Jonathon Worthington: Strangelight Investigator

Case #17: The Mystery of the Giggling Gobber (Chapter 3)

The setting sun's last rays provided little warmth, and the breeze that blew steadily from the north promised a cold night. As we passed through the wrought iron gate though a chill that had nothing to do with the weather crawled up my spine, and the metallic taste rose in my mouth again, stronger than ever. It was unlike the normal sensations the curse imparted upon me when we were in the company of the supernatural, but there was an unmistakable presence in the ramshackle mansion that was causing it.

"You were indicating this place is the nexus of your current otherworldly troubles?" I prompted the foreman, regretting it immediately. The words rang hollow across the overgrown grounds, as if the very air itself sullenly resented our intrusion.

"A'yup," whispered Bailey, peering around nervously as we approached the mansion. The deepening shadows of dusk were doing nothing to dispel the eerie feeling that hung around it like a pall. "The boys and I went and patched up the ol' fence, as much to keep folks out than in, but somehow a poor mucker always wanders up here and gets more'n he bargained for. Don't make no sense either, sirrah. The boys all know this place gots the creeps; it took triple hazard pay and some mighty fine threats to get 'em to work this close the first time."

Indeed, I wondered myself how any soul would be tempted to visit the mansion. What rose up before us bore the rotting hand of many a year untended, a dark and foreboding place that promised naught but a bad end, with shadows deeper than the approaching night filling its interior. When it was in its prime the two-story sprawling mansion must have been a sight to behold, from the mighty veranda to the four turrets that sat at each corner of the house, emulating the squat military castles of the Thousand Cities era. How long had it stood sturdy against rain, flame, and blood, each in its own season? It was impossible to tell, but my instincts sang out that it had witnessed centuries from its lonely hilltop.

"The family that done lived there were a terror, or so's I heard from the local biddies. Long bloodline, all the way back to the beginnings, and it were whispered that they got some of that demon Orgoth blood mixed in 'em, and that they kept on keeping on with the bad ol' ways."

"They were collaborators in the occupation? How did they maintain control of these lands after the rebellion?"

Bailey shrugged uneasily. "There been more'n a fair share of folks that wanted 'em done away with, that's for sure, but nothing ever stuck when push came to shove. Till 'bout fifty years ago, when they were burnt out by their own sharecroppers. Seems one too many mysterious disappearances happened round these parts and the good folks finally got themselves fed up with it. But the flame didn't take, so they had to up and drag 'em out. Tales say that there tree was the one that they hung 'em from, and that the crows were too a'feared to even come peck at them as the family rotted."

He pointed at the sole tree in the expansive grounds, a twisted and massive oak that seemed to defy anything else to grow in its presence. There were no bodies to be seen in the fading light, but it was easy enough to imagine a family of fiends hanging dead from its grim branches. The house showed more of their mutual history than the tree, bearing scorch marks on its walls where the mob had tried and failed to burn it down. Without a doubt the entire edifice should have fallen to complete ruin by now, yet there it stood, defiantly intact.

"A suitable tale of woe to inflame the imaginations of your workforce and to keep looting at a minimum, I am sure," Orsch dryly observed.

"It's more than a bit of head fancy," Bailey retorted. "I've had good boys disappear here, with nothing left of them but abandoned cots and family that'll never see them again."

"How can you be sure they were murdered, or that they even visited this place? Is it not far more logical that they merely absconded in the night, for one reason or another?"