Mumbling Nightmares

Chapter 9

Lockwood and I walked home hand in hand. We laughed about the oddest things, the cold stinging our faces. We arrived at 35 Portland row, breathless and cold. George had prepared dinner.

Lockwood and I stepped inside, and I sighed as my body began to warm, the heat contrasting sharply with my cold cheeks and nose. Our hands were still loosely linked.

"Eat up, you two." George grunted, noting our hands and flushed faces. "Were going back to the Cartwright's tonight."

Lockwood nodded. "Yeah. I'm aware." His hand slipped from mine, and he sat down at the table, and began eating. I followed suit, and sat down across from him.

After we were finished eating, we prepared our supplies, hailed a taxi, and we were off.

xXx

Why was he acting like it didn't happen?

He kissed me and now this?

Lockwood treated me just as he had before, the feeling that he was just beyond my reach weighing heavy like a stone in the pit of my stomach.

This left me in a whirlwind of confusion. He kissed me. And now... nothing.

It wasn't fully dark yet, so I trekked elsewhere in the gargantuan house, shouting something about searching elsewhere for activity.

I walked down a dank hallway, rapier swinging at my side. The ghost in the jar hadn't said a word all night.

The only light illuminating the hall was from a dim lamp, which was set upon a thin wooden table, casting the shadows slanted, dancing across the floor. I crossed the hallway, and placed my hand on the door.

Cold. Freezing. So cold I could feel the chill radiating through the wood. Hesitantly, I opened the door.

The room was a sitting room, with tall windows casting slanted shafts of moonlight across the floor. A red fainting couch was pushed against the wall to my left, and two overstuffed arm chairs sat on either side of a dark wood sideboard, on which a lamp was placed. I stepped forward, and observed that the bulb was shattered, littering the surface of the table with glass shards.

An intricate floral rug was placed on the floor, underneath the chairs. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a dogeared book lay open, face down on the arm of one of the chairs.

It would have been quite pleasant if the room wasn't freezing. I zipped my parka up to my chin; pulled my hat on over my ears.

"Creak...Creak...Creak... Creak..."

I froze mid-step.

Malaise. Intense malaise. Miasma too.

Where was that coming from?

I lay my chains hastily, stepping inside. With a squeal of metal, I drew my rapier.

I glanced at my backpack.

"Is there something here?"

The skull jar was silent for a moment before replying. "Oh yes. There is indeed. Maybe if you let me out, I'll help you-"

"No." I said firmly.

"Oh, you're no fun."

I adjusted my stance, and ripped my walkie talkie from my belt.

"Lockwood. I'm getting some activity here. I'm not sure what it is, but it's frigid in here."

Lockwood's voice came crackling back. "Luce, where are you? Can you describe anything?"