Shallows Creek: Requiem Of The Guilty

Burnt Supper

Across town a good ways from the artisan district we see Ohlmes traveling down an old abandoned brick road. Ohlmes takes a moment to survey his surroundings, he is in an older part of Shallows Creek. Many of the buildings are decrepit, rotting wood and exposed mortar, paint this part of town in a ghastly image of a ghost town with no living person in sight. Ohlmes slows his gait and begins to reach into his pockets, searching each one he finds a slip of paper in a pocket close to his lapel. Unfolding it he gives it a quick glance over, his thin shoulders slump down and his eye’s glaze over.

“Where am I?”

“This can not be the right place I have yet to see a living soul here.” He say’s to himself in a confused manner. He looks over the slip of paper again, on the slip of plain white paper is a set of convoluted directions and the words Crooked Pine Alley near the

bottom.

“How am I to find Lockhearts place with this?” He mutters to himself but shakes his head and looks to the sky. The sun was almost at it’s zenith with no clouds in sight morning had all but come and gone.

“I hope I am not too late” He whines to himself, he folds the slip of paper and places it back in his pocket, with new found determination he trudges forth as he walks along the abandoned roads a thought crosses his mind. Why would Lockheart live in an area like this, devoid of life and crumbling buildings scattered around the area it is no more then a shell of a town. His thoughts continue to wander as he makes a turn onto Crooked Pine Alley where he is greeted with a sight that stops him dead in his tracks. Taking pause he c***s his head slightly and takes in the peculiar sight before him. All along Crooked Pine Alley one would see derelict houses which were old, and in disrepair, all sorts of vines and shrubbery grew wildly some protruded out through the faces of these homes like an open cyst, but in the midst of these deserted homes one home stuck out for it was surely not abandoned. The house in question sat upon a man made hill with a fence of large iron bars which jut out in every way imaginable enclosing the home like a prison. Ohlmes walked towards the home and began to make his way up hill as he draws closer to the home a strong earthy smell assails his nostrils which causes him to cough for a moment. The smell of herbs maybe Ohlmes thinks to himself he can see smoke coming from a window on the lower floor someone is most defiantly home he thinks to himself. He is now at the gate of tangled iron reaching his hand out he unlatches and the iron gate swings with an irritating squeak and scraping iron it opens as he enters he now has a better look at this strange home. The outside walls a pitch black lacquer with small iron rivets held this house together. Looking up he could see the second story was more of the same save for one detail a large iron sign which said. Dr. Kent Lockheart written clearly in red letters.

As Ohlmes continues to walk towards the front door he notices a small well kept garden which is a striking contrast to the overgrown turf that surrounded it, the garden had an assortment of exotic herbs and flowers the likes of which Ohlmes had never seen. He has now made his way to the door which has a few stone steps leading up to a dark gray gothic styled door, with intricate carvings of tangled trees set into the wood. Ohlmes places his hand on the door, running his fingers through the carvings he can feel the rough texture of the door. Whilst in the middle of this the door suddenly creaks open a tad. Ohlmes pushes the door open and calls out.

“Lockheart it is me Ohlmes are you here?” He calls out but receives no answer just silence.  He calls out but receives no answer just silence. Peering into the dimly lit and smoky abode Ohlmes can see strange occult like objects strung around the home, on some tables near the den small idols from various cultures, to the walls covered with dubious paintings of rituals. 

 Ohlmes enters putting one foot forward he hears a creak of the floor board under his weight, which causes him to be started for a moment. He looks around the room again with no sign of Lockheart he pushes forth the smoke getting thicker as he continues into this place.

“Lockheart!” He calls out again but still no response. Making his way further he finds himself in a kitchen. The kitchen it self was quite plan and ordinary compared to the furnishings of the previous rooms, a small table with two chairs set in the middle and to the left a small wood burning stove a pot set to boil a top which was billowing smoke rose from the pot choking Ohlmes. He moves towards the burning pot covering his nose in mouth with his coat. The smoke so thick he can barely breath his eye’s burn as he approaches the pot. Thinking quickly he opens a window which is close to the stove and in one motion he grabs hold of the scalding hot concoction, searing pain runs through his hands as he hoists the pot up he shouts out in pain and with one motion tosses the pot and its contents out into the garden. The sound of boiling water hitting the grass with the smell of burnt herbs lingers in the air. Ohlmes let’s out a sigh in relief he shakes his hands the burning sensation has stopped he hopes the burns are not to extensive to where some ointment won’t do the trick.

“Lockheart where the hell are you!” He shouts out.

“Up here, there is no reason to be shouting!” A voice from upstairs shouts back.