Chapter 3 (The Thing at the End of Time)
Location: Xalitharian Timeline
Date: c. 1890 CE
The carriage rattled up the ostentatiously long driveway. Rain thumped against the roof, creating a soft cadence that would have lulled the lone passenger to sleep if she had been less nervous. Steph Thornecroft wanted to believe her stomach was in knots because she was excited by the case before her. However, there was an ominous energy to the excitement that spoke of anxiety carefully composed beneath a layer of talc powder applied with a damp sponge. She had touched it up in the train station restroom, making sure her face’s complexion was as smooth and pale as a porcelain doll, as was the fashion. Maintaining a feminine appearance was next to impossible on a normal day but in this champagne weather, it was bloody awful.
The professor sighed and smoothed the maroon and black striped skirt so that it hung evenly over her ankles. The leather travel boots might be on their final voyage, depending on the amount of mud they encountered when she disembarked from the carriage. Absently, her carefully manicured hands fiddled with the locket hanging from around her neck. Inside was a photo of her beloved dachshund Sebastian, who was currently staying with a friend, safe, warm, and probably being overfed — which would comfort him in these trying times. The professor had once taken the puppy on a weekend trip to the seaside, but she hesitated to take him halfway across the island for a week-long investigation. Plus, there would be a child present on the estate, and children could be funny about other people’s dogs.
An old friend from college named Nancy had contacted the professor quite out of the blue. Like most of her college relationships, they had drifted apart over time. But, Nancy had been as good a friend as any other and better than most in the difficult times. The letter was cryptic, but it was clear that the other woman was worried about her son Lucius. There had been a few “incidents” that Nancy promised to detail further when Steph reached the estate.
It was seeing an old friend that made Steph nervous now that her arrival was impending. Nancy had been active in the suffragette movement when Steph knew her. It was a shared passion for social justice that had bonded us in college. After all, a woman seeking further education was still uncommon, although the professor could not fathom why. Most of the smart people she knew were women. She had finished school after two years, and a year later, Steph had received the announcement of Nancy’s engagement with some gal-sneaker from London named Carrington. He wasn’t self-made. From what Steph gathered in the society pages, Nancy’s husband came from family money. Steph was glad her friend was taken care of, but in the professor’s experience, upper-class people can be quick to utter judgment and slow to contribute monetarily to correcting societal wrongs. As a friend once said, “The rest of us would be happier if the rich would just open their purses as much as their mouths.”
The carriage jolted to a stop, and the professor lurched forward. Her hat fell over one eye, and she grimaced in exasperation. After straightening the askew headwear and fluffing the ruffles of her collar, Steph opened the side door of the carriage and peered at the unfamiliar surroundings.
The carriage stood at the base of a rambling stone house. It was dusk and a thick curtain of fog had settled over the area. Steph strained to glimpse a view of the mansion. Gas-powered lamps glowed like orbs keeping the entrance from being completely depressing. However, the thickening fog reduced the light to a warm ambiance without helping much to illuminate the path from the carriage to the front doors.
Steph was grateful to see someone approaching with a lantern. She climbed from the carriage, stretching out a foot tentatively to see if the ground was as muddy as she feared. She was pleasantly surprised to find that gravel had been laid, providing a dry and clean surface to walk.
The approaching figure held up a lantern, revealing the solemn face of a man with thinning white hair. He wore the perfectly pressed uniform of a butler who took pride in their job. He offered the ghost of a smile in greeting, “Good evening, Professor. You may call me Soham. I am head of house staff at Carrington House.”
“Hello, Mr. Soham. Thank you for meeting me out here. Lovely weather you have in this area.”
The man acknowledged my humor with a nod, “This autumn has been a bit more damp than usual.”
“I’d say. Well, is the family expecting me?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you’ll just follow me.” He gestured towards the carriage, “The luggage will be waiting in your room.”
“Very good, lead the way.”
— — —
The front doors closed behind Steph with a formidable THUMP. She shivered involuntarily and rubbed her arms to warm up. Inside the front doors was an entranceway as large as her entire flat in London. This area opened into the great hall, with twin staircases curving up into the open ceiling until reaching a second-floor balcony lit by a crystal chandelier. The architect must have liked dark wood and marble because every surface seemed made from one or the other.
Soham the butler took Steph’s coat and hat. He then directed the professor to the left into another massive room. This one seemed to be a drawing room or formal living room. Either end of the room had a six-foot fireplace, but despite the fires roaring in each, a draft still cooled the air. Chairs, sofas, and tables were scattered in groups. Steph could see the silhouette of a person sitting near one of the fireplaces, and she made her way in that direction.
“Hello?” She said politely as a way to introduce her presence.
The silhouette turned towards her. The face was obscured by shadows, but Steph realized the person was very young, only a child. Perhaps this was the boy she had been requested to interview.
“Oh, hello, I’m Professor Thornecroft. Is your mummy or daddy home?” She stopped walking and waited for the child to answer.
“Are you here for daddy’s party?”
The voice was low and raspy. Not a typical child’s voice, and not what Steph was expecting to hear.
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“Uh, well, no, at least … I don’t think so,” she replied hesitantly.
The child did not reply. Silence lingered between them for several seconds. Steph did not have many interactions with children and was struggling to think of anything to say.
At last, something came to her, “You must be Lucius. I was friends with your mummy a long time ago. She wrote me a letter about you.”
The silence lingered until the child opened his mouth. Steph waited for a response. Instead, an eerie, high-pitched whine caused the professor to cringe. Lucius was screaming, his shadowed face contorted with fear.
“Lucius, what’s wrong?”
With horror, Steph watched as the child extended a small hand, pointing directly at her.
What did I do?
Steph tried to keep her voice neutral, but those damn knots were wrenching at her stomach again, “Lucius, did I scare you? How can I help?”
Stepping closer to the sofa, Steph realized the child’s eyes were focused on something behind her. She spun around, searching the spacious room. Shadows pooled in the corners and around every piece of furniture. One shadow grew taller, separating from the others as a hooded figure stepped across the room. Their footsteps thumped ominously in the chilly silence.
Steph’s breath caught in her throat. She shivered violently, a chill crawling into her bones. The cold was like nothing she had ever felt. So sudden, it made her feel dizzy, and bile rose at the back of her throat.
What is this terror?
The seconds stretched into eternity. The flames of the fireplace burned too bright and reached out into the room. Steph’s vision faded to white, washed out by the light of the fire. She could not remember a time before this moment and the terror clawing from inside of her gut.
///
Author’s Note:
For the past year, I have been writing and publishing a series of novellas through Amazon’s self-publishing service. This creative venture challenged me to complete stories and share them with readers. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing these stories, and finding a way to express myself was beneficial to my mental health.
The Thing at the End of Time is the seventh book in the “Chrono-Cannabis Chronicles.” With its completion, I decided to change up the publication process. The Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing program was beneficial in helping me take the plunge into self-publishing. However, their user agreement places frustrating limitations on how I can distribute my work.
My fiction is for fun. Perhaps not surprisingly, writing about a time-traveling space wizard provides an imaginative escape from the difficulties of real life. These stories are silly sci-fi adventures written with love, and I want to be able to share them with other readers. Sharing is part of my creative process, but sharing is limited when my books are behind a paywall.
Eventually, there will be a website with free digital downloads of my books. Until then, I am dropping new releases on this blog one chapter at a time. Please, join the adventure by following and sharing with a friend. It’s a free way for you to support me as an artist.
Thank you for visiting my blog. I would love to hear your thoughts! Leave a comment or send me an email: theoneandonlystonersteve@gmail.com.
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