1 A Spirited Manor (9 page)

"M
innie?" Wesley
asked.  "Where?  Where?"  He spun around looking for her, his voice
filled with a plaintive tone, as if he would give anything to see that which
Clara could see so easily.  But his sister remained a mystery.  He gripped
Clara's hand.  "Please, tell her I love her and will seek justice for her
murder.  I will..."

Clara looked over.  Minnie
seemed torn, as if she would give anything to hear more of his words, but sensing
some sort of danger or limit to their time.  The mission won, and she held her
finger to her lips, as if shushing him.

Clara placed her hand over
Wesley's mouth.  "She is motioning for us to keep quiet."

Wesley nodded and Clara slowly
let him go, trying not to think about how his soft lips felt against her
fingers, and that if they did not escape, it was the closest that she would
ever come to knowing what they felt like.

Minnie motioned to Clara to
follow with her slow, trancelike movements.  Clara took Wesley's hand and led
him after the ghost.  The hallway was a warren, and this secret basement could
have easily extended the entire length of the house.  They wound through the
maze like hallways.

"It would not be unexpected
to run into a minotaur in these walls," muttered Wesley.

Minnie turned and gave him a
glare, and for once, Clara thought he was perhaps lucky that he could not see
his sister.

The hallway finally stopped at a
large, wooden door with iron bands across the boards.  A shape of some sort had
been gouged from its face, marring the symbol or decoration beyond
recognition.  Wesley squeezed Clara's hand, as if to infuse her with bravery
that neither of them felt, placed his hand upon the black, metal ring which
served as a handle and pulled.

The door opened upon a large
square room.  Wesley looked inside before stepping in, then motioned for Clara
to follow.  The room seemed almost a mirror image of itself, each wall almost
completely the same as the wall opposite it.  There were four matching doors on
each of the walls.  It would have been easy to get confused and walk through
the wrong one.

"It is like that maze we
found in the library," Clara remarked.  “Do you think it could have been
not a puzzle, but a map?”

"Perhaps you are
right," said Wesley as he crossed to the opposite door and pushed against
it.  It would not open.

“The map had four arrows
pointing in,” she said.  “There must be four different ways to enter.”

“But why four doors?” asked
Wesley.  “It makes no sense.  This room is hidden deep in the center of a maze,
as if to protect whatever was at its heart, but four doors would be impossible
to defend from marauders.”

In the center of the room was a
raised square platform of granite.  In fact, the entire room seemed as if had
been carved from a single piece of rock.  Clare looked closer and could see no
seams between the walls and the floors, and the floor and that platform.  Carved
into the center of the platform was a hole.  A heavy stone lid, which looked
like it would have fit perfectly over it, was pushed to the side.  A large
metal chain with an open padlock pooled around it, as if someone might have
once tried to lock something or someone inside, and some foolish person undid
that good deed.

“Perhaps it was not about
keeping something safe inside, but a four part trap defensible on all sides, to
ensure it did not get out.”  Clara gripped Wesley's arm tightly and whispered,
"What is stronger than a man and can snap a grown woman's neck with no one
seeing?  What creature leaves two fang marks in its dead?  And sleeps in a
coffin within a square room?"

"Horace..." Wesley
said.

"What?" asked Clara,
confused.

Wesley ran his hand over the
back of his head, smoothing his auburn hair mindlessly as he thought.  "This
is Horace's house.  This is Horace's basement.  Think on it!  He is a man who
loves the hunt, almost like a beast he tracks his prey.  He has brought us
here, all of us.  He dismissed every servant that could have born witness to
this night and killed the only one remaining.  He ensured that we were
stranded, without any hope of actually reaching the police.  He is our
monster!  And we left him alone by himself!  And now he is free to stalk all of
us at his leisure!"

"But he is just a
man!" Clara insisted.

"Are you sure?"

"Do you mean to suggest he
is not a man?"

"We must get out of this
house," said Wesley, leading Clara back towards where they just came.

"But what is he?" she
insisted.

Wesley opened his mouth to give
words to the horrible truth they were both thinking, but before he could say
anything, they both heard a woman's scream echoing through the stone.

"T
hat was Marguerite!"
Clara cried.

"Quick!  We must save her
before he claims another victim!" said Wesley.

They both made towards the door
to dash out the way they came, but suddenly, it swung shut on them.

"No!" said Clara,
running to the handle and trying desperately to unlatch it.  "It is locked
from the outside!" 

But then the door on the
opposite side flung open.

Clara looked back at Wesley and
then notice that Minnie was trying to get her attention.  The ghost had brought
them here.  They had no other choice but to trust her again.

The second door shut and a third
door opened.

"It will close," Clara
muttered.  "This way!" she cried.  She ran towards the fourth and final
door and was ready to leap through as the third door slammed closed and it
opened.  Wesley was behind her in close pursuit.

But this door led to a set of
stairs instead of to another winding hallway.  They paused for only a moment
before Wesley placed his hand on the small of Clara's back and propelled her
up.  There was no other way to go.

The stairs seemed to travel inside
the walls of the house.  There was a small hole in the wall and light was shining
through it.  Clara paused.

"Really!  We must get to
Marguerite!" Wesley urged.

But she hushed him.  "You
can see into the library through these holes.  Poor Norman is lying right there
in the middle of the floor."  Clara then felt the wall beside her. 
"And look!  This is a door!  This is how our murderer got in!"

Wesley looked in through the
holes, too.  "By gum, you're right!  Look at all that you can see!  Who
knows how long we were being spied upon!  Or by whom!"

"This home hides many
wicked secrets," Clara said.

"We never should have
come.  If I had any idea the sort of trap that we were walking into..."

Minnie's ghost had disappeared. 
Clara felt the warmth return and at once she was quite hot from the running. 
She wiped her brow.  "Your sister is gone.  This is what she wanted us to
see.  This house and that square room."

They were interrupted once more
by another scream.  It sounded like it was coming from above them.

"Violet!" they both
exclaimed.  They began running as fast as their feet would take them, up more
stairs and deeper into the walls.  They paused every chance they had to peer
into the holes, hopeful that one of them would reveal the whereabouts of the
two ladies, but also fearful of what they might find.

Finally, they could go no
further.  The hallway dead ended into a door and they had not seen the girls in
any of the rooms they passed.

"Dare we go out?"
asked Clara.

Wesley gripped the handle of his
sword.  "We have no other choice."

They both placed their hands
upon the door, and in one movement, they pushed and ran.

Standing there in the middle of
the hallway was Clifford, Violet, and Marguerite involved in a heated argument.

Clara and Wesley looked at one
another, unsure of what was going on.

"I told you, Violet, I
shall love you forever!" said Clifford, pleading with the young heiress.

"You only ever loved me for
my money, Clifford!” wept Violet.  “And now that Maman is dead, there is no way
you are touching my inheritance!"

"You said the same thing
when you swindled your way into my pocketbook, Clifford!" shouted Marguerite. 
She raised her derringer and pointed it at his forehead.  "I swear to the
lord above, I would do all of womankind a favor if I killed you where you stood!"

"No!" screamed Violet,
flinging herself protectively in front of Clifford, terrified by this violent
turn.

Wesley ran forward. 
"Please!  Have you all taken leave of your senses?  There shall be no more
talk of killing anyone tonight!  We have had quite enough of that."

A roll of thunder crashed.

"Please!  Please!  We must
all get out of this house before Horace kills us all!" Wesley shouted. 
His voice cut through all the chaos and stopped everyone in their tracks.

"What did you say about my
father?" asked Clifford stepping forward.

"We found a secret room
beneath the house.  We know what he is.  And all our lives are dependent upon us
escaping before he figures out that we know what we know!"

"You are talking madness! 
My father is the murderer?" said Clifford incredulously.  He turned to the
two girls who had been close to ending him just moments before.  "I am
going downstairs.  I shall get to the bottom of this!"

"No!" cried Wesley and
Clara, reaching for him, but he was too fast and dodged their fingers.  He ran
down the stairs.  Clara and Wesley made chase, following close on his heels,
ready to provide whatever protection they could.

They all entered the dining room
at the same time and they all saw the same thing at the exact same time, too. 
Horace.  Dead.  Two puncture wounds to his neck and his face as pale as pale
can be.

"We were wrong," said
Wesley, breathlessly.  He wiped his forehead, as if his mind was reeling.  He
turned to Clifford and pointed.  "You!  You were the only one who was by
himself and could have come back to kill him!  You are the monster!"

Clifford backed slowly away, his
face twisting in rage.  He raised his father's gun and pointed it straight at Violet's
heart.

V
iolet shrieked, her high,
feminine voice squealing at top pitch.  Frantically, she began to panic. 
"I knew it was you!  I knew you wanted to kill me!  I knew you were
desperate for my money!"

Clifford began to laugh,
"Is that what you think of me?"

Violet turned to Wesley. 
"He is going to kill me just like he killed everyone else!"

Wesley, arms outstretched in
peace, tried to inch closer to Clifford.  "Put the rifle down, Clifford. 
Is this really what you want to do?"

Clifford swung his rifle off of
Violet and towards Wesley.  "Don't you take another step closer!"

And in that moment, Marguerite,
with her small derringer, hit Clifford in the chest.  He clutched at his heart,
swung and fired, hitting her in the stomach.

They both fell to the floor,
bleeding.

And that is when Violet began to
laugh.

Slowly, daintily, she picked her
way over Marguerite's fallen body and made her way to Clifford.  She crouched
down, fear shining in his dulling eyes.  She reared back her head, and as she
did, she sprouted four fangs where her canines should be, and plunged them into
his neck.

Clara screamed as Violet
descended upon him to feed with an animal-like lust.

"Violet?" said Wesley,
unable to believe his eyes.  "She's the one?"

But what they saw before them
brokered no argument.  Wesley raised his sword and ran towards her, ready to do
whatever it took to stop her, but she never gave him a chance.  She flew up
from Clifford's now still body and knocked the sword out of Wesley's hand like
it was nothing but a toy.  With her other arm, she sent the back of her hand
across his face.  His head made a terrible sound as he fell and it hit the
ground.

Clara made a dash for the sword,
but Violet paid her no mind.  By the time Clara turned, the sword in hand,
Violet and Wesley were gone without a trace.

Clara stood, her breath heaving
against her tightly bound corset.  She did not know where they went, where to
give chase, or what to do.

She looked up at the ceiling of
the room and said, "Minnie?  Minnie are you there?"

There was nothing but silence. 
The cold did not come.  Clara felt lost and alone.  Panic rose in her throat,
thinking of what Violet might do to Wesley and that she was powerless to help. 
She could not let him die!  Not when she was just beginning to believe that
there might be someone else to walk beside her in this life.  She could not
lose another piece of her heart.

"Please, Minnie!" she
pleaded.

"Who are you talking
to?" came a weak voice.

Clara turned to see Marguerite
staring at her.  Blood was pooled all about where she lay, and yet, for some
reason, she was not dead.

Clara ran to her side.  "Wesley's
dead sister."

Instead of Marguerite protesting
that Clara was touched in the head for making such a declaration, Marguerite
sighed, "Tell her that I am on her side, too."

"Oh, Marguerite!  I must
save Wesley before that creature destroys him!"

Marguerite reached out and
patted Clara's hand.  "I know.  He and I evidently came here for the very
same purpose."

"What do you mean?"
asked Clara.

Marguerite winced in pain. 
Clara grabbed a napkin from the table and held it to the wound in her side.

"Norman and I are...
were... with the local authorities.  We both knew that something was amiss... 
Too many young girls have perished in the household of Horace Oroberg for it to
be a coincidence..."

"But it wasn't him!"
said Clara.  "It was Violet.  She is not what she seems.  She ate the
throat out of Clifford there."  She pointed to his lifeless body, his eyes
staring wide open in shock and surprise.

But Marguerite was not
surprised.  "I knew... I knew at the end it was her... I waited because I
wanted to make sure... it is my fault... she could smell my perfume... I knew..."

She began to fade, her words
becoming weaker.  Clara grabbed a goblet from the table and dribbled water into
her mouth.  Marguerite revived for just a moment, gasping out her words.  She
clutched at Clara's dress.  "You must take my gun...  It will not dispatch
Violet, but it may slow her down...  You must take the sword and cut off her
head...  It is the only way to stop her..."

Clara looked down at the sword
in her hand.  "You ask too much!"

"It is the only way to save
your Wesley..."

Clara paused, and then nodded,
rising to her feet.

"Tell him, when you get a
chance, that you love him.  Life is too short to leave such things
unsaid."

And then Marguerite's eyes
closed and Clara knew she was on her own.  But not quite on her own...

She whet her lips and said
again, this time insistent, "Minnie, your brother is in grave danger. 
Your brother, whom you love... and of whom I... I have begun to feel things
that I have not felt for a long time...  He needs your help.  Please, Minnie. 
Do not hide yourself from me.  I need your help to save him!"

The room remained the same.

"Please, Minnie!  I love
him!"

Marguerite's lips began to move,
but not from her own power.  Her eyes were closed and her body lifeless, but
the voice which came out filled the house.  She said, "I am coming."

Slowly the room began to chill. 
The gas lights began to dim.  The china upon the table began to shake and the
goblets dance upon its surface until they tipped over.

Clara waited, terrified as a
rabbit facing down a wolf.  The energy in the room was not kind.  It was filled
with violence and anger.

"Please, Minnie!" she
pleaded.  "Direct your anger not towards me, but towards that creature who
has taken your brother hostage.  Show me the way and I shall go to him!  I
shall do whatever it takes to save his life!"

The window farther from her in
the room burst.  And then the window beside it exploded, too.  A great wind blew
through the house, causing all of the lamps to sputter out.  It blew against
Clara, wrapping her skirt around her legs and pushing her towards the door.  It
would not allow for any protest or second guessing.

The wind continued, flinging
open all the doors to the house and breaking through the glass in all the
rooms.  The doors opened and slammed shut as Clara passed, and she knew that if
she lost courage and tried to run into the safety of one of the rooms, those
doors would close on her and cut her in two.  The door to the basement flung
open and a mighty wind blew up the stairs, striking her in the face.  It was as
if nature itself was battling it out to see who would allow Clara to pass.

The upstairs wind grasped her,
feeling as if a giant hand had wrapped itself around her waist, and it flung
her down the steps.  Her feet could barely keep up with its speed.  She could
hear the opposing wind howling around the protection of this mighty invisible
hand. 

She placed her elbow over her brow
to try and keep her face safe from the blowing debris.  A rat flew past her
cheek, the wind taking no prisoners.  She knew that if her protection ended,
she would find herself flying.  She looked ahead and saw the glow she knew now
was Minnie.  She prayed that she was not making the gravest mistake of her
life.  She followed, bent over, and tried to keep up.

They wound their way through the
warren of hallways, Minnie's light ahead the only thing to illuminate Clara's
way.  As the wind buffeted against her, there were a few moments in which she
almost lost track of Minnie, in which she was almost plunged into the darkness,
and she could feel that there were things waiting for her outside of Minnie's
light.  She could hear their snuffling and the sound of their claws upon the
ground.  It was like her nightmares, except this time, they were real.  She
wondered if Horace ever had known as he was out hunting on the savannah that
the most terrible creatures were, in fact, right below his feet.

Clara pushed on, refusing to
surrender to the darkness, refusing to let the terrors beyond grab a foothold. 
She had faced them again and again, night after night, and realized it was,
perhaps, all practice for this.  She would not go down without a fight.  She
caught up with Minnie and though exhausted, she pushed on, thinking only of
Wesley and that she must save him from whatever horrors Violet had in store.

And then she saw the doorway. 
Minnie waited for her in front of it, her eyes filled with rage, but also with
pleading.

Clara stopped to catch her
breath.  She did not know whether to carry the revolver or the sword into the
room.  She was no experienced warrior.  She was only a foolish widow, who
followed the clues set about by a ghost to this point.  Fear caused her teeth
to chatter and her hands to shake.  Minnie's light was beginning to fade, and
Clara knew that if she did not go in before Minnie disappeared, she would have
no defense against the creatures of this labyrinth.

And then a quiet sense of peace
and resolve descended upon her.  She would either save this man she loved, or
would be dispatched by this fiend to join a man who was taken too soon from her
side.  There would be no losing.  Either outcome would bring her to happiness,
and she knew that she was now ready to face that.  Fear no longer held any
power.

She opened the door.