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Lazarus stood motionless, his eyes like cold, unblinking stones fixed upon the door. He resembled a statue more than a man, his breath shallow and strained. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on the walls, creating a dance of darkness around him. Moments later, a servant appeared, his voice breaking the oppressive silence.
“Sir, a man is here. He claims he has traveled far and says time is of the essence as life’s tide ebbs swiftly.”
“Yes! Yes!” Lazarus gasped, his voice a raspy whisper. “Bring him to me. I know him. An old... friend.”
He sank into a chair, eyes never leaving the door through which his visitor would soon enter. Fear and anticipation gripped him. What dreadful secret was tied to this meeting? A secret so dark it haunted even Lazarus, who was no stranger to the macabre.
A slow, deliberate footstep echoed in the hallway, pausing briefly at the door before it swung open. A tall man stepped inside, cloaked in shadow and the heavy folds of a horseman’s cloak. The metallic clink of spurs accompanied his stride. The door closed behind him, sealing the room in an almost suffocating silence.
Lazarus rose again, eyes wide with dread, yet he spoke not a word. They stood facing each other, two figures wrapped in a tension so thick it was nearly palpable. The servant had left, ensuring privacy for whatever dark exchange was about to unfold. Neither seemed willing to break the silence first.
The stranger finally let his cloak fall loose, revealing a face etched with the scars of time and hardship. His eyes, though, were the most striking feature—dark, sinister, and filled with a cunning that seemed to pierce through the soul.
“Was I expected?” the stranger asked, his voice low and resonant.
“You were,” Lazarus replied, his voice trembling. “It is the day and the hour.”
The stranger smirked. “I see you have not forgotten. Your appearance has certainly not improved since last we met.”
“Hush! No more of that,” Lazarus implored, a note of desperation in his voice. “Can we not meet without dredging up the past? Your presence alone is reminder enough. Speak not of that fearful episode. I cannot bear it.”
“Very well,” the stranger agreed, his tone indifferent. “Let our meeting be brief. You know why I am here.”
“Yes,” Lazarus admitted. “A burden such as this is not easily forgotten.”
The stranger chuckled darkly. “Oh, Lazarus, always scheming, always calculating. Why do you look at me with such fear?”
“Because,” Lazarus replied, his voice shaking, “every line of your face brings back memories of the only event in my life that truly made me shudder. I see it all before me, a horrid panorama of dread. Your annual visits hang over me like a dark cloud, an incubus dragging me closer to the grave from which you once pulled me.”
“You have been among the dead?” the stranger asked, a twisted curiosity in his tone.
“I have,” Lazarus confirmed. “And yet, here I stand, mortal once more.”
“It was I who dragged you back to this world,” the stranger said, a hint of pride in his voice. “A world that seems to hold little joy for you now.”
Lazarus interrupted, “Yes, this is a subject we revisit each year. For weeks before your visit, I am plagued by nightmares, and it takes weeks after you leave for me to find any semblance of peace. Look at me—am I not changed?”
“In truth, you are,” the stranger conceded. “I do not wish to press upon painful memories, yet it is curious that such an event would leave such a mark on a man like you.”
“I have experienced the agony of death,” Lazarus said, his voice heavy with emotion, “and the torture of my soul reuniting with my body. You cannot comprehend the horrors I have endured.”
“There may be truth in that,” the stranger mused, “and yet you seem to find a grim satisfaction in speaking of it.”
“Indeed,” Lazarus admitted. “These images haunt me for twelve long months, but speaking to you, unburdening myself, gives me some relief. When you are gone, and enough time has passed, I find a fragile peace—until we meet again.”
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“I understand,” the stranger said. “You seem well settled here.”
“I have always kept my word, ensuring you know where to find me,” Lazarus replied, his voice gaining a measure of calm.
“You have, truly. I have no shadow of complaint against you. No one could have more faithfully fulfilled his bond than you have. I give you ample credit for that, and long may you live to continue.”
“I dare not deceive you,” Lazarus replied, his voice low, “though to keep such faith, I may be compelled to deceive a hundred others.”
“Of that, I cannot judge. Fortune seems to smile upon you; you have not disappointed me yet.”
“And I will not now,” Lazarus said. “The colossal and terrifying penalty of disappointing you stares me in the face. I dare not do so.”
He reached into his coat pocket and produced a clasped book. From it, he drew several banknotes and placed them before the stranger.
“A thousand pounds,” he said. “As per the agreement.”
“To the very letter,” the stranger replied, without a hint of gratitude. “We understand each other too well to waste time with idle thanks. Indeed, were it not for my dire need, you might have had what you pay for at a much lower price.”
“Enough,” Lazarus interrupted. “It is strange that your face was the last I saw when the world closed upon me, and the first that met my eyes when I was snatched back to life. Do you still pursue your dreadful trade?”
“Yes,” said the stranger, “for another year. Then, with a modest fortune, I retire, making way for younger and abler spirits.”
“And then,” Lazarus asked, “will you still require such an amount from me?”
“No,” the stranger replied. “This is my last visit but one. I shall be just and fair with you. You are not old, and I do not wish to become a burden to your existence. It is necessity, not inclination, that sets the price for my service.”
“I understand you,” Lazarus said. “I should thank you. Know that when I shudder at your presence, it is not out of horror for you as an individual, but because the sight of you mournfully reminds me of the past.”
“I see,” said the stranger. “We part today in better spirits than ever before. When we meet again, knowing it will be the last time, the gloom now hanging over you will be lifted.”
“It may be,” Lazarus conceded. “Why do you gaze at me so intently?”
“It seems strange,” the stranger mused, “that time has not erased the effects I thought would vanish with their cause. You are no longer the man I once knew, any more than I am a child.”
“And I never shall be,” Lazarus replied. “Never again. This look, placed upon me by the hand of death, I shall ever wear. I shudder at myself, and when I see the eyes of curious strangers upon me, I wonder if they ever guess why I am unlike other men.”
“They do not,” the stranger assured him. “There is no suspicion. But I will leave you now. We part as friends, as much as men like us can be. Once more shall we meet, and then, farewell forever.”
“Do you leave England, then?”
“I do,” the stranger confirmed. “My life here offers no inducements to remain. In another land, I hope to find the respect and attention denied me here. There, my wealth will earn me golden opinions, and I will cast a veil of forgetfulness over my former life. My declining years may yet be happy. This money, though wrung from your fears, has been earned with less reproach. Farewell!”
Lazarus rang for a servant to show the stranger out. Without another word, they parted. Alone, the mysterious owner of the grand house drew a long breath of exquisite relief. Shadows flickered in the candlelight, dancing on the walls like phantoms, as he pondered the heavy burden of his past and the uncertain future that lay ahead.
“That is over! That is over!” Lazarus murmured, pacing the dimly lit room. “He shall have the other thousand pounds, perhaps sooner than he thinks. With all haste, I will send it to him. Then, on that subject, I shall find peace. I’ve paid a large sum, but what I purchased was priceless. It was my life—my very life! The one possession that all the wealth in the world cannot restore. Shall I begrudge these thousands that have fallen into his hands? No. True, existence has lost many of its most resplendent charms for me. True, I have no earthly affections and, shunning companionship, am shunned by all. Yet, while the life-blood still courses through my shrunken veins, I cling to vitality.”
He moved into a shadowy inner room, retrieving a long, dark cloak from a hook. Enveloping his tall, otherworldly figure within its folds, he took his hat in hand and stepped out into the night, heading towards Bennett Hall.
Surely, guilt of no common kind must weigh upon a man so devoid of human sympathies as Sir Ferdinand Lazarus. The dreadful suspicions that hovered around him seemed confirmed by every action of his existence. Whether this man, to whom he felt bound to pay such a large annual sum, knew him to be more than earthly remained unclear. Yet, their conversation suggested such a fact.
Perhaps the stranger had saved him from the corruption of the tomb by placing his seemingly lifeless form in some sylvan spot under the cold moonbeams, now claiming a large reward for this service and the secrecy it required. This may be so. Yet, a more natural and rational explanation might unexpectedly reveal itself. There may be a dark chapter in Sir Ferdinand Lazarus’s life, which would place him in a light of superadded terrors.
Time, and the rapidly accumulating incidents of our tale, will soon tear aside the veil of mystery that now shrouds some of our characters. Let us hope that in these developments, we will be able to rescue the beautiful Flora Bennett from the despairing gloom surrounding her. Let us anticipate seeing her smile again, her cheeks returning to their roseate hue of health, her step regaining its light buoyancy, and her becoming once more the joy of all around her, dispensing and receiving happiness.
And he too, that gallant and fearless lover, who listened only to the dictates of his heart, let us hope he will find a bright reward. May the sunshine of lasting happiness shine all the brighter for the shadows that momentarily obscured its glory.
4o