Skeletons and caramel

Need for a like-minded one

The narrow marble steps ran up barely a flight of stairs before Frankenstein found himself in a thick gloom that his lamp could barely dispell. There were no windows here. He took a few steps forward, touched the wall. Rough stone. This was no room for receiving guests. How's it set up anyway? Apparently some sort of intermediate floor... The doctor licked his lips and raised the lamp over his head.

Out of the gloom came the outlines of two doors. Frankenstein approached, touched the handle. It did not budge. Curious, very curious... so far all the other doors in the mansion had remained unlocked. That wouldn't be a problem for him, though.

He let loose just a little bit of that power that even the immortals feared. A tongue of dark flame danced around his fingertips. The game was getting dangerous. What if it wasn't just a locked lock that guarded the passageway? Some mysterious mechanism might have alerted the mansion owner of the intrusion. But Frankenstein was not about to retreat.

All fears were suddenly overshadowed. He had to get in, that was all.

But which door to test?

The foul flame stung his fingers, gnawing at his skin. It was definitely reaching for one of the doors. "No!" - commanded Frankenstein almost instinctively: one thing he knew on a reflex level about this force was that if it wanted something, he ought to do the opposite. A dark flash split the air with a whistle as he yanked his hand away.

Wrinkling, the doctor extended his fingers to the keyhole of the other door, the one on the right. With an effort of will, he curved the unruly flame, directed a thin stream straight into the keyhole. "Hush, hush," he whispered, as if the power could hear... since, indeed, it could do more than that. The lock clicked.

When the lamp illuminated the contents of the locked room...

- I can't believe it, - Frankenstein whispered.

Rows and rows of...

- What on earth is that? Why?

...Rows and rows of dressmakers' trunks hung with dandy garments. Frankenstein had found such a dressing room when he first entered the mansion, and even used it, but there he saw only shirts and male blouses. Here he discovered long-sleeved joustcoats, embroidered with gold, black camisoles - in other words, the outerwear for social occasions.

Apparently such clothers were all unnecessary now, since they were shoved so far away. Or was this second dressing room merely a cover for some secret door? Frankenstein squeezed his way into the room, which led to the right. He probed the walls as he went; no, nothing, not even at the very end, where the dressmakers' trunks were piled high. Clothes were hung on them more lightly, too. Perhaps for the servants? One trunk stood out; an empty one, between a tailcoat and a livery. The Doctor examined it carefully for a hidden lever, even moved it. Nothing... What was hanging there?

Suddenly he realized. Setting the lamp on the floor, Frankenstein touched the shoulders of the dummy with both hands, then his own, clad in a black suit. The width was almost identical.

Swifter than a snake, Frankenstein slipped out of the dressing room. Outside, he released the blade of dark flame again to lock the door, though he realised: that's useless. If the master of the mansion had a connection to the whole building, he already knew of his new butler's visit to the forbidden part of the house... The self-imposed weapon fluttered in his fingers, its greedy tongue attempting to reach for the second door. "Get back!" - Frankenstein subdued it.

"Enough pushing my luck for today."

Having grim forebodings, Frankenstein left the intermediate floor and headed for the kitchen like a diligent servant. The recent wound was festering with excitement, he needed a distraction and entertainment.