“Oh…sure. Would you care to dance?” I shot a glance about the room, and as if reading my thoughts, a bright, complex swell of chamber music appeared out of nowhere and filled the hall.
I held Clarice’s slightly cool body in my arms and we danced a dance that I’d never thought myself capable of. It was without name, but if I had to place it, I would have likened it somewhat to a combination of ballroom waltz and the tango.
And we danced for what seemed like hours. Only the music filled my head while I watched the woman whose features seemed to keep changing sway with my own body. I’m unsure about what precisely happened after we began dancing. All I remember is that she was there with me, moving in the moment. My blue eyes met her coarse grey. Whispering silver-blonde hair trailed loosely behind us in our movements. At that moment, I was no longer frightened and confused, but actually carefree for the first time in as long as I could recall. I was enjoying myself, and now I was sure that all the eyes in the rest of the room were surely on us.
The melodic notes must have ended at some point, but when or where I did not care to take notice. I was enveloped in the pure enjoyment of the moment. Things had begun to softly darken around the edges, as though the lights were being flicked off individually. The last sight I can recall is the way that Clarice’s outline seemed to generate its own pulsing luminescence. And then the darkness overcame me, and I must have lost consciousness for the second time.
When I came to, I was looking into the face of my employer, though it was in a much friendlier state than I had expected.
“Mister Tillsbury! I’m sorry, sir. I think I must have inhaled some gases last night when I was fumigating.”
“Nonsense, young man. You know better than that, surely. After all, you were present for the party, were you not?” He was smiling broadly, leaning over me so that his long overcoat touched the floor. “I mean, here you are, lying smack in the middle of the grand ballroom.”
“The party?” At once my thoughts shifted to the gathering of wayward spirits and I smiled at the thought of the everlasting dance. I could see the faces of all the happy attendees, each in the dress of some time period long past.
“Indeed you were. For I can see it all over your face. I’m hoping that we’ll be able to keep the details of this business to ourselves. After all, was what you witnessed not incredible?”
“You knew? But, wait. What about the rats? Why did you have me—
“Formalities, my boy. I am fully aware that the rotten-hearted tenants next door would like nothing better than to see me leave, but, as you can see, there is nothing remotely dangerous happening here during the nighttime hours. Perhaps a bit of noise, but what is that in comparison to the happiness of those wandering souls? They do so enjoy it. And more so, for yourself, the important thing is that you will be fully compensated for what was surely the easiest night’s work of your life. I trust that you are for the better or worse, relatively unharmed?”
“Well, yes. But if you knew about the… err, them, why didn’t you just tell me to begin with?”
He gave a sharp laugh and smiled at me. “If I had, would you ever have believed it?”
“What about your teacups? They were smashing more than a few of your showcase pieces. Do you not care?”
He tossed his head back and laughed. “Mr. Rush, do you honestly believe I give a damn about that bargain-basement drink ware? Goodness, no. What I’m concerned about is the well-being of someone I lost long ago, and would go to any lengths to give her an opportunity to enjoy the afterlife as she only briefly did while living. Her and many others like her.”
I shrugged, climbed to my feet, and accepted my money willingly enough. While no longer entirely uncomfortable with the peculiar situation, I was more than ready to be on my way.
On the way out of the entrance hall, I stopped to examine the photograph I’d seen on the way in. The one of the sad young woman, captured in still life. The one of my ethereal dance partner. While I had not before, now I examined the golden placard affixed to the frame. It read:
Clarice Milton Tillsbury
In Our Hearts, Forever Young
But as I looked away from the tag and closer at the photo I noticed something delightfully peculiar. Clarice was no longer frowning.
Denatured
January 31, 1910
My darling Ana,
I find myself chasing spirits, once again (And not just those of an alcoholic nature).
I am writing to you now from the solitude of my room here in the heart of Leetsdale Manor. It is a welcome change to finally have some stillness and peace after such a dreadful train journey. Like the rest of the home, the room is well-furnished, but simple, and quite cold. In a mansion this size, heat holds poorly, even while I have my own private fireplace.
It is nowhere near as frigid as Chicago, but winter is still quite fierce here in Colorado Springs. My train was delayed twice by blinding snow, but we arrived whole nonetheless. The mountains are beautiful. I can see their splendid snow-capped peaks from my window and I have resolved to bring you back to this state as soon as is financially possible. With luck, that should be very soon.
I know we’ve been over this, but once this case has been solved, I truly believe that referral from such a respected and wealthy businessman as Mr. Leetsdale will render my services in high demand, and not only regionally. Just think of the doors this will open for us!
During the locomotive ride, I found your note in my coat pocket. And I feel I must apologize. I understand your frustration with my rapid departure. And even though you barely voiced it, I am aware of your underlying anxiety at the slow start my investigative business has taken. But just know that I am incredibly thankful to have your unwavering belief and support. It is for this reason that I have decided to confer with you for the entire duration of this case and share my thoughts and findings so that you can see the mundane, tedious nature of my work. Yes, I joke, but am truly eager to make you part of this investigation, despite the relatively unprofessional nature of doing so. The thought of questioning your confidentiality, however, never once crossed my mind.
Which brings us to the task at hand…
All I know at present is what the bitter-faced old manservant shared with me on our ride from the train station. Richard Vassar is his name. The portly man has been the Leetsdale family butler for over three decades, and was the one who initially contacted me about the recent disturbances here at the mansion.
“You’re lucky the roads are still passable,” Vassar said. He never took his eyes off the snowy dirt path, which I appreciated. I nearly lost my hat as the wheels of the small roadster shifted over the rocky terrain. He remained nonplussed, his face as starched and unwavering as his formal suit. Outside, evergreens laden with heavy snowdrift tried vainly to lift their branches.
“Mr. Leetsdale has paid a good sum of money to bring you all the way here from Chicago,” he continued. “And while I have personally corresponded with a number of your past clients, I wish to ask you once again about your assurance of professionalism.”
I steadied myself with a hand on the dashboard. “I assure you I am not a fraud, Mr. Vassar.”
He looked at me sidelong. “You came highly recommended.”
I did not know how many of my previous clients the man had spoken to, but as there were only three of them in grand total, I did not blame his suspicion.
“Please, Mr. Vassar. Can you tell me a little bit more about the occurrences at Leetsdale Manor? I’m afraid your initial letter was quite vague.” I fumbled to keep hold of my bag. We bounced so hard I thought for certain we’d lose a wheel, but the automobile trekked steadily onward uphill.
“I don’t know that it’s rightly my place, sir.” His voice was harried and distant, and his eyes shot to me with a look I could only discern as contempt.
“If you would, please. Anything will help my investigation.”
Vassar considered it for a moment before speaking. “Mr. Leetsdal
e has taken ill recently.”
I rubbed thoughtlessly at my chin stubble and frowned. “Does it have something to do with the haunting?”
That last word drew a wince from the manservant. “I believe, sir, that he thinks it a possibility.”
“Do explain,” I said.
Vassar let his piercing blue eyes truly meet mine for the first time. “Are you familiar with the business that made Mr. Leetsdale’s father his fortune?”
Indeed I was. Leetsdale Ironworks had seen half a decade of profit from government contracts during the final years of the nineteenth century, when its sturdy, but short-lived rifle replaced the famous Springfield guns used in the Spanish-American and Indian Wars. In the end, poor field functionality closed their doors. The elder Leetsdale refused to swallow his pride, opting instead for a .45 caliber bullet from one of his own weapons. His son inherited the small fortune of blood money.
“Arms manufacturing is dirty business,” I said. “What does it have to do with Mr. Leetsdale’s health?”
“The important question is what Mr. Leetsdale believes the family business has to do with his haunting.” Vassar turned his eyes back to the road and said no more. He was just in time to guide us through the gates and into the circular drive at the foot of the immense, whitewashed, three story, Victorian structure.
Does Mr. Leetsdale believe he is being tormented by the spirit of his father? Or perhaps even by the souls of those men who were taken from the Earth by his family’s weapons? And what is the nature of these disturbances of which the hired help seem thus far unwilling to share?
I won’t know more, my dear Ana, until I’ve had a chance to speak with the man of the estate himself, and also with the staff. But, for the moment, my mind is weary from travel. The time here is five in the evening. An hour on the bed will do me good. You know how I do so love my naps.
8:15 p.m.
I was roused from sleep just after six for dinner in the grand hall. It is a room not unlike the rest in its sparse splendor, with pale plaster walls and dark wood trim finishes. Dinner, an overcooked plate of steak and vegetables, was palatable. The scotch whiskey, on the other hand, was heaven sent.
Mr. Leetsdale limped into the dining hall just moments before our plates were served. He hawked and coughed phlegm into his handkerchief before introducing himself with a weak handshake.
“So glad you could make it, Mr. Eyers,” said Mr. Leetsdale. The gray-bearded man looked like a well-dressed scarecrow, and walked with an unsteady gait that spoke greatly to the effects of some debilitating disease. He sat himself across from me at the far end of the immense cherry table with an exasperated huff.
“Good to meet you, sir,” I said. “This house is an absolute treasure.”
He gave a short laugh, which lapsed into a hack, and nodded. “Thank you. I’m glad you think so. But, as of late, I’m afraid it’s become somewhat less of an attractive place to while away the time.”
“I assume you’re talking about the situation for which I was summoned?”
“You assume correctly,” said Leetsdale.
“If you please, sir, I wasn’t able to get much information out of Mr. Vassar earlier, and I’d like to get started with my investigation as promptly as possible. I must say, never before have I begun a case with so little advance knowledge.”
He waved a bony hand, as if to bat my thought from the air. “Yes, of course. Straight to business. I was young once, too, Mr. Eyers. If I may offer the smallest bit of advice: take the time to savor life’s simplicities. Let us enjoy our meal first, should we?”
We ate dinner in silence, though Mr. Leetsdale did little more than poke noncommittally at his sirloin steak. Only when the plates were cleared and the whiskey brought forth, did he again broach the subject.
“I am a scientist by nature, Mr. Eyers,” said Leetsdale. “Never once did I believe in the existence of spirits or ghouls. I prided myself on it. That sort of nonsense is for the uneducated and the weak of mind.”
“But, now you are unsure?”
“There are demons,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Whom refuse to leave an old man to his simple work. Look at me, Mr. Eyers. My father made an ample sum of money in weapons manufacturing. I myself have never touched the stock or steel of a rifle, and yet my hands are filthy with death. Just by my very existence.”
So, my premonition had been correct. “Do you believe it is the spirits of those gunned down by your family’s legacy that are haunting you?”
Mr. Leetsdale bit at his lip and lowered his eyes. His silence was loaded with shame. He struggled to admit it was so.
“Say no more,” I said. “Confidentiality is guaranteed. Now, if I am to continue, I would like to know everything you can tell me about what precisely you and your staff have witnessed as of late.” I pulled my notebook and pencil out of my pocket.
He nodded and called for one of the maids from the kitchen. Her name was Lillian, and I’m fairly certain she was drunk. The squat woman brought out more whisky.
“Leave the bottle, please. Thank you, my peach.”
Lillian offered an obediently phony smile, tottered just a bit, and disappeared again into the kitchen.
“I must apologize for my staff. A few of them have…taken leave recently, in light of our situation. And I am afraid that has left us a bit short-handed.” Mr. Leetsdale’s eyes were watery and red.
“The disturbances began about two months ago.” He cleared his throat. “At first, we thought nothing of the occasional missing objects and minor property damage.”
“Damage?”
“Shattered pots and vases. Small occurrences, like that, went on for a few weeks. And then, things began to progress rather quickly. My laboratory was nearly destroyed. And, at first, we suspected looters. But, not a thing was taken from anywhere in the home.”
“Vandals?”
“That was what I told myself.” He sipped at his neat glass of expensive scotch. “A month passed. And one morning two of my prized hounds were discovered missing. Some of the staff looked for hours, to no avail.” He winced and took the glass to his lips again. “The dogs’ carcasses were found in the surrounding forest by the groundskeeper a few days later.”
“Did you alert the authorities?”
“No.” Leetsdale scratched at his head and looked at me with distaste.
“Please, sir,” I said, “nothing you tell me will be judged on your behalf.”
He took a deep breath. “One of my staff—a maid—swears on her life that she saw the dogs lifted skyward, one at a time, from their holding pen, by an invisible force, which proceeded to carry them into the forest.”
My heart drooped, leaden in my chest, and I looked at him squarely. “I will need to interrogate her.”
Leetsdale snorted. “I dismissed her on the spot for speaking such nonsense. Would you not have done the same?” Here he took another troubled pause. “The rendered canine body parts were found thirty feet in the air, suspended in the aspens. No man could have climbed such flimsy trees and done it. It made no sense. By the gods, I had to have the trees cut to the ground just so I could bury my animals.”
Despite my typical curiosity to things grim and grisly, I felt a chill wave of gooseflesh run over my arms. “And you still suspected vandals?”
“How on earth could vandals have taken my dogs to the treetops?” he said, and slammed his fist on the table. The briefest yelp of pain left his lips, and for a moment I thought I’d angered him to the point of leaving me there at the table, all alone.
“My deepest apologies, sir. Please continue.”
Leetsdale’s red face softened and he dabbed perspiration from his brow, a gesture of intentional civility. “That was when I instructed Vassar to locate a professional investigator, at his suggestion. It was I who suggested someone with a deeper knowledge of the occult than the average detective. Two weeks later, I was convinced that he’d made the right decision to seek you out.”
I leaned f
orward as he tipped back his drink and poured us each another. “I take it that something else…regrettable, happened after that.”
Leetsdale nodded gravely. “My personal chef hung himself in the kitchen.”
I thought quickly of our meal being prepared in the very same room and had to fight back the nausea. “Signs of foul play?”
“Only if you consider the fact that he was found swinging from a beam twelve feet above the ground, and there was nothing in the vicinity from which he could have put himself into the noose, let alone affix it to a rafter post. Not a chair or table anywhere within reach.”
“Who discovered the body?” I asked.
“That is the most disturbing part, Mr. Eyers. You see, Lillian was the one who found him. Only, when she stumbled into the room, he was not yet dead. According to her, he was clawing at the makeshift clothesline noose and reaching for her to help.”
“He didn’t want to die?”
Mr. Leetsdale nodded. “To hear her tell it? No. By the time she attempted to lift his legs and call for help, the life was already strangled from him.”
I pictured the gruesome event and steeled myself. “I will have to see the room, of course.”
“But, of course,” Mr. Leetsdale said. He broke into a fit of coughing. “But, I believe it should wait until morning. My staff is all preparing for bed, and you will surely think better after a night’s rest. Please, help yourself to another glass.”
The man got to his feet, but had to steady himself on my chair when he passed. He flailed out and, in doing so, one of the poor soul’s fingernails scratched my neck.
“Terribly sorry, Mr. Eyers. Terribly sorry.” His voice wilted with shame, and I myself felt actually felt guilty possessing my health and vitality in the man’s presence. He called out for assistance to bed and broke into another bout of wheezing.
I finished another two glasses by myself in that deserted dining hall before calling it a night. As it is now past nine, the great house is still and silent, save for a few errant scuttlings of whatever rodents have made roost in the walls.
Chasing the Sandman Page 24