Shadow Michael Richard D’Alton.
A crimson flash. The haunting cries of dominated maidens. The heads of fathers and children mounted to spikes. A forbidding clap of thunder and a streak of vibrant lightning that filled the dusked, tearful skies above.
I awoke in a fit of sweat and an accelerant heart. Another night terror. My breath was ragged and heavy like the weight of scattered events that had stroke across my mind. I was smeared on the ground in a hopeless heap of sorrowful dementia. I immediately glimpsed around my dim apartment, appearing to be an ominously, hollowed void. I did not have the illusion of safety by my side. Sleep was not an option.
I arose from my wooden floor and I perched back down on the chair I had claimed as my temporary bed like a watchful eagle game for hunt. Only in this case, hunt was the act of waiting for rising of the golden sun.
Another clap of thunder, then following a streak of lightning. A storm was definitely brewing in the shadowy depths of the clouded sky of Nona, and a stormed had seethed and foamed within my shattered glass prison of a mind. I hell I used to call home which I was evicted from control.
I stared into an inky darkness and my breath was bitter cold. Slowly, I decrease the motion of my heart and my breath normalized. I still only saw darkness, save from the occasional flash of lightning. I felt in defeat from a force that emitted from myself. I felt the rush of sour thoughts and resentful ideas that would deem to be unworthy in the eyes in the public, which seeped through like water through broken dam. My mind rebelled against myself and it whispered nasty thoughts that overlapped one another. My apartment was silence, apart from the lightning, but I hear so much. My mind clawed at me and it took bites out of my insanity. I was not myself anymore. I only stood motionless, except for my light breathing, as I peered through murked shadow and the lies in which I had constructed to ease my way - everything will be alright when you get home.
I hypothesized that I could rationalize the events of Chesterside before they even occurred. I knew I would not bathe in the glory of success, if we were the succeed. I have rationalized outcomes and events that had passed through my existence countless times. I had gotten over death of loved ones for I knew it was their time to pass. I had gotten over heartbreak for I knew I had to grow stronger and the breaking of a heart seemed to be petty and selfish, and I had other people to attend and look after either as a friend, a daughter, a co-worker, or a sister, and I had work that was constantly needing to either be fixed or created. My problems and myself are not even an ounce of a blip in comparison to the vast size universe, and if I suffer it does not change the outcome of the universe. Nevertheless, the outcomes and the madness from Chesterside had ripped apart my mind and function my renderless to think and create. There were events and outcomes that I had never calculated or even conceived to be a possibility. Vada was of course one of those outcomes and I dare say that she was the only good one to come out of Chesterside. In time, I knew the equation of my psyche would balance out with the aid of Vada. I only needed time and a series of mysterious events and situations that would prove me time and time again how I have the ability to rationalize instances that would seem unmeasurably difficult to process for a normal mind.
I have felt alone throughout my life, but the loneliness that I had skulked in was uneasy and it festered on me. I felt so fragile and weak like a child without its mother. There was a slimmer of myself that desired the touch of another living being. I did not even try to deny such feelings that putrefied within myself.
I felt quite uncomfortable in my chair, for I moved myself around many times in hopes to cease at least a level of easement. Sadly, after countless, wasteful tries I had never achieved such. I heaved myself up onto my feet, and I paced in the darkness. I was indeed lost with myself for I did not know what I could do to preoccupy my time. I gave a tired sigh for I was tired of only those few days I have suffered from the consequence of a year. Though, it was not my decision to enroll, I still say that the events that transpired were my guilt.
Events burned and flashed over and over again in my shattered mind without my consent and I tried to tensely shake them away; but hope was in a bleak supply which I could not grasp. In mental exhaustion, hoping for it all to impede, I slouched down in the chair and I stared back into darkness. I felt as if my mind was ambushed in a fearful hourglass and dark grains of sand toppled on me, slowly suffocating it from freedom.
I began to slowly blinked away minutes, my eyes began to weigh heavy once more. The memories soon departed into a long tunnel of darkness until they were barely visible. Soon, I blinked and the sun began to dawn. It rose dramatically higher with each blink I unconsciousness produced. Then, I blinked once more and I saw a distorted silhouette of a vague figure that sat on the chair opposite from me. I simultaneously bolted away and sharply gasped in surprise. My eyes grew immense and my mind snapped into an adrenalinic overdrive.
My brain hastily registered that the figure was Dr. Amadeus who looked up at me with eyes drawn with worry. She wore one of my housecoats - a nice lavender, silver-fringed one my late grandmother donated to me a few months before she passed on. Her hair was profusely untidy and her fur was in a morning shock. She kept her hands against her thighs as she leaned forward in inspection.
“Shadow,” said she, in a calming, warm voice. She hovered a hand forth, placing it on my knee, in early attempts to calm me from my in announced awakening.
“Dr. Amadeus!” I nearly shouted. I violently jerked back when her hand was laid on my person, nearly rocking my chair backwards. Luckily, my chairs were rather sturdy, built to withstand sudden jerks and movements.
“Calm,” she lulled worryingly. “Calm yourself. You look so frightful. Did you have another nightmare?”
I recovered myself with deepened breathes before I began to expel my words to her. A deep breath. An exhale. A deep breath. An exhale. A deep breath. The commence of my words.
“Indeed I did,” muttered I. “There were flashes of terror and cries that were tangled in a crimson rage. I was deep in night. I cannot delve too deeply onto that subject on the present for my mind is too raw. I need time to adjust myself. Fret not, doctor. I will give you a detailed summary of my night terrors.” I sketched a rough smile upon my face.
“Shadow,” she said, gravely. “Why didn't you wake me up? I don't want you to suffer, I want you--”
“Doctor,” I sighed, staggering from my leather chair, and I sluggishly strided towards the kitchen without the realization of the grand lack of edibles. “I will not suffer, I am only staggered by these terrors.” I glanced into the fridge before I was met by the horror of putrefaction that I had not cleaned a year ago. I simultaneously lunged back and gagged from a great disgust.
Amadeus immediately peered over at me with a sketch of distress on her visage. She swiftly bolted to the kitchen to see my outcome of the putrefaction. She took my hand and brought me away from the kitchen as I coughed from the disgust.
“I’m sorry!” she cried, “I haven’t gotten any food and I was about to, but I wanted to wait until you were awake, I didn’t want to leave you asleep. Oh, please, Shadow! I’m so--”
“Doctor!” I hacked. “Please, do not fret! I should have been more aware!”
“But, Shadow--”
“Doctor,” I took a grand breath of air, “I will get ourselves food. This is of course my house and I should not let my new companion starve.”
“No, no,” her eyes were woven with stress and she raised a hand, “I’ll go out shopping. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Please, it will be no worry. I don’t have money with me, but can I borrow some, I’ll pay you back! And can I borrow your jacket and pants? I am deeply sorry!”
I sighed, knowing that arguing would be completely wasteful. I had barely enough energy for it. I sat back down into my seat where I drew my hands together in thoughtfulness.
“Alright, doctor,” said I, calmly, “my money is stashed in my bedside cabinet, for what I remember, and I do not expect you to surrender your cash to myself. In fact, please do not. As for my apparel, feel free to borrow them anytime you wish. I need not to worry.”
The doctor smiled and she thanked me the utmost. Akin to an agitated flame she flickered off where she briskly collected the objects that were necessary for her quest for food. I merely lodged in my seat where I awaited for the doctor to be prepped.
She soon came forth fully dressed in my black frock-coat coat that was well-worn, especially at the shoulders; a cream buttoned-up shirt; a pair of dark leather shoes; and a pair of coal black jeans that had been slightly worn at the knees. These were the articles of clothing I used to wear in my time of innocence and bliss before I was drafted into a forever spiralling nightmare where my mind was a dark labyrinth where I had no conceivable escape to even dream of. I did not utter a single word about her outfit except for a small smear of a smile and the comment: “You look lovely.”
My delightful comment painted a very content smile on her round face and a delighted twinkle in her teal eyes. She softly thanked as she left the apartment, and she quickly glanced at me right before she walked through the olive door. I simply kept my head cocked downwards and I kept my hands pressed to my lips. She then left and I was lonesome in the apartment like I had been for the majority of my adult life.
In my awaiting I did nothing but sit in my chair and deeply ponder; but each time I closed my eyes I would hear the echoing screams of dying children and flashes of crimson that were my terror. I am burdened with many woeful adventures and tales that transpired over my year of campaigning that were filled to the brim with bloodshed and terror. I could fill books upon books of my dreaded journey, but my mind would be too frail to even recall the events with my own intention.
I tried to ponder upon other articles of my civilian life. I difficulty questioned what Wolfgang and his generous and kind wife, Faith, had been up to with me leave of absence. I theorized that my brother would want to visit with me in the soonest, and that he would leak happy tears and embrace me in a brotherly hug for my return. Though I did not want him to see me in my fragile mental state I knew that it would be the correct instead of acting I had not yet returned. In addition, he had my heaps mail for he would come over weekly to pick it up, but not to read it because of my own personal privacy.
I was unsure on how long Amadeus was, whether it was a few measly minutes several lengthy hours - though it felt like the latter. When she reappeared she had two large brown paper bags clutch in her arms in her arms ever so tightly and she seemed to be short of breath. I looked up at her with a great smile painted on my face for I was pleased to see her company once more. She struggled to get in but her attempts were a success and she almost clumsily stumbled into the kitchen. Luckily, nothing spilt onto the floor. She placed the bags onto the counter in a great heave and she leaned on the counter to catch her breath. I thought it was rather strange that her breathing was a pant, for we had been conditioned for the battlefield and to run miles. Though I knew how the body could deteriorate in such a short amount of time. Perhaps she had breathing troubles in the musky city of Nona. I was deeply unsure.
“Are you okay, doctor?” I asked, staying in my seat, looking forward.
“Yeah,” she panted, slowly taking off the jacket and placing it on the back of the chair. “Carrying bodies wasn’t as bad as carrying those groceries.”
I chuckled at her remark. “Doctor, you surprise me. Do you suffer from breathing troubles?”
“Yes,” said she. “I do suffer from a mild asthma, though I was fine during Chesterside, despite its bitterness and its ashen land. I was shocked, yet highly honoured, that they would even consider me to patch up the soldiers on that barren land. Perhaps it was my medical expertise and my new doctorate. The adrenaline really helped me on the battlefield, and I did drag the bodies and wounded with a lot of effort.”
“Well, doctor, hopefully we will not have to combat in such an event akin to Chesterside.” I stirred in my seat with uneasement. The talk of Chesterfield did not do me well. I stood and I strided towards the doctor and the kitchen to see if she how she was progressing.
The doctor began to unpack the groceries and while she covered her nose and mouth like a mask she began to rummage and plunder the perished foodstuffs and disposed of them in a large black plastic bag. I asked if she needed any help but she denied my offer and she requested I went back to my seat. I simply stood in the doorway of the kitchen where I gazed at the doctor and I loosely crossed my arms.
She began to place the newly bought food in the refrigerator where she had organized it in such a neat manner. She then brought out the eggs, flour, butter, and milk and she began to whisk together a thick batter of pancakes. She told me to sit down and await for breakfast, so I complied with her request. After several minutes she had magically composed a batch of pancakes that seemed rather fluffy and delicious. We enjoyed a nice breakfast together where we spoke no words but we occasionally glanced up at each other with a mouthful of pancake and an acute smile passed back and forth between ourselves. It had been the best, and indeed delectable breakfast I had ever had in over a year. Those were the breakfasts I had had with Dr. Amadeus for our time together in my apartment.
In fact, I dare say that living with her had been awkward at times, for I am an alien in the scheme of socialization, but in the majority it had been quite a boon. She was indeed a respective woman who did understand the lengthy silences that I did require and the daily isolation I needed in my room while I attempted to create stories to alleviate my mind from depressiveness and terror. Sadly, my attempts were in vain and I barely wrote anything except for this loathing piece of waste:
“A veil of darkness blanketed the lively yet dangerous city that late brisk night [I wrote]. A silver waxing moon hung high in the inky black sky. The streets still rushing by with either the motorized carriages with their flashing headlights or the roaring people out having a wondrous time. The looming buildings gazed down at the excitement and the vivacious gloom. The night was always vibrant despite the darkness, almost as lively as the day. Most of the folk wouldn't do anything too reckless or too immoral, but the cops would pick up a poor sod either drunk, daring, or just plain crazy and throw them in the slammer until their sentence had been absolute…”
I would constantly groan and swear at my degenerated ability to compose with words. I left it scattered on my desk and I would storm out from my room and I would anxiously pace trying to conceive an acceptable idea for a story.
I would always see Vada sitting on the right chair, usually deep into reading, and I would study her for moments at a time. For the first week she read, to my surprise, The Butterfly’s Eclipse. I could tell that she seemed rather drawn into the story for her eyes were drawn wide in excitement and she vaguely leaned in towards the book with her shoulders. She would gaze up at me after a few seconds and a bright smile would be sculpted onto her face. I then would sit on my seat and hand her a gentle smile in return. With each passing week she would pick up a new story - a few examples: The Scarlet Sorcerer, The Fallen of Fulgur, Elfwood, Opening the Flame - sometimes reading two in a single week, a feat in which I could not accomplish.
One afternoon, I saw, neatly tucked away in the corner of my desk, a collection of highly detailed charcoal drawings that I dare say were fantastic. A fox, an eye, a teacup, a book, and a butterfly. I confronted Amadeus about these works and I told her my opinion of their beauty. She gave a dainty and bashful smile and she thanked me for the compliment. She told me how she started charcoal drawings at a young age and had improved her abilities to a great extent ever since. She was grateful that she could once again draw after Chesterside. She questioned me if I wanted my own composition of charcoal and I happily accepted her offer.
Living with Dr. Amadeus had made me brighter, more happier and appreciative. It would be rare for me to be inflicted with terrors during my waking hours. Whenever I would be ensnared by the chasm of my own psyche I would open my eyes, gaze upon her, and we would simply discuss about hollow topics that had no real meaning but they would occupy myself. Although, in the starless nights of the inky shroud of the darkness I would wake in sticky sweat, the stench of fear, and woeful tears that would dip from the recurrence of sinful memories from a crimson terror that would sweep my mind in a horror. This would repeat itself every single night. I would not discuss this with the Doctor for I did not want her to fret. I would only pace in darkness to sooth my soul until the morning sun.
I had not been outside since we had arrived, only scurrying and mucking about in the apartment. The outdoors had little to nothing in store for myself. All I needed was my mind and fingers to compose stories. The Doctor had no objections to my choices of solitude from the bustling streets of Nona, though I could tell she wanted me to at least get some fresh air. Aside from that, the Doctor would encourage me to keep a regular and fit diet. I complied with her nutritional restrictions - for I knew that the Doctor had, of course, a much greater understanding of biology and nutrition than myself. I would always trust the Doctor with my life and wellbeing.
My life was gradually easing down into a calm simmer in which I could tame with easement, and, possibly, go out into the world that resided outdoors. My life was seemingly peaceful, as much as it could possibly be, until I received a peculiar letter after a month and a half of my return. It was bright early in the morn, I perched thoughtfully in my seat, attempting to contemplate ideas for a work of literature. My ideas were fuzzy like buzzing static, focusing was immensely difficult. Amadeus was momentarily out for the daily mail-check that she insisted she would do. She came back holding three envelopes in her hand, the most we had ever received in our time together. She laid them down on the coffee table and she proceeded towards the kitchen.
“They’re for you!” said she.
I peered at the envelopes and I leaned forth to swooped them up. This had been the first true batch of letters that were addressed to me. The first was a white envelope; “757C Oxford Street Shadow D’Alton” was written on the front in lavish longhand with crimson ink. I did not recognise the penmanship. The second letter was tucked in a sand beige envelope; “To: Shadow From: Brother” was scrawled on the front in black ink that was my brother’s handwriting. The final letter was in a brownish beige envelope; “757C Oxford Street” was printed on the front in bold black letters, most likely from a printing press of some sorts.
I immediately tore open the letter that was delivered from my brother and I instantly began to read my brother’s letter - which was addressed two days prior - in blissfulness:
Dear Shadow [He wrote],
Welcome back to Nona. I had been informed by Nona’s Military a few days prior that you had returned from bloodshed and gunfire, and that your return was a month ago. Sister, you must tell us immediately of your return, next time you venture forth from Nona. You caused me to worry! I wish to visit you as soon as possible! Faith and I had not seen you for over a year now and we have a surprise which we wish to discuss with you. We are bursting in excitement and we cannot wait until we see you again. We will be coming over on the fifth of June at three in the afternoon. We have much to discuss, dear sister! Anyway, we are so happy for your return and we wish you all the best.
- Love from your brother, Wolfgang
I gave a dry chuckled once I had finished the letter, placing it back on the table. I stared at it in merriment for moment, thinking about a visit with my elder brother. The faint images of a distant childhood murmured and laughed in my mind.
Wolfgang Chopin D’Alton was seven years older than me, and he stayed with me until I came of age for adulthood. Most elder siblings would not do such a thing for the younger. I admire and love my brother for that. I am blessed to have Wolfgang as my elder brother.
Back to the unsealing of letters, I was once again digressing. I reached forth to the brown envelope, and the contents of which had escaped my mind for it was unimportant and tedious. It was related to the Military, so I threw it in the orange, wavering fingers of a fire.
Now, the final letter - the lavish crimson letter - was the most questionable and the most important of the trilogy, and I dare say I am blissed yet haunted by the choices I have sprang forth from its contents. I slipped the letter out from the envelope and I began to read its exquisite data which was recorded in a longhanded crimson, placed upon a milk white page which hooked me like a careless fish to a fisher’s rod. Its contents:
Hello, Ms. D’Alton
We have been informed of your grand return to Nona. We are sorry we have not contacted you at a sooner date. We have been informed that you have returned to your home of 757C Oxford Street, adjacent to Williams in the Works. We are also informed that you seclude yourself in isolation, though you have taken a companionship with Dr. Vada Amadeus, Doctorate in medical sciences. We are aware that you are unemployed at the moment, therefore you have no personal imports whatsoever. We wish to refine said terms. We have a proposition. Go down to 347 Gregorian Street, a hotel. Go up to the receptionist and ask to visit room 207, which is in the belongings of Elizabeth Obson. In there you will be given an instruction - hidden and obscure in the room in a crimson dissimilar to this letter. We promise you that this will not only be a means of pay but also an adventure. Our judgements of yourself have shown that you might enjoy this. You view the world in a different lens and you do not understand why, but nonetheless, you do. We wish to uphold this fact and to help you accept and embrace this fact of yourself. You are an abnormal and we salute you for this. We plead you to accomplish the task we set in front of you. We are eager to see what the outcomes may be.
Also, you would probably want to bring your doctor friend, the choice is completely yours.
Additionally, do not think of as a mere means of work, think of this as a bit of fun, if you will. This could indeed aid you in your stories.
We wish you the best of luck.
- The Miletus Order
I inspected this letter several times over, double taking to insure my eyes had not played any ticks upon myself. I was at first surprised, shocked, when I glanced through this letter. How someone knew a decent amount of myself without myself knowing anything about them was well above my head. I thought my eyes were causing a strange illusion on the paper. I nearly yelped in such astonishment, but I kept myself hushed so the Doctor would not fret. Uncertainty clouded my mind for moments upon end, for I was confuzzled if I should either comply with such orders or be about with my dismal life.
I sprang from my seat and a great smile was penciled on my face. I of course chose the former and I immediately dashed to my room where my wind slammed the door shut and I quickly dressed myself appropriately like a child going to its favorite playground. I honestly had no clue what or whom “The Miletus Order” was, never mind what they stood for, but it seemed rather boldly attractive. There was a veil of mystery that shrouded this Order grandly, and I was always a person to be lured into the mysterious and the unknown. Most individuals found that to be a rather freakish trait; for they prefered to stay in a realm where they were surrounded by things they knew well.
I quickly arranged myself in an old attire that once rested upon another person who wielded dreams as their own, who seemed blissfully ignorant of the true terrors that lurked behind the frail curtains of the world, who held the bounty of life in a firm grasp, and who had a wild mind that she was able to tame. I aspired to be that person once again; but the challenge was immense and it would be no mere accomplishment to achieve.
In the physical reality that we reside in, I wore a black frock-coat that was well-worn, especially at the shoulders; a cream buttoned-up shirt; a pair of dark leather shoes; and a pair of coal black jeans that had been slightly scuffed at the knees.
I dashed forth in a flurry from my room once I was accommodated for my first venture from the warmth and comfort of my home. I snatched the letter as I waltzed through.
“Dr. Amadeus!” I cried as I stepped in front of the door.
The Doctor turned from the kitchen and looked at me in surprise to see that I was fully dressed in street clothing.
“Shadow?” she asked, staggered, “are you going out? Is everything okay?”
“Grab your coat, Amadeus!” said I, triumphantly. “I have just received such interesting news and a possible means of payment!”
She threw me a strange, confused look as if my words were not of a tongue for her to understand. “Please explain.”
I handed my companion the crimson note, and she carefully read it over. Disbelief was roughly painted on her face. “Shadow,” said she, “this seems rather vague, and strange. Do you know who the Miletus order even is? How do they know that I’m living with you? This letter seems rather ominous.”
“Doctor,” said I, “Ominous or not, this is a proposition for payment. They are aware of my writings, which few people bear such knowledge. They know of my unemployment, which you are only aware of such face. And they are aware of your presence here, again, only you know such things. If you had told someone you would inform me, is that correct?”
“Yes! Of course I would! I have told no one because I have no one to tell.”
“Therefore, there are eyes are ligure upon us.”
“Then we should go to the police!”
“No. The police are buffoons and they are discombobulated.”
“Shadow--”
“Dr. Amadeus, please. How about I make a proposition of my own?”
“Okay?”
“If anything goes sour and distasteful, if we are in a terrible sorts of danger, then we shall abandon such terms of said Order and return home?”
The Doctor took a moment or so to conclude whether my terms would seem fit or not. She looked at me with her big, teal eyes.
“Alright,” she sighed. “I will follow.” She quickly dressed herself in a hazel tweed jacket; a black shirt; a similar pair of dark shoes to mine; and a pair dark-coloured pants. Then we exited from the warmth and comfort of our home, and we were met a chilled gale. We ventured from Oxford to Williams closely together as we were in search of a cab.
This was my first time in the outdoors in quite some time. The streets were bustling noisy, and they reeked of exhaust fumes that the motorized vehicles produced and the eerie sound of liveliness. These were noises and smells that I was not fond nor pleased with.
I gazed forth in search of a cab, and to our luck we quickly halted one. We told the cabby our destination once we were in and we went forth.
The cab ride was a lengthy one, and we sat in a soft silence. Dr. Amadeus took rapid glances at me to see what I was up to. As for myself, I simply resided inside my mind, questioning what there was in store for us. I admit, I was a tad nervous, but overall I was electrified for the unknown of what we would encounter. My mind was intently focused on what was to be ahead of us, I did not even think once about the horrors that had passed before me.
After half an hour, we pulled up to our destination, 347 Gregorian Street, and we departed from the cab, paying the driver of course. We were met by a large white building with seven enormous stories stacked one by one, with tall windows - some were aglow and some were dark - that had balconies bearded with ivy. The door that lead to the lobby of the hotel was a large, double-sided door that was completely composed of glass. The hotel seemed to be of a higher class variety, it was somewhat strange to see a hotel akin to this one in the district of the Works. If I was presented with such a photograph I would hypothesize that this resided in Bliss.
We walked towards the hotel with only the sound of the clamping of our leather-covered feet against the stone of the ground, and we ventured into the hotel where we were greeted by a large chamber made of tan marble with bold geometric shapes of darker brown. The desk in front was composed of a pale wood and the receptionist was a cheery, lanky wolf-chap who wore an elegant rouge coat and a shinned nameplate - John White - on his breast. He gave us a beaming smile and a firm “Hullo.”
We walked up to the desk, Amadeus behind myself, and we greeted the wolf kindly.
“What’ll it be?” he asked kindly “A room for two?”
“Indeed not,” said I. “I wish to see a person who has taken residents in this hotel.”
“Oh? And who might you be seein’?”
“Elizabeth Obson, room 207.”
“The one from that church?”
“The church?”
“Aye, yes. Ya know? The Church of Indulgence?”
“No, I fret that said Church is absent from my knowledge.”
“Ah, well. It isn’t too well know, especially with furless-folk like yourself. I’ve only heard rumours about it - and the little of what Mrs. Obson told me - and it seems rather strange.”
“Pray tell me about it.”
“Well, it’s a religion that is devoted on gluttony, and it’s been around since even before the first folk came to Dwelf. ‘The Belt is the Devil, It must be Purged.’ is its slogan. Very strange, if ya ask me. I’ve met a few of their ‘devotees’ ‘cause they seem to come and go from this hotel. Quite a lot, actually.”
“Interesting, what can you tell me about Mrs. Obson?”
“Ah, well, she’s a large dog-woman, quite large! When she first entered here I thought she was carryin’ twins, triplets, perhaps!” He heartily laughed. “She has very nice manners, and she wore a long and beautiful red dress that seemed fit her rather comfortably. She’s very quiet, almost spoke in a whisper. She also had a man with her - a tall and skinny fellow who wore a mask, a very creepy mask if you ask me! And a black suit. I couldn’t see head nor toe of him.”
“Interesting, very interesting. What can you tell me about said mask?”
“Well, the mask was pale and it had dark eyes! It looked as if it had seen something terrible!”
“Strange. When did Mrs. Obson come here?”
“About… last night. 3:47, an hour and a bit after my shift started. Strangely, they seemed rather chirpy at that hour of the day.”
“Did they leave?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Can I seem them, then?”
“Well, why do you need to see them?”
“Business. Private business. I was summoned by someone to come and meet with Mrs. Obson.”
“She didn’t speak of anyone coming to visit her.”
“Again, private business.”
“I see. I suppose I can let you quickly see them. I’ll be watchin’ you two to make sure you won’t be doing anything strange.”
I nodded in compliance and I thanked him.
He stepped forth from the desk and he guided us through a grand, green-carpeted hallway with watchful beige walls that was stamped with series of nut brown doors. Everything seemed rather neat and clean despite having people in the district of such work and industry. I did not seem a speck of coal nor even a shade of dust that seemed out of place. The workers of the hotel kept the area of temporary residence to the utmost spotless.
We advanced through a white stairwell that seemed enormous and we stepped through to the second floor that was an identical duplicate of the first. We came shortly down to room 207, a room with its number in brass.
John White tenderly knocked on the door to see if anyone was risen in the waking world. There was no response. He knocked once more. The same responsive silence.
“Mrs. Osbon?” said he. “You have some visitors.”
Simply silence.
I had an unusual feeling that was delved deeply inside my stomach, muttering to me that there was something amiss. The silence, in my mind, seemed eerie and wrongful.
“Mrs. Obson,” he slowly creaked the door open and he peeped inside. He gasped and jumped in a fright, collapsing to the wall opposite, with fear clearly woven into his eyes. “Holy hell!” he cried.
“What is it?” Amadeus asked him, scarcely. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He did not speak, for his words were shaken and incoherent, he simply kept his quivering finger pointed towards the door.
I opened the door completely and I stepped into the room to see an abdominal horror that has always been scorched into my mind ever since my eyes laid upon it, though whenever I returned to it I felt a pleasant warmth flood through my heart for what the series of events would follow after this horror. Most would compare this psychological vomit-inducement with the crimson events that transpired with myself at Chesterside, which still stain my mind in a howling screech that haunts my dream land to this very day. Though I am not most people which would entwine such a comparison. I am only myself.
