From the Stockroom of The Buy More of the Bloodcurdling
It's that time of year. Time to face your greatest fears, the thoughts that keep you up at night in a cold sweat. And what better way to face those fears than by...reading fanfiction.
A slight change from the last two years...instead of an anthology of 3 stories (an idea I may or may not have picked up from a popular long-running tv program), I've gone for a single longer one. I hope you enjoy it. And are of course are so frightened that you will never get a moment's sleep again. But mostly the enjoying it thing.
I haven't been around for a while, but as far as I can tell, I still don't own 'Chuck.'
"Spooks vs. Spooks"
Chapter 1.
"No offense to your white picket fence, Sarah, but this was always my idea of a dream house."
Chuck shifted his gaze from the road to the rearview mirror, and saw his best friend gesturing towards the backseat window. "I thought you gave up on that years ago, Morgan."
"You kidding? A huge old mansion, remotely tucked away on the seashore? All it needs is a butler named Lerch."
"I don't know," Sarah said, her eyes on the silhouette of the house in the cloudy distance. "I think even Vincent Price would take one look at it and call it depressing." She turned to her husband. "You long did your uncle live here?"
"As long as I can remember."
"Then you've been here before?"
"No. Uncle Horace never invited us, and I imagine if he did, my parents never would have accepted." Chuck looked over and saw the concern in his wife's eyes. He had only told her that he had an estranged uncle, and hadn't filled in too many of the details of his complicated family history. Given the various episodes of Bartowski drama she had been a part of, it was probably a bit silly to spare her any further family quirkiness. But while abandonment and run-of-the-mill daddy issues were one thing, at least they weren't…weird. Horace Bartowski on the other hand…
"Hey, I think that's the entrance coming up!" Morgan announced. "We're here!"
"You know this is a solemn occasion, Morgan," Sarah commented archly. "Maybe you could be a little less enthusiastic."
"I'm sorry, Sarah. But think what this could mean for us. For Carmichael Industries."
Chuck probably would have missed the turn if Morgan hadn't pointed it out. The sky, clear for most of the trip, had taken a decidedly overcast turn as they'd neared his uncle's house. About a half-hour ago the clouds had ceased holding back, turning the last few miles into a slick, rainy mess. The encroaching evening darkness had made things even worse.
As Chuck veered the car through a set of foreboding iron gates and into a curvy driveway, the house began to come into view. He immediately decided that Morgan was welcome to it. It almost seemed like the house had been randomly growing limbs. Two wings of the house jutted out from the center, as if trying to pull the building apart. A central tower extended into the sky, its grey walls nearly indistinguishable from the cloudy night sky. The grounds didn't appear much better. The rocky hillside they'd been driving through for the last few minutes clearly offered little to no nourishment for plant life, so the path was lined with a few gnarled trees and no flowers. A few tufts of grass managed to appear through the rocks and dirt piles that covered most of the ground.
"Yuk," Sarah commented as Chuck slowed the car.
"Cool!" Morgan countered. "Could use some gargoyles, though."
Chuck exited the car and rushed over to the passenger side. Sarah smiled at him and ducked underneath the umbrella he held out for her. They hurried towards the house, briefly glancing at the other cars surrounding the driveway. "A rental car," Sarah pointed out. "Maybe that's Ellie and Awesome."
Chuck sighed in relief when they reached the sheltered porch. He closed the umbrella, and looked around. Up close, the house didn't look any better. Several of the wooden planks at their feet were rotting, and the shutters surrounding the windows hadn't seen any paint in years. The windows themselves were blocked by uninviting iron bars. Clearly, Uncle Horace didn't like visitors.
Finally, he found the front door. Unable to find a doorbell, Chuck was forced to resort to using the large brass knocker, fashioned into the shape of a lion's head. The sound of the knocker smacking against the door echoed throughout the hillside.
"Well that'll wake up the dead," Morgan remarked.
Given the foreboding atmosphere of the place, Chuck half-expected to see Bela Lugosi answer the door. That clearly wasn't the case, unless there was a movie out there where Lugosi played a middle-aged math teacher. The man, short and balding but dressed in a sharp suit, eyed the arrivals curiously. "Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski?" he finally asked.
"Uh, yes," Chuck answered, wincing as he heard his voice crack. "I'm him…er, Chuck, um. Mr. Bartowski." He shook the man's hand. "This is my wife, Sarah."
The stranger took the new arrivals' coats and umbrellas and placed them in a small coatroom at the side of the entrance hall. He then smiled briefly at Sarah, and looked questioningly at Morgan. "Morgan Grimes. I'm here for moral support. And morbid fascination. Not necessarily in that order."
"Well please come in. Most everyone else is already here."
The first thing Chuck noted as he followed the man into the house was the candles. They were everywhere: sconces along the hallway wall, candlesticks on a side table, and a huge chandelier in the parlor that the short hallway opened into.
His uncle must like to create an atmosphere, or couldn't afford the electricity bill.
The room itself was also huge, with a giant stairwell covered in red velvet at the far end, and doors extending in every direction. Various portraits lined the walls between the various sconces, each one picturing somebody Chuck assumed was an ancestor of his. It wouldn't be his choice of room décor, he thought to himself. He'd often felt that Bartowskis weren't the most photogenic of people; clearly they weren't the most painting-genic either.
The man – who happened to be carrying yet another candle - turned towards the right and led them through one of the many doors into a wide sitting room. Compared to what Chuck had seen so far, this room didn't seem so bad. A giant brick fireplace dominated the far wall, the crackling fire inside it fending off the damp chill that seemed to permeate the outside. Over the mantle, and along the side walls, hung several paintings. Chuck was no art expert, but he could tell that the artist had been talented, though possibly slightly demented. One picture was definitely a seascape, though the see was apparently in the process of flooding a small town. Another one seemed to be depicting an earthquake, while a third, as far as Chuck could tell, was a skillfully rendered depiction of a meteor hitting a church. The chairs filling the room all seemed at least somewhat comfortable, or would if they weren't already filled with people. Though two of those people immediately vacated their chairs when Chuck and the others entered the room.
"Chuck! You made it!"
Chuck embraced his sister, and shook the hand of his smiling brother-in-law. He found a seat while Sarah received her sisterly hug, and Morgan got his surprised nod. He took a moment to study the other occupants.
Seated on the couch was a woman dressed all in black. Through the veil, Chuck could see that her eyes were puffy. Apparently, someone had shown some emotion for his uncle. Standing beside her was an older man, dressed in a tailored gray suit, topped by a red bow tie. A pair of gold-framed spectacles hung upon his nose.
"Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski, this is Penelope Rothman, Mr. Horace Bartowski's personal secretary." Chuck greeted each of them in turn, then looked back at the third man. "My name is William Ryerson, Horace's attorney. I sent you the letter last week."
"Of course. Thank you, Mr. Ryerson."
"We are still waiting on one more person, so the reading of the will won't start for a bit. However, we should be able to start with dinner shortly. I've retained Horace's staff for the evening. Hopefully, we will have enough food for everyone," Ryerson said, glancing over at Morgan. "Though in this house, it's always hard to plan. Somebody may be gone by then."
"You're expecting somebody to leave?" Chuck asked.
"Uh, sure," Ryerson responded. A moment later, he left the room.
Ellie walked over to Chuck and Sarah. "C'mon, I'll show you to your room." Chuck and his wife agreed, and were followed soon after by Morgan.
Ellie led them back out into the main parlor, pointing out the other doors surrounding the room. She skipped one of the doors, telling them that it led to the dining room and kitchen and was currently overrun by the cook and maid that had been retained for the night. "They don't come with the house," she explained. "And they didn't work for Uncle Horace. Ryerson brought them in for this little event."
The next door led to a lounge with an oak bar dominating one end of the room. More portraits covered the wall, this time seeming more welcoming because they partially blocked the rather drastic red wallpaper. "Red rum, red rum," Morgan commented, earning dirty looks from both women.
The next room seemed to function as some sort of sitting room, though Chuck wasn't sure why anyone would want to sit there. Although he found the large suit of armor standing in the corner to be cool, he couldn't imagine relaxing while its sword-wielding shadow hovered over them. A few old firearms hung on the walls, which after a moment of studying Sarah declared to be beautiful, but completely useless.
"Weird, isn't it?" Ellie asked, as they surveyed the room.
"No kidding."
"No, I mean never having been to this place until now."
"So you weren't really close with your Uncle either?" Sarah asked. "From what Chuck has told me, he has never even met him."
"He did once," Ellie smiled, "though he was too young to remember it. He came to stay with us once. It didn't go well."
"Uncle Horace and Dad did not see eye to eye," Ellie explained. "Dad was all about science, but Horace was into…other things."
"He was religious?"
"Not exactly, at least from what I could tell. There was a lot of yelling and fighting, and well, I was only seven, so I didn't really understand what everything was about, but Dad definitely did not share Uncle Horace's interests, whatever they were. Neither did Mom."
That explained her indifferent reaction when she'd been told about her brother-in-law's passing, Chuck thought to himself, as he followed his sister back into the main hall. And why she hadn't been invited for this weekend.
"So what do you think is going to happen?" Sarah asked. "If neither you nor Chuck knew your uncle, he must be leaving most of his estate to the others, right?"
Ellie shrugged. "That secretary seemed like she was closer to Uncle Horace than your usual employee would be. But I don't mind. Devon and I are happy in Chicago. If we get this house, you're welcome to it."
Chuck gave his wife a quick look. "I think we'll pass too. I can't even find an outlet around here to recharge my phone."
"Me neither," Ellie admitted. "And I'd like to check in with the neighbors to see if Clara is ok."
The remaining first-floor doorways led to a large bathroom and what Ellie guessed was a stairway to the basement. Chuck decided that that part of the tour could wait for later.
The second floor was filled mostly with bedrooms. Each room, including the one allotted for Chuck and Sarah, was filled with a four-poster bed, along with an old-fashioned dresser and armoire. As Chuck was gratefully stowing away his suitcase, Ellie asked, "So, how's the…you know?" she asked, pointing to Chuck's head.
"No issues," Chuck replied. "I hardly get any flashes any more." Of course, he rarely needed them, and thankfully they rarely kicked in when he didn't. There had been that one incident at the Department of Motor Vehicles, of course, but in the end the jujitsu had gotten his license renewed more quickly. "No side effects, either," he continued. "It's just kind of…there."
"Good. Keep me posted if anything changes."
"Still big sister-ing me, even from all the way in Chicago, huh?"
"You won't get rid of me that easy."
The final room upstairs was an old study, with a bookcase filled with dusty books and manuscripts. Chuck decided it was his favorite room that he'd seen, and regretted leaving it when Ryerson came upstairs to inform them that dinner was ready.
"Oh thank God," Morgan commented, as they headed back down the stairwell. "I could eat anything right now."
"I can't eat this."
Chuck studied the strangely can-shaped substance on his plate, and had to agree with Morgan. "Ummm…what is this?"
"Horace was a firm believer that electricity is mankind's biggest mistake," Penelope explained between bites, "and never had any hooked up to the house." That explained all of the candles, and the lack of outlets, Chuck thought to himself. "So he tended to rely on non-perishable food items. You can do some wonderful things with Spam. And he knew that you don't need a fancy vegetable garden for a balanced meal." She pointed at the sickly green mush on Morgan's plate. "One can find everything you need growing right outside."
Chuck remembered the few tufts of moss and clover scattered around the rocks outside, and immediately put his fork down. He'd regretted the one bite of the "vegetables" he'd taken, and he was now sure that he'd swallowed at least one pebble along with it.
"I'm normally a big fan of the greens," Devon commented, "but I've got to say that nothing beats a good deep dish pizza. What's the name of that place down on Randolph, Babe?"
"Oh gosh," Ellie thought about it. "It is pretty great. The name will come to me in a second."
Chuck had heard his sister and brother-in-law's odes to all things Chicago more often than he could count, and he suspected the other guests had already heard more than their fair share. He decided to see if he could learn more about Horace, and turned to Penelope. "You and my uncle were close?"
"Oh, your uncle was a beautiful person. I will miss him every day."
"Then you two were…" Chuck struggled for an appropriately dignified and sensitive term.
"Lovers?" Penelope spoke up. "Oh no, nothing like that. But I loved working with him."
"Then you shared his…interests?"
Penelope gave Ryerson a quick look. "Oh, Horace had a lot of interests. Reading, uh, he was real art collector, um…hunting." Chuck glanced up at the stuffed boar's head overlooking the dining room table and had to fight off the need to shudder. "You know…lots of things."
Clearly, Penelope was being evasive. He decided to move on, and looked over at Doctor Stanislov who was busily shoving a forkful of spam into his mouth. "And you were his doctor for a long time?"
"Years. But he was healthy as a horse until the cancer. Always believed in exercise and a proper diet. Why spam is known to reduce the risk of several forms of…" the doctor waved his head back and forth as if trying to summon the right word, "uh, Decamphilitis."
"Is that actually a thing?" Chuck whispered to his sister, seated to his right.
She emphatically shook her head. "Not even remotely."
"But you should know," Dr. Stanislov added, apparently not noticing the exchange, "that Horace died comfortably and quietly. Well, other than the convulsions and the night sweats."
Chuck decided he'd heard enough from the good doctor, whose medical specialty clearly seemed to be quackincology. "So, uh, Mr. Ryerson. Lawyering…that seems like an interesting profession."
"Oh, sure. Estate planning always has its share of excitement, especially in a case like this."
"Then Horace was rich?" Morgan asked indelicately.
"Oh, the estate is worth several million," the lawyer replied. If Chuck had dared to put any of the food in his mouth, he would have choked on it. "Though much of the value is from the land this house rests on, as well as the contents."
"The artwork and furniture, you mean?" Ellie asked, looking around dubiously.
"Well, yes, there are quite a lot of things here that are of quite a bit of interest to certain parties. I'm sure you will hear from them if you make it through the night."
"Make it through?" Sarah asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Uh, right. Make it through, with an inheritance."
The sound of the doorbell saved Chuck from asking for any further details. "Ah, our final guest," Ryerson said. He stepped away from the table and headed out towards the hall.
"So who do you think the last guest is?" Devon asked. "Did Horace have any children?"
"Oh no," Penelope responded. "I imagine it must be Horace's old friend," Penelope spoke up. "I haven't seen him in years."
"He probably had to wait until he could leave his coffin," Morgan remarked. "He's probably going to come in here with a hunchback, or a set of horns, or…" He realized everyone had become very quiet, and was looking over his shoulder. "What?"
"Even with a hunchback," a voice growled from behind Morgan, "I'd still tower over you, Moron."
"Oh, er, hey there, Casey. Um, what are you doing here?"
I hope to have the full story up by Halloween, so look for the next chapter in a couple of days. As always, please review to let me know your thoughts so far!
