by R.G. Strike
The inside was dim, empty, and hollow, except for some wooden furniture and portraits on the walls. It seemed that the only source of light was a shabby window on the far left corner, and there was no trace of sound or life.
Mr. Luciens was advising Godfrey to take cautious actions through demonstrating his gentle dropping of foot on the floor so that less sound would echo. Godfrey found it hard to resist obeying a smaller one that he almost ducked to closely see what Mr. Luciens was doing.
They crept farther inside the house. There was a short-run hallway leading into a deeper and dimmer room. It was the same size with the drawing room but with more furniture and book shelves.
Godfrey wandered his eyes around the room, finding nothing less important than the damp smell of the undrawn curtains. Mr. Luciens, however, was sniffing on his snout upon the threadbare carpet, as though attempting to trace something. Frustrated, he finally decided to quit as he looked up at Godfrey.
“Anything important?” he whispered so low that Godfrey nearly missed it.
“Nothing,” Godfrey responded. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
He pivoted his feet as he stepped back into the hallway; Mr. Luciens trailing behind him. They turned into a small bare room with nothing but four walls covered with black-and-white photographs. Godfrey and Mr. Luciens came closer to the walls as they gazed at each of the persons.
Two people stood together, flashing Godfrey their pearly beams. One was a tall and handsome lad with his left arm extended over the shoulders of a slim lady; her long hairs crept over her English dress. Both of them seemed to be in extent happiness because the man almost had his eyes closed as he smiled. The lady, on the other hand, was apparently giggling in excessive mirth.
On the upper corner of that frame was another photograph. It was another lady with straight hairs and sleek nose, making out a wacky face with her hands on both cheeks. There was something mysterious on her look, as though she was conveying a message through her eye contact.
Godfrey shook his head, and went to look for the other one beside it, but before he could land his eyes upon the next, an authoritative voice broke into the silence, sending piloerection on his back.
“Watch your actions closely.”
As he spoke, Mr. Luciens was startled as he went running against the wall, inching himself higher, though he was falling on the floor constantly.
They stared at the doorpost but there was no one standing there – nothing except for an empty clearing leading into the hallway. For a moment Mr. Luciens stopped overreacting as he managed to squeeze back into his normal position.
“Who was that?”
“I – I don’t know,” Mr. Luciens said. “Maybe it was just – oh, you heard it too?”
“Well, of course, I heard it. No one’s ever had ear defect,” said Godfrey sharply.
“. . . better than having hallucination, then,” Mr. Luciens mumbled.
Godfrey looked at him openmouthed but found no essential reason to argue back. He dropped a sigh as he went to face the wall again.
But there was someone staring at him, too. A pearly ghost, whose head was the only thing that appeared on the wall, was protruding a jubilant laugh, facing him that they were almost nose to nose.
Godfrey jumped, and as soon as Mr. Luciens heard his thumping noise, he leapt back against the wall again, looking directly at the ghost’s face.
“What – how – who are you?” Godfrey yelled disdainfully.
The ghost was apparently impassive because she continued laughing hysterically, as though she hadn’t heard Godfrey speak.
“Who am I?” the ghost repeated. “Who am I? I was all – well, hadn’t even asked what I am! Stupid! Reckless! I was supposed to be the one asking you such thing – you are trespassing a house full of memories!”
Godfrey seemed to absorb everything that the ghost was saying through her high-pitched voice, but just as he was about to answer back –
“Forgive us, ghost-of-this-haunted-house. We didn’t mean to trespass,” said Mr. Luciens chivalrously. “I mean, yes, of course.”
“You – you didn’t mean?” said the ghost, unsure.
“Well, yes. We were just sitting outside when this house appeared, and we thought that maybe –”
“NO! THAT IS IRRESPONSIBILITY – NOT ASKING FOR PERMISION! THAT IS SUCH AN ENORMOUS AMOUNT OF COWARDICE! SEEING A HOUSE AND ENTERING IN IT JUST LIKE THAT?”
“No –”
“YES!” the ghost shrieked, apparently frustrated. “YOU DID!”
“NO!” Godfrey shouted and there was a pang of silence.
The ghost gracefully glided out of the wall and floated on the doorway, staring at Godfrey and Mr. Luciens. She crossed her hands uneasily as her bushy hairs swayed behind her.
Godfrey scowled, Mr. Luciens standing beside him.
“What are you d–?” Godfrey said irritatingly.
“Don’t talk to me!”
“Yes, I will!”
“I won’t listen, anyway! Whatever you have to babble –”
“Then get out of the doorway and let us go!” barked Godfrey ragingly.
The ghost leapt back, though there was no possibility for her to fall against the cold stone floor. She watched both Godfrey and Mr. Luciens with a disdainful look. She seemed to be at state of controlling her anger because she was now having rapid breathing.
“I dare corner you, of course. It is my house, fool!”
“I don’t care who owns this house! Now – you stupid ghost get out of there and let –”
The ghost burst into thunderous laughter, then she stomped her feet as she came near them.
“You dare call me stupid?” she asked, her lips unmoving. “And you, little rabbit, can’t you just discipline your master who’s calling me stupid? I’M STUPID – HE SAID! DO I LOOK LIKE THAT? DO I LOOK LIKE STUPID LITTLE P –?”
“What’s happening here, Kimberly?” came a voice from behind the ghost, who must have been Kimberly. There was a blurry shape of a man standing behind her, holding what seemed to be a long sword upright. “What do you think you’re doing? Shouting loudly at some nonexistent delinquent? That is just, as I call it, insanity!”
The ghost, who had stopped dead and openmouthed halfway through her sermon, swiftly swiveled around to face the man behind her.
There was a deafening silence that broke through for what seemed to be five minutes or so. The ghost hesitated, then soared through the man and gradually vanished in the dim hallway, muttering curse for a short while until what was only left was extreme silence.
When she had totally gone, the man on the doorway hadn’t removed his eyes upon them. Mr. Luciens, on the other hand, seemed to feel that the man’s stare was more than a blazing flame – probably scorching him.
The man had an untidy black and blonde hairs bowing towards his forehead. His skin was pale and might be rumpled because he looked rather droopy than shocked of seeing both Godfrey and Mr. Luciens.
“So,” said the man solemnly, putting down his silver sword, “what brings you here?”
This time, it was Mr. Luciens who had answered politely in a tone that Godfrey had never heard. He moved forward very gently and bowed like he was a servant to the man.
“We are brought here, sir, by curiosity,” Mr. Luciens said. “It was not our intention to trespass h –”
“Curiosity?” the man repeated, still in his calm tone. “I see . . . but I suppose it is rare that curiosity could bring people into this house. . . . Only the same blood could step here, of course . . . I wonder, yes.”
“The – the same b-blood?” Godfrey asked, baffled.
The man blinked. “Yes, the same blood. However, there are separate circumstances and considerations. I, on the other hand, am not related to the previous inhabitants – Kimberly and the rest – by blood.”
Godfrey frowned.
“You might be under the impression of asking who I am, as I am to you, and might probably be under inquisitorial pur
poses regarding my name,” the man said. “Just for the record, I am Nolfavrel Ridgway.”
Mr. Luciens bowed once again, pretending to be in delight, and then rescued the man with the words, “It is such an honor and pleasure meeting you, Sir Ridgway.”
“Well, thank you about that,” said Nolfavrel haughtily. “And you are –”
“Robert – Robert Luciens,” Mr. Luciens uttered excitedly, as though unsure.
“Luciens?” Nolfavrel repeated in a low voice. “It seems that is familiar, even before. It’s really . . . I was kind of curious – anyway, this boy beside you is?”
Godfrey was not elated having mentioned. He gulped softly, still eyeing Nolfavrel.
“Your name is?” Nolfavrel repeated.
Mr. Luciens elbowed Godfrey’s thigh.
“My name is Bravy.”
“Bravy?” Mr. Luciens interjected. Godfrey did not respond.
“That’s what I’m called – Bravy.”
Nolfavrel groaned.
“Are you being funny?” he said.
Godfrey shook his head uneasily.
“G –” Mr. Luciens began.
“I told you!” Godfrey snapped, looking at Mr. Luciens sharply. “That’s my name!”
“Stop this, okay?” muttered Nolfavrel. “I am convinced. You’re name is Bravy – okay. I think there is only one person who has that name here in Switzarnel.”
Mr. Luciens gasped. He wrapped his eyes upon Nolfavrel’s and said, “So, you believe him, Sir Ridgway.”
“Why, yes!” Nolfavrel wailed. “Yes – yes! Oh, well, not unless, he’s not Elvandork’s son, I suppose. . . .”
“H-how d-did –?”
“Simple – it’s easy,” Nolfavrel continued. “I told you already – there’s only one person named Bravy. And he’s Elvandork’s son.”
“His f-father?” said Mr. Luciens, horrified. He looked over at Godfrey who seemed so quiet now since the last time he spoke, as though nervous that Nolfavrel was going to say something shocking or nasty.
But Nolfavrel kept still for a few seconds. “What . . . what do you mean his father?”
“Sir Ridgway,” Mr. Luciens said in a low, rumbling voice. “He is the prince – Godfrey!”
Nolfavrel, however, was not surprised by this. In fact, he tilted his head and asked, “What’s – what’s you complete name, then?”
“Does that concern you?” Godfrey injected.
“What’s your complete name?” he repeated.
“My real name?” said Godfrey, remembering. Then he stopped looking above – he was nearing to recall it, but it was his name! It was his own name and he was at lost to utter anything except his first. “My – my name is . . . Godfrey. G-Godfrey Zen Algory Meadslev.”
