Now, however, as I look at the ruined remains of my electromagnometer, I fear that I may indeed have discovered the source of supposed supernatural activity in this home.
Has Leetsdale managed to harness the souls of the departed? Or somehow unwittingly attracted errant energies to this place by means of radical experimentation? It is such an outlandish thought that I feel absurd for thinking it. And yet, given the unexplained telekinetic events that have left two animals and one man dead, I cannot deny that his glowing sphere is somehow connected, and responsible.
With regret, I must cut this short. It is my hope to get this letter into the hands of the drunkenly amiable Lillian’s nightly gentleman caller: the local postmaster. I promise to take up the pen again in the morning, with properly digested thoughts to convey.
Blissful dreaming…
All my love is yours,
Cadmus
February 03, 1910
Darling Ana,
Last night, death stormed the doors of Leetsdale manor.
I am utterly exhausted, and once again in need of finding a bed to collapse on. But the bloody events of the morning’s wee hours have brought this case to a shocking close, and I hope to commit them to paper while they remain fresh in my memory. And before I have chance to doubt the things I’ve witnessed.
It began just after midnight…
I waited for an hour after the last set of the servants’ footsteps pattered down the hall towards bed. My intent was to return to the dungeon laboratory under cover of darkness and further explore the alchemical device that had fried my prized electromagnometer like an egg. The house was still and quiet; I padded along with shoes in hand, finding the occasional groaning floorboard and wincing at its noisome protest.
At last I had arrived downstairs and was about to close the outer closet door behind me, when I saw a flicker of shadowy movement in the foyer. I did not dare depress the latch of the door, and instead waited in the closet’s inky depths, to watch with frozen breath as my fellow nighttime explorer revealed himself. It was my employer’s trusted butler, Richard Vassar. Even at this hour of the night, his face was dour and serious in the pale moonlight.
My heart pounded as it looked as though he was approaching the musty closet entry to the laboratory. In that brief moment, I wondered what he would make of my intrusion. Would he attack me? I tensed and pressed myself close to the wall.
But, Vassar turned at the last moment, taking careful but determined steps up the staircase. When he rotated in his ascent, I again spotted the glimmer that had first alerted me to his presence. In his hand was a long-bladed kitchen knife.
“Hell,” I whispered. There was no cooking to be done at midnight on the second floor, when all were sound asleep in their beds. I cursed again when Vassar turned right at the top of the stairs. The only room in that direction was the master suite.
I hadn’t even realized that my feet had carried me from my hiding place and to the base of the stairs in horrific curiosity. Surely Vassar did not intend to kill Leetsdale. There was no apparent motive, and while I was fairly certain that I’d pinpointed the apparatus responsible for the telekinetic haunting, how on earth could the butler have the knowledge to use it?
Alas, I did not have time to sit and ponder this new factor in the equation. Vassar was on approach to the old man’s room, and nothing in his face told of a pleasant visitation.
I rounded the middle landing and wound back up to the second floor. Leetsdale’s door was open just a crack, and the faintest lamplight within was suddenly cut off.
I hurried forward and peeked inside.
Vassar was dressed in his typical suit, save for the shoes, which, like me, he had discarded for silence. He stood at the side of the vast, canopied bed, looking over the motionless body of Mr. Leetsdale. The old man barely gave any shape to the sheets that covered him.
Slowly, I edged the door open. I crept a few steps into the room, and was still unnoticed when I saw Vassar raise the knife overhead, as if preparing to stake a vampire.
“No!” I shouted. But, it was as if he had not heard me at all. And, had I not already been halfway to the bed, perhaps he would have succeeded in planting the knife into Leetsdale’s body. I half-tackled him in the darkness, but he was a big man, and did not go down. At least I spun him away from his intended victim and had finally earned his attention. There was an unnatural glimmer to his eye, but I was forced backward as he brandished the knife at me.
“Why?” I huffed.
Vassar shook his head and grinned. “Suicide,” he grunted with a chuckle, before aiming a kick in my direction. My bad knee became electrified with pain and my voice was stifled as I collapsed.
When I looked up, Vassar was again at the bedside and this time there was nothing to stop him from plunging the blade into Leetsdale’s chest. He repeated the motion thrice more, and blood seeped shimmering stains onto the sheets.
“No,” I said, trying to crawl to my feet.
“Hush, my boy. Quiet now. You don’t want to wake my poor staff.” And it was in that moment, with the lumbering form of a murderer leaning down to look into my eyes, that reality turned inward on itself. I was not peering into the stony face of a butler who had turned embittered and homicidal at his former employer. I was looking into the eyes of a grinning old chemist who had somehow cheated death.
Something heavy connected with my skull and the world faded to black.
When I awoke, I was curled up on the freezing, irregular, stone floor of Leetsdale’s laboratory, at the foot of the great glowing orb. It swirled with iridescent light and its beauty nearly stanched the various pains of my body. The back of my head throbbed where I’d been sapped. And my knee was still a wreck. A bloody spot on my trousers spoke of broken stitches. I could hear the soft, distracted sound of someone humming Mozart on the opposite side of the room. I recalled the grisly scene in the master bedroom and set quickly to looking for a weapon.
“Ah, yes. Awake at last,” Vassar’s voice grated jovially. It chased itself in echo through the low-ceilinged stone cavern.
I crouched behind the nearest counter, confused. Surely, he couldn’t have seen me awaken?
“I can feel your thoughts,” Vassar answered. His tone was low and even. “Oh please, Mr. Eyers, don’t worry. There’s no need to run now, of that I can quite assure you. It would do you no good, anyhow.” His feet shuffled around with soft indifference as he worked at his bench.
If he was indeed capable of what I thought him to be, I had very few options. So, I did what I thought might buy me a little time to think: I played to his ego.
“How did you do it, Leetsdale?”
He cleared his throat, and spoke in a hurried, but self-satisfied tone. “An astute observation on your part, Mr. Eyers. Though far too late to save yourself, I’m afraid.”
My chest constricted and I bit at my lip. I shuddered to think what the maniacal scientist had in mind for me. A peek around the corner showed him happily busying himself with a series of beakers full of the same vibrant green mixture that roiled in the orb. Vassar’s body moved like a flawlessly mastered puppet.
“What do you mean?”
“Ah, you haven’t figured that part out yet, have you?”
I had my suspicions, but there was no way I was going to allow the lunatic to get his way.
“The haunting. It was you all along. You managed to separate your soul from your body and somehow remain alive.”
“Well done, man. Well done. Please, do continue. We’ve got a little time left before the authorities arrive.”
“You led me here, knowing that I would discover your secret,” I said.
“Of course.”
Again, I stole a peek around the edge of the steel work bench. “But, if you wanted to take a new body, why drag me through all the loops? Why bother killing innocent victims?”
“Bah, victims. Collateral is the price of progress, Mr. Eyers.”
“Was that a motto your father used
in the noble weapons trade too?” He did not answer this and I knew I’d barbed him. I moved around the corner and saw my opportunity to sneak up on him. If I crept down the aisle of shelving opposite, I could reach right through and take him by the neck from behind.
He sighed. “With the body of a virile young man such as yourself, I shall be able to go on for decades longer, perfecting, learning, growing. And with the help of my most ingenious elixir, my life and legacy will stretch across centuries. My dear boy, I’m going to change the world. Don’t you see, I wanted you specifically, Eyers. You are a rising star in your field. When I’ve control of your body, I will rocket to fame, especially after having solved the great mystery of the Leetsdale murders. And the rather sizable sum that the late Mr. Leetsdale has left you in his will. He is quite charitable.” He gave a self-amused chuckle, though it seemed half-hearted. “You made quite an impression on that old man before he died. It was almost as if he felt you were his own flesh and blood.”
“The police will find us, well, you rather. The hero of the hour, having dispatched of the disgruntled butler, putting a stop to his brutally murderous rampage.”
“And how do you suppose I’ll be able to explain Mr. Vassar’s incredible ability to perform superhuman feats of carnage?” With as much stealth as possible, I slipped down the aisle opposite his backside.
“Oh, you’re a clever man. No doubt you’ll have a theory or two. But, with the killer dead, I’ve a feeling the police won’t look too hard. After all, Lillian saw me carrying your body off to the cellar. What a peach that one is. A promiscuous drunkard to be sure, but a peach nonetheless. Your case is airtight.”
I peeked between the rows of shelving to see a clear view of the chemist’s back. If I could reach through the gap and seize him, I might be able to get my hands around his neck. When he leaned back from his work to further taunt me, I took my chance.
“Yes, that’s the spirit!” He dodged my attempt to choke him through the shelving and laughed nervously. “But the time is not quite right.” He examined the stoppered test tube with hungry eyes. “I’d say you’ve still about thirty seconds left.”
“What do you mean?” I moved carefully around the shelves to join Leetsdale in his own aisle, and watched his eyes shine with greed behind Vassar’s.
“My dear man, the very first time we met, I collected a tissue sample from you, which I infused with my own mixture and ingested. Think of it as a beacon, a chain that will guide me to your body, which will be as receptive to my spirit as a fitted glove.”
I touched the back of my neck where the old man had unsteadily scratched it at the close of our first encounter.
“Yes, there’s a good lad.” He shook the vial at me in mock gesture. “Think of this as an egg timer.”
“Unfortunately, the first batch didn’t take. Though I’ll wager it’s given your head a good spot of trouble, no?” His gaze flitted back and forth from me to the stairwell in anticipation. “But you gave me able opportunity to collect more blood when you took your tumble in the forest.”
The dull headache that had plagued me for two days now brightened like a midnight flare. “But, how is any of this…”
“Possible? Oh, yes. I assure you it’s quite possible. All it takes is a little patience. Thirty years of research, to be precise. Did I not tell you I’d unlocked the secrets of the Almighty himself?”
A thunderous crash sounded from somewhere up the stairwell. I heard shouting, and a few barked orders.
“Just in time,” Leetsdale said. “Excellent. Now, be a helpful lad and just hold still a moment, won’t you?”
That was when I spotted the large-caliber revolver sitting half the distance between us on the table, its barrel protruding from beneath an oilcloth. A glimmer of hope shined in me and I darted an eye at the stand of empty test tubes on the shelf beside me. I seized the equipment and hurled with successful aim at the murderous scientist. The vial, which contained some small part of me and that vicious potion of his, flew and shattered as Leetsdale instinctively guarded his face.
I flung myself forward and snared the pistol from his workspace. My heart beat the rhythm of triumph when I felt the killing machine’s weight in my hand, until I saw Leetsdale reach into his breast pocket for something that glinted of metal.
Before he could draw his own shooting iron, I took the little aim that time afforded me and pulled the trigger twice. I was deafened by the explosion in the small quarry quarters.
The first bullet struck the swirling aqueous orb, and the great sphere of fluid exploded in a brilliant rainstorm of glowing chemicals and glass.
The second shot hit Leetsdale square in the chest. His shirt became a shimmering stain of red as he stumbled backward, and viscera spattered the stone wall behind him. An alligator-like rictus tugged at the corners of his lips, before a stream of blood dribbled from his mouth and his face went slack. He rocked gently back on his heels, and collapsed.
He was unarmed. He hadn’t been reaching for a gun. He’d been grabbing at his pocket watch. I paid the heavy gold timepiece no attention as it slipped from Leetsdale’s fingers and clattered to the floor.
At the sight of the gory mess and at the peak of my pent-up anxiety, my body surrendered. I fainted.
Following the events in the cellar laboratory, I was interrogated by the local lawmen for three hours. I told them the truth, and they thought me mad. Had corroborating witness accounts from the staff not exonerated me, I fear they may have actually arrested me for murder. Thanks to the statements taken from the Bindle sisters, they chalked my nonsensical claims up to mental stress, and released me.
Before leaving, I suggested they burn the laboratory.
I write to you now from the railway depot, exhausted, aching, and longing to see the sight of your smiling face.
This case has not turned out at all how I’d imagined just three days ago, when my train crossed the Colorado state line…
I have stopped a murderer. I suppose there is solace to be found in that. I came here seeking to build a reputation, and my involvement in this case will undoubtedly bring me fame in this business. But, at what cost? At the price of becoming a killer myself?
My train departs in thirty minutes and I must get this letter to the cashier for delivery and find a bottle of aspirin. My headache returned an hour ago, and it’s the worst I’ve ever had. But after the stress of the last few days, who can blame me?
You own my thoughts,
Cadmus
February 04, 1910
Ana,
I’ve just found your little note hidden cleverly in my coat pocket and must apologize for not having written to you even once during my harrowing stay at the Leetsdale mansion. You must be worrying yourself sick.
I’m afraid I haven’t much time to go into the details of my adventure right now, but I promise to explain in full upon my return. Expect a glorious retelling, for I have so much to divulge. Needless to say, I have found success.
I must make a detour in Iowa, for business reasons. Without letting the cat out of the bag, I’ll suffice to say that we have found ourselves the inheritors of the fortunes of a wealthy and generous new investor.
My peach, our future is looking very bright indeed.
I will see you soon,
C. Eyers
Notes
Hi everyone. Thanks for reading. This collection, as I’m sure you can tell, contains stories that were written over the span of four or five of my first years writing fiction, and some of the tales (much like the accompanying years) are much better than others. But, overall, none of them were absolutely godawful, or so I’d like to think. You be the judge. Most of these were cranked out in a single sitting and then tossed into the deep dark recesses of my laptop’s hard drive to sit and gather dust. So, after some electronic excavating, some pruning, and some minor editing, I’m happy to have been able to share them with you.
If you enjoyed these stories, please check out my most recent work, which inc
ludes the three novels “The Sensationally Absurd Life and Times of Slim Dyson,” “The Missing Link,” and “Dead and Moaning in Las Vegas,” all of which were co-authored with my best friend, Bryan Pedas. Together we also co-write the humor blog/web-comic www.abeerfortheshower.com.
If you have any questions, comments, or love/hate mail you’d like to send, you can always reach me at [email protected] .
Cheers and safe dreaming,
-Brandon
Acknowledgments
Thank you to John Shors and Carol Berg for your generous guidance along the way.
Thanks to the Pikes Peak Writers, for being the most kick-ass group of scribblers in the world, especially Barb Nickless, Christine Mandeville, Jodi Anderson, Jene Jackson, and Deb Courtney.
Also, thank you to the countless agents and editors who rejected these stories over the years. Without your scalding input, I probably wouldn’t have had so much motivation to write horrific, bloody things.
Thank you Bryan Pedas, always my best friend, first reader, and most trusted editor.
And of course many thanks, as always, to the friends and family who put up with my sometimes curmudgeonly behavior.
About the Author
Brandon Meyers lives and writes in colorful Colorado. He is co-author of the novel The Missing Link, the forthcoming novel The Dead Don’t Play Slots, and the humor blog/web-comic A Beer for the Shower. Someday he will grow up and get a real job. Brandon can be reached at [email protected] .
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