Moor than Meets the Eye: a Sherlock Holmes fanfic (No Vacancy at 221c spinoff)

Prologue

The 6th of August, 1882

I pen this now with equal parts fear and soul corrupting anxiety. My Irish estate on the moor which I now inhabit with my sister in the stead of our late parents has always been a most pleasant home full of joy and prosperity and beauty. That is, until a week ago, on this very night.

Carefree and gay, we had set out upon the moor to a most beautiful spot by a pond about a mile from the house. A merry party, the picnicking group consisted of myself, my lively friend Joseph, Annabelle my sister, and her two lovely companions, Felicity Hart and Violet Duncan. It was an exquisite afternoon with scarce a cloud in the brilliantly azure sky, and a gentle breeze relieved us from the warmth of the season.

After we had consumed the colorful array of delights cook had prepared for us and filled our hearts with laughter and smiles, Joseph and I wandered a little ways off to walk about the pond and get away from the girls for a bit. As we strolled by the small body of water, the quiet ripple of minuscule waves melted together with the murmur of Violet's voice reading to a diligent Annabelle. My sister of course has always had much difficulty in reading, claiming the letters look odd and seem to blend together, and so I smiled as I looked back and saw her eyes twinkle as Violet read the tragedy of Shakespeare's Macbeth in such a animate way as to make the characters come to life in Annabelle's young mind of sixteen. I laughed as Violet raised her arms in an eerie way and spoke in a raspy monotone as she quoth the witches, "Something wicked this way comes."

I shudder now as I think of the unknown truth that had been then ringing in my deaf ears.

The day itself was uneventful, and as it was we went home cheerily and arrived as the auburn sun began its downward descent. We reclined in the lavish gardens all exploding with hues of purple and pink and colors so rich you can hardly imagine their reality, reluctant to ignore such a marvelous day. When at last the sky had begun to fade and the darkness to shroud the little courtyard, our weary gathering headed indoors. Though I would normally stay by my sister's side as I am quite protective, Violet rushed to my side and took my arm possessively. I felt obliged to walk her in, though her obvious flirtatious spirit was not reciprocated, when she threw her plump hands to her face and exclaimed that she had forgotten her book on the small table in the garden. Her stout figure disappeared back into the night and I sighed as I waited for her while everyone else went inside. After several minutes, I saw her return with one hand on the blonde curls that had slowly begun to fall throughout the day and a small volume. She smiled in what she thought to be a most voluptuous way, and we proceeded towards the lighted windows of the large manor.

My ears had hardly heard the door latch when my mind began to feel troubled. A look around the parlor in whence we had retired confirmed my suspicions that Annabelle - or Belle as my father had so lovingly referred to her - was no where to be seen. "Seen you my sister?" was the question sent around the room, though no one seemed to have an answer. The house was vacant of my sibling's pale face and black haired presence and though I employ much help, not one servant had seen anything. I bade the young ladies a good night and noted a troubled expression upon the pretty face of Miss Felicity. I assured her that all would be well, as she was my sister's dearest friend and a - well, a most respected voice in my personal opinion.

Worried as I was, Joseph and I rushed out into the gardens, hoping Belle had been distracted by a certain rose or the twinkling stars as her eye was often caught by beautiful things. To our dismay there was no sound save the crickets and no soul excepting Joseph who faithfully held a lantern by my side to light our way. We came to the agreement to wander a bit out onto the moor, though our hope was dim. When we had traveled a fair distance from the house and were beginning to turn back, an unearthly sound rose from the horizon and sent chills down my spine. The otherworldly wail snaked through my heart and sent my companion and I towards the house in a bit of an unmanly frenzy. My face was white as the light from indoors hit it and no lock on earth could make me feel safe in my bed that night.

There are things on that moor, beasts that every once in a while drain the life from some poor soul and leave their bodies dry and colorless on the freezing ground. But others claim these are no beasts. The people in the village nearby tell stories of horrible things, evil things, things unable to be imagined, things created in the darkest corner of the deepest abyss of Hades. When the news of Annabelle's disappearance reached the small hamlet, people linked the wailing they had apparently heard as well to this fateful happening. A banshee, they said, had been wandering the moor that night, signalling her death. It is said that the lamenting cry of these eerie creatures is a signal of despair and loss of life.

I have been told not to expect my sister.

I for one, do not wish to let this supernatural distraction cloud my mind's compass, for my logic tells me she is still alive. I have heard you are the best, sir, the only one if any who can find my beloved sister. I should suspect one of the members of our party had done it, though I cannot believe that anyone of my kindest peers would perform such a deed. You must help me. I know the route from London is long and costly but my purse is large, and I shall be greatly indebted to you. I pray you Mr. Holmes, come with haste.

Mr. William Murtagh