The Duskshire Incident

by Jason Spitz

  I was overcome with horror, and sank down into grass. I felt a drop of gore drip from my hand and vomited. As I continued to gag, I slid away, wiping my hand on the grass as I went. I lay there on the cold ground beneath the darkening sky shaking. It took me some time to regain my faculties. When I did, an even more horrible sight met me.

  A large wolf, larger than any species in any zoo back home, as big as a bear, had approached. It was pitch black, almost invisible in the dim light. It sniffed the body and began to eat. My stomach threatened to turn again, but my instinct for survival took over. I scrambled to my feet and took a few stumbling strides away. I should not have done this. The wolf's head pulled up, and it looked at me as gore dripped from it's maw. I started backing away slowly. As I did, the wolf stepped over the body and it's fur began to bristle. I looked around to see if anyone had come from the house. There was not even a light in a window. The house sat dark and silent. I caught sight of the crypt. In a stroke of luck, the door was cracked. I took one last look at the wolf and bolted for the safety of the metal door. I heard the beast bark, but did not look back. I flung open the crypt door and rushed in. I realized far to late that the door immediately led to a flight of stairs. I plunged into the darkness, tumbling end over end.

  I lay at the bottom for several minutes not moving. Every part of my body ached. I lit my lighter and looked around. Above me, the stub of a candle rested in a sconce. I labored to my feet and staggered to it. Once it was lit, I could finally see the stone stairs. It was two stories worth of steps, and I knew I was lucky to be alive. I half crawled up a few steps, when I heard the metal door slam shut. I made my way up to the top as quickly as I could, but it was locked. I banged on the door for some time.

  Exhausted and sore, I came back down to the bottom of the stairs. I took the candle stub into the antechamber of the crypt. There was a stone platform in the center, perhaps for preparing the dead, with a candelabra. I lit the candles. Small flecks of gold leaf still cling to it, and they are glistening in the yellow light.

  And now I sit here writing in my diary. Surely I will be missed. Someone will come for me.

  Chapter Three

  The Diary of Reginald Penn

  Nov 8, 18__

  I have read the diary that Mr. Hennings gave to me. Ever since I read it, my head has been racing with wild imaginings of what happened to the poor man after he was locked in that crypt. No one around here has heard of a Mr. Vossen, nor seen any foreigners lately. It's not exactly tourist season, so such a man would have surely been noticed. I've decided to leave some men here and ride back to Duskshire. According to Mr. Cadmore, Vossen had mentioned the city by name. Finally, I have a clue; some intelligent questions to ask.

  Report by Mary Harris

  Nov 9, 18__

  I am writing this report in order to ensure that all facts be made clear and explained with sufficient detail. We were ordered to ask everyone in and around town about an Idris Vossen. Locating him was made a top priority. Around noon, I was visiting George Woodbridge, who occupies the former groundskeeper's cottage on the now defunct Kensington Estate. When I got to his house, Woodbridge was standing in his vegetable garden. I bade him a good morning, and he immediately stomped up to me.

  “It's about time,” he said.

  He then looked me up and down, apparently taking note of my gender for the first time.

  “Were you expecting me?” I asked.

  “I filed a report at the station yesterday. We were told to report any suspicious activity, which I did.”

  “Well, that's not why I'm here, but please tell me about it,” I replied.

  “Someone's been up at the house; coming and going at all hours.”

  “The manor house?” I asked.

  Woodbridge confirmed this and I said I'd have a look. He insisted on coming with me, though, so we set off up the gravel road together. The house, which was once the main house of the estate, was a ten minute walk away. What was once a manicured lawn had turned into a mess of tall grass, bushes, and brambles all of which were brown and dead now that winter was starting.

  When we got to the door, I pushed it open without knocking. In front of me was a young man. He had his back to us and was sweeping the floor. As I stepped in, I could see that he was just moving dirt around the floor with the broom; not really accomplishing anything. Furthermore, the house was so run down and dirty, that sweeping almost seemed a comical exercise.

  “Sir,” I called out to him.

  He stopped sweeping and turned to me. He had a terribly gaunt, emaciated face, like someone who has been ill for a long time. We walked up to him and, instinctively because he was so frail, I put a hand on his back to brace him. He stared at the wall. I'm not sure how aware of us he was. His breathing was labored and wheezy.

  “We have to get him to Doctor Fleetwood,” I said.

  Mr. Woodbridge leaned the man back a little, then scooped him up into the arms. He seemed to have no trouble carrying the wasted man. I told Woodbridge that I was going to stay and see if there was anyone else who needed help. He told me that he was going to take the man to town in his mule cart and alert the other constables.

  Once he was gone, I started looking through the house. For the most part, it was as I expected. The rooms were empty, some with broken windows, and all surfaces were covered in dust. In some places, vines had creeped in. My boots crunched on plaster that had come down from the ceiling. This once stately manor was not long for the world, it seemed.

  The kitchen was quite different, however. The counters and tables were covered with chemistry equipment: glassware, scales, bottles, stands, and other things. Almost all of the glassware had a black sludge inside. I felt it best not to disturb anything, so I continued through the lab and out onto the back porch. The porch had been transformed into a workshop with old tools carelessly tossed around. There was a crate full of metal canisters and beakers containing the sludge.

  From there, I decided to go around the back of the house to the stables. With some effort, I pulled open the surprisingly heavy door and stepped inside. The sun was streaming through cracks in the roof in dusty beams. All of the stalls had been replaced with what looked like makeshift prison cells. Heavy metal bars ran from floor to ceiling. There was a terrible stench that forced me to cover my nose with my handkerchief. Horseflies were buzzing angrily near the stalls. I walked down the row looking into the cages. Lying on the floor of the first cage was the body of a woman. She had been stabbed in the chest and left here to rot. Each of the other cages also contained human bodies. I started for the front door thinking it best to wait for backup before doing any more exploration of this depraved house.

  As I started striding toward the door, I kicked something and heard a metallic clink. I looked down and saw that a thin cable had been stretched across the room. It was now lying on the floor. I heard some dull clunks and the movement of some machinery that I couldn't see. Then all of the cage doors opened. As they did, the back door, the one I had come through, shut. The loud thud of the heavy door boomed through the stable. I ran to the front door to find it secure. It didn't give single inch as I tugged on the handles. The back door was the same. I was trapped in the room of corpses.

  When I had stopped pulling on the handles, I heard a rustling and shuffling in the dirt. I turned and drew my revolver. I called out, “Who's in here”. Just as I said that, every corpse that had been on the ground came staggering out of the cells. There mouths hung open and their faces were blank of expression. Each one had some greivous injury: stab wounds, broken limbs, or gashes in their torsos. One of them was walking on the side of his foot, the ankle clearly being broken.

  Remembering the incident at the McClure farm, I immediately pulled the hammer on my revolver and said, “Everyone stay where you are or I'll fire.” Their only response was to turn toward me and start shuffling forward. I shouted another warning, then leveled my revolver and fired. I struck the nearest man in t
he chest, which caved in like it was hollow. He fell and I fired at the next nearest person. I quickly fired my six shots, but there were a dozen more of the walking corpses. Two more came toward me. I dropped my pistol and drew my club. I raised it high and struck as hard as I could. Both of their dead, rotten skulls caved in on impact.

  As the rest of them closed in, the front door suddenly opened. I smashed the nearest corpse in the side of the head and bolted past the rest. Standing dumbstruck in the doorway was an older man in overalls, a double-barreled shotgun broken over his arm. He started to say something. I cut him off by yelling, “Give me that.” I grabbed the shotgun, snapped the breached closed, and fired both barrels into the crowd of walking corpses. “Shut the door,” I yelled. Then man and I slammed the door shut and fastened the bolt which was on the outside. I later found out that this man was a neighbor of Mr. Woodbridge's. He had asked the man to come up to the house as he drove to town. We went quickly down the drive and waited next to Woodbridge's cabin. Inspector Penn was there within twenty minutes.

  Telegraph from Inspector Penn to Chunigary Palace

  Nov 9, 18__

  Duskshire Const. trying to locate Idris Vossen. He may contact you or may have already done so. If you encounter Vossen, please wire me immediately.

  Telegraph from R. Moon secretary to the Duke of Chunigary to Inspector Penn

  Nov. 11, 18__

  Re: Idris Vossen

  I met Idris Vossen. Claimed to be rightful Duke. Sent him away. Lawsuit may be pending. If you have any information on this person, we ask that you come here to Chunigary Palace. Will reimburse travel expenses upon arrival.

  Telegraph from Inspector Penn to R. Moon

  Nov. 12, 18__

  Re: Idris Vossen

  I am coming immediately.

  The Diary of Inspector Penn

  Nov. 14, 18__

  Vossen has come and gone. I met with a Ronald Moon, the Duke's secretary, as soon as I arrived at the impossibly large house occupied by his lordship. He was quite concerned that there would be a lawsuit coming, but was more concerned about a media circus than about actually losing the case. Losing the case, we all agreed, was impossible. However, I had to make his concerns worse.

  “He's a poisoner,” I said as soon as we were in his office.

  The words didn't register with Moon at first, and he just blinked at me.

  “A serial poisoner,” I continued. “He poisons people, land, animals; everything.”

  He shook his head a little, as if being presented with this news had caused a blockage in his mind that he needed to shake loose.

  “Are you saying the man is a psychopath, like the Cemetery Strangler?”

  “Exactly,” I replied. “Except instead of rope, he uses a black liquid which is poisonous to any living thing: plant or animal. Anywhere he went in this house, we must go there and throw out any food or drink, just in case.”

  Moon immediately stood. He strode over to a door and entered the adjoining room. I followed him into an elegant office with a large marble fireplace, carved woodwork, and floor to ceiling shelves filled with leather bound books.

  “Ron?” a startled voice came from inside.

  Sitting at a large, elegantly carved wooden desk was an old, but sturdy man with a graying beard. This was the true Duke, Edward Wycliffe.

  “I'm sorry, sir,” Moon said while striding up to the desk. “This man...” He stopped and looked back at me.

  I approached the desk, hat in hand, and announced myself, “Inspector Reginald Penn. Duskshire Constabulary.”

  “Yes,” the Duke said while placing the pen he'd been writing with in it's holder, “we were expecting you, but...”

  “That Vossen, the foreigner, he's some kind of mass killer. A poisoner,” Moon said.

  “Good god,” the Duke exclaimed giving me a wide-eyed look of shock.

  Wood continued, “I left him alone in here. Only for a moment.”

  “We have to throw out your alcohol,” I said gesturing to his liquor cabinet.

  The Duke hesitated as he looked at the fine liquors, then said, “Yes. Yes, by all means.”

  The Duke himself rose and started pulling the bottles out of the cabinet and setting them on the desk.

  “His servant,” Moon said.

  “Servant?” the Duke and I said at once.

  “He had a man with him. He was so sickly looking. I sent him to the kitchen so Betty could get him some food. Not something I normally do,” he added looking at the Duke, “but he looked like he could faint at any minute.”

  “I suppose he was also pale, wan, and didn't speak,” I suggested.

  “That's right.”

  “He poisons his servants, too, we think. He does it slowly, destroying their bodies and will over time.”

  “A lunatic,” the Duke said more to himself than us, “in my house.”

  Within an hour, every morsel of food and drop of drink in the house was in the garbage.

  “I didn't feel like having a drink last night,” the Duke said after his cupboards had been stripped bare. “To think: if I had had my usual glass of brandy, I could be dead.”

  “We'll stop this maniac,” I assured him.

  Moon gave me the address that Vossen had left with them. As I write this, I am in a fly speeding toward his rented townhouse. The local constables are going to meet me there.

  Later

  I arrived before the locals, but decided not to wait. I let myself in through the front door, which was unlocked. The house was completely empty except for one thing. On the floor of the kitchen was the body of a very pale, very thin young man. He had been stabbed in the chest with a kitchen knife and left to bleed on the tiled floor. Even though the blood was fresh, his wasted body looked like it had died long ago.

  Report by Mary Harris

  Nov. 14, 18__

  Elwood Lee, a local constable, and I were sent to find information on Idris Vossen. Inspector Penn had no trouble getting the Northton constables to cooperate with us. When we left, the station was buzzing with talk of a “serial killer”. The harbor of Northton runs along the river for at least a mile with countless piers, warehouses, and cargo yards. So it was a welcome surprise when I found what I was looking for within thirty minutes of arriving.

  It wasn't so much Vossen that attracted attention as his entourage. Everyone was gossiping about the group of young men who were so sickly and tired looking that one dockworker said, “I wouldn't have been a bit surprised if the whole lot of them keeled over dead right on the spot.”

  It wasn't long before we followed the trail of gossip to the ship Vossen had come in on. He hadn't bothered to hide his name or port of origin. The Visenda was a small and fast passenger ship that had come directly from Srideis. It was moored in a busy part of the harbor, and their were plenty of people willing to talk about the ghastly figures that came on and off the ship. Apparently, they were living on board.

  “Look,” one of the dockworkers said pointing up at the ship.

  I looked just in time to see the sunken face of one of Vossen's servants disappear from view. A moment later, the gangplank descended onto the pier. We thought the man was coming out, so we starting walking toward the plank. But as we approached, we were met with a horrible sight. An enormous spider was crawling down toward us. It's body was the size of a pig's. Thick, brown hair was matted with thick black residue. It's legs slipped off the sides of the narrow plank which slowed it's progress. However, it soon leapt down onto the pier. We drew our revolvers. The spider spit out a stream of liquid which caught Lee in the chest. I fired two rounds into the creature. It staggered, but then continued crawling toward us.

  “Get back,” someone yelled.

  One of the dockworkers had run up with a shotgun. He emptied both barrels into the spider. It finally fell, its legs curling. The shot had carved two large chunks out of its flesh. I looked back at Lee. He was naked to the waist, his coat an
d shirt lying on the ground in a heap. His chest had a large, red mark, but he wasn't injured. He took his truncheon and moved back a layer of the coat. A large section of the cloth had disintegrated.

  We waited for backup. Soon we had a dozen men lined up with guns in hand. But just as we were about to storm the ship, thick, black smoke started billowing from below deck. We went up the gangplank, but the flames were spreading fast. We had no choice but to go back to the pier. Within ten minutes, the entire ship was engulfed in flames. By the time the fire brigade showed up, the ship was already beginning to sink. The young man who was aboard, along with whatever other horrible creatures were hiding below deck, are now at the bottom of the harbor.

  County of Lowe

  Executive Department

  Northton, November 14, 18__

  WARRANT OF ARREST

  To the People of the County of Lowe,

  To any Sheriff, Constable, Marshal, or Policeman in this County, Greeting:

  Whereas a Requisition was, on the [14th] day of [November] received by me from [George Wycliff, Duke of Chunigary] charging Idris Vossen with the crime of [Attempted Murder, Grievous Bodily Harm, Sedition, Arson] I hearby command and authorize any and all Law Enforcement Officers to Arrest said [Idris Vossen] forthwith.

  Signed

  [Edward Harrison], County Executive

  Chapter Four

  Mission Log: Sampson Galway

  Dec. 28, 18__

  My team and I have arrived in Duskshire. We have taken over a large, abandoned house near the town square. There are many abandoned houses, particularly near the city center where the richer folk lived. Everyone else is stuck here, I suppose.