The Path That Eli Wellingsworth Took
To this very day I remember with acute pronouncement the course of processes that led me to confront the horrors perpetrated by the hand of my uncle Bernard. The marching on of time has seen no alleviation in this regard, as every inlet and dimly lit corner can be accessed with unending profundity. Like all decent and reputable men, I would like to be seen as a man of inherent justice, and that if I behold a wrong or see some misplaced deed or evil, I will redress it. This is what first led me back to my place of birth in Manchester, England, to take control of the estate of my deceased and demented uncle, and to get a first hand account of the activities of a man who had so strayed from the straight and narrow as to call forth a kind of madness upon the very watcher. I was--too--intensely committed to reestablishing the dull luminous that now accompanied those individuals who inherited the name and called themselves Wellingsworths.
What I ascertained though, and what transpired during my journey was nothing short of a collection of fantastical absurdities. My uncle Bernard yet walked the earth in the pretense of one Alexi Shostakovich, the caretaker of the manor. I knew not how he was able to so massively deceive law enforcement, medical examiners, victim's families, or the entire surrounding community, but by some foul craft he effectuated this insidious task. Let it not be assumed, however, that I was the lone human being who had seen and beheld those things that were walking abominations. There were three young gentlemen whom I employed to help me to refurbish the manor. We absconded the place with our lives intact, but with our sanity very much in question. I shuttled the young men to their homes, and implored them to never again revisit my uncle Bernard's dwelling place. They agreed in earnest, and I assume had exceptional trouble repositioning themselves to some semblance of normalcy.
For my own part, my pursuance and interests now laid with informing the authorities that my uncle Bernard still lived. I first made trekking to the realtor that was in charge of the property and asked for an audience with the chief of operations. I stated that what I had to tell him was forthrightly related to the former proprietor Bernard Wellingsworth. He obliged to hear me out on account of having worked under Bernard and being familiar with his case study. I expressed to him in no uncertain terms a summary of the whole of what I had experienced, and at the very end told him that Bernard Wellingsworth lived on in the guise of Alexi Shostakovich, the very man who worked under him. I had maintained his interest all the way up and unto that revelation. He seemed a bit agitated. He shuffled this way and that in his seat and gave me the following reply:
"I don't know why, Mr. Wellingsworth, sir, you feel the need to rummage through this city's somber history by making up such drivel. When I first met you, you seemed an intelligent and upstanding gentlemen. I would never come to think or imagine that you would lessen yourself with a jest such as this. Bernard Wellingsworth is dead. The authorities shot him in cold blood. His body is buried. That is fact. Please don't go around telling tales such as this in the name of a good joke, it's all in very bad taste."
I would verbally wrestle with him for only a short progression of time, time that would all prove ineffectual and of little avail. My next order of business then would be to get in contact with local law enforcement. I cannot convey into words the indefatigableness with which I partook in trying to convince the authorities of who Alexi really was, but those efforts fomented nothing more than laughter and outright mockery. I would visit several other stations scattered about the relative vicinity of the area all in a span of five days, but was met with similar reprisals. Neither of the local departments were disposed at my suggestion to at the least keep tabs on Alexi, and most doubted whether I was truly of Wellingsworth ancestry. It dawned on me at some point that the young men could serve as supporting witnesses to the incidents but I later forsook it on the fundament that I didn't want to get them any further embroiled then they were, and neither did I want to put their lives in any imperilement.
I could understand how and why these men sensed my statements and deportment not to be genuine. I'm reminded that even to the very end I held constricted to my convictions and scepticisims as it relates to all things considered supernatural. I imagine the notion that my uncle Bernard had not died that night long ago was one of ludicrous folly, an idea not to be conceived in even the boundless realms of a thousand and one dreamers fancies. Almost two weeks had passed since events in my uncle Bernard's manor, and as it stood, I could marshall no one in authority to my crusade. In interminable reluctance and defeat, I resigned to pack up my things and head back to my home in New York and return to my practise, and try to live to the best of my wherewithal as if nothing had ever happened.
The flight back home was wholly uneventful and I had only my thoughts to supply me with any company. I arrived in New York on a Friday evening and would resolve to renew my work on that following Monday. I made it to my home in a less than forty five minute drive from the airport. I walked through the halls of the complex, my traveling bags in hand, and drew out my keys to unlock the door. As I was doing this very thing, I heard in no identifying area what could only be described as a confounding display of multidinous whispers and a chilling dread enclosed my spine, such that I fumbled the keys in the lock wherewith I was trying to open. I turned about me and there was no likeness of man or creature in any direction. In the back of my mind I knew what this meant, but it seemed a distant fantasy that something so foreign would find its way here where I lived.
I entered my apartment and closed the door behind me, a collage of questions now vying for control of my thoughts. I began unpacking my things and afterwards settled on watching a bit of television. I flipped through the channels, predominantly with a focus on newsbroadcasts, in an undertaking to familiarize myself with the latest news of the area. Time would edge on, and at some point the television began to flicker in and out. I ensured that the cable line was firmly inserted in the socket, and it was so. I sat back down, reasoning it to pass over soon, when I perceived in one instance what looked to be the imprint of a hand in the television screen. It seemed farcical to me, but it would come back at intervals, as if some thing was attempting to interact with me and come through the television set.
It had now reached around 10:30 and I determined within myself to call it quits for the day. However, despite my longing for sleep, I found myself to be unbelievably restless and agitated, constantly trying to push those things which had occurred from the forefront of my mind, and unable to. When I was finally able to sleep, I experienced a dream unmistakable from any other. The little girl in the bright blue blouse from my uncle Bernard's abode was speaking to me, saying that I could not give up on her and everyone else who was subjugated, and that I must act in their stead. She was enveloped in a dazzling display of white light and I could only behold her splendor whilst speaking not a word.
I awoke startled, not wanting to brave anything of the sort. I had endeavored to do what I could, and all I exeterted proved to be in futility. I arose out of my bed and headed for the shower, the warm water from the nozzle giving me a wealth of relaxation. I felt a good deal at peace then. My thoughts now compacted around what the little girl could possibly have wanted me to do. Indeed, what could a lone psychiatrist do to free her fettered soul? There was no influence that I possessed that could help me thwart the inimitable evil of my deranged uncle in the slightest, not when the whole city of Manchester was encased in his cunning and crafty deception. While I was thinking on these things, I discerned that there was a misshapen and outlined figure standing on the other side of the shower curtain. As soon as I espied this strange occurrence, and before I could properly react in any way, there arose a piercing cry in the room, a blood curdling scream, so loud and netherworldly it was, and as such I let loose one of my own for fear of what lay just beyond that shower curtain. I covered up on the floor of the bathtub as best I could, with my hands as a safeguard for my ears, and my eyes closed, hoping that whatever lay outside would leave me be without having to look upon it with my two eyes. Soon I found that the only cries were coming from inside of the shower and I stood and observed that there no longer was anything present in the room with me.
I would remain in the shower for some time, not able to come to terms with what I had acquainted myself with, and for consternation of whatever else may be lying in wait for me for the remainder of the day. My thoughts and emotions were an assemblage and mishmash of apprehensions, absurdities, and disinclinations. My heart thumped and thudded along the lining of my chest cavity and my breath came in raspy intervals. I stood solitary in that shower like a man who had come face to face with the grimmest of reapers himself, and by divine intervention alone lived on to tell the tale. However long it took, I managed to conquer my unsettled demeanor and there was, to my complete and utter astonishment, no other incidents to speak of during the remnant of daylight, not in the morning, or afternoon, nor the evening. As the day wore on, I was slowly but surely regaining my constitutionality. I felt as if it were possible that these events which had come about were only spill overs of things which took place in the house that Bernard Wellingsworth built, and that there was to be no permanency.
Then night fell. I managed to fall asleep with comparative ease that night, but the dream that I had was one of unabridged lunacy and terror. I dreamt that I was watching a newsprogram and the topic of discussion was one related to my--as it was called--'witch hunt' for my uncle Bernard. Yet the broadcasters themselves were all manner of evil beasts from netherworldly places, having hoofs of ungulated mammals for legs, clothe-less she-goats and billy goats with human aggregates sitting in anchor's chairs and other like abominations to be perceived in the background. And there arose about them an air of wicked laughter at places, a mocking cacophony at my attempts to unravel my uncle's pernicious plans.
"Poor, poor Eli," said one she-goat anchor raspingly, "he's gone and got himself mixed up in things that he doesn't fully comprehend, nor is he now able to remove himself from the inner workings of the order." There was a ring of hoarse laughter from places that one could not fully see, mouths sprang open from the two anchors, haughty and untoward it was. The billygoat spoke.
"If by fate he stumbled upon the fact that his uncle still lived, then by fate he will die from it." More indecent laughter encompassed the newsroom. I--in mounting perplexity--attempted to switch the channel, but all channels broadcast the same disorienting and unnerving images.
Said the raspy-speaking she-goat: "He should be a good little Wellingsworth and take his life. There, there, that's a good little Wellingsworth."
Said the venomous billy goat: "No choices left now, Wellingsworthless. Waiting for the end is all that's left for you."
I lurched forward in my bed, drowning in a pool of my own sweat. Paranoia began to reintroduce itself unto me. When would the evil beasts strike next, and in what form and manner would they take? Is this how I was to live my life for the remainder of my days, in abject fear and terror? Was I, Doctor Eli Wellingsworth, to become as bound mentally as those misfortunate individuals whose minds I'd tried to revive all those numerous years in the psychiatric wards? I felt as one caged, an animal being continuously prodded and primed to the delight of creatures incapable of showing a speck of sympathy or empathy. Was there no way out? Even in this garbled state, I discerned that a kind of madness would eventually overtake me if I were to remain in this position. I could not let this come to fruition. My heart rate eventually began to mollify, and I commenced to reflect a little more intelligibly. These otherworldly creatures, they would not stop oppressing me, not in the slightest. I had been exposed to things which no man should ever have to unmask, and they no doubt now saw me as a sort of threat. To my very limited knowledge, I was the only person who apprehended that my uncle Bernard yet walked the earth. And so thus it was at that moment in time that I descried that my salvation lied not in a cowardly retreat, but in bold and steadfast confrontation. Whatever my uncle was planning, whatever diabolical motives he had, I had to investigate them for myself, and--with all and any weapons at my disposal--bring them to cessation.
This time--however--I would essay to muster as much potent help as I could, help that would originate in the States as well as abroad. Soon after I made my determination to brazen the darkness of my uncle Bernard, I resolved to attract the assistance of those people whom could help me to bring about an end to my uncle's deviltries, and the two positions I felt were qualified to do so were that of investigators, both paranormal and private. Garnering the facilitation of a paranormal investigator would--I believed--give me much in the way of insight into the workings of the netherworldly, and having a private investigator would allow me to track the whereabouts of my uncle, who walked in the pretext of Alexi Shostakovich. As it relates to the paranormal I presumed it would be best to recruit in New York, and I was contented to finding the private investigator somewhere in Manchester. I had hope that I could find a man or woman in New York whom didn't mind a little traveling. Payment was not an obstacle with me, and I felt that the individual might consider it a worthwhile endeavor to take a case in another country. After the stilling of my heart, it did not take me very long or much pondering to come to these conclusions. I mostly did so over a soothing cup of tea in the living room. It perhaps should be mentioned--however--that there were no queer events or happenings to speak of at all over the residuum of the Sunday period, after the circumstances of the nightmare. It was almost as if the job of these creatures was simply to lure me back out into the open, back to my birthplace of Manchester and my uncle Bernard's base of operations.
Monday morning arrived swiftly, and I had begun to leaf through the yellow pages in pursuit of where I might find investigators of the paranormal. As I deduced, there were many options to choose from. I called around to several places, comparing prices, inquiring about abilities to travel, and so on and so forth. I finally chanced upon a gentlemen who was receptive in Jonathan Caulier of Paranormal Investigators Inc. I told him in part my story, the most powerful and stirring portions, and said at the conclusion that I wished to unravel the intent of my uncle Bernard, and at the very least prove that he still lived. He mentioned that he was somewhat familiar with the case study, and was intrigued at how it was possible for my uncle to have slipped through the cracks of authority. He asked if it would be possible to meet, so that we could further discuss the possibility of him taking the case. I agreed, and we decided to meet one another at noon that day.
I shuttled a scant thirty five minutes from my home to Caulier's place of employ. It was a quaint brick building that stretched into the sky. I was supposed to meet Caulier in suite 102. After inquiring around for a brief moment, I made it there with little trouble and waited patiently for him to greet me. He came out to the lobby and introduced himself.
"Ah, Doctor Wellingsworth," he said, embracing my hand. "It's good to meet you in person. Please, step into my office." I stepped in, he shut the door behind us, and we talked at some length. Jonathan was slightly overweight and middleaged. His hair was thinning and he wore jeans and a button down shirt. He first inquired what it was that I felt he could do for me. I replied with the following.
"I will admit that I am not schooled in this field or area, it is not my expertise in any appreciable way, but I was more or less hoping that you could serve as a--a guide of sorts. I was thinking that my task would be a great deal easier if I bought someone along who understood these things."
"Well," said Caulier, "there are devices that we use to measure the paranormal, things that I'm sure could serve you in this regard. And from what I remember of your uncle, he murdered a lot of people. I'm also a psychic, by the way. Do you believe in psychic ability?"
"--I cannot say that I have ever had any experience with the phenomena, and I'll be honest in asserting that in the past I considered it hogwash, but now, given the sobriety of things that I have come across--" Here I trailed off and reflected on the things that lead me up and unto this point, and I found it difficult to continue on.
"Yes well, we get that a lot here. I'm sure after a bit of hands on time you'll see the benefits in what I can bring to the table." We talked only a little more and it did not take us long to iron out the particulars of a deal. He acquiesced to journey with me for at least a month. As I talked more about things that concerned me (and in saying this I mean in reference to the things that I had seen with my own eyes) I very nearly got the impression that Jonathan was genuinely excited at intervals. He would smile at things revealed, practically in an oblivious sort of way, as if he didn't have a realistic appreciation of the things I had been dealing with. I soon came to the rationalization that his senses may have been deadened and dulled to these things, having been intimate with them so many times and ways. But could it be sensible to take matters such as these as lightly as he did?
We consorted to depart for Manchester in three days. As it was during that anteceding Sunday, those days arose with not a single bizarre occurrence or happening. I met Jonathan at the airport on that Thursday at around 9:00 a.m. and we boarded the plane near 10:30 a.m. During the flight, our conversation mostly touched on the particulars of my uncle Bernard's malice, what he could possibly be purposing in his black heart, and other such discriminating circumstances. We touched down in Manchester close to 3:00 p.m., retrieved our luggage, and gained the services of a taxi. I had made arrangements with one Alfred Wellingsworth, an uncle of mine who was seven years the elder of me and who oversaw a portion of railroad operations in the country. We would be staying with him in his very spacious manor, an elegant and sumptuous residency, as we tracked down Bernard. I had not really been on speaking terms with most of my family who remained in England. As I have told in my previous account, my mother moved to America while I was but a babe, due to a dispute with family, perhaps concerning business or related interests. There were--however--some members of family who lived in America, and there were times when we would be visited from those in England, so I was not altogether distanced from relatives. The taxi cab drew into the archway of Alfred's driveway and we commenced unloading our things. We were greeted by an attendant and Alfred himself came near us.
"Eli, my boy," said he as we embraced. "It's been far too long since we've last seen one another. How have things been going on your end?"
"My practise is flourishing and I've been doing good work in the field," spoke I. "Though I cannot deny that recent events involving uncle Bernard have cast a dim shadow upon all of that work." Alfred here became solemn and looked away from me for a moment.
"Yes well," he then turned toward Jonathan. "And you must be the gentlemen who will assist my nephew. Jonathan, was it?"
"That is correct, Jonathan Caulier. It's very good meeting you, Mr. Wellingsworth."
"Likewise. The two of you should look forward to a splendid stay. Whatever you may need, do not hesitate to ask. There are servants throughout the manor, waiting on your every call. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have some pressing matters to attend to, business beckons. Elie, it was very good seeing you again," said Alfred with a smile.
"It was--as you said--far too long of an interval," remarked I. Alfred set forth for his BMW, pulled out of the driveway, and went about his way. Jonathan and I had our things conveyed to our seperate rooms and we now busied ourselves with finding a private investigator whom could help us persue Bernard. I again checked the yellow pages of the area and called around questioning about rates and availability. I was considerably restrained in what I revealed and what I concealed, as I was very much cognizant of the fact that telling anyone over the phone that Bernard Wellingsworth yet walked the earth would not get me anywhere. I soon settled--however--upon one Landon Virgins of Virgins Investigations. As it was with Jonathan, he too wanted to meet before taking on the case, and we agreed to come together the next morning. He would journey to the mansion and we would discuss where we would go from that point on. Landon arrived at 10:00 a.m. and both Jonathan and I were awaiting him in the superabundance of what was the living room. One of Alfred's many maids lead him into the room. Landon looked to be in his early thirties. He was of medium build and possessed a strong face and at first impressed upon me that he was of gentlemanly stock.
"A Landon Virgins here to see you, Master Wellingsworth," said the maid. I stood up from my seat to make his aquaintance as he approached us.
"A pleasure it is to meet you, Mr. Wellingsworth," remarked Landon as he took my hand. His attention was then arrested by Jonathan. "And just who might this be? A relative perhaps?"
"My name is Jonathan Caulier. I'll be serving as a paranormal investigator during the case." Landon glanced from me to Jonathan with what it seemed to me a look of amusement.
"'Paranormal investigator?' Why, whatever would you need one of those for, Mr. Wellingsworth?"
"Please, call me Eli. And, I must confess that I was not completely honest with you during the call. There is--however--a very good reason for my needing someone who specializes in the paranormal, and I will now share that with you. You see, I request your assistance in investigating a man by the name of Alexi Shostakovich, the caretaker of my uncle Bernard Wellingsworth's manor. However, Alexi is Bernard, as my uncle did not perish by the hands of authorities that one night long ago." Landon's look of amusement only returned at this revelation.
"Come again?"
"I know that it is exceedingly hard to consider, but the man made that very confession before me." Landon let out a kind of chuckle. I then began to debate within myself if I had elected the right man or not.
"Let me see if I have this aright," spoke Landon as he paced about the room. "You're telling me, that that madman Wellingsworth is still alive? That somehow, he managed to deceive the entirety of Manchester, and that he parades around in the guise of this Alexi? Come now, Eli, cease with the pulling of my leg."
"Yes, this is exactly what I'm saying to you," spoke I. "And in so doing I am not--as you say--pulling your leg." By now Landon had put on a small smile.
"So you want me to investigate this Alexi," said Landon. At this juncture he seemed to be juggling the matter over within himself, bemused. I caught glance of Jonathan and perceived from his facial expressions that he felt we should consider other persons.
"Fine," he said after a time. "I shall take the assignment. That doesn't mean, though, that I believe for a second your story, nor does it mean that I have to work alongside this false prophet." And he said this latter portion with such vehemence that I thought for a moment that Jonathan and he knew each other in year's passed and suffered a falling out between the two of them.
"Thank you for your kind words, sir Virgins," spoke Jonathan as he bowed. "But I can tell you now that there's nothing about what I do that's false."
"Gentlemen, please," remarked I with a motion of my hands. "We do not need this kind of hostility. Landon, what kind of information do you need in tracking down Alexi?"
"Where is he employed?" asked Landon. "That's a very good starting point."
"Wellingsworth Real Estate," responded I. "And how long do you imagine it will be before you have some pertinent information on him?" Landon turned away from me and reflected on the matter for a short time before speaking.
"It's hard to say really. It could be a few days, it could be a week. When I identify him, I'll basically be serving as his shadow. I'll know the places he goes during the morning, the afternoon, evening, and at night. If he is wont to have a cup of hot tea or coffee in the morning, I'll know. If he is wont to pick up streetwalkers during the night, I'll know. It won't take me long at all to be familiar with his everyday life, and I'll be sure to report back to you whenever I discover something of worth. You need to understand, though, that I receive a portion of my pay upfront, around twenty five percent."
"That won't be a problem," spoke I. "I can pay you now if it will get you started as soon as you walk out that door." I gave Landon his twenty five percent upfront and he bid us farewell.
"I'll probably report back to you at the end of the week," said Landon as he was escorted out of the door by an attendant.
***
It did not take an elongated amount of time for the end of the week to present itself, it being a Thursday when I had aquired the assistance of Landon. For my own part, during the wait, Jonathan mostly made me familiar with things interrelated with the supernatural. He spoke for instance pertaining to ghosts, how that the spirit of persons could be mourning over things even past the grave, how they could be concerned with relaying messages to those whom they knew in life, things that occurred while they walked the earth, and how this energy would manifest itself in the world of the living. He also showed me some of the equipment that was used to measure paranormal activity. I was quite taken aback to know that this area of knowledge had grown so far as to require equipments of measurement. It was all a humbling experience for me.
This was not the full extent to which I had aquainted myself with however. I also--along with Jonathan--made trekking to Wellingsworth Real Estate to inquire about Alexi. For reasons relating to Landon's sceptism of my story, I did not fully trust him, and so in case of squandering time away on an investigator who was not fully enveloped in the case, I decided to do a bit of private investigating on my own. Jonathan and I would--as the opportunity presented itself--ask questions to those whom worked at the agency as we saw fit, all touching on the person of Alexi Shostakovich, what his interests were, whether or not they had associated with him on a personal level, things of that sort. We had made a list of things relating to him, and were sitting in a car on loan from my uncle, when I saw in the distance one approach the parking lot of the real estate structure, and it was the head of operations, the same gentlemen who considered my story a jest when I first told him several weeks prior, a gentlemen by the name of Alistair Norrington.
"And just what do we have here," spoke he whilst being in earshot of our vehicle. "If it isn't that tall telling Elie Wellingsworth. Whatever could you be up to this fine weekend?
"Allistair," said I, "there is nothing amiss with inquiring about individuals what I would. There is no law against it. Would that you leave us be."
"You are loitering and disturbing the peace," said Alistair. "Now, do us all here a favor and desist in the silliness, please."
"Would that you had considered my story no jest," spoke I, "for you are doing this city and area a great disservice, all those who were involved, and all those who will succumb to my uncles deviltries."
"Enough!" remarked Alistair, whose expression did not betray a hint of his emotion. "Begone from here! And do not come again, otherwise I shall have to consort with constabulary of the area. Now leave."
I consented to his request, started the car up, and headed for my uncle Alfred's mansion. When Jonathan and I arrived, Landon was awaiting our return. He was consuming an assortment of foods that were provided by the maids and were placed on the coffee table on a serving tray in the grandness of the living room. It was around 3 p.m.
"It is not a good idea to keep guests waiting, Elie. They could become impatient you know, and find some other means to occupy their time, such as and extending to taking on other cases." Jonathan situated himself on the far side of the room, a good distance away from Landon. I took a seat on an armchair and expressed the following sentiment.
"To be honest, Jonathan and I were doing a bit of our own investigating. I was a little leery of whether or not you were serious about the case as I have presented it, and did not wish to further delay the hunt for my uncle." Landon looked a little blank faced for a moment and then a smile began to present itself.
"You would do well to leave the private investigating to the private investigators," remarked Landon. "Did I not conjoin to investigate this Alexi? I may not can believe for a second your story, but believe me when I say, that I am a man of my word, and I will investigate him wherewith I have at my disposal, on that, you can put your confidence." I felt a good deal more comfortable having him in the role at this revelation. At the very least he was bound to discover the truth of his own volition.
"Well," chimed in I, "I verily do appreciate the sentiment. Now then, are you ready to divulge what--if anything--that you have uncovered?"
"Most certainly," spoke Landon with alacrity as he reached for another scrumptious snack from the tray on the coffee table. "I shall share what I have uncovered up and unto this point. Please be advised--however--that this is only a preliminary inquisition. I have not made an extensive investigation into this Alexi, it being only two and a half days since I have had the time to look into him. But this is what I have uncovered at this point and time." Landon opened up a briefcase that he had situated to the side of him and began leafing through documents.
"On Thursday, at around 4 p.m., I identified Alexi Shostakovich. He was emaciated in frame and pallid in color. Does this sound familiar?"
"That is indeed him," spoke I.
"I performed a computer database search using a laptop and was able to get modern day pictures of him. I watched from an inconspicuous area using my trusty binoculars, and waited for him to leave the agency. He did, at around 6:30. Although--" Here Landon halted and seemed to be considering something. "--It is nothing. It was at this time that I followed him. It did not take long for us to reach the destination, it was a community center.
"There were several cars parked outside of the structure. A few individuals stood without as if they were awaiting the arrival of someone. As Alexi approached, they talked with him for a moment, and all of them went inside. I sat in my car without, and waited for him to return, which took an ungodly amount of time for some, close to two and a half hours, though I'd like to think I am an expert in my craft, so I did manage. During that time, none entered or exited the facility. At around 10:30, persons began filing out of the structure. They were all talking amongst themselves and whatnot, huddled in little groups. I caught sight of Alexi and his group of individuals. Everyone soon dispersed and went to their vehicles. I commenced to following Alexi, to see if there was any other places he would be heading to, but he soon went straight for his home, and I headed for mine.
"There was nothing of significance to report that happened on Friday. He went to work, then went straight home. He never leaved the place at all. I have to do a bit more investigative work however, and I'm sure it would be beneficial to plant some surveillance equipment in that community center if he is to meet there with his troupe again. So that's my report. What do you think?" I stood up from my seat and began pacing back and forth, reflecting on what he'd shared.
"It seems to me that the importance of this gathering of individuals," spoke I with a hand to my chin, "cannot be understated. What exactly goes on during these meetings? Is my uncle spreading his malice to any and all who would give him an ear?"
"Perhaps," remarked Jonathan, "perhaps it would be a good idea if you and I went to investigate the community center ourselves, Elie, with a focus on determining if there is any paranormal activity involved in their gatherings. Landon said that it was a community center but with the resources available to Bernard Wellingsworth I would imagine that he could have purchased the area outright."
"As if," spoke Landon, "we need the assistance of charlatans in making sense of this case. Elie, must you continually be led astray by this crackpot?"
"One day, sir Vurgens, one day you may chance upon the truth of the supernatural, and on that day may you realise the folly of your ways." Landon snorted. I jumped into the exchange to prevent any further hostilities.
"Gentlemen, it's of necessity for us to be in this thing together. My uncle's evil alone rivals that of the darkest hearts, notwithstanding the revelation that there are more persons attracted to his activities, and we'll need all the cooperation we can muster if we are going to bring an end to his madness."
"As I said before I took on the case," remarked Landon defiantly, "my being here is not contingent on me working alongside this man. I will do my part, but that does not mean that I have to agree with whatever it is you two do at night. You may allow him to string you along for however much longer, but do not think that I'll be along for the ride. I have better avenues to explore then placing faith and trust in a psychic friends network." Jonathan looked as if he wanted to assault Landon but I gave him a look of soothing that I believe helped to calm his anger. Landon began packing up his things whilst speaking.
"I don't work on Sundays, so I'll report back to you probably next Thursday. That should give me enough time to discover more information, to perhaps plant some surveillance equipment in the community center. I'll contact you in due time." Landon picked up his briefcase and was escorted to the double doors by a maid.
On Monday morning, I appeared before Jonathan in his room and told him that I would like for him to visit my uncle Bernard's manor, to see if he could not put his abilities and profession to some good use. He wholeheartedly agreed to the sentiment, and we set forth not less than thirty minutes later to my uncle's manor. I knew in my heart of hearts that Landon's comments had upset him, and so I felt that allowing him to exercise his profession would show that I had all the belief in the world for what he possessed that could undo the influence of my uncle Bernard. I did not know if the gate would be opened. I had hope that it would however, though I was sure access into the manor itself would be barred. We arrived in the residential district of my uncle in about a twenty five minute drive and--as I foresaw--the gates were indeed open. Nothing--however--could have prepared me for what lie in wait...
I have written in my first account of the sheer and utter repulsiveness that the visage of the mansion evokes in the spectator. I spoke of the queer change in semblance of the clouds in the relative vicinity of the structure, which--to my complete and utter astonishment--was still a part of the area as we were within relative distance of the house, as if the entire expanse of land was cursed. I spoke of the carven pale horses that were spaced evenly near the front of the property, the broad and spacious lawn which looked in many places to have been imprinted with the likeness of images from some spell book of sorts, and the brown and withered fountain that seemed to be made out of nothing but thorns and was placed in the center of the yard. I pulled into the snakelike driveway and at occasion caught glances of Jonathan, whose mouth was indeed open halfway in reaction to what he saw and perhaps the impression he acquired from the very air.
"This is indeed an evil place," remarked Jonathan. "I can--I can sense the evil energy emanating from it. I dare say that I'm hesitant to step the soles of my feet inside of the property."
"You may not have to be disquieted over that," spoke I, and here a shudder ran through my spine in remembrance of the things that I myself had seen in this place. "I don't think the doors would be unlocked in any case." We halted just at the front of the double doors and egressed out of the vehicle. Jonathan stood beholding the vile creation that stood before him with an air of disgust mingled with perplexity, from what I could tell. His face contorted to such aforementioned proportions, and it seemed to me that he was gauging the evil of the place up within himself. He began moving away from the car toward the imprinted markings in the grass and I followed behind. He crouched, fingering the grass, and then spoke.
"These look to be figures from some ancient and arcane book of spells." He placed a hand to his chin. "The grass is freshly cut."
"My uncle must have an affinity for whatever these things mean," spoke I.
"Indeed," remarked Jonathan as he stood. "I'm getting a great many vibes just from the yard. Many, many dead roam these walls. I will see if I can get into contact with one of them." Jonathan closed his eyes and began concentrating. He then began speaking.
"Is there anyone there? Anyone who wishes to tell their story? My name is Jonathan Caulier. I can help you." I gave Jonathan his space as he communed with the spirits. He seemed to me to be intensely focused, moving his head ever so slightly as if he was picking up on signals. He then opened his eyes.
"There's a little girl right near you, Elie. She's wearing a bright blue blouse." I stood awestruck at this revelation. There was no incertitude pertaining to the matter at hand, this was the identical little girl whom manifested herself unto me in a dream back in my home in New York, and the one I had beheld when I was ensnared inside of the library of this house of terror.
"What does she want from me?" spoke I. "What can I do to free the fetters that bind her? How can I stop my uncle?" Jonathan simply shaked his head.
"She's saying that you will have to face many hardships in the undoing of your uncle. You must stand firm she says, even in the midst of adversity. She's--she's walking away from you. She's heading toward the door of the manor. I--guess that's all she had to share. She's gone now." I looked at Jonathan simply flabbergasted.
"Perhaps," said Jonathan as he mused, "perhaps this is something that you have to discover of your own self. I don't think she was in any mourning over her death, like some other spirits are. I think she has been sent to guide you to the truth. And that is a truth that you will have to discover of your own self. I'm almost sure of it." Instantaneously after Jonathan spoke these words there was a clicking noise made behind us. The both of us turned around and the double doors of the my uncle Bernard's manor opened before us. I sideglanced toward Jonathan who seemed equally perplexed.
"She did not just open the door for us, did she?" spoke I.
"It would seem so. Perhaps there is something inside that she wishes for us to see." Here my memory was flooded with all of the maximized terror that I had apprised myself with inside of this place, in one instant. A very real fright began to reintroduce itself unto me and panic reverberated throughout my bones. I assayed expressing this sentiment to Jonathan however it came out in garbled sentences.
"Don't be affrighted. Spirits can't harm you. They can only give the impression of harm, but they can't inflict anything that would cause you to die. Come. Let us see what she wants to show us." Jonathan walked toward the double doors with a look of steel and determination. I followed behind, in dread of whatever could be lying in wait. Jonathan may have been right in his proclamation that spirits couldn't inflict physical harm on the living, a summation that I myself had come to in my previous visit to this house, but I was all too mindful of the mental harm that I had been afflicted with in not only this place, but back in my own abode. As I have said previously however, his resolve was ironshod. He had no doubt been familiarized with many exceptional kinds of things relating to the supernatural.
We set foot into the place, and it looked as diabolical as I had remembered. Gossamer cobwebs hung liberally around the high ceiling and walls. Our steps creaked and squeaked as we pressed ever onward through the middle level. Death reigned ultimate in authority here, and had imposed its will in all that we could distinguish. The place was the very delineation of a malevolent atmosphere. An eerie silence had soon emerged between the two of us, a heaviness had fell on us. I could feel it. It was as if I was trudging underwater with an anchor fastened to my leg. With an effort, I craned a look toward Jonathan, who too seemed to be in struggle to keep his eyes open. I then spoke.
"Jonathan--what's--happening?--Why is it that I am so--" Unexpectantly, Jonathan fell face down to the floor, and dust kicked up about him. I too found myself losing control of my faculties. My eyes wavered, and wavered still. I fell to my knees, and I was soon on my face asleep.
I awoke with the diminutive light from the evenfall streaming in through the windows and curtains. I looked to my left and Jonathan was still soundly asleep. I groggily made my way toward him, to revive him, but all my efforts proved fruitless. Suddenly, and rather inexplicably, I was cognizant of another conscious person being in my presence. I cannot account in any way for this happening, it simply materialized. I hurriedly glanced about me and saw the contoured figure of a man standing not more than ten yards where I squatted, in the former splendor that was the dining room. He approached as I stood, and even in the faltering light I knew who it was.
"Ba--Bernard!"
"Yes, Eli, it is me, your iniquitous uncle Bernard," he said hoarsely and spread his arms out in showing emotion. "And I have come to offer you a choice." He then smiled, a wicked curl of thin lips on ashen face. I stood hesitantly, half expecting some hideous beast to come to my uncle's aid and drive me insane, and half expecting him to give me the honor of choosing my own death.
"--What do you mean 'a choice?'" spoke I.
"I mean simply this," and he came closer to me, in an effort to embrace me with an arm around my shoulder, but I shrinked away from him, and he looked on as if I had pained him in a way.
"Why, Eli? Why must you hunt me so?" he spoke again hoarsely and seemed genuinely hurt. "You've never even made my aquaintance, what with you being in America all of your life. Have I done you wrong in some manner? If so, let me make amends." And again he smiled, and I looked on quizzically.
"You could be of great worth to me in America, Eli. Do not abnegate yourself the honor of serving me. I implore you to denounce this nonsense and come to my side. Have you not seen the power that I wield? Would you not like to have that power yourself? It is freely available to all those who are of open mind. Now, now, do not cringe at the thought. You are part of a great bloodline. Consider it a little. I will find you again." He began ambling away from me and I--after attempting to digest all that he'd said--called out to him.
"I--I will not let you get away!"
"Your friend, Eli," said Bernard hoarsely, "he must needs attending to," and he said this without casting a backward glance in my direction. I turned and saw that Jonathan was on the floor, convulsing. I looked from a retreating Bernard, to Jonathan, to Bernard again, and finally attended to Jonathan.
When I had resuscitated Jonathan, the both of us made it out of the manor with the quickness. Jonathan himself was nontheless very much groggy, and I had to assist him in getting back to our vehicle, the setting of the sun being in its final phases. I inquired of Jonathan on the ride back to my uncle Alfred's manor what it was that had happened, and he confessed that he himself had never experienced anything quite like that before. The weightiness of our gait, the heaviness on our eyes, even in Jonathan's case the convulsing. My uncle Bernard had--it seemed--possessed an evil power unlike any known to man. Jonathan was not the only one of us whom was disquieted however. There was something that Bernard said that was vexing me and I could not let it alone. After much back and forth, I finally intended to get some answers from someone who could perhaps supply them, someone who had been living in Manchester all his life, my uncle Alfred.
***
Thursday, the day that Landon was scheduled to meet up with Jonathan and I, came swiftly, and the two of us awaited him in the resplendently and all encompassing living room. The maids had again supplied various foods for us to eat as we waited. My uncle Aflred, when I returned from Bernard's manor on Monday, had been away on a business trip, and so I was unable to inquire of him what I would. He was--said an attendant--scheduled to return at any minute however. Landon soon rang the resounding door bell and a maid brought him to us. I was intent on sharing the experience Jonathan and I had in Bernard Wellingsworth's manor, regardless of however Landon took it.
"Ah, I see that you are present this time, and not parading around town as investigators," said Landon with a smile that took up the corners of his mouth.
"We managed to trek to my uncle's manor and there is--to be sure--much that we have to share with you," said I. Landon looked a bit perplexed.
"Really? So that was your vehicle near the doors of the manor? Alexi was also there, and I followed him. You haven't compromised my investigation, have you? What exactly went--"
"--I think it would be best if you shared what it is that you have uncovered thus far and then we will tell our side of the story." Landon looked at me for a moment, then towards Jonathan, and it seemed like a smile was about to present itself, but it never came.
"If you insist," said he. "I think I'll get right to the most telling portions, as very little of anything happened on Monday or Tuesday, really, but by Wednesday I had managed to plant surveillance equipment inside of the the community center. Not visual surveillance, however, only audio. But--" here Landon halted and considered. "I'll just let you hear it out for yourselves." Landon picked up a tape machine that was situated in a brief case and began playing. There was a silence at first, but then words began to come out, in garbled sentences, and static-like. It was odd, to say the least. I could, at certain portions, make out something of which was said, a string of sentences. From my very good memory, it went something like this:
"There are those--and they will fal--most unholy order--influ--cross the glo--none shall with--and like lightning--our mast--grant us--to sub--we must--spr--to the end...
While the tape was playing my uncle Alfred entered into the living room and stood back and only listened. After a time, the tape was finished and Landon began speaking.
"I don't know why the equipment I planted wasn't capable to get full transmission, but perhaps next time I'll place video material. But the gentlemen's voice was definitely that of Alexi Shostakovich, and he seemed to be making proclamations and declamations. What do you think?"
"You are right that was Alexi," said I. "And now we will share our story with you." Both Jonathan and I began our story from the beginning, how that we made trekking to Bernard Wellingsworth Manor in an effort to get some insight into his evil. And how that the little girl in blue opened the door to the manor for us, and all that came about because of it. My uncle yet remained stationed in the archway that led into the living room and he seemed to be considering something. Landon's face however was one of disbelief.
"My, my," he said. "That's quite the story. No wonder I don't believe any of it."
"You mean to tell me," said I, "that all of this time that you have been investigating my uncle that nothing unexplainable has been taking place?" Landon was about to speak, but then drew back, as if he were reflecting on something.
"I--I don't know if you could consider something as paltry as that as 'unexplainable.'" Jonathan and I looked towards Landon with interest, and I pressed him to continue. He sighed.
"It's just that--every time I follow after him and whenever he gets in or out of his vehicle he--he side glances in my general direction and smiles, as if he knows where I am and what I am doing. I just chalk it up to me being not as careful as I usually am, and I am careful in my profession, careful not to be seen or discerned. I take this stuff seriously. It's boggling to be sure." Jonathan spoke.
"It is because that man has aid from the netherworld," said he. "He gets his information from mischevious spirits." Landon turned towards Jonathan.
"I don't believe in any of that. There has to be a rational explanation. It has bothered me, that's for sure. But I'm not so far gone in my wits to adopt such schemes."
"Gentlemen, if you will excuse me," I said, while Landon implored that I not leave him alone with Jonathan, but I wished to speak with my uncle.
"How--how is your investigation going?" he said.
"I'm no closer to proving that Bernard still lives than I was when I first arrived here," I said.
"--I see," said my uncle as he bent his head. He then raised it. "Listen, Elie, do you not think that there is some madness in all of this? Why not let him alone? I myself don't want anything to do with Bernard Wellingsworth. I've washed my hands of that man. And the sooner you come to that point in your life, the better off you'll be. I didn't mention it before, but I allowed you to take up residency here so that you could get to that point. Are you there yet, Elie? Have you seen enough of Bernard Wellingsworth?"
"Alfred," said I, "I have tried to go against my calling, but I was unable to. I must confront him, and put his actions to an end. There will be more than enough rest for me when I have acheived that discontinuance."
"Well," said Alfred, "if you are so set then there's nothing I can do to stop you. Perhaps you haven't seen enough of the man yet. I'll be in my study."
"Wait," called out I. "There's been something upsetting me ever since I left Bernard's manor. He wanted me--to join him," and here I shuddered. "He said something about our bloodline, about it being great. I can't shake the feeling--" Alfred cut me off with a sigh.
"There is--indeed--a history of Wellingsworths who dabbled in that which is of the netherworld. Bernard has taken it to another extreme, but that is more than likely what he was referencing." And so I just stood there, aghast, with my head bowed low and a heart that had retreated to the soles of my feet, realizing for the very first time that my family's history had been actively entangled in evil.