The Kingdom of Back(61)

As I went, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. No one walked these grounds, and not a sound came from anywhere except my own feet against the stone, but still, I could sense the gaze on me, coming from some hidden place.

At last, I reached the tower entrance. The stairs that curved upward, the same from the chateau, were wet, and water pooled in the dip of each step’s worn stone. I peeked at the shadows to make sure no one stood there, but I could only see to where the stairs disappeared into the darkness.

I began to climb.

The windows were smaller than ever, their dark drapes billowing, and the little light they let in was not enough for me to see the steps in front of me. I kept my hand pressed against the curve of the wall. Against the stone hung tapestries of the kingdom’s royal family. They were worn with age and weathered by water and wind, but I could still make out the face of the king in his youth, smiling and confident, with his young queen at his side. The same sun symbol from the flags shone behind them, and in their arms were cradled two infant children.

I paused on the steps to linger on the likeness of the queen. Her dress was white and gold, trimmed with lace, with a sweeping skirt that pooled like water near her feet. The gown, the curve of her cheekbones, the arch of her neck . . . everything about her looked so familiar.

The stairs seemed to grow taller and narrower as I went, so that sometimes I had to pause and feel for the top of the next step before I could continue. My feet made no sound against the wet stone. Occasionally I heard a tiny splash as I stepped into the puddles formed by the water.

Something glided past one of the windows. I thought I heard the whisper of the wind as it went. Behind me came a sound. I thought it might be Hyacinth, but when I turned to look down, all I saw were the billowing drapes of a lower window, as if something had slithered inside. Again, my skin prickled with the sensation of another presence.

Footsteps, slow and laborious, came from somewhere far below me.

“Hyacinth?” I whispered into the dark. No one answered.

Panic started to rise in my throat again. I continued my climb, as fast as I could without losing my footing against the slippery stone. Behind me, the footsteps followed.

The stairs grew narrower still. I was nearing the top. The night flower pricked me in my pocket as I went. I patted it to reassure myself it was still there, and did not look back.

Then, abruptly, I saw a figure sitting on the top curve of the stairs.

It looked like a person, but I could not be sure. It sat hunched against the wall, veiled in black, and its face stayed hidden inside its hooded cloak. I thought I could hear it humming.

If you see someone on the stairs, do not look at them.

I quickly turned my eyes down to the steps. My heart began to pound. Slowly, I started to make my way up again, pressing myself tightly against the opposite side of the stairs as I neared the figure. Behind me, the footsteps continued from the darkness swallowing the stairs.

The seated figure drew near. I could only see it as a blurry shadow from the corner of my eye. Everything in me screamed to look at it, but I forced myself not to as I quickened my pace. I wondered if I should run past the figure and risk provoking it, or creep slowly by and risk being within its grasp. I steadied myself against the wall. I had no choice. I had to keep going.

I could hear its humming distinctly now. It sang a strange tune, a song that changed from common time to notes that came in thirds, lighthearted notes mixed in with sharp, off-key bridges. The music reminded me of what I’d heard in the chateau, on the day I’d refused Hyacinth’s request.

I edged close to the figure, and then I was directly across from it, and my nightgown brushed silently against the ends of its robe. Goose bumps peppered my skin.

Careful, I told myself through my terror. If I tripped, I might fall down into the waiting grasp of the unseen creature following me. Hyacinth, help me. Where are you?

I slowly passed the seated figure. It did not move. The humming grew slightly fainter. The tower’s ceiling was close to me now—I was nearly at the top.

Then, the seated figure spoke. Its voice came out as a whisper that wrapped around me.

“Nannerl.”

At my name, I instinctively turned. The figure was looking straight at me, one of its bony hands outstretched from its robes. My eyes unwittingly settled on its face.

Under the shadow of its hood, the face had nothing but a mouth filled with teeth. “Will you play something for me?” it whispered.

If they ask you a question, do not answer.

Then it lurched forward, clawing its way up the stairs toward me. At its feet came another, each one stirred to life by the one before it. They were the same creatures that had glided around the tower and outside our home during my illness.

I broke my careful walk and ran. My feet slipped, and I fell hard against the wet stones. I gritted my teeth and scrambled up the stairs on my hands and knees. Behind me came the clatter of bone scraping against stone. The creatures were following in my wake.

Above me, the door to the top of the tower came into view, a heavy, rusted chain hanging on its knob.

My hands clawed at the closed door. One of the creatures on the stairs called out to me again. Nannerl. Its words hung, haunted and rasping, in the air. Won’t you give me the flower?

Through my panic, I remembered Hyacinth’s warning about the night flower.

Do not give it to anyone.

I took the night flower out of my pocket and began to crush it in my hands. Its thorns cut at my skin. I bit my lip hard until I could taste blood in my mouth, but I did not stop. The flower crumbled into ash, the petals hard and brittle, and the thorns turned into powder. The creatures crawled closer on the stairs, their voices turning into a cacophony of snarls. All I could see were their teeth.