[Sighting][First Hand] The Dissapearance of Innocence

[PenOfDamocles]

I’d like to share with everyone an event that I was involved in a number of years ago now. The first ‘thread’ on my journey, so to speak. It’s not something I’ve shared with many people and certainly not without omitting certain details. I ask in advance that you don’t judge me too harshly, though I perhaps deserve it. I also apologise in advance for the length. I tried to condense it as much as possible.

Six years ago, I was working for a local paper in the south west of England. I won’t mention a specific location for obvious reasons and I’ll omit any actual names of people.

Anyway, I was working on a story involving the one year anniversary of a missing woman from the autumn before. We’ll call her Rebecca for the sake of clarity. Her case had been my first foray into journalism and despite many seeming to want it swept under the rug, I myself grew quite invested, not least because it bared some striking similarities to that of a missing teenager, who disappeared from a school trip some years back in the same town.

Rebecca was around my age at the time and the more I looked into who she was the more I grew to feel as if I knew her. Rebeccca had grown infatuated it seemed with a local socialite of sorts. The daughter of one of those old money, minor gentry families that you get over here. Tabitha, as we’ll call her, was known as a bit of a local celebrity, always at the biggest events, a party girl with her families wealth to fuel her lifestyle. There had been at least one incident of Rebecca being caught attempting to break into the property and accusations of stalking but the family in their benevolence refused to push charges. Rebecca had changed her clothing, her hair, her maekeup, even undergone minor surgery to her mum’s despair. Anything to be more like Tabitha.

It was shortly after the break-in incident that Rebecca went missing. Vanished without a trace. Nobody seemed to have seen or knew anything. Not long after, Tabitha was sent to one of those fancy rehab clinics that all the celebrities go to. The thing is, when I did some digging, I couldn’t for the life of me find out which clinic this was, neither could any of my colleagues, and there’s almost always someone ready to spill. Rebecca would remain missing and that would be that. People quickly forgot as they tend to do. Except I didn’t.

It was shortly before the anniversary of Rebecca’s disappearance that we got news of Tabitha’s return to the estate, though she had been locked away out of the public eye, presumably at her parents insistence. I had always felt there was more to the disappearance and the family’s connection. Digging into the family turned up suprisingly little outside the usual gossip that circulates around the wealthy. The most interesting thing that seemed to have happened to Tabitha outside of the her late night antics was a brush with death following a bout of sickness while a teenager that she had remarkably survived.

Yet still something bothered me about the story and with the anniversary approaching I was determined to get to the truth, and if not, then at least to the juicy gossip that lurked somewhere behind the rehearsed smiles and insincere formalities. Young and hungry for a ‘scoop’ as I was back then, there was little that would have been off limits.

I won’t get into details but a couple of interactions with the family while in pursuit of my story the year previous had seen me being looked to rather unfavourably by certain members of the household. When a friend of mine that worked for a local removals company let me in on the fact that they’d been hired to help transport some of the estates furniture to their home in the Lake District I jumped at the chance to get a closer look within the old house. Despite my friend’s hesitance to accept my request for a days work (I’m not exactly the most physical of beings), I think he gathered what my true intentions were and having owed me more than a few favours eventually relented.

Between the arduous bouts of lugging solid oak cabinets and finely upholstered chairs down stairs and through doorways that barely fit, I managed to find a moment to sneak away. Having figured out a basic layout during the many, many, back breaking trips through the house, I managed to find somewhere discreet to wait. With a fifty in my friend’s pocket I knew none of the movers would come looking for me. As night fell and the house grew silent I left my hiding spot and made my way to where I had discerned the study was. Most things within seemed as you would expect yet as I examined the bookshelves closer a number of volumes stood out to me. Books on the occult, on mediumship, on necromancy and on soul transference. The eccentricities of the nobility never cease to amaze me yet this collection of macabre literature left me feeling uneasy. It was as I stood staring at this discovery that I heard her.

“You”, She simply said, catching me by surprise.

I turned and found myself face to face with Tabitha. Except it wasn’t Tabitha. I had seen more than a fair share of photos of Rebecca and been allowed to view some of her mum’s home videos and I was sure that the woman who stood before me was Rebecca. She had clearly undergone further surgery and the resemblance to Tabitha was uncanny, for sure. Her clothes were Tabitha’s, as was the voice and so too were the eyes which bore into me, but everything else, I was sure that was Rebecca. I had stared at those photos so many times. No matter the makeover or how much surgery she’d had done, I recognised her.

I couldn’t help myself but my response was simple, “Rebecca?”.

A slight look of anger spread across her face and she moved forward suddenly, seizing me by the arms. Her nails dug into my skin but as I said her name again something shifted in that look and the words “help me” in a voice that was now her own left her lips.

I watched as her face danced through emotions as if battling itself for control. The woman, Tabitha or Rebecca, or whoever she truly was, let go and ran from the room. Her steadily raising voice occilating between anger and begging and soon the house was an eruption of noise as people began running from far off rooms towards the screaming. I must admit, I took this opportunity to flee. No heroics, I just ran. I left the grounds as quickly and discreetly as I could, not stopping until I reached the town on the outskirts of the estate and the b&b I’d been staying in for the last couple of nights.

I spent that night awake trying to figure out what I had discovered and expecting a knock on the door from the police or some associate of the family, but none came.

The next morning, as I sat in a cafe trying to work out what my next steps should be and if anyone would believe me, I soon became aware of the hushed gossip that came through the door with the morning customers. There had been a fire at the estate during the night. The East wing had been burnt to the ground before the fire brigade could put the fire out. No survivors.

Despite my fears at my connection to whatever had transpired that night, I decided to return to the scene of my cowardice. My attempts to get back to the house however were blocked by the local constabulary who cared little for my association with the press. I’d soon learn that some distant relatives of the family had turned up the next day and everything seemed to be hushed up rather quickly. Whatever caused the fire and whatever truth’s lay within that old building would remain a mystery.

For a long time I tried to convince myself that though despicable, whatever I had discovered within the home of that ghastly family was just a pedestrian horror. I tried to discard any thoughts of the occult or ‘supernatural’ no matter how much they haunted my nights. Though I know deep down what and who I saw. I had found Rebecca, yet she had been evicted and Tabitha had taken residence.

[Fly_Mulder]

Whats even more horrific, Rebecca seems like she wasn't evicted. Her fighting back seems like she was suppressed or imprisoned, forced to watch someone else drive. I can think of few worse fates.