Last Breath

Layla shivered, staring at the shadowed house in front of her. She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath.
'Just one week,' she thought to herself 'No more than that'. 
Opening her eyes she began to climb the steep, crumbling steps that led to the main doorway. On the top step she stopped, taking her heavy satchel off her shoulder and building up the courage to use the discoloured brass door-knocker. She lifted it and dropped it against the door. The sound rang through the cold twilight air like a gunshot in a graveyard. She looked around the street, the houses looked uninhabitable, and the trees dangerously twisted and withered casting long black shadows across the deserted street.
'Hello?' The grizzly voice made Layla jump. She searched the gloomy space where the decrepit door had opened. 'What do you want?'
'I'm looking for Monica Gray?' Said Layla, her voice scared and uneven.
'Why?' the invisible man demanded.
'I'm her niece... Layla Breaton, she invited me to stay with her’, she said, her voice shook a little.
'Layla?' The voice was louder now, more sure of its self. 'Come in, she's been asking for you.' The door opened some more, apparently welcoming her in. Tentatively she went into the black room.
'Could you turn a light on?' she whispered. There was a chuckle and she felt a frail pull on her arm leading her through the unlit expanse. Layla realised this was the only answer she was going to get. She clutched her satchel, her only comfort whilst the man dragged her into the unknown area.
'Stand here,' he insisted, letting go of her arm. Fear roared up inside her.
'Wait!' she gasped, listening to his footsteps disappear 'Don't leave me!' Her strangled whisper echoed around the empty room. She could feel the tears burning in her eyes, the sense of claustrophobia suffocating her. She sank to her knees, gasping. She felt blind. Helpless.
'Layla?' the man was back. She tried to stand, wiping the tears from her unseeing eyes.
'I'm over here,' she wheezed. He was beside her in less than a second, again making her jump.
'She wants to see you now,' he said into her ear. He grabbed her hand again and pulled her the right way.
In one minute or so Layla could feel the wall beside her. The man opened a door silently, entering another pitch black room. Layla could no longer work out whether her eyes were opened or closed.
Suddenly there was light.
Blinding.
Shocking.
Bright.
White.
Light.
Laylas eyes couldn't focus at first.  She could not see the detail of the room around her. The man let her go but the claustrophobia didn't swallow her like before. Slowly, she began to see again. She could see the navy blue wall paper, the dust sheets on the furniture and the huge fire that was causing the light. A thin silhouette stood with its back to the newcomers, staring into the fire.
'Layla Breaton, welcome to my home.' the silhouette said, turning and walking towards to the pair. ’I,' she said grandly, standing before them, 'I am Monica Gray,'
She was a skinny, bony, horse faced woman, the lines of age beginning to make their marks on her thin skin. Her eyes seemed to be too big for her slim face. Her greying hair was tied in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She scrutinised Layla, making her feel uncomfortable.
‘You look like your mother, Layla,’ Monica slurred her name, rolling it around on her tongue like a peppermint.
‘Thank you,’ she replied shyly. Her mother had left years ago before Layla was born but she’d seen pictures, she was stunning.  ‘Have you met her?’
Monica turned back to the fire, she was careful in her answer; Layla could hear the tone in her voice.
‘Once, before you were born. She came here with my brother. He showed her off like a diamond, but she was shy and quiet, not wanting too much attention,’ she half snorted at the memory ‘Apparently,’ she added.
Layla watched Monica as she crossed the room. She picked a small, rectangular box from a bookcase and passed it to her. She opened it uncertainly. Inside was a Smith & Wesson Model 500 the most powerful revolver of the modern day. Her eyes widened in fright. She stared at the soft black, heavy looking device.
‘What? What is this?’ Layla murmured, unbelieving. She couldn’t seem to draw her eyes from the gun. But upon hearing the smile in her aunts’ voice, she wrenched her confused eyes to the monster of a woman in front of her.
‘That, my dear, is your mothers precious revolver,’ her eyebrow was raised. She put her hand on Layla’s shoulder, only to get shook off like a disgusting parasite. Layla stepped back, dropping the box. The gun rolled, over the dirty, brown carpet.
‘No! That can’t be true!’ cried Layla, her eyes filling with tears.
Monica laughed. A cruel, angry laugh that rang through the room; a knife through butter. That madness in her eyes was suddenly merciless and insane. Her voice was high with excitement, but her words were cold.
‘You didn’t know your mother, child. Jack the Ripper was like a daisy in the brambles compared to her! She was an evil, derailed, raving psychopath!’ Suddenly she shrieked , a sound a banshee would be proud of. ‘She was a murderer, Layla, and I kept the secret.’ She ran towards Layla who was cowering against the wall, she put her long, slender fingers on her neck. Layla shivered.
Monica lent into the girls hair. She could feel the deranged woman’s contaminated breath on her face, she felt physically sick, but so terrified she couldn’t move.
‘I helped her,’ she breathed ‘I killed them as well,’ slowly she stroked Laylas, hair ‘Until she decided she wanted... a baby,’
The tears were running down Laylas face. She was terror-stricken but she knew she needed to stop this woman. She threw herself forward, towards the gun on the floor. She expected for Monica to fall with her, but the woman was strong; much stronger than Layla thought. The older woman’s hand clamped around her throat, squeezing. Layla choked, clawing her hand, but it did not loosen.
‘You killed your own mother, Layla.’ She carried on desperately struggling. Monica shook the girl; enjoying the sound as her skull cracked on the wall behind her and the scream of pain. ‘You killed your own mother,’ she yelled manically.
‘No!’ Layla gasped, the blackness was returning, but this time she knew she wasn’t going to see light again.
‘Pass it to me, Edmund,’ Monica said almost calmly to the butler, who Layla had forgotten about. How could he stand there, watching this?
‘Stand still, Layla darling, admit it - you killed your mother,’ she growled in her ear ‘Say it, say it!’ She pressed the gun to her temple, hard.
‘Never!’ Layla howled.
Monica’s temper roared through her body, her finger clenched the trigger. The bullet passed through the revolver and into the girls’ brain within seconds. She did not feel any pain. Her mind did not get a chance to register anything. Her shattered heart stopped quickly. There would be no more pain where she was going.  Her finished body slumped forward, as if it had given up.
Monica dropped the gun and the girl. There was no remorse on her face. No signs that she had just killed her niece. She examined her hands, which were covered in bright red blood.  She sighed.
‘Clean it up, put her in the garden, next to her mother,’ she said to the ever loyal butler.
‘All in a days’ work, ma’am,’ he said gently as she left. He carefully reached into his pocket and felt the familiar shape of the sharp knife.  He ran his finger along the serrated edge and over the hard wooden handle, and curled his  other fingers around it. 
‘Goodnight, Edmund,’ she called. Her voice ringing slightly in the black emptiness of the hallway.
‘Goodnight, Monica,’ He replied politly. The cold smile rippling through his words.
Time for the beast to disappear.
Tonight was the night.