And Then There Was Fiction - Chapter One · 28.06.07
It was a chillingly bright morning…
The large mansion stood upon the hill, glaring ominously at the rest of the desolate moor, as though challenging it to swallow the mansion as it had time. Time… it always sweeps us off our feet, and as we struggle to stand again, we are surprised to realize just how much of it has escaped us. Time will never be harnessed, being as a wild stallion upon the plain, trotting gaily through the brooks, whinnying with free delight. I do not wish to harness time. Only its occupants, its servants. Those enslaved to the winding flight of the passing moments, unable to release the hold on reality that is essential to controlling what meager time we do have in life.
How cursed are these occupants of time, unfortunately doomed never to be forgotten! At least, their names will live on, in the hearts and minds of those who loved them so. To be eternally changed, permanently placed in time, as though made of stone among the fleeting wildlife. The mansion stood, rebuking the wind that tore at his open windows, chilling the very bones of those inside.
Only three figures stood within the brick walls of the turn-of-the-century home, built sometime in the 1920’s. None of them wished to be there. They had been hired to merely do their job, wait until their employer’s guests came and left(at their leisure), and then they were free to leave. All were dressed in black, and stood around the small, useless fire at the hearth, clasping their hands with bowed heads, the picture of solemnity. Two were male, one was female. The eldest man looked to be about in his mid-fifties, his weathered brown face looking as though it would slip away if the wicked wind were to blow through too harshly. His black cap sat limply upon a wrinkled head, not working to conceal the receding hairline.
The more youthful man nearby stood quite elegantly next to the ancient, slightly huddled figure beside him. A playful glint was in his blue eyes, although dimmed by the depressing prospects of the afternoon. He watched the woman beside him, almost eagerly awaiting a reaction from her.
The only female in the room had a glassy expression in her hooded brown eyes, watching the fire with almost ethereal intensity. Wearing black seemed to escalate the contrast of her pale skin against her raven hair, and the dramatically painted lips resembled fresh blood upon the thin line of flesh. The fingernails were also painted, but this time with a charcoal black, the thin fingers twitching sporadically as she watched the licks of heat in the old-fashioned fireplace. The young man kept his eye on her nervously as he kicked at a fallen brick, chipped and black with soot. Both the man watching her, and the woman herself, seemed to be in their late twenties. Perhaps their very early thirties.
After a long time standing silently, the woman turned, her brown eyes boring through the blue-eyed male. “Why on earth would somebody live in a place like this?” she demanded, with a cool air. The elderly gentleman flickered his eyes in their direction, seemingly occupied with the window overlooking the moor out front.
The young man brightened up immediately, as though the comment fueled him to the very core. “I know! I mean, it’s cold, and dark, and…well…old.” He didn’t look in the direction of the older man, who didn’t seem to be listening.
Raising a tentative eyebrow, the woman thrust out a white hand, shivering slightly in the cold. “Melantha Tolbert.”
Smiling, the blue eyes danced in a light of anticipation. “Colin Frisk, at your service.” Melantha rolled her eyes.
Colin shrugged, then turned to the gentleman now standing at the window, transfixed. “And what’s your name, pal?”
The man said nothing for a time, slowly and surely turning toward the two. The squinting, wrinkled eyes held their gaze with an otherworldly understanding and calm, sending a chill down Melantha’s back. “In the war,” he said with ceremonial delay, “They called me Shannon, Laurence.”
Colin struggled to hold back a snort, trying to compose himself around the old man. “Isn’t…er…isn’t Shannon a girl name?”
The elder just watched him, gazing into the boyish blue eyes. “Shannon is my last name. You may call me Mr. Shannon, or Laurence, if you wish. Though I would much prefer you calling me Sir.” The man slowly flexed his worn, wrinkled right hand, then straightened the depressing black jacket, striding toward the door. Quietly, he stated, “The guests are arriving, now. Girl, go check the fires in the living room, the parlor, and all the bedrooms. Boy, come with me.”
The command was cool and collected, as though practice thoroughly many times before. The two younger shared a look of stilled rebuke, wondering where this man had received authority over them. Sighing, Melantha started up the large, decorative staircase, while Colin strode toward the main hall after the man.
Out on the cobblestone walk, a man stood, erect with the posture that suggested all the formality of a gentleman of old times. He wore a black trench-coat that flapped around him in the dangerously violent winds of the moor. The man wore a wide-brimmed hat, which was pulled forward, concealing his face. Leaving his sleek black Rolls-Royce, he walked up to the front door with a brisk and impatient step, his shadowed eyes locked on the ground in front of him, his mind occupied on other matters. Raising a gloved hand to make good, firm use of the iron knocker, he was slightly surprised to have it open before him, and an old, leathery man stood smiling.
Beckoning him in, he was led to the parlor, where he was told to make himself comfortable. After being seated, the man seemed anxious, and restless, asking for a small glass of Burgundy while he awaited his companions. He refused to allow his coat to be removed, or his hat, which Colin found rude, but his older, wiser companion seemed untouched, looking as gaily at the guest as he had since his arrival.
After exciting the hall, Laurence turned to Colin. “Greet the next guest, and make it snappy! They’re arriving soon!”
Next to arrive was a group of three or four people. It was hard to tell, they were all pressed tightly together on the doorstep, the one in front using the knocker with impatience. When Colin opened the door, all of them toppled inside, shoving the others in a hurried attempt to find shelter from the infernal wind.
“Woah, Susan! Look at that old man! He looks ancient!” A young boy, no older than thirteen, certainly, was pointing a rather rude finger at Laurence, who frowned at the child.
“Who might you be, lad?” He asked, bending down to meet the eyes of the fair-faced boy.
“M’name’s Edmund. Edmund Pevensie.” The boy said stubbornly, crossing his arms in a defiant gesture. A flicker of a smile crossed Laurence’s features, and he turned to the slightly older girl behind Edmund, gripping his arm.
“Then you must be his elder sister, Susan, am I not right?” He asked. The brown-haired teen nodded her head, and pressed her brother onward into the parlor, along with the first guest.
A man stood in the doorway, wearing ridiculous attire. By the looks of his over-large T-shirt, and moth-eaten jeans, along with the grimy hands and face, this man had rummaged in a garbage can for his attire. Wrinkling his nose slightly, Colin greeted him, trying to smile. The effort came out looking like a smirk, which the newcomer genuinely reciprocated.
“Jack.” Said the man, grinning broadly, and shaking Colin’s hand with his dirty fingers. “Jack Sparrow. Would you be so kind as to tell me, whether or not there are any…erm…pretty ladies about the area?” He peered into the hall suspiciously, looking left and right as though afraid of somebody being there. With a look of disappointment and gloom, he stepped inside. “I thought not. Oh well!” Throwing his arms up in the air, he might have been skipping into the parlor, and it would not have been stranger. Colin mentally made a note not to tangle with this one. Or let him have too many drinks.
The next to step inside the door was another eccentric gentleman; this time, a man who seemed around seventy, with a long white beard and purple cloak that fluttered about him like feathers on a bird. With a large smile, he took Colin’s hand, his eyes sparkling. “Very nice to meet you, indeed, Very nice indeed! I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. But you may call me Dumbledore.” He said his entire name in one long-winded breath, and without skipping a beat, went on to exclaim about how the house was exactly how he had remembered it on his last visit, and how pretty the windows looked. Colin made another mental note, before turning back to look outside, waiting for the next guest.
“Surely, you jest, foul beast of the earth! Surely!” Rang out a velvety voice, almost consumed by the tearing wind around the mansion. Another voice, much gruffer, and which reminded one of unpolished stone, replied, “Have I ever given you reason to doubt me, tree-dweller?”
An odd pair came up the walk this time; a small, round little man, more wide than he was tall, and with a long beard that was braided all the way down his chest. He wore attire all in browns and reds, with a large silver watch on his right hand, wrapped around his fat wrist. His companion was, in all ways, the opposite of the short man. Tall and slender, pale and fair-haired, the handsome figure wore clothes that looked tailored to his very frame, and walked with an air of grace and tranquility. His tone, albeit soothing and lyrical, was nonetheless full of bursting humor restrained. “No, you have not, Gimli. But I do wonder, sometimes, about how reliable your memory is of late. You do tend to have difficulty remembering these days, old friend.”
The two paused on the road halfway to the house, watching each other with a solemn sadness. The shorter companion coughed, “Aye, Legolas. We did have some good times.”
His colleague nodded, clapping him comradely on the shoulder. The pair continued, and Colin felt the rise of an unnamed emotion rise in his chest. The two friends seemed so…important, and sophisticated. No, those weren’t the correct words. But Colin knew there was something entirely special between them, and he would find out what before they left.
“Oi! Let me go, you confounded old fool! Let me go!” The young man turned around, to see three more figures come up the walk. One, a man in his mid-thirties, with his hand gripped around the arm of a much younger and handsomer soul. The young boy couldn’t be past his early twenties, and he shared similar features as Legolas. Fair-hair, and boyish face, he wore jeans and a simple T-shirt, but held the air of a spoiled aristocrat. The man who held him met eyes with the boy, and the two shared a look of utter contempt. Leaning forward, the older man sneered, “My apologies, good sir. You looked like someone I knew. A young man, with all the airs and graces you possess.” He had an insane edge to his voice, and sounded as though he was about to burst into laughter. Bowing low respectfully, he crooned, “Barbossa, at yer service, kind sir.”
The younger man looked at him in disbelief for a moment, then rubbed his sore arm. Placing a generous smile on his features, he bowed his head to the older gent. “There is no apology needed, Monsieur Barbossa. I am Raoul de Chagny. I would be very pleased to make your acquaintance. If only we had met under less…unfortunate circumstances, as you mistaking me for someone else. I offer my services.”
They both nodded, but Colin could tell that both were merely giving a facade of politeness, and the glare they both bestowed one another made Colin sure a fist-fight was about to break out. Or at the very least, a verbal war. Greeting them both, and taking their hats and coats, he led these last guests into the parlor. Stepping up quickly beside the flabbergasted Colin, Laurence whispered, “That is enough for now. Thank you for you help, Colin. Go back to the kitchens now, and help that girl with the refreshments. And don’t break the glasses.”
Laurence seemed skilled at giving orders, and even more skilled at not letting the company hear the strict demands, but Colin was grateful for the compliment. If only he hadn’t been told to leave all the strange, exotic guests… It was definitely going to make for an interesting evening…
— MaskedNicci
And Then There Was Fiction - Chapter Two · 28.06.07
All around the parlor, were seating colorful guests, in all varying attire. The first guest, who upon being pressed, only revealed his name to be ‘Erik’, was seemingly more at ease once the guests began to arrive, although he did not interact with any of them. Legolas and Gimil were gazing at the interesting paintings on the wall, while young Susan scolded her little brother. Jack Sparrow was no where to be found, although faint noises in the wine cellar could be heard.
Barbossa was seated in a large armchair, next to Erik, watching Raoul de Chagny closely. He did not seem to realize that Jack Sparrow had arrived at all, rather, he was more focused on the party who were not becoming rapidly drunk.
Albus Percival….well. Dumbledore, was relating to Raoul de Chagny all the fine points of lemon drops, and how useful they were to keep certain creatures out of one’s garden. Raoul de Chagny seemed distracted, before Dumbledore insisted he speak his mind. “A penny for your thoughts, young man!”
Raoul shrugged, “I was just thinking of my wife, Monsieur. She wished to come today, but she was ill.”
Anyone looking might have caught Erik, apparently consumed in a book, flinching at the mention of Raoul’s wife. Barbossa, being of a very sharp sort, looked between the two for a moment, when a malicious grin crossed his features. He turned to Erik, and in his gruff voice, asked, “I wonder, kind sir, if you are acquainted with the de Chagny’s?”
Erik looked directly into the eyes of Barbossa, leaped up and, shouting in a voice that sounded as smooth as honey, yet with a tone as harsh and cold as ice, “My acquaintances are none of your concern, sea rat!” All eyes fell on him. In his sudden rage, his wide-brimmed hat had fallen to the floor.
He had a normal face, though there was something distinctly odd about his features. They were stiff, and emotionless, though his bright yellow eyes shone with obvious anger, and every sort of emotion possible to be contained in such a man. After a few moments of silence, it finally dawned on the larger portion of the guests that although very ingeniously constructed, Erik wore a mask. A mask that resembled, in the dim light of the parlor room, a real face. But it was as immobile and expressionless as all his other masks previous. Which, of course, nobody in the room except Raoul knew about. The young man paled as he recognized the emanating power of the Phantom, and he took a step back, suddenly bumping into a table that he had not know was there before.
Upon the glass coffee table lay a key, and a small scrap of paper, with flowing handwriting scrawled on its surface. Raoul looked around at the other guests, then bent down to pick it up. Erik, once again seated, pulled his hat back on to cover his face.
Everyone else excepting Erik, Barbossa, and of course, Jack Sparrow (who was still in the wine cellar) gathered around Raoul as he read the note.
Dear Guests,
You are all wondering by now for what reason I have requested your attendance to what may seem to most of you to be a very dull, run-down old mansion. I assure you, this is most definitely not so, and while some may see my reasons as mad, you will just have to discover the validation of such an accusation for yourselves.
You all are to stay for the duration of the evening, and by the time of precisely 11 O’Clock, either you will decide to return to your distant homes, which you have traversed in great extent and to large sums paid, or to remain in my home.
I fear that important matters keep me from greeting you to my household personally, but I am sure you will find that my hired help is most capable of making your stay as comfortable as possible.
Be assured, you will not be required to pay me, OR my hired help any sum of money for the entirety of your stay. This one is completely free of charge, and I would be hard put to it to request such a thing of you, when you have all traveled so far, and been curious so long.
Please, do look upon the table before you; there is a small key there. It goes to the cupboard behind the wine cellar, which holds the key to each of your rooms, should you decide to stay. If you do not, please return the key, and the slip of paper with your name and directions to your room.
Thank you all, and hopefully, I will be seeing you soon.
Your Good Friend,
M.Nicholas
All the guests looked at each other in curiosity, none speaking. Finally, Gimli son of Gloin gave a deep grunt. “Well, that sounds amiable of him! Leaving his company without a hello, nor a goodbye! Without an explanation!”
His best friend, Legolas, said nothing, merely standing in thoughtful silence, his otherworldly beauty darkened by the look of contemplation on his brow. All around the room was a feeling of silent suggestions, each in turn being refused by its maker. Ridiculous notions floated through the very air they breathed, and each looked at the others in turn, wondering who the mysterious owner of the mansion must be.
“Doesn’t anybody know who the bloody bugger is?” Suddenly piped up Edmund Pevensie, the noisy boy from earlier. He was infamous for completely ignoring the age-old rule of ‘Children should be seen, and not heard’, and was quite happy to be the first to speak out amongst so many adults. His sister Susan shushed him, telling him to behave. Without speaking, anyone could tell that Susan was very afraid. Being the only female, not to mention one of the only children, she was vexed by the change of situation, and ignored by the rest of the party. Their parents would never have consented to the instructions on the mysterious note left on their doorstep two weeks earlier, but as they were now under the care of a certain eccentric old man while their parents were away, there was not much choice in the matter. After reading the note with a queer gleam in his eye, the professor then insisted Edmund and Susan leave the other siblings behind, and accept the invitation. After much protests, they had been sent on the next train out. Susan had never felt so much like an object before. It seemed like the professor had wanted them to leave!
“My dear boy, you have no idea with whom you are dealing with. And as this is his home, I am certain basic mannerisms require you to refrain from insults.” Erik’s voice was sharp as steel, hissing through the air like a whip. Edmund was indignant, and puffed out his small chest with as much determination as a little boy could muster in the presence of such a demanding and frightening grown-up.”And do you have any idea with whom you are dealing with?” The boy demanded. Erik’s eyes flickered with a fury barely contained. His eyes flitted about the room in a slightly mad fashion, and he took a deep breath, staring at the carpet of the parlor. Standing, he walked out of the room, shutting it behind him with a chilling click.
Dumbledore chose this time to rise, a happy twinkle in his blue eyes as he surveyed his fellows. “Well, now. Well now, indeed! I suppose we all have our theories on the mysterious person who has allowed us to remain in this quite beautiful house, despite not being able to entertain us personally!” He sat upon the coffee table, twiddling his thumbs with a beaming smile. “Do everyone tell the rest how they came to this very place in the world. It is quite a coincidence, you know. Quite a coincidence, indeed.”
Barbossa stood, walking over to the mantle to stare into the tiny flicker of flame on the hearth. It gave the room no warmth, but it was not as if Barbossa could feel it’s sensation anyway. Transfixed with the flame, he spoke in a monotone, and that slight insane edge to his voice was quite apparent as he told his tale.
“It was not three months ago, when I received the letter. Strange, how it came to me. Almost as though the one who sent it had powers beyond natural… I was standing upon the deck of my ship, watching the sea roll past, and wishing for the dawn to arrive. It was about the fourth hour of the new day, and the sun had not yet risen on the horizon. It shocked me, to be true. Usually the sun arises early on the sea, being as there is nothing in it’s way to arrive.
I could have sworn upon me own mother’s grave that there was no letter at all, seeing as how it floated through the air, light as a feather, flittering down to land on the poop deck, at me feet. I bent down, picked it up, and found it was addressed to none other than me. Upon reading it, I decided a bit of something to drink, to calm me nerves, was in order. I promise ye, I left that letter in me jacket pocket, but when I searched to read it again, it was gone. The letter was very plain, hand-written with a strange, green color to the pen. It stated that I, Captain Hector Barbossa, am very much needed at the home of a certain M. Nicholas, and that it would be very much in my favor to leave me crew behind.” Barbossa turned to the rest of the group, decided against mention the leverage which had been included in the letter.
Also, my dearest Hector, I promise that as many apples as you wish will be provided. You will find them quite enjoyable, my household produces the finest.
Some sort of trickery was behind all of this, he was certain. But not a word he spoke, the amount of trust with his companions not appearing with the ability to become established. Legolas chose this moment to speak up. Barbossa turned from the fireplace, to watch the beautiful young man as all the others did.
“Our letter arrived in much the same way. But in a more believable fashion. I was watching my knives being reforged, as a particularly difficult match had caused them to dent. As that is a disrespectable way to go on a hunt, I was especially eager for them to be finished by the end of the week. As the smith was placing the finishing touches, a scout elf came into the area, and came directly to me. A human, most likely an ambassador of his race, had come, to discuss respectable trades with my father, and to request I come with him to his land, for I was much wanted. He gave me a letter, which I read with ample curiousity, and I placed it on my personage for utmost safety. When I searched for it later, it was missing.”
The rest agreed, their letters had arrived similarly. After a few minutes of silence, Colin entered the room, to announce that supper was being served in the dining room, and that he had been instructed to accompany them all there.
What was to happen in that room, with its old oak table, and velvet cushioned chairs, was only to be discovered upon the guests’ entry.
— MaskedNicci
And Then There Was Fiction - Chapter Three · 28.06.07
The lush table settings greeted the hungry company; luscious, blood red napkins, set delicately beside twinkling wine glasses. Colin led the way to each of the table settings(each with an indicated name written on a folded paper, laying on the dark red plates). After being seated, two chairs seemed noticeably empty. Susan, who was seated next to one of the empty seats, leaned over to check. “Erik,” she read, turning to her fellows.
“He’s probably wandered off someplace.” suggested Barbossa quietly, stroking his chin in a very thoughtful fashion. The company agreed mutually.
Legolas turned to the second empty chair, “For whom, may I ask, is the other setting?”
Dumbledore, sitting at his own place setting with a broad grin on his face, gave Legolas a look of elation. “It simply must be Mr. Sparrow. He is the only one not present, correct?”
A few people nodded, but one or two whispered, “Who is Mr. Sparrow?” After all, he had been hardly seen, going directly to the wine cellar immediately after arriving.
As though he knew he was being discussed, the aforementioned Mr. Sparrow stumbled into the room on tipsy feet, his formerly very distinguished-looking appearance disheveled; and he fell into the door frame, gripping it tightly. “I’m sorry for being late.” He slurred, his speech obviously dead-drunk. Susan gave Edmund a look to silence him, the boy looking completely elated at the prospect of the new visitor. Being the naughty sort of boy, he believed drunks to be the most fun to play pranks on. Susan would not allow this, knowing that a report of Edmund almost killing Mr. Sparrow would not be very pleasurable for a grown-up even such as the Professor.
Seating himself rather sloppily into a chair, Jack surveyed the room. “Well?” He said, “Are we going to eat, or what?”
With that, the group turned as the cook(namely, Laurence Shannon), came out with plates of food. Delectable dishes passed before the company, and they all began to take their fill, eating with amiable silence. Once in awhile, a member of the group would speak up to commence small talk with another. It was altogether a lot more enjoyable then the beginnings of the evening had promised.
Just as most were pushing their plates away, unable to eat another bite, the door from the main hall opened, and a young girl walked in. She was brimming of youth and curiosity, with short dark hair, that looked nearly black. Her bright eyes looked like a strange blend of dark blues and greens, with a pale gray tint to them. She looked all around the table for a minute, with the guests watching her expectantly. Smiling shyly, she met the eyes of Legolas. “Hi….” she murmured. “Can I join you?”
Dumbledore gave her his bright beaming smile, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. “Of course you may, my dear! It just so happens, a friend of ours was unable to join, and there is a spare seat. I’m sure nobody would mind if you sit!” He looked around at everyone else, holding his hands up in an elegant fashion.
There was a mutual nod, and she felt an increasing nervousness as they all watched her sit. It just so happened that Erik’s chair had been set in between Susan Pevensie, and Legolas Greenleaf. When Legolas stood up and pulled out her chair for her, the girl turned a shade of brightest pink. “Thank you.” She whispered, so lowly that if Legolas had not happened to be an elf, he would not have heard her.
“My pleasure, Miss.” He said amiably, seating himself. Turning to the rest of the table, he spoke. “I find the human food here has a distinct resemblance to my own, curiously. Have any of you noticed how filling each bite is, or how blissful each taste to the tongue?”
Dumbledore nodded, and the newcomer seated next to Susan sighed contentedly, watching Legolas. She was given a look from each member of the company, and was quickly silenced. Dumbledore, positively grinning at her antics, sent a reluctant Edmund to retrieve a plate from the cook for the young lady.
Barbossa, turning to her, inquired, “And what is your name, miss?”
Hesitating in front of such a scrutinizing company, she had to be encouraged twice by Susan before she mumbled, “Morgan….”
“Morgan what, my dear?” Coaxed Dumbledore, looking her straight in the eyes, urging her to continue.”It is alright. We are just a bit nervous tonight.”
This seemed to assure her at least a little, for Morgan raised her head a bit higher, and stated with semi-stability, “Morgan Rhea, sir.” She turned to smile up at Legolas, leaning toward him and softly whispering, “I’ve always wanted to meet you.”
Legolas raised a delicate eyebrow, and Morgan felt her heart flutter. He was so….sophisticated…
The man was in no way young in a mortal sense, neither was he mortal. Being as Elves are noticeably slow-maturing, they often live for centuries without appearing older than a day. Legolas was now becoming quite middle-aged, Elf-wise; he seemed to humans about his mid-twenties. With long, fair locks, and an equally flawless complexion, he might not have come across as strong and serious as he truly was. In today’s society, one may even lay claim to his indifference as selfishness and perhaps even a confusion as to personal gender. This was definitely not the case, in any fashion. Elves are quite proud creatures, and interestingly perfect in appearance with their immortal powers. One with nature and its powers, Elves go about their lives determined to maintain a balance in the world. Legolas was no exception.
What might have sealed his fate with today’s society, however, was the fact that this tall, beautiful, proud being was of royal blood. Legolas was the son to the King of Mirkwood, a forest seemingly untouched by the threads of time, its mysteries haunting all that pass the ominous trees. A prince, he was nonetheless confused by Morgan’s attentions to his person. He asked himself if he had acted in any way to make her assume he returned the emotion.
The rest of the party watched on, in either indifference or a fleeting interest. Susan was in awe of Morgan’s brashness, and decided she immediately liked the girl.
— MaskedNicci
And Then There Was Fiction - Chapter Four · 28.06.07
Erik waited until the last of the guests had exited the parlor, then quickly stepped inside, silently picking up the key upon the coffee table and striding over to the wine cellar. The cupboard was precisely where it had been detailed; ten small keys glimmered up cheerfully at the masked man. Each key had a slip of paper tied to it, detailing a guest’s name. Slipping in a hand, he picked up the brass key with his name on it, and closed the cupboard. Replacing everything as it was, he strode from the room with all the speed possible to man.
The hallway was dark and musty, the dank smell of decay and dust hung upon the air: a silent shroud of mystery. It did not take him long to find his own room; the lock within the door gave a loud snap as it opened. His eyes glistened with interest as he recognized the ancient system. It would be easy to break into other rooms, he realized. Definitely something to keep in mind, just in case.
Stepping into his quarters, Erik was surprised to find the living space he was to remain in was quite different from the hallway he had just left. The large, scenic windows were open, allowing a comfortable breeze to flow through the space. A thick carpet covered the floor, and long draperies hung from the ceiling, creating a soft atmosphere.
Erik quickly took in the details of the room and, finding it suitable to his needs, sat down upon the bed. He then took notice of a large envelope on the bedside table…
Erik,
I see you have found your room in one piece. I hope you remain so in the future days ahead. Please do make yourself comfortable. Meanwhile, I simply must direct you towards the lovely view outside your windows.
*It is simply to die for.*
Your Good Friend,
M. Nicholas
Erik took notice of the particular accent on the words ‘to die for’, and wondered at the emphasis’s meaning. After all, he knew all but nothing about the person within whose house he was staying. He did not even know why he had decided to stay….curiosity, perchance? It was always a devil of a thing, curiosity. Lingering about in the corners of one’s mind, continually demanding to be vanquished only by the blood of knowledge, weaned on revelations.
Setting down the brief, scrawled note upon the table, he came to the window, staring out into the ominous twilight. There seemed to be nothing of particular interest out-of-doors, but he was sure there was some special meaning behind the words underlined upon the wrinkled page. Staring out into the oncoming night, his yellow eyes seemed like two tiny pinpricks of gold shimmering beneath the moon, as it began its ascent into the blackened sky. Erik sighed, the mysteries of the evening putting him quite at odds with the alleged sanity of the mansion’s owner. Who was this M. Nicholas? He certainly wished to remain anonymous for the most part; his name apparently meant nothing to the other occupants of the household. M. Nicholas….
Maybe there was nothing behind the name, and it was merely an alias, a fake name created by some mad being looking for a bit of fun with each of the odd guests. It was something certainly intriguing to the former opera ghost, and he would not rest peacefully until he discovered it.
Although, it isn’t that I have been getting decent sleep either way. Ah, to fall into the eternal bliss that is death! To dream forevermore! You corpses, hidden beneath the dry grasses; you have found true happiness. Perhaps a happiness Erik is doomed never to experience. A deep, melodious sigh escaped his lips, the two malformed pieces of pale flesh hidden beneath the strange mask. It was not as though Erik had not dreamed often enough. It was that his dreams left him feeling even more hollow, and lifeless. As though he had given a part of himself to that dream, that hope; and it had been ripped away from him.
The sun had set now, the pale moonlight laid upon the expanse of the moor; its open plain allowing him to watch the vast sky without ceasing. Erik knelt at the window for a time uncounted, different questions and answers racing through his mind. But most of the time, he merely stayed, quietly enjoying the beauty of the silence. A wind picked up on the open moor, and his thinning hair blew into his eyes.
“No!!” Screeched a young female voice, and Erik blinked furiously out of his state, turning towards the locked door. He heard the unmistakable stomping of many feet, and laughter. Irritated, Erik thrust a rude hand gesture at the closed door, and shut the window.
“Morgan, are you alright?” Another female voice stood out to Erik, and his memory reminded him that she was that Susan Pevensie girl, with the foolish younger brother. Though he was irate with the boisterous company for interrupting his thoughts, Erik couldn’t resist standing near the door, trying to make out snippets of conversation. The sounds muffled together, but he could safely assume from the new name – Morgan – that a new member had joined the group, and that everyone had finished their meal. He wouldn’t be missed at the foolish ritual, he was sure. Humans spent far too much time eating. It was no wonder most of them were overweight.
A pair of footsteps passed his door, and he decided to wait until most were in bed tonight before leaving his room again. He did not want any interruptions when he questioned the ‘hired help’ of the household. Surely they would know at least a little of their benefactor, which they could – in turn – relate to him.
“Morgan…?!”
This word caught Erik’s attention, and as the predictable shuffling of feet congregated in the musty hall, he listened.
“Morgan, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”
“It would appear that she has fainted.” Spoke that queer Dumbledore, in a serious tone. “We should get her to bed.”
After much pathetic exclamations from the entire boisterous party, Erik was appeased with the sound of a silent hallway. They had all wandered off to bed, the drama ended. Now, to begin solving the mystery of le manoir de M. Nicholas.
His door make a slight creaking noise as he slowly eased it open, Erik looked up and down the hall to ensure it was empty. Only the tall and fair-haired M.Greenleaf remained, and he was preoccupied with a strange-looking bust upon its pedestal, something clenched in his hand.
Turning to walk down the stairs, Erik’s light step making no sound, he was surprised to hear the strange man’s voice break the silence of the hallway. “You go seeking a solution to the enigma of the manor, good sir?”
Erik turned, finding that Legolas had not turned to watch the masked man descend the steps. He is the first to have heard my presence without my consent in a decade… “What man would not wish to solve such a riveting mystery?”
Legolas turned to give Erik a cold stare – an expression returned on the elf readily – and slowly nodded, their eyes locked as each figure calculated the other. After a time, the Mirkwood Prince held up a slip of paper that was crumpled in his hand. “I found this on the newcomer; I thought you might find it useful.”
Studying the other as though expected a sudden attack, Erik steadily walked over and retrieved the note, smoothing it out in his gloved hands and reading the now-familiar scrawl. Another note from M. Nicholas.
Delightful Miss Morgan,
I am very much gratified to hear that you were able to arrive. I am sure you will find your room to be quite satisfactory to your needs. I do hope that your meeting with Legolas Greenleaf was nothing short of copacetic!
Your Good Friend,
M.Nicholas
P.S. It’s in the bedside drawer. I do hope you find the lighting in your closet suitable; I had to request extra lamps in order for you to fully appreciate it all.
Erik looked up at M.Greenleaf, confusion dominating his expressive eyes. Legolas was apathetic as he asked, “What do you make of it, human?”
“It would seem our mysterious benefactor revels in using a diverse vocabulary, and leaving his guests ambiguous hints revealed only in even more secretive notes. Which, may I add, can add up to much, or nothing at all. He would apparently take pleasure in the child’s game ‘treasure hunt’.”
Legolas clasped his hands behind his back, staring off down the hallway with a contemplative expression. “What causes these conclusions to come to your person?”
The man seemed shocked for a moment, then haltingly replied, “The vocabulary. He uses uncommon words such as ‘copacetic’, and ‘gratified’. I myself received a private note, which also had the strange undertones as this note has. He suggests that the child requested to meet you, therefore leaving open the possibility of young Morgan’s arrival to be the usage of personal ties. What I mean to say, Monsieur, is that Morgan came because she was promised by our host the ability to meet you.” Erik waited a moment, until Legolas beckoned him to continue. “These not-so subtle hints tell me that the sender enjoys to confuse others, and force them to actually think about the information they are given. An enjoyment often used in the child’s game.”
By this time, Legolas had begun pacing silently along the hall, Erik’s voice echoing softly as he finished speaking, and waited for the elf’s reply. “Do you understand the complications you are suggesting? This ‘host’ of ours – who has decided to remain completely anonymous, therefore alienating himself from the ‘guests’ – knows not only who I am, and where I come from, but also that I would accept the invitation. That is even afore I mention that this ‘Morgan’ child seems to know almost – if not, all – as our host. The implications are astounding, yet curiously familiar, sir!”
Erik nodded, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. Legolas blinked, then looked up to demand Erik’s full attention and gaze. “You said you also received a similar note? Would I be too forward to request to see it?”
I do not see how it could hurt me, as I’ve already detailed some of my calculations so far. Perhaps this stranger could provide some insight into a note that has left even my intellect baffled.
When M. Greenleaf had the carefully folded note in hand, he held it up to the light in order to read it more clearly. His brow furrowing in deep thought, he placed a calloused finger upon a certain phrase. Erik took note that this man seemed to use two particular fingers more than the others. An archer, perhaps? “My good sir, am I reading this correctly? ‘To die for’?” When Erik did not reply, Legolas shook his head, “Might I once again intrude, and request to see this apparently magnificent view?”
Erik shrugged, nonchalant and curious as to whether or not this Greenleaf could create a better solution to the strange puzzle than himself. He led the way to his room, walking over and opening up the window. A chilling breeze floated through the room’s atmosphere, making the hair on both men’s necks stand on end. Before either of them could lean out the window for a better look, a piercing scream broke out, and both figures turned to each other, almost accusingly.
“The parlor room.” Legolas said simply, and they raced off, leaving the window as Erik tucked both notes into an inner pocket.
By the time they reached downstairs, Colin was panicking. The young man’s blue eyes widened in fear as he saw the two dark and ominous forms appear at the door to the parlor. “S-She just collapsed! I didn’t do anything!” He gestured wildly at Melantha, who was sprawled out on the floor, her raven tressed fanned out around her pale face. The deep brown eyes were open, unblinkingly staring into nothingness as her white hand gripped a note. Erik strode over, checking her pulse silently. Legolas walked over to the mantelpiece, where Melantha must have been facing when she fell. A small hand-mirror was lain face-down atop it, and he began to pick it up when Erik’s voice broke the stunned silence.
“She’ll come around soon. Tell me what happened.”
Legolas turned to look at Colin, who could not have looked in a worse state of shock if he had wished it upon himself. “W-We were just talking, and I…I mean, I asked her if she was seein’ anybody. She had been messing with something in the fireplace, and when she stood up, she suddenly gripped her ears, like they hurt or somethin’. I didn’t do anything, honest!”
The two figures now crouched around Melantha ignored Colin’s continuous whimperings, looking at each other as though sharing a silent conversation. Erik whispered, “Shock. She must have either seen something, or known something and pieced it together.” He looked down a muttered a curse. “I should have come down sooner, I don’t know if she’ll be fit to interrogate after this. Let us hope she is amiable after her collapse.” Legolas merely nodded, indicating the mantel piece with his eyes.
Erik turned promptly to Colin, quickly coming up with something for the boy to do. “Get some warm water and a few towels, and a bit of strawn to revive her. Make haste!”
Legolas raised an eyebrow at the last request, and Erik shrugged. “I had to make up some sort of herb to keep him out of our blasted way.”
Giving the man a slight grin, Legolas reached over to pick up the mirror on the mantle. “What are your thoughts on this?”
Erik hesitated before lifting up the hand-mirror, his own reflection sending a shiver down his spine. Bloody mirrors…
“It appears to be an ordinary mirror, but I fear it has some relevance to the mystery.” Legolas continued, turning to watch as the young woman began to stir. “Your thoughts?”
When Erik did not answer immediately, the prince turned to see the man still staring at his stony face in the glass. Giving the man a rough shake on his arm, Erik looked up, a melancholy expression in his golden eyes. It took a full minute before Erik found himself under control again, and Legolas noticed the mirror disappeared, probably into some distant pocket on the masked man. “My thoughts? Talk to the girl. She certainly seems able to eaves-drop with quite a bit of talent.”
She was sitting up now, her wide brown eyes watching the two men in fear as they talked in low voices. “I don’t know anything. Just leave me alone.”
Erik felt compelled to roll his eyes and just threaten the obvious hidden truths out of her, but struggled to refrain. He would not rest until this freakish secret was found out. “Mademoiselle, we merely wish to learn how you came to be unconscious on the floor of the parlor. Can you detail to us exactly what happened?”
Melantha shook her head, the black locks flying wildly around her face. “Colin was babbling on. I wanted him to shut up, or at least block him out. I walked over to the mantle to dust it off or something, and I saw this mirror there… I was looking at my reflection, when I suddenly heard tons of screams…screams in my ear…I wanted to…” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders racking with sobs. “I’m sorry. I just…I wanted to murder somebody. To make it stop.”
It took several minutes for Colin to come back; and when he did, he heard that Melantha had collected herself enough to go up to her own bed for the night. Only Erik and Legolas remained in the room, reclining upon the chairs… deep in thought… First the young Morgan, then Melantha.
Erik looked up to meet Legolas’ eyes. She had told them everything, they knew. But what did it mean? What had happened in the parlor, what was happening to the women in the mansion, and most of all, who was M. Nicholas? What were his intentions?
— MaskedNicci
And Then There Was Fiction - Chapter Five · 28.06.07
“What shall we do now?” Erik wondered aloud, “A mysterious host, a houseful of guests who have no idea why they are here, two girls fainted, and a bloody mirror!” He gestured his confusion, the oncoming threat of Erik looming on the edge of his mind. The other him; the one that consumed his every thought, every action, leaving him with a dark lust to quench his weak and stupid fellow humans. The side of him that didn’t think, only acted on impulse. Never again would he be helplessly left, being alone in the aftermath of Erik. A constant battle of inner humanity and the ability to place all humanity laws behind; he was faced with the question: what did he really want?
Legolas’ voice stirred him from his thoughts, the elf now standing near the window, looking out on the haunting moon upon the moor. “Did you hear me, Erik? I suggested we go see Miss Morgan’s room. Her note mentioned something inside her closet, did it not?”
In a moment Erik had the note in his gloved hand, “Yes, indeed it did. Why not tonight? The evening is still young.”
The elven head shook in the negative. “Miss Morgan has been placed in her room for the evening, and the last I have heard, she was still asleep. We would not want her to awake with two strangers in her chamber, would we not?”
Erik seriously considered the pure logic Legolas presented, then stood up with a growl. “Then we can simply not wake her up! I cannot rest without knowing what I am up against. I would be unable to, as much as I would wish to argue. This body will simply not rest while bloody curiosity is nagging at my mind.” He started for the door. “I must know with what forces I am to contend with!”
Legolas did not move, his eyes trained on the figure. The elf could tell there was quite a past to this strangely masked man, but he could not even begin to guess at what it was. Calmly, he replied. “I am sure that this ‘M. Nicholas’ will grow confident after tonight’s affairs. Once he grows more confident, he will become less reserved. That my good fellow, is when we strike.”
Turning around to listen with all eagerness to Greenleaf’s proposition, Erik seemed to consider this wise. Nodding slowly, Erik once more began to pace; this time, with more purpose, a more settled mentality. After several hours of silent questions, skeptical possible answers, and many ideas put to the test, the two men felt the strange chill that comes ere the dawn. All around the dimly lit room was the ominous whisper of dread. The candles burnt out many minutes before, Erik did not notice that Legolas’ eyes grew glassy and unfocused, as though in worlds and eras long forgotten.
A sudden sound sent two pairs of eyes darting towards the door to the parlor, and Erik answered with a growl.
“Yes?”
“P-Pardon me, sir, I don’t mean to disturb you…” Came an old, leathery voice. “But breakfast is served.”
Both men in the parlor audibly groaned, both reluctant to leave their thoughts. Erik went to open the door, with all intentions of ordering the man to leave, but Lawrence spoke again before Erik could reach the doorknob.
“And I think you’ll regret missing this meal, sir. Scrumptious, it is. Simply to die for.”
There was no evident inflections in his tone, simply a man fulfilling his duty as the head hired help. But both Erik and Legolas shared a curious look, and neither could possibly refuse. It was both a challenge, and a temptation.
Once out in the hall, Lawrence quickly left the doorway, scampering down the stairs first. He glanced back every few moments, to assure himself the two were following, it would seem. Some might say he was checking for possible daggers at his back, but none but Lawrence himself would ever be able to say for sure. And his window of opportunity, the time he might have had a chance to tell someone, was quicker gone than even Lawrence himself might have guessed. For suddenly, Lawrence found himself feeling a strange bout of nausea, and dizziness. Moaning audibly, he whirled around the corner at surprising speed. Erik and Legolas noticed his strange behavior, and quickened their pace.
When they turned around the corner, Lawrence was nowhere in sight. There was the dank smell of smoke in the air, a toxic odor that reminded both men of very different times in their lives. Neither of them lacking for blood, gore, and death.
Erik quickly went to each and every door, searching for any possible exits. Either Lawrence was a more talented runner than either of them thought, or he had simply disappeared.
After a few minutes of searching, both agreed that the best thing to do was to simply go to breakfast. Perhaps, by some strange turn of events, Lawrence was already in the dining room, out of breath and gasping for air. If not, they would have to relate the miraculous event to the rest of the guests.
But what could they say? Would anyone care to believe that Lawrence Shannon had disappeared into thin air, especially the moment after he had become disoriented and a bit eccentric? Erik had not exactly made himself the most well-liked of the remaining guests, and Legolas has remained mostly with Gimli – besides his brief chat with Miss Morgan, whom had collapsed along with Susan. One might have said that it was merely women’s wiles, just a strange faint after such oddities as being invited to a home with no host. But the case of Lawrence was certainly not accountable through women fainting. Something was seriously wrong with this place, this house, this situation. They had no other wish than that somehow, Lawrence would be in the dining room. Or that the others would believe them and leave immediately, at least.
“Three in one night.” Was all Legolas said, as they entered the dining room. Quickly scanning the chattering guests, Erik’s eyes darkened.
“Four.”
— MaskedNicci