The Devil Was Never Here

Back To The Shack

           

There was ash strewn across the sky, the crackling of a fire that was too large to be safe. The woods were light with the orange glow, but the black smoke settled over the tree line so that the starts didn't shine. Sherlock pulled his shirt over his mouth to try to filter in fresh air, but he still ended up coughing. Nevertheless he ran towards the house, ran towards the flames. He heard screaming from inside, screaming from a voice he didn't recognize. It wasn't any of the Trevor family, he remembered their screams vividly, this was new. Sherlock ran up the porch, the charred wood decomposing as he trampled over it and into the house. The flames were everywhere, erupting from the floor, clinging to the walls and hanging on the ceiling, the floors above were collapsing in spots, making the whole house a minefield of fire and destruction.
"Victor!" Sherlock screamed desperately, coughing violently but forging deeper into the house. It was only a dream, it didn't mean anything.
"Victor!" he called again. There was a blood curling scream next to him, and Sherlock turned to see Victor standing above him, his body ablaze. He was twice as large as he had been in life, and the fire didn't appear to be hurting him. On the contrary, it seemed to be empowering him, his burning skin seemed to turn into armor, and on his smoldering head he wore a crown of yellow flames. Sherlock scrambled back, falling into an unrecognizable man, a short blonde man, who was cowering in the corner as well, trying to pat out the flames that were catching onto his jacket.
"He's the Devil." The man whispered fearfully, shaking in horror.
"No he's not." Sherlock assured. "He's just a man."
Sherlock woke up with a scream, sitting up in bed violently and seeing that the blankets had been strewn across the dark room. He was covered in a cold sweat, he was clammy and afraid, and he kept looking over his shoulder, half expecting Victor's lost spirit to be standing there behind him. He had never dreamt of that night, not once, so why now? This was what going home would cause him, more horrible recollections of that tragedy, he could never do this! But then again, to leave the town alone with whatever was haunting them, it would be almost inhumane. They were probably just as scared as Sherlock was, maybe worse. They had never seen the dead, they weren't used to this. Could Sherlock really submit all of these people to the same fear he suffered every minute of his life? And besides, there was money involved, and he didn't have to spend much either. He couldn't make excuses for the rest of his life; there was only one move here.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called through the darkness. As if on cue, Mrs. Hudson materialized next to his bed, as if she were waiting for his call.
"Yes dear?" she wondered sweetly, looking around at the mess Sherlock had made of his bedroom.
"Mrs. Hudson. I'm leaving." Sherlock said flatly, and with that he got out of bed to call Molly.

               Entry #2, October 22nd 2017: It was entirely Mary's idea to hire the investigator, or psychic, or whatever he wanted to be called. I thought it was a terrible idea, but then again, I didn't know what was going on. I was asleep for most of it, but she said that I did things...said that I scared her. It was about a week in until she finally got the guts to contact her friend, someone who had grown up around here. Molly Hooper helped us out tremendously, since we weren't locals she was able to get in touch with someone she remembered from growing up, some sort of crazy guy named Sherlock Holmes. I thought it was a terrible idea, not only were we making a big deal about nothing but we were also paying some fake to come and mutter gibberish, what a waste of time and money! I now know that I was half right. We definitely should've hired someone, but it shouldn't have been Sherlock. We never should've called him.

               Four Weeks Earlier: Sherlock really hated to pack up his things and leave. He really hated having to dig around in his closet for that ratty old suitcase and stuff what little possessions he had inside. He packed his clothes, his Bible, his rosary and holy water and cross necklace, all necessities for trying to face a spirt alone. Everyone thought he was so much more suited to take on the paranormal because he could see what he was facing, but in reality he thought he was the worst man to do such a job. People who couldn't see through the veil weren't as afraid of their attackers as Sherlock was, they didn't care what they looked like, so they were able to read through whichever exorcism they chose and send the spirit off of the face of the earth.  Sherlock, however, couldn't read Latin. He couldn't speak it either, and he was terrified of the dead that wandered in and out of his sight. He was the worst man for the job, and yet here he was, dropping everything to head back to the very place he said he would never return.
"How long will you be gone?" Mrs. Hudson asked worriedly, standing near the closet and watching as Sherlock neatly folded his shirts into his suitcase.
"Not long, a week, maybe more. I'm sure this whole thing will be rubbish, who knows; maybe it'll only take a day. Then I'd make Molly take me to the beach or something, just so she doesn't waste my time." Sherlock decided with a shrug.
"You need to be careful Sherlock, I don't think this is just some mindless spirit, I think this is worse." Mrs. Hudson insisted, pulling on her sweater sleeves anxiously.
"Well it's not like I've got anything else to do, right?" Sherlock wondered, tucking whatever cash he had on hand into his pocket, hoping that would be enough for gas money and all of that.
"Just be careful, know what you're up against before you start wandering around spewing holy water." Mrs. Hudson suggested. Sherlock just smiled reassuringly, zipping up his suitcase finally and dropping it to the floor.
"Oh come on, when am I not careful?" Sherlock wondered sarcastically.
"You're never careful. And I'm not going to be there to help you." Mrs. Hudson pointed out.
"Oh well, I'll get by without you. And I'm sure you'll be just fine here, watch over the house and all of that." Sherlock shrugged. Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily, as if that were too much to ask for.
"And no boys."She said flatly. Sherlock's smile dropped, and he looked at her curiously.
"And why not? I'm working, I need something of a distraction." Sherlock insisted.
"Someday, Sherlock, you're going to get robbed, or killed, or get some sort of disease. You really need to pick your choice of partner wisely!" Mrs. Hudson insisted, going back onto her favorite subject, taking all the fun out of life.
"I chose them just fine; I like them, they like me, what could go wrong, right?" Sherlock wondered with a laugh. Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily, but she knew well enough not to argue.
"Just behave yourself Sherlock Holmes, that's all I'm asking. And be careful." Mrs. Hudson insisted, following Sherlock as he carried his numerous bags down to the front door.
"I will Mrs. Hudson, I will." Sherlock assured. She smiled at him, but they both knew they couldn't hug goodbye or anything like that. So he just smiled back, nodding his goodbye and walking out the door. He wish she could come, eh really did, but there were limits on how far a spirit could leave their place of haunting. She could only go a couple of miles or so, and so she had to stay behind. Sherlock really was going out into the real world alone; for once he was going to have to fend for himself.