The Visit

It was grander than any castle he had ever seen, standing close to the edge of a thousand-foot cliff. The gray stone walls stretched into the sky, disappearing behind the blanket of gloomy dark clouds. Though it sat in a deep valley, it seemed as though the structure was taller than the expanse of mountains surrounding it. A dense breeze drifted over the valley, which was lush and green compared to the olive dreariness of the mountains. The castle was quiet, aside from the eerie whistle of wind through cracks in the worn walls and creaking of weathered wood.

"This is it," he murmured to himself. He pulled the dark, heavy cloak tighter over his head, for it was becoming cold, and walked to the edge of the cliff, where, with little hesitation, he jumped off and soared downwards. Instead of plummeting to the ground, like any normal human being, he snapped his cape to his sides, forming canvas wings that allowed him to glide towards the castle like a large black feather. As the building came closer and closer, he pulled his cape towards himself and came to a halt at a large mahogany door.

"Yes, I have arrived," he whispered. His voice echoed liked the hiss of a snake, bouncing around in the valley, which seemed to have gotten dark and dreary since he had made his way downward. Only one of the thousands of rooms in the castle seemed to be occupied; the rest were unlit and silent.

"That fits. Oh, yes, that fits." He reached upwards and tapped the door with his fist three times, waiting for the echoes to fade away between each knock. He heard the shuffling of feet behind the door, and a light flickered on through the delicate stained glass at the top of the door. Finally, the door handle rattled and turned, and the door swung open.

An old man was framed in the doorway, his gaunt body and tattered clothing contrasting with the magnificence of the sturdy structure around him.

"What brings us to the residence of our great Lord and Lady Watson on this-" the old man was interrupted by a series of loud, hacking coughs that shook his thin skeleton and caused his eyes to roll back in his head. When he had finished, he straightened up before continuing. "-on this fine day." He clasped his hands over his abdomen, waiting politely for the figure before him to speak.

"I am here to see Lady Watson. I think that-" he paused, cocking his head slightly to the right. "I think that we have an appointment..."

The old man's eyebrows traveled up his forehead, stretching the translucent white skin on his face. He shook his head quickly, and opened his mouth several times before a word finally came out.

"Lady Watson is not seeing any callers today." the old man attempted a severe look, but another fit of coughing took over his body.

"Oh, I think she will see me," he said. He waited for the old man to finish coughing, before staring him in the eye and speaking once more. "She will be seeing me."

"I'm afraid you don't understand, sir," the old man began, "the plague, traveling around, we-we wouldn't want a fine gentleman like you to fall ill." His gaze swept over the cloak, which covered everything but a small sliver of the mysterious figure's face.

"I will be seeing her," he repeated.

The old man frowned. "Lady Watson is dead."