Shallows Creek: Requiem Of The Guilty

The Phantom Strikes Again

Back in the musicians parlor Henry sits alone in his chair still staring blankly at the wooden floor with a look of defeat on his face. He shakes his head trying to clear the mental cobwebs and regain some composure, Henry takes a deep breath and mutters to himself.

"I can feel that this may be my last night on this earth with nought to show for it save this empty home and hollow achievements." His eye’s begin to glass over like two clear pools of water, he stands up from his chair and walks to the piano in the middle of the parlor it’s shiny black exterior with ivory keys looks as if it has never been touched. He slowly runs his hand along the keys, sheets of music can be seen above the keys. Henry pulls the piano bench out and sits down in front of the sheet music. Reaching his hands out he shuffles through the assorted sheets till he happens upon one titled A Haunting Requiem by Benedict Patch. His eye’s spark to life just for a moment whether it be from passion or guilt even he does not know. Extending his long frail fingers he touch's the ivory keys and begins playing a mournful lament following each note on the sheet before him with grace and passion he has not had for a number of years, the air filled with the sound of music the sad tones bringing to life just how alone he was in this world. Tears began to roll down his cheeks but he never stopped playing the flames of the candles in the room ebb and flow as if they were dancing to this mans last breath of life. A creak of the floorboards behind Henry but this does not deter him he just continues to play, another creak and then another but the piano does not stop. A figure finally emerges from the shadows in the guise of what could be described as a middle aged man who had been dead for a long time wearing a brown suit with violet patches sewed where holes may have been, his face angular with what looked like rot coming from his cheeks and matted white hair hung unkempt which dropped around his hollow unblinking eye’s. He continues to walk forward while the candles around him grow dimmer and dimmer until he places himself behind Henry who has now stopped playing. Henry does not look behind him he knows his time has come he leaves his hands on the keys and looks up to the ceiling and speaks for one last time.

"Benedict I am ready now." As if almost on cue the ghoul behind him reaches around Henry’s throat with a flash of metal and a fluid movement Henry’s life had ended crimson blood flows from his neck and he falls motionless onto the piano before him the ivory keys now stained in crimson blood, as the life left Henry every candle in the room snuffed out as well almost as if they had gone with him the ghoul know standing in darkness.

On the other side of Shallows Creek the story continues. The surrounding neighborhood his dotted with nice but modest redbrick homes each with a fire in the hearth and a candle in the window all but one, this home was a bit mismatched like a chess piece of a different set was just placed on a board with the others. The house was modest just as the others but of different stock the red brick of the other homes contrasted the blue colored mortar that was used to build this home. It is quite late a stoat man can be seen approaching the front door, he opens the door taking off his cap and coat which is covered in muck and dropping them to the floor with a loud thud. The man then brings his hand to his face and begins to stroke his thick dark beard muttering and cursing to himself.

"That damn Lockheart making promises to those thugs then leaving me with the grunt work, I should have his hide for this."

The man is none other then Inspector Young coming home after dredging through the filth ridden river. He is quite tired from his ordeal but finds comfort in being home, he looks around the room the fire in the hearth is still burning but the flame his very low near it a plate of beard with assorted cheeses has been left on a stand next to his favorite wicker chair. With a small grin on his face he walks over to the chair and with as much grunting as a wild hog he plops his hindquarters right into his chair, the chair then having dealt with years of this treatment gave way cracking and splintering to no more then a pile of tinder's with a now confused Young and his bum placed right on top with a look of shock in fear plastered across his mug with what comes next the splinters in his bum are the least of his concerns a loud thud like someone jumping off a bed can be heard in the room next to him. Young now scrambling to remove himself from the now wrecked remains of his chair hears footsteps fast approaching from behind.

"Terry Young what in the hell are you doing!" A female voice shouts from behind making Young freeze in place like a statue. The women then walks around Young and the remains of the chair cutting off any hope of escape. The women standing before Young is his wife Bethany she is blonde with blue eyes, late twenties and her face is now scrunched in anger she begins to shout at Young again.

"I told you this would happen you just plop your girthy ass in that chair every night now look it’s nothing but firewood now, well care to explain why your late and destroying the house?"

She continues to go on and on until out of the corner of her eye she catches a glimpse of Young’s muck stained coat which is now leaking a sludge like substance all on the floor, her face livid and about to burst from anger Young see’s this opportunity for escape. Picking himself off the floor he makes a mad dash to the door shouting.

"Bethany I swear it’s not my fault it’s that damn Lockheart's!" He continues to shout Lockheart's name as he runs out into the night.