After Fielding’s class, Beck began his hunt for the key. The library seemed the obvious starting point, so he made his way next door. He stopped at the entrance. Without the presence of his uncle there this time he was able to fully take in the weirdness of the place. Besides strange things he had never seen before, the space had an indescribable feel to it, like the air was composed of something different.
Making sure no one else was around, he made his way over to the dark box with a glass window on the front. Beck saw himself in the milky reflection, but saw no obvious use for the artifact. Gripping the sides of the box he tried to peer deeper inside, but there was only dark.
He moved over to the hanging hoop. Strings criss-crossed the middle like a spider web and feathers hung down from the rim. It seemed to be of Native American craftsmanship, but he couldn’t be sure.
He felt around each of the ornamentations, checking for hidden objects or compartments. The notion seemed absurd, like something from a mystery dime novel, but it was something he could picture his uncle having. Not having any success, Beck turned to look around at all of the shelves. Suddenly there seemed to be a lot more books in the room than he remembered there being. He selectively pulled out any volumes that caught his attention, but the collection stored in the room seemed very ordinary.
He climbed one of the ladders and retrieved the encyclopedia with the long tassel his uncle pulled out during their first meeting, but he couldn’t see what his uncle saw in it. Examining the designs on the bookmark he couldn’t make any meaning from them, and the writing in the text itself was just about the life cycle of butterflies.
The only other place to search in the library was the desk. Beck quickly combed through the pages covering the desk’s surface before turning his attention to the globe. Lightly resting his hand on it, he rotated it around its axis. Whatever his uncle’s fixation was on the object, it appeared to just be a normal globe.
The drawers were last. To his surprise they were unlocked, which made him hesitate; he wasn’t fully prepared to rifle through what he assumed was Rowan’s private belongings, and had anticipated something limiting him.
Shaking his head, he carefully opened the first drawer. Resting on top of everything else was a rectangle of material with strange swirling patterns on it. Beck pulled it out. The material felt synthetic under his fingers, and the ink didn’t form any recognizable shapes or words that he could make out. It reminded him of patterns used in optical illusions but that didn’t help matters. He put it back.
Going through the other drawers he didn’t find any key or clues to its whereabouts. Beck was about to close the last one when he noticed the corner of a familiar print resting at the bottom. He pulled it out and found it was the lithograph that his uncle had used in his lesson. He stared hard at the doorway to the cottage for several minutes, but the image refused to move. Feeling stupid, he slipped it back into the desk.
Not wanting to spend all of his time searching the one room, Beck made his way through the rest of the main building. The second floor was made up of guest suites similar to his own as well as lounges he assumed his uncle must use during the galas Amelia had told him about.
When he found nothing in the obvious hiding spots, he went down to the ground floor. There he found even more rooms for entertaining guests: elaborate dining halls, a music room where a piano took center stage, even a dark theater with a row of seats and a moviegraph, but no key.
After no progress with his initial sweep, he went through the upper rooms more closely. Beck didn’t realize how much time had passed until Nora found him halfway underneath a bed in one of the other guest rooms.
"Lunch is ready," she said, bemused.
The meal was awkward not only because of the funny looks the housekeeper gave him across the table, but doubly so because of Rowan's absence. It was like his uncle was just playing with Beck at breakfast, which soured his mood even more.
Afterwards Beck expanded his search area and investigated the west wing. He avoided the staff quarters – assuming his uncle had enough sense to honor others’ privacy – but he found other common rooms he was able to search through.
The laundry room was empty, so he was able to wander through it without scrutiny. But even going through all of the nooks and crannies all he turned up were linens and supplies, only making him feel like a fool despite doing what was asked of him.
The rest of the west wing seemed to be filled with other utilities until he stumbled into the kitchen. Beck froze when he saw workers still busy preparing food, but when no one paid him any mind he continued inward. Shuffling around the cooks he was able to peer into some of the cupboards and drawers, but only the expected dishes and silverware were present.
“Beckham, what are you doing?!”
He spun around to find Nora in the doorway again, this time disbelief pulling at her features. Everyone was staring at him now.
“I’m just looking for something I lost,” Beck responded, his voice working slower than he would have liked.
The lines on the housekeeper’s face deepened. “You’re disrupting my staff and fiddling around with estate supplies. If you keep this up, Rowan will know about my full displeasure.”
“I was instructed by my uncle to go looking for –”
“I don’t care! Now get out of here before you incite my anger!”
Beck half-walked, half-ran out of the west wing, only slowing down when Nora was out of sight. He made his way back towards his suite, stopping short of the door. He gripped the doorknob and squeezed, venting as much frustration as he could into it before slipping inside his suite.
Taking a note from Rowan he stayed there while dinner came and went. Laying on his bed while he kneaded his forehead, he tried to let the immeasurable disappointment of day deflate. Beck had never been treated as a nuisance before, and he was beginning to consider the possibility that this was all a joke at his expense. Maybe when he next ran into his uncle he’d have a laugh and start up his actual lessons. Somehow Beck doubted that would be the case.
He began to reevaluate yesterday, thinking that perhaps his enthusiasm was due to the experience of visiting America or finally disembarking from the stuffy ship. He thought back to the vision he had seen when his uncle presented the image of the cabin, the same ordinary print he had found in the desk earlier. Had it all been a farce? What would be the purpose in tricking him, anyways?
As his thoughts wandered in the dwindling hours of the day, he occasionally heard activity in the hall outside. The sound of groups of people arriving and departing threatened to break his spiraling until he finally gave in to the distraction and listened closer. He could hear people talking, but everyone who went past seemed to talk in hushed tones and he failed to make out any words. Besides the footsteps on the marble floor, the only other sound was a nearby door swinging shut as workers began to head out for the night.
Beck opened his eyes, his mind now in focus. The sounds outside his room grew less and less frequent. Soon he heard no one. He pushed himself up, leaving the bed and walking to the entrance of his room. As quietly as he could he opened the door and peeked out. The lights were still on, but he saw and heard no one.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Softening his steps he exited the room and looked down the hallway. The double doors stood resolute at the end. He swallowed, clenching and unclenching his hands as he stood transfixed. With an exhale, he approached the entrance to the east wing. Pressing his ear to the door, he didn’t hear any noises coming from the other side. Taking a breath, he pulled on the handle.
The door didn’t budge. After a second he pulled again, but it remained stuck in place. Beck was strangely relieved he didn’t have the option to break that specific rule. He looked down at the handle, but didn’t see a keyhole. He wasn’t sure how it could possibly be locked, but decided that was a puzzle for another day.
Beck went back to his suite. As he rounded the corner of the entryway his heart skipped a beat. It had grown dark and the bear doll was looming at the edge of the lamp light, judging him as he came in.
Sighing, he crouched down in front of the doll. He wasn’t sure why everyone was so fond of it, but he didn’t think he would be able to sleep comfortably with the doll in the room. Having nightmares about creatures in the walls wasn’t something he wanted to relive.
Beck lifted the chair it was on and brought it outside into the hall. “You can keep watch from out here,” he told it. The bear continued to stare back blankly.
He closed the door behind him and prayed that the grievances of the day were behind him.
----------------------------------------
Despite his hopes, restlessness plagued him as he tried to sleep. He woke in bursts, the nighttime outside the windows not giving any indication of time passing at all. He couldn't attribute it to excess energy again; each time he opened his eyes he was still tired.
He gave a huff, staring back at the windows as though he could will the sun to rise faster. With his mind in a haze, he slowly realized that while the world outside was dark, the inside of his room was still dimly lit. His eyes landed on the desk lamp which was still burning. He wasn’t sure why he’d forgotten to switch it off, but he reckoned it was the main reason for his insomnia. Beck made to get up and extinguish the light, but his body didn't move.
Confused, he commanded his limbs to rise again. They still didn't obey him.
It took a while for his body and mind to synchronize, but when they did panic began to seep into his chest, making his lungs feel like lead. Sucking in air felt like operating an unfamiliar machine. Looking down at his body, he felt the uncanny sensation of being trapped inside himself. He couldn’t recall what could have led to his current paralyzation.
His eyes darted around the room, the one action that still belonged to him. Nothing in the dim glow of the lamp looked out of place, but the dark clinging to the surfaces only heightened his anxiety. He tried calling for help, but his lips remained motionless.
The strained breathing that reached his ears soon faded, and for a minute Beck figured that he must be blacking out. Yet despite the sensation of a boulder on his chest he still felt his chest rise and fall; it wasn’t oxygen deprivation that impaired his hearing. Something had sucked all of the noise out of the world. Again he tried yelling, but again his body ignored him.
Slowly, in the far corner of the room a patch of light began to grow. As though someone had heard his silent cries, the door to his room was opening. The rectangle of light grew until upon its completion the shadow of a man entered the frame. What Beck assumed was his rescuer moved up the entry corridor, the shadow traveling forward until it blotted out the illumination from outside.
When they turned the corner into the room proper, Beck’s stomach dropped. The man was not one he had ever known, if it was even a man at all. They were made from the same material as the darkness. The lamp light touched the fringes of their figure but slipped off harshly when it tried to reach inward, making him a contour of a person. What Beck could make out were the separate silhouettes that the man was made of; a long trench coat, a hat resembling a fedora, and a face with no discernable features save their severe cheekbones.
What he knew for sure was the outline belonged to a stranger. Terror added to the weight on Beck’s chest.
After a brief pause of consideration, the figure approached the foot of Beck’s bed. Silence clung to the stranger like a cloak, smothering. The silence was like a faint static, a faulty telephone connection. Even if he could scream, he wasn’t sure his voice could escape being swallowed by the nothingness.
The man reached out towards him. Dread threatened to suffocate as the man made to grab him. Beck could only watch, unable to close his eyes as it drew ever closer.
Suddenly their hand stopped a meter from his head, blocked by some invisible force in the air. Their hand flattened against the unseen barrier like it was a pane of glass, but they were unable to push through. Slowly the man traced the surface, searching for a way to reach past. They pressed outward until their fingers reached the wall and stopped.
Beck saw the figure reluctantly pull back, their arm falling to their side. Although their face was obscured by the impenetrable dark, he could feel the man’s gaze on him while they stood in silence. As Beck looked up at the stranger and they in turn watched over him, he contemplated the void that they were. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a sort of instinctual recognition. This was the man who lurked in every closet, under every bed, at the bottom of every stairwell, in the corner of everyone’s vision. Every nightmare and waking terror incarnate. That was the one who stood at the foot of his bed like a sentinel.
Then, with the same spontaneity with which the man entered, they turned and departed down the corridor. Their shadow receded in the rectangle of light from outside, then the light itself shrunk back as the door to Beck’s room shut.
With the intruder gone, he finally remembered to breathe. His lungs still felt like a weight was pressing down on them and his body remained slack, but he felt minor relief at having avoided what he could only imagine was a terrible fate.
Control over himself returned like a switch had been thrown. Beck bolted upright and gasped in as much air as he could take. He felt a buzz in his limbs and a cold sweat dripped down his face. He looked around wildly to make sure he was alone, but the lamp that lit his room just moments ago was now off.
He got out of bed with shaky legs and turned the light on. No demons jumped at him from the shadows, and as noise returned all he could hear was the nighttime stillness and the beating of his own heart.
Hurrying back to his bed, Beck sat against the headboard and stared at the entry to his room. As the minutes and hours passed he anxiously waited for the hallway light to trickle back in. He waited and waited, but the only light that entered was the dawn.
----------------------------------------
The full consequences of his sleepless night didn’t settle in until he got up from his vigil. His limbs felt like jelly, and an unrelenting headache rested behind his eyes. He struggled into his clothes and hobbled out to breakfast.
Beck was too out of it to notice that the atmosphere at the promenade was completely different. It wasn’t until he was at the table that he realized everyone was watching him. It was the look from his uncle that stopped him in his tracks.
“What is the sequence, Beckham?” Rowan said softly, looking up at his nephew.
Beck’s tired mind tried to process what his uncle was even referring to. It took him a long time to remember it was a repeated phrase from his first lesson at the manor. “Uncle, wh –”
“What is the sequence!” Rowan yelled.
Taken aback, Beck immediately said, “Lintel, parlor, ivory, mammoth, extinction.”
His uncle let out a breath. “Good to know you were paying attention,” they said.
Beck nodded slightly, before taking a seat at the table.
Before he could take some food for himself, his uncle addressed him again, “Beck, Ms. Nora has brought to my attention you’ve been breaking the rules we’ve set in place.”
The frustration from yesterday started creeping back in. “I thought I was allowed anywhere in the mansion except for the eastern wing, if that’s not the case you should have let me know.”
His uncle frowned. “No, not that.”
“Then what?” he asked, annoyed.
“This morning Nora found Patch outside of your room after explicitly telling you to keep him inside. There aren’t many restrictions I’ve placed on your stay here, but you’ve disobeyed one of the few there are and by far the most important one. If you can’t keep a simple command, we’ll need to terminate your apprenticeship and send you back overseas. Do I make myself clear?”
Rowan’s cold intensity immediately quelled Beck’s anger. He looked around at the rest of the table. Nora held a placid expression, and Amelia was still reading through the morning’s paper. Turning to his uncle he was drawn into the man’s face. It held the same casual, almost lazy unconcern that he displayed over the past couple days, but his eyes had grown deep, an unfathomable depth that threatened no escape.
“Yes sir,” he said curtly.
“Very good.” His uncle smiled, returning to his coffee. “As for wandering the estate, I’m personally not against that, but Nora can be very touchy with people messing with her house. From personal experience, I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side,” he said with a chuckle.