When Hinges Creak in Doorless Chambers: A Haunted Mansion Short Story

New Orleans, 1925

Edward Gracey was a smart man, or rather, he would like to think so anyway. He had just graduated Summa cum Laude from Yale University, landed a job at an infamous firm in New Orleans and was finding good prospects for homes nearby. Luck was in his cards, most assuredly. He smiled as he parked his car down the street from the last prospect: a towering three-story Colonial piece with four large pillars gracing its entrance and iron facades framing the wrap-around porches on the first and second floors. Giant juniper trees stood its height along the right side of the house, symmetrical with the brick chimneys on the left. Overgrown shrubs and wax myrtles framed all corners, enveloping the home in a mysterious beauty.

Edward looked at the piece of scribbled paper in his hand. This couldn't be right. The house was beautiful, but no way could it fit in his price range. His hand went up to the iron gate of the entrance, leaning his head so that he might get a closer look. He felt a prick on the outside of his wrist. A vine full of thorns had snaked through all of the bars--he could have sworn they weren't there moments before but figured it a trick of the light--and they now had decorated themselves with drops of his own blood. Edward nervously chuckled, pushing away a small anxiety rising up in his throat. He heard the car door close shut and his trance broke suddenly at the sight of his fiancée in a buttercup yellow dress. Her rosy cheeks and matching lips suited the color, a vision of Spring in this eternal Autumn.

"Edward, is anything the matter?"

He crumpled the paper in his hand, stealing another glance at the thorns. "I'm afraid I've led us in the wrong direction. Or perhaps the clerk in the land sales office may have transposed the address. This can't be the right house. We will return to the office and I shall inquire--" But her eyes had drifted from him and focused their attention on the manor. Her breath caught in her throat and Edward could honestly not tell if she was breathing. Her lace gloves were wound tightly on the iron bars, the vines now nowhere near her. "Darling, best you stay away. We know nothing of these current residents and their temperaments.”  

To his surprise, she turned back and smiled. "Edward, it's beautiful."

He knew that tone. He was all too familiar with it. The vibrato of it shook him, the warm tone of it turned him into mush, the smile that accompanied it made his mind bend to her will. She only used that tone when she had her heart set on something and would do anything to get it. She was tenacious but always a lady; it was always what she didn't say that made Edward jump to her requests. But at this, he would be a broke man in two month's time and with a wedding to plan, it wasn't logical. "Darling, it must be far out of our price range. And who knows if it is even up for sale?"

"But it is for sale," came a voice from the gate.

A relic of a man appeared on the other side. His eyes were sallow and his face skinny; his large nose practically coming at them from the bars. He held an unsightly beagle by a rope leash, his other hand gripping a lantern. Dusk was beginning to fall and the fear on his face indicated dire consequences should the proper street lamps in front of the house were not lit. He stared at Edward and brought an insincere smile to the corner of his lips. As quick as it came, it went--he was unaccustomed to speaking with visitors, Edward guessed. Edward smoothed his waistcoat, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket. “It is, you say? Unfortunately, I do believe I don’t quite have the means. The sales clerk--”

“If you show an interest, I can bring you up to meet the Mistress. She is preparing for an expedition to the West Indies and would like to sell the home at the earliest, at any price.”

“We would love to see the house,” his beloved blurted, her arm circling and nesting in the crook of his elbow. “Wouldn’t we, Edward?”

He looked into her dark eyes, a glimmer of mischief circling in her irises. It was that tone again. Oh, how she loved to use it and what a fool he was to fall for it. He smiled despite a bead of perspiration dripping down his temple. He looked at the groundskeeper behind the bars--his smile was so forced, it looked painful. There was certainly more than what he was letting on. Edward could swear he heard the whole house creak from where he was standing. Unsettling whispers in the twilight hour settled squarely on his shoulders. His free hand squeezed the piece of paper in his waistcoat pocket. He was a smart man. He’d be foolish to let a good deal go to waste. He swore the groundskeeper gave a subtle shake of the head but ignored it, turning to his fiancee instead. “My dear, sweet Leota, how could I say no?”

The groundskeeper let out a sigh under his breath and unlocked the gate. Vines snapped and Edward thought he heard small screams echoing out from the stems. Caked rust flaked off onto the grass as the groundskeeper held it open for them. “Welcome to Gore Manor.”  

BSC: Chapter 2

Alex’s jaw dropped, her face blanching at the timbre in his voice. Fear circulated in her brain. Why was he so scared about seeing me? she thought, anticipation firing from her synapses. “You...you know my name?”

“Yes, yes I do. Forgive me, but it’s almost as if I’ve known you for a very long time.”

Alex laughed nervously and looked up at Jack. His expression held equal confusion and he looked sternly at Mortimus. “I’m very sorry but this is the first time that we’ve ever met. It really is an honor to meet you, I’m a very big fan--”

“Alex Windemere?” It was a question, more to himself than to her.

“Yes?”

He started to blink in rapid fire and rubbed his temples. By then, Liam had come back by where they were standing and Brayden was hovering over her shoulder with interest. “I’m sorry, I just...this is going to be very strange but I have been having visions about you for weeks.”

Alex took a step back, not knowing what to say. “Um, I think you probably have me confused with someone else--”

“No, no. I definitely don’t. This may sound a bit strange, but you would you mind having a word with me after everyone has left? You and your friends?” He motioned to Jack, Liam and Brayden. “It’s of the utmost importance.”

“Alex, maybe we should leave--” Jack protested.

“No. I’ll stay, I’d like to.” Alex tried to ignore the worried glare coming from Jack’s eyes and the blatant confusion apparent on Brayden’s face.

“Great. Thank you for understanding. I don’t want to keep these people waiting.”

“Right, right, I understand.” Alex shuffled over to the left side, letting people behind her through. To her surprise, Brayden stayed with them instead of completing his turn.

“Alex, I think we should probably leave. Obviously this guy is a psychopath! How does he possibly know who you are?” Jack muttered loudly.

She shrugged. “I don’t know but I’m intrigued to find out.”

“Your funeral.” Alex, Liam and Brayden looked over at him with a stern look but neither of the boys said anything to refute. There was definitely something not right.

“Jack, he’s not going to do anything if we’re all here. Maybe if it was just me and the bookstore was empty and it was closing time and they were playing the Halloween score over the intercom, then I’d be scared. But right now, I’m more curious than anything.”

“Visions, though? Come on!”

“It’s true,” Liam started. “Mortimus Sinclair has always said that he’s received his story ideas from dreams and visions. He said so in the author’s note of Issue #6.” Jack looked at him skeptically and snickered.

“Right! And I’ve heard that Mortimus even said that some of his stories aren’t even fiction! Like that one haunted house story? He said he personally experienced it!” Alex supported.

Jack laughed, which irritated Alex quite a bit. “You can leave, you know. You don’t have to stay. If you think it’s weird, I don’t have to burden you.”

“We don’t have to burden you,” Liam corrected, standing close to Alex’s side. Brayden nodded. Alex looked at him with shocked suspicion.

Jack furrowed his eyebrows, the concern draped over every angle of his face. “No, I want to stay,” he resigned.

“Okay then, no more complaining.”

“Damn, bossy,” Brayden joked. Alex shot him daggers, silencing his chuckles.

They waited over 2 hours, sitting in the lounge off to the side of the table. A couple of times they were asked to leave by an onlooking employee but Mortimus dismissed them. Every once in awhile he would look over at them, more so to Alex, with a worried expression. Sadness peeked out through his smiles. They stayed quiet most of the time. Liam and Alex talked about characters they liked the most (Jim Hawkins and Nancy Drew respectively) while Bryaden and Jack argued about different theories and plot points. Jack had his arms crossed the entire time and listened intently. He then immersed himself in an issue of Psychology Today magazine.

They grew silent again when there were only 2 more kids left in the line and few loiterers. Alex began to sweat every time Mortimus would look over. What if Jack was right? What if he was just a crazy old man that wanted to murder them and hide the bodies at that haunted house of his? Alex began shaking her leg up and down in a nervous fidget. Jack lightly touched her knee after a couple of minutes to settle her and shot her a smile. She stopped fidgeting but it didn’t really calm her nerves. Right before she could thank him, they heard the sound of the chair scraping the floor as Mortimus moved it  from underneath the table and stood up, dusting off the bottom of his shirt. He shook hands with the store manager and they stayed in conversation for a couple of minutes before he excused himself. Alex could tell the manager was concerned for their safety as well--he shot them a curious glance and stayed close by while Mortimus sat down with them.

“I’m very sorry for keeping you waiting, kids.”

“What’s all this about, Mr. Sinclair? What’s so important?” Jack asked, avoiding all possible small talk.

“Geez, Jack, rude much?” Liam hissed.

“It’s alright, boy. Your brother has a right to be concerned, but believe me, I mean you all absolutely no harm. Pardon me, this is a bit strange talking with you. I’ve thought about it countless times and finally figured that I should show you this first.” He took out a manila folder from the interior of his jacket and untied the string. He pulled out some white, sketch papers with shaking, aged fingers. “These are some panels that I wrote and drew for the next issue of Baker Street. I drew these about two months ago.” He handed them directly to Alex.

The first sketch was just a couple of panels of the Baker Street members deep in conversation in one of their infamous hideouts, planning their next mission. The next couple of panels showed various members turning their heads to the sound of the hideout door opening.

Alex looked at the next page and there it was. There she was. Alex. Her surprised face opening the door with a lighted torch. There were people behind her, but they were in the shadows. Alex’s hands started shaking as she swallowed a gasp. Sherlock squinted her eyes while D.W. pulled out a gun, aiming it right at her. Jim Hawkins crept in the next panel, asking simply, “Who are you? What is your business?”

Then the surprising answer: “My name is Alex Windemere. My friends and I were sent here to help you.”

And the last scene, a spectacular, detailed drawing of the entire hideout, with all of its members and Alex with her friends looking at all of their faces. When Alex managed to look up and loosen her hands around the pages, she passed them to the boys. They all huddled together to read them. Afterwards, they all looked up at her then at Mortimus.

“How?” she managed to ask. “My name? What I looked like?”

Mortimus shook his head. “I don’t know how it works, these visions. Nobody believed me so I don’t talk about them anymore. I see these things and I just put it on paper. But everything that I have written, every idea that I have had, every scene that I have drawn...it is truth.”

“So, you just saw a vision of me coming to meet you. That seems pretty harmless--”

“No, Alex, you were going to the Baker Street Club. That’s the vision. That’s the truth.”

“But this is fiction. How--” She became exasperated, a lump of tears forming at the base of her throat.

He shook his head again. “No, no it’s not. It’s all real. They are out there. Sherlock, Nancy, the doctor, the hideouts, the villains...they are all real. And you have to help them.”

There was no more air in the room, it had all been sucked in by four pairs of lungs. Alex looked up at the boys. Liam and Brayden’s faces were indescribable. They looked frozen in time, waiting for any indication to respond. Jack on the other hand was dissecting Mortimus with a sharp glare. He was trying so hard to place him somewhere, to figure out what he was saying, to justify what was he saying. “I don’t believe this crap,” he finally said. That broke Liam and Brayden out of their trance. For once, Alex didn’t want to fight him because she couldn’t believe it herself.

“I know it’s a lot to take in…”

“It’s too much to take in. I just...it’s impossible.” He dropped his arms to his side with a resigned clap.

Mortimus turned to Alex and softly took her hands in his. He looked her dead in the eyes. “Alex, if I were in your position, I wouldn't believe it either. But believe me when I say that you at least have to try to believe it. You are the key to turning this story around, to saving my life.”

BSC: Chapter One

The dreaded sense of getting caught overcame the feeling of guilt.

Alex stuck the book underneath her pillow as her sister Selene walked in the door. “Alex—” she groaned through her teeth. “Hello? I’m sick of waiting. If you’re not down there in two minutes, you’re riding the bus.” She walked over to Alex’s vanity and powdered her cheeks once more before zipping up her backpack. She shot Alex a look of extreme impatience through her reflection.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you downstairs. Two minutes, I promise.”

She scowled at Alex, tossing her newly blow dried hair over her shoulder before walking downstairs. Typical, Alex thought. She released her breath and took the book from her pillow. She hated to hide this secret but she also hated the thought of her newly furnished “Windemere sister” reputation go down the proverbial high school toilet. Selene had made it a point to save her from the bottom of the food chain and allow her to be her protege, but she never hesitated to push Alex aside if for one minute she made her look bad. Ah, the joys of loving sisterhood. Alex wanted to finish it right then and there and fought back and forth with the decision of whether she should bring it to school. Was it worth the risk if someone found out about it?

No, she wouldn’t let that happen.

She sighed, knowing how much it was worth. She stuck it in her bag and ran downstairs.

But as promised, she was one minute too late. She saw exhaust from Selene’s car as she cruised down the neighborhood street. “Thanks a lot, sis,” she grumbled. Now she had to bear the long trek to school on the bus and that meant more talk from the terror known as Brayden Wilkes. She cringed at the thought of him, and when she finally saw him sitting on the stone wall at the bus stop, she nearly regurgitated her breakfast.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Windemere. Nice of you to grace us with your presence, your Highness,” he teased. Alex turned her back to him and prayed he would just leave it at that. Fortunately for Alex, he was so focused on the conversation with his friend that he left her alone. She let everyone get on the bus before her and took a seat at the very front where no one else dared to sit. She pulled out the book with careful silence. Her fingertips traced the letters of the cover title:

The Baker Street Club

Issue #8

Writer: Mortimus Sinclair

It was no mere coincidence that Alex came into the company of this particular comic book. She had merely distanced herself away from Selene and her friends at a coffee shop, and while Alex tried to fit into their group of sheep by opening up a glamour magazine, a thin book of paper came sliding out onto her lap. Issue One of the Incredible Baker Street Club. She was always a fan of mysteries and the depiction of Sherlock Holmes as a powerful yet scarred woman made her devour each sentence of bubbled dialogue. The story told of a secret band of mystery solvers and crime busters from generations of literature, fighting against an evil band of villains throughout time. Sherlock was their leader and club members consisted of Nancy Drew, Dr. Jekyll and Jim Hawkins to name a few. Alex tried to distract herself with more mundane things, but nothing seemed to quench her thirst for it. She hunted for the following issues in secret ever since then. But since comics weren’t seen as what her sister and the other cool girls did, she mentioned no word of it to her sister. She would undoubtedly destroy Alex with the flutter of an eyelash.

The bus lurched to a stop. Alex stuffed the book into her binder and ran off the bus before anybody could even guess that she was on. She looked across the courtyard and saw Selene in all her Monday morning splendor, suitors flocking to her like bees to honey. Despicable really; all this work to be cool and in no way was Alex reaping the benefits. Too busy contemplating her charade, Alex slipped and the next moment she was flat on her back, watching the papers from her notebook fly all around her like a snowstorm. A behemoth had run into her without even the courtesy of a “look out!”. In the midst of the slow moving, college-ruled snowflakes, an awkwardly handsome face hovered over her.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Do you have a concussion or something?”

“No, I’m fine.” Alex sat up with her elbows and hands, refusing his help, concentrating more on picking up the papers and not meeting his gaze. She looked around--the book must still have been safely nestled in her bag. She exhaled, shaking the nerves through the fibers in her throat.

“Hey, you’re Selene Windemere’s kid sister, right?”

Dammit, she cursed to herself. “Uh yeah, I guess I am.”

“You look just like her.”

“Heh, haven’t heard that one before.”

“Well, I have to say, you have much better taste in literature.” And that’s when he handed her Issue #8. Alex looked up at him with nervous regret.

“Um, a neighborhood kid dropped it on the bus. I was just going to return it to him.”

His smile faded as quickly as it came. Poor guy, if he only knew, she thought. He was undoubtedly attractive in small town fashion, but his black hair, gold eyes and dimples made him look like someone you could trust; a lady killer in his own unintentional way. And yet, through his eyes, he registered her lie and kept her secret locked away. “Well, uh, just let him know that he’s got some great taste. And maybe I’ll see him at the comic signing this weekend.”

“Comic signing?” Excitement was bubbling up in her chest and she pushed it down with every maddening ounce.

He laughed. “Yeah, Mortimus Sinclair is going to be at the bookstore on Fifth this Saturday, signing issues and stuff.”

“Huh, well I’ll make sure to let him know. I’m sure he’ll be very excited to see this Sinclair guy.”

He looked at her, waiting for her to break and smirking during the anticipation. When the bell rang signaling first period, his trance broke and he tightened his grip on his backpack. “Right. Well, I’ll see you around I guess.”

“Yeah, around, right.” She gulped nervously. As she watched him walk away, she stuffed the book in her binder and zipped it up tight, closing off her secret for the long day ahead.

Lunch shared the same anxiety. Selene saw Alex with her tray of food and patted the seat next to her without a second glance, barely glancing away from her admirers. It was all just robotic routine now. Alex sat down with a heavy sigh. When was the day going to be over? She wanted to go home and scream into her pillows with her complete resentment of high school. She didn’t want to be this person Selene was molding her to be. She didn’t want any part of it. She just wanted to curl up in a corner and escape somewhere else, be someone else. But Alex meticulously did her duty as protege. She smiled brightly at all the appropriate times and laughed at all of Selene’s jokes. While she played the well behaved puppy role well, she knew it was a matter of time before she bit back.

As Alex poked at her cold macaroni and cheese, she saw him walk past again.

The behemoth.

She didn’t realize how tall he actually was when she wasn’t sprawled along the ground. He smiled, waving over to his friends as he chose a place to sit down. Alex could feel the blood rush up to her cheeks. Okay, enough of this. “Hey Selene, I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll see you after school?”

“Of course, dear sister, see you then.” She blew her an air kiss and Alex almost threw up in her mouth. Selene hadn’t always been like this, but that’s what high school did: it ruined sibling relationships and your overall quality of life. Alex smiled her pleasant fake grin, picked up her bag and tray and left. In the corner of her eye, she swore that she saw him look up at her but it could have been her own longing. Stupid, cute boy.

The day passed slowly, seconds ticking away in slow motion. Alex wanted to kiss the clock when the last bell rang and she could go home. She stayed quiet during the car ride with Selene and ran straight to her room to read Issue #8. When she was done, she felt guilty about lying to the boy. Was it really so wrong? And who would he tell? So what if her sister found out? Alex wasn’t even happy with Selene or her friends. If she was alone in her world with only Sherlock Holmes and her gang by her side, she would be the most content geek this side of town.

Hmm...maybe I should just wait until Selene moves out, she thought. She deliberated until she brought the pillow up to her face and screamed. The muffled angst soon became so tiring that it lulled her to sleep.

The week passed by. Alex continued to see that boy from across the cafeteria. They exchanged glances and nothing more. A pull of longing brought back a frequent sadness. All she wanted was a friend, someone who didn’t belong in Selene’s posse. And then came Saturday.

Alex’s conscience was fighting whether or not she should go. Her palms clammed up in anticipation. She bit her lip as she looked through the folder that she carried all of her issues in. Pretty soon there wouldn’t be enough room. She would finally be outed. Well, if I’m going to go out, might as well go with a bang. She put on some jeans and a slim fitting black shirt; her dad’s old baseball cap made the finishing touch. She threw the folder in her bag and snuck downstairs.

“Hey mom, I’m going to the book...uh, the mall for a bit, okay?”

Alex didn’t see her but she heard her calling from the living room. She knew she was folding the laundry from the smell of the familiar lilac softener wafting in the air and the clap of a full basket hitting the floor. “Are you going with your sister?”

“No, Mom, I’m just going to walk. I’ll just be there for a few minutes.”

Silence. Alex knew her mother was questioning her safety and whether or not she should go alone. “Maybe you should take Selene with you. She can drive.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll walk. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Do you have your phone with you?”

“Of course, Mother,” she groaned as she glanced impatiently at the clock.

“Don’t call me Mother. It makes me feel old. And text me if you’ll be later.” Alex held back a laugh and walked out the door before she changed her mind. She took a deep breath knowing the first obstacle was out of the way.

Mortimus Sinclair was going to be at the bookstore from 1:00PM to 3:00PM. It was now noon. If she got there early enough, she’d be in and out in no time. She enjoyed the walk there. The leaves had begun to fall with a hint of winter sneaking through the wind. Excitement speckled her aura and she tightened the grip on her bag as she walked closer to the store, a wide smile escaping her lips.

There was already quite a bit of people waiting in line inside. A long table waited in the back of the store along with a big cardboard stand displaying the cover of Issue #1. Alex stayed away for the time being. She went over to the mystery aisle, grabbed a Stephen King book and walked to the farthest corner of the store opposite the line. She sat on the floor next to a ladder and enjoyed the silence. She didn’t get past the prologue before someone sat down next to her.

She looked up and it was him. “Hi,” he said, his smirk no longer subtle.

“Um, hi.” Alex could feel her face turn to a healthy shade of crimson. What could she say that didn’t make her feel like a complete idiot? Oh right, nothing. “Not a very good disguise, huh?”

He laughed, tilting his head back against K through L. “God, you are so busted. Baseball cap, really?”

“Well, it turns out that I’m that neighborhood kid?”

“Yes, I assumed as much. Well, how about we start over, huh? I’m Jack.” He stuck out his hand and she nervously took it.

“Alex Windemere, nice to meet you.” He nodded with a smirk. “So, are you here to meet Mortimus Sinclair?”

“Well, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit excited, but I’m technically just bringing my kid brother, he’s a big fan. I just happened to read up on them a few weeks back.”

“Oh.” He must have felt sorry for Alex at that point, stooping as low as a little boy as to what she liked to read. It was hardly attractive. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah, not what I’m regularly used to but he’s a great writer.”

“He’s a genius,” she whispered with a smile. “I read a lot of mysteries and I think this is the first time that I’ve completely loved something in a long time.”

“So passionate,” he teased. Her cheeks were a whirlwind of fire. “If you feel that strongly, shouldn’t you be waiting in line now?”

“I’m claustrophobic.” He laughed, a small snort escaping his nose this time. She felt like hiding away in the self help section. “You sure it’s not...oh...an entire line of sweaty 12 year old nerds?”

“Well, maybe a little. Would you like a support group?”

Alex really hoped that she didn’t just imagine the open invitation. “Yeah, that would be good actually, thanks.” As they approached, the intercom came on announcing Mortimus’ entrance to the table. In her peripheral vision, she saw Jack lean in and she felt his hand touch the small of her back guiding her in his direction.

“You can come up front with us. I’ll have you in and out of here before the bum rush.”

She blushed, her voice barely above audible levels. “Thanks.”

He waved over to his brother who was itching with anticipation. “Where’d you go, Jack?”

“Liam, this is my new friend, Alex. Alex, this is my pest of a little brother.” Liam, at about 12 years old, was all bouncing wavy hair and unexpendable energy.

Alex seemed surprisingly more comfortable with him there. “Hi, Liam. You excited?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. This is my favorite comic of all time.”

“Mine, too.” Jack smiled down at her. For an embarrassing situation, this wasn’t shaking up to be a particularly bad day.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Until now. He couldn’t be here--her good for nothing torturer, Brayden Wilkes. She turned around and smiled at him like nothing was wrong. “Hi, Brayden, how are you?”

“Surprised to see you, obviously. Didn’t know the Windemeres were brave enough to stoop down to this level.”

“Huh, then what’s your excuse?’

The smile left his face as his brain failed to make a witty response. She turned back around and walked forward in line. Even Wilkes wasn’t going to spoil her fun today. Not when it was this big.

Mortimus looked different than what Alex had seen in pictures. He had natural, olive colored skin and long, black hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. He looked young for his 43 years of age, only a couple of wrinkles and some glasses on his face. He seemed uncomfortable being there, almost itching with tension. Whenever he would greet someone in line, he would smile shyly, exchange a few quick words, sign his name with a flourish and give a small wave goodbye. The sudden shock hit her of not knowing what to say. Her face went blank. “Are you alright, Alex?” she heard Jack ask her.

She responded with uncertain but quick nod. “Yes, of course, just a little nervous.” It was Liam’s turn and he was way more prepared than she was. Before Alex had time to blink, he had sputtered out two questions. Mortimus’ voice was exactly how she envisioned it somehow. He answered slowly and with patience, his words calming and warm. Even though he looked uncomfortable, he was no way pushy or intolerant. She heard Liam laugh and thank him for the autograph. Before she knew it, his moment was over and it was her turn. Alex clutched her folder in her hands and only after a nudge from Jack did she manage to open it and pull out Issue #1. For some odd reason, Mortimus had the same look in his eyes as she was giving him. For the first time, he looked...scared. She gulped nervously. “Hi, Mr. Sinclair, I’m--” Alex managed to whisper but had suddenly forgotten her name and voice. She heard Brayden snickering behind her.

Mortimus, with a slight smile but still a spark of fear in his eyes, finished for her. “Hello, Eva Windemere.”

Baker Street Club: Prologue

Holmes lit the paraffin oil in the lantern, illuminating the air in the cavern. Water dripped from the stalactites above ringing out a light, yet ominous tone throughout the space. The air was cold and tight, the breath from Holmes was the only other young movement. Ancient auras haunted every other corner. Holmes’ fingers gripped the handle on the lantern, bringing it up to the back of the cavern. Light shone throughout, but the back wall hid a secret and Holmes was much too eager to find it out.

A beep broke the silence, startling Holmes. “Holmes, come in, have you reached the destination?”

“Now is certainly not the time, Drew. By my calculations, I should come up to the wall in—”

“10.5 paces. It’s not rocket science.”

Holmes made an eye roll so drastic, a migraine would be sure to form. “Have I ever mentioned how troublesome it is to have two detectives in this god forsaken—”

Holmes paused and seconds passed, static interrupting the communication. “Holmes? Holmes, what is it? Holmes, do you copy?”

“For gods sake woman, will you shut your mouth for just a moment? I think I’m there.”

“By my calculations—”

“I’m there.”

“Well?” Holmes pulled up the lantern, the light of the lamp revealing the wall of the cavern. Rivulets of water threaded in between the stone, marked with a twinge of crimson. Their destination pooled by Holmes’ shoes. “Holmes? Your pulse has gone up significantly and your fear levels are climbing. What the hell do you see?”

Holmes stared at the writing on the wall, the marks of red gleaming fresh on the limestone. Streaks on the edges of the letters signified it was done by hand, someone tall and without remorse. “Drew…? There’s a message.”

“Pics or it didn't happen, ma’am,” she sang through the comm. Holmes dropped the hood from her jacket and brushed back the hair from her eyes for a better view. A large scar traced the side of her face, originating from the corner of her blue eye. She would have let out a sigh, if all of the breath hadn't escaped her lungs. She lifted up the comm on her wrist, taking a photo. Holmes walked the perimeter of the wall, taking mental pictures of her own. “Is that—”

“Has the good detective been stumped already? Yes, it is blood and it’s relatively fresh.” She touched the corner of an unforgiving word and watched as it seeped into her fingertips. She rubbed them together and brought them to her nose, her eyebrows flicking upward. “I would say no more than…2 or 3 hours old.” She took out her handkerchief and wiped the blood away, stuffing it back in her coat pocket.

“Holmes,” Drew’s voice was more serious now, a quake of sadness floating between the vowels. “Do you think it’s for us?”

“My dear Nancy, a grander statement could not have been made for anyone lesser than us.” She lifted the lantern again, reading the script in totality.

When one half ends, he shall rise again.

The comm was silent for much too long and Holmes knew that Drew had been spooked, even if she didn't want to admit it. “Drew? Let the others know I’m coming in. We’re in for a long night.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she muttered through the static. The comm went dead and Holmes finally took a deep breath. She took one last look before turning around, pulling the hood back up over her head and tightening the scarf around her neck. She stuffed one hand in her pocket and led the way with the leftover light in the other.

“Not today, John. Not today,” she whispered, her voice becoming lost as the seconds ticked away.

How to Make a Memory

Magic. Of course they were. 

In retrospect, there really wasn't any other option as to what they were.

They were not just rivers. They were not just reflections of oceans. They were not just streams of Aurora Borealis pocketed within panes of glass.

His eyes contained magic. 

Molly bumped into a chair just then, letting cups fall aimlessly across the table she was cleaning. A catastrophic clatter rung in the air and when she looked over at him, he was staring at her with those magic eyes. They could hunt, those eyes, and you'd forgive them. Once she began to rescue the china from the table, she cheated and stole a glance through the gaps in her hair. He was looking back down at his papers, muttering soft words to himself, a trace of a small smile in the crook of his lips. She sighed and dragged her legs back into the small cafe. The winds from the east were picking up and she smelled the autumn leaves before they got a chance to blow in through the large glass doors. There were a thousand reasons why she chose to live in London, but she could not find a single one that could justify his presence. Shortly after she had started the job, he haunted that table and looked at her cautiously every time she crossed his path. 

    "Molly, table 3 please," the owner motioned to her. She wiped the sweat from her brow, her bangs clinging to her skin like nervous hands. Table 3. His table. 

    "You got it," she murmured, grabbing the platter of a large cup of water, tea bags and cream. He liked lemon and ginger in the afternoons. He sat in contemplation, both of his legs bent and fidgeting, his hand to his forehead trying to recall the written words from memory. She swallowed the concrete elephant in her throat and made her way to his table. "Your tea, sir." 

    He looked up from his pages, his eyes greeting hers in the foggy daylight. They were not just lights leading you from the smothering sea, they were magic. "Why, thank you darling, that was most kind. How much...?" 

    She raised her hand to stop him. "It's on the house. You're here everyday, we should treat you every once in awhile." He didn't loosen his gaze on her, but he continued to rub the corner of his pages in thought. Molly jerked her thumb backwards, motioning towards the cafe. "Well, I should get back to work. If you need anything..."

    "I'll surely let you know." A smile erupted from all corners, but he didn't let his teeth show. He was holding himself back. She wasn't an idiot. She knew when she didn't have a chance. But she smiled in return and turned to find some other hard surface to run into. Before she could take a step, she felt his hand grip her wrist. It was delicate but full of masked intention. "Molly," he began. 

    Her eyes widened. "How...?" 

    "Oh," he laughed fully then, then tapped his heart to mimic an imaginary name badge there. She clutched hers like a fool. 

    "Oh, of course. Sorry, what did you need?"

    He stayed quiet, motionless, his eyes searching hers for something behind the curtain. She felt a fear creep in the back of her mind, crawling its way down her spine and into her heart. They were not just daggers in which many women had suffered from, they were magic. It was his turn to swallow, for he could not find any excuse to entertain his overwhelming thought. "I...I won't be here much longer, today,"--he added the last word for what seemed like assurance--"but this will be the last one. Thank you."

    "Sure," she whispered. An inkling of bravery forced its way into her voice.  "See you tomorrow?"

    "Yes, of course. And you are more than welcome to join me anytime." He let her wrist go and she felt both empty and chained to him still.

     "See you then,"  she smiled, not addressing his invitation. She dared not to reveal her true happiness in that fragile moment.

As she walked away, Tom rubbed his fingertips together, her touch lingering like static. He watched her walk away, grabbing platters from forgotten tables and ghost patrons. He felt his eyes glass over and he returned them to his script. "Tom, hello," another female voice 

    "Lo, how are you?" His manager beamed at him, taking off her glasses and she sat across from him. She sniffed at the tea but declined to sneak it to her lips. 

    "Just fine, what do you think of the script so far?"

    "Honestly, too distracted to give you an accurate opinion." 

    Lorraine turned her head to the direction of his gaze, the familiar girl now scrubbing away at a table top. Her sad smile matched his. "Do you think she will eventually remember?"

    "Doctors say that she will. The accident took a lot out of her aside from her memory. But I see it in her, Lo. She's back there somewhere, fighting to get out. The way she saw me today...she knew something, even for the smallest of moments." He finally took his eyes off of her and looked at Lo. He blinked away the fear of her never returning. 

    "She'll come back to you, Tom. It's only a matter of time. She is full of something great, that wife of yours."

    "Yes, unequivocally." And the only word that could come to him in that moment was magic.

   

It's Alive. -A DC snippet

Soundtrack--A Fine Frenzy, It's Alive

It was Tuesday. I glanced at my watch: a quarter ‘til 9:00, and I knew Aria would be due to come in a short while. I stuck my headphones in my ears and waited for the elevator to finish its ride down to the main lobby. I felt it slow down and backed up to the railing in the elevator, propping my hands on either side of me, letting room. Frankly, I don’t pay much attention to elevators. Too many crowded thoughts, smells, and nerves—makes me antsy. I hung my head down, tapping my fingers in tune with the music, and watched the silhouette of the doors slide open. My eyes glanced up through my glasses and noticed a man of average muscular build walk in. He looked up through his longish brown hair that hung over his eyes, glanced right at me, and gave a small smile.

He saw me.
I didn’t return the gesture and merely slid my arm back to my side. His finger went down to the panel, but when he saw it went to the lobby, he retracted it. He wore plain loose jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt and his ear length hair looked like he had just washed it. A pair of old headphones hung around his neck, looking small against his broad shoulders. He had haphazard stubble on his face as if he hadn’t bothered shaving for a week or so. He smelled like the salt air and rain scented soap and…

Stop.
Stop. What are you doing? I felt my pupils dilating.
Just. Stop.
My pulse raced and my hand went to my shirt angrily, wanting to stop my heart from beating.

The synapses in this brain were firing like a guerrilla attack. He pushed his hair back from eyes with his fingers, revealing more of his face. I straightened my body rather quickly and leaned towards the corner of the elevator opposite him. I felt extremely awkward, a voodoo ragdoll under someone else’s control, and judging from his body language, he confirmed my suspicion. My limbs were bent outward like I couldn’t stand casually and an attempt to hide them behind my back only led me to slightly hyper extend my knees and stick my hip out. One of my fingers entangled a long curl of hair and began twirling it unattractively. In my peripheral vision, I saw a small smile fighting at the corner of his lips. My eyes wandered to his throat next, then his chest as it heaved softly underneath the cotton, then…

I thanked Hades when the familiar ‘ding’ uttered through the speaker, breaking my incomprehensible reverie and the doors slid open. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that he was looking at me and wasn’t moving. “After you,” he said, extending his arm out towards the lobby. His voice was deep and reminiscent of an overseas accent lost through the generations.

“I forgot something, have to go back up,” I croaked, my hand clasping my throat.
He smiled softly and turned to exit, his eyes giving me one last glance before walking across the threshold. He barely took two steps before I rushed to the panel and maniacally pressed the ‘close door’ button. I pressed it so hard and fast that I was gritting my teeth and started to taste the acid dripping from them. I saw someone rush to catch the door, but thankfully didn’t make it in time. I let out an exasperated sigh and took off my sunglasses. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down between my eyebrows and I wiped it off in anger. I looked at myself in the reflection of the elevator interior and turned my head side to side. My cheeks were bright red.

Was I…blushing? I laughed, but with an air of nervousness. “No,” I muttered out loud.
But…. I pointed to my reflection sternly. “No.”
Okay, no. I was much more powerful than a silly human body…and yet…it did feel rather…good.
“Blech,” I yell out, feigning scratching my tongue at the possibility of the thought. “I’m not good. I don’t feel good, I’m supposed to feel not good…and now I’m talking to myself. Great.” This body was starting to wear out its welcome. I needed a cupcake.