The Gathering Dark

05

Black as night, the edges of the door glowed with a cold light as Claude and I drew near. The last of the ghostly orbs swirled briefly across it before fading away, and the encroaching darkness almost engulfed the light from the only lamp we carried.

Somehow, I felt that I had just stepped into a new chapter of this waking nightmare. The key that Arthur kept secret from the demon's eyes and paid for with his life, the seemingly sentient orbs that welcomed us, both had led us to this door. Will we find the answers on the other side? I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope.

I glanced at Claude. His eyes were fixed at the entrance as if he was drawn to it, his face set in a determined line.

Just before the doors, he turned to me with a reassuring smile, as if he sensed my trepidation. I nodded, trying to muster up courage. It's just another room. Lord knows I've seen far worse on this job! I told myself. But why does my heart feel like it's about to leap out of my chest?

Claude's hand brushed the door panel lightly, its smooth black surface solid and unyielding. He turned the ornately carved handles, and the door swung slowly inward.

Filtered light spilled from the tall, beveled windows, framed by dark, heavy curtains. It was a large, elegant room trimmed in blue and silver, lavishly furnished—a bedchamber fit for the master of the house.

"This—none of this is real," Claude whispered with a catch in his throat, his eyes taking in the breadth of the chamber. "It looks just like the day I had left it, the day of the concerto."

"Your bedroom?" I saw him nod from the corner of my eye as I walked a few steps to the center of the room, looking around in the sparse light.

He was right. The passage of time seemed not to have affected this place. The furnitures, the rugs, everything looked new, although we were both aware over a hundred years had passed. 

At the far end of the chamber, a large four-poster bed was barely visible in the shadows, canopied in midnight-blue damask drapes, which had been drawn to let in the moonlight. But the opaque, overwhelming darkness surrounding the bed swallowed up any external light.

As Claude and I drew close, I tensed as that unnatural darkness seemed to stir from its slumber. It slowly crept toward us, as if it recognized our presence. It was all I could do not to bolt right there and then, seeing that inky blackness inch over the floor.

When the shadows stopped just outside the circle of our light, I let out a shuddering breath.

Claude raised the lamp up higher, illuminating the bed.

I heard his gasp of surprise a second before mine.

A soft white light emanated from the bed's interior where the drapes had been drawn, and on the bed, lay the still form of a man.

My eyes widened disbelievingly as I stared at Claude's body. Dressed in black formal attire, he looked as if he was sleeping, save for the unnatural position of his arms crossed over his chest and the deathly pallor of his skin. A thin, white light encircled his form, flickering against the surrounding dark.

I had seen death many times, and in so many forms, that it no longer bothered me. But this—seeing his lifeless body—shook me to the core.

This can't be!  My mind spun as I tried to make sense of the improbable scene before me.

An audible, choking sound made me turn around. Claude was doubled over, fighting for breath. He fell forward on his knees.

"Claude!" I grasped his arms, supporting him. "What's happening?"