Bedrosian's Sanctum
Note: A short story submitted to HDA Halloween Contest in 2007.
Despite the dust and cobwebs around him, Frank Hardy wasn't sure how he woke up in a living room he'd never seen before. A single lantern hung on the wall, emanating the dim room with soft golden hue. He noticed a calendar on the wall displaying the date: October 31st. But Halloween wasn't on his mind right now. Where the heck were Jennings and his thugs? He remembered that he and his brother, Joe, were chasing them through a video game complex just a moment ago. How he ended up in this place, he had no idea.
Sighing, Frank raised himself to his elbows, only to feel his head was pounding painfully. It took him a few seconds to gather his strength before he glanced around. He caught another form on the floor.
"Joe!" He crawled over to his brother and shook him by the shoulders. "Wake up, Joe."
Joe mumbled something undecipherable.
"Joe!" Frank shook him harder.
"I'm up. I'm up. Sheesh!" His brother groaned as he rolled to one side, struggling to sit up. His hand went to his blond hair. "My head feels awful."
"You're not the only one," Frank replied in a grim voice.
"And you sound kind of funny."
"So do you." In fact, Joe's voice sounded slightly muffled and deeper than usual.
Joe blinked his blue eyes as if to focus on his vision. "Wait a minute — where are we? Didn't we just chase Jennings and his goons a while ago?"
"That's what I was thinking. Maybe they knocked us out and locked us in this… place." Frank patted his pockets. "My pockets are empty. Do you have your cell phone with you?"
Joe checked his pockets. "No… Just great, we can't call for help. The rest of the gang is probably wondering where we are. Wait till I get my hands on Jennings." He smacked his fist against his palm.
"Let's find a way out of here."
There were a couple of doors in the room. The first one led to a closet, which was empty, except for a rusty bucket and a broom. The second door led to a hallway. Unfortunately, there was not enough light to see the rest of the surrounding. The place was so deafeningly quiet that it was almost unnatural.
"I don't know about you, but this place seems kind of spooky," Joe said in a low voice.
"We need a flashlight," Frank suggested.
They searched the living room, pulling out drawers from a rolltop desk and cupboard. But Frank came up empty handed. However, he found something else that made him question its validity.
"I found this" –Joe held up a kerosene lamp– "and here's a box of matches. Pretty convenient, don't you think?"
It didn't take long to light up the lamp. Then Frank showed his brother a yellowed paper that he'd found.
"What do you make of it?" he asked Joe.
To whom it may concern,
If you're reading this letter, I have to assume that you are trapped in the Blackthorne mansion, and you are in desperate need to find your way out. Rumours were said that great-grandfather Blackthorne was a thaumaturgist. Whether it's true or not, it is yet to be known. However, once you're inside the mansion, you're trapped for eternity. The only way to escape is to find the key to the front door. So far, no one has been successful. I came upon this old mansion while I was learning of my heritage. What a mistake it was. I wish I've never laid eyes on this house, nor do I wish that I've ever started this journey. It is the reason why I am writing this letter to let anyone who happens to come upon this place know of their impending doom.
Yours sincerely,
Gareth Blackthorne.
"Great, this is like some kind of Hotel California," Joe replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. "You think this 'trapped for eternity' thing is real?"
Frank snorted. "I don't believe that for a minute. Jennings must have put the letter in there to scare us as a Halloween trick. C'mon, let's get out of here."
With the aid of the lamp, they made their way down the dim hallway, heading to, what Joe hoped was, the front door. The whole place smelled musty and damp with faint scent of smoke and rancid meat. Sheer curtains hung at windows, layered with washed-out but tattered drapes as though they had gone through a shredder instead of a washing machine. The view outside the window was a great void of inky darkness. No sliver of light from the streets or the moon gave any indication of life.
A light breeze grazed his cheek. Strange, all the windows and doors were tightly shut. Where did the wind come from?
Frank hurried to the massive front door and started to twist the doorknob. That was when Joe felt icy fingers brushed the back of his neck, tugging the curls in his hair. His blood chilled; he took a deep breath before he whirled around.
Nothing.
The hallway was dark with occasional ghostly gray haze creeping in the air. He squinted through the darkness. Maybe he was hallucinating, but he could have sworn he saw something shadowy moved at end of the hallway. He barely took a step forward to investigate when a pair of glowing red eyes stared back at him with raptorial belligerence.
"Frank!" His hand instantly reached out to grab his brother's arm.
"What?" His brother turned around, looking a tad annoyed at being interrupted from his task.
"Look! Do you see that?"
Frank transferred his attention to where Joe was pointing at. "See what? I don't see anything."
It was Joe's turned to look, and all he saw was darkness at the end of the hallway. "There was something there… and I saw a pair of red eyes."
However, Frank didn't look too concerned. "It could have been anything. An owl's eyes glow red in the dark, or a cat's, or a rabbit's."
His brother's explanation sounded logical, and Joe felt like a sucker for jumping the gun. Nonetheless, his uneasiness still lingered and it wouldn't go away. Something had touched his hair, and it wasn't from an owl. Or a cat. Or a rabbit.
Shaking his head to rid of the disturbing thoughts, Joe hurried forward to help Frank open the door.
"It's stuck," Frank replied through gritted teeth. "I can't get the door open."
Joe didn't waste time tugging and pulling and pushing at the door. Frank had to resort to karate kicks, but the door remained shut and sturdy against his attacks. Not a single dent appeared on its wooden surface.
"Maybe something is wedged against the door from outside," Frank said, taking a step back with a thoughtful frown. He raked a hand through his dark hair in frustration. "I've tried breaking the windows, too. Nothing happens."
"Man, this is getting freaky. I guess the only thing we can do is find the key to this door."
Frank brushed off the dust from his jeans. "Not so fast. We haven't really checked the house thoroughly. I'm sure Gareth had made some notes about the Blackthorne mansion somewhere — like a map, for instance. We can use that as a guide."
Joe sighed. "Great. Research. How yawn inducing."
"The logical place to go would be the library," his brother told him, looking too cheerful for Joe's mood.
Like in the hallway and the living room, the thin curtains in the library were covered with worn, tattered drapes. The view outside the window was the same — total darkness. It was like nothing outside the house existed, and he and Frank were the only people alive.
Two of the walls were lined with shelves from the bottom to the ceiling. Books with cloth and leather bindings had rotted and the pages yellowed. Joe had a hard time reading the title on the spine.
Bringing the lamp with him, Frank went to the writing desk and searched through the drawers. Joe went over to check out the books.
"Dude, are we in the medieval age? 'Cos I see a lot of books on alchemy," Joe told him, squinting closer to read the words on the book spine. "There's a book here about aqua vitae, and um… philosopher's stone — whatever that is."
"I don't think we're in the middle ages." Frank pointed to the lamp on the desk. "The tubular lamp didn't happen until late 19th century."
"Whatever." Trust Frank to know something about tubular lamps. Joe wouldn't be surprised if his brother knew who made the first apple pie.
"Did you ever wonder where Jennings found this place?" Frank spoke up. "I don't remember seeing a mansion this ancient in Bayport."
"Well, I know we're not in Kansas anymore."
Frank rolled his eyes at the lame joke, and then turned his attention back to his search. He found a leather-bound book inside the desk drawer. "Maybe this might tell us something."
Joe went over to the desk as Frank carefully turned the musty cover. A cloud of dust floated in the air. Joe waved it away. The book had a smell of stale leather and old papers.
"It's a journal belonging to Gareth Blackthorne," Frank said, sliding onto a chair. His hands ran over the page of the book like it was some kind of priceless historical artifact.
"Come on. Just skip to the 'how to get out of here' part, will you?" Joe sat across the table from his brother.
As usual, Frank had to read the journal with such scrutiny. Joe was itching for something to do instead of sitting here and waiting. The only movement he could do was drumming his fingers on the desk. He wished there was one more lamp so he didn't have to be stuck with his nerdy brother. They could save time exploring the house, and who knew if he'd find another way out?
"Hmm, according to the date on this journal, it was written almost two hundred years ago," Frank said while skimming through the old script.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious, I can see how old it is, but–"
"Huh, and it's getting weirder by the minute."
"How weird?"
Frank shrugged. "Blackthorne mansion is located in the Isle of Bedrosian. The weird thing is… it sounds familiar — the name Bedrosian, I mean. Then he mentioned something about a changeling."
"A what?"
"A kind of creature that changes shape into anything — animals, plants, humans — no one knows its true form, and it's ferocious when it attacks. The caretaker died because of it. Even Gareth had also been attacked by this thing a few times — he lost an arm."
"That sucks. I wonder if this thing has red eyes," Joe murmured.
"Wait a minute, you can't possibly believe this thing's real?" Frank looked up at him in surprise.
"Then why would Gareth write that in his journal?"
"I don't know. He might be delirious. Cooping up in this place probably made him seeing things," Frank reasoned. "Or maybe this is part of a horror story he was writing."
Joe sighed. "All right, say that Gareth lost his arm by a wild animal, either way, we're not going to wander in this house without some kind of weapon. We have to leave this place in one piece, Frank. Anything about how to unlock that blasted door from that book?"
"Easy, champ. I'm still looking for it," he said while flipping through the pages. A moment later, he stared at a page with a disbelief look on his face. "This is getting absurd. Gareth's great-grandfather had sealed the door — get this — with some mystical mumbo-jumbo spell to drive away ghouls from entering the house."
"That's even more fantastic. First, changelings, and now ghouls? Does it say anything about a ghost?" Joe asked, remembering the icy fingers on the back of his neck.
"A ghost?" His dark brows furrowed together as he searched the text. "Nope, I don't think so. And the thing about the ghouls, once they consume your flesh, you're as good as dead."
"Great. So, we're trapped here, and there's no other way out. Oh, joy."
"Not so fast," he said. "According to this, we can't use the usual key to unlock the door. We can get out of the house by… teleporting?" Frank almost choked.
Joe couldn't help but guffaw. "It's official now. We've probably caught in some kind of vortex of space warp. So, what do you need to teleport? A toad's eye? Dragon's blood?"
Frank scowled. "Not funny, Joe."
"Hey, if we're lucky we might see a dragon. I've always wanted to meet one."
"You sure are annoyingly happy with this." Frank continued to read a few more pages before he slammed the book shut. "Gareth couldn't find the right ingredient to teleport. He'd tried everything, until he found a book in the library regarding this. You need pumice for teleporting."
"I take it you're going to find the pumice — even when you don't believe in this mumbo-jumbo?"
"I didn't say that," Frank hedged. He rose from his chair, and picked up the lamp. "Let's take a look in the kitchen. Maybe there's a back door or something. You know, I have to hand it to Jennings. This is one neat trick he's pulling on us."
Joe didn't reply as he followed Frank to the kitchen. His brother still thought it was a trick, but he couldn't ignore the strange sensation he had felt earlier. What if everything here was real? It didn't make any sense. One minute they were chasing Jennings and his goons at the commercial lot in Bayport, the next minute they woke up in an old mansion with spooky creatures. What in the world is going on?
Frank wrinkled his nose against the nasty odor. The paint on the kitchen walls was peeling and moldy, and the board shelves by the sink were piled with old cooking utensils and a mishmash of whatnot. At the corner of the room, next to a vase of white roses, was a glass statue of a knight, almost as high as his desktop computer. The statue was covered with dust, exuding a lackluster appearance of what once would have coruscated with brilliance. Other than that, he couldn't see a back door — or any other door.
He sighed. "Well, I guess the front door is the only way out. Any other ideas?"
"Let's try the teleport," Joe said.
"Joe," he warned.
"We've got nothing to lose, Frank. We might as well try something."
Frank took a moment to weigh his decision before he finally nodded. "So, where do you think we can find pumice?"
Joe grabbed the lamp from him. "Let's try the cellar."
"Good idea."
As Joe led the way, Frank couldn't help feeling that he'd overlooked a minor detail. He tried to think what it was but came up blank. Joe yelped when he opened a door. Afraid that something had happened to him, Frank rushed over to help. It turned out his brother had discovered a skeleton.
"Talk about skeleton in the closet," Joe said in an attempt to make light of the situation.
"Look. One of his arms is missing. I'm guessing this must be Gareth."
"Poor guy. I wonder what he was doing in here."
"Judging by the scratches on the outside of the door, I'd say he was hiding from a wild animal. He probably died from lack of oxygen."
They tried another door, which had stairs leading down to the cellar. The wooden steps creaked in protest as the boys descended. Frank pushed away the cobwebs that clung to his hair and face. The cellar, surprisingly, wasn't very large. On his right were shelves filled with dusty bottles of what had most likely been wine. There were more shelves on his left. This time, it was filled with jars that he usually had seen in chemistry labs. The lower shelves were mostly filled with pipettes, filter papers, Petri dishes, and beakers. A large table stood next to the shelves. Through the thick layer of dust, the table was smeared with dark stains, either from a chemical reaction or otherwise, he wasn't sure. He noticed a staff leaning against the table. Might come in handy, Frank thought, taking the wooden staff into his hand. It felt amazingly robust despite its age.
Joe was studying the labels, which were written in old English script, on the jars. "Get a load of this. Chicken's blood, frog's leg, cow's tongue. Sheesh. That's gross."
Frank couldn't help grimacing as Joe reached for a jar from the back of the shelf.
"There's no label on this one," Joe announced. "Man, what do you make of this? Looks like a cross between a sponge and a human brain to me."
Frank's eyes widened, and he grabbed the jar from his brother. "It's pumice! Gareth probably couldn't find it because there was no label on the jar."
Joe pumped his fist in the air. "Awesome! Let's get to work, and we can get out of here."
Frank wiped off the dirt on the jar's cover. Then, he froze. "Dust," he whispered.
"Huh?" Joe looked at him in bewilderment. "Yo, Frank. Stop looking like you've never seen dust before in your life."
"It's the dust," Frank exclaimed.
Joe stared at his older brother as if he'd lost his mind. "Stop blabbing about the dust. Come on, Frank!" He grabbed the jar from his brother, balancing it and the lamp with one arm. His other hand clutched the lapels of Frank's jacket.
"Stop doing that. I can walk." Frank swiped his brother's hand away as the latter tried to tug him up the stairs. Joe had no choice but to let go. "Listen, Joe. I'm talking about the thing that shouldn't be there — in the kitchen."
"What are you talking about?" By this time, Joe was already standing at the doorway of the cellar, and he turned around to stare down at Frank.
"There were roses in the kitchen — and it's fresh, with no dust on them," he explained in a rush.
A look of apprehension crossed Joe's face. "I've seen them. So, that means there's someone else in this house. Wait a minute — didn't you say the changeling can shape itself into anything, including plants? What if the roses–"
A gust of cold air whizzed past Frank. And the next thing he knew, the door had slammed shut, leaving him trapped in the darkness of the cellar and Joe in the hallway.
"Frank!" Joe pounded on the door from outside.
Before Frank could turn the lock, something grabbed the collar of his jacket and flung him down the stairs.
"Ummph!" he grunted when his rear hit the solid ground; a sharp pain shot up through his body. He scrambled to his knees, searching blindly for the staff. It didn't help that he couldn't even see his own hands.
"Frank! What's happening?" Joe shouted. The pounding on the door rose in full volume.
The sound of ripping cloth followed next as sharp claws sliced through his skin. Gritting his teeth from the pain, Frank forced himself to get up again. He suddenly realized he was missing his jacket. It probably had turned into shreds by now.
A temporary relief spread through him when his hand landed on the wooden staff. Clutching it tighter in his hand, he swung it toward his unseen enemy. The staff hit something, and a screeching voice that erupted almost made his ears bleed. He blinked when a pair of glowing red eyes locked with his in pure vengeance.
Frank swallowed. Clambering to his feet, he dashed up the stairs, stumbling a few times along the way. The door burst open, and he almost lost his balance. But Joe, with quick instinct, grabbed his hand and pulled him into the hallway.
"Close the door!"
"You can forget about that," Joe said, looking at the splintered door. "We have to hide in another room."
They locked themselves in the living room. Wiping a drop of sweat from his face, Frank sank to the floor in exhaustion.
"You're bleeding!" Joe said when he noticed a red gash on Frank's arm.
"I'm still in one piece," he said. "Thanks for helping me back there."
"Hey, you don't have to thank me. It's what we always do. We save each other when there's trouble."
"Frank?" A feminine voice — so comfortingly familiar — came out of nowhere. "Are you there?"
Frank shook his head, wondering if he was starting to imagining things. "Joe, do you hear that? As crazy as it sounds, I think that's Callie's voice."
"You're not the only one," Joe said with a puzzled frown. "What's your girlfriend doing here?"
Then Frank felt something pinched his arm. "Ow!"
"Yo, guys. Why do you always get the freebies?" It was Chet Morton's voice. "We caught the bad guys, and you guys are already treating yourselves with Bedrosian's Sanctum."
"Chet?" Joe asked. "Where are you?"
"Duh, we are right in front of you," his friend replied. "Hold on while Phil turns off the control console. Then you can take off your helmets."
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
The vision before Frank's eyes became almost pixel-like until it faded to black. He immediately knew what was happening. "We were in a virtual reality game, Joe. Now, I know why the name Bedrosian sounds familiar. We passed an ad for Bedrosian's Sanctum in front of the game arcade while we were chasing Jennings."
"What?" Joe exclaimed as Chet pulled the helmet off his head.
"Think about it. Jennings knocked us out, and for some sadistic reason, plugged us into this game while they made their getaway." Frank pulled off the plastic gloves, and removed the special jumpsuit that was wired with sensors and other contraptions. He checked his arms, and was satisfied to see no scratches on his skin. It turned out they were in a warehouse-sized building with electronic equipment located inside a small windowed room a dozen feet from them.
"That twerp! I'd bet he had the last laugh on us," Joe said with a growl. "You're right, Frank. None of those things exist. I can't believe I fell for his Halloween prank."
"If it's any consolation, you're not the only one who's been duped," Frank assured him.
"Well, you guys don't have to worry about Jennings and his friends anymore," Callie spoke up. "They're on their way to the police station right now. He told us where he had taken you guys. Chief Collig found the pirated software games in Jennings' van. So, everything's taken care of."
"Are you guys all right?" Phil Cohen came out of the control room and rushed over to them.
"We're fine," Frank said. "Thanks for getting us out of the game."
"Hey, wanna play Bedrosian's Sanctum again?" Chet asked the Hardys, picking up the jumpsuit. "I haven't tried one of these before."
"Uh, you go ahead, Chet," Joe told him. "I've had enough of changelings and ghouls to last me a lifetime."
"Yeah, me, either," Frank replied, taking Callie's hand. He was glad everything was back to normal. "After we give our statements, let's get some pizza — my treat. It's not often you get your life virtually saved."
"I could get used to this," Joe replied with a mischievous grin.
"Pizza? Why didn't you say so?" Chet said, rubbing his portly stomach, and trailed behind his friends.
Joe stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted something on the floor, a few feet away from where they stood. "Hey, is that what I think it is, Frank?" he asked, pointing toward the object.
Frank glanced at the direction he was pointing at. "Pumice in a jar. Um, now, Joe, there's always a logical explanation for this…"
THE END.