Shadows and Secrets

The door creaked open. Sunlight beamed in from the massive paneled windows. A burly man sat in an armchair behind a large work space. His bushy auburn beard dangled above a piece of parchment he wrote on. A small boy ran into the office and ducked below the desk. The burly man looked up and smiled.

“Dear, I think we have a hobblin infestation! I just saw one sneak into my office!” He stood and walked to the side of the desk.

“The boy jumped up. “I’m not a hobblin! I’m a uh…”

“A troll?” The man glanced down chuckling.

“Yeah that’s right a troll.” He lunged at the man.

“Vincent, you’re a bit small to be a troll. Haven’t you ever seen one before?” He caught the boy in his arms and hoisted him up.

“No.” Vincent scratched his head.

“Let me show you.” Vincent’s father carried his son back to the armchair and pulled a drawer open and took from it a piece of parchment. On the paper was an image of a large creature drawn in charcoal. Its bulbous arms were made of stone and mud, its legs cemented to the ground. The beast’s jaw was slack and had a set of crooked teeth. It stood hunched over a small bog.

“Wow, Daddy that’s amazing.”

“Indeed. Your mother’s work always has so much detail.” The man set the boy down. “Remember Vincent there are many great and wondrous things in the world. You just need to know where to look for them. Now, run along.” His father set him down and he bolted out of the office.

“Ah there you are Vincent.” A middle aged woman walked down the hall. Her long flowing brown hair cascaded over the shoulders of her dress. “Were you being a troublesome bugger to your father?”

“No. I was being a troll.” Vincent had a big grin.

“Oh were you now?” She said with a laugh. “Come on it’s time for your lunch.” She too lifted up the young boy and walked to the staircase. As they descended Vincent stared down an adjacent hall, at the closed oak door his mother had just came from.

Orange light flickers against a row of mahogany bookshelves. A strong smell of kerosene permeates the air of the room. At the corner of the shelves a small but elaborate wooden desk sits. On top of its headboard rests a lamp with a burning flame. Below its light a black viscous liquid flows over the pale knuckles of a hand.

A young man sits slumped over the study space. The white sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, while his left arm dangles below the stained oak structure. At his right foot a small trunk lays open its gridded compartments all visible. Its interior is lined with crimson velvet and brass plaques are screwed into the wood dividers. Every plaque bears faded lettering. Most are indecipherable except one that reads Redstein Blood. Each compartment contains a glass vial, and many of the bottles are empty but two are full of a yellow bubbly liquid.

Low snoring emits from under the matted brown hair of the young man. Beside his head a stack of books rests on the edge of the desk, the titles printed on each of their spines: Rare Creatures of Europe, Encyclopedia Monstrica, and A Guide to Folklore, Superstition and Fairy Tales. 

A squeak comes from behind the young man. Then a door creaks open. A sigh grumbles into the dim room. A long shadow crawls along the bookcases to the desk. Above the wooden frame a dark blot forms and ripples on the wall. The form of a black hand juts from it and nudges at the stack of books. Crash.

“W-what? Mr. Shade!” The young man sits up revealing his smooth face. His brown eyes beam at the scattered books.

“Yes, Master Vincent?” The shadow reforms into a tall translucent black figure at the doorway. Two coattail like protrusions flow behind him and a collar clings around his ghastly neck.

“Oh… never mind. I must’ve knocked some books over.”  Yawning, Vincent turns toward the desk and picks up a leather bound journal that his head previously covered.

“Hmm… of course.”  Sound protrudes from Mr. Shade’s head but he has no visible mouth. “How is your research?” He steps into the room and glances over at the desk with his beady red eyes.

“Not as well as I’d like,” Vincent sighs. “Though, I found my father’s notes and specimen trunk.” Vincent licks his finger and turns a page of the journal. Dark thumb prints are left on each page as he flips through.

“Nothing of interest then?”

“Not much I’m afraid. Mostly notes on troll creation and a few on a lost goblin city.” He stops on a page labeled Witch’s Brew and reads a note on its many properties which include potions of sickness or death, transformation, and the creation or dispelling of illusions etc.

 “What about the trunk?” Mr. Shade peeks under the desk.

“It’s mostly empty except for a few salves of liquid I can’t identify.” Vincent places the journal back on the desk. “What time is it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir. Most of the clocks have been in disrepair for several months.”

 “Months! Have I really spent so much time searching and studying to let this place fall to ruin?” He clenches his forehead in disgust, smudging it with ink.

“Well, sir you insisted on not letting anyone in the house for some time now. But your pursuit is understandable. They have, after all been gone for five years without a single word.” Mr. Shade stands upright behind Vincent’s chair.

“Perhaps I should take a break from all of this. I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.” He closes his eyes and sighs. “Mr. Shade I’d fancy some tea.”

“Very well, Master Vincent. But you should know that you tipped your ink well over in your sleep again.”

Vincent turns his head to the right side of the desk. “Blast it all!” He repositions the ink well while also noticing the black smudges on his knuckles and palm. “Mr. Shade a towel, quickly!”

“Of course.” Mr. Shade glides back through the doorway. Upon entering the hallway his figure flattens against the wall and streaks through the shadows across it.

Vincent rises and picks up the journal and places it on a set of drawers to his right. He checks his shirt and vest for ink and then steps toward the door. Mr. Shade drifts slowly into the room holding a cotton hand towel forward for his master.

Vincent grabs the towel and wipes the blotches of ink from his hand and forehead. “It’s strange that he wouldn’t have brought the trunk with him.”

“Indeed. Perhaps he felt it would be safer here. Or they hadn’t planned on being gone long.”

“Perhaps. I should double check his office. Just to see if there is anything I missed.” Vincent walks into the hall.

“I thought you were going to take a break.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes.”

 “Suit yourself. I can’t stand that room. I’ll get started on your tea.” Mr. Shade once again vanishes into the dark hallway.

Vincent walks down the dim corridor. The young man, confining himself to only a few rooms of the large home allows Mr. Shade to keep most of the lights off, as is his preference. Vincent comes to a vast open room with a high ceiling. A bannister runs along his left side and down a staircase that descends to the first floor. On the wall across from the stairs is an oval mirror framed with an ornate silver. He moves up the corridor and stops at a closed door with an old pattern carved in its trim. Grabbing the brass knob he opens the door and a wave of cold washes over him.

The room is dark and a set of navy blue curtains are pulled over the windows that once brightened the space. The large mahogany desk rests at the center of the office, and a fine layer of dust sits upon its surface. Vincent paces to the front of the desk and slides open one of its many drawers. An assortment of scrambled papers, pens, and charcoal sticks pop out. A soft creak comes from the corner of the room. Vincent looks up and steps a few feet forward only to find a cabinet door ajar. He closes it and goes back to the desk. Amongst the papers are scrawling’s about creatures, a few parchments with sigils drawn in charcoal, a list of names with several scribbled out and a note that reads: Trust Silas.

A faint squeak passes through the room. Vincent looks around the office, seeing nothing he rubs his eyes and walks back into the hall. While making his way to the stair case he sees his reflection in the mirror. His brown bloodshot eyes stare back with black bags under them and his hair muddled. Faint movement comes from behind the young man.

“Master Vincent, are you alright?”

Vincent jumps around seeing Mr. Shade at the top of the steps. “Yes. I-I’m fine. You startled me.”

 “My apologies, sir. Your tea is waiting for you in the lounge should you be ready to take it.” He gives a slight bow.

“Very well. Thank you, Mr. Shade.” Vincent goes down the steps that are covered with a long burgundy rug. Upon reaching the first floor he veers left into an open doorway. Several armchairs and a sofa sit arranged around a small rectangular table that is low to the ground. On the table rests another oil lamp similar to the one in the study.

“Huh. He never turns the lights on.” Vincent rolls his eyes. He pulls the glass chimney from the lamp and places it carefully on the table. Then he takes a match box from the table and removes a phosphorous tipped stick. He crosses it against a piece of strike paper on the side of the box and a little orange flame comes to life. Then he slowly draws the match to the wick of the lamp. A little light flickers as Vincent waves out the match. He places the glass chimney over top the burning wick and takes a seat on the sofa.

A silver tray sits on the table with a steaming cup of tea on a saucer dish next to it a bowl of sugar cubes and a plate of sliced cake. Vincent grabs a silver spoon placed next to his teacup and drops two lumps of sugar into the hot brown liquid, and stirs the mixture.

The lounge is decorated with red and gold wallpaper. Long sable curtains cling to two of the rooms large windows, outside light unable to penetrate through them.  Draping over the sofa’s arm is a copy of the London Daily Post dated November 9, 1888. The headline reads “American Found Dead with Three Stab Wounds: Authorities Unsure if Related to The Ripper.”

Vincent sits taking large sips from his cup. The bitter concoction washes over his tongue and down his throat, leaving a soothing tickle.  When finished he places the cup on the tray and grabs a couple pieces of cake and standing up walks back into the foyer. He takes several ravenous bites and walks toward the stairs. A trail of crumbs falling as he goes.

Mr. Shade stands in the foyer his shadowy hands behind his back looking down at the mess his master is leaving behind. “Done already sir?”

Vincent finishes swallowing his last mouthful of cake “I have to get back to wo—“

A loud knock comes from the front door.

“What time is it?” Vincent looks back down the steps.

“I told you I don’t know. The clocks-“

“Are broken. Right” Vincent paces back down the steps. His brow sinking with frustration. He reaches the door, turns the knob and thrusts it open. Bright light gleams into the foyer. Vincent shields his eyes from the sun’s rays.

“Oh good sir. I’m glad you’re awake.” A short man in a red and yellow messenger’s uniform stands on the front step. “I do apologize for knocking so early, but there was to be a special parcel delivered to this estate at this time today. This is the Stirling home correct?”

“Well, that’s curious. Yes this is the Stirling residence.” Vincent looks down at the man, who has snot dripping from his nose. “And what time is it?”

“Oh, quarter to eight.” The man peaks at his watch

“How strange. Where is the parcel?” Vincent stares at the messenger.

 “Oh yes. Have it right here.” The man pulls out an envelope from his satchel and hands it to Vincent. “You’re, Vincent?”

“I am.” Vincent takes the letter from the messenger’s hand. ”Who’s it from?”

“I’m not really sure myself. My boss handed it to me only twenty minutes ago.”

“Huh.” Vincent stares at the envelope.

Vincent J. Stirling

37 Pinen Street Hearthmoore Manor, London

“Indeed. Well I must be off now.” The messenger waves as he starts down the path to a large barred fence with a tall archway at its center.

Vincent turns back into the house letting the door shut behind him. “Are you alright Mr. Shade?”

The shadowy figure stands in a corner adjacent to the door. “Just fine.”  His voice breathes heavy.

“When was the last time that door was opened during the day?” Vincent walks back into the lounge.

“That would’ve been when your instructor Professor Vanheim stormed out. About a year and half ago.”

“Ah that nitwit.” Vincent returns to the foyer with a letter opener. He shoves the thin metal under the paper folds of the envelope and tears it open. “Said not to believe in monsters and ghosts and yet I’ve lived with one my whole life. No offense.”

“None taken. I’m a specter of a different color entirely.” Mr. Shade approaches his master. “What have you got there?”

“A letter.” Vincent pulls a sheet of paper from the envelope, unfolds it and begins reading.

Dear Vincent,

I am very sorry you and I never had the pleasure of meeting one another. I was a close friend of your parents. As you well know they left quite some time ago without explanation.  As much as I would love to tell you why that was but, I haven’t the faintest clue myself. You have no doubt pondered where they went and why, I may very well have a key to unlock that answer for you. Before they departed your parents left in my possession a certain item that might in fact lead us to their whereabouts. Unfortunately, it seems to have hidden secrets and is beyond my area of expertise. I was wondering if you might be able to offer insight into this matter, as I’m sure your parents taught you at least some of their knowledge before they retreated. If you wish to help with this matter you should meet me today at the offices of Grimble and Scur on Berners Street at around noon. Just ask to see me when you come in. I hope you oblige in this minor task.

                                                                        Sincerely Algrim

        “Who is it from, sir?” Mr. Shade looks over Vincent’s shoulder.

        “Someone named, Algrim.” Vincent looks up from the letter and stares into the large space of the foyer.

        “A strange name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of any that goes by that before.”

        “He says he was friends with my parents.” Vincent turns towards the shadowy figure.

        “I’m sure they have many colleagues that I wasn’t familiar with.” His voice dully sounds.

        “He also said he has something that’ll help locate them. I have to get prepared to meet him.” Vincent rushes up the stairs.

        “Find them! Vincent, please explain.” Mr. Shade floats to the base of the steps.

        “No time. Oh and could you prepare breakfast, Mr. Shade. Thank you.” Vincent, shouts upon reaching the second floor.

        “Huh. Very well.” Mr. Shade huffs as he leaves the foyer.