Chapter Two: The Study
The morning sun rose slowly over the next week, greeting the Black Manor groggily like it resented shining on such a dark and dreary place. The sunlight was wasted on the house as every window remained curtained shut and lit only by lanterns. Fear of prying eyes plagued the residents and made them pale and weary. Very rarely did they leave a window open or allow a single ray to pass through undiminished by shades.
Lucas’ eyes swelled as he watched the sun rise without blinking, enjoying his brief glimpses of the outside world when he could. He enjoyed the warmth on his skin, the growing sensation of light tingling that tickled his neck and face. He smiled as his skin absorbed the radiation and stretched, stifling a yawn with the side of his arm. He sat up in bed and scratched at his ruffled hair then swept it out of his eyes.
With perfect timing as if on cue, the sound of gloved knuckles rapping on his door met his ears.
“Come in if you must,” He breathed, still rubbing sleep from his watering eyes.
“Master Lucas, you are needed in the dining room—“
“I know, I know; for breakfast.” Lucas interrupted and stood, shrugging off his blankets.
Maynard sniffed his large nose and held his head up high, staring at the ceiling.
“Actually, you are needed in the upstairs dining room.” He continued very arrogantly.
Lucas tripped mid-step on his way to the door and stubbed his toe painfully. The pain never took his thought from this new occurrence. The upstairs dining room was where his father ate daily and was off limits to Lucas aside from when he was invited. Lucas’ palms began to sweat and his heartbeat picked up to a quick patter.
“What for?” He asked slowly, mind racing and failing to comprehend the orders he had been commanded. “Is he angry with me? I didn’t touch anything upstairs, I swear..”
Maynard inclined his head and moved aside, sweeping his arms out to the doorway. Lucas stumbled through it, dead on his feet as his mind went blank. His body seemed to know what to do however as his feet walked themselves through the main chamber and up the stairs. His arms hung limp in his pockets and bobbed in tune with his head lolled to the side.
What does he want with me? I haven’t done anything wrong or anything good either. Oh no, please don’t let it be more classes. He pleaded with himself as he stepped blindly through the second hallway to the right and covered the last several rooms of the house in what he wished was much longer. Lucas turned right in the furthest corner and stopped at the doorway to the lobby.
A pair of blood-red doors stood resolute off center in the back wall, faded and adorned in numerous scratches and knicks. A single knocker of brass hung on the left door with a roaring lion forged from it. Two large stone gargoyles guarded the doorway and stood over six feet tall on either side, wings spread and arms outstretched to strike.
Lucas stood planted across from them. His father had never let him within those doors and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was the place his father locked himself away every day and night hard at work in his study. He often heard strange noises and voices from within but knew better than to ever admit to eavesdropping.
He shook his head and returned to reality with a jarring jolt.
“Another time,” Lucas promised himself and continued across the lobby to the small glass door of the dining room.
“At last, he arrives,” Maynard sneered as he laid out the table. “Get lost did you, or just thought you would take the scenic route?”
Lucas ignored him and sat down at the table, pressing his chair in close to allow Maynard to pass behind him. It was a small room with a wall entirely of windows lighting it as the near entirety of the room was taken up by a broad cherrywood table. The ceiling was a light yellow and the walls an ivory meant to reflect the sunlight evenly which only made the small room hot and stifling.
Lucas stared at the streaks in the wood with his head low and gaze averted from the figure across from him.
“How are your studies?” His father asked him suddenly from behind his newspaper. Lucas shifted uncomfortably and searched for his voice.
“Uhh, good. They’re good.” He said sheepishly.
“Still studying your Latin?” He asked, opening to a new page and ruffling his paper for a better view.
“Yes, started the next level a few weeks ago. But I don’t understand why.”
His father’s ruffling ceased behind his cover of The Oracle’s Daily Dose and a silence grew between them.
“Explain.”
Lucas was taken aback by the sudden shift in the mood of the room. It was tense and every movement seemed to be an attempt at hiding a weakness. The very air seemed to shiver with anticipation.
“I..I don’t see why I need to study Latin when I’ll have no need of using it. It’s a dead language isn’t it?” Lucas spoke very quietly and slowly. He had never really known his father and a feeling of dread washed over him every meeting they shared. He was a fierce man or so he was told. It was common to see him wearing a dark suit though it was uncommon to see him at all.
“This is not a time for you to understand, but to listen.” He said in an air of great importance. “It is of the highest necessity you continue your Latin studies. You will know soon enough.”
Maynard appeared in the room again carrying great silver trays of eggs and toast and platters of bacon, sausage and biscuits laden with gravy. He set them on the table gracefully and poured orange juice into Lucas’ signature blue cup and a still steaming coffee was already in his father’s long fingered hand.
They ate in silence for a few minutes before his father stood from the table, having had only a piece of toast and coffee, then turned about abruptly and left the room, leaving Lucas to eat alone. His toast from then on became spongy and tasted like bile. Lucas abandoned his food and left as well, heading downstairs for his lessons.
“Master, Lucas, you are prepared for your Latin examination I take it?” Maynard said from the side of his mouth and raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you didn’t forget to study for it.”
Lucas forced a smile and looked up at the aging butler from the table.
“What’s it like having no ambitions other than to have a clean house for someone to return to after achieving theirs?”
Maynard’s sallow face paled and his mustache twitched. Lucas thought for a moment he would hit him then knew at once he had gone too far. Maynard’s lips went thin and his face seemed oddly strained.
“No different than having nowhere to go and no one to see.” He spat and turned an about face on his heel with a squeak.
Lucas sat for a while then decided he was too amped to study. He sat in his room staring out the window past the great iron fence outside to watch the people go by. He watched them pass slowly and couldn’t help but notice it was a common tendency for them to blatantly look away from his house, as if it weren’t there.
But that man before saw it, Lucas argued with himself.
It had been a month since that mysterious figure had watched him stare back from afar. Lucas had nearly succeeded in convincing himself it was a ruse and he hadn’t really been stared at until he saw the slight scorch mark near his lantern. He had thought up numerous reasons and possibilities for how such a thing could have occurred and other things the man must have been watching. In fact, Lucas was so hard-pressed (by none other than himself) to find a solution to his question he had began keeping track of his ideas and theories in an old journal he found across the hall.
He opened it up and found crinkled pages, yellowed and dog-eared with a musty smell of history he relished. He dipped his quill in ink and thought of where to begin.
October 18th,
It has come to my attention that a man may or may have not been watching me from across the street. I have never seen him before, though his face was covered, nor did I recognize his stature, though he did have on a cloak, and his inquiry to me or my home has been the only I’ve ever noticed.
Seemingly invisible, I think the house might actually be unattractive and a bit of an eyesore. He was maybe someone sent to inspect it for the town or a tourist. No proof of him seeing me has arisen or been apparent.
I shall continue to watch the streets for any sign of him or other wandering eyes.
P.S. I think my torch has sprung a leak.
Content, Lucas tossed the journal onto his desk which promptly slumped to the floor, and left his room. Maynard passed him without a word on the stairs and purposely avoided his gaze. Lucas trudged on to the third floor as he had done the last several days off, whistled to himself, and reached into his pocket.
“Glad I remembered this..” He pulled out a small match and struck it on the rough wall with a flash. “Now where’s that lantern?” He turned on the spot and dashed to the small lantern on the wall as the match began to burn his fingers and lit it quickly. He wafted his hand through the air and sucked on the tip of his thumb gingerly.
Lucas watched the lantern flicker brightly on the corner wall near the cobweb laden, overstuffed chairs; casting a seemingly unknown-to-the-room glow that felt alien even to Lucas in such a forgotten place. The warm glow spread out its fingers, encroaching on the dark and lent a fond sense of life to the room. Lucas smiled slightly then turned to the next room.
Instantly the shadows eclipsed his rising sun. The parlor seemed just as abandoned as ever, perhaps even more so now with the light’s remaining in his mind. Lucas’ smile faltered and he found himself wishing for the light. He jumped a little as a brief whisper of sound scraped behind him.
“What the!” He exclaimed and turned about to view the room entirely. The small blackened, wrought-iron torch a few feet away had a small simmering flame like that of his match. Lucas leaned in closer to see it and laughed. “Guess it was here the whole time.” He turned the knob and the flame rose slowly in kind until a warm glow engulfed the small office.
Maybe this will change their mind about me coming up here.
Lucas went room to room then for the next hour, and found to his delight that every torch upon his approaching appeared to have already been lit. Upon lighting every room until the entire third floor was alight he surveyed his work. The chilly October weather Lucas normally enjoyed was nowhere to be seen and the darkness that once stained the entire floor was left trying to invade in the far corners and hidden beneath tables. The shift in mood was instantaneous. He felt alive, like he had done something worthwhile the first time in his life. Something not already decided for him.
Lucas held his arms out wide to allow the rich moment to consume him and stared at the ceiling. A small glint shone in his eye like a passing window in the morning sun. He blinked and looked down the hall at the cause.
There, down the hallway now illuminated in firelight, stood the bright red door emblazoned with its shimmering golden handle.
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