Tales From the Quiet World
By Mister M
1 - The TrapdoorMany years ago, in the small town of Little Goshawk, there was a house that stood at the edge of the village. The house was old, grand, and superior to all those around it, much like the family that had resided in it for hundreds of years. The family were known as the Feints, and for many years their nobility and knowledge had held the sway of power for miles around.
Adjacent to the house were several small cottages, forming that crescent-like street known as Irving Close that acted as buffer between the town and the outside world. These small cottages had originally been the dwellings of servants and caretakers to the Feint family, but over the years these had been sold off to create another source of income to fund the Feint family and there notorious ‘research’.
The Feints - it had been generally agreed by the local community - were nothing but trouble. They were scientists, inventors. Explorers, and worst of philosophers. These kinds of things were frowned upon, and whenever the family had ventured into town they were treated with suspicion and mistrust. Not that they ever felt the need to venture into town, of course. They were far too busy with their research. They were unsociable, unfriendly, unkind, and most of all unlike the rest of the village, and as such, unliked.
Several years ago, however, they managed to sour their reputation even further by doing something even more unlikeable – they disappeared, without a trace. Without warning or notice the entire family had simply vanished. The hamlet of Irving Close was abuzz with gossip, speculation, and general disdain about the family and their circumstances. Where had they gone? Why had they gone there? They had always been odd, but this was simply unacceptable, perhaps even uncalled for.
Eventually, the gossip died down, but the reputation of The Feints did not. The house which they had abandoned was still sat there, all these years later, a lasting monument of its mysterious owners. Due to its age, size, and increasing dinginess it became a haven for gossip-fed stories of ghosts and other unspeakable horrors. There were regular reported sightings of mysterious figures, ghoulish spectres, and unearthly sounds coming from the house. Most of these were dissident youths or curious tourists, but that wasn’t enough to abate the flow of macabre accounts of eldritch encounters. The place had a reputation.
So when Detective Daniel Summers received a report of an incident at Irving Close he was initially sceptical. The old Feint House had a reputation, and he didn’t much fancy wasting a day trying to track down some discontented teenagers. It was almost Halloween, and it was almost becoming a tradition.
This, however, was different. As he was making his way across town, he heard the report of what had happened the night before. A resident of Irving Close had reported hearing strange screams from the old Feint House. This was not an unusual occurrence and as such it had been deferred to the morning. However when an officer had gone round that morning to check he had found…..nothing. But not at the Feint House, no, that would have been simple.
The entire street was empty. The occupants of every single house, and every single one of it’s residents had simply vanished overnight.
When Daniel arrived at the scene he found the first responders - two rookie PC’s with nothing better to do - and Jenkins, a Sargent pulled over from Traffic duty, probably because he had too much to do.
‘How many are we looking at missing’ Daniel asked one of the two PC’s, a young man in his 20s trying to act cool but clearly unnerved.
‘There are 7 houses on the street, all occupied. 16 people in total. One Family four, one son, one daughter; one younger man In his early 20s; the rest mostly older couples trying to retire somewhere nice. Names are Leon and Linda Coulson, Anna Sands, Andrew Morgan, David –‘
‘Yes, thank you Police Constable’ interjected Daniel. ‘The Family, what were their names?’
‘Brown. Mother and Father Sarah and Michael. Son David, 13, and Emmeline, 6.’
‘Which house?’ said Daniel, and he pointed in the direction of the row of houses.
‘Number three’ the PC replied.
Daniel walked over to the house. It was picturesque, like something from a storybook. There was a well kept garden, and a little wooden picket fence, the gate pushed to one side. He walked down the higgledy-piggledy path, and through the open door. The house was untidy, but not messy. A Quick glance in the kitchen showed a dinner that had been half eaten, and there were toys all over the front room, the intricate and precise mess that only a child make. He didn’t need to look upstairs, he knew what he would find. A quick survey of the front door showed him that it had not been forced.
‘You’ve missed something obvious’ Daniel told the others, as he walked back up the garden path. ‘A whole street of people disappearing. Now that’s strange. But these people didn’t just disappear.’ He walked round to the House No.4 and pushed on the door, which slowly opened. ‘These people left, and in hurry, so much of a hurry that not a single one of them bothered to lock their doors.’
‘There was the scream’ said the young PC, eager to show initiative.
‘Indeed there was.’ Said Daniel. ‘Has the Feint house been checked out yet?
The PC’s turned to look at each other
‘Okay, great. You two, stay here and keep an eye in case anybody turns up. If they do, radio me straight away and we’ll come back out. Jenkins, you’re with me.’
Jenkins looked up from his notebook, slightly startled. ‘Oh, er, sure thing.’ He put the notebook back into his pocket and hesitantly followed Daniel toward the house. Daniel knew Jenkins well enough to be sure of his competency, but not so well that he didn’t trust him.
It was still early morning, and the sunlight was struggling to break through a soft, fine mist that was pervading everything round them They walked past a set of ornate stone pillars where once large iron gates had stood, long since removed. They walked mostly in silence, not from dislike of each other, but because it felt as though if they were to speak it would shatter something.
The PC had been right when he’d said that there was a scream. It was perfectly logical reasoning that if things go bump in the night, someone will go and poke it with a stick and see what it is. But not a whole street, not a family, not children. What had happened to them? Where was Emmeline? For some reason that bothered him most of all.
Emmeline. A 6 year old girl.
After a few minutes they reached a large door made of green wood. Into the front of the door was carved many images of eyes, with a large circular pupil dominating the centre.
‘Someone clearly had a fetish’ said Jenkins, with a small, forced chuckle.
‘I haven’t been inside before’ Daniel replied, ‘but I imagine it will be much of the same. The Feints were an odd bunch’
‘So how do we get in?’
‘Magic’ chuckled Daniel, and he pushed against the door, heaving against the wood, and slowly it creaked open. ‘After you.’ Said Daniel, allowing Jenkins to force open the rest of the door.
They found themselves in a long, dark corridor. The smell of dust and damp whacked Daniel round the face and caught in his throat. There was a thin veil of cobwebs over everything. Nobody had set foot in years, clearly, but still he called ‘Hello’ and ‘Is there anybody there?’
The words hung oddly in the air, the sound muffled by the dust and mould, almost as if they were tentative to explore the rest of the building, and they were happy exactly where they were. Daniel didn’t have that luxury. He strode quickly along the corridor, the floorboards creaking under a weight they had not endured for decades. Daniel and Jenkins came to another door, which opened easily and silently.
Behind the door was a cross between a study and a library. There were several tables and comfortable looking chairs, and the walls were lined with books, each more ancient than the one that came before. The books had spilled over from the shelves and were piled on the tables, and in some places the floor and chairs. There was a film of dust over everything, except for the pile of books nearest the chairs. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, with a coronet of green candles encircling the outside.
But the most interesting about the room was the portraits. There were four, one on each wall. Daniel wasn’t sure who they were supposed to be, there was no little plaque at the bottom saying who they were or how long they had lived or why there deserved something as ostentatious as a portrait. It didn’t matter who they were though, because Daniel knew that he would never, ever forget those faces. There was something about them, something about the eyes, that was disturbing. They looked so lifelike, so real, but so in pain, as tough someone had taken their terror and framed it. It was the eyes especially. Something about them just looked wrong.
‘This is…’ said Jenkins. ‘What is this place?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Said Daniel. ‘I knew The Feints were weird, but this takes the biscuit.’
Jenkins walked over to one of the piles of books, the ones that looked less dusty than the rest. Atop them was a hefty tome that had been left opened. Jenkins looked at the cover, which showed a myriad design of eyes, each more disturbing than the next, and some letters emblazoned in gold.
‘
”V, F, D”, what’s that?’ asked Jenkins.
‘I’m not sure’ said Daniel, who found himself unable to avert his eyes from the paintings. Three of them were men, Victorian or Edwardian perhaps, with hair coiffured and pampered. The fourth was of a woman, her hair falling in long white ringlets at her sides. But all he could see were the eyes, staring back at him in anguished desperation.
‘
”The eyes are not the window to the soul, they are the trapdoors”’ Daniel turned and found that Jenkins was reading aloud from the book he had found '
“It is through the eye that we can see into others, but others can see also into us. Our deepest desires and secrets, our fears and thoughts are contained within. By showing them to the world we unlock ourselves. And with it the world to us.”'
Daniel looked at the books around him. There were many he recognised, from authors of repute and renown, but there were many he had never seen, many of which he was sure he didn’t want to see. What was this place?
'
“It is through our eyes that we find knowledge, it is through our eyes that we uncover secrets. But we must not just unlock those secrets. We must close our eyes to others, and find ways to conceal that which we must keep quiet”'
‘Jenkins, please stop that, it’s creepy’
‘Sorry’ said Jenkins, but Daniel noted he didn’t put down the book, merely closed it.
‘Come on, lets take a look upstairs’ said Daniel, and he pointed to a staircase at the far corner of the room.
The stairs creaked loudly, and the smell of dampness increased. They found themselves on a long landing, with many rooms heading off in different directions. There was a gentle dripping from a hole in the roof above them.
Without consciously speaking to one another, they split up and began to search each room individually. Daniel found a myriad of abandoned bedrooms, each one decorated with ornate wooden carvings or paintings, each based on the design of an eye. This definitely was a fetish. Thankfully he hadn’t encountered any more of the terrifying portraits.
He opened another door and found himself in an elaborate dining room. There was a large table that was mostly empty, excepting a thick layer of dust, and a single candle in it's centre. Daniel was wondering where the eye theme was in this room, but then he realised that the table was shaped like an oval, with the chairs positioned at regular intervals, almost like eyelashes.
“Daniel”He heard the voice deep inside his ear, quieter than a whisper, but colder than ice. He wasn’t sure if it had come from an inch away or a mile away, or if he had even heard it at all. He strained to listen again, as deeply as he could.
Instead he heard a scream. It wasn’t from far away, a short shriek. ‘JENKINS!’ Daniel shouted, and then he turned and ran in the direction of the sound. He ran down a small corridor, and found himself in another bedroom, with Jenkins sat on the bed, his head in his hands.
‘Jenkins, what’s going on??’
‘I…I’m not sure.’ Said Jenkins. He was shaking slightly, and the colour was gone from his face. ‘It was there a second ago and now - . I dunno, it’s gone.’
‘What was it? What did you see?’
‘There was…I don’t know if it was, but it looked like a body, laying there on the floor.’ Jenkins pointed to a spot not far from where Daniel was standing. There was nothing there, nothing in the room except for the bed and a feeble looking doll’s house in the corner.
‘There nothing there, Jenkins’
‘But there was, I saw it. It was a girl; she was laying there. She was wearing a dress, and there was blood and -, her eyes, Sir. There was something wrong with her eyes.’
Daniel looked around the room again, half expecting a body to appear out of nowhere, but there was nothing to found. ‘There’s nothing here, Jenkins.’
‘But I saw it, I’m sure.’
‘Jenkins, you’re scared, on edge, and for a moment you thought you’d seen what you didn’t want to see, but there was nothing there. Do you understand me?’
Daniel could see the hesitation in Jenkins eyes; enough to still believe in himself, but not enough to question a superior officer. ‘Yes sir’
‘Good Man.’ He offered Jenkins his hand, and he accepted. Daniel glanced around the room again. ‘I must say though, this does look likes a girls room. Interesting. I wonder…’ Daniel couldn’t stop thinking about the little girl.
Emmeline. The two of them headed back through the corridor Daniel had taken. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything here worth looking at’ said Daniel, ‘So we should head back to the station. See if we can’t start profiling the missing, work out if there anything in their history that-‘
But Daniel never got to finish his sentence, for as he was speaking, they had turned back in to the empty dining room where Daniel had been before. Now, however, it was not as empty.
There were bodies. They were piled up on the floor, a mess of flesh and limbs. In the dark light of the kitchen it was hard to tell, but there were at least a dozen of them. There was blood everywhere, and Daniel wasn’t sure, but they seemed to be parts of them missing.
‘Oh my god’ said Jenkins. ‘What is this? Is that -. Are they the missing people??’
‘I don’t know’ said Daniel, grimly ‘But I wouldn’t bet against it.’
‘How did this happen?’
‘Or more importantly, how did they get here? I came through this room earlier, and none of…this, was here.’
‘Maybe… Maybe you just missed it?’ said Jenkins
Daniel shook his head. ‘How could I miss this?’ He knelt down next to the pile of carcasses and tried to inspect them as best he could without touching. The stench was overwhelming, but the mass so confusing and disconcerting that he found it hard to focus. His mind kept going back to Emmeline, and he didn’t know why.
Emmeline, Emmeline, Emmeline.‘
“Plato believed that light itself came from the eye, and his disciple Theophrastus, said that eye contained “the fire within”’ Jenkins had begun reading from the book again. This did not make it easier for Daniel to concentrate. Where were the eyes?
'
“Perhaps the fire is within us all, the truth and the source of meaning”'
Where were the eyes? He was looking at the bodies, but he couldn’t see them
'
“If this is the case, then perhaps we should do what they could not, or would not, do.”'
Where are the eyes? Where were they?
'
“Perhaps we should take the truth for ourselves.”'
Where
ARE they??
'
“…and remove it from the others.”'
‘Will you SHUT UP JENKINS!’ Daniel shouted, “I’M TRYING TO THINK, SO PLEASE PUT THAT BLOODY BOOK DOWN.’
Jenkins dropped the book, staring at Daniel with shock in his eyes. Daniel could feel his heart beating, he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he was breathing rapidly.
‘Sorry’ Daniel said. ‘It’s just distracting when –‘
There was a loud, sharp scrabbling noise. It was coming from directly above them, like someone scraping, clawing at the wood.
‘What’s that?’ said Jenkins
‘It’s probably just a bird. We’re on the top floor.’ Said Daniel, trying to shrug it off.
The next moment, the scratching and scrabbling increased, and there was a noise like someone trying to drag a heavy weight across the ceiling. It scraped slowly along the top, and then down, down the wall.
‘What kind of bird does that??’ said Jenkins.
Daniel went up to the wall, where the scratching could still be heard, emanating and echoing across the room. That was when he noticed something, something that had escaped his attention before. There was the shape of an eye carved into the wood, incredibly thinly and faintly, almost so vague that it wasn’t there. Instinctively, without knowing how or why, he reached and touched the entre of the eyes pupil.
With a long echoing creak, the wall panel fell back. A wall of cold air hit him, and Daniel could see small stone steps heading downwards in a spiral.
‘I’m going to take a look down here.’ Said Daniel, as he rummaged in his pocket for a small flashlight.
Jenkins looked aghast at the thought.
‘I won’t be long. Stay here, don’t move. And look, at least the scratching has stopped.’ Daniel smiled at Jenkins and turned to head down the stairs.
It was freezing, and the steps were tiny, like you get in old castles and churches, so Daniel had to be careful not to slip. After a few moments the stairs ended, and he found himself in a small stone chamber.
‘Will you come into my parlour’ Daniel muttered to himself ‘said the spider to the fly.’ He shone the flashlights' small but powerful beam around the room. At first, he didn’t spot anything, but then he saw two notches in the wall, at waist height. There were small metal hooks buried deep into the stone, and there was a strange black ink cascading from below that point. It looked like something had been kept here. Or contained, perhaps. Whatever research the Feints had being doing here, it seemed as though it was far more inhumane than any of the gossipers of Little Goshawk had imagined.
Daniel turned to head back the way he came, but then he saw something on the far wall behind him. There was an eye, staring back at him. The euecovered the whole wall, it was angry and threatening, and it was drawn in blood.
The air seemed to shift around him. Whereas before it had been freezing, frost bitingly cold, Daniel now found himself filled with intense heat, like someone had set him in boiling water. And then he heard it again, that strange, sharp scratching sound. It was coming from directly above him. Directly from the dining room.
He turned on the spot, and dashed, ran up the stairs as fast as he could without tripping. He slipped on the last few steps, but he managed to propel himself into the room, only to find… nothing. Jenkins was gone, the pile of bodies was gone too, and so was whatever was making that noise.
‘Jenkins’ Daniel called, but again the sound hung limply in the air. Inside his stomach he knew that there was no point. He decided to do the only thing he could and go back the way he had come. As he walked past the dining table, however, he saw that five words had been written in the dust. The world is quiet here. He was sure, certain that they had not been there before.
He went back through the maze of bedrooms and corridor, and back down the stairs as quickly as he could. He wanted nothing more than to leave, and quickly.
He found himself back in the strange library that they had seen before, with the unexplainably ominous paintings. But now there was something else in the room, something far more disturbing.
There was a body of a young girl, only six years old. She was wearing a white dress, but it was stained with blood. She was laying down, her face staring up at the ceiling, but not her eyes. They were gone. There were two long deep diagonal cuts where her eyes had been, the blood flowing freely from them.
Daniel knelt down next to her body. ‘Emmeline?’ he asked her, though he knew there would be no response. It meant gentle and brave.
“Emmeline”It was the voice, the same voice as before, echoing deeper and deeper in his brain. It was thin and cold and piercing, and still he couldn’t tell where it came from. He looked around in search of it, and that was when he saw them again, the portraits. Those eyes, of course. Now he understood where they had come from.
He rose quickly, turned away from her body to see if he could find the source. And then he felt it. Something landed on his back, a tremendous weight. It pulled him backwards, and he could no longer tell if he was standing or falling. He felt cold, icy talons grip him, reaching for him, pressing down, he could feel them scratching against his pupils, scratching at him, and then he heard the voice again.
“So, let’s see what’s inside.”The eyes aren’t the windows to the soul. They are the trapdoors.