The Stranger

The Stranger

Chapter 1

The flickering light of the fire played daintily across the furrowed forehead of Miss Wentwhistle. Her black and white maid’s uniform rustled gently as she moved swiftly into the well lit room. She walked purposely across the room and set the coal black tray down on a small table. Seated next to the table was a rather portly man, with a large rotund head and thinning black hair. His heavy head slowly swivelled to reveal a plump cheerful face, a seemingly forced expression. His dull brown eyes looked into her own and he thanked her in his rich, received accent. With the scowl still remaining indented onto her face, she turned and left the room to a crescendo of silent echoes. As a last act of seeming defiance, she allowed the door to slam shut, heavily, behind her.

Berkley Squire looked down at the tray of treats that had been left by his maid. Four slices of thickly buttered toast and a pot of strong tea, accompanied by a solitary china cup. Berkley looked with disdain at the meal, another evening alone in this lofty hell hole. If only the servants would come and have a chat with him, like they had come so close to before. But the servants ignored him now; they only did what they had to and then left his presence in a hurry. It had been his fathers fault, he was sure. Sir Reginald Squire. The tyrant of Turner hill as they used to call him. A rather silly nickname really, but it was all the lowly servants could manage. Now though, almost five years since his father’s death, the damn servants had still not forgiven the Squire family for all the tyrannical years.

Berkley bit down upon the soft buttered toast and noted the usual blandness which had been typical of late. He sipped upon a cup of lukewarm tea, pining for the time when it tasted that much better. He sat back in his high backed chair and began to contemplate his life in general. It was not long before his theological thoughts were interrupted by the smarmy voice of his butler Smyth. Walter Smyth had been stuck within the confines of the Squire family for years. He had begun his life journey helping his servant father before working his way to the top. Of course on his journey he had come up against the drunken anger of Sir Reginald and had picked up a dry and abrasive sense of humour.

‘There is someone asking for you at the door’ he said bluntly. ‘Do you want to see him?’
‘Well that would depend now would it not?’ Berkley shot back, countering the butler’s arrogance.
‘On what?’ the butler replied, retaking the high ground.
‘On what they want’ Berkley said while accidentally showering the floor with shards of freshly chewed toast. Smyth looked disgusted at this crime against decency, but did not air this opinion. Without another word Smyth turned and exited the room, in the same manner as the maid earlier.

Berkley finished his piece of toast before standing up. He looked into the golden rimmed mirror which adorned the brownish mantelpiece. He made sure his slicked back hair was pressed into position. He admired the fact that it was still Raven black; though slightly thinner than it was when he wore a younger mans clothes. The only other thing that had changed was the ever growing lines on his weather worn face. It had been a long while since he had sat idly by when his father came into the room smelling of expensive whisky. He had sat with bated breath as his father had found something wrong a servant had done. Calling the trembling person into the room he usually administered a viscous, callous beating. Berkley always saw the look the servants gave him after the event had passed and his father had walked gracelessly from the room. In a way, Berkley always sensed the servants blamed himself for allowing the attacks to be administered without even glancing from his book. Of he did not look up. He knew better then to mess with his fathers displining techniques, no matter how unjust they were. He was in the process of polishing his rounded reading spectacles when he heard the squeak of the door slowly being pushed open. Looking into the mirror he was sure the door remained closed. Turning abruptly he almost jumped out of his skin when he glimpsed a man that had not been there before. His fright made him carelessly drop his reading glasses, but he was much too shocked to notice their rapid descent to the floor. Within the dull flickering light he was just able to make out what the stranger looked like. He was a small man, clothed in a brown tweed suit and tie. His hair was identical in style to Berkley’s, only it was more of a brown colour. He wore a large black coat over his suit, which was strange for the time of year, and he also carried a small briefcase.

‘Mr Squire’ the man’s voice echoed around the room, transforming it into a dark booming sound which played havoc with Berkley’s spinal cord.
‘Yes that is I’ Berkley asked cautiously ‘and, may I ask, who might you be?’
‘No you may not, Mr Squire, I shall tell you that in good time’ the man replied with the same cold, booming voice. ‘First, though, I would like a room for the night. Can you arrange this for me?’
‘Did Smyth let you in?’ Berkley inquired his voice on the verge of trembling with fear.
‘It does not matter how I entered your humble abode, it only matters how easily you will make it for myself and you. Now I ask again, can you arrange a room for me?’
Every brain cell in Berkley’s body was shaking its head, but for some unknown reason Berkley found his own head nodding in agreement. He also found his large hand reaching for the bell on the table and ringing it three times to summon the maid. Almost instantly Miss Wentwhistle breezed into the room and in a blur of motion escorted the stranger from the room. Berkley was left standing in a pool of his own sweat, looking into the darkness where the stranger had a few moments ago stood. Calmly he picked up his candle and made his way out of the room and directly up the stairs to his own chamber.

Chapter 2

The dull milky glow of morning spilled through the large French windows and lit up the dozing body of one Berkley Squire. His bed clothes had formed into a chaotic ball which resided on the floor, the symbol of a restless night. For indeed it had been a restless night, for Berkley’s dreams had been invaded by the sneering face of the previous evening’s guest. He had been haunted by the events of the previous week and in his dreams. He could still feel the lick of flame that had appeared in his lifelike dream a week earlier. Berkley finally arose when the milky glow had formed into a brighter ball of light that was split by the tiled panes of glass and pasted across his room.

Berkley eventually rose from his seated position that he had taken almost half hour ago. He managed to stagger tiredly over to his dresser and quickly changed into his daytime clothes. He stumbled into the corridor and quickly rushed down the flag stoned steps, heading for the spare room. When he arrived at his destination he noticed that the door was slightly ajar, allowing the days light spill into the corridor. Carefully he peered into the similarly elegant room, which was blanketed in the same pasty light as his own room. Berkley noted with visible relief that the bed was perfectly made, seemingly unslept in. Berkley began to wonder whether the stranger had been here in the first place or whether he had been merely an apparition caused by the excess consumption of alcohol. But deep down Berkley knew that he had not touched a drop of alcohol last night. Anyway he would investigate his hallucinations once he had settled down to a nice breakfast.

He lightly walked, as lightly as such a heavy man could, and even contemplated a skip, but dismissed this as an impossible action for a man of his size. He turned into his familiar sitting room and turned instantly cold at the terrible sight that greeted him. There in the sitting room, in his own chair, sat the stranger from last night. He did not appear to be indulging in any breakfasting; he seemed to be peering blankly at the wall next to the fireplace. Berkley felt his iced heart beat faster against his chest and a small lump rise to the pinnacle of his throat. He inhaled deeply and stepped into the room.

A strange dank smell invaded Berkley’s nostrils as he neared the strange guest. He had been in the room countless numbers of times and had never noticed this strange odour which now plagued him, but today was not about what he was used to, today things would change very drastically, for Berkley Squire. He just did not know it yet.


Chapter 3

The softness of the light that pervaded into the room seemed to contrast to the bright light he had awoken to this morning. The mellow light fell upon the stranger, reflecting gently off his slicked back hair. Berkley crept closer to his guest, desperately trying to put off detection. He could hear the mans monotonous breathing, but could see his chest moving to the breath in anyway.

Berkley was confident that he had gone undetected as he approached the chair. However, this confidence was shattered by the fearsome tone of the stranger which struck like a shard of ice through his heart. He spoke without turning his head:
‘Good morning, Mr Squire’
Berkley was stunned into an abrupt silence. How could this man know that he was behind him? Perhaps it was the mirror on the mantle that reflected his approach. But Berkley had observed him all the way and knew that his eyes had never left the wall.
‘G-good morning’ Berkley’s attempts to conceal the nervous stutter which had suddenly attacked him, failed miserably.
‘Do sit down. Do not be shy’ the man said in an almost mocking tone. Even though it was his own residence, Berkley had no choice but to take his seat opposite the fearsome stranger. He sat and looked at the man sitting opposite meekly. Immediately he was taken aback by the depth of the mans eyes. They appeared to be jet black, with a flicker of flame dancing across them, much like the fire of before. Berkley noticed also to his disdain that the man did not blink, or maybe that was merely misinterpretation on his part.
‘Who are you? Berkley just about managed to squeeze out after a few moments of deadly silence.
‘I am somebody you have never heard of before. I am a man from out of town and I have come a long way on an important errand’
‘What kind of errand?’ Berkley could not help interrupting. His nervousness was growing by the second. The stranger eyed Berkley with a rather disdainful look.
‘Dear me, Mr Squire you are eager. I have some news to report and I need to make sure that you are ready to hear it. Are you ready Mr Squire?’
‘Yes, yes. Of course I am’ Berkley reasoned desperately.
‘I do not think you are ‘the stranger retorted bluntly ‘have your maidservant make you up a nice breakfast. Grave news is best not heard on an empty stomach’
Anger instantly began to froth and boil to the cusp of his gut. Before he could do anything about it the rage had passed his lips and spilled onto the placid stranger before him.
‘Who the hell are you!? What are you doing in this place!? Tell me now or I shall be forced to doing something I might on reflection regret!’ Berkley’s rage was quenched as soon as his tirade had ceased. He settled down in his soft chair and braced himself for the response. But the stranger looked at him with the same placid, hollow expression and uttered in the same monotonous, voice:
‘Now now, Mr Squire, there is not need for such sudden outburst of emotion. All will be revealed in due course. Now please, order some breakfast’
The resolve and metal which had resided within Berkley and allowed him to explode in the way he did, now melted back into nothingness. With abject reluctance he reached for the bell and rang it three times. Miss Wentwhistle again appeared almost instantaneously with a tray full of what appeared to be piping hot food. As Berkley slowly ate his meal he could not help but have a huge sense of uneasiness about events so far. As before the food tasted bland, but this time it seemed blander then usual. A strange sense of paranoia began to weave its way around Berkley’s mind. What if the staff were all plotting against him? Perhaps they had enlisted the help of this fiendish man to try to end the reign of the Squires in Thorindon House. Well, he reasoned, he would not go down without a damn good struggle. His attempts at internal defiance were not aided by the constant feeling of the burning eyes of the stranger, constantly on him. He could see in those dark eyes the flicker of a flame, which brought back the memories of the previous weeks dream. Perhaps the dream was a premonition of the future. Berkley’s mind began to wander and settled upon the events of that evening and how terrible it had turned out to be.


Chapter 4

The light was slowly fading as Berkley Squire sat in his usual chair by the unlit fire almost a week ago today. The room had begun to take on the eerie glow which was usually present after a beautiful day had almost passed. Miss Wentwhistle had just been cleaning away his dinner plate and now the room was deadly silent. The maid had progressed again with her interaction with Berkley; she had actually held part of a conversation with him. He could still feel the glow of the dying embers of resentment that she felt towards him. He was beginning to think that she was starting to come round. It’s funny how things can change in the blink of an eye.

Berkley had his typical evening cigar hanging from his lip. He picked up the solitary candle and carefully lit the end. He inhaled deeply and breathed out a plume of white smoke which floated briefly in the candlelight before being whisked away into the ever growing darkness. He picked up an old tome, Finchley Gables Guide to Life, which he had been perusing avidly for the past few days. For the next few minutes Berkley’s eyes rapidly scanned the pages, filled with the printed words. His mind began to gorge itself on the information, processing it and storing it for later usage. The smoke from his cigar began to converge in front of his face, beginning to obscure the precious words. He waved his hand in an irritated manner, beckoning the smoke towards the darkness surrounding him. As he desperately squinted to make out the words the smoke began to grow thicker. Still his eyes rapidly scanned the pages, but his mind was unable to register the information as the smoke began to turn from a pure white into a foreboding black and grey. Soon he was unable to see the edges of the book. Still his eyes continued to scan the fading words. The smoke grew thicker and thicker, until it had reached a point where it had seemingly engulfed Berkley Squire entirely.


Chapter 5

Berkley’s eyes snapped open to see what remained of the candlelight had now been snuffed out by the rapidly thickening fog. The smoke had turned from dream to reality and the immense heat that hit him and the chocking fumes confirmed this. He desperately staggered to his feet and looked around at the orange tinted room. He could just make out the charred remains of his cigar which had fallen from his mouth when he dozed off. The book he had been reading was now nothing but a blackened shell. Looking around the room he could see the consequences of his moment of madness. White and orange flames danced around the room, engulfing every ornate statue and wall hanging. All around him he could here the screams of the servants, as they were rudely awoken, only to be boiled alive in their very own beds. It was a wonder that Berkley himself had not succumbed to the rapidly intensifying fire; after all it had been he who had started it.

In his confusion and panic Berkley attempted to fan at the flames with his twenty-first birthday handkerchief, but quickly realised this was futile as it turned from a pearly white to a charcoal black in a matter of seconds. Slowly he managed to stagger towards what he assumed was the door, bravely battling the harsh flames. He pressed the blackened handkerchief to his charred lips and coughed painfully, tasting blood in his mouth. The heat was so intense that he could feel his skin begin to melt and fall away from his face. The pain was unbearable and soon he was forced onto his knees. He reached his fingers up to his face and felt the watery skin which was beginning to take on a rougher texture because of the burns. At the realisation that he was horribly burned, Berkley seemingly gave up and fell to the floor. He looked at his blackened hands and realised that there was no pain from them. The fire had burnt so deep it had destroyed the nerves. When he felt his eyes beginning to blaze hot he realised his time had come. He felt his blood boiling and trying desperately to burst out of his body. The iron taste of blood grew with every passing second. Finally after what seemed like an eternity of horrendous pain, Berkley Squire breathed his final breath.


Chapter 6

Morning light filled the expanse of Berkley’s widened eyes as they snapped open. Berkley looked down at the book which lay opened in front of him. He looked around the room to see that the fire had vanished, leaving everything intact. Grabbing the bell from the table he let out a peal of thunderous noise as he rang it harshly several times. Mrs Wentwhistle breezed in and out as usual depositing the first of the bland meals. As he ate, he managed to expel a massive sigh of relief as he realised the events had been a concoction of his over active mind. But still deep inside burned the fire of the reality. The pain had felt so real and the heat was too much to merely be a over zealous nightmare. But he would not let those thoughts stop him from enjoying the day and so cast the thoughts out of his mind for future reflection.

That was now almost a week ago and since then things had returned to the usual unhappy state it had been many years ago. Berkley had felt himself revisited by the terrible nightmare on countless occasions and each night found that he was awoken by the crackling of a distant fire. The staff had reverted back to their old mocking and shunning ways. Berkley felt despair when he realised that it had seemed there was a light at the end of the tunnel, only for that tunnel to be blocked when he had almost reached the end. And to top everything off he was now seated in his sitting opposite a man he did not know, eating a breakfast he did not want.

After forcing the last morsel of food down desert dry throat, Berkley managed to raise his head and make eye contact with the stranger. The same stern, yet placid expression emanated from the mains face.
‘Done’ Berkley announced sheepishly like a child who has eaten all his greens.
‘Well done, Mr Squire’ the stranger congratulated patronisingly. ‘Now you are finally ready to hear the news I have brought, are you ready to hear it?’
‘Yes of course I am damn it!’ Berkley shouted and then instantly regretted it. This man had the power to keep the news to himself and Berkley could not stand that.
‘Anger please, Mr Squire is not something I take kindly to. But I shall overlook it this once because of the circumstances. Now I am here regarding an event that happened a little while ago. Something the staff are a little upset about’
‘I knew it!’ Berkley suddenly exploded at the mention of the staff. ‘They’ve been plotting against me all this time. They brought you in to tell me they wanted to get rid of me, didn’t they!? Well you can tell that ungrateful lot that they are all fired. And you can get out to you disgusting little man, do you hear me!?’
The mans placid features remained in their usual positions.
‘Please, Mr Squire would you let me finish before you start jumping to ridiculous conclusions. Now as I was saying, the staff are not happy. Almost a week ago today, you Mr Squire, carelessly fell asleep with a cigar in your mouth and burnt down this very establishment now…..’
‘What!?’ Berkley erupted ‘how can it have been burnt down, it is here is it not? Look for yourself you damn insolent little man. I’ve had enough of this!’
Berkley began to rise from his seat, his head spinning at the fact that this man knew his dream. His progress was stopped short by the presence of his staff standing round him. Each one stared at him with a pair of hollow eyes and blank expressions. Berkley stumbled back into his seated position, fighting to catch his breath.
‘You see Mr Squire, they all died needlessly in the fire and, I’m afraid, so did you. You are dead, but you refuse to believe it. Now all these people here which to get their revenge on you for what you did.’
‘B-but you do not understand. It was my father that wronged all of you, not me. Why does not he suffer?’
‘Oh do not worry yourself, Mr Squire, we already got him’
At that the stranger ceased to speak. Berkley writhed and contorted in the chair as the staff began to converge around him. All his screams, pleas and lamentations ceased as Berkley Squire saw no more.