"Unless you find yourself in the predicament where it has to happen, you never go down to where the staff live." ShaamVile remembered his father telling him one time when he was a teenager.
If not for the circumstance that befell him five days ago, he wouldn't be remembering what he was. The same went with his standing where he was, or thinking about doing. Before making a premature name for himself, then coming home to get the crap beat out of him, he was taken to the side by his father. The man gave him some very important lessons before he turned one thousand, eight hundred, and thirty years old; even though some of them were enough to bore the socks off his feet, the rest kept his attention.
The one on his watching the man pay the bills was extremely boring. He found himself nodding off on two occasions before finally falling asleep, which won him the distinct pleasure of being snapped at. The lesson on not slouching around while others slaved around you was also boring, but he managed to stay awake during it. If not for the next two lessons, he would of done his best to avoid the man who sired him—the teachings on how to repair certain structures in and around a home were so enjoyable that he had no trouble in staying awake or keeping himself focused; the same went with the following ones, which centered around vehicles. While his father wasn't very intelligent in the ways of repairing a car, he did teach him how to change the oil and tires, add in new antifreeze, and know when something's amiss with the engine.
When the subject of the house's lower level came up, his father was serious in getting and keeping his attention. According to the man, just about all of the conquerors in their family went on to buy homes that were big enough to warrant a staff. While some decided to forgo the practice of giving their staff a home, others decided to be nice in doing so; the home-owner could either let his, or her, staff pay their own bills or pay them for them. The staff's quarters weren't really considered as belonging to the one who owned the house and, nine times out of ten, they weren't included in what the house had in it.
"I follow in example of him and most of our ancestors—while the house has a total of fifty rooms in it, I only consider it as having thirty." ShaamVile thought.
Unless something emergent happened, the one who employed a staff was to stay away from where they lived. Before concluding the lesson on the subject of the staff's quarters, his father reminded him of some of the instances where he went down to where his employees lived. The man, he knew, had only to deal with a handful of emergencies that took place in his generously given employee quarters—one regarded the spouse of one of his maids, who turned and then beat his wife half to death when she came home late; another involved a butler who skewered his hand while cutting an Avocado; the one on the pregnant maid, who didn't know she was with child, but found out after she went into labor, was one that he remembered well, as was the one where one of his father's new recruits took after some of his co-workers with a knife.
"It's only when one of these events, or something worse, happen that you're to go down to where the staff live." he remembered his father saying before deciding to close the matter.
"Is something like one of them, or worse, happening now?" ShaamVile asked while facing the door that gave access to the employee quarters.
Like the one who originally owned the house, he had only to deal with a handful of employee quarters based emergencies. Of the things that he saw to deal with, one stuck out well—it involved a butler and his too-fat wife. The butler was one who liked to use glue on everything, and he just so happened to of used a tube of the stuff on the night that he decided to screw his spouse. Instead of putting the glue somewhere other than his night table, he put it on his table after using it then put a thing of lubricant beside it. Due to his mistake in taking the glue up instead of the lubricant, he came to be glued inside his wife—it took him thirty minutes to get the pair up to the house, then to the awaiting ambulance. Much like the butler's co-workers, he had a fight on his hands to keep the chuckles in.
If not for the members of his staff being a no-show for the last five days, he wouldn't be before the door that stood before their quarters. He had grown to know the habits of the ones who worked for him. They were a consistent bunch, and most of them were friendly and talkative. The two, non-straight butlers had long since stopped being intimate, while three of the maids were found to be bi and then turned to being a little loose with one another. The maids who were straight, and didn't desire to be single right up to when the disease was beat, were still being flirtatious with him and the butler who was straight. The butler who was interested in the maid who was being hard to get had stopped trying to gain her attention at year fifty of their tenure in the house. At year seventy-three, he caved to his urge in having sex with one of the Wench's who worked for him—with her rubbing him all over, then bringing her skirt up, he just couldn't help himself in getting her to follow him up to the room where they did the deed. For the last fifty-two years, he had slept with two of the other women in his staff; it was going on sixteen months since he partaked in any sex, but he felt fine and, furthermore, healthy.
Of the ones in his staff, he was only having trouble with three of them. One of the maids was a little on the religious side. She refused to partake in sex, or flirtatious activities, and she didn't like the issue of either of them being spoken near her. She was caught smack talking him on two occasions over the years; if not for what was going on, he would of fired her on the spot for doing so. Instead of firing her, he slapped her then told her to watch herself. Another of the maids was plain uninterested in either gender, and seemed to be a right quiet individual who preferred to stay to herself. The other maid was an odd creature—she use to be right friendly, and one of the more readibly flirty ones; as of the last thirty-seven years, she stopped doing this. While he was curious over why, he was keeping his distance and letting her odd behavior continue.
It was he who looked after the house, his son, and himself for the last five days. A very daunting task, considering the fact that his son was now three hundred and thirty years old and very sturdy on his legs. Duru was close to being completely toilet trained, and was now using full sentences instead of just saying a few discernible words. His education on time and numbers was now happening, so he was probably to know what a second, minute, hour, and one, two, and three were soon. He was happy to know that his son had grown by four inches over the last forty years, and was around eight pounds heavier than he use to be. Following the event where his daughters were seen from the house, he found himself as dealing with a very nervous boy for a while before everything cleared up—the idea of his son slipping himself from his bed, then stealing to the banister of the stairs to see what all the ruckus was about, then racing up to his room and getting back in bed, was very far from his mind both then and now. The event of running his daughters off still haunted him; he had nightmares of it, and on their stumbling to some slant-roofed shed, then hunkering down in it until they succumbed to their dastardly ailment, often. If not for the pills that gave him the ability to sleep for a full night, and Duru's habit of sleeping only when he wanted to being over, he would of been driven crazy by what he dreamed.
"Then there's the dream of the one who has the two sets of horns on his head—been having it for three nights now... It doesn't seem to want to cease, or stop continuing from where it left off." ShaamVile thought before going to open the door before him.
He didn't know the source of the dreams, or who the man was that was in them. All he knew was that he wished they'd stop. The dreams started off with him being in his bedroom. He was asleep, then was aroused by the arm of the man who was in them. The man would speak to him, tell him to get dressed, then have him follow him to a dark corridor. Duru was never spoken of during these dreams, but he thought the man knew him and, furthermore, was concerned for both of them. The man was around six foot, one and a quarter inches tall; he wasn't able to detect the color of his skin, but he knew that he had nothing in the pits of his eyes and two sets of horns on his head. Two of these horns curled all the way around, while the others just swept to the side. He never stopped himself from following the man to where a door was, or hear his cautioning words on his needing to cover it up before the darkness behind it got out.
He was continuously telling himself that his dreams were nothing more than that. His hysteria over sending his daughters away, coupled by his staff not being around to be spoken to or engaged with, had caused him to have them. If not for his son showing some skills in his Elemental powers, which he started to exhibit about sixty-one years ago, and his being relieved over his inheriting them, he'd cave to his stress over them and to what the disease was bringing on.
"Hello?" he said after opening the door, then flipping the switch to the stairs' light fixtures.
It was cold in this part of the house, which was odd because the rest of the house was warm. With it being the middle part of July, it was cold outside. The house was kept at a consistent seventy-seven degrees at this time of year yet, in the employee quarters, it felt fifteen to twenty degrees colder than that. After detecting the chill in the quarters, he closed the door then descended the stairs. All while going down to where the employee apartments were, he thought about how well his son's system was faring—not once since moving into the house had he uttered a cough, sneeze, or sniffle; while he came down with a few low-grade fevers, and a headache or two, he was as healthy as could be. While he came down with more cases of getting headaches, he hadn't experienced anything that the change in weather brought on or any type of fevers—and was he glad for this; if he had, he would of been bogged down further with the stress of raising his young son. Like with performing the spell on the provisions to make them last for however long the disease was rampant, he performed a spell on the medical supplies so they'd hold up to the years that they were needed.
With his growing like he was, Duru's clothes were getting a little small. A few years ago, one of the maids was kind enough to make him three shirts, two pairs of pants, and some underwear—like with his now sleeping in a bed, Duru wasn't wearing or using his disposable underwear anymore. He was happy to receive the maid's help, and to also know that one of the butlers use to be a cordwainer. The butler who use to have an interest in one of his co-workers whipped up two new pairs of shoes for his son, who was wearing them well; except for his outgrowing his old pairs of slacks, and having to wear a normal pair of knee-long socks, his son was good to go for a while. He was glad to see him wearing clothing that fit his body—he didn't want him to wear shirts that came to barely his wrists, or pants that barely went down his upper legs, or shoes that were too tight on him. Whenever one of his shirts, coats, pants, or underwear grew to being a bit overused, he tracked the maid or butler down then asked for them to fix them; they were always willing to help and he was happy to know that they were so inclined to keep his outfits neat and tidy.
Seven days ago, he gave the butler who use to be a cordwainer a pair of his shoes that needed to be buffed up and then repaired on the soles. The man said he'd have them to him in two days time; he disappeared on the day of his given timeline, and when he and the rest of his co-workers seemingly disappeared from thin air.
"Hello? Anyone down here?"
He stopped about midway down the stairs. The air... it either grew to being a bit murky or was foretelling something that he either needed to know but didn't or needed to run from. He stood on the stairs, with one hand on the wall and the other close to being in the pocket that had a knife in it, for the longest of time before continuing down them. All while descending the rest of the stairs, he was clean of thoughts. The only thing that he let himself be concerned over was the missing staff; if he had known about what he was about to walk in on, he would of stopped right then and there and then raced up to where he came. Since he wasn't one who could detect things before they happened, or knew that they were happening so to stay clear of them, he walked on.
The second his final step occurred, he stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth dropped for a micro-second, before being closed then covered with the kerchief that was in his pocket.
What he saw was reminiscent to what he saw in his brother's house. The hallway that the apartments were on was a mess. Blood, and a viscus-like fluid, galore; the only thing that wasn't present in his brother's house was the scratch marks. If he had to make any guesses, someone acted out their pain by scratching the walls, and floor, to pieces. There were two maids about five steps away from the final step of the stairs; with their nails being worn down to nearly to quick, he put the scratches on them. These two maids were bi, and were known to be more than a little chummy with one another; both were pocked with open protuberances on their necks, but only one was covered in blisters and bruises. After seeing the two women, he carefully walked past them then looked into the rooms that were on the hallway.
The first was closed. When he opened it, then went in, he found it deserted. The next three were the same way, while the fourth was a disaster area. Someone was obviously in the process of making a meal, then had an episode where they cut themselves; he followed the trail of blood to the bathroom, where he found the maid all slumped over the sink. She was covered in rashes, and was emitting a horrible odor, which only came from the protuberance that ruptured on her inner thigh. After seeing this Wench, he left the apartment then closed its door.
The next room was empty, as were the next ten, while the twelfth contained a surprise. The two, non-straight butlers seemed to of made the decision to partake in another session of bed play—he found them in the bedroom; they were naked, and one was on top of the other, but both were dead. The bigger of the men was all scratched and torn up, while the smaller one was just a bruised up mess. Ironically, the bigger man was on the bottom—he guessed that the smaller one had a merry old time in causing the damage to him before succumbing to what he had. While they had protuberances on them, they weren't burst. He left the apartment quickly, then went down the hall just as quickly.
Room 21 had three of his staff in it. It was obvious that they grew scared after the two in the hallway started their assault on the walls, then took refuge in the room that they were in. One of the women was still alive, but barely, while the others were cold and dead—if he had to make any guesses, they were two days deceased. The still-living maid was the religious one. When she saw him, she held her hands out then asked for him to come retrieve her—due to her face being all swelled up, her arms being covered in rashes, and the boil on her jaw, he didn't. He just looked at her, mouthed that he was sorry, then left the room.
The third and final butler was found five minutes later. He was sitting in his living room; it looked like he took to sleeping in the room, because the bedroom's bed was made up all nice and neat and didn't look or feel to of had an occupant in it. Even though he found him in the lounge chair, he knew he wasn't alive—his skin had long since lost its color; his eyes were jutting out from their sockets; and his throat was three times its size. One look told him that the man died from suffocation, which only came from the underskin boils that had yet to grow and then protrude from the flesh. With the chair's arms being all scratched up, and their stuffing and foam being all around it, he also knew that he attacked it in his throws to breathe. After seeing the man, he turned then fled his living area.
He grew to being infuriated after coming across the room that was two down from the one that he just left. It was clean and organized, but was obviously being used as a sort of storage and trading area by the ones who he employed. He found cigarettes, alcohol, clothing articles, food and medical supplies, and all matter of material one used when repairing clothes or other fabric pieces. After finding this room, he put two-and-two together on how his staff were able to repair his clothes, and make Duru new ones—instead of using fabric from the other rooms to repair or make new ones with, they were leaving the house, buying or finding the material that they needed, then coming back and using it. He left this room in a fury, then went into the next four. When he entered the fifth, he started to wonder how his staff were able to leave the house without his knowing it.
"Except for the front and back doors, there's no other way out of here. Both doors are blocked by wood. And so are the windows. No one could of gotten out without prying them boards back—they would of made a lot of noise, which would of attracted attention."
The five rooms, that he checked over, were empty of occupants. When he reached the end of the hallway, he stopped when he heard the sounds of someone talking, then another person responding. He listened to these voices, which were joined by three others, for two minutes before tracking them down; before entering the room where they were coming from, he noticed something in the ceiling. Seeing as he had nothing better to do, he investigated the area in the ceiling that didn't look right.
By way of reaching his hand up, then pressing it to the section that didn't look solid, he discovered that someone was naughty with the power tools. Someone, somehow, managed to saw a twenty-five by thirty inch square in the ceiling; when he inspected this just-made discovery, he found that it opened in on a tunnel. After shrinking to the size of a mouse, the traversing this tunnel, he found that it took him to a vent, which wasn't fast to the house—it was quite obvious that one of the maids, or the smaller of the butlers, squirmed through the tunnel, then left the house to retrieve what was desired before coming back. After finding this secret, he returned to the house, then the hallway that the employee apartments were on; even though he was furious over this discovery, and what it meant, he went to see what the voices belonged to.
"Bastards deserved what they got. No sympathy from me will be given—the house was boarded up, and safe to live in, then they went and made it not safe. If not for the risk of getting UA-1, my son and I would leave then never return." ShaamVile thought.
Before entering the room, he listened to the voices that were in it. He detected five, and not all of them were adult. If he had to make any guesses, the two maids who were yet to be tracked down were in it; while he hoped to find them with just the tv on a little too loud, he knew better than to believe this. When he grasped and then turned the doorknob, he braced himself for what he'd find. Once the door was opened, and he was in the room, the voices stopped being heard. It grew quiet; the sense of alertness was very present. After walking down the foyer's short hallway, then rounding the corner, he stopped then growled.
"Mr. Surfeit...!" the maid who turned to being very shut-off from everyone said after seeing him. From what he was seeing, she was healthy.
"What's he doing here?" the other maid, who seemed to prefer to be left alone, asked. Like the other maid, she looked to be healthy.
The two women were on the couch. The tv was on, but it was silent. The table, that sat between it and the couch, was surrounded on three sides by three children of various ages; the oldest child was a teenager, while the other two were around Duru's age. Before he could say or do anything, he heard the sound of a baby crying—it took him two guesses to assume that there were more than just five in the room after hearing it. After seeing this near-normal sight, he nodded his head then left the room. The maid who changed her demeanor thirty-seven years ago followed behind him; even though she followed him, she didn't touch him.
"Sir, I apologize for doing it but, believe me, I had to do it. I couldn't just let them wander the streets, or be parentless." the maid said.
"You had your reason, as did the rest of your co-workers, in disobeying my instruction in being housebound. Now, you'll receive the fruits of it." ShaamVile replied after leaving the room, then going up the hallway. While on the hallway, he saw his shoes in one of the rooms; instead of stopping to retrieve them, he walked on to where the stairs, and then door, were.
"Sir!" the maid said.
She was about to grab him when he took off. While he was slow during the start of a run—he grew to being too tall too fast, which hindered him in being fast from the onslaught—, he was fast enough to get away from her. After leaping over the two maids who were in the hallway, he tore up the stairs then crashed into the door. Once he was in the house's main part, he slammed the door shut then locked it.
The concern of UA-1 being on him wasn't able to grab him. Right now, he was concerned over it seeping in through the door's cracks. He went to where the bigger kitchen was, then tore its table and chairs up before returning to where the employee quarters were; all while the maid pounded on the door, and pled her innocence over bringing orphans into the house, he nailed the pieces of wood before the door. The maid questioned him twice, then started screaming after realizing that he was closing her off from the rest of the house—she kicked the door twice, then pounded on it, before trying to run into it; all while she did this, he placed boards before it. He neither spoke to her or gave her a word of concern or care—as he said earlier, she bought her fate when she and her co-workers decided to leave the house.
"You won't be taking me or my son to the grave with you." ShaamVile said after bringing the roll of plastic to the door, then rigging it over it for double security over the disease not getting in.
He used the entire roll before stepping back to give his work a look. The maid was still on its other side, and was still talking, but was now no longer pleading her innocence. She was calling him the worst employer ever, and someone who deserved to get what her co-workers got; if not for the door being well boarded and plastic contained, he would of ripped it open to dish out the melody of all slaps to her. With the door being roped off, and the disease contained, he turned to go upstairs—with what he just went through, and saw, he wanted to be with his son but, thanks to his being around it, he had to wash himself to ensure that he was clean of contamination.
"Bastards better not of caused it to get into the house, or enter me or Duru's body. I'll breathe fire on you if you have, I swear to the Gods I will." ShaamVile said after reaching a bathroom, then disrobing and getting in the shower.