| 18+ | Damian looked so different with his shirt off and a crop in his hand. He felt more real: no longer wearing the mask of the good doctor, he was the Exorcist, the master over my wildest fears, the stones on the shore over which my ocean of ma...
Hidden behind the looming bows of an ancient oak, the white house we stood before was skirted by an overflowing yard. The grass had grown long and untamed, and the vines that were clawing their way up the front of the house were also creeping their curling tendrils through the iron bars of the fence. I could barely see it through the leaves of the old oak, but the upper gallery was host to a large, lit window. I didn't notice the dark figure silhouetted there watching us...until it quickly moved out of sight.
Octavio opened the door to his master's house hurriedly, eager to be out of the rain. We entered into a long, dimly lit hall, my boots leaving little puddles on the shining wood floor. An ornate gasolier illuminated us from overhead, with a closed double doorway to my left and a wide staircase hugging the right wall. Although I had seen stained glass windows from the outside surrounding the entry door, from the inside they had been entirely covered with thick black curtains. The house smelled pleasantly of sweet tobacco and some other, herbier scent I could not immediately name . . . sage, perhaps.
"Mr. Hearst will be with you shortly - don't dally," Octavio seemed to have found his bravery. He snapped the moment I took a step towards the closed doors, my curiosity drawing me. Stifling a smirk at his alarm, I followed him down the hall in silence, absorbing any information I could on the mysterious gentleman sequestered here. The walls were largely devoid of art, but there was a single large portrait that we passed in the hall: an old woman, with a milky eye and long, voluminous white hair. Something in that portrait made me pause for a moment, despite Octavio's insistence not to dally. As I stood there, staring up at her, I could have sworn she stared back. The strength of her gaze made a slow, icy chill go up my spine. A small engraved placard at the bottom of the frame said simply, AMMA.
The Dark One with her damned eyes. Cut them out.
The urge to put a needle through those staring eyes was powerful.
"Miss, would you please?" Octavio called to me pleadingly, and I left the portrait behind with some relief. I dearly hoped that old woman was not lurking in this house somewhere. I did not want to meet her face to face.
"In here, Miss," Octavio ushered me into a room at the end of the hall, having passed an unlit kitchen and dining room. I had fully expected to be led upstairs to a bedroom, or perhaps even a drawing room of some kind. But the room into which I entered appeared to be an office. One wall was dominated by a large window, curtained of course, but against which I could hear the rain pattering. The walls were papered darkly, with gaslamps nestled between massive bookshelves giving the room a warm glow. The fireplace crackled, fighting to drive away the chill.
"Please make yourself comfortable," Octavio said. "Mr. Hearst will join you momentarily." With that he closed the door, but only partially. I heard his footsteps hurrying away down the hall, then thumping up the stairs. What a nervous fellow. I wondered if it was only his nature, or if his "sadistic" master gave him reason to be.
There was a sofa that looked comfortable, and a large chair pleasantly close to the fireplace, but I rejected both in favor of meandering about the room, taking a closer looking at the items shelved upon the walls. The books seemed particularly old, and the majority of them appeared to be religious texts. I could read very few of their titles, but I could discern that there were various publication of Protestant and Catholic Bibles with tiny paper markers slipped within their pages. There were books in other languages, books without titles entirely. I wondered if this gentleman was a writer, or perhaps a scholar. There were odd trinkets as well, some of them protected behind glass domes: little carvings in wood, statues of humanoid figures with large teeth and long claws, even an ancient and fraying rope that had been coiled into an elaborate knot.
The desk was strangely vacant of pens, paper or ink. Upon my cautious inspection, I saw hinges beneath its top, and realized that it opened. With one last wary glance toward the door - for surely this Mr. Hearst would arrive any second - I slowly lifted the desktop to get a glimpse of what lay in the alcove within.
Centermost was a small, untitled black leather book. It was extremely worn and thick with dog-eared pages. There was something about it that I immediately decided was unpleasant, akin to the feeling of looking at a piece of rotting meat. I wrinkled my nose, taking a glance at the other items there: a small blade with an elegant wooden handle, expertly carved with runes that looked strangely familiar. Corked glass bottles that seemed to be infusing oil with bits of herb and stones. Black candles, well used. My eyes kept being drawn back to the blade and its handle. Why did those marks look so familiar...
The door opened, and in my alarm I dropped the desktop with a loud SMACK!
Mr. Hearst had arrived.
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A/N: The mysterious Mr. Hearst has arrived! See, this is how you get in trouble, Samara, with all that naughty snooping...
Next update will be coming on Friday, May 4th! I'm not sure what my update schedule will be for this yet, but I'll try to keep it consistent :) Don't forget to add this to your library to get notified of updates!
