《Beast of the Night》Chapter 6
Advertisement
6
The storm that had threatened to burst during Rosen’s hike to the castle now launched its assault upon the valley, lightning slashing the clouds purple, thunder rumbling the foothills.
She watched through the window glass as she scrubbed it clean, the rise and fall of the land and forest beyond buffeted as the wind gusted and tossed leaves high, swirling bouquets of red.
Ten windows done. She dropped the washrag in a bucket. Already her hand ached. She switched to her left elbow—it could push the rag over the glass but couldn’t reach high.
Feee…feee…
Rosen’s ears perked, and she twisted to look over her shoulder. The wispy sound came like a note from a flute, only no one was there.
Something red vanished around a corner.
Rosen dropped the rag again and crept toward the corner, her unquenchable curiosity awakened.
Reaching the corner, back pressed against the wall, she rounded it quickly with her chopping hand raised.
Red flickered and vanished…flickered and vanished…down the dark corridor beyond.
Lowering her hand, she followed, footsteps muffled under an expensive, dilapidated carpet stretching into the shadows.
Feee…
Rosen raced to catch up, squinting to keep the red glow in her sight, flickering like a firefly. It veered left, and she skidded, catching herself on a doorframe to which the red flicker had flown through.
She sucked in a breath then peeked inside, taking one cautious footstep at a time. The room was dim; she could make out the shape of a large canopy bed and some other furnishings. Heavy drapes and the bad weather outside made the dust-encrusted windows barriers to any sunlight. She should clean them up, then get a proper look at this room.
Red flickered in the corner of her eye, and she turned, coming face to face with a woman.
“Eek!” Rosen covered her mouth. A flash of lightning managed to glow through one window and reveal the gilded frame of a painting. The face was a painting—not real.
Rosen breathed. The fair woman seemed to be staring down at her, swathed in red ruffles and frills. Goosebumps crawled up Rosen’s arm.
The next painting over had a gentleman who seemed to watch her every move, his top hat and cane stately and somehow familiar. Had she seen him before, somewhere? The style reminded her of old photographs in books. In history books… Oh, that’s where she’d seen him!
That book about Freudendorf’s history had several gray-and-white photographs. And this man—though depicted much older here—had been in one of them. “Are these Varick’s relatives? They certainly look wealthy, a lord and lady.”
Could they be the family who’d once ruled the town, long ago, before that creepy Lord Kalt took over?
Fee-ee!
The red firefly hovered by the door now, and something metallic squealed in protest before a lamp burned to life on the wall. The red thing perched on the lamp’s knob, and Rosen blinked. It had the head of a red thistle flower, and spindly, sharp limbs made of thistle leaves. A line that was its mouth curled up, and glossy leaves for eyes watched her draw near.
“What are you?” she asked.
“Our resident pixit—a very mischievous species, I should warn you. You probably know them better as pixies.” Licht appeared in the doorway. “Need a break, Miss? I doubt Master meant that you should clean every single window in one evening. Eh…” He glanced about, “Especially not these windows. The master would throw more than a tantrum if anything were to be disturbed in his parents’ bedroom.”
“Are those his parents?” She pointed to the two paintings.
Advertisement
Licht shook his head, the flames of his ears swishing. “His grandparents. These,”—he strode over to the other wall—“are his parents.”
The single painting depicted an elegant couple, their hair the same luscious black as Varick’s, and skin just as pale. There between them, very small, was a young boy with silver eyes and a smile hovering on his lips. It had to be Varick, though the boy in this painting felt different: peaceful, enthusiastic and happy—as if the world had so much to offer, so much that he wanted to explore.
She felt a shudder. It reminded her of her childhood self, before cold reality of a lost mother and a useless father settled in. What cold reality had wiped off that peaceful smile from Varick?
“Dinner will be soon. We may as well give you a tour around the castle, beforehand.” Schatten’s purple smile glowed from out of the shadows to join them.
Fee, fe-ee!
“Must you tag along?” Schatten frowned as the pixit poked at his long purple ears, and he swatted his hand.
“Be nice, you two.” Licht pushed Schatten out the door and motioned to her. “Come, Miss Rosenrot.”
“Ouch! Don’t touch me!” Schatten turned in the corridor, trying to massage his back. “I told you not to touch me with those flaming hands!”
“Wrists, not hands. And I can’t help it—they don’t snuff out, you know.”
“You can control those flames, and you know it! Maybe I should keep a bucket of water on hand,” the shadow nymiad muttered.
Fee-heehee!
“Now that’s just mean,” said Licht. “Stop laughing, Fee.”
The pixit giggled, leaves rattling, and flew to land on Schatten’s shoulder.
“Ouch! Those thistle thorns hurt!”
Rosen followed them up the corridor, a piece of her reluctant to leave the painting and its ghost image of a once happy family behind.
The castle was a maze of narrow corridors, tall windows, wide rooms that led into rooms which then led into more rooms—and all decorated in the most lavish, gothic affair. Any bright colors, tapestries and fabrics had faded or worn, and the elegant dark-wood furnishings were layered in years’ worth of dust. The niches, rails, columns and ribbed ceilings were hidden in cobwebs. She touched a green glass vase, displayed on a corridor table, and balked at the layer of white stuck to her fingertip.
This place was more like an abandoned haunted mansion—the kind in grim fairytales—though the remnants underneath begged her to believe it wasn’t always so. She flinched as a floorboard creaked unstably under her weight.
The shadow nymiad waved here and there as they toured, announcing rooms and what they were used for: the kitchens, the boiler, the many guest corridors, the servants quarters, and so on and so on. “And this,” Schatten faced her before a set of doors, thistles and thorns carved decoratively about the wood, “is the library!”
Dust bunnies fled as the doors whooshed open.
Rosen’s jaw dropped and her feet carried her forward. “This is my happy place,” she whispered to the air, tilting back her head to stare at the rows upon rows upon rows of shelves and floor levels and spiral staircases reaching to the ceiling. A world of books, a wonderland of every form of literature ever to have graced the lands.
Rosen drew in a deep breath through her nose, the old sent of leather, fabric covers and paper filling her senses, her being.
This was paradise.
She could die happy now.
“I try keeping this place clean, but…well.” Licht blew the dust off a table and a book on display. “Flames don’t do well near paper, even if I can control them.” He waved his wrists and elbows.
Advertisement
Schatten rolled his eyes. “Excuses. I told you I’d trade you the boiler room for this one. The boiler is much more your style.”
“I hate the boiler! It’s hot and unfriendly, not open and bright, like this.”
Massive windows ran up the floor levels, letting in more light than anywhere else in the castle. The fading storm outside had left the sky gray.
“So you force me to be stuck with it?” Schatten glowered. “That does it! I’m doing the library from now on!”
“No, Miss Rosen is.” Licht gestured toward her. “I think she’s already fallen under its enchantment.”
“Fine.” Schatten lifted his shoulders. “But you’re taking on the boiler room for two months!”
Licht’s translucent face made an exclamation.
Just then, a stomach growl echoed through the library. Rosen pinched her lips, face red. “Is it time for dinner yet?”
***
Thankfully the dining table, and most of the burgundy-themed dining room, had been cleaned. Licht ushered Rosen to the seat at the end of the table—Lord Varick already seated at the opposite end and brooding. He shot a glare across the space as she sat, then frowned down at the empty placemat.
“What is taking the chef so long?” His growl became a whine. “Did I march all the way in here just to sit before an empty table and stare at a crippled human?”
“Crippled?” Rosen’s hackles lifted.
“No, Master, of course not. I’m sure it’s on the way, any moment now,” Licht replied with a tremble in his voice.
“I may be missing half an arm, but that doesn’t make me a cripple,” she said leaning forward, and glared across the table, palm pressing on the wood.
“Doesn’t it?” He stared point-blank in return. “Don’t you find certain tasks difficult? Or can you wield that fork in your mouth while your hand uses the knife to cut?”
Rosen looked down at the silverware. It was a struggle to use a fork and knife at once.
Was this Varick really the same sweet, cheerful boy from the painting? That boy would never have been so rude and unfeeling!
The back doors swung open and in creaked Butler Sterbetod, with a rolling cart and trays. The cart bumped into the table before his popping wrists could stop it.
Varick pinched his brow between two fingers. “You’re giving me a headache, Sterbetod!”
“Yes, Master…sorry, Master…” The butler’s shoes shuffled along the carpet as he picked up the first tray and carried it over. The dishes rattled, and Rosen feared he might drop it, but somehow the zombie-like butler made it over and plopped the tray onto the polished table.
Sterbetod’s hands shook the platter of beef and giant bowl of soup as he filled their plates and bowls, contents barely managing not to spill over the sides. Varick frowned disdainfully, watching the process until his dinner was set on the placemat before him. He raised his knife and fork.
Sterbetod creaked and groaned back towards the tray, but Rosen rushed over and retrieved her dishes herself, sparing the elder man the effort. “Oh, Miss…you don’t have to…”
She waved it away, coming back to pick up her soup bowl.
Varick watched her as he sliced his slab of beef, using the knife a little too obviously, a ghost smirk in the crease of his lips.
She sat down harshly and picked up the knife with her hand, then pressed the fork’s handle with her dexterous elbow: pressing the fork into the beef, to keep it in place while she sliced. The knife wasn’t very sharp, but she sliced up the beef and then took the fork in hand to eat.
Varick regarded her utensil work, while he spooned down an orange colored soup.
Satisfied with her accomplishment, Rosen tasted the soup—pumpkin soup, of course. “You have a thing for pumpkin, don’t you?”
His glare shot back up, though he continued spooning down soup. “Do you have something against pumpkins?” he asked in a threatening tone.
She shrugged, “I like them just fine.”
His glare mellowed a fraction, and he looked away with a snort.
The pumpkin soup was delicious—then again, anything other than eggs and cheap bread was. She finished every scrap and crumb of dinner, even lifting the bowl to lick it clean—she’d never had such wonderful food in all her poverty-stricken life!
Disgust and approval warred on Varick’s features. He clapped his hands, and Sterbetod brought in dessert: slices of decadent pumpkin cake topped with icing. Oh my, she could eat like this every day! Maybe putting up with Varick was worth it—especially considering that library paradise.
“Ah, the weather is clearing up!” Schatten entered, taking up their finished plates, despite the butler’s protest that he could manage. “We didn’t show you the gardens yet, Miss Rosenrot,” he said, floating to the cart and setting the tray down. He half turned toward the lord, his hair moving as if touched by an unfelt breeze. “Perhaps Master would care to join us? Get a breath of fresh air, and show the miss how you’d like the plants to be trimmed?”
Varick shot him a withering look before wiping a napkin across his perfect lips. He rose and stomped towards the door, glossy hair jostling around his proud cheeks. “I might venture into the gardens, since I feel like it,” he stated without looking. “You should know, though: I’m picky about how I want the gardens to look.”
He donned a black velvet cape as he left.
Rosen stood and followed reluctantly, Schatten urging her on. Down the grand staircase, and through a corridor, a squeaky door led out onto a marble patio. From there, the gardens sprawled.
It was in the same sorry state as the front courtyard—gravel paths overgrown with thorny weeds and choking vines, hedges and bushes misshapen, twisted trees looking like gothic beings. She took a moment, head dizzy. How was she supposed to fix all of this?
Thunder rumbled, a faint echo as the storm retreated over the mountains, leaving behind an overcast sky that barely let evening light glow through.
“I should grow a pumpkin patch,” Lord Varick stated. He posed beside her, hand on his hip, surveying the gardens as if they were lush and not about to crumble into pieces.
“Uh-huh…” Rosen eyed him sidelong.
Nose high, Varick marched down the patio steps, spreading his arms wide before the gardens. “My beautiful domain. So many new vines have grown!”
Rosen cast a glance at Schatten, who shrugged blankly. She followed Varick into the overgrown, creepy paths.
Varick’s fingers caressed the tendrils of a mass of interwoven vines, which were smothering a stone bench and its companion angel statue. “Yes, so lovely,” he cooed.
Rosen tried not to let her face show what she was really thinking.
“A little trim on the dead ends should help them,” he told her, his focus on the vines. Next were the twisted, decorative trees. “Just enough pruning to keep them healthy and thriving—no changing their shapes, mind you.”
“So…you want a garden that’s made of vines, thistles, and misshapen flora?” she asked.
He shot a pouting look over his shoulder. “They’re beautiful. Can’t you feel the lonely, forgotten aura they give off? So distant and forlorn, it’s almost magical.”
He knelt to the patches of thistles filling in what should have been flower beds. “Thistles have the most exquisite shape, like twisted roses. Their alluring flowers draw you in, and their thorns steal your blood. Yet they do not last for long, no matter how hard they struggle to survive. They soon wither away and must leave this world behind. It’s truly romantic.”
Rosen made a face at his back, then quickly hid it when he turned. “Thistles are pretty, in their designated place,” she agreed, and touched the tip of a purple flower puff. “Roses are my favorite, though.”
“Hm, makes sense. It matches your name,” he said and moved on.
The way he described flowers and thorns—alluring yet dangerous—was almost poetic, she had to admit.
They reached rows of trellises: a few rose buds still blooming along the rafters despite the autumn chill. He touched one bud that was wilting black. “Such a fleeting life…” He stared at the petals, as if seeing through them to something in the past. His other hand went to the ruby rose necklace at his neck subconsciously.
Rosen wet her lips and asked, “Your ancestors, are they the ones who used to rule the town in the valley?” She nodded beyond the castle, where the steep foothill they were on dropped down toward the valley.
“Yes.” He seemed reluctant to say it.
“Do you ever think about buying the town back and becoming the governing force?” she asked. “The town could use someone new, someone more open to advancement.” She paused. Varick wasn’t exactly the picture-perfect lord for the job…but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“I want nothing to do with the outside world,” Varick snapped. “Lord Kalt is doing just fine.”
“Oh, so you know of him?”
“Of course I do. Why are you prying into my business?” His silver eyes glared darkly.
“I saw the painting—the one of your…parents.” She took a step back.
“That has nothing to do with you. Stay out of my business!” Varick stormed past her, cape swishing. “Human greed knows no bounds…” he muttered harshly.
Rosen turned after him. “Why do you keep referring to me as a human? You’re human too, aren’t you?”
Varick barked a laugh and halted.
Rosen clenched her hand. “Are you the one I saw, all those years ago? Wrapped in a cape, crying and screaming at the night sky?” she demanded to know, gathering her nerves. “Are you the one they call Nachzehrer, Beast of the Night?”
He turned so that one silver eye met hers. “And if I say that I am, what will you do? Scream in terror and flee? The Nachzehrer is a vampire beast, you know.”
Rosen pressed her shaking hand across her stomach. “The dead do not come back to life. Such things cannot exist.”
Varick turned all the way around until he faced her. “Is that so?” He drew one step nearer, a shaft of evening light appearing through the clouds and spilling over him, glinting off his eyes, his teeth. Off his perfectly twin set of fangs, masked previously by the castle’s darkness.
“Nobody bothered to inform me that I could not exist.” He pulled out a hidden knife from his jacket and sliced it across his arm. The cut bled, then healed itself before her.
Rosen started back with a sharp gasp, her hand catching herself on the wing of an angel statue. She moved to keep the statue between them. This couldn’t be real—vampires weren’t real! But what her mind thought and what her eyes were seeing contradicted. In a flurry of panic, Rosen ran.
She ran for the garden gate, metal squealing as her hips shoved through.
“Going somewhere?” Varick appeared off to the side, catching up with her in an instant.
She screamed and launched herself over a prickly hedge. Hitting the ground on the other side, jarringly, she rolled to her feet and bolted into the forest surrounding the castle.
The ground sloped before her. She could hear Varick leap over the hedge as she hurried across the leaf-strewn ground, twigs clawing at her skirt. The sun dipped below the tops of the mountains, plunging the forest into near darkness.
Her left foot missed ground, sinking through a depression made of piled rotting leaves, and she lost her balance—falling sideways, striking her side and tumbling down the steep decline.
The world became a flurry of soil and foliage as she rolled helplessly, her single hand useless to stop herself, falling down the side of the mountain.
Her right ribs crashed into something, and her falling halted. A wave of leaves smothered over her like an avalanche set loose.
And then, all was silent, but for a distant night bird.
She breathed, in and out, pain like fire in her side.
Well, at least this was better than being bled dry by some vampire. She could die happy in a forest, as long as no carnivore found her first.
If only it were daylight, though, so she could see the pretty forest colors. Autumn was the time for sorrow and morbid things—it would make a nice requiem for her death.
Rosen let her eyelids close.
Advertisement
Anime World?
In this era, anime has spread to the entire world; people are indulging themselves in anime so much that they’re calling themselves as ‘Otaku’. They’re going to conference and events that’s related to anime. Some people quit their social life and choose to indulge themselves in figurines, manga, light novel and animes. Some of them are teens that are been bullied or has the same circumstance, some of them just choose to be a ‘Hikikomori’ (People who withdraw their social life) just because they wanted to. But one day, one after another, people who called themselves ‘Otaku’ starts to disappeared. Their relatives are confused since they never see the person leave the house so it’s still a mystery on why they suddenly went missing. That strange phenomena continued until it finally takes it final victim, Carlo Delacruz suddenly disappeared. When the people around him got interviewed by the reporters, they said something like “That guy is a thirty years old virgin who has no family left beside him” or “I always so that guy loitering around the park meeting with his nerd friends, maybe they’re the one that took him” But none of them surely knows what happened to Carlo and the other person that went missing, but there’s a fact that only a little of people knows, and in fact all of them are the ones whom went missing. All of them, all of the ‘Otakus’ that went missing knows this. The fact that all of them are transported into a another world. But not just any other world, they have been teleported to an Anime World.
8 93Unprecedented: The Life of Enheduanna, the First-Known Writer
The earliest writer known to history by name was a woman. Her name was Enheduanna, and this is her story. Set in Mesopotamia in the 23rd century BCE, Unprecedented is told in Enheduanna’s own voice as she looks back on her life in a private reminiscence to Inanna, her patron goddess. After her father forces the young princess to leave home to be High Priestess in a strange city, she gradually comes to excel in the role, guided by supporters and anchored by faith. Over the next twenty-five years, Enheduanna survives plots, vendettas and rebellions and lives to see her two brothers and nephew become kings. When the stability of her family’s empire is threatened, she develops an ambitious and unique project, using poetry to unite the people of Mesopotamia. But her greatest work is produced in the darkest hour of her life, when an enemy takes away everything she has.
8 62The Mutant Mercenary
On Monbello, an alien planet that had been at war with another, is now almost just a wasteland on the surface, but underground, their society still survives. Tamina, a special fighter of one of two intelligent species occupying her planet, does favours for anyone in order to survive. I plan to release a chapter every day, and if not, every other day. I'm doing this for fun, as a hobby, but constructive criticism is still very welcome! :) Cover is mine
8 125Venture of Tomorrow
In a snowy season in the Arkala Village, there was a young boy named Lucas. Who lives happily with his family until one day... A group of criminals known as "Shadow Phoenix" invaded their village. The people got panicked as they were running away while he got knocked down and left unconscious. When he woke up, he ventured through the wilderness to seek help from others but he collapsed due to the fact that he doesn't have the energy to do so... Before he knew it, he was already inside a mansion, he was saved by a gorgeous woman and he called her his master but eventually she died because of a powerful curse that she was carrying around. The last words that Lucas heard to her was "help others even if no one would, this way you can get your revenge without regret". This is the starting point of Lucas Hart's journey.
8 199forbidden thug love
when two loves find each other how far will they go to keep what they have found even if it means defying their own fathers how far will kadence and delontay go to keep their love alive both children of mafia kings who hate each other they have been told that they are forbbiden to be together but we all must remember all is fair in love and war
8 153Scentless Curiosity [KristSingto Fanfic]
It started as curiosity.But somehow it lead to life full of happiness and love.------Main: SingtoKristBrief mentions: NammonGuy, Tay, Gun, BrightWin, TharnType, SarawatTine, Gsm, Mond, Jennie, TaeTee, OaujunFiat, KimCop------Disclaimer: Character's used are real life actors, I have no ownership of anything in this book except for the story.Update once every 2-3 weeks.S/E: 1 Feb 2021 - 11 Apr 2022Best Ranks:11 in #kristsingto (16.5.2021)149 in #win (24.1.2022)155 in #bright (24.1.2022)21 in #brightwin (26.11.2021)48 in #tay (24.1.2022)138 in #guy (17.8.2021)6 in #krist (26.11.2021)
8 98