This choice: Break into Blackwell's house • Go Back...Chapter #6Burgling Blackwell by: Seuzz   The wall is tall enough to be a challenge but not tall enough to be a strain. You pull yourself up and walk along its rim until you come opposite the stone gardening shed, then leap onto its roof. You shimmy up the tree and along the branch and pull yourself in through the window.
You find yourself in a bedroom decorated in reds and golds, and it looks like something out of Chinese emperor's fever dream. Felt, silk, and damask line the walls and ceilings; a magnificent four-poster bed reclines regally in the corner; large cabinets and wardrobes made of cherry stare down from a far wall. Despite the open window, the air is stifling.
The wardrobes and closets contain lots of clothes but precious little else. The private bath discloses only toiletries and an unflushed wad of toilet paper. There isn't even any jewelry.
You quietly open the door and look into the dark hallway. At one end you can see the top of a landing at the top of a large staircase; at the other is a door that opens into a much smaller landing and the bottom of another staircase. There are three more doors in the hallway.
You take the staircase down. The broad flight of stairs, thickly carpeted, ends after a turn and a landing halfway up in a large foyer that leads to the front door. You go down, and find three other entrances. One leads into a kitchen and dining area, which you ignore. Another leads back into something that looks like a living room. And the third leads to a library.
You shudder when you look into the room that Blackwell wanted you to work in. It is lined with bookshelves that reach to a very high ceiling, and there are several large desks in the middle. There are two grandfather clocks, ticking loudly but out of synch with each other, an effect that quickly gets on your nerves.
As you turn you whirl; you had the distinct impression that someone had stepped out of the library's shadows and reached for your shoulder, but there is nothing there. You blink into the gloom, then slowly retreat backwards to the staircase. The library probably contains valuable things, but you really don't want to set foot inside it.
At the top of the stairs you pause again; the light is dim, but you feel sure you saw a shadow detach itself from one of the walls and scurry to the far end of the hall. You look back down the stairs, half expecting to see someone standing there. You shake your head; the place is giving you the creeps.
With a deep breath you steady your nerves and open the door to another bedroom. It is bare of anything save a large unmade bed. The same goes for another bedroom, save that this one has a private bath. You open the mirrored cabinet to see if there is anything hidden inside, see nothing, close it, and ...
Your shriek rents the air, and you bounce off the wall and fall into the bathtub as you recoil from the mirror.
The shock jolts you out of your panic, and you glare up at the thing. It is sitting in an alcove next to the door, positioned so that it is facing the mirror; when you closed the mirror, you caught its reflection in motion: a small stuffed animal, maybe two feet tall, shaped something like a hairless orangutan. It is grinning in a most unpleasant way.
With a groan you pull yourself from the bathtub and advance cautiously on it; it does not improve upon closer inspection. Its lips peel back to reveal long, sharp fangs, and it has only a single eyeball in the middle of its forehead. It leans forward on its haunches, seemingly in the act of springing. So terrifying is the illusion of incipient motion that you edge around it, keeping your eyes forward and your back away from it, as you exit the bathroom. Once out, you run from the room. Maybe its only an echo, but when you shut the bedroom door, you are sure you hear the bathroom door slam shut too.
You are now thoroughly unnerved but determined to find something of value—anything of value—to pinch. So you are prepared to take whatever you can find in the last bedroom, no matter what it may be. You are rewarded with only another bare bed and a cabinet. But hang on: a key is in the lock of the latter, so you open it to find it contains two porcelain masks: ovals shaped like the classic tragedian's masks.
You grin. They may not be valuable, but taking them would be a condign revenge for losing a book about magical masks. Maybe these are magical!
As you pick one up, two things happen simultaneously. The first is that you notice it contains something like a reflection within its polished blue surface. That hardly holds your attention, though, as the second is a sound of running footsteps in the hallway. You gasp, and leap backw toward the window when the doorknob rattles loudly.
You put your hand to the window but do not lift it—you have the presence of mind to see what develops next. The knob rattles again, and then there is scraping sound on the far side of the door, as of nails being dragged up the woodwork. The hair on the back of your neck goes up. You pull the window up an inch.
The sounds cease. Then, from the corner of your eye, you see a shadow behind you.
You turn, and there's no mistaking it for illusion. A hand, very long and very dark, with mats of hair hanging from the wrist and forearm, is sliding across the window pane. It reaches down to the sill and grasps the bottom of the window to lift it.
That's enough for you. Whoever is in the hallways has got to be better than whatever is coming in through the window. You tear the door open and jump into the hall; something like an explosion of wings batters at your face, and you scream. Blinded, you reel down the hall. At the top of the stairs the carpet twists under your feet, and you somersault headlong down the stairs, and only narrowly miss cracking your head on the hard tile at the bottom. The mask bounces from your grasp, but even in your terror you don't forget it. You scoop it up and run into the kitchen.
Whatever is loose in the house is now fully roused; behind you comes the heavy thud—almost like cannon fire—of heavy feet bounding down the staircase. You are crying and sobbing as you scrabble at the front door, and come real close to putting your hand through the pane glass in an frenzied attempt to get out before ... it ... the thing ... reaches you. But you have one last moment of lucidity, and see that what you took to be the lock is actually the knob. You grab and twist the other protuberance, yank the door open and flee headlong across the barren garden. You bark your shin badly on a short, ornamental alter and nearly topple over, but you recover and sprint on. You toss the mask over the wall, leap to the top, hoist yourself over and fall to the other side.
Instantly, that overwhelming sense of terror evaporates, leaving you blinking under a bright, late summer sun outside a large and perfectly normal stone villa. Yet your heart is still hammering and your nerves vibrating; the relief you suddenly feel manifests itself in an explosion of giggles.
"Oh, shit!" you yell, panting and laughing and wiping the streaming tears from your face. You keep saying it over and over again until something like calm again descends upon you. You sniff back the dribbling snot and look at your prize.
* * * * *
It's a mask about the size of your face, polished a deep, iridescent blue. It has a brow and cheeks, and a nose, and a mouth and a chin, but it has no eyes. Something like a dim reflection plays in its surface, but in the bright daylight you can't really tell what it is—your own face or some illusion cast into the brilliant surface.
You turn it over and jump a little. On the inside hovering in a 3D effect over a metal strip, is Roman lettering: AUBREY DESMOND BLACKWELL.
"Well, at least I know I got something that belonged to him," you murmur to yourself. I wonder what he would pay to get it back?" You sniff, and put it to your face as though trying it on. You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author