Sanctum Arcanum

by Alexander Kautz

  When the police had arrived to question matters concerning old Norman’s death, we had all given statements. Everything seemed as though it might work out for the best. Until Detective Raymond Emerson had entered our home with his new partner, Gordon Simms….

  Detective Gordon Simms seemed like a rational man, polite and proper in every way. He was middle aged, well dressed and wore a few extra pounds. His hair was dark and neatly trimmed, though combed over while attempting to hide a bald spot. He had a small mustache and was cleanly shaven. His features were stern, but his eyes revealed a kinder side and an apparent compassion.

  Although Raymond had parted ways with us previously, he was still treated like family rather than a guest in our home. I had warned the others concerning his predicament and the legal complication. So, although subtle, he still knew that he was appreciated. I had invited Simms and Raymond to be seated at the kitchen table, as we shared hot drinks and discussed the matter over Plum cake.

  “So, you all claimed that you found the gentleman in question, Norman Hinckley, aged sixty five, a groundskeeper who lived in your home--,” Simms raised an eyebrow, “In the back of the property, is that correct?”

  “Yes, Norman lived here with us—and we did, sir,” I nodded while looking between Raymond and Simms, “He was more like extended family than a hired hand. This has all been very hard on everyone, especially poor Eva, they were very close.”

  “Then—I’m wondering?” Simms uttered something of a facetious chuckle, peering up skeptically, and asked, “Why didn’t anyone notice the elderly gentleman missing? You would think that most people would have been worried about him. Especially on Christmas Eve, and being considered extended family, as you just referred to him. I wouldn’t allow my dog out in weather like that.”

  Frowning and looking down at my Plum cake, I slid the plate away. Solemnly looking to Detective Simms, I had quietly said, “You are absolutely right—and I can’t find a rational answer to explain what happened. But, believe me when I say that I would have done anything to prevent this—had I only known….”

  “It also appears to be a rather large house--,” Ray had added the thought into his notes, “And it’s likely that people were preoccupied with seasonal pursuits.”

  “Is that possible?” Simms offered the opportunity for a feasible excuse, “Could he have honestly been over-looked for that long a period of time? The coroner estimated that he must have been lying out there most of the night. You said that you brought him in sometime after ten last night. But his body was still frozen when police arrived this morning.”

  “The power was out--,” Raymond scribbled the thought into his notes, “And, it didn’t come back on until shortly before police were contacted.” It was apparent that he was doing everything in his ability to rationalize the incident. It was also obvious that his partner was uncomfortable with this fact. Looking to him several times, he became visibly and increasingly aggravated.

  “Please understand—,” I had appealed to Detective Simms intellect rather than blatantly avoiding the subject, “I’m an author and spend a great deal of time in my home office, upstairs. That window faces the front of the property and main gates. So, even if I had looked out, I would never have seen old Norman. Now, I’m not going to make excuses for what happened.” I said quite frankly and while looking the Detective straight in the eye, “I’m guilty for his death only through ignorance—and being unaware. But I loved the old man and would never have willingly allowed any harm to come to him.”

  Ray had obviously been bothered by the investigation, as fidgeting with his pen, he kept looking nervously around. I had remained focused upon Simms, who, having watched every expression and movement that I had made, now spoke. His words coming slow, well calculated and quietly, “Alright then—that having been said. It seems, Mr. Schreiber, and with all due respect, that wherever you seem to go, bodies keep turning up.”

  Raymond had just gazed down at his notepad. I could see by his increasingly reddening complexion that his frustration was increasing. Hoping to avoid a conflict which would inevitably occur at any given moment, I said, “Detective Simms, I travel and do private investigation into hauntings and other unexplained phenomena. I started doing this as an inspiration for my stories, and we even have a magazine detailing some of these events. And during these exploits, I have inadvertently encountered and become involved in some questionable situations.”

  “Eloquently spoken--,” Simms now appeared amused, as sinking back into his chair, he smiled, “Maybe you should have become a lawyer instead of a writer.” His expression became suddenly cold and blank, his tone reflecting the sudden change, “Because, you’re certainly good with words.”

  “We’re here concerning an accidental death.” Ray reminded Simms.

  “Mr. Schreiber--,” Simms ignored Ray’s interruption, “Now, I’m not really certain of what happened here, and like my partner just said, it’s an apparent, accidental death. I just wanted to make sure that you were aware.” He wrung his hands together and looked to his white knuckled fingers. Thoughtfully tilting his head, he glanced up at me, saying, “That if there should be any more of these accidental deaths, things will heat up around here. You catch my drift?”

  Raymond had just looked away, evidently angered with the threat. Although I had felt equally disturbed with the statement, I could hardly blame the man. If I had been on the other side of the fence, especially with the evidence in favor gathered against me, I might have reacted in a similar fashion.

  “Mr. Simms--,” I clasped my hands together before me on the table, “I won’t deny having played some part in most of those events. But, I swear on my life that I was not responsible for any of those deaths.” It was the absolute truth, though from his expression it was outwardly apparent that he had his doubts. He wasn’t rude, just apprehensive. Shrugging, he had said, “And I really want to believe you--,” Simms just stared right back. Unblinking, and like a cobra rearing to strike, as he pointed an accusing finger and quietly said, “But, believe me when I say that I always go on my gut instincts. And right about now, things are not looking so good for you. We’ll be in touch.” He slid his card across the table and halted, “Oh—apparently Mr. Hinckley had no family—we tried to reach his next of kin.”

  “I’ll see to the arrangements and handle any costs.”

  “That’s very generous of you--,” He had peered back suspiciously, “I’m sorry for your loss.” And with that he thanked me for the coffee, and motioning toward Raymond, waved as they both departed the room. I had watched as they moved into the corridor and Raymond had glanced back. There was an all knowing and apologetic sorrow that creased the gentle lines of his face. I had offered a subtle wave in parting so that Simms had not been aware. The deceit had left me feeling both guilty and remorseful for being unable to clarify what had really happened. But present company excluded, who would ever have believed it….

  Caitlin had entered the dining room. Slipping up behind me, she hugged close. I felt the soft touch of her smooth skin as she sighed through tears, and whispered, “What have you become--,” She whimpered, “And what’s happening to us?”

  I heard the Detectives close the front door. Reaching upward, I gently stroked her long and fiery locks, “I’m still the same person that I’ve always been. And we will always remain exactly who we are.”

  “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you—and like we’re losing everything?” She sniffled, and wiped the tears away with a sleeve.

  “It’s like a nightmare—a bad dream,” I whispered, kissing her softly and peering into her big green eyes, “But, I promise, things will be better again, soon.”

  “And if for some reason they don’t—and no matter what happens,” She pulled closer and held on tightly, “Just swear that you will never let me go. Never leave me behind…”

  “Without you my world is empty, meaningless--,” I felt like a monster for causing her such pain and suffering. Kissing her tenderl
y, I said, “I will never stop loving you, never leave you behind—and never forget.”

  The afternoon had been filled with sorrow as Eva, Maya and Caitlin had packed away old Norman’s things and placed them into boxes to be donated to charity. Any seasonal spirit that might have existed had slipped away in the bitter gloom.

  There was a certain sense of safety during the daylight hours and passing of the storm. As retiring to my office with tea and coffee, I had sat with Rich and quietly discussed matters concerning the book and cane.

  “I think that it would be in our best interest to leave the book to Marlowe--,” Glancing upward, I had looked to the raven that rested atop my desk, “There are far too many dangers, secrets hidden in those pages that I would rather not risk.” I was feeling terribly nervous, suffering from an impending sense of doom. Looking about the office, I sipped at my tea and leaned back into the chair.

  “Agreed--,” He shrugged and pointed to the cane that I now toyed with, “And what about the cane, does it possess any other abilities beyond summoning the Grim?”

  “As we both witnessed--,” I thought aloud while closely scrutinizing the symbols upon the black, polished, wooden shaft, “It seems to have some kind of power that acts like a shield against things from another dimension. Add to this its remarkable ability to translate all and any language instantly, and it’s simply invaluable.”

  “Both a tool and a weapon--,” He tapped a finger upon his coffee mug while raising an eyebrow in question, “Speaking of weapons? You mentioned that Marlowe’s companion had the ability to find lost treasures and hidden things?”

  Knowing that Rich had little interest in wealth or fame, it could only have been one other thing. “You’re wondering whether he might have knowledge of a weapon, something that we might possibly use against this nightmare.”

  “If there was a chance—why not try?” He anxiously agreed, “We don’t have many options at this point.”

  “Maybe, it would be better to inquire of Marlowe--,” I had looked to the silent bird in reflection, “I’ll see what we can do.”

  Rich placed down his mug, “Maybe he could provide us with the designs for weapons, and the necessary materials to arm ourselves?”

  “All that we can do is ask--,” Finishing my tea, I looked toward the window as the heavens darkened once again, “It appears as though that storm might return again tonight….”

  “Well, this time we’re better prepared--,” Rich moved to the window, parting the draperies, and frowned, “By now that thing has realized that it can’t use the souls of the lost against us.”

  Joining him at the window, I peered into the leafless branches which clawed upward and into the early afternoon sky. There was a moment of stillness as a great shadow fell upon the room and over our hearts. Feeling ultimately insignificant in the grand scheme of things, we stared blindly into the distant, dark and drifting heavens.

  The sudden ringing of the telephone startled us both with a jolt, as rushing to answer, I fell silent in reply. “Michael; it’s Harry--,” He spoke through an almost impenetrable field of static, “I’m in Hope, is there any possibility that you might come and pick me up?”

  “It’s Harry--,” I informed Rich while covering the phone with a hand, “Is there any chance that we might pick him up—he’s in Hope?”

  “Sure, I’ll go get him—they have plows out on all the major routes,” He thought for a moment, “But you’ll have to stay here—we can’t risk leaving the girls alone, no matter what.”

  “Harry—things are a little hectic here at the moment—but of course!” I exclaimed while attempting to conceal my concern and fear, “Rich will be setting out immediately, where exactly are you?”

  “I’m at the truck stop diner--,” He replied, though I could barely hear him, “You know the one—where you and Rich always stop on your way out of town.” For reasons that I couldn’t explain I suddenly grew suspicious, soon realizing that I had never informed Harry of the place. I had taken a hold of Rich’s wrist as he had attempted to depart, curiously asking, “Uh, Harry? Could you give me the number that you’re calling from? We seem to have a bad connection, I’ll try calling you right back.”

  The static suddenly became deafening. Slamming down the receiver, I turned to Rich, “Don’t make a move—something isn’t right here. Would you mind running downstairs and getting the telephone book off the kitchen counter? I want to check into something first…”

  Rich had hurried off without comment, and moments later returned with the telephone book. Having already opened it to the desired page, it revealed the number to the little Hope diner. As quickly dialling out, we patiently waited on the line for a reply. It rang six or seven times and just as I was about to give up, our old friend Peggy had answered the call. “Hope diner and truck stop, Peggy speaking, how may I help you?”

  “Peggy, Merry Christmas—,” Attempting to sound cheerful, I reminded her of who I was, “It’s Michael Schreiber, the one who always comes in with Rich?”

  “Oh, hello there, stranger, and Merry Christmas to you, too--” She had laughed with the pleasant surprise, “Make sure to wish Rich all the best from me as well!”

  “I certainly will! Um—listen, Peggy? I was just wondering. I was expecting a friend to be coming into Hope from Hedley, sometime this afternoon.”

  “Well, don’t hold your breath on that one, honey--,” She groaned, “According to the only customer that I had early this morning, a trucker that got stuck out there. That road might stay blocked until the end of the week.”

  “And you say that the trucker was the only customer that you had—early this morning?” I had stared to Rich who now gawked in horror, “And there hasn’t been anyone else?”

  “Not a soul has come through that door since this morning--,” She laughed, “Not even the spirit of Christmas.”

  “Why are you even working through the holidays?”

  “Because someone has to--,” She chuckled, “And besides, I’m feeling a little Grinch this year. My hubby is supposed to pick me up around nine. So, I’ll be celebrating a little, once we close down for the night.”

  “No one should have to be alone on Christmas Eve.” I had thought aloud.

  “I’m not alone--,” She shouted something indiscernible into the kitchen, and laughing, said, “Old Pete’s in the kitchen, bored out of his mind. So, I’ve got someone to talk to, anyway.”

  “Well, thanks again, Peggy, you take good care of yourself. Wish Pete all the best and Merry Christmas—we’ll be seeing you again soon!”

  As she bade me a seasonal farewell and I slowly hung up the phone, Rich had just stood staring with his jaw hanging agape. Dropping back into my chair, I had fearfully peered up at my friend. He had said nothing, suddenly slumping back into his chair. His expression revealed stark terror while contemplating the evil insinuation of what had just occurred. “Something just tried to separate us--,” He muttered while gazing blindly ahead, “And it used the telephone and the voice of someone living that we both know….”

  “Someone living--,” My heart chilled with the thought as I slowly looked to my friend, “Don’t be too certain of that….”

  7:30 p.m.

  Eva had wept as she removed Norman’s gifts from beneath the Christmas tree. She had carried them into the kitchen and placed them into boxes with his personal things. They were all destined to be removed after the holidays and donated to charity.

  Dinner had consisted of leftovers from the previous night. With little seasonal cheer or interest, we had solemnly gathered about the tree. It shone with tinsel as the multi-colored lights twinkled and the ornaments gleamed.

  The parcels all lay wrapped in brightly colored ribbons and enormous flashy bows beneath the tree. We had played Christmas melodies while attempting to make the best of things. But the spirit was simply just not there in any of us, except for old Merlin, who had scampered up and into the branches, and now peered back from out of the tree. We had all laug
hed as those big, yellow eyes had blinked from among the tinsel and lights. It was the first honest smile than anyone had shared in what seemed like days.

  “Well—let’s see what we have here?” Rich had slid down to the floor and knelt before the tree, “Everyone gets one gift each—until Christmas morning.”

  His attempt was admirable, and we all moved closer as he sorted through the gifts. “One for Maya from Uncle Red--,” He passed her a large red parcel with a golden ribbon and bow, “And one for Caitlin from Michael—with much love!”

  She accepted the blue and silver ribbon box and looked to me with a faint smile.

  “And to Eva from Rich and Maya--,” He raised the pink parcel, gently shaking it as the white lace ribbon danced between his hands, “Merry Christmas, lots of love!”

  Merlin had struggled deeper into the dangerously swaying tree as we all watched, fearing that he might bring the whole thing down! But this bothered Rich little, as continuing, he discovered a small purple parcel with golden lace and bow. “And one for Michael from Caitlin signed, Merry Christmas, forever love!”

  His spirit became overwhelming as he struggled to bring some cheer into what had most certainly become a personal hell. He looked among the numerous packages, selecting a small one from among the pile, and laughed aloud, “Oh, look! One for Rich from Santa! I must have been a good boy by accident this year?” Once more light laughter had flowed from around the tree, as looking between us, he had acted surprised, exclaiming, “Well, what are you all waiting for—let’s see what we all got!”

  We had opened the packages and parcels, as gasps of surprise and joy were now being shared! Maya had received a Native design, white, woolen sweater with a woven, golden eagle on the back. Rich had ripped open his gift like an expectant child, pausing silently as he looked down to what now rested within his hands.