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I apologize for my absence, though who ever reads this at a later time will not know an absence was taken except by my admission. The intruder is gaining ground but not yet ready to take me, so I will pick up on this horrific tale where I had previously left off.
Our host came and went as the evening wore on. He entertained us with stories during dinner, which had all but Father Geoffrey mesmerized, then left during an impromptu chorus of Christmas carols sung by the children. Later, he would emerge again with his two accomplices, make rounds, saying his 'how do you do's' then leave once more. No one seemed to care of his comings and goings. They must have all assumed that he had probably brought home a case on which he was currently preoccupied and was doing a remarkable job of balancing his duties as a host and a busy lawyer.
Father Geoffrey thought otherwise and convinced me of the same.
"When the others are occupied by the fireside, I am going to slip out and try to find out what endeavors our host is occupied in while not in our company," he informed to me in a whisper so others could not here his concern.
"Then I will follow, for I am equally curious," I replied under my breath.
When everyone, including some of the servants, had gathered around the fire to tell Christmas stories, the priest and I stole from the room surreptitiously. The banquet hall opened into the large foyer area, which is where we now stood, pondering our next movement. The place was empty and silent, save the ghoulish shriek at our backs from the wind breaching a crack in a stained glass window that had yet to be mended.
"Where shall we look for Mr. Tragoi? The house is so large, and he could be anywhere."
"Whatever devilish things he may be up to would have to be done away from the notice of the guests. I suggest we start our search up stairs."
He hurried down the wide hall towards the front of the house as I followed behind. There, to the right of the immense front entranceway was a glorious marble staircase the color of jade. We took only a moment's hesitation to eye one another fearfully before slowly walking up the stairs side by side.
On the landing at the top of the stairs and to our direct front was a window overlooking the frozen gardens below that separated the Whitaker House grounds from the desolate moor beyond. From there the stairs spiraled up to a third floor, or you could follow the landing around to the right to a long corridor lined with many doors. But it was the window in front of us that caught our collective eye; a crimson glow that spilled a most diabolical color onto the falling snow emanated from somewhere outside. We both rushed to the window to investigate the light's origin.
I cupped my hands over my eyes and searched for an earthly cause but found no solace. Father Geoffrey turned his attention skyward and found the source. One floor above us, in the south wing, a brilliant light was cascading from the window of another room. We both could see great columns of steam rising from the pane as tides of snow were driven into the glass and instantly melted away. If I had any doubts before of the friar's intimations about our host, they left me in a sudden gasp of horror.
"We must try our best to beat the evil prince at his own game," the priest said as he made the sign of the cross.
Before I had time to form any rebuttal to his advice, we were off again, climbing the great green staircase one more floor. This floor was laid out the same as the previous one with the exception that there were no more floors beyond this one. We crept down the long corridor until we found the one occupied. Rays of red light, like that given off by an enormous bonfire, slipped out from under the door and through the keyhole.
I touched the door but immediately withdrew my hand, for the heat was unbearable. It was all I could do to not wonder why the door had not yet caught fire, but by this time I had stopped asking questions about this supernatural event transpiring in front of my very eyes.
Suddenly, the doorknob turned slowly.
My eyes widened at the thought of what lay beyond the door, and the thread that held my sanity finally broke. I ran yelling for my very life back down the corridor towards the stairs, while Father Geoffrey pursued, insisting we face Lucifer together.
"I cannot do it!" I pleaded loudly. "I do not have the faith to fight such a fallen angel."
"Where two or more of us are gathered together," Father Geoffrey replied, quoting scripture, "there I will be among you. God is with us, Mr. Croft. Who can be against us?"
Continuing to the staircase I said, "Comforting words will not suffice. I wish to leave this place and take my chances with nature. We all must leave. If we go in a group, we can go to the nearest person's house and stay there until the storm passes. At any rate, I will not stay a moment longer!"
"Help me!" he insisted.
"I will not!" I screamed.
I proved to be a bit quicker than my portly pursuer, but he followed close behind. I never bothered to look back at who or what opened the door to that room, nor did I care to glance at what inside made such a glow. I only carried myself in haste to what I could only assume was the safety of the group of people still telling Christmas stories in the banquet hall two floors below.
Suddenly, as I made the top of the stairs, readying myself for a quick descent, one of Mr. Tragoi's associates almost ran into me as he was making his way up. His abrupt appearance and our near collision startled me even more. As I stopped and turned back to avoid colliding with him, Father Geoffrey came up from behind me. I did not see him, and in my avoidance of one collision another ensued. Father Geoffrey lost his balance and spilled down the marble stairs with a yelp. On the second of his many rolls, his head made contact with the corner of a step, and he let out a winded sigh that quickly abated. A small pool of blood was left there as his body tumbled to a rest at the bottom of the stairs on the landing below.
"My heavens," I blurted. "What have I done? Oh, what have I done?!"
With a look of concern, Mr. Tragoi's associate said, "I was on my way to my room when I heard what I thought was quarrelling, so I came to investigate."
Walking with his cane and now dressed in a long red robe that covered nightwear, Mr. Tragoi appeared from the corridor in which I had just abruptly excused myself from.
"What is going on here?" he asked. "I had heard some noises outside my bedroom door and as I opened it, I heard screaming and what sounded like an argument of sorts."
We all looked down at Father Geoffrey's lifeless body for just a moment before Mr. Tragoi's associate turned to me.
"What had the priest done to you that would cause you to do this?" he asked.
I could only blink in disbelief; shock seems to have a way of taking the life even from the living.
"Mr. Croft, did you do this?" Victor asked.
"I saw the whole thing," his associate said. "Though I don't know his intentions, to me it looked as though Mr. Croft pushed him down the stairs."
Finally, I blurted out, "No. I-it was an accident. I swear."
Mr. Tragoi rubbed his beard thoughtfully then looked out the landing window. "It seems the storm has stopped for the moment."
I turned to see that he had spoken true. As sudden as the storm had started, it vanished. The stars could even be seen in the night sky beyond the pane of glass.
"The constable's office is only a few blocks away," he continued. "As a lawyer I must keep this scene just the way it is and keep all parties separated until the authorities arrive. William, go into your bedroom and speak to no one until someone from the constable's office arrives. Mr. Croft, you will come with me, and I will dispatch my other associate to retrieve the authorities.
After all the details were taken care of, I followed Mr. Tragoi back to his room.
"May I ask what the two of you were doing outside my room?" he asked as we slowly made our way down the corridor.
I felt embarrassed but decided to tell him truthfully of the house's curse and who the dead friar thought he was.
He laughed aloud when I finished. "Come, I will show you what nefarious lights where burning from within my room."
The great light turned out to be a mammoth fireplace that churned out the largest fire I had ever seen from within a home. That must have also been the source of all the heat.
"The red glow you saw," Mr. Tragoi said, "was probably light from the fire filtered through my robe as I walked around the room."
Even as he spoke, perspiration broke out on my forehead and trickled down my face. "How can you stand such heat?" I inquired as I wiped my face clean.
"It is a skin condition that worsens in the winter time due to the dryness of the cold air. One of the reasons why I moved here was because of the usually moist but not frozen winters. When it started to snow and the temperature dropped my skin began to break into a rash, which is why I could not keep within your company for long. Perspiration lessens the condition, so I had this large fire built to keep me from scratching myself into oblivion. I have done this for as long as I can remember. I can only surmise that my tolerance to heat is somewhat more than the average person's."
I thought about that for a moment then couldn't help but break a smile. It seemed that I had been so caught up in Father Geoffrey's folk tale that all rationale had left me. There had been sensible explanations to all the happenings that night if they had been given the chance to take form.
"But what about your name?" I asked dutifully, making sure there was nothing left to chance. "Father Geoffrey said that it meant 'undead' in your native tongue.
"Is not the name Miller given to someone who isn't necessarily a miller? And Baker to one whom may not be a baker? And Todhunter to one whom may have an aversion to hunting foxes? My surname does not make me who I am."
I nodded in agreement.
"If I were you, there are other things you must worry about at the moment."
My heart saddened as I pondered the priest, whose death, though an accident, was at my hands. "What must I do? What will happen next? It was an accident. While trying to avoid colliding with your friend, the priest and I got tangled, and that, not anger, precipitated his fall."
The man went to a suitcase that was still packed but opened on a chair next to his bed. From it, he withdrew a document and motioned me to him.
"If you wish, I can represent you. You will need counsel on your end, if this matter is to be resolved."
"You do believe it was an accident, then?" I asked.
He smiled oddly and said, "If I didn't then I would not have offered my services."
"What must I do?"
"Sign here on this document, and I will represent you as your legal counsel. I do not think I have to remind you that the only witness to this accident seems to think he heard an argument before the dreadful event. That does not bode well for your defense. But I can honestly say that I am the best at what I do."
I replied, "But I am a man of relatively meager earnings. How could I afford someone such as yourself."
"Do not worry about recompense at the moment. I feel terrible that this happened while in my home. I can assure you that my services will not cost you a single coin. Just sign here on the line."
He gave me a pen, which I took in hand and looked down at the document. "It seems to be written in a foreign language."
Mr. Tragoi smiled sheepishly. "I apologize. I am fresh from my home country, and this is the only document I have on hand. I assure you that its authenticity, though written in a foreign language, will stand up legally in your court system. It is just a matter of translation when the time comes. Please, sign here and let me help you. I can assure you that you will not go to jail for this. It is my word."
Beginning to get uncomfortable with the possible ramifications of this terrible accident and believing whole-heartedly that the lawyer could save me, I signed.
Suddenly, that devilish grin re-appeared on his face. When he spoke again, his bass voice had dropped an octave, but even then I had no idea what had just transpired.
"Follow me," he said.
We went back to the top of the stairs and looked down upon Father Geoffrey leaning up against the railing, feeling the back of his head. He was woozy and could not stand straight but was alive! Completely alive!
"Father!" I exclaimed. "You are alive!"
"Alive but not well," he said groggily. "I must go see the doctor and leave this place. You would be well advised, Mr. Croft, to do the same." With that, he stumbled down the stairs to the foyer below.
I smiled and turned to Mr. Tragoi. "Thank you good sir, but it looks as though I will not be needing your services."
"Ah, but my services have already been rendered."
I turned and pointed down the stairs. "But what service have you rendered to me? Didn't you see? The priest was not killed in the fall."
He smiled from ear to ear. "Yes he was. You cannot be arrested and tried for murder when the deceased gets up and walks away-that was my service to you." And as he turned his back to me and began walking away, he said, "And I will be back in one year to the day to collect for my services."
It was at that moment that I knew with whom I was dealing. As I pondered my fate in Hades, I silently watched him walk down the dark corridor to his lighted room. I swear to this day that I could hear his faint footsteps turn into the clap of hooves upon the wooden floor . . .
And it is the same sound I now hear outside my bedroom door. My heart now pounds so hard, it threatens to break through my chest. He is here! The knob on my bedroom door is opening. The Devil has come to ta . . .
Becca Montgomery put the old, dusty diary down next to her on the floor when she heard the door to the attic open below her.
"Becca? Are you up here?" her mother called.
"Yes, Mum," she replied with a sigh. "I'm almost sixteen. Why must you always need to know my whereabouts?"
The woman reached the top of the rickety stairs. "This is an old house, dear, and we are new to the area. I just want you to be careful until we get our feet back under us, that's all."
"You worry too much," the girl said in reply.
"Better too much than too little."
Becca smiled. "Point taken."
"What's that on the floor, there?" her mother asked, pointing to the worn book Becca had been reading for the last hour.
"Oh, that old thing. It's a diary from someone who used to live here a long time ago. It read more like a horror novel than a diary, though. The things he said in it were quite unbelievable."
"Well, you need to come downstairs," her mother said, waiving an envelope in the air. "We are going to dinner tonight, and you need to get ready."
Becca got up and dusted her off her behind. "So, where are we going?" she asked.
"We've been invited to dinner at that old manor house on the other side of town.
Remembering what she had just read made Becca swallow back an acrid taste that suddenly welled up from her stomach. "Wh-who invited us?" she then asked nervously.
"Why, the owner of the house, silly. Mr. Tragoi, Victor Tragoi."
All Becca could do was scream.
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