Sherlock Holmes Nightmare

by John Pirillo

  I sighed.

  “What is it, John?”

  “Such a blasted difficult world.”

  She leaned into me as we strolled up Baker Street. The sun was just beginning to geld the rooftops, caressing chimneys and pipes with tender strokes of golden embers that glittered and glowed before they brightened further into full light.

  A slight breeze from off the Thames was chasing away the morning swirls of fog that danced about our legs.

  “I love it.”

  “As do I. I just don’t always like what’s on it.”

  She stopped me.

  “Mister Grumbly Bear, what’s really bothering you?”

  I glanced at her briefly and looked away. “Nothing.”

  I felt her right hand clasp my jaw and turn me to face her. “I will not suffer the man I love to lie to me, when he’s so obviously and desperately in need of support!”

  “Holmes put you onto me!”

  “And well your friend should, or he would be no such thing. Am I not your friend as well?”

  I looked her up and down. “I fancy so, but with a bit of extra...uh...”

  She put a finger to my lips, though she was smiling now. She let go.

  I chuckled.

  She took my arm again. “Now. That’s much better. Up. Talk me up now.”

  I don’t care how many times you are faced with a dilemma such as I was at that time, but when in battle, you have but three choices; freeze up and be killed, run and possibly be killed, or charge.

  At that moment I found a fourth choice. One which had escaped my attention before.

  So, I spoke up.

  It took the entire walk that morning to unburden myself.

  And not once did she remonstrate me or lecture me. In fact the more I spoke, the brighter her eyes and smile became.

  Women.

  I fear I shall never understand them.

  Archives

  Holmes eyed the long passage he and Victor traveled. The ancient walls were sweating from moisture. The recent thunderstorms had caused the moisture content of the air to be quite high. There were fans every several yards to try and minimize the dampness. But it was a losing battle, and more than likely one of the major reasons the whole underground complex was being renovated.

  “Damp here.”

  Victor nodded, smiled at a man who passed, then said. “One entire portion of their library was inundated when the roof collapsed.”

  “Beneath a sewer pipe?”

  “Evidently.”

  “I see.”

  They walked further.

  The hallway seemed to stretch for miles, but only because it was so poorly lit. No Tes lights anywhere, just old oil lanterns sputtering away, casting thick clouds of oily smoke into the air, and giving the whole undeground passage an almost eerie and diabolical feeling.

  There was hammering going on in all directions. Crew were distributing fresh wood, pipes, fixings, cans of nuts and bolts, nails and other construction items as they passed.

  The smell of fresh wood was refreshing, compared to the rotting mold of old wood and worn walls thick with moss and drippings.

  “Rats?”

  “Too many. Part of what I do is making sure that when this is all done there will be none.”

  “Where will they go?”

  Victor laughed. “Does it matter, they will just find another subterranean basement to haunt and carry on as always.”

  Holmes nodded, but judging by the labyrinth they had circumscribed so far, he doubted the rats would travel much further than the next room where no worker was.

  They were very intelligent creatures.

  Man did not give them enough credit. But then, man didn’t give many of the wonderful creatures of this planet enough credit. Perhaps that was why Lord Graystone had so much disdain for this world and preferred the wild beauty of Fairie instead.

  Perhaps.

  “I had no idea the depth of their construction.”

  “Most wouldn’t. On purpose, of course,” Victor replied.

  Holmes stopped to look Victor in his eyes. “And why is that?”

  Victor leaned closer and in a conspiratorial voice said, “There be magic here!”

  Victor laughed, but his laughter was hollow and filled with fear on its fringes. Even his eyes couldn’t focus on Holmes, as if they were lost in some far off jungle of nightmares and destruction instead.

  “Magic?”

  “The worst kind.”

  Victor whispered. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” He smiled, trying to shore up his lack of proper security in disclosing private information like that. “But then, it’s only rumors more than likely. Men do not like working in damp, dark places.”

  “Some don’t.”

  Victor gave Holmes a searching look, but then turned his attention to several dozen yards ahead. “Ah, we are near our destination finally.”

  He looked about to see who was near, then led Holmes towards one of three doors. “This first one goes directly into the archives. Manley will be there. He is laying down new flooring, but he won’t mind. The second door goes to the storage. Currently it’s empty.”

  “Not much of a storage room then, is it?”

  “It will be.”

  Victor took him to the second room and flung open its door.

  Holmes almost gasped. It was so huge.

  “Big, yes?”

  “For storage, you say?”

  “Yes. Quite remarkable amount of space for such, I think.”

  “Indeed. I would have to agree with your estimation.”

  Holmes didn’t know an adequate word at the moment to put on the vast barely lit space that stretched out for what must have been leagues before him. A few lanterns broke the dark, but their gothic pools of light, smeared the darkness, making the distance seem even further than it was. But not only that.

  Unlike the corridors they had walked, which were already gloomy and fearsome at times, this vast chamber could put the fear of the devil into any man’s heart. To be here alone in this with no one else about would be utterly shattering.

  He could imagine what horrors a weak mind could confute to such a place, filling it in with imaginary monsters and demons, frits and ghosts, werewolves and vampires. Lurking in corners, hanging on ceiling beams ready to drop on an unwary victim.

  “Dear God, you could sleep the whole of London here.”

  Victor looked about again, and whispered even more softly. “Please tell no one you saw this.”

  Holmes looked at him. “Why?”

  “Victor!”

  Victor froze.

  He turned about.

  A burly looking man with a miner’s cap on his head, sweat glistening on his forehead and eyes as big as an owl’s, stood in the doorway behind them, hands fisted on his hips. “You know no one is supposed to see this.”

  Victor was frozen, unable to speak.

  Holmes smiled and stepped forward, offering a hand. “I’m sure Her Majesty won’t mind one bit.”

  “You know the Queen?”

  Holmes took out his wallet and flashed his badge too quickly for the man to see his name, but long enough for him to see the Queen’s seal upon it.

  “Ah! Well, in that case,” The burly man gave Victor a scowl. “Next time let me know in advance.”

  He gave Holmes a suspicious smile. “I’m sure this must be quite boring to you. Victor, show him the archives. I’m sure he won’t be in the way of Manley.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Victor nodded towards the doorway and he and Holmes exited.

  Holmes felt the stare of the burly man between his shoulders the whole way back to the first door. He grabbed an ancient, weathered wooden knob. It’s a bit sticky after all these centuries, but works with a bit of effort.

  He grunted and managed to twist the knob enough for the lock to make a clicking sound and the door open, making complaining sounds like an old man with arthritis rising to his feet in great pain.r />
  Holmes smiled. “You first, Victor.”

  Victor entered.

  Holmes entered, but turned slightly. From the corner of his vision he could spot the burly man still watching them.

  Then he entered and the man was lost to view.

  The door behind them swung shut on its own.

  Victor almost jumped

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s not supposed to do that.”

  Holmes eyed the door. “It’s not alive.”

  Victor turned a pale face towards Holmes. “There’s some who say nay to that, Sherlock.”

  “Holmes, please, Victor.”

  Victor lost some of his gloominess, and the worried, frightened look of a bird caught by foxes vanished to be replaced by his normal jolly smile and dancing eyes. “Right, you are, Holmes!”

  They both chuckled.

  But Holmes was not smiling inside.

  Something was going on here.

  Something no one wanted to be found out.

  Something dangerous enough that the threat of physical violence hung in the air. And he needed to find out what and why.

  Regent’s Park Zoo

  “Candy apple, my dear?”

  “Please.”

  “Two.”

  The Apple Vendor dipped two fresh red apples into a deep vat of warming caramel, and then lifted them free. He popped open a super cool compartment with a cold blower constantly on and set the two apples on their stems into two slots.

  “Just a minute.”

  “No problem.”

  Watson turned to Mrs. Hudson, who gave him a dreamy eyed look. “It’s been so long since we’ve had so many quiet moments together. And now to top it off with something sweet.”

  “That stomach of yours.”

  “And quite a nicely rounded one at times. And soon to stop complaining,” he said his eyes waltzing back to the caramel covered apples.

  He felt his mouth watering in anticipation of the tasty caramel and crispy apple. She was right. It had been a long time since they’d had this much fun. Or he a caramel apple.”

  She laughed. “I’d hardly call Regent’s Park Zoo a quiet spot.”

  He chuckled. “Close enough.”

  She nodded.

  “Here you are, sir.”

  Watson handed over a pound note. The man took it, then handed them each a candy apple with tiny cloth hankies holding them.

  “There are tiny elephants on the cloth.”

  “Why the apples are so expensive, Madam. To cover the cost of the hankies.”

  “I think it’s more than a fair trade.” She eyed Watson. “You forgot to tip the man.”

  Watson blushed and handed the man another pound.

  The man smiled and tapped his hat to Mrs. Hudson. “A man would be proud to be on your arm.”

  She patted Watson’s arm, before he could get jealous and replied, “And he certainly is. I certainly am,” she finished, giving Watson a glowing smile.

  Watson eyed the two apples on stems in his free hand. “I’d let you take them and give me one, but I have this thing about apples ever since I went to church and they did that Adam and Eve thing on me.”

  She laughed so sweetly and deeply, that even the Apple Vendor chuckled.

  She took an apple, and then Watson’s arm and they continued their stroll through the park.

  “Shall we go to the zoo?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Why?”

  “I imagine how all those animals must feel forever lost from their homes and families. Stuck in a box.”

  “You hardly ever leave your kitchen.”

  “That’s different. I’m preparing food for my hungry Teddy Bear and his friend. Besides which, I utterly enjoy cooking. I should probably be a famous chef were I to put my mind to it.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I’m not sad because of what the world is missing and I shall have...” He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Forever.”

  “Forever,” she whispered back, touched by his manner and words.

  Then Watson’s manners fled before his intellectual need to discourse. “Martha, they’re just animals.”

  She stopped, looked into his eyes. “As are we when we don’t feel for the lives of others...even the tiniest of creatures.”

  “Now, you’re starting to sound like Holmes!”

  She laughed.

  They kept walking.

  “I want you to see my favorite animal.”

  She sighed. “Is it caged?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She gave him a stern look.

  “Oh, very well.”

  But he knew that she was miffed at him. He shrugged inwardly and began towards the animal he had spoken of. A tiger. It had been born here and was super tame. Even a small child could cuddle up to it safely, not that any sane parent would risk their child to find out if they would be safe.

  “What animal shall we see then?” She asked.

  Watson had to summon all his courage to say, “Tiger!”

  A man, who stood in thick shadows behind Watson and Mrs. Hudson, smiled. It was so dark in the shadows he stood within, that his white teeth were the brightest part of him to be seen.

  Danger Walking

  Behind the couple a man came to the Apple Vendor and dropped a pound note on his counter. “Nice couple.”

  “Indeed, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “Did they say anything about where they were going?”

  The Apple Man looked at the stranger.

  The man was tall and wiry, with a thick handlebar mustache wrought with silver that ate into his lips, which were thin and almost cruel. His eyes were hard steel that could have been forged in the fires of a volcano, they burned so sullenly. His face was gaunt and stern looking. He had a tiny scar that ran from below his right ear to his shoulder.

  He wore a Gautier Vest and Jacket. Longshore Pants from Paris to match and highly polished Armoine shoes that could reflect a face if one got close enough. The man was obviously quite wealthy and just a bit on the dangerous side, judging from the way he had looked at the Apple Vendor.

  Not even taking into account that the Armoine shoes were made strictly from the kills of African hippos.

  A dangerous kill even by the best of hunters. The hippos could run you down as fast as you could shoot a bullet and many a man had had that happen to them exactly when they thought they were being the newest and most successful African hunter yet.

  Not all luck is good.

  “I might.”

  The man smiled and laid down a ten pound note.

  “I’m all ears.”

  The Apple Vendor looked at the note, then at the Stranger.

  He swallowed.

  Hard.

  The Archives

  “You don’t have to wait for me, Victor. I’m quite good at reading by myself,” Holmes noted with a chuckle. Victor, however, remained next to him, starting to bite vigorously on his right forefinger nail, which had evidently been the recipient of such snack attacks many times before as the nail was to the quick.

  “No, quite all right. I’m still on lunch break.”

  The room was filled with large wooden frames burnished a solid gold color with silver trimming and drawers with dragon pulls on them, so that the interiors could be pulled out for perusal.

  A series of tags denoted year, month and day on the drawers. The lowest to the backside of Holmes was open and missing all its contents.

  Those contents laid akimbo to each other, where Holmes had spread them out at first to survey their headlines before digging deeper into each o ne separately.

  “They give you that much time?”

  “Oh, I can take as long as I want. I’m one of the architects. They expect us to prowl the place, looking for ways to improve it all. Sometimes I sit in one of these underground rooms for days with nothing to do, but think.”

  “Interesting.”

  Victor manages a weak smile. “And that
is how I learned about the magic.”

  “Right sir, I’ll be laying the floor beneath this table next.”

  Victor’s eyes rounded in horror.

  He jumped up.

  Manley stood behind him.

  Now Holmes was worried. Why was Victor looking like a terrified hare chased by wolves?

  “No problem, Manley, Mister Holmes and I will be leaving shortly anyway.”

  Holmes nodded, even though he had no such intention. And worst case scenario, there was always tonight.

  Something about this construction going on.

  Something about the way the burly man had bullied Victor. No, this Manley chap. What kind of weight did they hold over poor Victor to scare him so deeply? For it was obvious he was being held on a tight leash.

  Why?

  Something about the way Victor had cowed, even before this Manley chap, who seemed friendly enough. But as Holmes well knew by now, the surface of a package did not always denote its contents.

  “Just one more minute and we’ll be gone,” Holmes said to Manley’s satisfaction. He nodded and went to a corner of the room to haul a stack of marble slabs and drag them across the floor next to the table, where h e waited, his attention fully on the newspaper that Holmes had open.

  The page was the obituary.

  “You into dead people, Mister Holmes?”

  Holmes smiled. “Not at all, but sometimes it seems like dead people are quite into me.”

  Manley’s eyes briefly widened, and then he stooped to open up a bundle of slabs. “Well, back to work then.”

  But he didn’t cut the slabs loose, his eyes remained on Holmes, even as he pretended to be doing otherwise.

  Holmes laid the newspaper he had been reading through on the heap of other newspapers, and then rose.

  Victor rose as well.

  “Good day, Manley.”

  “Good day, Victor. We are looking forward to your next insights into our construction.”

  “And I will be quite sure to alert you once I have them,” Victor promptly replied, no smile on his face, his voice somewhat quivery.

  Holmes nodded his head and followed Victor out. He glanced to the side and noted that Manley was watching them like a hawk, even as the burly man, Victor’s boss evidently had earlier.