All three stood at the door. The door was made of aged pine wood and has five panels that resemble tombstones. The sacred symbols on the door were neglected, covered in dust and cobwebs, offering no safety or comfort to visitors.
They were cautious before entering the chamber of an eerie exorcist. No one knew what to expect in the room when he suddenly died for an unknown reason.
"Oh, spider." Seeing a few spider threads on the sacred symbol hanging outside the door, the man complained.
"I swear I swept it off this morning," he grumbled.
"Don't you smell anything?" Althur asked blankly, and Brahms nodded in agreement.
"No. Is there a problem in the room?" Winston was a little startled.
"It is nothing. Since the bishop has been there, I don't think there will be anything sudden".
"Really. Dangerous?" The man asked again to confirm.
"My hunch said nothing. Otherwise, I would have told us to flee the house."
Althur sighed silently. "I wish I could forget what I feel, though. I'll be full for the next three days."
"Shall we go in then?" The man trembled slightly.
"Naturally." Althur turned and spoke to Brahms. "Stay right here."
The boy's face was full of courage, while he thought that Althur was a perfect gentleman for not commenting on the terrible smell. He suspected that Althur was carefully avoiding anything that might jar or jolt his companions. Brahms thought, but he doubted the effect, since the man's hand was trembling.
"I still have so much to learn about people," he told himself, trying to seem confident.
"Open the door," Althur ordered the man, who was an ordinary fellow but the assistant of James, an experienced exorcist.
Winston touched the tarnished brass doorknob with a trembling touch. He wanted to run out as soon as he opened the door because of those words. This was not an act of timidity but rather a cautious warning from his supernatural companion. If it hadn't been for the young man's question, the young man would have been the one to open the door.
A sudden thirst and warmth changed his attitude when he saw a young man holding a strange candle with twisted shapes and mirages. He didn't know where the man got the candle or when he lit it. But the sudden change put him in a better mood, and he quickly pushed open the door.
When the creaking of the rusty hinges stopped, the view of the room became visible to the onlookers. It was an untidy and dark room.
"Oh, Althur, what a disaster room!" Brahms exclaimed as he looked around the messy room, which was strewn with objects and stuff. It appeared as if a storm had passed through, tossing everything about. The candlelight flickered on his wide eyes, making him feel shy in the presence of the others' curious gazes. He hastily retreated behind the closed door, hoping Althur wouldn't mind.
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"Of the manner of those blessed by the Land of War." Althur responded to Brahms' surprise. Althur scanned the room like an owl, looking for any sign of danger.
The lamp in his hand swayed as he moved, casting shadows like a dancing musician. The gentle heat of the lamp dispelled the poisonous and rotting air, and the dryness it brought with it quickly changed the rotting smell, making the room easier to sniff than before.
Althur did a quick assessment of the room, which is something he does well. The room was a war zone, with metal objects representing fallen soldiers and glass bottles representing shattered skulls. It's as if an angry knight had a temper and threw everything around like toys. The only thing missing is the smoke and blood, which could be covered under the garbage.
The shelves at the head of the bed seemed to be an observer watching two armies facing each other, each holding a different secret of the occult arts.
In the tabouret at the right corner of the room, as if a solitary general were waiting for orders, there was a lone book that seemed to radiate power. It was the O.S.P.I.S. Bible, the collection of exorcism spells compiled by the organization's founder. It was called "The Book of Comfort and Solace for Souls," but he doubted it could offer any comfort or solace to anyone in the room.
Bottles and silver lay all around, but they could not defeat the enemy and made the fallen ground look chaotic.
A small, tidy table in the left corner of the sash was something as dangerous as genocide with its poison. A foul smell emanated from an unknown liquid in a roemer, crafted with sophistication and ornate details. A few cocktail supplies lie next to it, similar to shakers, strainers, and glasses.
Then, satisfied that the room was safe, he motioned for Winston to follow him and pull back the thick, dusty curtains that hung like cobwebs over the windows. Sunlight flooded the room, chasing away the darkness and revealing its secrets.
Winston quickly opened the sash, letting the breeze sweep through the whole space. As he did so, he stumbled upon James's items.
He sheepishly apologized and said, "I haven't been in this room since I took his body away." The man added, "He's usually the only one here, and he wouldn't let me enter without his instructions
Althur pointed to the roemer of strange liquid on the small table but kept his finger away from it. He turned to Winston with a puzzled look. "What is this thing?" He wondered aloud because he didn't want to use his powers on something so disgusting.
He looked ecstatic, as if he had never been scared or trembled on the doorknob before. He breathed a sigh of relief and said wisely, "That's James' thing; he loves mixing all kinds of crazy cocktails."
Althur raised his hand to blast away the foul liquid by the candle, but Winston stopped him. "Wait, let me handle this."
He dashed to the battlefield and grabbed an empty bottle of holy water. He carefully filled it with the stinking fluid and closed it tight. He held it as if it were a sacred treasure of the fallen.
Althur was attracted to the trivial. He picked up many objects and examined their shapes, colors, and textures. His intuition was quiet, so he knew he was safe, and he quickly examined them every few seconds, eager to learn more about them. Nothing particularly unusual except the cocktail roemer, which seemed to be hard to corrode by many things.
Althur glanced at the bedside bookshelf, which had become a graveyard of empty bottles. These were the books every aspiring exorcist had to read to get started.
He recognized some of them; one of them was called "The Dark Calls: The Unholy Dialogues with the Cursed", a chilling collection of exorcism transcripts. Another one was "Exorcism Essentials: A Practical Guide for the Spiritual Warrior", a handbook of techniques and tips for confronting demonic forces. The last one was "Haunted or Not? A Casebook of Paranormal Investigation", a collection of case studies and evidence from various haunted locations, which he found very appealing because of the author's writing style.
The spine of the books was tattered and decayed, soaked with alcohol and strange liquids, and scattered next to bottles of wine of every shade.
Outside, Brahms' surge of curiosity arose as he peeked through the door, but soon turned to nausea. The room was a mess of papers, books, and instruments, with a flickering lamp. He wished he could return to darkness and dream of something sweet. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the man pouring a strange liquid into a holy bottle.
Brahms focused on Althur and saw him holding a strange map. His voice was serious as he asked, "What is this?"