PART I: Lloyd Tyrone
The matter was plastered on lamp-posts, the police station, at the notice board by the old junction to 32nd Street, by Jr. Lights, and in conclusion, all across central Massachusetts.
The man, Lloyd Tyrone, was a prolific author, remarkable for many supernatural fantasies. The way they came to be remarkable was only through a series of unfortunate events.
His first book, talking about the haunted mansion at the edge of the cliffs, and the ghost of the count that lived in there still going around the frontyard, sparked immense curiosity in ghost-hunters. For the others, the book served as a ‘B-Grade Dracula,’ or the hunters were ‘Grown men with a pipe playing dress-up for they have no family to go to or feed to.’ The commenters were gradually killed in the flood in January, win-win for us small group of hunters.
Getting back to the book. It was seen by, at least me, unfortunate and fortunate that I could not be part of the trip. My trip to the land of the Whites, London, served as an obstacle in my journey, not allowing me to go to this celebrated event. The other half-dozen that did go, never returned. Their bodies were found at the edge of the cliff by where the mansion was placed. Some call it ‘careless idiocy,’ while we called it ‘the cause of the Count.’
Mr. Tyrone received immense applause from the community, leading him to release another book, and then another, and then ten more. All of them, failures. For this, the people, and I admit this shamefully, even we, called the first instance a lucky one. A coincidental one.
About a decade and about fifty books later, Mr. Tyrone died in his sleep. But, what the authorities found in his desk gave us immense surprise, a draft for a new book he was writing, directing us to a cave by the village side. A meeting was held on the sunny June the 2nd, in which Hector, our elected president, directed we all go have one last look in this cave, in the memory of Lloyd Tyrone.
PART II: WE GO IN
At the dawn of the day after, a few of us agreed to head into the cave, with, as mentioned, immense pleasure and with a pinch, just a pinch, of carefulness. After seeming to realise the importance of such an auspicious manner, we destroyed both the carefulness; opting for an uncautious, bold way to find out the mysteries, and the lingering fear, a mark, a stain even, left to us formerly by the incident a decade ago.
Going into the cave was me, Joseph (a person with some pastoral sense in him), Francis and Hector himself. The four of us took the morning train to the station down south, each of us carrying fragmented copies of the secret draft uncovered on Mr. Tyrone’s desk. As my eyes followed the lines of the copy, my subconsciousness developed both confusion and doubt as well as fear. The way Lloyd described these events, claiming they had occurred to him, was very definitive, and descriptive. The lines that marked meetings with this ghost read as,
‘...in the manner of sleep, which I could not obtain ever since my meeting with the spirit. Therefore, I had, after receiving news about a psychic living in a far-away town, left home to consult this psychic.
‘I reached the said psychic on the dawn of the 2nd day. My consultation with him had reignited my fear in this ghost, or spirit. The psychic then left his home with me back here in search of the spirit, which was a successful and an eventful journey. On the stroke of midnight the next day, I had followed the psychic to an abandoned cave, which served as an opening for 18th century oil drillers. On reaching a mile into the cave, we encountered paranormal activities, and saw the wretched spirit in front of us. The psychic had then cast a spell on the spirit and in turn assisted me to live peacefully ever since then.’
I tried to cast my mind back on what the witnesses said. On their account, they saw the man in dire condition, the condition in which, described by the people, the man seemed to appear as though he had not slept, nor ate, in such a long time. It was as though he had been a prisoner. We declined such comments as rubbish. But, as we had a saying back in the club, there’s a chance for even Hell to catch a cold.
We reached the place in difficulty. A big dark cave that resembled a human skull, with its sharp, terrifying bones. After what seemed to be an hour, we had prepared all necessary equipment - lamps, a few weaponries, as well as a journal. Francis stepped in first, and did so in a sort of jolly way. We had no sense of communication, and due to the winding and twisting of the cave, we were faced with a predicament - either part ways, or go as one team. After further arguments, we decided to play it safe and go as one team, deciding to explore the later places if we had some time left to do so.
After walking for a few miles, we were greeted with a dead end. There was nowhere to go, so we decided to turn around. After going through the next few turns and twists, and reaching a dozen more dead ends, we were left with one more.
The walls, which were most unpleasant here than all the others, were gripped with weeds and vines. The hallway, just tall enough and wide enough to fit all four of us, was filled with an unpleasant scent, the scent one could tie with decomposition. After walking for two more miles, we encountered something. Here, the cave seemed to be that of a countryside, parted by a river, and to the other side was what seemed to be a doorway. After careful consideration, it was decided among the four of us, that me and Francis would cross the part-way and explore the other side. We reached the other side, thanks to a bridge, appearing as though it had been newly built, and saw what seemed to be a pedestal. Above it was nothing more than dust, and around it was even more dust, vines and distasteful odour. We turned to return, but just then Francis had fallen over. My first instinct told me that he had tripped on the ever lasting wines, but as much as a funny situation that would have been, he had not fallen over any, and had instead fallen unconscious.
It took the little doctor in me to bring him back. After he had risen from his position in which he had his back to the ground, I asked him what went wrong. It was a strange encounter that. First, his eyes were enlarged. So enlarged that one would take a look and would have called him as high as a kite. The enlarged pair of eyes seemed to treat me as an outsider, studying me top to bottom.
After a while, he stood up. And after the confirmation that we should leave, we turned, this time without anyone tripping, and got to the group.
PART III: WE RETURN HOME
On the train ride back, I discussed the strange incident with Joseph. He found it funny rather than strange. I distanced myself from his painful laughter and instead turned to read a book I had with me.
We reached the town. Francis was strangely confused. His pupils were still enlarged and had shifted to a tint of darkish maroon. We left him home and departed to our houses to get a good rest in. It was around midnight I think, when there was a sudden knock on my door. The man outside, Joseph, asked me to the said command urgently. On opening the door, I found at least a dozen at my doorstep, each lost in a maze of desperation and confusion. I asked the pastor what went wrong.
“It’s Francis,” he said in a tone which struck fear into my heart. The man’s neck had seemed to bulge, his veins popping out, and his fingers moving in a sense of jitter. After prolonged breaths, he continued, “he’s… dead!”
The tint of fear which was already in my heart now overtook the other parts. I was pulled from my accommodation and found myself at Francis’ doorstep in the blink of an eye. I overheard some say that they heard screams from his house, and that Joseph had sent his cleaner to check what it was.. I laid my eyes on the body. What a terrible sight it was.
There was blood on the floor. His eyes had popped from their place and I could almost see behind them, and into the darkness. His mouth lay open, like he was screaming. Almost half of his teeth had fallen off. His gums were bleeding and his tongue had rolled up to the back of his throat. The blood on the floor seemed to appear from his stomach, which seemed to be cut open by what appeared to be a knife. I guess that knife was the one that lay a foot away from him was the cause.
I asked Joseph if it was murder. He repeated my words almost in a wail. I realised how stupid of a claim that was. How gruesome would one be if it was murder. It could not have been suicide, no way. Then what was it?
I returned to my study after assisting in his body being brought back to the morgue. I sat back in my study, and suddenly my mind cast back to Francis’ strange behavior this evening. Would that be a possible situation? I decided to tell my findings to Joseph, but on seeing the nature of his mind, I decided against saying it to him then, and to open up about it after the sun rises.
PART IV: I TELL MY FINDINGS TO JOSEPH
The sunrise came, to my surprise, a little later than usual. It could have been me imagining such, but it could have easily not. After some morning procedures, I made my way to Joseph's house. The door was open, and the man was cuddled in a ball in a corner of his small cottage. It was apparent he had been crying all night. I knocked on the opened door and he jerked up, startled. He wiped his eyeballs and then called out to his cleaner to arrange a place for me to sit. I thanked both of them and took my seat. Joseph sat opposite me. It seemed as though I could see into his soul, for his eyes seemed empty and lifeless. I confided in him about the day before. To this the man took great curiosity. The previously lifeless eyes now opened, in a similar way to how Francis’ had been the day before.
He commented on my findings. He used the word, ‘Strange’ and was lost in deep thought. It was only when the servant brought me a glass of water did he come alive again. After having my drink, I thanked him as his hospitality gave me a needed feeling of comfort. I took my leave.
PART V: THE SERVANT
I went to my study around quarter to ten. I had just eaten some leftover soup and had told my maid to retire for the night. I had set my mind on intending to see for the alleged psychic Mr. Tyrone had mentioned in his book. Before leaving, I had asked my maid to get to the station and book me a train to the outskirts for the next day.
After noting down the day - an eventful one - in my journal, I decided to go to bed. I tossed and turned in my bed - which seemed to be rock hard. The moment I would drift off to sleep, I would be met with either the feelings of bugs crawling out of my mattress, or a recurring nightmare, in which the pale and mauve face of Francis stared into my eye. In this nightmare, I couldn’t move. The man was standing a few feet away from me. His body exactly like how I last saw him. He would lift his hand and would point his index at me. His colorless, fleshy figure moving closer to me, and then, with the shrillness of sounds so disturbing I cannot possibly describe them to you, he would say - or scream, rather:
‘YOU’RE NEXT!’
With a sudden jerk, I would wake, and would then try to sleep again, each time disturbed this ghostly figure. At last the sunshine came. The sunlight seeping in through my window and its golden rays striking me.
It was with somewhat difficulty that I carried out my morning ordeals. I could not stare at my reflection without being reminded about the thin, slender figure.
I was about halfway through my breakfast when I heard knocking on my door. The kind of knocking that had been carried out with some urgency. I got up and opened the door to Joseph. The man had returned to the state I had found him when I knocked on his door - colorless, and his skin appearing to warp on his bones, giving way to a bony and pale structured face. His eyes were bloodshot, and the nerves under his eyeballs were transparently visible.
I took the man in my arms and sat him down opposite to where I was having my meal. I offered him a glass of water, which he received in gratitude, with a shuddering pair of hands. I sat opposite him, and I asked him what was wrong. He did not answer straightaway, but instead took some time in to sip a few water and then, almost with jittery and shaky tongue, said:
‘All I was thinking of yesterday was your description of Francis. His guts spilled on the floor, eyes missing and his head almost open.’
On noticing my uncomfortability, he paused, and then, after a few sips, continued:
‘My intention is not to startle you. This morning I woke up to no greetings from my butler. I walked over to the hall, to see his body, twisted and thrown the same way you found Francis to be in.’
It had been obvious how much of a shock that had brought me. This cannot be murder. This has to be something else. Something… paranormal.
I sent the man on his way, assuring everything would be fine, and in the meantime, I would work on finding him a new maid. I sat back on my sofa with a thousand thoughts. A very weird endeavour. Weird indeed. It was when I glanced at my wristwatch that I was reminded of my train to the psychic. Yes, the psychic. He would have the answers to this hellscape that had been going on in this place now.
PART V: THE PSYCHIC
The train left early in the morning. It was to be just about an hour to reach there. I had also been assisted by my friend in managing the transport from the station to my psychic house.
I got all necessities done without any complications. My driver, a rather queer old man, had a knack for gossipping. With much sincere interest I keenly listened. Halfway to the house I felt his tone change. He shifted his topics from the elections, and how poultry prices have been increasing ever so slightly, to now what seemed about spirits and ghosts.
‘Tell me chap, this psychic, where’s he exactly at?’
‘By the Wanger’s shop I was told.’
‘Oh, that Spaniard. Story goes that his grandad, Ineaz, came here for some study, met a girl and he accused her of witchcraftery and then eventually popped her off. Decades later, this queer lad came on. Very quiet. His face like a mouse. No one knows his name.’
I took a careful note of things. Weird place indeed. I reached the spiriter’s house. The inside seemed like a body had been cremated, with an awful stink. I saw the man, who was exactly like how he was described to me. After a few rituals of hospitality, he began:
‘How’d you get ahold ‘f me?’
‘Lloyd Tyrone mentioned you as assisting him.’
‘Tyr’n that chap. He’s a… ambitious kind.’
‘Could you say exactly what you had mentioned that day - at the cave - to him?’
‘Cave was a special kind of things. Very pec’liar energy. I ab’lished the curse he had received to the cave, t’ be passed on to any’ne stepping their feet in first. I ment’ned him against writing this. Dum-dums!.’
‘And the curse passes on from there?’
‘Any’ne with it will eventually give it to the first viewer on his death - and what a vengeful spirit that young girl had; would tear into anyone to survive. That curse was a spirit, a spirit I turned to dust. I talked with it - her actually. That “her” is the one Ineaz popped.’
I bid farewell around five, and booked a returning train through a subsidiary hotel ‘round the corner of the neighbourhood. I reflected on the scholar’s thoughts. The Curse. The Spirit. This is either a wild goose hunt, which is bollocks at best, or it is actually what went wrong with Lloyd.
PART VI: I ASK AROUND FOR LLOYD
I would be taking the route from the station to my house which interwined with the route to Mr. Tyrone’s house too. I planned to make a prescribed stop at the place, one prescribed to them (the servants) by my letters a day or two prior to this.
It was a night where the gushing of wind would not stop. I procured directions into his house and then with much further difficulties actually reached there. It is best described by cozy. A large hall that branches onto the dining hall towards the front, the kitchen towards the right and a resting place to the left. I met with Lloyd’s butler - Olay. A slightly dark Frenchman, with a large moustache that was like two branches of a tree. All his hair was white, and with a respectful bow he invited me to have dinner. I answered against it and asked to speak with him over some personal matters about his former master. He agreed and almost immediately made a room ready for us to have a conversation.
The room was a brightly lit study, which, I guessed, must have been used by the author in his work. I could see faint white chalk marks on the wooden tiles. The butler entered, and asked me to sit in a chair opposite him. I began:
‘After the encounter with the spirit, and then after that, did he ever go in again?’
‘No, monsieur, he did not. His death is a kind of mystery even to me. We found him hysterical earlier that day. These chalk marks,’ he pointed at them, ‘he stayed till the morning drawing these very disturbing visuals. And then he died.’
‘Did he have a journal, or a personal memoir?’
‘No, he did not.’
I nodded. The Frenchman went on:
‘I heard him mutter words one day. I stood outside that door. I could hear something, faintly. “I am sorry for all the trouble, little one. The trouble caused by us.” Mind you, this was before the cave encounter.’
I bid yet another farewell to the loyal butler. I reached home. No less than an hour passed by when there came a thunderous knocking on my door. I opened it. It was Hector. ‘Joseph… is dead!’ He cried.
I could not believe my ears. Another one. In that panic stricken state of me, one thing came into mind. 5 words revolved in my head: “Those who see them first!” Those who see them first. Who had seen him first.
I inquired about who had seen him first. The president, though visibly bloodshot red, had no color in it at the same time.
‘I heard screamings from ‘is ‘ouse. I ran there. There he was! On the floor. Dead!’ The last word was said with a very peculiar twinkle that seemed to be present in the room.
With my half-shocked face, I called him. I went into great details about both the meetings that day. Hector seemed shocked and scared.
PART VII: WE PONDER
We sat around my dining table. Both of us equally dreaded and in immense fear. For probably the first time, we felt fear. Dreaded, cold, bloody fear.
It had not been a dozen minutes since the he left - after much persuasion and assurance that everything is fine - I ran off to book my second ticket to the psychic, in an attempt to save my dear friend, Hector, whose life now was in danger. Danger he himself knew about.
Afternoon came.I did not wait for lunch, and when the sun reached half mast in the blue sky, I boarded the KINGSTON EXPRESS, and off I went to the outskirts.
I followed my memory from yesterday. I reached his house, though without any transportation this time, and after the glimpse of my face, the psychic grew red, both in confusion and annoyance.
‘Please, Mr. My great friend is in danger. We need your help. Tell me. Tell me how to stop the curse. I beg of you!’
‘What y’u need to do is to perform a vigorous ritual. Get him back to the cave, mutter this verse, point this crucifix to him, sprinkle this bottle of holy water. Any differences, and then it comes back like it did here?’
‘You… missed something?’
‘Sadly, me friend. I had. In that unconfident face, I slipped up in this. It was a grave mistake.’
As I turned to leave, he grasped my soldiers. I, though slightly startled, turned to him. He whispered to me:
‘Remember. No grave mistakes’
PART VIII: THE CAVE AGAIN
I reached home. On opening the door, I nearly fell on my back. It was my maid. I thought I had given her a week off.
‘But, sir, the vacation - though it really was not one, considering I had only a week off, not taking care that I cannot procure a ticket to the… um… Bahamas, or the India-’
I cut her off. Often she did this: break into this sing-songy manner of stuffs. ‘Please,’ I then implored, ‘take some more days off.’
‘Cannot sir, because it is much difficulty to stay in the agency residency for a week continuously.’
‘Fine. I’ll be off for another couple days or so. You’ll have the house to yourself.’
‘Another ghost hunting, sir? Though no offence that if you find it a job, or no job-’
‘Yes, it is a hinting thing. No, it is not a job.’
‘If you do not find it with difficulty, sir, can I come too.’
‘Why not. Let her come.’ This sentence was spoken by someone behind. It was Hector.
‘Comm’on Hector. Seriously?’
‘Why not. We will have some company in our endeavour. Then, sure girl, Miss…’
‘Jollie,’ replied with much excitement.
‘Well, lads, we have a cave to conquer, and a spirit to send back.’
It was the dawn of the next day. We reached the cave. Still now it seemed to hold its mystery. We went in, finding a suitable place to do the ritual. It also seemed that Hector’s situation now seemed to crumble. Veins were present in his neck. His forehead now seemed to bulge, almost in a globe. Despite this, he still seemed optimistic
Though at last we found a suitable place. I left the two behind in preparing the spot. Jollie tried insisting me to let her come with me, which I refused. I did the necessary and then returned back, only to see horror.
Hector on the ground, in the same manner as the others, and Jollie stood there in fear. She notably took the shock much better than I expected. The curse was now strong here. But, that would mean, Jollie… she had seen him first.
‘Do it, sir! Do it! Do the ritual!’
‘Dear, I have no idea what would happ-’
‘I do not care, sir. I have done enough. Please, I beg of you.’
My hands rose in reluctance. I started muttering. I shut my eyes, and then I felt a sudden burst of energy. I opened my eyes. What stood before me was no longer the happy missus I knew of before, but a reddish beast, with her teeth piercing out and her intent in looking to kill me. I hurried the ritual now, my hands shuddering.
Suddenly, I got a painful pierce through my body. I vomited blood. The creature was still before me. I kneeled down, and collapsed. I shut my eyes, this was the end.
“TO WHAT STANDS BEFORE ONE, THEY MUST HAVE COURAGE TO FACE IT. AND TO THAT, I GIVE HIM THE SAID COURAGE. HIS BODY IS NOW UNDER ME. HE NEED NOT TRY. HIS SOUL AT REST. WHAT LEFT OF HIS CORPSE IS ME. ME! THE GOLDEN, RIGHTEOUS HAND!”i>b>
I raised my left hand. Or, I felt I did. I did not move. I opened my eyes slightly. The beast, with its back against me, now screamed in awful pain. I saw her body wither away. I closed my eyes. I could still feel my arms up. I slightly opened my eyes. What I saw before me was no beast. Her energy was now trapped in an orb. I closed my eyes back…
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