"Millie -- Part 5" by Megaera Callisto Lorenz

It was a horrible pounding at my front door that jolted me rudely from my troubled slumber. My first thought was that it was Jonathan. I leaped out of bed and tugged on my dressing gown frantically, and then ran down the stairs as quickly as I could without falling over myself.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, a wash of cold fear broke over me. That was not a knock to be admitted. Whoever was at my door was trying in earnest to break it down. Every few seconds, at regular intervals, there came another sickening thud. I approached the door slowly, my hands trembling, cold sweat forming on my temples. Now the pounding stopped, and there was a faint sound of creaking and splintering as some immense pressure was applied to the other side of the door.

“Who’s there?” I cried foolishly, although only one personage came to mind.

The creaking stopped. “I am Millie,” came the calm reply. “Open the door, Mr. Kaufmann.”

Although I quaked with fear, I forced myself to step forward and undo the door-latch. I could only hope that Millie had been satisfied by her first experiment, and would not try it again. Thank God I had decided to give my own parlor-maid the day off, in case some emergency should arise that would require discretion! I swung the door open.

The hellish vision that greeted my eyes made me stagger. Her raven curls were matted and tangled. The whole front of her frock was stained reddish-brown. She listed noticeably to one side, and one of her glass eyes swiveled madly in its socket. There was a bullet-hole in the center of her smooth, white brow. I shuddered and fell back, my skin crawling. How could I have once found this creature so charming?

She attempted her usual curtsey, and lurched sickeningly to one side. “How do you do, Mr. Kaufmann?” she said flatly. “I am damaged. Repair me.” She held out her hand as if to implore me, but her manner was as cool as ever.

I did not move. I blinked furiously and touched my hand to my forehead, trying to clear my mind. “But -- I am not your maker,” I said. “I don’t know how to repair you. Why did you not return to Jonathan and ask him to help?”

“I did,” she replied. “He only damaged me further, with a projectile. I have come to you instead.” She took a ponderous, limping step forward into the hallway, and I backed off a step.

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“I asked a man on the street where you were to be found,” she said. My God, someone had seen her in this state! He must have been afraid of her, too afraid to detain her and question her further. I could understand it.

“And where is Jonathan?” I demanded. “Perhaps I can tell him you are here, and he will come and repair you.”

“He is in his home. When he damaged me, I disengaged his mechanism so that he would stop. He is not running now,” she replied.

I groaned. Oh, poor Jonathan! He had died at the hands of his own creation. I backed off another step. My head was growing quite light. I must do something, but what? “Repair me,” Millie entreated again, limping closer.

I forced myself to breathe evenly. I nodded. “Yes, of course,” I replied. “Come with me.” I turned and walked quickly into my parlor, listening with dread to the sound of her shuffling footsteps behind me. Some of her clockwork parts were clicking and whirring more loudly than usual.

“What must I do?” I asked.

"Open me," she replied, and she turned around so that her back was facing me. She shuffled around with maddening slowness, and then stood, her head hanging forward, her arms drooping at her sides.

I could scarcely stand to touch her. I fumbled with the buttons at the back of her dress, at last laying bare that smooth white back that had looked so lovely when I first set eyes upon it. I lifted the latch at her neck and swung open the hatch. I stared at the cold brass clockwork. The gears and rods were now lurching unevenly.

"I'll have to get some tools," I told her dully. "You must excuse me."

I saw the bellows swelling, and heard that inhuman hissing. "Yes," she said simply.

Quickly, I ran up the stairs to my study. My drafting tools were spread out upon my desk. I cast about helplessly. What to use, what to use? At last, my eyes fell upon a compass. I seized it quickly and strode with determination back to the stairs. With shaking legs, I descended.

Millie was still standing where I had left her, completely still except for the erratic movements of her clockwork. I approached her slowly and laid a hand upon her shoulder. "Hold still, now," I said, my voice quavering. "This will only take a moment."

It was more difficult than I had expected. I gripped the compass as tightly as I could with my trembling fingers. With what seemed an inhuman effort, I raised up my arm and jammed the pointed end of the tool forcefully between two of her largest gears. I leaped away just as she reeled on me, her arms outstretched. She took one lurching step in my direction and then stopped, sinking to her knees. There was a ghastly shrieking of metal as the compass was pulled further into her clockwork, sending gears and sparks flying from the aperture in her back. She fell back, her arms flailing grotesquely, and at last was still.

After a moment, I approached her and stood over her, staring with morbid fascination. Her good eye rolled back and forth as if she was searching. Her lips moved, but the bellows had been punctured, so no sound issued from her mouth. I felt something welling up within me, and had to avert my eyes.

"Millie," I murmured softly. I was overwhelmed with a mixture of horror, disgust and remorse. I rolled her over with my foot so that her face was to the floor. "Poor Jonathan," I whispered. "He nursed a viper at his breast."

I had to go away from her for a bit, to gather my wits. I sat in my study for what must have been an hour, staring at nothing. When at last I had calmed myself, I returned to the parlor. I began disassembling her, slowly and methodically. A few hours later, I had separated her into all of her component parts. But nowhere among the mass of clockwork pieces did I find anything that -- to my eyes, at least -- would account for her will and her sense of self.

But then, what is there in the raw workings of a human body that suggests a mind, a soul? Certainly there is nothing tangible in that grey mass of matter that rests within our skulls that could account for it. One can only reason that, somehow, a human being is equal to more than the sum of his parts -- his human clockwork -- and Millie was the same. Well, Jonathan's secret would not be revealed, at least not for the time being. And perhaps just a well.