and
Juliet.”
“If it’s to piss you off Damon then I go all out.” Ramsay grinned.
“Hmph.” He grunted, standing up and slumping back onto a box in the corner.
“Would have thought you more of a Hamlet sort of guy. You know, with the whole
‘family issues’ thing.” Damon managed a grin as Ramsay’s face clouded over.
“And you’re more of a Macbeth kind of girl.” He shot at Myranda. “Though
whether you’re crazy Lady Macbeth or one of the three witches, I can’t quite
tell.” Damon was too quick and was out of the way before she could claw at him.

“Glad to see your sense of humour is still intact despite your bullet-filled,
broken heart.” Ramsay snorted.
“There aren’t any bullets in it and it’s not broken.” He insisted, almost
childishly, kicking at the ground.
“You probably shouldn’t have introduced her to Reek on the first date.” Ramsay
chuckled darkly, making both Damon and Myranda fall quiet for a moment.
“Don’t talk about him so loudly. He might hear you.” Myranda muttered, eyeing
the darker corners of the basement.
“So?” Ramsay shrugged. Myranda was too scared of looking afraid to say any
more. “Look man, the whole ‘Twilight’ phase is over.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Myranda huffed.
“Agreed…my point is that girls are no longer into the whole ‘dead boyfriend’
thing.” He smiled a charming, mock-pitiful smile.
“Not that anyone would date you if you were alive. I mean, maybe that Lana Del
Ray seeing as she’s into the whole vintage, mopey depression thing but- OW!”
Myranda yelped as Damon punched her in the stab wound. “That tickles!”
“So what are you going to do?” Ramsay asked, chuckling but making no effort to
go and help her. Damon turned around to face him, his expression a fusion of
angry desperation. “Whatever it fucking takes.”
                                      ***
After what happened in the basement, things at school were different. Though
Arya wasn’t entirely sure if it was for the better. She wasn’t being bullied
any more, but that was because Hot Pie was in hospital, suffering from PTSD.
Lommy was too scared to even look at her. Even her ‘friends’ grew even quieter
when she was around.
If school was lonely, home was lonelier. Robb was always busy these days trying
to find a job with any of the local law firms. Her mother, she suspected, was
avoiding her. Sansa had been acting strange. Following her accusations about
the number writing on her mirror, her sister had been oddly jumpy and spent
most of the time alone in her room. With Jeyne around, Sansa was needed to help
out less and less. Rickon and Bran seemed to be the only ones vaguely happy;
spending every minute they could playing with Jeyne. Sometimes Arya wished she
could join in. It would be fun to be a kid again. But it would be stupid.
Playing games was for children. So she stayed in her room, listening to music
and watching horror films, only leaving when it was time for school, meal
times, or if she wanted a fag. Arya never went to the basement. She convinced
herself that it wasn’t that she was afraid of going down there, she just didn’t
wantto.
She hadn’t seen Damon around either, and sort of found herself missing his
company. He had been a laugh to hang around with and they’d had a lot in
common. Arya realised after a while that he was the closest thing to a friend
she’d had since they’d moved here. But down in the basement when they’d played
the prank on Hot Pie, he became a different person. Bordering on mad. What if
that was what he was really like? People could have many faces. How could she
tell who Damon really was? She hardly knew anything about him. He’d just turned
up on her lawn one day. He could be a homicidal maniac for all she knew! Then
there was the…the thing that had attacked Hot Pie. She had been so sure that
Damon was stood behind her, but she must have been wrong. It must have been
Damon in a mask. It had to be him. It was the only reasonable explanation.
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
Before Arya could dwell on Damon’s ridiculous question any further, there was a
knock at her bedroom door. “Come in.” She called, unsure exactly who it was. To
her surprise, it was Jeyne who peered around the door, smiling sweetly. Arya
sat up on her bed, abandoning the copy of Lord of the Flies she had been
attempting to read. “Good afternoon Arya. I hope I’m not disturbing you?” She
asked pleasantly.
“It’s fine, come in.” Arya replied, not getting up from her bed. Jeyne smiled
gratefully and stepped inside, looking around. “I like what you’ve done with
your room.” She said in a tone that implied she was lying.
“Thanks.” Arya snorted. There was no way Jeyne actually liked the band and film
posters on her walls, but she did well to feign interest all the same. “I just
wanted to speak with you about something.” Jeyne turned to her, clasping her
hands together anxiously.
“Are Rickon and Bran okay?” Arya asked, suddenly concerned.
“Yes, yes…sorry, they’re fine. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Jeyne chuckled
awkwardly and Arya felt the need to laugh with her. “Damon misses you.” She
confessed.
“You know Damon?” Arya frowned. The town they lived in was small, but Arya
couldn’t see Damon and Jeyne knowing each other that well.
“Yes. I…we grew up together.” Jeyne moved forward a few steps. “He told me what
happened. I understand why you reacted the way you did, he can be rather…odd,
at times. I just hope you could find it in your heart to give him a chance?”
She said with an earnest that made Arya smile. Jeyne clearly cared about him
very much.
“So he’s not a mass murderer then?”
“What? No! No…definitely not.” Jeyne laughed half-heartedly.
Arya fell quiet for a moment. If Jeyne knew Damon and trusted him, then clearly
he wasn’t a complete psycho. He could be rather odd at times, that was all.
Sansa had always called her odd, and it was true she wasn’t like other girls
her age. Perhaps being different was just another thing she and Damon had in
common.
“Fine.” Arya sighed, making Jeyne smile brightly. “Next time I see him, I’ll
give him a chance to explain himself.”
“Right. Wonderful! Thank you, Arya. I hope you can…I think you might do him
some good.”
Before Arya could ask her what she meant, Jeyne fled from the room, leaving
Arya to go back to reading Lord of the Flies. It all seemed a little clearer to
her now.
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