Shadows in the Mist: A Paranormal Anthology

by Kristine Cayne

  He’d changed clothes and was wearing an Irish cable knit sweater and blue jeans. His stride was long and graceful, and even as the snowfall swirled around him, he seemed to glide through it effortlessly. I’d’ve been slipping and jerking and fallen on my ass three times already, but Dr. Mercilus moved as through a dream. As he drew nearer, my mother seemed to snap into some kind of awareness.

  “Woof!” she barked, making me jump. “Woof, woof, woof!”

  “Mom?” I reached over and touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  She glowered at me. “I may be old, Lady,” she snapped, “but I’m not blind! Man. Hunk. Of. Man. Bow-wow and wow and wow! How old am I?”

  “Um… I…” Taken off guard, I paused before answering.

  I was sort of used to these abrupt shifts in my mother’s conversations. Yet, since I hadn’t a clue why her brain juked from one thought to a totally unrelated topic, I would probably never get used to it.

  Once more, my heart tightened.

  I wanted my mom back. My real mom. The smart, feisty, independent woman who’d been nurturing friend and stubborn adversary, stalwart champion and harsh critic, protector, teacher, parent… but now, child. The woman who remembered me, loved me. I missed that. I missed her.

  Until I had children of my own, the abiding love a mother feels for her child was unknown to me. I’d had no idea how much my mother loved me until I held my own babies in my arms. And I had no idea how much I loved my mother until I lost her.

  “You’re fifty-nine, Mom.”

  She smiled her old smile, and for a moment, one brief moment, she was there.

  “That being the case,” she said, “I’d have to say if I were twenty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money, Lady!” Then she winked, and her eyes sparkled happily. Hope began blossoming in my chest until, just like that, her smile faded, her eyes grew dull once more as she resumed staring without purpose through her window.

  “No run for my money, Mom,” I said softly. “Dr. Mercilus is my… I’m just his… “

  Hell, I was defending myself against a charge that was too ludicrous to consider, with a woman whose sense of reason no longer existed.

  “He’s my New Boss, Mom. Not my New Man.”

  When Mercilus reached the SUV, I rolled my window down enough to talk but not so far as to let in a lot of snow.

  He bent toward my open window. “Need any help?” Before I could answer, he gestured past me to the folded up wheelchair. “If you’ll pop the back, I’ll get that out for you.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  I followed behind as he pushed my mom in her wheelchair up the icy pathway toward the mansion.

  Not my New Man. Pity, that.

  I sure could use one right about now.

  An hour later, I was ensconced in my room and my mother next door in hers. The rooms were spacious and beautifully appointed, and visually appealing with cherry furnishings and rose-and-mint floral wallpaper. We shared a spacious bathroom, which also served as a pathway between our two rooms, making it convenient for me to check on her during the night without my having to venture into the exterior hallway in my jammies.

  The drive to the estate had tired Mom, so she was napping. A good thing since it would give me some time to unpack the boxes Igor and Wolf had delivered. But before I even opened the first box, I heard a soft knock on my door.

  I opened it to a pretty young woman in a blue cotton dress and white apron. Her short, fire red hair exploded from her head like living flames.

  “Hello, Missus,” she said. “I’m Lucy.” She grinned, revealing an unexpected absence of her two front teeth. The empty space served to make her canines appear disturbingly pointy, like a Disney wolf princess after a particularly violent game of rugby.

  “Hi.” I tried not to stare, but it was a challenge. “Lucy, did you say?”

  She nodded.

  “What can I do for you, Lucy?”

  “It’s what I can do fer you, Missus.” Her golden-brown eyes sparkled with cheer. “Dr. Mercilus asked me to send you to the study right quick like. I’m to stay here and keep an eye on yer mum fer ya. Okay?”

  “He wants to see me now?” As I stepped back and opened the door wider to allow Lucy entrance, I laughed at my own silliness and shook my head. “Of course he wants to see me now. I need to get started.”

  Closing the door behind Lucy, I said, “My mother is sleeping. Her name’s Jeanne. Jeanne Wilder. When you talk to her call her Jeanne or Mrs. Wilder. She usually responds to her name.”

  Lucy smiled. “Jeanne. Wilder. Got it.”

  “She shouldn’t wake for a while, but if she does, will you please call for me? She’ll feel disoriented in an unfamiliar place with new people. She might get frightened.” I looked into Lucy’s eyes. “Do you have any experience with Alzheimer’s patients?”

  The young maid gave me her semi-toothless grin once more. “No. But you can count on me, Missus. I’ll take real good care of her.”

  I felt a little nervous leaving my mom with someone I didn’t know, especially someone with very pointy teeth. But this was the bargain I had made, and now I had to trust that things would be all right.

  Lucy clasped her hands in front of her waist. “You can use t’elevator at the end of t’hall, like as you come up in, but it’s quicker if you take the stairs at t’other end. Leads right down to the first floor and the study is just there, second door on t’left.”

  I quickly checked my reflection in the dressing table mirror, patted my hair into place, and pinched my cheeks.

  Let me just say right now that I’m not bad looking. I mean, when I squint at myself in the bathroom mirror in the early morning, I don’t cringe. Most days, anyway.

  I’m of medium height, have shoulder length blond hair, and expressive hazel eyes. I’ve been told such, anyway, usually by men in bars who have an agenda apart from mere social intercourse. Eh-hem. I have to say that when I get buzzed enough, even I admit my eyes are pretty damned expressive.

  But I digress. It’s because of nerves, I’m sure. I’m unsettled on too many levels to name. All the loose ends in my life are twisting around inside my head, tightening around each other, confusing me, exhausting me, worrying me.

  But I was here now, in this new place, new life, new expectations, and I was at my new employer’s disposal. I’d been promised this was simply a job and not the first step across the threshold to the Dark Side of everlasting blood lust, so I had no choice but to trust my mom to Lucy’s care and head for the study to see what Dr. Mercilus needed me to do.

  Oh.

  Oh, well okay then.

  Chapter 7

  5:45 P.M.

  I knocked on the second door on the left and it immediately opened. But instead of Dr. Mercilus’ gorgeous face, I was met by a very short, very round, gray-haired woman wearing a pink floral apron, sensible shoes, and a scowl.

  “Hi,” I said, offering a cordial smile. “I’m Stephanie Gabriel. Lucy said that Dr. Mercilus—”

  “You’re a troll!” She thrust a pudgy little hand at me. As with just about everyone else I’d met in the house, she had a heavy accent. Hers seemed to be Scandanavian… ish.

  Unsure I’d heard her words correctly, I shook her hand, which turned out to be damp and a little sticky, and said, “I didn’t quite get that. Did you say I’m a… troll?”

  “Nej! She’s my sister! I’m a goon!”

  “Oh? You’re a goon?” I blinked, hoping it would help clear up my sudden-onset hearing disorder. “But I thought you said you’re a troll.”

  “Ja!”

  “I… I… you… I… Uh. Okay. Is your sister a troll or a goon?”

  “She was troll like me, ‘til she married dat goon!”

  “Okay. Your sister’s a goon.”

  “Ja! I’m a goon!”

  “But I thought you said you’re a troll.”

  “Ja!” she shouted. “You’re a troll!”

  Apparently, what we had here was
failure to communicate, so I decided to cut to the chase. “Dr. Mercilus asked me to meet him in the study. Is he—”

  “Nej!”

  My ears rang. My brain hurt. I wanted to weep in frustration. I glanced around, desperate to locate an interpreter. Just where was Dr. Mercilus? Perhaps this was some kind of welcoming prank and any minute, Mercilus would jump out from behind the door and he and this cook person would regale me with laughter.

  Or perhaps this was a test to measure how well I could cope with an alien life form.

  “Well,” I said finally. “In any case, I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Not really.

  The Scandanihoovian woman-cum-cook-cum-troll-cum-goon opened the door to allow me inside the study. Like an angry drill sergeant, she pointed straight-armed at one of several chairs by the fireplace. “Sit!” she ordered. “Wait here! The doctor was called to der phone! He to be with you directly!” With a sharp nod apparently intended to indicate her departure, she stormed out of the study, slamming the door behind her.

  By comparison, the silence she left in her wake was deafening.

  As directed, I sat and waited for my employer to make his appearance. Hopefully, it would be sooner rather than later. I wanted to get back up to my room and make sure Mom was okay.

  I’m a troll. You’re a troll. I’m a goon. You’re a troll. I’m a troll and you’re a troll and I’m a goon and you’re a—

  Oh! I sat straight up. That’s it! Names. Those were names. Ura Troll was the cook and Ima Goon was her sister.

  Sisters.

  Very, very weird sisters.

  Okay, mystery solved. I relaxed back into the deep cushions of the chair and let my gaze wander.

  The study was enormous, classically appointed in mahogany paneling and gilt-framed oil paintings. Two walls were lined floor-to-ceiling, with shelves containing thousands of leather-bound volumes. Additional bookcases filled the middle of the room creating alcoves and aisles, much like a library. Five multi-paned windows along the south wall would beautifully illuminate the room during the day, but with the night and the storm, they appeared more like shiny black etchings, each one uniquely designed by frost and wind and wandering snowflakes.

  Brass and leaded glass lamps cast the room in muted light, adding to the coziness, while several brocade-covered wingchairs stood gathered in a semi-circle in front of the blazing fire.

  What a room. I loved it.

  I settled down into my chair—the one closest to the fire —wondering how long I would have to wait for my new employer to arrive. For a moment, I thought to seek out La Troll, but then remembered Wolf’s warning not to wander through the house. I had no idea what the layout of the place was, but given its size, I would surely get myself lost. So I’d try and relax and wait for—

  What was that?

  I sat forward and turned toward the bookcases. A noise. A sort of groan? Holding my breath, I waited, listened, but all was silent—except for the sound of my heart slamming against my eardrums. The fire popped, and I jumped. A log fell into the ashes creating a hissing sound, like the warning of a startled snake.

  So, had I heard a noise? I wasn’t sure I had now, but, no, well, yes, I really had heard something. It hadn’t been my imagination. Maybe a book fell over on a shelf.

  I rose slowly from my chair. “Hello?” Silence. “Is someone there?” Nothing.

  Shit. I was going to have to go look. See for myself whether it was just a fallen book or some kind of brain fart and I hadn’t really heard anything at all.

  Slow-w-w-ly I turned…

  Step by step…

  Inch by inch…

  …I moved toward where I thought the sound had come from. Peeking around the last bookcase, I squeaked, “Hello? Is anybody—Oh! Oh my god!”

  I didn’t scream. I don’t have a pretty scream. Mine’s more like a raspy choke. Not musical in the least, or high and girly. More like a quarterback calling an audible before the ball’s snapped.

  I shut my mouth and stepped cautiously toward the man who lay sprawled between two bookcases. His face was turned away so I couldn’t see him clearly. I did see the blood, though. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but it covered half his face—the half that had obviously taken quite a blow.

  Was it Dr. Mercilus? Was he dead? Had that Troll person killed him and left me behind to take the blame?

  Kneeling, I was able to see him better. It was not my employer, but a young man I’d never seen before. I checked for a pulse in all the places you see them check on TV, but no matter how long I held my shaking fingers to his wrist or neck, I could not find a heartbeat.

  He was dead.

  He was warm, so he couldn’t have been dead for long. Was that noise I’d heard his last gasp before dying? If I’d found him even minutes earlier, might I have saved his life?

  My head felt light, as if all my brains had taken wing and fluttered away leaving me with an empty skull. My muscles deserted me, too, and my butt plopped down on the floor next to the dead man. I rested my back against the bookcase for fear I’d faint and keel over.

  Dead Guy was young, maybe early twenties. Good looking, a male model type, and except for the dent in the side of his head and the blood on the carpet, he might just as well have been sleeping.

  “Stephanie?”

  I just about jumped out of my skin, jerking my attention to the end of the row where Dr. Mercilus stood glaring at me.

  When had he come into the study?

  Had he been here all along?

  Had he killed this man while I’d waited in front of the fire?

  Dr. Mercilus’ expression was unreadable as he stepped forward, taking my arm and helping me to my feet. I was in shock, or I probably wouldn’t have let him anywhere near me, but his touch was gentle, his hand strong. Standing so near him, I could feel the heat from his body and wanted to curl into it for shelter and reassurance.

  But he could be a murderer. If so, would he kill me now?

  I started to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip on my arm. He didn’t hurt me, but it was clear he was not going to let me go.

  “Are you okay, Stephanie?” Dr. Mercilus’ blue eyes narrowed as he studied me, surely looking for signs of impending hysteria.

  Not only am I not a screamer, I’m not given to hysterics, either, so I slowly nodded, assuring him without words that I was all right. But to be fair, I’d never before discovered the body of a murder victim, so when I did try to speak, my throat was so dry, all I could get out was a high-pitched, “He-he-he-he-he…” I sounded like a hyena on helium. Swallowing, I tried again and managed to choke, “He’s dead.”

  Thank you, Captain Obvious.

  Releasing my arm, Mercilus knelt and put his fingers to the guy’s neck. His jaw clenched, he bit out, “Dammit.”

  “Who… who… who… “

  Thank you, Woodsy Owl.

  Mercilus rose and turned to face me. “His name’s Percy Usher. He’s an actor. I’m sorry you had to be the one to find him, Stephanie.” His brows lowered. “This must be quite a shock. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  It was then I noticed something was not quite right about the doctor’s sweater. At first, I thought the bulky knit might have picked up a bit of lint, but on closer scrutiny, I could see it wasn’t lint at all. The specks were red. Without thinking, I raised my hand, touched one of them. It smeared. Holding my hand in front of my face, I studied it, unwilling to accept what it was.

  Blood. A small spray of blood had splattered on Mercilus’ shoulder. Fresh blood. I lowered my hand and took a step back, away from my employer.

  His eyes focused on my finger. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet mine.

  “Dr. Merculus?”

  He said nothing.

  “You have blood on your sweater.”

  He remained silent, just staring at my hand.

  I swallowed. On a tiny breath, I squeaked, “Did you kill Percy Usher?”

  Still, he said nothing.


  Uh-oh, I’m in trouble now.

  Chapter 8

  6:15 P.M.

  I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Mercilus was bigger than I, faster, stronger. If I’d spotted him at a party or something, all those attributes would make him really hot, but as things were, he was a Vampire with spots of blood on his sweater and a dead man sprawled on the floor of his study.

  “Stephanie?”

  I took another step away from the doctor, but had to stop when my behind met the bookshelf behind me.

  “Stephanie,” he repeated. “Look at me.”

  I raised my gaze, met his, felt my cheeks heat. If I were quick, I could make a run for the door, flinging books at him as I went. Probably wouldn’t even slow him down.

  Now, if I had written this little scenario in one of my books, my readers would know that Dr. Mercilus was not a killer, because he was the hero and I was the heroine, and we were meant to fall in love and live HEA. The murderer would most likely be some superfluous character like Igor or Wolf, and the presence of those spots of blood on my hero’s sweater had a logical explanation having nothing to do with murder most foul.

  “I didn’t do this, Stephanie,” my erstwhile hero said. “But I’ll need your help to find out who did.”

  My help? “My help?” With slow deliberation, I slid my right hand behind my butt and grabbed the biggest volume my fingers touched. If Mercilus made a move toward me, I would at least have a fighting chance by slamming his face with a weighty tome, hopefully stunning him long enough to escape.

  He tilted his head slightly. “It won’t work, Stephanie.”

  I swallowed, tightened my grip on the book. “What won’t work, Doctor?”

  “Please call me John.”

  “What won’t work, John?”

  “Hitting me with that book you’ve got hold of. Even if you managed to get it off the shelf without dropping it, I’m pretty quick and—”

  Yanking the book, I swung my arm free, smacking the volume into John’s… shoulder. Thwaak! It was like hitting a concrete wall with a sponge.