Rasa Josephine Kanaka-MacIllison. Rasa Josephine Kanaka-MacIllison said goodbye to the coachman and put up her hat again. The way to the villa on the hill was long, but the coachman didn’t want to go further. “The path up is rugged, neither my carriage, nor my horses will survive it.” “You can try,” Rasa said to him, snappish, for she was accustomed to the fact everyone usually did what she said. “I paid you for bringing me to the villa.” “You want to go to it, not I,” the coachman answered, “And I don’t want to bring my horses in danger. You can choose to get out here or to go back with me.” Rasa casted furious glances at the coachman, but then took her suitcase and got out the carriage. “Good evening!” she said emphatic, turned around and began walking to the enormous villa on the top of the hill. It was indeed a rugged path she’d to follow and it seemed like the weight of her suitcase doubled at every step. The drizzling rain and the strong wind didn’t improve Rasa’s peevish temper neither and while trying not to let the rain ruin her expensive silk skirt, she started grumbling and moaning. “I hate rain,” she started her long sequence of complaints, “And I hate this house, I hate travelling, I hate this land and this damned climate! But above all I hate my father! What for heaven’s sake am I doing here?” She stopped, looked around and repeated her question a few times; her temper became worse and worse. When nobody answered, she took again her suitcase and went on silently. After half an hour she reached the front door, but before she’d took her key, it opened. In the doorway stood an old curved man with gaudy red hair. Oh dear, Rasa thought, while she tried to keep smiling, is this fool still alive? She had recognized the old man immediately, it was Orzon, her father’s only employee. When she was still a young girl, Orzon had already worked for them as cook, servant-girl, doorman, driver and cleaner. Rasa hated him because he always took her coloured pencils to chew and he made horrible courses. Everything he could find in the kitchen disappeared in Orzon’s diners and Rasa was sure he never, never had followed any cooking courses. When she became older, she’d tried more times to fire him, but her father was so attached to Orzon that Rasa couldn’t possibly get rid of him. And now, when she’d returned after eight years, he was still there! “Hi Orzon,” she said, with an affected smile, “Do you recognize me?” “Raaasaaa, you returned!” the curved man said with his sepulchral voice and after a while of silence he asked: “Rasa, where has Kaell go?” “Mr. MacIllison will not return,” Rasa answered in a business-like tone, while she stepped inside, “You know how old he is, Orzon, it’s so unwarranted to let him live alone in such a big house. He can fall from the stairs, or he can get lost, I cannot bear to think of it!” “I was here,” Orzon said gloomy, “Nothing happened. It was safe.” He gripped Rasa’s arm. “Let him return, please. I’m so alone here. I’ll die because of my loneliness without him!” That would be an improvement, Rasa thought and she said: “Orzon, I’m sorry, but it’s really better this way. Father is now in a big home, together with other old people, and they take care of him. Don’t worry.” Orzon casted down his eyes. “And house?” he asked prudent. “House is lonely without Kaell.” “I have to sell it,” Rasa answered. “I have no time to keep it in repair.” And besides, it’s worth a lot of money, she thought. So I kill three birds with one stone, I’m rid of Orzon, I’m rid of my father and I’m rid of this house and they are going to pay me for it! Orzon still had his eyes casted down. “And Orzon? Me?” he asked. “I’ve to go?” “I’ll be here for a few days to pack some things and then I will offer it for sale. And then, I’m so sorry, you’ve to go too.” She paused a while. “I’m so sorry, Orzon, but one time we all become older and we have to say goodbye to our sweet surroundings and find a safer place.” Orzon was silent for a while and then looked at Rasa again. “You want a room, perhaps?” “I’ll take my father’s,” Rasa answered, gentle smiling, “If you don’t mind.” Everyone here is mad, Rasa thought when she went up the stairs. She entered her father’s room and put her suitcase down. The curtains in the room were closed and Orzon hadn’t kindled all candles so it was quite dusky. Rasa walked to a mirror and looked to her hair. The rain and the wind had ruined her permanent and angry she tried to get it back in shape, but it was too wet. Also her dress and hat were soaking wet and her patent leather shoes were covered with mud. “Nevermind,” Rasa sighed, pulled her hairpins out her dark curls and laid them down on the dressing-table. Then she opened her suitcase and took a scribbling-pad and her costly Stirker-fountain-pen, a gift from her former husband. “Let’s see what this house’s gewgaws are worth,” she said, “Let’s start upstairs.” Rasa knew her father’s garrett was full of antique objects and while she walked upstairs she’d made a quick valuation of the money her father’s darlings would bring in. She wrote the number down, looked at it and smiled. “I hope my dear papa doesn’t mind that I obtain a little advantage upon my inheritance,” Rasa said and opened the door. The garrett was filled with dust and darkness and Rasa coughed loud. But before she could touch any of the pieces of furniture, she heard a voice. “Voices,” the voice whispered. Rasa looked around. “Hello?” she asked. “Somebody here?” “I,” the voice answered. “Who is I?” Rasa asked again. In one of the corners a candle was kindled and Rasa saw a small woman, with short blond hair and a blanket around her. One of her eyes was closed, but when she started talking, it opened and the other closed. She repeated this motion all the time and Rasa had to cast her eyes down not to go crazy. “Voices,” the woman said again. “I hear voices.” “That’s quite possible,” Rasa said a bit irritated, “We are talking,you know.” “It’s in my head,” the woman said. “Voices in my head.” “Oh, and what do they say?” “There are gentle voices,” the woman whispered, “They sing songs to me or talk to me nicely. There are angry voices, they abuse me. There are scary voices, they make me afraid and my flesh creep. There are mysterious voices, they give me riddles I’ve to solve and...” “Yes, right,” Rasa interrupted her, “Sounds like you have serious mental problems.” “There are warm voices,” the woman went on, she hadn’t heard Rasa. “They tell me they love me. There are...” “Madam,” Rasa said a bit more emphatic, “You’re in my house and this is my garrett. Would you mind leaving it?” “But Kaell...” “Kaell has gone,” Rasa said. “Has he invited you?” “He was my friend!” the woman said gloomly, “We talked and he helped me. Where is he now?” “Somewhere else,” Rasa answered. “This house will be sold and I want you to leave it. You can stay here for one more night, but tomorrow you’ve to go, okay?” She turned around and walked to the door. “Voices,” the woman whispered again, “Voices in my head.” “One more thing,” Rasa said, before she left the garrett. “What’s your name?” “Sarah Featherstone,” the woman smiled, “And I’ve been dead for ten centuries now.” My father was really crazy, Rasa thought while going down the stairs. Why has he invited this woman? She’s completely insane. “Rasa!” Orzon stood before her room. “Orzon, nice to meet you,” Rasa said. “Did you know anything about a woman upstairs?” “Upstairs?” Orzon asked sheepish. “Yes, upstairs!” Rasa turned around to point to the garrett-door and when she turned back she saw Orzon was chewing something that looked like her Stirker-fountain-pen. When she looked again, she saw it was her pen. “Orzon!” Rasa said angry, “Orzon, what is she doing upstairs?” “Who?” Orzon asked, still with a glassy look. He had taken the cartridges out of the fountain-pen and was chewing them now. Blue ink dropped from the chin. “That woman!” Rasa raged, “You are the cleaner, are you going to tell me you didn’t know about her existence?” “Woman,” Orzon whispered, “Food!” And he turned from his master’s daughter to go to the kitchen. “Orzon! Orzon, I’m talking to you!” But Orzon had gone. From the ground Rasa picked up the the last bits of her pen. Orzon had bitten through it and the inkcartrigdes were soaking wet. “Damned,” Rasa said under her breath, “My only pen.” She threw the rests back and entered her father’s room. Her head was aching and she felt very tired. I should lie down for a minute, she thought, while she walked to the bed and fell down. Suddenly her hand felt something cold, something hard. Rasa looked aside and a dead blond girl looked back. “HEEEELP! Holy Amàno, let somebody help!” Rasa ran through the hall, nearly tripped up by her long skirt. “Orzon! Fool! Where are you?” Rasa entered on the off-chance the first door she saw, afraid the dead girl would follow her (she had read a lot of horrorstories in which such things happened). She heard herself gasping, while she tried to see something in the dark. Suddenly she heard somebody gasping too. “Hello?” Rasa asked carefully. She was sure it was that annoying voice-woman again, trying to scare her. “Hello?” she heard her question repeated. “Somebody there?” Rasa asked. “Somebody there?” the voice said. Rasa groped her way and found a few candles and kindled them. When she looked around she saw in a corner a young, handsome man was standing. He hold a candle, just like her. Rasa approached him and she saw he did the same. “Sorry, who are you?” she asked. “Who are you?” the man repeated the question. “I was first, friend,” Rasa said, “You must first tell your name.” “I was first,” the man said, “You must first tell your name.” “Why are you repeating me?” Rasa said irritated and when she moved the candle from her left to her right hand, she saw the man did the same. She raised her hand, he did the same. “You are repeating me,” the man said, “Everyone is repeating me. They’re saying the things I want to say, but because I’m a slower talker, they are always earlier.” “I’m sorry for you,” Rasa said, “But may I ask you what you’re doing here in my house?” “I could ask you what you’re doing in my room,” the man answered. “This is my room, friend. This is my house.” “This is my room,” the man repeated. “Kaell gave it to me.” “Oh and why?” Rasa asked in a bossy tone, “You were one of his friends?” “Yes, I was,” the man said and while talking he jutted out his chin, just like the woman in front of him did. “And besides, he thought I needed space to store my collection.” “Your collection what?” “Use your candle, here they are.” Rasa raised her candle (the man did the same) and saw that there was an enourmous shelf at one of the walls, where a lot of big jars stood on. “What’s inside?” Rasa asked curious. “Do you make marmelade yourself?” “Look closer,” the man said smirking. Rasa bend forwards and saw that the jars were filled with a yellow liquid, nitric acid. And then she saw what was floated in it. It were hands! “Holy Amàno!” Rasa screamed and did a step backwards. The man did the same. “They are my lovelies,” the man said with a triumphantly smile. “I’ve been collecting hands since I’m a young boy. When I see hands, I can see the face of the person where they belonged too. Look, in that first jar are my mother’s hands and in that second my sister’s...” “Stop it!” Kaell’s daughter shouted, “I’m off here!” “Don’t go!” the man said disappointed. “You haven’t seen their trick.” “I don’t know if I want to see it, I...” “Snap your fingers,” the man interupted her, “And see it for yourself.” Rasa doubted a while and looked again to the jars. Then she snapped her fingers and sure, the man, who’d repeated all her movements since she’d entered the room, did the same. A while nothing happened, then Rasa saw that the hands began moving in their jars. Some tried to snap their fingers themselves, others made other gestures or started waving. The man smiled softened, like the horrible hands were young children doing their first steps. “Wonderful isn’t it?” he said. “Wait, they can do another trick, you only...” “Enough!” Rasa screamed, while she heard herself panting. “Tomorrow you’re out! Out of my house! And you take your collection with you!” Then she left the room. After she’d slammed shut the door, she still heard the man repeating her fearful panting. “Awfull! Horrible! These people are crazy!” Rasa raved while walking back to her room. Halfway the hall she turned around, remembering the dead blond girl in her bed. She’d prefer being together with the man and his hands to sharing her bed with a corpse. “I’m wondering what I’m doing here,” she said to herself. “Who knows how many of these strange figures are in this house? I don’t want to visit them all. But I have to, they have to leave! People don’t scare me and chopped off hands don’t scare me neither!” During her talking she’d reached a new passage and turned left. From far she could see someone standing for the biggest door, the one that gave access to the only room of this passage. It was a small person, a child perhaps, and with it’s hand it reached out for the door-knob. But it didn’t move. Rasa came closer very carefully and when she was behind the small person -it was a little girl she saw- she asked: “Can I help you?” No answer. “Shall I open the door for you?” Rasa asked again and when there came again no answer she opened the door. The girl, who had leaned against the door, fell inside and Rasa saw it was just a big, wax figure. And then she realized the blond girl in her bed had been a dummy too, just a big doll. They’ve fooled me, Rasa thought bitterly while she stepped inside the room, and they’ve had success! The room she was now in was filled with light. It was fine decorated, with a lot of carpets and nice furniture and Rasa wanted to write down a new number, but then realized Orzon had chewed her only pen and licked it off. Rasa again cursed the old fool under her breath, then forgot it. The room and the persons in it interested her more. On the bed a small girl was sitting, she was swinging her head from one side to another and soft singing. On the ground laid a black dog with white spots, dressed like a human. He wore a red blue striped tailcoat, an orange topper and glasses with horn rims. He had his eyes closed, but when Rasa entered the room, he opened them. “Aaaah,” Rasa said to the girl with a warm voice, “You dressed your dog so sweet?” “I dressed myself, bootlicker,” the dog answered unkindly. “And don’t call it sweet.” Rasa looked a bit astonished, first to the dog, then to the girl. “Your... your... dog, he... he...,” she stammered. The girl smiled. “I’m an excellent ventriloquist,” she said. “But, that dog, his mouth moved and yours is closed.” “Practising, just practising and repeating,” the girl said airily, “This is the result of years practising.” “It’s great,” Rasa said, her first sincere positive remark of that day. “Are you Kaell’s daughter?” the girl asked. “He told us often about you. What are you doing here? I thought you were a lawyer, Kaell told us.” “Normally, I am,” Rasa said. “But now I’m here to...” She paused a bit, ashamed to mention the reason why she was here. The girl was the first normal person she’d met that day and she didn’t want to see her crying or something. “I’ve brought Kaell to a safer place,” she began at last. “And I’ve to sell this house. I was here to see what was left here, but I’m meeting all kind of strange people. It’s like everyone is mad, no... it’s not like,they are! You know, you are the first normal person I found today. It’s almost a relief.” “Well, I’m mad too,” the girl said. “I’ve a strange hobby. I make dolls.” “Dolls, you mean those wax figures? They look beautiful, so real.” “Thank you,” the girl said, “I use examples for them. Real people, that’s why they look so true to life I think. I’ve made a lot of them, not only people, but also animals. Kaell loved them and I do, too.” Rasa turned around and took the big doll that had stood in front of the door. “It’s heavy,” she said, while taking it from the ground. “I use examples,” the girl said again, now slower and more emphatic. “Small girls or animals, grownups...” Rasa looked at the girl incredulously. “Don’t tell me you put your examples...” “Inside, exactly. The girl you’re holding now was my best friend Barbara. She died a few years ago because of pneumonia. She was the daughter of Utter, you must have met him, he’s collecting hands. He chopped off Barbara’s hand, I got the rest of her body. She’s lovely, eh?” Rasa screamed and dropped the wax figure. “You’re all MAD!” she cried, “You’re all mad!” “Bow-wow!” the girl answered. “Girls don’t bark!” Rasa cried desperated. “That’s true,” an other voice said. Rasa looked down and saw the dog was smiling at her, a smirking, triumphantly smile. “I’m a dog, not a girl.” He laughed again. “And I’m an excellent ventriloquist! Hehheh, do you like my collection dolls?” Rasa looked around and now saw the whole room was filled with wax figures, men, women, small girls and boys, cats and dogs, birds and other animals. Even the girl she’d considered a real human was in fact a wax figure. “This can’t be true! You’re all MAD! This can’t be true!” “I make them myself, you like it?” the dog asked. “You like them, Rasa Josephine Kanaka-MacIllison?” “NOOOOOO! NOOOOOO!” Shrieking Rasa ran out of the room, through the passages. The door of her room was opened, but when she looked inside she saw Orzon. He’d opened her suitcase and was chewing her left slipper and her hairpins. Rasa screamed again and ran down the stairs. It took only three days before Kaell MacIllison returned. His friends were happy to see them again. And Rasa? After the things that happened in the house, it took only a week before she, the young, talented woman with the dark curls, was admitted to a mental hospital. Kaell’s friends asked him immediately after his return what happened to his daughter. They all agreed she was a bit short with them, but they’d liked her. Kaell sighed. “I am sorry, too,” he said gloomly, “but it is really better so. For all of us there will come a time that we have to say goodbye to our sweet surroundings and find a safer place. Rasa is at a safer place. I’m sure.” All occupiers were silent for a while, then returned to their rooms. Often they would remind about the woman with the dark curls and they would talk about how crazy she actually was. After all one thing was sure: they would never forgot Rasa Josephine Kanaka-MacIllison. Never. © OSHP/VV/SJ/AS