Shroud [DISCONTINUED]

Prologue

Prologue

A window clattered, shook violently as the fierce rain pounded hard against it. From inside the house, an older woman hurried toward it, pressed against the glass as she redid the lock. The window calmed down and she drew the curtains. She turned her head and saw her master look at her.

"Master Horwood, I've closed the window," she explained. Master Horwood nodded. 

"Very good Mrs. Gordan," he praised her. She blushed, and straightened out her apron. Master Horwood walked over to the fireplace which burnt brightly, and lit up his pipe. He motioned her to fetch his evening tea. She bowed and strolled out of the room.

Mrs. Gordan had worked for the master for many years, eight to have been exact. Since she was a widow for three, she spent nearly all of her time caring for the master. It distracted her from the loneliness, and after all, he was a perfect gentleman. He was refined, excellent at his work and treated his employers and employees well. He was dignified, but his little quirks set him apart.

One was to have his tea at exactly eleven o'clock with his special made blend, with ingredients which even she didn't know. Mrs. Gordan hovered her hand over the porcelain jar, and she pulled out a teaspoon of the red herbs. She aimlessly dropped it into his favourite teacup, added hot water and four sugar cubes. She smiled to herself. He was very attached to sweet tea. 

When she walked back in the tray, he sat in front of the fireplace on his armchair, and read the newspaper. She set the tray next to him, and heard the grandfather clock ring. 

"Oh yes, you have a meeting tonight Master Horwood," she reminded him. "Shall I call a carriage?"

He nodded. "If you would, Mrs. Gordan."

She gave him a polite nod, and faced her head to the clock. It read exactly eleven o'clock.

"It seems your business partners have called you out at strange times recently, Master Horwood," she joked. To her surprise, he didn't show an inkling of amusement.

"Death calls at strange times, Mrs. Gordan. I am not the reaper himself, I cannot order for someone to die whenever it suits me best," he replied, his voice somewhat dark.

She blushed from embarassment. "Of course sir, I didn't mean to..."

He smiled. "It's quite alright, Mrs. Gordan."

She picked up the tray, and she smiled at him. "Being the town's only funeral director must be very difficult," she said sympathetically. He puffed on his pipe.

"It is a job that one must do. Death is messy business, but I can handle messy."

She excused herself and retreated back into the kitchen. She went to the front door, and called out to the man on the street to retrieve a carriage for her master. She returned to the kithcen. Once she cleaned the dishes, she returned to the front door, and saw the carriage in the front.

"Master Horwood, your carriage has arrived."

She helped him put his jacket and his hat on, and she watched him climb into the carriage. She waved him goodbye and closed the front door. 

She wandered through the rooms, cleaned up here and there. There was no mistaking it that she was bored, and the house seemed a bit dull without the master. Her hands picked up a loose shirt he had dropped and she smelt his scent. Her senses came back to her, and she gasped as she dropped the shirt. She slapped her cheeks. Master Horwood was her employer! It was forbidden to even think of the possibility of a relationship between a maid and and her master. Mrs. Gordan leaned against the doorframe. True, her husband had been dead for three years, and she still had some spice still left in her. Master Horwood was wealthy, well respected, kind and a very good looking man. Was it strange for her to even consider it? 

But as she stacked away some books he had left on his desk, her mind began to wonder. How old was the master? He didn't seem a day over thirty five, but he assured her he was older than she was when she asked him before. Mrs. Gordan was only thirty nine years of age, and the gentleman master she knew still had many secrets.

Her hands fumbled with a large leather book and it dropped to the floor. She groaned as she picked it up, and a piece of paper fell out. She bent down, and inspected the paper. It read:

None shall know.

Mrs. Gordan looked around, wondered if the master crept up behind her. She laughed. Her imagination was too ridiculous. But curiousity set it. She knew the book she held belonged into the private study, and she walked over to return it.

She had been in the private study many times before. The magnificent oak desk set and chair, with a small drinking cabinet to the side. Cigars lined nicely in the open box on his desk, and stacks of paperwork, all neat and according to their numerical importance. She smiled at the memory of the master's explanation years ago of his organisation methods. He was very methodical. 

Mrs. Gordan placed the book onto the desk, and turned to leave. Her toe got caught on the rug however, and she tripped. She mumbled and cursed as she straightened herself up, and looked down.

The rug had crumpled up as she fell, and revealed a trapdoor.

Her curiousity rose. The master never told her of a basement, and a tour was the first thing she ever had to do with the master when she joined the household eight years ago. She wondered how many other secrets he kept. Her eyes found the small clock on his desk. Eleven thirty. Master Horwood wouldn't have been home for another hour at least, and she decided to let her curiousity rule her.

She opened the trapdoor, and peered down the dark hole. To her surprise, she saw candles down the side of the ladder. She climbed down, and when her feet touched the bottom, she gasped at the sight.

The basement was covered in white stone, and the floor felt like marble. Her shoes clicked against the ground as she spun around. This was indeed a sight. But when she reached the end, she halted.

There was a stone tablet, which looked an awful like a table. Behind it was the drawing of a sun against a moon, and it was drawn in red. As she came closer, she saw the drawing drip down to the ground. Her hand covered her mouth as she looked carefully at the tablet. On it was small naked child, dead. His chest was cracked open, and Mrs. Gordan saw his bloody heart next to his head, a large chunk chopped out of it. 

She turned around to run, and the Master stood directly behind her. She stumbled away from him, as the Master glanced at her and to the body.

"Mrs. Gordan," he said calmly.

"W..What are you doing home so early?" she spluttered, her teeth chittered. She averted her gaze at him, terrified to even look him in the eyes.

"The meeting was cancelled," he said cooly. He walked toward the body, crossed his arms and leaned against the tablet. He took this very casually.

Mrs. Gordan was horrified. "What is all this?!" she demanded.

He sighed. "What do you think, Mrs. Gordan?"

She backed away from him. "You're a demon! A monster! A witch!" she screamed at him.

A grin formed on his face. He picked up the heart.

"Something along those lines," and took a bite.

She turned to run. Suddenly he grabbed her, whipped her around. He held his hand to her forehead. Between her eyes, she saw a blue mist appear out of his hand. No.

Out of her.

She felt her world go cold and dark. The last thing she ever saw was his bloody lips planted on her right hand, before her corpse collapsed to the floor. The mist wrapped around Master Horwood's body, his eyes closed and absorbed it in. He exhaled and opened his eyes.

And grinned.