After sending the letter to all the family I knew that lived nearby, I decided to stick around for a bit to greet them. It would be a long time till any of them arrived so I looked around the house. No matter how many years I knew Harry, the one place he never let me enter was his basement, so now was my time to investigate. The moment I got to the bottom of the stairs there was a rush of thoughts that flooded my head, but there was one in particular that kept returning. "Why was he so secretive?" There was nothing in sight that seemed particularly bad. in the top left corner, there was a mannequin wearing tweed jacket, a red bow tie, light blue shirt, black pants, and thin pointy shoes and a hat that looked like an upside-down plant pot with a long black string from a hole in the top. The top left was a bookshelf with a single book, a poetry book. In the front of the book was a bit of one page ripped off for some unknown reason. It read, "My name is Ozymandias king of kings look on my works, ye mighty and despair!" After I had read that I put it back where I found it, a mountain like a pile of dust.
Behind that, between the antique globe and the old, abandoned chair, was a long black case with no distinct pattern. There was a zip from one end to the other. Opening revealed that the only thing inside was a note that said something about borrowing a sword. Strangely enough, the indentation on the inside was more like a cane with a metal dragon carved on the side. Even that didn't seem too significant as there was no name signed at the bottom of the note, I would be surprised if there was. There was a moment, however brief it might have been that I heard footsteps approach me. I felt someone tap my shoulder three times. When I turned around I saw a man. He was tall, had jet black eyes, black hear and wearing a suit with a red tie, white shirt and everything else was black. "How are you? " He spoke with an Irish accent, "Why are you here?" He was in Harry's basement and he didn't look like Harry's family. "I'm here because you are, can't have one without the other."
When he smiled, all of his teeth were visible. They were as white as paper.
"I don't even know you."
"Oh you know me, you just don't know you know me."
"What do you mean by that?"
He smiled again this time with a laugh, "For now just call me Billy Turner." The way he looked reminded me a lot of Percy when he was under the effect of the drug, but he was at work, and the only other people that had access to it was me and Wilfred. Strange.By the time he had left, other people had begun to arrive, everyone except Percival. His absence was a mix of both confusion and worrying, he always enjoyed a gathering no matter what it was for. His father wore a long wavy coat black, red on the inside, tall cured up grey hair, and cold, emotionless steel blue eyes. He spoke with a voice full of youth. "Hello, Rory." There was an unnatural look of disappointment on his face, but this was so unusual for him, it looked like a mask or paint on his face. "hello Mr West." He was the only person to arrive this early. "Just call me Henry." He walked past me and to the case that used to contain the cane sword, "Did you take it? Or was it that Bill guy I met on the way out?" Neither I or Henry had met him before, so I just assumed it was one of his more secretive friends. For the rest of the night, no one else arrived, it was just Henry and me sitting in the living room, drinking whiskey. It was warm and disgusting. "So, when do you think the rest of his family will be here?"
"Most of the family weren't the biggest fan of Harry's drinking problem, so most of them will not be coming, but some of his friends will be." When two people are together in a room and the only thing they have in common is a dead person, there tends to be a lot of silence, which leads to me leaving but not before having one good look at my old friend.He was still in his bed, I had not moved him an inch. He was holding his will in his left hand and a pen in the other. Was he thinking about changing it?
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Cold blood (first Draft)
Historical FictionVictorian England. The era of judgement. Can one man hide a secret that has lead others to their doom, or will the secret be free ending both life and love? Can he hide a killers face or will it be seen? Remember you are judged based on your friends...