The strange side of midn.., p.2
The Strange Side of Midnight, page 2
Breathing in the mustiness that seeped from the cabinet’s interior, he leaned inside to examine it. The mood of the image was dark, spooky. The eye he had imagined watching him was, in fact, a full moon floating in the gray, cloudy sky. The moonlit garden was surrounded by trees with a fountain at its center. Recognizing the details, Crowe crossed to the large bay window and gazed out at the fountain and the forest beyond the back of the house. Though his current view was slightly off center to the artist’s viewpoint, it was unmistakably a painting of this very garden. Grabbing his phone, he went outside and stood by the back door. He clicked off a few photos and returned inside. Holding the phone out, he compared the images to the picture. Though the fountain and garden in the painting were neater, maintained, and the trees a little smaller than those in the photograph, it was undoubtedly the same view.
Disappointed by the unremarkable painting, he searched the interior for something more inspiring for his starved, creative mind, but it was the only object it contained.
Refocusing on the painting, he ran his eyes over the frame. It too was adorned with some of the entities that decorated the cabinet’s exterior, which alluded to them having a connection, but what?
Gripping the sides of the painting, he found it to be firmly attached. After checking every inch of the frame for a fixing, nails or screw heads, brackets or clips, and seeing none, he gripped the edges again and yanked it up. The painting came free and banged against the top of the cupboard. Crowe lifted it out and flipped it over to examine the back. Except for the four, flat prongs in each corner that slipped into the fixing brackets on the rear of the cupboard, it was bare of any detail. He carried it over to the hearth, placed it on the mantelpiece, stood back, and pondered the artwork.
Why was such an unimpressive painting locked inside a cupboard that appears to have been specially constructed to house it, and what was the link between the carvings on both frame and cabinet? They had to hold some significance or why would they be there, so out of odds with the depicted scene? If it had been a painting of some Dante-inspired hell, or something equally macabre, he could understand the addition of the ghoulish adornments, but a scene of an English garden made no sense.
Thinking that maybe researching the house and its previous occupants would shed some light on the mystery, he decided to go and have a chat with Pete the next day to find out what he knew about the former owners. All Pete had told him was the last person living in the house, the only remaining member of the mysterious Sinister family, had died some months ago. With no surviving relatives to take over ownership of the house, it had been put on the market.
With a myriad of thoughts swirling through his mind, he headed to the kitchen to fix himself something to eat.
Chapter 3
Strange Chest
AS CROWE WAS WASHING up his dinner things and pondering the day’s strange discoveries, he stared through the window out at the garden scene depicted in the painting. He froze with a plate half rinsed when he remembered something. An object in the cupboard had moved when they had stood it upright, yet the picture was firmly fixed, and there was nothing else inside to account for the shifting item. He dropped the plate in the soapy water, dried his hands, and headed back to the living room.
Halting in front of the open cabinet, Crowe contemplated its empty interior. There had to be a hidden space, a secret compartment containing the object that had shifted. Excited by the prospect, he leaned inside and started tapping. The sides and top produced the expected retorts to his knuckle drumming, the bottom, however, returned hollow thuds.
Crowe knelt and started exploring the piece of wood forming the cabinet floor with his fingers. He prodded, pushed and tried getting a fingernail in the paper-thin joint running around the edges and lifting, all to no avail. Placing his hands on his knees, he stared at the dark-varnished piece of wood, convinced it hid something exciting. Briefly thinking about fetching his toolbox to try jamming a screwdriver into the joint and prizing it free, or smashing it with a hammer, but decided against it. The secret compartment he pictured below the wood cover had to have been designed to be accessed without resulting to vandalism. It would also make a far better piece for his book if he discovered the hidden mechanism that opened it.
Certain the deviously concealed catch, button or lever had to be low down, Crowe roamed his fingers over the lower carvings, pushing, probing, turning, and pulling every detail. When his finger slipped inside the open jaws of a hideous demon, he felt something give. He grabbed a flashlight, laid on the floor, and aimed the light into the demon’s mouth. There was a small domed protrusion at the back. He had found it. He slid a finger inside and pressed. When nothing happened, he applied more pressure.
Click!
He climbed to his knees and smiled at the raised front edge of the cabinet floor. Wondering what he would find inside, he raised it up and stared at the small wooden box, about a foot long, half that wide, and about eight inches high, set at an angle to one side. Four catches, two on each of the long edges, held the lid in place. Crowe lifted it out. Though not heavy, it did have some weight. He carried it to the coffee table, sat on the sofa, and released the catches. He removed the lid and laid it aside. Purple velvet was wrapped around an oblong object almost the size of the box’s interior. An iron chain, thin and delicate, held the material in place. Leaning closer to examine the wax seal trapping the chain ends, he peered at the strange writing. Though too small to read, it seemed to be old Latin or possibly an even more archaic language, around the circular imprint in the wax. In the middle was the Star of Solomon with arcane symbols in each triangular arm.
Excited to see what the object was, Crowe lifted it out, pushed the empty box back and placed it on the coffee table. He grabbed his phone and snapped off images of the wrapped object and close-ups of the wax seal.
Unwilling to break the seal he’d like to keep intact, he collected his toolbox and used wire cutters to cut the chain around the seal. Carefully laying the wax seal to one side, he folded back the flaps of the purple covering. A waft of nauseous stench, like that of a rotting cadaver, assaulted him. He shot back as dizziness and a feeling of great lethargy overwhelmed him. Without the strength or wherewithal to prevent it, he slumped sideways onto the sofa.
Ten minutes passed before the ill effects that had suddenly stricken him began to fade. It took a further five minutes before he was able to sit upright. Experiencing bewilderment by what had happened, he focused his puzzled gaze upon the small casket he had uncovered. As the remnants of the ailment which had seized him dissipated, and his brain-fogginess cleared, he stared apprehensively at the object and the cause of his temporary incapacitation. Certain that something noxious laid within, he tentatively leaned forward. The chest was silver, both in color and substance. It had seven small drawers, three either side and one above a central panel featuring a prominent skull furnished with slanted eye sockets, giving it an evil appearance. The smooth, fluted edged top was absent any decoration. Eight, inch-long legs supported the strange casket.
Keeping his distance, Crowe lowered his vision and focused on something crammed in the gap beneath the base; plants squashed when the casket was placed upon them. Spying nothing else that might account for the substance that had afflicted him, he assumed the vegetation had to be responsible. It needed to be disposed of before he’d be able to investigate the mysterious casket safely.
After collecting some gardening gloves, a plastic bag, a damp tea-towel wrapped around his mouth and nose, and the coal tongs, Crowe was ready. Cautiously lifting the casket off the plants, he placed it aside to examine the toxic vegetation. Though withered and squashed, he recognized the species from its bell-shaped purple-veined flowers, hairy and wool-like, with a pale, dingy yellow base from his research into poisonous plants for a previous novel. It was Black Henbane. This particular variety was especially nasty and could cause death. With its purportedly magical properties, it has long been associated with witchcraft and a plant most likely to have been used by witches to concoct ointments and potions. In folklore, it was a favorite of those practicing the black arts, rituals of necromancy and the summoning of spirits. In bygone times, it had also been used for medicinal purposes to allegedly cure a series of various ailments and used as an ingredient in anesthetic to put patients to sleep during operations. Also, if Crowe’s memory served him well, it was surprisingly good protection against some mythical creatures, including demons, which wouldn’t come near it.
Placing the open bag on the floor, Crowe held the coal tongs at arm’s length, folded the flaps of velvet material softly over the plants and plucked up the bundle. He put it carefully in the bag and twisted the top closed. After sealing it with tape, he took it outside.
Satisfied the danger was removed, he set about examining the small silver casket. The three drawers along the top were thinner than the ones either side of the skull panel and intrigued Crowe the most as to what they might contain. Wary of more poisonous substances, he leaned back and pulled open the middle, widest drawer. When no toxic gasses or odors wafted out, he moved closer and stared at the miniature set of weapons laying on a bed of padded felt. Surprised by the small but lethal looking objects, Crowe fetched a magnifying glass from his desk drawer and lifted out one of the two short swords. The same star of Solomon symbol present in the wax seal was at the crossed section of the handle and blade. Symbols etched into the blade ran along both sides of its length.
Returning the sword to its imprint in the drawer, he ran his admiring gaze over the two tiny daggers positioned above and below the sword and focused on the equally small blunderbuss type pistol, its proper name was a dragoon he recalled from his research into antique weapons. He carefully picked it up and marveled at the intricate workmanship. It seemed to be an exact replica of its full-sized counterpart as if it had been shrunk, miniaturized. He cocked it and used the nib of a pen to pull the trigger. It fired with a dull click. It actually works!
Returning the weapon to the drawer, he lifted out the small leather sack. He carefully loosened the drawstring holding it closed and tipped the contents into the palm of his hand. Amazed by the tiny lead balls, the two powder horns, and stumpy sausage wads of pre-made cartridges for speedy loading, he glanced at the pistol with no doubt that when it was charged with the gunpowder, if it were still viable, and loaded correctly, it would fire the balls. But why? What use was such a tiny weapon?
Crowe put the objects back in the sack and returned it in the drawer. Opening one of the larger drawers, he gasped in surprise at what lay inside; a small doll of a child, a little girl. Dressed in a white nightgown, she rested on a soft velvet mattress with her head laid on an embroidered pillow. Fascinated by the doll’s lifelike appearance, Crowe used the magnifying glass to peer closer at her small face framed by long dark hair fanned out on the pillow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was looking at an impossibly tiny girl sleeping and wouldn’t have been surprised if she opened her eyes and sat up. He carefully scooped her from her bed and laid her limp form in the palm of his hand. Her features, hands, and tiny bare feet had been rendered in such exquisite detail he wouldn’t have believed possible before. He gently brushed her arm with a fingertip. It was soft, slightly warm, and felt like skin but had to be a type of rubber. Crowe gently returned her to the bed drawer and softly—so as not to wake her, he realized—pushed it shut.
Turning his attention to the lid, Crowe tried to open it without success. Another concealed catch, he thought. His fingers went straight to the skull and twisted it. Click! It turned, as he thought it would. He raised the front edge of the lid and looked at the weapons laid out in the top middle drawer, blocking what was beneath. He pulled open the wide, thin drawer and got his greatest shock of all since finding the casket.
Shackled by its wrists and ankles was the creepy figure of a tall, thin…Crowe stared at the face for a clue…ghoul or golem for lack of a more fitting description. With the space too short for its long slender legs to stretch out, they were bunched up, almost to its chest. Aiming the magnifying glass at its nose-less face, he took in its closed eyes and thin mouth. Whatever it was, it was completely hairless, and its skin had a leathery appearance. The tiny iron shackles that tethered its arms and feet to the four corners of its small prison had locks on the bands around its limbs. Pondering the restraints that could only be there to prevent it from being stolen or from escaping; the author in him preferred the latter, he peered closer at one of the locks. Again, it was adorned with the Star of Solomon and in its center, a star-shaped keyhole.
Overloaded with the exciting discoveries, Crowe sat back on the sofa and contemplated the casket’s contents which were, to say the least, strange. Is it a child’s toy fashioned by some talented miniaturist, or did they have another purpose? He glanced at the cupboard’s demonic carvings and its secret compartment. Something sinister perhaps?
He refocused his gaze on the mysterious casket and the five drawers he hadn’t yet opened. For the life of him, even with his, at times, overactive imagination, he couldn’t guess at what mystifying wonders he’d find in them. Though tempted to open them to find out, he was keen to start writing about what he had discovered so far.
Tomorrow, he would do some research on the house and its previous owners to hopefully shed some light on these strange discoveries. Feeling excited about the cabinet, the small casket and its unfathomable contents that had provided him with the inspiration he desperately needed, Crowe crossed to his desk and resumed writing.
Two hours later, Crowe paused his fingers on the keyboard and reread the last paragraph, made a couple of edits and corrected a spelling mistake. Though he had only written a little over five thousand words so far, he had a good feeling about the book and hadn’t been so excited about writing for a long time. Confident this would be the novel to rekindle his popularity as an author, he continued.
Barely ten minutes had passed when he stopped typing and cocked his head at the soft scratching sounds that had distracted him. An almost imperceptible jangle of chains turned his head to the casket. After a few moments had passed without hearing any further sounds, he climbed from his desk chair and crossed to the chest. Staring at the strange, sinister-looking figure chained inside, he focused on its head that was now tilted to the side; it had been upright and facing forward before. He leaned in closer and peered at its slightly open lips that he could have sworn were closed previously. With a certain amount of apprehension, he prodded its chest gently and jumped back in fright when it moved. He laughed inwardly at his edginess; it must have just shifted from his touch. He closed the weapon drawer and shut the lid which clicked when the hidden catch engaged, returning the skull to its original position.
Crowe moved to the fireplace and wondering how it fitted in with the mysterious casket, examined the painting. Though the slightly spooky trees and lighting created by the artist bathed the scene in a somewhat foreboding atmosphere, to all intents and purposes, it was a rather dull landscape depicting the view from the back of the house.
The frame though was much more stimulating. In each corner was what seemed to be demon faeries in various poses tormenting the skeletons and corpses adorning the straight edges of the frame. Just as the human figures, they were in high bas-relief and encroached over the sides of the frame and painting. Though all were adorned with evil expressions, all were different. There was a red, green, brown, and a particularly evil-looking black one perched on the top right corner, that was stabbing at something with a spear. Leaning closer, Crowe could see it was a similar ghoul figure to the one in the casket.
Fascinated by the amount of detail, Crowe turned his attention to the skeletons and corpses, which varied in height from about two to six inches, and included men, women, and children. Two strange black dogs, wolfish and vicious, were depicted snarling and baring sharp teeth at the red demon faerie. The expressions of the skeletons and rotting cadavers were of terror and pain. Mingled together, they seemed to be clawing at each other, perhaps climbing, as if they were trying to escape some hellish terror. Set in the center at the top of the frame was a clock face with its hands frozen at midnight.
Suspecting there was more to the painting that met the eye, Crowe used the magnifying glass to take a closer look. Starting from the top left corner, he searched along the top and gradually moved down the painting. Halting on the left side of the forest when he noticed a faint detail, he zoomed the magnifying glass back and forth to try and bring it into sharper focus, but without success. He took a photograph of the area with his phone and then crossed to his PC and opened his Dropbox. He navigated to the photo he had just taken and loaded it into Photoshop. After trying a few different enhancing techniques, he met with success. Though faint and a little grainy, it was obviously a headstone. Blurry details of more gravestones indicated the area was filled with them. If Pete was aware there was a graveyard on the land, he hadn’t mentioned it. Its inclusion could be another reason why he deemed the house unsaleable. He then noticed something else in the forest to the right of the graveyard. Though little more than a faint smudge, it seemed to be a figure. Wondering if it was just something unintentionally formed by paint stokes, Crowe enlarged the detail and stared at its chilling features. Two tiny dark smudges on its blurry head were unmistakably intended as eyes.
Saving the enhanced image, Crowe closed Photoshop and glanced at the rain pattering the window. Though he was eager to check out the forest to see if the graveyard existed, as it might reveal some information about the previous occupants of the house, he would have to wait for the rain to pass. He switched to his writing program, and after reading the last few paragraphs he had written, resumed typing.
