Perversion

I cannot guarantee you my sanity, in any sense of the word, for the word itself is a hosh-posh of ideals, a melange of stewing idiosyncrasies, for which the holder of such a title is perpetually forced to delicately walk the tightrope of socially conventional behaviour, ever yearning for relief from such a pressure. But to release and to fall below, below to what most fear is the perpetual cacophony of crazed laughter and cackles, unrefined behaviour and isolation from refined society, is seen as undesirable to most, and it is that fear that holds their feet, now transformed and mutated, curled like an apes around that finely strung line, ever dreading the release and fall.


It is this ideal of sanity, the belief that all must be, in some way clinging to that rope that has been detrimental in regards to others perceptions of me. Apart from the superficialities of wealth, fine breeding and ancestry, I dress acceptably, with a refined gentleman’s taste to enhance my naturally pleasant, although dark featured physique. I show courtesy to those I encounter, and above all, I honour my Queen and my country. These traits of an acceptable gentleman have been somewhat marred by the lack of female presence in my manor, and at my refusal to dine, without exception, in the presence of others.
It is in these small nuances, and most likely in various others that my possession of sanity, as some may see it, as a commodity, is questionable. My insanity, however, I can assure you is ever present in the minds of those who surround me. And this I find is my qualm. For although in my own thorough searchings through the deep, dark recesses of my own intellect and consciousness no trace of instability in any form has been found, nor remnants of where it may have nested, yet a series of unfortunate and distantly related events have planted doubt in others minds, a vicious seed which supplants sense and reasoning in favour of gossip and falsehoods. As I am of the disposition to quell such untruths, allow me to relay the events that have led us to this peculiar situation.

I believe I am justified in stating that the origins of these events began, to my recollection, nearest the two and a half year mark past, at the tragic death of my eldest sister, the second to last surviving member of our family. To understand more fully the enormity of this, I must relay to you the importance of my sister in the history of our family.

As a child, my father was very aloof. The townsfolk in neighbouring districts were of the opinion that he despised children, and would refuse to see even his own offspring until they had reached an age of sense and reason. This was indeed the case, although we were told the reason was merely due to his stature as a busy and important man, and in no circumstances was he to be disturbed from his daily routine of whisky, smoking tobacco, and when he wasn’t in town liaising with less prudent women than my dearest mother, a consistent stream of social and less than adequately intellectual correspondence. This culmination of less than desirable habits lead to a complication with the internal organs and a highly toxic reaction to a liquor intolerance, the consequence of which sentenced him to a fortunately early grave. Although a funeral was held, few attended and even less wept at his absence.

We lived in the family manor outside the district of –shire, an ancient build with thin, high windows and cold moss-covered stones. This foreboding view did little to encourage the regular visiting guests, and combined with my aging fathers anti-social behaviour and his sudden, yet not wholly unexpected death, did nothing to encourage a flow of outside life to our door. Eventually, after his demise, correspondence was reduced to a fine trickle of short essential notes and brief enquires from faraway family to the state of my mothers health, and the physical presence of others was halted altogether.

My mother was a frail woman, sickly and bedridden, I associate her still with the lightest of oyster greys, a sign of tainted purity, perhaps, or simply because of the colour of her bed linen, the only environment I can fully recall her memory into. Despite her sickly disposition, she managed to outlive my father by two and five years. Perhaps it was his absence that carried her along so well, though she claimed in her later years to credit his ghost for her strength and resilience, crediting his visceral form as the being that lifted her eyes and spirits.

As my mother was frequently too ill to see to my own comforts, my elder sister became mistress of the house, and took a great liking to my care and happiness, as well as exceedingly to my pleasure. She was as caring and doting as any nanny or fond governess could ever have been, and I hold in my heart to this day a fondness for her generous character and selfless actions. This is the only view I ever held as familiar to my own being, though in later years I must admit to hearing rumours of a less than desirable countenance on her behalf, a tendency towards cruel and oftentimes drastic measures of punishment and vindictive spite. As I had only ever been spoiled, my every whim indulged, I refused to believe these harsh and critical sentiments, though due to a deficiency in my own character, never did I dispel these whisperings. After the demise of our parents, my sister shouldered the responsibility that once belonged to each parent in turn, and was found to be increasingly well suited to the role. However, the fateful winter of years past left her with a small cough, which progressed in the most consumptive matter, until the summer that I mentioned as the catalyst for these events finally took her seemingly kind, benevolent soul.

At this time, I had grown from budding schoolboy to young adult emerging into his role in society. My fathers name had enabled me acquaintances and access into the circles of the mostly rich and careless heirs of great fortunes, while my inherent quiet disposition and dark features lent me an aura of mystery and gothic heroism, none of which my character warranted nor deserved. This careless lifestyle was far from beneficial, and I found in myself a genetic disposition for the same toxins my father had once proclaimed so boldly about, including a rather risqué penchant for women of a certain hair colour.

A certain Eliza had been my constant for a few months before I chanced upon the discovery of her secret ailments: a passionate streak that could oft times turn to violence, and the inability, at times, to control her own mind. This piece of information, torn into my skin by her teeth, could not have come at a better time. The house coffers were running low, and my wild living and habits had wreaked havoc on my own temperamental health. In a deliberate act of self-preservation, I severed ties with Eliza, and began the steep, narrow slope up to redemption. However, as all men with secrets to hide know, secrets enshrouded by darkness do not always remain so, and in consequence, mine followed suit.

At last, on a twilit evening Eliza found her way to our home. I had never given her hint of my whereabouts, but as a wealthy, young man in the height of his social endeavours, such information is easily gained for a minimal price. My dearest sister chanced upon receiving her, as I was elsewhere until late that evening, and to her dismay, found a most unagreeable visitor on her hands that refused to take any refreshments nor encouragement to depart without seeing me. When I arrived home in the early hours of the morning after an evening of wild drinking and liaisons with the most dreadful calibre of people, I was confronted with servants in great distress and was hurriedly urged towards the sitting room where my sister and Eliza awaited my appearance. Upon entering the room, however, the scene that I found was not one of awkward tranquillity, hostility or even mutual ambivalence, but one of extreme horror, the sorts of which I shall not forget to my dying hour.

Amidst a pool of crimson lay Eliza, her scarlet locks billowing from beneath her head and similar plumes from the chasm in her dying chest. The sight of her pale form set my heart in stone and I became frozen in fright. The only thing to awake me from my reverie was a soft sob from the chair furthest from the fire, covered by shadow. As I turned my cursed head my eyes met with my sisters, and surveyed the ghastly scene before me. Never has red been such an unbecoming colour on a woman, but the crimson that coated her hands, her dress and in some extent, parts of her face and mouth were of a most foul and undesirable sight that I still find myself despising the vibrant colour, even in the light-hearted robes of the fashionable elite.

Immediately, I took action, though action was not something I so wished to do. I called to me two of our oldest and most trusted servants and briefed them quietly before entering the room. A horror not unbefitting a novel of the most questionable sorts would await them, and in all circumstances was this to never be spoken of again. As the servants attended to the broken form of Eliza, I approached my sister, and entreated her to speak of what had caused such a traumatic scene, but not words would leave her mouth, no sound did she utter. As I moved her chair closer to the light, I saw for myself the traces of blood, staining her upper lip and parts of her neck. Once more, I entreated her to enlighten me, and when no answer came, I rose into such a passion that one servant had to restrain me until I had fallen into a spell, and unconscious, they removed my to my own chambers.

I awoke two mornings later, emaciated and frail, with no recollection of that fateful evening. This information I relay to you is what I have gleaned from my own interrogations with the staff. All traces of blood on carpets had been removed and burned amongst the gardeners refuse. The only traces of evidence that such an occasion did indeed occur was the dried red stains underneath my fingernails and the inconvenient mute that had overcome my sister. Once more I attempted to question her, but trauma seemed to still have sway over her disposition and so distressed did she become that servants had to once more remove me from her sight, to tend to her accordingly. Two weeks later, I was informed by the housekeeper that she had passed, and was indeed no more. This fell upon my health like a guillotine, and I began to experience tame blackouts, where I am told I merely fall to the ground and become as frozen as ice, unless someone chances too close to me, where I will thrash about, scratching any and all things in my reach, including my own person.

Another change I found to propel itself onto my character was a hearty dislike of other’s company. I began to spend a large quantity of my day in the solitude of my father’s musty old offices, and took to unearthly habits of sleeping and waking. I had lost my appetite after that evening, and from the quantity of nourishment that I achieved to force into my unwilling mouth I found reason to be ashamed. No longer did I allow myself to be in the company of my old circle, and the enigmatic persona that once enshrouded my father fell like a heavy mantle onto my own character. Ill I may be, and prone to spells of weakness, where I lie in my chambers and do not feel the breath not heartbeat of any being on the planet, but in no way insane. 

And this, my friends, is the most accurate relay of the events that have shaped my character and deemed in the minds of others a tendency for insanity on my behalf. Now that you know all truths, you may contradict such falsities, and in turn, preserve my own reputation.