A Murder of Crows - Chapter 6

"Indeed he does..." Sarah rocked forward from the shadows next to the stove where she had been sitting and listening to her circumstantial companion's stories. "Indeed he does."
She paused momentarily to check on the lamb chops, them shut the oven door with a frown and poked about the fire a bit with a long spoon.
"All of you speak so blindly of light and darkness, of black and white." She started again, turning back to the group."Let us not forget the shades of grey. The one you call Adversary, he is not the ebon darkness you seek, there is something greater, more primordial than him. The wickedry that spreads across the world is something altogether different, it preys on false faith, on loose convictions and sunday afternoon zealots. Those of light, you cant defeat the vileness of the world, yuou cant stop the spread of the unimagined horrors that lie in the shadows of a thousand halmets and bourroughs through out the world, you can only balance it. Black needs white as white needs black. but from black and white come grey, and from grey comes the Adversary, and his daughters."
Sarah nods around apologetically if she has misunterstood anyones words, but then continues without much pause.
"Adversary, devil, demon, Accuser, Satan...He has many names, but all refer to one being, a creature born of man's ability to embrace evil while maintaining our free will. When the terrier falls prey to evil, he becomes rabid, and cannot control his bloodlust, but man is different, we can hide our evil, live with it, and even learn to thrive on it. We are the ones who can stop the coming of eternal night, for we understand evil, we have seen the eyes of our enemy and lived to laugh about it..."
Sarah's voice trailed off as she sipped her tea, waiting for some reaction from the others.

Listening to the conversation from the table, I consider what I'm hearing.
"Briefcase, if you train her, see to it that she doesn't fall to Them. You know, as well as I do, how many Adepts have fallen to the Dark - or whatever you call it." Considering Claude's comment on the soup, I test it carefully - nearly spitting it out. I stand up, and back away from it. Tact was never my strong point - at least I had cooked this.
"Claude, you know about this place. When It starts to corrupt, does it choose a flavor disgusting to each person, or to all?
"I used chicken, but I tasted cat." If meats were corrupted in this place, I might well starve before I could get out, assuming I didn't leave in the morning - perhaps that would be best, to get away from this hell-hole as quickly as I could. In fact...
"A suggestion. It may be some miles back to town, but I, at least, can walk that far. I have a far greater aversion to death than I do to water - I suggest that we take that key Mr. Briefcase has, leave the house, and hike to the nearest village. We can solve this mystery from there - and perhaps return better armed for this. I, at least, have few things on my person to combat a spirit such as Godfrey."

"Getting out of here is certainly a good idea", I said, "but it might not be that easy. "When I closed the front door, I noticed a bullet hole which was camouflaged with paint. It looks like someone was shot at in the hall, quite possibly while trying to get out. If the tales are true, and ghosts indeed tend to relive and re-enact certain dramatic parts of their lives, leaving through the front door might become a painful affair."

I make a weird face when I hear the first statement.
"Er... How do you know what cats taste like?"
Far less amused, I attend to the second statement.
"There are just two problems here... First, who said that Godfrey was a spirit? And second, what makes you think the manor would ever let us leave. It would take more than Briefcase's key and Trent's revolver to open THAT thing." I point to the entry hall. "You see, it's easy to get in. Warm and cozy. But then you start coveting things, and mistrusting people, and pushing and shoving and then..."
"...then you loose everything."

I turn to face Sarah, my look almost amused at her tirade. I chuckle as I reply.
"You assume quickly, Miss Bradshaw," I say. "Did you think that I spoke of the Christian Advesary? True, It does wear many masks. You, undoubtedly, know more than your share. So do I. So do the majority of the people here tonight, I would gather. But my Advesary is not just the Christian one... and you are more correct than you know... there is the ebon blackness, and there is the grey. It is the grey that cause the most trouble, because it is hard to kill what once was and might one day be holy."
I turn to look at Claude after finishing.
"I have already lost one student to the Advesary, Mr. Wolffeman," I reply. "I will not loose another. Even if it means their life."

"Wonderful. I can't wait to see what the lamb chops are going to taste like," Amelia said dryly. She looked at Karl.
"Forgive me, Mr. Wolfemann, I am not an expert in magic or in fighting spirits-or what have you." Though their confidence in me is touching, she thought grimly...blinded to caution, as always, Amelia. "But I don't think treking off into the night across unfamiliar, rain and mud-choked territory would be anymore wise than remaining here." Her gaze moved to Claude.
"On the other hand, since you've suddenly become more knowledgeable-or more forthcoming-about the ways of this manor, Mr. Lafitte, do you have a suggestion as to what we might do?"

Weasel had been silent, eyeing the conversation beteen Amelia and Mr. Briefcase with growing discomfort. What is he to offer her comfort, he thought. A shadow from the past. A memory.
There was something wrong with him too. It wasn't just him being some magic user. There was something... different about him.
But the whole house was odd, he mused.
Karl seemed to taste cat, and others seemed to be affected by the soup, though he wasn't. He frowned. Like the house was imposing things upon them. Making them taste and see wat they wanted to taste and see. Like he wasn't really here... He had noticed it when he came in, he recalled. Something wrong. He closed his eyes to think back of the moment. When he ran inside, almost tumbling on the floor. He had gotten a good smell of the house as he had been panting in the parlor. And he had good smell. Excellent smell. And there had been something... missing.
Weasel's eyes widened as a sudden realization dawned. He jumped up, almost knocking over the soup which he had been spooning into his mouth. "The butler!" he called. "He didn't have a smell!"

Those that pay attention - Weasel, probably - notice that Claude's right ear is slightly torn at the lobe, like he wore an earring that was pulled out. The wound seems old, as it is scarred now. The ladies should notice that it is unfashionable for men to wear such jewelry, and has been so for a loooong while. Specially teachers frown from that.

Though supprised by the sudden movement, Trent remains calm.
"Get a grip you two!" He pauses and turns to the rest of the group.
"You seem to think that I do not belive in creatures of..." he pauses trying to find the right words, "...death." He shruggs unable to get a more satisfactory phrase.
"Well I do because I HAVE seen them, and seen them kill at that. Now regardless of any 'alliance' between some of our kind and some of theirs, I do know that there are respected institutions of our society that are not to be trusted." He trails of unwilling to continue. He turns to Wolfemann. "I think I can do better than walking to the next village, my horse is in the stables, but anyway of more imediate use is the fact that my tack is there as well, including trail food for about a week, now that might last a day and a half for all of us, gormet it isn't but it will keep us going. There's not much water, but their is also my carbine and a few other things. If the food here is no good then I suggest that we at lest try the door."
He moves toward the kitchen door.
"Shall we?"

"You don't want to know how I know what tastes like what - suffice it to say that my wife and I have been forced to have some odd meals in the line of duty." Trent steps towards the kitchen door, and I consider what Claude said - as a wave of dread washes over me.
"Mr. Trent, don't touch that door - this place needs something to keep it alive, and I imagine that it like to eat in the kitchen as much as anybody else. That door might not be safe to touch.
"As for the bullet hole you noticed - might it have been made by somebody trying to get out, not shot at somebody trying to do the same? I have a suggestion - that we try to avoid using weapons in this house. However, to test that theory..." I pull the blade out of my cane. In the (slightly) dimmer light of the kitchen, it seems to glow slightly. I touch it to the door, and speak quietly.
"Flagrate." Nothing seems to happen. I pull the blade back and consider what happened. Then I run it through the door, and pull it back again. The hole seems to heal before my eyes, until nothing more than a scratch - or scar - is left.
"By all that is holy in this world - what have we stepped into?"

"Well that's fun!" Trent looks rather more worried than he sounds.
"I was going to suggest that after diner that we should secure the house from outside intrusion, but no longer seems to be a problem. How about the windows? Will they open."

"In something that isn't there." said Weasel, now calm again.
"That's what I'm trying to say. The butler - he wasn't real. An illusion, a fragment of the mind. I didn'nt notice at first. But he had no smell, and everything - everybody - has a smell - I know because I have had and a accute smell since birth.
It's not that weird - I just notice small things. I noticed how you smelled like wet fur, for instance, but I thought it was due to your horse. And I smelled dust on mr Briefcase, and the smell of... wel, it doesn't matter. Everyone has little smells hanging around them, which you can smell if you get up close. The butler didn't. He wasn't real. And that door - it isn't real either! Watch!"
With that, the weasel steps up, and walks head-on into the door. The thud of wood is still resounding as he hits the floor.
"Ow! That smarts!"

Turning to watch Weasel Trent can't but help himself from laughing.
"Oh, thank you, I needed that!"
He wipes away the tears from his eyes, deeply releved at the break in the tension. He turns back to the window.

"Well, the theory about the butler, at least, may have had merit," Amelia said as she bent to examine William's forehead. Satisfied that it wasn't serious, she offered her hand to help him up. "We'll simply choose to overlook the comment about how much the rest of us smell to you," she said, arching an eyebrow, though her eyes were concerned. "There's going to be a lump there, you know."

Weasel rose of his feet, holding Amelia's hand a little more longer than necessary. "I didn't mean... I... You always smelled nice to me.", he muttered.

"Classic case of Anthrax, eh Weasel? Well, finish changing feet and we'll get to work here. Obviously we can't break out of this house through force - I still would like to think that we could simply open it, but I suggest we try the front door if we do so." Again, the visions come into my mind.
"I can't explain this, but I suggest that we find the chapel - this place does have one, doesn't it?"

"There's a room with a small oratory, just across the..." - That place... - " ... the library. I suppose it's already been fixed, like the rest of the house. It doesn't amount to a full CHAPEL, but it's the closest to a holy place in Bleakmoore."
As they all start to get up and get ready to leave, I think out loud:
"Well, far more holy than the mausoleum in the northern grounds, anyway..."

I nod solemnly to the group, with all the revelations at hand. I take the key out of my pocket, my eyes focusing on it. The key seems to fade away and I am left holding nothing.
"Then the door is locked not by key," I say. "The butler was an illusion? Makes sense... I can't even remember what he looked like..."
My voice trails off as I hear Mr. Wolffeman and Mr. LaFitte speak.
"The chapel may do us some good," I agree. "If we think we are protected, then we will be. But we will have to cross the library."
I turn to Claude.
"Tell them what happened in the library, if you would please, Mr. LaFitte."
With that I pull my briefcase up and place it on the table. Opening it, I reach inside and pull out a slender, ornate dagger. I close the briefcase, and turn back to the group.

"Oh, this is not going to be easy..."
I draw a deep breath, as I fumble around my pockets...
"When I last came here, I went to the chapel for some protection... Well, it turns out it offers protection for the soul, but not for the body."
Even I find this hard to describe... and I've a lot in my time...
"First there were creaks and thumps... Suffice to say, I should have barricked the door better..."

Amelia almost smiled at William's expression...but it was cut off quickly as she saw the dagger the Briefcase was now holding, and the expression on Claude's face. She squeezed William's hand briefly before letting go.
"I think things just got a bit more serious, William, if that's possible," she said worriedly, feeling again that strange tingling at the back of her neck, stronger this time. Something was building around them. "By all means, Mr. Lafitte, tell us what we should expect."

Weasel pulled Amelia closer.
"Mausoleum?" he whispered. "That must be where we went inside... the burial place we found when we investigated the death of that Travis Volta guy. It's on these grounds."
He placed his finger on his lips, indicating to be quiet about their mutual past for now.
"Let's hear what Mr. Lafitte has to say."

"Trust me, Amelia, that dagger will not likely be the least weapon we need this night." I draw my blade again, and look at it.
"Observe, the house bleeds." While I didn't notice it earlier, there is a green ichor on the blade - unlike the remains of all but one creature I know about.
"As for the chapel, I fear that I do not expect protection there - merely a series of events that will decide our fate tonight.
"If the mausoleum is what I sensed as a chapel, then that may well explain such things - Mr. Lafite, was Godfrey ever buried with a Christian service?"

Trent has become much more unsure of himself since all the talk of holy places, tombs and the unspoken hint of ghosts.
"I think that we would stand a much better chance in the open. If there is some sort of pervading evil here then it could easily trap us, outside we would have a fighting chance, and from what you have hinted at it may not even follow us out there." Trent looks around with a fearful gleam in his eyes and figits where he stands.

"We are NOT going to any mausolem.", Weasel said sharply. "I say we stay in here, in the kitchen. When we stay together in the light, nothing can harm us."

"Fine stay here, go to the holy ground, whatever! I am not getting trapped with one of THEM..." Trent visibly shakes uncontrolably.
He looks up with dispare in his eyes.
"Not again." He mutters close to tears. He stiffens and clears his eyes.
"Alright if you want to die screaming as they rip you apart like..., well thats your fault, I'm gettng out!" He looks around seeking the best way to get out of the house.

"Mr. Trent, I understand your fears. Bleackmoore doesn't mind a few guests, but it doesn't like people trying to fight it - or get away without feeding it.
"I suspect that Godfrey isn't quite at rest - if he had a Christian service, I'm sure of it. He often wrote of feeling that the Manor had a spirit, a mind of its own - he wrote of someone called Angelique - and he was certain that, unless he was buried in a manor consistent with certain Druidic rites, his spirit would be engulfed by the house - become one with it. I fear that is what may have happened.
"As such, the terror in this house would be to be caught by it at all. I, you will remember, first suggested leaving here and returning once we were more prepared.
"However, knowing what I now know - or fear I know - I must say that leaving will be difficult, at best, and that we must destroy the spirit of this house, regardless of whether or not we leave ourselves.
"Mr. Lafitte, do you have any knowledge of this house that you have not yet given us? Do any of you?"