Chapter One: The Third Floor
Loneliness swept through the house like a drafty breeze. It swallowed everything within its walls and submerged them in an endless depression. Every hollow step on the creaky wooden floors unleashed small dusty clouds of forgotten and every opened door unleashed a new wrath of what was. Old tapestries of those long departed and windows so darkened and filthy they were as opaque as the wall they stood in. Long cobwebs stretched in the corners down the length of the wall to the floor and made nests absolutely everywhere. Even the couches and furniture were crawling with them. They made some uneasy and were gotten rid of. But she had loved them.
A layer of dust sat on most everything upstairs on the third floor of the house. Nothing had been touched since. The countless leather bound books high on the shelves, overstuffed chairs with odd depressions, fine china and real silver silverware, candles and goblets and fine jewelry, all covered in a filmy layer of lost. Nothing was to be touched and nothing was to be stirred until it all became nothing once more. For this floor was her floor and would remain her floor as long as he lived.
Silence for anyone but adults, as children are better seen and not heard. On second thought, perhaps not even seen.
Anyone who broke these rules would be forced into the attic with no supper and only the lantern and blankets stationed up there for just the occasion. Anyone who did not confess to having broken these rules would be forced into the basement until the darkness had made them feeble. Anyone who removed anything from her floor would be punished even more severely.
“And by anyone I mean you.”
Such were the rules of the Black House.
Lucas often wandered the halls of the third floor just to look around, he dared not touch anything here ever again, and surveyed as much as he could in the time allowed. He still had school to attend and studies with Maynard, his father’s servant. Not to mention all the extracurricular classes he was forced to take. So here he was, spending much of his free time in the desolate halls of the third floor.
Every step he took creaked and groaned as if the very floor were upset he was there and heightened his fear he would fall through. The walls seemed unnaturally high to the young boy and he felt weak and small beside them. He imagined how old this house must have been as he stared at what he was sure used to be a record player. Lucas had just wandered into the library when he heard his name called as if they were right beside him.
“Lucas, you are needed downstairs immediately for your studies,” A deep bass droned on. It was Maynard, the now elderly man who found nothing better to do than clean and wash then cook and repeat daily. Lucas couldn’t imagine how boring his life would be as a servant.
Lucas turned and looked around. He was still alone.
The voice seemed so clear, like he was right beside me, Lucas thought. He hated how this old house echoed. He shivered involuntarily at all the small things that would bother him about this place if he were never allowed to leave and started for the stairs. He was sure he could remember every time he had left the house and recount them to a tee, they were so few.
It’s like a prison they forgot someone was in, he lamented.
“Ah, Master Lucas, there you are,” Maynard announced to the boy’s teacher, Mr. Fletcher. “Lurking about on the third floor no doubt.” He said quickly, which for Maynard was about normal talking speed if not slower.
Lucas skipped the last step and landed with a stomp.
“I wasn’t lurking, I was exploring.” He clarified. “And I wouldn’t have to sneak up there if he would just allow me to go.”
“Your father has his reasons.” Maynard said curtly.
Lucas shuffled his feet and sighed. “Reasons without cause.”
Maynard sniffed his abnormally large nose and turned about without a word. Lucas watched him go. His plank-straight, dark hair curled around his head like a horseshoe with a large completely bald head atop it. His suit was dark velvet and whistled when he walked as the legs rubbed together. But it was his monochromatic expression and voice that were ironically memorable. His face seemed a constant dreary scowl as if it were a hot, sticky rain outside and his voice like a bass drum which cannot change tone but somehow could not change pace either.
Lucas turned slowly to Mr. Fletcher.
“Ready for your lesson?” His teacher asked politely as he raised his briefcase. “Come on then, that’s the ticket.” He had on a button up shirt with blue trousers beneath a long turquoise coat.
What is it with how all these people dress? He wondered to himself. It’s like they’ve never seen how a person is supposed to look.
He lead Lucas to the dining room where they always worked every day and always had a slice of pie for desert every day and he always left with a small tip of his hat every day. All in all it was quite a dismal experience.
“Which lesson is it this time?” Lucas asked hopelessly and leaned onto the table with his elbows. Mr. Fletcher laid his briefcase down on the tabletop and opened it with a pop, then removed a stack of papers in a folder.
“Latin, it’s very important you learn this,” He announced. “One of my favorites. Now,” He cleared his throat as he opened the folder with his eyes closed before looking back at Lucas. “You are going to want to pay attention to this lesson. Understand?”
Lucas shrugged.
“I’ve had Latin loads of times already, why now?”
“Because this is your new session, a new chance to become good at something! This is..”
Lucas grinned on the inside at the man’s words and receded into himself as he let the man ramble on and on. Lucas had a natural talent for, well, being talented. He could master nearly anything he tried and twice as fast as they could teach it. He was no genius and no athlete, but he was a fast learner.
What else am I gonna’ do? I’m too small to play sports, though it’s not like Father would let me anyway; and school is already terrible enough without wanting even more work.
Lucas Black was a small boy for his age, average height but very skinny with large almond shaped eyes and a thin face. His small frame was quick but his clumsiness rid his mind of any physical practice. His lightly tan skin was resembled his father’s and his dark wavy hair reminiscent of his last name.
“Ready?” The question hung in the air a moment. “Lucas?”
Lucas suddenly became aware he was being referred to. “Hm?”
“Are you ready to begin?” Mr. Fletched repeated with a stern gaze.
“Yes, of course,” Lucas said in the most polite voice he could muster. “Let us begin.”
An hour and a half later, Lucas was back upstairs on the third floor searching around for a clue to what went on here. He found numerous old empty bottles and a small bucket near it in the small spare dining room and a set of quills made of solid gold on a desk. He stared at these longingly and hand outstretched, forced himself to open the drawer instead.
A small locket in the shape of a heart within a circle was inside. He removed it cautiously, looking this way and that, and tried to open it.
“Locked,” He said under his breath and threw it back into the drawer. His watch read seven thirty in the afternoon so his bed time would soon be fast approaching. He took this time to speed his search and find something before the day was wasted.
He stared down the long hallway from the stairs, the beginning he decided, and would check off each door in dust. He counted nine doors and three open doorways, plus the two parlors he had already searched. He searched each and found nothing but more antiques and artifacts he couldn’t understand nor explain.
Within the dark rooms he found only questions no one would answer. Things of brass now oxidized and glass jars filled with muck sat on a large yellow cupboard and a set of tubes and vials were connected by plastic tubing to several beakers and needles filled with what Lucas was sure to be blood. He left the first room in a hurry and continued into the others.
The one thing he found in common of the seemingly randomized bedrooms was the décor. All were dark, musty and smelled like the inside of a book. The walls were painted a flat cream with streaks of dark blue bordering them on top and bottom with the wooden panels in each wall striping them vertically. The ceiling was painted in swirls like seashells and was the same common gray that covered everything else.
The next several went by without anything worthwhile until he had just left the last room. He shut the door and turned away when a large door at the very end of the hallway not to either side but the very back wall seemingly came out of nowhere. He walked straight into the doorknob which hit him hard in the ribs. He stared at the door he had somehow never noticed before and smiled as he clutched his side.
It was painted red and had a golden doorknob that glistened, a miraculous sight to behold in such a place, and seemed out of place; like someone had sat it there temporarily. He reached out for the doorknob very slowly as to not scare it away.
“Lucas!”
Lucas flinched at the sudden noise and realized he wasn’t breathing. He turned to look down the hall at Maynard.
“What is it?” He croaked from fright and hurriedly wiped away the sweat beading on his brow beneath his bangs.
“It is your bed time, sir. Come with me.” He said and held out his hand.
Lucas turned back to see the door had vanished. No red paint, no gleaming doorknob. It was just the plain wall he had always seen.
“It seemed so real..” He whispered to himself. Maynard leaned forward to hear him.
“Pardon me?”
“Nothing,” Lucas shook his head and stared down at Maynard’s outstretched hand. “I’m twelve not two, there’s no way I’m holding your hand.” He walked past the servant and down the stairs, knowing he had made a point and didn’t hear anyone following him down for several minutes. He made his way past the second story which consisted of his classrooms and onto the first floor.
It was by far the best kempt and polished of the house. The floor was the same dark mahogany as upstairs but shone in the light cast from the fireplace like topaz. The ceiling here was very high and held up by six great pillars of marble throughout the expansive room. Two leather couches were placed around the stone fireplace and a small table between them sat gilded in gold around the corners. Lucas’ favorite chair sat just beside the chimney with a terrific view of the room while kept out of sight.
Several paintings of past family members were hung across the walls starting from his great, great grandfather near the door. And what a door it was. Standing over nine feet, the hulking door was solid oak and the doorknob crystal. The window in it was so high it could be seen through only from the stairs. Great runes and swirly writing littered the door like decoration and evolved midway into a curly vine with flowers engraved to it.
The several windows that lay on each wall were draped with deep emerald curtains and shone faintly with the moonlight, silvery fog outside in the approaching autumn night.
Lucas passed through the room and turned right into his bedroom hall just before the fireplace. It was the smallest hallway in the house and had no light to see by. Four rooms within it, one his bathroom, the others a closet, his room, and a spare room full of old furniture and Christmas decorations he camped out in when hiding from Maynard.
He opened his door and entered his small bedroom. It was colder in here than most of the house, just like he liked it, and had a large window facing the front, which was covered in bars even though the front yard had a large fence about it. But nonetheless Lucas enjoyed the view. The streets were always busy with people going places, sometimes to work or the market. Sometimes even with children and other kids.
No, I’m not a kid, he decided. I’m twelve and more responsible than loads of people. Who else has to keep to themselves all day and learn manners as a baby? Who else had to face such a daunting house and take on as many classes as me? None, that’s who.
He opened his door as he heard someone pass and yelled, “I’m not a child!” before slamming the door and returning to his bed. He lay there and undressed before crawling under his thick blue blankets. His room was dark and had a small desk covered in papers and ink in the corner, and two dressers for clothing and spare equipment. As long as he could remember his life had been schoolwork. Dull and increasingly difficult, his laborious tasks seemed to stretch on and on indefinitely until he thought his head would burst from the strain of having to learn so much.
“Why can’t I have a normal life? One with friends and a real family, a house I can call home. Maybe a pet, I’d really like to have a dog..”
He sat up in his bed and stared out his window.
A figure across the street from his house stood still watching him, draped in a long cloak or trench coat. The stranger remained a moment longer, the hairs on the back of Lucas’ neck standing on end, then turned abruptly and walked away.
Lucas turned back to his room and shivered as a cold chill ran down his spine and into the pit of his stomach. A clammy feeling like a rock had slid down the back of his throat and stuck spread through his limbs and deadened his mind. His numbed fingers prickled and shook like he had played in the snow for too long.
The lantern across his room set to low suddenly blazed like a torch and emitted a roar, a great orange glow saturating the tiny room. Instantly the cold feeling was washed away and his deadened limbs sprang to life. Lucas sat up immediately and gasped several ragged breaths.
“What happened to me? I was so..so…out of it.” He pondered and wiped the sweat from his neck and face. “And my lantern didn’t it..”
Lucas stared at his lantern, practically simmering on low with barely a flame to be seen, then shook his head and lay down; suddenly exhausted.
“Nah couldn’t have seen me; too dark.” He assured himself as he rolled over and immediately fell into a dreamless night.
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