Disclaimer: Kenshin does not own the Yuu Yuu Hakusho characters (they are the property of Togashi Yoshihiro et al), and does not make any money from said characters.
What Kenshin does own, however, are all the original characters in this work. Any attempt to "borrow" these characters will be met with the katana, or worse.
A word about my storylines: The events in Idiot Beloved take place shortly after the Dark Tournament; Firebird Sweet directly follows that timeline. As reference, I use a combination of the subtitled anime, the American manga, plus some of the CD dramas.
This particular tale occurs some time after the conclusion of The Cowboy Trilogy/Sidekick, and contains both Hiei and Kurama-and a mystery surrounding an old estate that never quite recovered from its previous owner.
Title: Elementary, My Dear Hiei (C1: The Curse of the Haunted Manor)
Author: JaganshiKenshin
Genre: General, Mystery
Rating: K+/PG-13
Summary: The sudden appearance of two mysterious gentlemen only adds to the terror of a transplanted English family.
A/N: As always, thanks for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!
Behind every shadow lurks danger
Elementary, My Dear Hiei (C1: The Curse of the Haunted Manor)
by
Kenshin
It was a dark and stormy night when the beleaguered Puffington clan discovered two trespassers.
The rain did not so much fall as gush like clear blood from a lightning-clawed sky. Crashes of thunder rattled the windows of the mansion house, wringing from the un-nerved occupants startled cries.
Huddled together round the meager fire, the Puffingtons were a family besieged, yet putting on a brave front.
Pudgerella, the mother, Dumpling, the father, their two almost-grown children, and Pudge's brother comprised the little group.
And they say money solves all problems, thought Pudgerella.
"What's next, I wonder," muttered Dumpling. "After the fortnight we've had."
Pudge gazed fondly at her husband. Dumpy dear hadn't changed his manner of dress one bit, from the worn corduroy jacket to the tweed cap that warmed his round bald head.
But Dumpling didn't seem to understand that Pudge now found herself with a whole new batch of worries to replace their longstanding financial woes.
The least of these worries was that none of them, not Dumpy, nor teenage son Twitchy nor almost-twenty daughter Mopey, nor younger brother Smarmy, were to the manor born. Rather, they had won the Irish Sweepstakes, despite being English to the core.
So naturally, once they had sighed in relief, they (anonymously, of course) paid off some debts for their neighbors, like old Mr. Scoggins next door, and the Gaines sisters, whose clothes were always threadbare. Then they bought a double round for everyone at the local pub. And that very night, a kind realtor, one Miss Joan Beame, offered them her assistance, securing a bargain-priced mansion fit for a king, and putting them onto a fabled fancy called The Tredmonton Tiara, all emeralds and diamonds, to go with it.
Without further ado, the Puffingtons packed up and moved to the mansion in Japan, to the north of Tokyo.
Nestled in the Honetadare mountains, surrounded by towering evergreens, the Tarukane manor gave them both privacy and space.
Fashioned along the lines of a French chateau, which was to Pudge quite the thing, the manor featured a turret at the north end, making it castle-like enough to pass muster.
A Tokyo employment agency had supplied them with the staff to properly maintain the manor, and at first, day-to-day living seemed so much better than all five of them crammed into their single bed-sitting room back home that Pudge felt as though she were dreaming.
For one, marvel of marvels, everyone had separate bedrooms with deluxe private baths. This was such a superior arrangement to their old one-room flat near Wenlock Basin, where they'd had to share an unpleasant little bath down a grimy narrow hallway with all the other tenants.
For another, the manor and its surroundings closely resembled the ones Pudge so enjoyed seeing on broadcasts of Masterpiece Theater.
All well and good. However, they had gained not only a fortune, but a particular set of problems-problems never encountered in their native land. Only the damp and the chill seemed familiar. One could hardly expect warm weather in February, yet the mansion remained cold, no matter how many logs they piled on the fire.
There was also the matter of the tiara.
As it turned out, the Tredmonton Tiara came complete not with only a fabled history but a curse, which seemed to unfurl more of its wickedness upon them with each passing day.
But Dumpy was, in spite of his outward appearance, quite stubborn. He would not consider selling the mansion. It would be seen as a retreat, a failure, and that would not do.
Thunder crashed its fist upon the house.
Twitchy jumped. "This is exactly the kind of weather we were supposed to be leaving behind!" Twitchy, whose birthname was Titch, but whose nickname suited him far better, was keen for sport; if it rolled or bounced or flew he was fanatical, glued to the telly for each event. In fact he wore the orange-and-green striped jersey of the Bingham Brawlers.
Rain spat against the windows. Mopey shivered.
"Lay you four to one the roof starts leaking," Twitchy said to Smarmy.
"Not a chance, boy. Still. You'd think we could have afforded a better climate." Muffled in a baggy fisherman's sweater that made him appear like an animated marshmallow, Smarmy was given to snide remarks.
Pudge put both hands to her face. "Maybe we should have moved to Greece instead, only this house was such a bargain."
"And now we know why." Twitchy's wild ginger hair resembled that of his father's, back in the days when Dumpy had had any.
When one particularly brilliant and malevolent lightning-flash lit the sky to a momentary yellow, Merope cried out, "There's something among the trees!"
They rushed to the window.
Merope had been given her classical Greek name for its elegance, and the proper nickname for Merope might well be Merry, but 'Merry' was at such great odds with the girl's personality it would have seemed an affront to use it. Pudge and Dumpling's only daughter was as quiet as the storm was not, and now given to sulks and pallors, all of which had grown markedly worse during the past week.
In appearance, dear Mopey was quite unlike her parents, who were, face facts, plain as the flour dumplings which had inspired Pudge's fond nickname for her husband.
Really Mope might clean up very nicely if she styled her hair and chose becoming garb. Like their son, Mope was long and thin, proving Pudge's long-held theory that somewhere in their background lurked an elegant streak of royal blood. ('Or royal-ish, anyway,' Pudge was fond of saying.)
"Where, dear?" Pudge peered at the thick dark trees. "I don't see anything."
"Wait till the next flash, of course." Smarmy, who had never worked a day in his life, and whose real name had all but been forgotten, could be a bit of a know-it-all.
Not that the nickname fit his physical appearance either; Smarmy was round like Pudge, with an open, innocent face and a little moustache like a tired moth resting just above his cupid's-bow mouth. Maybe his voice was a bit oily, but still he was family.
They huddled anxiously round the great tall window.
The next flash clove the gloom to reveal a rather large caravan under the dense trees surrounding the house, and-
"There is someone!" Pudge gasped. "He's-digging!"
She saw a man with a shovel, spading and lifting, but could not see much detail. The wind plucked at his coat, and rain exploded upon his hat, making Pudge shiver in sympathy.
"Digging what?" wondered Smarmy. "A grave?"
"I'll give you good odds on-" began Twitchy.
"Ghouls and grave-robbers on our doorstep," muttered Dumpy. "If this isn't the very limit-"
"There are two of them," noted Pudge. "One's standing there watching the other!"
Merope backed slowly away and hugged herself. Pudge worried about Mopey. Just before leaving London, Pudge had bought a nice new watercolor set for her girl. It was the one Mopey had always happily gazed upon in the shop window, and in fact was the very best as the shopkeeper said, Winsor and Newton, with such pretty colors, but in spite of her new and picturesque surroundings Mope showed no interest in resuming her art.
"Digging up a patch of earth during a rainstorm like this," huffed Dumpy. "It's an outrage I tell you!"
"He's stopped," said Twitchy, as though disappointed.
"They're both going inside that caravan," said Dumpy.
"Why not call the coppers on them?" inquired Smarmy. "We've every right. They're trespassing on our land after all."
"But Smarmy dear," Pudge reminded him. "The phone is dead."
This was true; Pudge feared they might be reduced to communicating with the outside world by post.
As one, their gazes fell upon the mysterious envelope lying on the side table.
"Shall we open the letter?"
They had feared to do so before, but now it seemed urgent. Dumpling lifted the letter, and handed it to Merope.
Mopey passed it wordlessly to her brother, who fobbed it off on Smarmy, who handed it like a hot potato to Pudge.
Pudge took it in her shaking hands. There was a heavy red wax seal, and then the thick cream-colored paper crackled as she withdrew the missive, hand-written in a bold black script.
With all that had occurred, Pudge's courage failed. "Oh, I can't! You read it, Dumpy dear."
Taking the letter, Dumpling cleared his throat and read:
'Expect us for dinner tonight at 8 PM.
- Monsieurs Hero and Delamont.'
They all looked at one another in complete puzzlement.
"Who...?" wondered Smarmy.
"Eight o'clock," said Twitchy, "Why that's right about-"
The doorbell rang.
"Don't let them in," whispered Mope. "I'm afraid."
"They're here!" Eyes wide with panic, Twitchy clutched at his shirt. "What shall we do?"
"Stiff upper lip," said Dumpy, "and pray the ghosts don't put in an appearance."
-30-
(To be continued: What new danger awaits at the door?)
