Posted on Tuesday, 31 October 2006
Blurb: The terror of Northanger Abbey had no name, no shape - yet it menaced Catherine Morland in the dead of the night!
It was a dark and stormy night, and Catherine Morland lay shivering in her bed. Yet it was not the thunderous rage of the elements shaking the ancient foundations of the abbey that kept the innocent maiden awake, nor the treacherous gusts of ice-cold wind that chastened her Spartan cell. No, she was suffering from severe mental anguish, caused by a discovery of the most gruesome nature. How could she bear the terrible truth she had learned from the manuscript in the cabinet? How could she bear to stay in the house...of a murderer?
Had Mrs. Tilney's letter had ever reached her devoted brothers, would she have lived? Would they have come in time to save her from the terrible fate of her predecessors? These were terrifying questions to ponder. Suddenly, strange murmurs and distant shrieks began to perpetrate the heavy air, making her blood curdle and turning her limbs to stone. Then an eerie chill came upon the room, unlike a mere draught. It appeared to dampen the spirit itself, and a strange premonition of untold horror slowly preyed upon poor Catherine's soul. However, nothing could have prepared her for the spectral sight of a most fearsome apparition.
The frightened maiden beheld Mrs. Tilney's ghost! Well, perhaps it was more like some kind of foggy, shapeless blob, and Catherine just assumed it was the Abbey's late mistress even though no proper introduction of sorts had taken place.
"Johnny!" the floating meringue wailed softly.
Catherine was frozen with terror, and she dared not stir.
"Nooooooo!" the pale spirit continued plaintively. "Please, Johnny ... please...." Then she noticed the room's other occupant, and pointed one hazy finger at the terrified Catherine. "You must leave ... now ... before it is too late...or he will get you..."
Then the ghostly cloud effortlessly floated through the wall into next room, leaving a terrified Catherine to ponder over her ethereal missive. Leave ... now ... too late ... She knew she must leave the Abbey at once, but whither in this inhospitable weather? Her thoughts turned to the other inhabitants, and her blood ran cold at the thought of the General's guilt. Yet she dared not inform her friend Miss Tilney, lest she faint or scream at the gruesome revelation. Hen...Mr. Tilney? At last she resolved to find him, and she gathered her courage to attempt the solitary quest. She grabbed a candle and carefully opened the door. Nobody was there. As silently as possible she crept across the dark corridor, in perpetual dread of another encounter with the discarnate Mrs. Tilney or one of her ghostly colleagues.
Suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps around the corner. In a sudden panic she dashed towards the nearest door and entered a room. After closing the heavy oak door with trembling hands she lifted her candle to illuminate her surroundings. What she saw was of a most singular horror: a wall of eyes staring back at her in deadly silence. She uttered a scream and turned around, but when reminded of the unknown terror that awaited her on the other side of the wooden barrier she fainted from shock at this twofold predicament.
"Catherine? Catherine?"
When she opened her eyes she thought she beheld a ghost, and she nearly fainted again before realising that it was only Miss Tilney in a white nightgown, bending over her with a worried look.
"Are you unwell?"
"No," Catherine replied hurriedly. "I am quite well, thank you. I merely ... uh ... slipped and hit my head, I believe."
"You must be cold. Come, I will stoke up the fire."
She let herself be guided to a chair by the hearth, and as Miss Tilney poked the flames back to life she dared to cast another look around the room. The fire offered a much better view of the surroundings than her lone candle, and to her astonishment the multitude of eyes belonged to a group of delicate porcelain dolls. Dolls! She was not afraid of dolls!
Miss Tilney smiled. "Are they not precious?"
Catherine could not but agree, to her friend's satisfaction.
"This is Carrie," she said, indicating one of the beautiful girls, "and her little friends: Jessica, Helena, Rosemary, Serenity, Eveline, Louise and Alina. And this is Mari Sue," she said in a reverent whisper, and handed Catherine the most exquisite specimen of a doll. "Is she not perfect?"
Catherine nodded. She had never beheld a more divine creature. Her innocent smile graced her virtuous features, while her virginal white gown accentuated her modest yet spectacular curves. She was truly magnificent.
Unconsciously she lifted her hand to stroke Mari Sue's gorgeous raven hair. Her silken curls felt so soft and so ... real. An eerie shudder wracked her tender frame, and she was at a loss for words. "It's wonderful," she managed at last.
"Yes," Miss Tilney replied softly, "just like your hair."
Catherine realised with a shock that Miss Tilney was standing behind her, gently caressing a curl. She jumped up and turned around, and caught a flash of something shiny that was quickly hidden. "Right, well, I have to go now," she stammered, "I was ... that is...I was really looking for Hen ... Mr. Tilney. I have ask him ... uh?" It was hard to think up something sensible to ask a man in the middle of the night. "...about muslin. I do not understand what..."
"You don't need Henry to explain." Miss Tilney smiled mysteriously. "Do stay a while."
"No, thank you." Catherine backed away towards the door. Only when she was safely on the other side did she remember that she had left her candle behind. And that the place was haunted. Not to mention there was a killer on the loose. She resolved to find Hen ... Mr. Tilney at once.
So she crawled along in the dark, cursing the absent moon until she realised she had enough on her plate already without the additional werewolf. Then a wall colliding with her forehead alerted her to a corner, and after the stars had faded she distinguished a distant gleam of light shining from underneath a door on her right. All of a sudden Hope began to trickle back into her famished heart, and she was drawn towards the faint glimmer like a moth to a flame.
At the source she paused and caught her breath. She felt a rough metal handle and shortly debated on opening the door or not. However, desperation won over reason and she cautiously snuck a peek into the room. A merry fire crackled in a rustic fireplace, ornate with a large mounted deer. She sighed and opened the door a bit further to enter. She suppressed a terrified gasp as a ferocious red fox bared its teeth at her, but soon realised it, too, was merely a stuffed representative of its species.
She attempted to calm her overwrought nerves by inspecting her surroundings. An odd smell penetrated the air, and strange instruments were scattered about. On a table in the corner lay a furry heap, and she moved closer to get a better look.
"It's a badger."
She turned around and beheld "Hen ... Mr. Tilney! How came you up that staircase?"
"Well, someone put a trapdoor in my room for some odd reason and I thought I had better use it," he replied pleasantly.
That made sense.
"So you came to see my collection?" he continued, beaming at her as he indicated a stunning peacock and a singing trout.
"Well, no, well, yes, uh." She did not want to seem pushy either, and he obviously took great pride in his work. "I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful pheasant," she said warmly.
"It took me years to find," he replied modestly. "See, it has always been my dream to collect the fairest of each species." He moved a bit closer. "Catherine, you have such beautiful skin," he said softly, gently lifting his hand to her cheek. "So fresh and unspoiled, with such a healthy glow..."
Catherine realised she'd had enough of all those freaky Tilneys, dead or alive. It was entirely too horrid. She pinched herself to awake from this awful nightmare, but when that didn't happen she switched to plan B and ran. And ran. Screaming. This had the unwelcome side effect of alerting the General to her whereabouts, and he soon appeared around the corner brandishing a bloodied axe. Splat! Splat! Splat! Blood drops fell in rapid succession.
She ran into the nearest room and attempted to lock to the door when the axe broke through the cheap plywood, nearly chopping off a finger. She turned around and shrieked in horror. The room was illuminated by at least a dozen ghostly women, floating around an equal number of lifeless bodies.
"There you are." Mrs. Tilney smiled weakly.
"He is going to get you," the other Mrs. Tilneys (Catherine just presumed they were) murmured. "We could use some fresh blood over here," one observed, and the others nodded in approval.
The whole in the door became wider and wider. "Here's JOHNNY!"
"Johnny? Help! Nooooo! Help! Save me!!!!" Catherine yelled in despair.
Mrs. Tilney studied her nails. "Oh well. There's a servant entrance over there." She sighed. "They come to dust off the corpses, you know."
Catherine could not have been less interested in housekeeping matters at this moment. She shoved one of the corpses aside and found a trapdoor. She quickly lifted the floorboards and jumped down, just as the General chopped through the last piece of wood and burst into his favourite room, followed by his son and daughter, who had come to see what all the ruckus was about. They quickly chased Catherine down the stairs and into the hallway, where she took a left turn towards the grand staircase, desperate to shake off the two Morland-murderous males and a scissor-happy Miss Tilney.
The grand staircase led to the abbey's entrance hall, and just when her pursuers had almost caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs, a loud knock on the door could be heard.
"Everybody, act normal!" the General ordered. He swiftly licked his axe clean of blood and handed it to a conveniently placed suit of armour. Then he cautiously opened the door.
Framed against the moonlight was the silhouette of a young man. He threw back cape in a dashing manner and stepped inside.
"The name is Thorpe. John Thorpe."
Catherine gasped. "Johnny!" she whispered under her breath.
He turned towards her. "Ah, Miss Morland?" he asked gallantly. "I believe you called?"
She supposed that in a supernatural way, yes she had, so she nodded frantically.
"General Tilney, I couldn't help but notice a prettyish kind of wilderness on one side of your lawn. I would be glad if Miss Morland allowed me her company for a quick midnight stroll."
"Well, uh..." The General hesitated. He had unfinished business with the maiden's head, not to mention her maidenhead, but at the same time he was concerned about keeping up appearances and all.
"Right, that is settled then." He held out his hand, which Catherine gladly accepted, and they rushed outside. He quickly threw her into his gig and they drove off at a breakneck speed.
"She's a d- fine horse, isn't she? I got her last week from this Oxford fellow, he's an old mate, you know. So I made a good deal, only fifty guineas for a d- fine horse. I have a mind to sell her though, and make a good profit. Then perhaps I'll get me a real hunter, d- it."
Catherine fondly smiled at him. Her saviour.