Caged by Chrysanthemum's

Was it night or day? Either way, the man could not tell as the house did not allow even the faintest sliver of light to seep through.

The only source of light in the shadow-filled house came from a single candle seated upon a rusted candlestick, whose warm glow illuminated the corner of the dark room.

Rattling the doorknob once more and assured that it was locked, the man heaved a sigh.

After all, the devil lay outside these doors.

The wooden floor creaked with every step of the man as he moved towards the candle. Lifting it, the man's brow twitched as the faint light illuminated a tall grandfather clock.

A grandfather clock whose hands neither moved nor sounded.

Having been a clocksmith most of his life, he encountered many different types of them, some a challenge, yet in the end, there was no clock he could not repair. All except the one which stood in front of him.

"Tsk, I'll have a go at it again 'morrow," he mumbled as determination sparked in place of his wounded pride.

Turning on his heels he walked with slow steps, careful to not topple or break anything in the darkness as he headed towards the west wing of the house.

The man walked through many long and seemingly endless hallways, revealed by the small flame to be filled with thick curtains drawn closed upon the giant windows lining them. The man halted in his steps as he came upon a specific room. His lips pull upwards into a small smile as he pushes open the door.

The small candle was once again the only source of light in the room as any light from the moon- or was it the sun? Had been blocked by the curtains.

Moving towards the bed in the middle of the room he sets the candle on the small wooden table beside it. On the bed he sees a sleeping woman wearing a long-sleeved nightgown. One which was uncharacteristically long, with the fabric going way beyond the woman's feet. Yet, it was not the only odd thing about her attire. Even while being indoors and the summer heat permeating through the air, the woman wore gloves and a veil that covered the entirety of her face save for her lips which were slightly open and letting out small snores.

As the woman felt the side of the bed dip she awoke, turning to look at her husband who sat at the side of the bed. The woman tries to sit up but fails as her arms tremble and she falls once more to the mattress with a thump.

"Easy now," he says, as he gently puts his arm on her back, helping to lean her body against the headboard.

Looking at his wife who took quick and shallow breaths as she struggled to comply with her lungs' indubitable screeching demand for air, the man sighed in his heart. His wife was a kind woman with beauty unrivaled, yet misfortune struck in the fall of last year as the golden leaves fell to the ground, so did many others as their town became struck with a disease. One that his dear wife had the misfortune of being afflicted with, making her weak and bedridden.

"Want me to fetch you some water?" the woman shook her head.

"How 'bout I get some new records for ya'? I know you finished most of the ones here in the house. Want me to get you some country music for a change?" Once again, the woman shook her head.

The man's face becomes gloomy, realizing that it was yet another day of silence from her. It had been a year since that day when he caught sight of that despicable, disgusting, thing that held a single chrysanthemum in its hand as his wife gave a small, serene smile. It was then that the days in which his wife's unmoving lips which neither spoke nor moved to show a smile or a frown started.

The man slowly became more and more desperate as time went on from then. As of now even if it were an onslaught of curses, he would be happy to accept it as long as it would at least let him hear her voice.

The man sits motionless, engulfed in his thoughts. Only with the sound of a bat flapping its wings past the window did the heavy resounding silence break, thus bringing him back to the present. Looking at his wife one last time, with a deep sigh he gave the woman's gloved hand a squeeze as he bid her goodnight, bringing with him the candle as he left the room, leaving the woman once more locked in the darkness.

A new day came as the man woke up and headed towards the attic, which much like the rest of the house was completely devoid of light. Shuffling about in the cramped space while holding the candlestick in his hand, the man coughed as an onslaught of dust came his way.

"Damn it! Where is it?" he curses as sweat begins to drip down his forehead.

Waving around the candle around the room again, he smiles as he finally sees the old, rusted metal box which had found itself between some old wooden boxes. Grabbing it he heads towards the direction of the living room. Entering, he walked to stand in front of the aggravating deep-colored grandfather clock.

Opening the metal box, the hinges creaked, having become worn down with time. The man takes out his tools and begins to work on the clock once more. Yet, even with the many hours the man had painstakingly taken, even working himself late into the night, he still could not fix the damned thing.

Was it because he was a bad clocksmith? Ha! It cannot possibly be! The man was praised to be the greatest in the county after all. Then could it have been because the small glow the candle provided was not enough for him to see the clock in its entirety? Possibly, yet the man did not make a move to remedy this. Only giving a glance at the window covered by the thick curtains at the other side of the room before letting out an exasperated sigh as he packed away his tools.

The man's shadow swayed with the movement of the small flame as he headed for his nightly visit. Resting his hand upon the cold metal, he twisted the doorknob. He finds his eyes widening to the size of saucers as what should have been a dark room devoid of light was illuminated by the gentle caresses of moonlight.

Yet, this was not the most shocking thing the man saw. He stood agape as his wife's long nightgown's hem trailed behind her while she leaned her trembling body against the windowpane. Raising to place one gloved hand flat against the glass as her head turned only to see what lay beyond the glass. Anyone who saw the scene would undoubtedly feel the woman's longing for something...or was it someone? 

The answer came quickly as the man shifted his eyes. The man became enraged. Hate could not encapsulate what he felt in that moment for what he saw, was that thing. That despicable, hateful, and disgusting thing.

It once more held a single chrysanthemum in its hand. The sight reminded him of that day. The day where he had first seen it. He had been late in leaving work as he was kept back by a horde of orders. After closing the shop with haste, he quickly headed home remembering the doctor's firm words to not leave his disease-stricken wife alone for too long.

The skies were bathed in an orange hue then as he arrived at the front yard and saw from the far-off distance a silhouette of a tall man inside his wife's room.

He had of course become panicked then. 

"A robber has broken in!" was his foremost thought, as he ran towards the glass worried for the safety of his weakened wife. Yet, his steps slowed as he saw his wife shakily standing up from the bed to stand beside the unknown man.

Her grey eyes considered him with a look of serenity and familiarity as she gave him a small smile. A look which could not be more far off from the ones she showed the past month in which she had spent in anguish and pain as her body seemed as though it was being pricked by a thousand needles and burned by hellfire itself.

The unfamiliar man looked at her with an emotionless stare as he reached out his arm, showing her a snow-colored chrysanthemum, which she nimbly took. The stranger then shamelessly puts its arms around his dear wife and draws her near its body. The man stands with his mouth agape at the scene as the feeling of crushing betrayal and anger courses through him.

The shameless demon then pulls her face up towards it. It began to lean down and their lips almost touched had it not been for the enraged husband who hastily opened and climbed in through the window, running to pull his wife into a bone-crushing embrace. Burying his face into her neck he tried to calm himself down, yet the words she uttered then rattled his very being.

"Let me go," she said in a hushed whisper.

"No! this can't be real, she wouldn't-, she would never do this to me!" thought the man as he tightened his hold around the young woman. It was only after a few seconds of this that he remembered the presence of another in the room.

He pulled back from his wife as he turned with fire in his eyes to kill the bastard. Yet, he was met with mere air. The tall man was nowhere in sight, the door outside the room had not been opened nor did he hear footsteps to say that it had left. It was almost as if it was never there in the first place. But the man knew that it was real, as he looked to his wife who clutched the white-colored flower in her hand and looked at him with guilt.

"You!" he says through gritted teeth as he steps towards her. She responded by taking a step back. As the painful feeling of betrayal ran through him, he raised his hand. The woman's body began to tremble, tightly closing her eyes and turning her face away in anticipation of the coming pain. At this, the man snapped out of his rage as he stood still in shock.

The man stumbled on his words as he began to apologize.

"Have I gone mad?!" he asked himself.

His guilt grew as he looked to his wife trembling with pale skin and dark sunken eyes. Even in this state he cannot help but find her breathtaking. It was then that a thought came to him. Ha! Of course, she would not dare do this to him! It must have been that damned demon's fault who could not resist and seduced his virtuous wife.

"But still such a thing must never happen again," he grinned as he closed the windows and drew the curtain close. It was then that the house became shrouded in shadows. It was then that he forced his unwilling wife to wear the ridiculous attire she dons now.

"But of course! My wife is such a beauty even a slip of her skin would be enough to entice anyone!" he justifies.

Coming back to the present, the man once again quickly pulls his wife back. Yet, this time she struggles against him, and for the first time since that day she spoke. Yet her words only served to break his heart.

"Let me go!" she screams over and over as sobs racked through her body. Still, he only tightens his hold.

"Please, it hurts." The man stands still at her pained voice and his grip loosens. His wife is sick, he could not cure her, nor could he even make her smile, and now he has hurt her. These truths make the man sob in defeat as he crumples to the floor.

What kind of a husband is he? A worthless and pathetic one.

The man’s head hangs low in silence before speaking once more.

"Alright," he says in a broken voice as he stands.

The man had always known the truth. He merely tried to deny it. Keeping her by his side would only cause her pain. He knew this but nonetheless, he wanted- no needed her. Yet, even so, hearing the pain in her voice was too much for him. If that thing would be able to make his beloved wife smile once more, he is willing to give up even his life.

Putting his hand beneath her leg, he lifts her up. He looks towards the tall figure. Seemingly understanding his intention, it nods and steps away from the window. The man opens the window, carefully stepping over the ledge as his feet touch the damp grass.

His face is solemn as he comes to stand before it.

"Take care of her," he whispers as he hands her to it. The man- the thing does not reply nor look at him, only reaching out its hands to take the beloved woman in his arms whose veil falls as he does so.

Her face was angelic as the morning sun had begun to come up, its rays gently touching her skin. Even as her grey eyes had become sunken, no longer holding the shine he had seen in their first meeting, she was bewitching. Even as her rosy cheeks had lost color and was instead littered with unnatural purple spots, an all-telling sign of a coming end, she was beguiling. 

He takes her hand into his before removing her gloves, wishing to feel her warmth for one last time. Holding her bony and frail hands in his which bore the same purple spots he choked back a sob as he kneels.

"Please don't go," he begs.

She only looks at him with a serene expression before cupping his face and giving a small smile.

"Thank you. I love you," she whispers before closing her eyes, turning to hide her face away in its chest as her hand falls away from his face.

The man shuts his eyes as he burrows his face into the ground, the pain too much for him to bear. When he gained the courage to lift his head once more the two were gone. Yet again, he heard no footsteps. Once more it seemed as though everything had been nothing but a mere illusion. Still, the scent that wafts through the air said otherwise, as a single chrysanthemum lay on the ground.

The man chokes back a sob before letting out an ear-piercing wail as tears streamed down his face. He did not stop even as his voice became hoarse, and his throat scratched. It was only when he physically could no longer continue that a man's despair-filled screams which echoed through the wind, stop. There instead, he kneeled for hours as sobs escaped him. It was only when the sun had begun to set, and hues of red and orange filled the sky did the man slowly gain the will to stand once more. The breeze was a cool and gentle one as it blew past him and the rustling leaves, almost as if to comfort his aching heart. 

The man with no light in his eyes began to drag his feet back towards the house as his head hung low. Standing in front of the oak door, he placed his hand on the cold steel, his face showing an expression that could only be described as despair. The door with a creak opened ever so slowly. The room was still shrouded in darkness save for the part touched by the strip of light coming through the open door. Looking around the room, he stops as his eyes landed on the drawn curtains.

The man's feet felt heavy as he dragged them against the wooden floor. Coming to face the smooth fabric he bunches the cloth in his hands. Gritting his teeth, the man forces back the sob that threatened to break from him.

The man quickly pulls back the curtains with great force. Light breaks through the glass and fills the room, showing in its glory the deep mahogany furniture, and pictures of the person he loved most. Touching one of the frames, he looks in longing at a picture showing a woman with ash-colored eyes in the shape of crescents as she smiled brightly. The man sighs as he starts to become lost in his thoughts but was stopped by a sound that had him widening his eyes ever so slightly.

Tick tock.

He looks over as the frozen hands of the grandfather clock move once more.