Unlocked

by Kevin Solomon Missal

  “His name is Dr. Gregory House. If you want to mock me, at least do your research,” he mocked.

  With a sigh of relief, Caspar looked around. He was frustrated as well as panicked, but he knew how to keep his emotions at bay. He looked about, taking in his surroundings. Standing quietly, at the end of the diner’s hall, was a creature – well suited with musty boots, its features overgrown on his whippy body. From the shoulders down, he looked ordinary, but his face was that of a goat. It had a long jaw, thin stretched lips, and red eyes streaming with blood that curiously impassive. Long horns were tilted slightly and set far apart from its long, scrubby ears. Upon its forehead was a tiny glowing pentagram.

  Shock coursed through Caspar’s body and he began to feel unbalanced. His eyes were wide with amazement and awe, surprise spreading across his pale face. He

  didn’t know how to react. The suited goat-headed man was standing still, unmoving and unblinking. He gazed at Caspar with curious interest.

  “Everyone...run!” Caspar yelled.

  No one listened. They stared at him as if he was insane.

  He pointed to the end of the diner. “Can’t you primitive apes see that demon with a goat head standing there? Can’t you see him?” he shrieked.

  Heads swiveled in the direction he was pointing in, but no one saw a thing. “Are you fine, dear?” a sympathetic old lady with a pink handkerchief

  inquired.

  Caspar didn’t reply. He grabbed his head. It hurt as a searing pain through it as if someone was trying to pierce it with hot metal. He looked about. Everyone seemed concerned. Some of them just shooed him off, murmuring that he was a maniac and others resumed what they were doing. He looked up toward the ceiling. Was it really his subconscious playing with his sight or was it real?

  The goat-headed demon just stood there, watching him wearily. Caspar wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a hint of a smile upon the demon’s face.

  Who are you? Caspar mouthed.

  The demon shook his head. Welcome to my world, the demon shot back telepathically.

  Od

  d

  Aaron was searching for food. It was raining in Yorkshire, drops of water seeping into the black oily gutters. The clouds were covering the shimmering image of the whispering moon as people tried to glance at its beauty. The veil of clouds prevented them from doing so unfortunately.

  The pub Aaron was headed was in a rather dull place with beggars sitting close to the pedestals, counting the money the wealthy car owners had given them. The road was narrow, almost like a dusty village path. The lamps flickered on their posts ominously, but hardly received any attention.

  Aaron walked along with his hood on, hands within his pockets. He entered the pub, closing the door behind him. Pulling his hood back, he looked around. The place was small with a wood carved bar and some bar stools in front of it. The light was emitted softly from the bulbs above. He could smell the distinct odor of beer all around him.

  Quietly, he approached the bar and sat down. There were three other people sitting close to it. One looked like a corporate executive with a fling tie. The other was certainly a junky with braided hair and droopy eyes. The third one had on a trench coat long enough to hide his entire body. There was no doubt, whatsoever, that the man was heavily drunk.

  He ordered beers for in hopes of getting a little relaxation. His body was stiff and tired, due to having overworked.

  One bottle of beer. Two bottles of beer.

  Three bottles of beer. Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  And so it ended.

  His eyes were blurry. He felt as if his body was a tad disjointed even though he was gripping the table tightly. He shook his head to clear it and ran a hand through his straight black hair.

  “Pretty bad stuff, eh?” the man in the trench coat prodded. “W – What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . .” he began. “The beer can shake a person, right?” “Absolutely,” Aaron coughed and smiled.

  The man gave a whimsy chuckle. “What’s the problem?” “What do you mean?” Aaron asked with a drunken smile.

  “You came here. You drink loads. There must be some reason behind that, some problem. What is yours?”

  “Work.”

  “Ah, a usual problem,” the man laughed.

  “No, no, it’s not work,” Aaron corrected himself. “It’s . . .” he smiled. “It’s just I think I was being followed.”

  “Not your fault. Everybody thinks that,” “But mine was d – d – different,”

  “Okay, all right. How was your follower in...well...appearance?” Aaron hesitated. “It – It...just looked...familiar.”

  “Familiar? Well, that’s an improvement. What kind of familiar? Who is the person it resembles?”

  “You,” Aaron gasped.

  The man narrowed his smoky eyes: “Me? Are you sure?” “Yes...um...I have to go.” He felt as if his inebriated state had drained.

  Aaron got up and immediately scurried out of the pub. The lamps flickered. The beggars had vanished. The alleyway looked lonesome. He walked briskly, looking back once in a while to see if the man in the trench coat was following him. In the dark lane, he was alone, except for the croaking ravens that flew by.

  He could hear the footsteps behind him as they stamped and splashed against the muddy waters. He looked back. No one was there. He moved forward, clutching his chest and pulling his hood over his head. The footsteps were rapid now. He started running, afraid to look back.

  Aaron stopped, catching his breath. The road was close. Only few yards away!

  Come on. Come on.

  As he was about to resume his sprint, he halted. In front of him, in a hollow blindness, a shadow wavered. His blood turned cold as his eyes followed the contours of that shadow. He couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t believe his eyes. It was the shadow of a beast.

  He stared back at it. The beast stood there, smiling at him. Shivering and quaking with fear, Aaron took refuge near the bricked wall. He didn’t have any other place to scurry into or hide. He knew, without a doubt, that his annihilation was just few inches away from him.

  ***

  Caspar opened his eyes and pulled himself to his feet as he looked around. He was back. He was happy. His smile reflected how pleased he was with himself. He hurried to the record player and played Beethoven Symphony 3. Humming to himself, he walked to the bathroom and got undressed.

  The warm water of the shower splashed against his bare body, slowly seeping all his angst and fatigue away. Gradually, the weakness, which had overpowered him, began to dissipate and soon there was no trace of it. He exited the shower, rubbing his curly hair with the towel and then slowly soaking the remaining water from his skin.

  He stood in front of the mirror and saw the pale reflection of his face.

  Caspar saw a different man. It was not a boy of nineteen he was seeing, but a man with a jutted jaw, bronze eyes, black hair, high cheek bones, perfect curved lips, and beaky nose. He felt threatened by his cold demeanor and his eyes reflected his fear. Striding into the adjoining room, he sat down on the leather sofa, crossing one leg on top of the other. Caspar shivered slightly as a cold draft filtered throughout the room.

  It was a usual tendency, more of a method, really, which Caspar often used. Being naked, a human mind’s potential of thinking exceeds favorably. Or so Caspar surmised. Whether it was true or not, he didn’t care. All he knew was that it helped him.

  Sitting there, he looked outside. The sky’s vastness was covered with torrents of clouds, which flocked against the thunder. Birds flew past the polluted smoke that the factory chimney puffed.

  His mind simmered with thoughts about the contract and the deal he had made. His stomach churned at the thought that he was now a slave to the Fourth

  Horseman of the Apocalypse. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. He was bound to an oath, be it dead or alive.

  ***

  “O
h, aren’t you...? You are Caspar Socrates, aren’t you?” Death inquired as he appeared.

  He was delighted by the fact that Caspar had summoned him. He was well aware of who he was and of what he did. It was the reason he made an exception in allowing him to live in return for carrying out his orders.

  Caspar couldn’t blame Death for hiring him. He was quite infamous for hunting creatures with his mind and agility. He lived for the moment and enjoyed the thrill of the hunt immensely.

  “I have heard about your past endeavors. They really fascinate me.”

  His adventures thrilled Death. In his mind, he was the only person who could save him. Caspar had to admit he was happy that Death depended on him.

  “God! Wear something, will you?”

  He gazed at Death as he leaned against the table opposite the sofa. He appeared out of nowhere within the blink of an eye. He stood within his wrinkled overcoat, sans his staff.

  “And why should I do that?” “Aren’t you embarrassed?”

  “A person is embarrassed when he cares about other’s opinion. I, on the other, don’t give a damn about it,” Caspar stated.

  Death rolled his eyes. “I forgot how ignorant you are.”

  Caspar narrowed his eyes and pursed his. His nose flared as he said, “What is it, Death? You really aren’t here to tell me how ignorant I am.”

  “A girl will soon come to you, a maiden. She has a case you have to solve. The odd job you were expecting from me is here.”

  “How is it going to affect you?”

  “The soul at stake is a destructive one.”

  “Ah, I see.” He pressed a finger against his lips in thought. “All right. At what time will she arrive?”

  There was an unexpected knock upon the door.

  Caspar’s attention was drawn to the door. “Come in,” he said.

  The door opened. He snuck a glance to the spot Death had been standing in moments ago. No one was there. Death had had simply disappeared.

  Lazarus, his butler, stood before him. He was almost seven feet tall. Because of this, it was difficult for him to enter through most of the doors while standing erect. He would always bend slightly and entered, like he did now.

  Loyal and old, Lazarus loved him as if he were his son. Caspar considered him as a father whose shoulder he could cry on and share his feelings with, which he never intended to show in public. Out of all servants and maids, Lazarus was the only one who was allowed within his study. Though he was not aware of the dirty magic work Caspar used to do under his nose.

  Clasping his hand in front of him, he said, “Master Caspar, someone has come to see you.” It didn’t surprise him that Caspar was wearing nothing. He had seen Socrates naked like this on various occasions.

  “Bring her in,” he instructed.

  “Would you mind if I say you should wear something, sir?”

  “I do mind.”

  “It’s a girl. She would feel awkward.”

  “I see.” Caspar nodded. “Do one thing, then, Lazarus. Warn her about this.” Lazarus didn’t argue. He closed the door behind like the humble butler he was.

  Caspar waited for his guest to arrive, uncaring of his nakedness. The door opened again and a nervous girl of sixteen stood before him. She wore a school uniform and a small pendant was wrapped around her neck, glistening as it lay upon her chest. She tugged her bag across her shoulder and sifted her fingers through her brown hair. She saw him in a way she had never imagined an investigator to be.

  “Oh, God!” she shrieked. “Um . . .”

  “I assume you weren’t warned by my butler on the way here? No matter.” “Um . . .” She swallowed nervously, looking sideways. Small spots color

  spread across her cheeks.

  “So...tell me about your case.”

  She found it difficult to do because of his state of undress. Looking elsewhere, she began, “I have heard you have indulged in sorcery which has granted you the knowledge and power of beings unknown to all, save a few. I am here to talk about one of those entities.”

  “Oh, please, cut to the chase. You are a witch. I noticed that when you came inside. The topaz pendant you wear has a powerful aura around it. Only witches who are afraid of getting hurt wear topaz around their necks so they cannot be trapped or broken down and, in general, cannot be hurt.” He paused, savoring the moment. “So, to bring things to the conclusion, you are here because your life is in danger, from someone or something.”

  Her face paled and her lips thinned to a tight line. She intertwined her fingers together and nodded meekly. “You have guessed things correctly.”

  He clapped his hands with delight. “I love being right!”

  “But the second part is wrong. My life is not in danger, but some humans are.” “Ah, this is a new turn of events.” An arrogant smile swept across his face.

  “Proceed.”

  “I was from a family of magic. I had enrolled in a coven, to practice and master the means of witchcraft. It went well, initially. The other witches, my colleagues, they were very sweet, harmless. Until a person, a client, came to our coven seeking help. He said he wanted to bring back Spring Heeled Jack through the means of the occult. Our coven was in need of money he promised to give us, at the time. We agreed. Spring Heeled Jack was raised and bound yesterday. We gave him to the man who then gave us the money,” she said, clearly embarrassed.

  “What led you here if everything went well?”

  “Do you have the newspaper?” she asked. “It says a boy named Aaron has been clawed to death.” Her lips quivered as a profound tension overcame her. The pain was intense. “Something was wrong. I know it. That man wasn’t some help seeker. He was much more than that. I don’t want more killings!”

  She broke down, tears streaming down her ruddy cheeks. “I don’t. That’s why I want you to stop my coven. They have the source pertaining to Spring Heeled Jack. If you destroy the source, Spring Heeled Jack will also be destroyed and the deaths will stop.”

  “I didn’t catch your name,” Caspar said abruptly. “Fran.”

  “Fran...It is weird that you, being a witch, are betraying your own coven.”

  “I don’t care if I am betraying my coven. I just don’t want any more killings.” Caspar regarded her through veiled eyes. “All right, Fran,” he conceded.

  “Meet me tonight, at this very place. If you really want to stop them, you have to come with me. But for now, ciao,”

  Weakly and without looking at him, she nodded. She left the room, but then came back in once more. This time, she gazed straight into Caspar’s sharp, bronze eyes, which were as smooth as a pair of polished stones.

  “Thank you, Mr. Socrates,” she said.

  Caspar remained quiet. Fran left without another word.

  Th

  en They Were Three

  “Clothes! Clothes! Clothes!”

  Caspar pounded the wardrobe and scattered every coat and every shirt he owned. He was trying to find something suitable to wear. His eyes fell upon an item tucked into the corner.

  The purple shirt!

  He tugged it free and tugged it on, slipping the buttons into place. He then found a pair of denim pants.

  “Fascinating,” he murmured.

  He had no idea he’d had a pair hidden within his wardrobe. He put them on. He next looked through his selection of coats for something suitable to wear.

  Coat. Frock coat. Swaddle coat. Tail-coat. Waist-coat. None of them suited

  him.

  Within the entire mess, he found a trench coat – woolen, stitched, and fitted. It was simple and clean with neither dust, nor fibers sticking to it. He slid his arms into its sleeves, pleased with his finding.

  Excellent, he thought. It was perfect for him. He found a pair of stained boots to complete the ensemble and was soon ready.

  He reached for the satchel sitting upon the study table. As he moved, he caught sight of something lustrous on the edge of his periphery. He turned and found a long cane
. The handle was made in the shape of an S, which probably signified Socrates. He walked up to it and held it tightly between his hands. It was made of a gilded metal around its corners with a golden knob on top of it. A small card lay across the handle. He picked it up and began reading.

  Dear Caspar Socrates,

  This is a gift from me. I got it made in Assyria. It will help you when you’re in need. And no, I didn’t order it from Amazon or anywhere else.

  From,

  Loving Death ;)

  Caspar clutched the card. He smiled.

  ***

  “This is our base,” Fran whispered.

  The house was located close to a forest and was covered with twigs and thick wines. Large umbrella-shaped canopies overshadowed the moonlight. The hazy skies thundered above, giving an aura of mystery to its surroundings. A pungent, rotten smell of brimstone was carried along in the air and nauseated Caspar and Fran. Cawing ravens fluttered across the landscape, landing on the small twines, every now and then.

  The leaves rustled around them. It was difficult for Caspar to see the house. He could only see that it was bricked and broken with plaster peeling in a couple spots. Smoke puffed abruptly from the chimney.

  “The smoke is the amalgam of hexes and charms boiled in a cauldron.” “You are right,” she murmured with pure surprise. “How did you find out?”

  He grinned. “People tend to forget what they’ve previously have learnt. I, on the other hand, never do.”

  “So, you must know one thing. There are two golems guarding the entrance. Infiltrating via the front door is a stupidity. You have to come from the back. I’ll go inside and try to deactivate the spells near the back door.”