The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels

by Travis Luedke

  Roy and the others made various jubilant sounds. ‘You had us worried there!’

  Lillian put her hand against Juliet’s back. ‘Your café is beautiful.’ She came to stand in front of her granddaughter, and then looked up. ‘Sweetheart, I always knew you would do well for yourself.’

  It was strange. Enjoying her present company so much, Juliet suddenly saw how lonely she’d been before. The realisation didn’t upset her; it felt more like a lesson she had learnt.

  Smiling, she said, ‘Let’s put these shiny new tables to use. We have cake to eat.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ~Free At Last~

  RYAN FRASER WATCHED Juliet walk out the large front door of Grendel Manor. The smile he’d pasted to his face was hard to maintain. But now she was finally out of sight.

  Stuck-up bitch. ‘You better treat Kim like royalty, meh, meh, meh!’ he mocked her last words aloud to himself.

  He pivoted on the spot and looked down at the blood, the broken picture frame, the cracked Alexander the Great statue head, and Aldrich’s cane on the floor. After a minute of staring blankly, he released a protracted sigh.

  Casually, he walked over to the cabinet that had once held the statue head on one of its shelves. He picked up a Greek-looking vase and launched it across the entry hall. The sound of it splitting and then smashing onto the floor sent a wave of pleasure down his spine. A triumphant laugh came up from his chest.

  The next ornament met an explosive end when he juggled it a few times, then purposely missed the next catch. Knowing Aldrich, these items were probably hundreds of years old, maybe thousands, but that just made destroying them all the more pleasurable.

  Ryan became impatient and wedged his fingers behind the cabinet, managing to topple it. It came down with a thwack of air, followed by clanging, thudding, and splitting noises, and other sounds of destruction.

  Tipping it over had been more difficult than expected. Ryan stopped to breathe and peered down at the mess. All the times he’d been angry around Aldrich and had wanted to kill him or at least break something, he never could; now, though, this was too sweet. The entire manor waited to be defiled.

  He took out his penis and urinated on the floor, aiming widely and adding an exultant laugh to the display. The smelly yellow liquid spread out, and a trail of it mingled with the dried pool of blood.

  When he was done, he thought about Aldrich’s dead body, assuming his master couldn’t have been dead for long. That was the impression he got from Juliet and the Crystan boys, seeing as they hadn’t even cleaned up Aldrich’s blood by the time Ryan arrived. That would have been the first thing most people would do, after hiding the body.

  Having disposed of dead humans before (some his own doing, most on Aldrich’s behalf), he supposed he should sort out the corpse before rigor mortis began to set in. It was black outside, so he stepped around his puddle of piss and headed for the utility cupboard to grab a torch.

  He also grabbed a spare roll of cling film, then went to the bathroom where he stored the clean linen, towels, and other laundry, and selected a white king-sized bed sheet, carrying it under his left arm.

  As he walked down the hallway, he shouted at the walls, ‘I’m not your fucking housekeeper anymore!’ Ryan had maintained Grendel Manor by himself—well, mostly maintained it. Aldrich hadn’t cared for some rooms of the manor, locking them tight and allowing dust to settle in, and Ryan wasn’t allowed out the back for some reason. Maybe now I’ll find out why …

  Cleaning was what he’d spent most days doing, often while listening to Aldrich drone on about his long life. It was odd to walk freely around the house without being aware of Aldrich’s presence. Ryan had avoided exploring freely in case he somehow upset his master by doing so. If he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to, then Aldrich could have wiped his mind. No harm done. But Aldrich had always insisted he would never use his ability on Ryan … apart from the one time they’d agreed upon.

  ‘Why don’t you like using it on me?’ Ryan would ask.

  His master’s response was always, ‘You are my friend. Yes. My trusted companion. Yes. You are like me, Ryan; you enjoy it.’

  Enjoy it? Enjoy what? He had never figured that out. And if he’d been so trusted, then why had his master watched over him in most tasks?

  With the torch on bright, he followed the directions Tom had given. The dark didn’t unsettle him. Even rustling sounds, maybe from rabbits, mice, or rats, didn’t startle him.

  He walked into the woods. The trees grouped around him, and the moon offered minimal lighting, barely visible behind murky night-clouds. Ryan spotted a shadowy heap of leaves against a tree, and believed the body was buried underneath. The smell confirmed it. Mixed with the late afternoon air was the stench of faeces, pungent in comparison to the fresh wintry breeze.

  He placed the bed sheet and cling film down, then began to brush the foliage off of the body. At one point, his hand bumped against something metal and cold. Realising what it was, he grabbed the haft and yanked the knife out of Aldrich’s chest. It made a gloopy sound.

  Using the torch to check, he recognised the blade as the one that had killed Samantha Crystan. He hadn’t been so honest earlier when he told the Crystan boys he knew little about their mother’s death. It seemed Tommy had ended Aldrich’s life with the same weapon that had been used on his mother. Ryan sniggered. Was it fated to happen this way?

  When most of the leaves were off, he pulled Dead-Aldrich by the feet, away from the tree. The body made a flatulent noise. Even in the dark, Ryan could see the wet patch around the crotch. He looked farther up the lifeless form, up to the face he knew and hated well.

  Dead-Aldrich’s face was swollen and smeared with dried blood, but also seemed limp and relaxed. Discerning colour in the dark was difficult, but Ryan could see that the lips were pale. The rest of Aldrich’s features weren’t their usual shade either.

  Ryan scooped up a handful of dirt and mud, then forcefully pressed it into the corpse’s eyes. With clenched teethed, he pushed the clumps of earth deeper; Aldrich’s eyes seemed to sink into his skull. Ryan thought of urinating on the body to further defile it, but he’d already used up his supply.

  He repeated the process with the dirt, but this time forcing the mud into Aldrich’s mouth and open chest wound. The sense of power overwhelmed him; he could have swum in it, danced in it, rolled in it, bathed in it!

  ‘Fuck you, Aldrich Grendel,’ he whispered to the body that had muck for eyes. ‘Immortal, my arse. Look at you now.’

  He searched all of Aldrich’s pockets, but they were empty. That wasn’t so strange, because Aldrich always used to return to his bedroom to collect items. Everything was hidden away there. The odd part was that Aldrich kept the room locked. So where was the key? Ryan tried to remember if he’d ever seen his master lock the door, if he’d ever noticed where Aldrich kept the key.

  ‘I need that key, Aldrich. Where is it?’

  He wasn’t surprised when Aldrich didn’t reply.

  ‘I’ll find it. You can’t fool me now,’ he said hoarsely and patted the corpse.

  To the side of the body was a throw. Ryan covered Dead-Aldrich with it, tucking it underneath and around him, then prepared the roll of cling film for use. He lifted Aldrich’s head off the ground and began wrapping the film around it as tight as possible. Once wrapped, he moved on to the neck. It became difficult at the shoulders. He laid the cling film out along the ground and rolled the body over it, again and again. For some of the way, he had enough strength to hold Aldrich upright and to wrap with the other hand, but it was tiring.

  Small twigs, leaves, the throw, and various mess got wrapped up inside. He worked his way down to Aldrich’s feet. There was just enough film to give a tight finish. He was left with what looked like a shiny mummy. Afterwards, he laid out the king-sized bed sheet and rolled the squidgy plastic mummy into the centre. He turned the body over and over into the white fabric. Above the head he tied a secure kno
t, and below the feet he did the same. Now it looked like a giant white, slightly stained, Christmas cracker. But it would reduce the smell. And dragging the body by the blanket would hopefully be easier than lugging it by the feet.

  Ryan coiled the end of the sheet around the wrist of his right arm and began to pull the giant Christmas cracker through the underbrush and towards the manor.

  It took tremendous effort and frequent breaks, but eventually he reached the finish line and tugged the body inside. He heard a thump as Dead-Aldrich’s padded head came over the doorframe and met the floor. A few times on the way, he considered taking the corpse to the cliff edge and pushing it over—But what a boring way for Aldrich to go! Ryan wished for a more interesting idea to strike him. Something that would make his skin crawl with delight.

  Empathising with people was difficult for Ryan; he tried to respond appropriately, to emulate behaviour, but he never felt what others seem to feel. The only times he did experience jolts of real emotion were when he proved himself better than someone else, or when he saw them weak, injured, suffering. A giddy thrill would wriggle through him, and he’d yearn for more.

  There was a large chest refrigerator in the utility room next to the kitchen. Ryan hauled the body over to it, smudging grass juice and mud across the tiles, and then opened the lid. The refrigerator, used only for overflow when Aldrich got carried away with his shopping list, was almost empty.

  Ryan gathered his strength, then lifted Dead-Aldrich into the fridge. The corpse didn’t smell much, but every now and then the pong of faeces would escape the wrapping and get caught in Ryan’s noise. Once it was inside, he set the temperature to 2°C. The body would be too stiff if he froze it, but this temperature would hopefully leave it movable while also slowing the decomposition.

  With that done, he headed for Aldrich’s bedroom.

  Forceful kicks and shoulder barges backed with all of his might weren’t enough to break down the door. It simply rattled, unimpressed. ‘I’m not searching the entire manor for a key!’ he shouted. ‘I know you, Aldrich; you must have kept it close by.’ Something twigged in his mind. ‘Ah!’

  He marched to the indoor balcony and then hurried down the steps. With his return to the entry hall, he realised his previous actions had been impulsive. But that wasn’t important right now; his eager hands rushed towards Aldrich’s cane. The brass oval head unscrewed as he twisted it, coming away and revealing itself as a key. A small chamber in the wooden cane had accommodated this hidden piece of metal.

  Ryan snapped his master’s precious stick over the banister of the staircase. Jolt of pleasure. Then he jogged back upstairs with the key in hand.

  The door unlocked. Ryan knew exactly where to look first. Every time he’d been in this room before, to change the bedding or for general cleaning, Aldrich had watched over him and had rested a hand on a small trinket box. ‘When I release you. Release you, one day. Soon. I promise. You can have what’s in this box. One day.’ Aldrich had said these words to Ryan in various ways, a number of times.

  ‘One day, Aldrich,’ Ryan muttered to himself. ‘It was always one day.’

  Inside the trinket box there was a tiny string bag, pieces of paper, a simple key, and an old ring. Ryan picked up the first bit of paper, which was faded and dark and had handwritten text on it in a language he didn’t know. From the way it was signed, it looked like a love letter.

  The gold ring had an intricate weave pattern, and in the diamond-shaped gaps of the criss-cross there were clear gemstones. He pocketed it. Then he eased the small string bag open and shook its contents into his palm: human teeth. He guessed they belonged to the person who wrote the love letter … Or had Aldrich written that note? Who cares? His master’s possible ex-love was probably long, long dead.

  Now here was what he’d been searching for: a plain piece of paper with ‘Ryan’s password & security details’ scribbled on it. With these details and the key from this trinket box, he could finally access his money. When Aldrich first ‘employed’ him, they made a deal. It was the one and only time his master used his mind ability on him. Aldrich gave him two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, made him to go to the bank and put it in a safety deposit box, and then wiped his memory of the security details and took the key.

  The arrangement was that when Aldrich released him from service, Ryan could have the money. On top of that, he was paid a basic monthly wage, which he’d continue to receive until the funds run dry—even with his master dead. Aldrich’s ability and his immortality had made him an expert when it came to money laundering—he had bank accounts set up in many names … And who knows how much wealth? Sometimes Ryan thought he knew his master well, then other times he wondered if Aldrich had other employees, maybe businesses set up around the world. But he’d rarely seen Aldrich do anything; the man had seemed like a hermit, mourning the past, and obsessed with an imaginary god.

  ‘Pffft.’ Ryan shook his head, snivelled.

  As far as Kim knew, Ryan was a support worker for vulnerable adults; the strange shift patterns and the fact that he was often seen food shopping (for Aldrich) made it believable. It still took constant and clever lies though. At first, Kim didn’t like that he was secretive about his bank accounts, but eventually she let it slide. As long as the bills got paid. And as far as the English government could tell, Ryan was a personal carer for Tomas Dolores Otero. He didn’t know or care if Tomas was ever a real person or just one of Aldrich’s aliases.

  ‘TWOOO HUUUNDRED AAAND FIIIFTY THOUUSAAAAND POUUNDS! AHAHA!’ he shouted to the extent his hoarse voice allowed. ‘Finally, FINALLY!’ Then he stopped, unsure if he actually felt excited or not. Most people liked money, didn’t they? This was the reaction he was meant to have, he supposed. ‘Hmph.’ Ten years ago he would have felt differently, would have felt something.

  Kim would be ecstatic, but Ryan needed to come up with a lie about how he acquired the money. He’d figure something out; lying was second nature by now.

  He put the key and important piece of paper in his pocket with antique ring, leaving only the teeth, the string bag, and the apparent love letter in the trinket box. When he returned to the entry hall, he mopped up the urine and blood, then scrubbed the stains that hadn’t lifted. He left the destroyed ornaments and the broken cabinet where they were.

  After treating himself to a shower, he freshened up his clothes with deodorant, then slipped them back on. He couldn’t go anywhere smelling of blood, excrement, and dirt.

  He walked out to his silver Peugeot 206, then headed home to Etherby, to Kim.

  ‘We haven’t had sex like that in a long time,’ said Kim, panting.

  Ryan forced a smile as they collapsed beside each other on the bed. He didn’t offer an explanation. Instead, he stretched over to grab the trousers he’d flung off and onto the floor. He reached inside a pocket and pulled out a certain something. ‘Kim, I love you. Will you marry me?’ He emulated the way people proposed in films: tone, significant pauses, stresses on the right words. In proposing, he’d expected to feel something … but he didn’t.

  He recognised the expression on Kim’s face … elation. A good reaction, Ryan figured. Had she been waiting for this moment? Her eyes had swirly tears in them.

  ‘Yes, Ryan! This is the best night of my life. Eeeeeeeee!’ Ryan liked her excited squeals; he only wished that more things thrilled him so much. Kim stared questioningly at the ring. ‘It’s not my usual style.’ She laughed appreciatively. ‘But it is beautiful. It looks really old … and expensive … ?’

  ‘Family heirloom,’ Ryan muttered the first lie that slunk into his head.

  On Tuesday at Grendel Manor, Ryan revelled in more destruction. This was fun. At least he thought so; he wasn’t sure if he felt so. Clay tablets, intricate jewellery, paintings, statues of beasts, story-depicting vases, plates, bowls, worn weapons—all vandalised to varying degrees.

  No one would come to the manor. Visitors were rare now because Aldrich had always sent people away,
memories erased. Stories of Grendel Manor circulated, but the way it was hidden in its own valley allowed it to fall back into the easily neglected shadows of the public’s eye and mind.

  When Ryan was bored of devastating priceless artefacts, he went to one of the bathrooms, left the door open, and stood facing the toilet. He masturbated; now this was a pleasure he understood. It tickled him that he could do it with the door wide open. Aldrich had no say anymore.

  The night before, he told Kim to keep quiet about their engagement for now. Kim was desperate to tell Juliet, but Ryan made clear that he wanted to wait until he had some ‘time off of work’ before they started spreading the news. Maybe even wait longer than that. He still needed to fabricate an adequate lie about the money.

  After strolling around the wrecked manor, soaking up a twisted sense of power, he headed home again.

  The next day, he thoroughly cleaned the place. He took his time, wiping every handle, all surfaces, and each door and window until he was confident no fingerprints remained. His hands were gloved, and his body covered. He even wore a simple dust mask over his mouth and tightened his hood to keep his hair and flaky scalp to himself.

  The body was in the fridge still, hopefully not too rotted and malodorous; Ryan hadn’t yet come up with the perfect, skin-tingling way to dispose of the corpse. He decided to sleep on it again.

  The moment he awoke on Thursday, an idea struck him. He frittered away the morning, fooling about with Kim until she reluctantly left and headed to Ethereal Cuts, a hair salon where she held a part-time position. Ryan assumed the use of the word ‘ethereal’ was some kind of weak play on ‘Etherby,’ or maybe a reference to the witchy past of Lansin Island. Or both. Sometimes he over-analysed; most times he didn’t even care for what he was analysing.

  He took a few cans of petrol from the garage. As Kim didn’t drive, she wouldn’t notice. He discreetly placed them in the boot of his car, then drove to Grendel Manor.