Decorum | ONC 2023 Shortlister

Chapter One

"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here."
- William Shakespeare, The Tempest

* * *

"Be gentle with him." Arthur whispered to her. "He's become quite unwell."

The two stood, silhouetted against the dusty panes of a large, gothic window. The window overlooked a wide and empty staircase which spilled unceremoniously into the foyer. All of the lights, of which there were already few, had been darkened, and the only light in the looming mansion came from this singular window. It cast its pale grey rays onto Arthur and the woman that stood beside him. Only the walls and perhaps one remaining servant had heard the frantic call that he had made to her so late in the night.

"When might I speak to his doctor?" She asked.

Arthur shook his head, "Dr. Whitlock has gone out of town. He said to call if anything worsened, but you must understand, I can't leave Victor alone. He's unwell, Ms. Thatcher."

Abigail Thatcher peered out the window. A stony and unkempt courtyard laid in the center of the mansion, surrounded on all sides by dispirited walls and empty-eyed windows. The shape of the mansion was like the outline of a square, a minimalist doodle on a blank sheet of paper. In the mansion's center was the crumbling courtyard, and in the center of that stood a large ornate fountain that was embellished with a ring of age-worn stone frogs. A sickly green algae grew like a skin atop the fountain's motionless waters.

If it weren't for the dusty grime which collected on the window panes, Abigail may have been able to see into the array of windows that lined the opposite side of the mansion. Although there were only two floors, the walls of each floor stretched grimly towards the clouds, making the house that much taller. And just as there was in the front of the house, a singular room stood atop the second floor, flanked by two towers which rose another floor higher. The resulting silhouette was that of a raised plateau nestled between two even taller mountains. It was an ungodly sight.

"Is that where Victor has taken up residence?" Abigail asked, pointing to the third floor room.

Arthur nodded, "He moved there about a week ago. Something about shadows in his old bedroom."

Arthur watched Abigail stare at the room until she finally turned back toward him.

"Is there anything else I should know about Victor?" She asked. "Anything that would help me as his caregiver?"

For a moment, Arthur hesitated, "If I'm honest, I never really knew Victor. We saw each other at Christmas parties growing up, but us cousins were never close. There isn't much left of Victor's side of the family, but my family, well we would quite prefer to handle Victor's condition delicately... privately, if you understand."

"St. Marley's has a long history of assisting exclusive clientele. I can assure you that any interactions between me and you, Victor, or Dr. Whitlock will be entirely private."

Arthur appeared relieved, "That's good to hear. We've had to handle a few publicity scandals as of late. I don't know that my mother could take another."

"Well you can tell her that he's in good hands." Abigail said politely. "I just ask that you let me speak with his doctor upon his return."

"Of course. Anything you require is yours. Unfortunately, there's only one servant left I'm afraid, but she can prepare meals and clean your room whenever you need."

"I can clean my own room, thank you." Abigail said. "Speaking of which, I ought to do some unpacking before you go."

Arthur glanced quickly at his watch, "Yes, I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer. Business never stops, I'm afraid. Let me show you to your room, and then I'll call for Hannah so that you can introduce yourself. She makes a lovely savory pie."