AN: Okay, I'm not sure if it's just my weirded-out computer or not, but the site says I have four reviews, but I can't see them. I know that four people have sent me reviews, but.. I can't see them!! It infuriates me! Well, you can continue to submit reviws, but there will be no guarantee I can see them. Have fun with the new chapter!
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Chapter Two: Arrival at the Ostendorf Inn
"Watson!" I called into the driving rain. Sheets of the water poured down, obstructing all sight. I pulled my jacket closer around me, feeling the deep chill of the cold rain seeping into the small covering. I then cupped my hands over my mouth and shouted through them. "WATSON!!" I could hear my voice echoing off of every single raindrop, and it bounced back and forth in the house of rain that surrounded me. Then, far off, I heard something, I strained my ears to find what it was.
"Holmes!"
"Watson!" I cried with joy. "Watson, follow the sound of my voice! I've found it!"
"This is dreadful!" I heard Watson shouting to himself. "I'll chance that we've not seen rain like this since before my grandfather was slicing cadavers!" Finally, I saw his form emerge from the mists like a great beast. He had his large pack slung over his back and was hunched over in attempts to shield his eyes from the slanting rains. As he approached, I wrapped my arm around his shoulders to guide him.
"Can you train your eyes about twenty meters ahead of you?" I asked. His head popped up and I could see him squint and peer into the impenetrable sheet of rain.
"If you can, I am sure you are cheating." He pointed at my temple, and I felt his fingertip against my flesh. "You have a very perceptive mind, Holmes." I pushed his hand aside, smiling slightly.
"Though that is true, I am not one to boast."
'You are getting to be perceptive on your own, Jack. You do not quite need my aid as you did against Moriarty,' Holmes said quietly. My smile widened, and I guided Watson forward, steering his cold body.
"Let us not forget your sharp mind, Watson." I saw him blush slightly as the rain ran off his face. I pointed ahead of us into the fog. "Just ahead of us is the Ostendorf Inn. If you gaze long enough, its lights are discernable through the mists."
"I suppose you are right..." He shuddered, and I felt his whole body shake beneath my grip. I quickened our pace. It wouldn't bode well if my friend were to catch cold only halfway through our trip. Not three minutes later, I nearly dragged Watson across the threshold of the tiny inn. A man came rushing to us at once. He relieved me the pressure of Watson leaning against me by grabbing the boy under his armpits.
The man was obviously the manager of the establishment. His hair was a light red, and thinning. A thick moustache, however, bristled under his nose. He was in fairly good shape, but a round stomach protruded from his midsection. He offered a hand to me, and I took it in my own soggy hand, shaking it lightly.
"Ronald Warrick, sir," he said, sticking his hand back under Watson's arm to help prop him up. Watson gurgled slightly.
"Jack Holmes, and I am pleased to meet you."
"Pleasure's all mine, young sir. We don't get many customers on account of the war." His pale face contorted in sadness, and he pulled Watson to his feet. He gained footing, but his normally tanned face was pale, and his eyes red. I offered my friend my hand.
"Have you lodgings? I am afraid all that walking in the rain may have made my friend a bit ill. Any room will do."
"Room, sir? We have so many we don't know what do to with 'em!" He chuckled slightly, but I could tell it was strained with agony. "Just... Just follow me young sirs. Since you're our first in a week, I will find you a good room." We followed Warrick down a short carpeted hallway, and he stood next to the door with the number 12 in brass on its front. He nodded, reaching for the key ring at his hip. "Many favor this room. Say its cozy." He handed me a small, worn key. I stared at it, then handed it to Watson so he could open the door.
'There is something odd about this,' Holmes muttered. I nodded solemnly.
"Mr. Warrick," I said quietly, hearing Watson scraping the key against the lock, "I do not think the war is the only problem you are facing." A shadow seemed to pass over his face, then he exhaled softly.
"I was not going to tell you, for fear you would think me insane."
"I have met an insane man, Mr. Warrick. I do not think you are one. Please, tell me what bothers you." I heard Watson figure out the lock and the door swing inward. Warrick's face clouded, and he looked to the room behind him. It bore a brass number 13 on its door. He turned back, his lips thinly pulled across his teeth.
"Many folk say my inn is haunted, Mr. Holmes. Please," he said quickly before I could insert a comment, "do not think me mad. Please listen to my tale." He paused, seeing if I would stop him. I did not. "Before I succeeded my father as the manager of this inn, and I was just a child of 15, I remember a rainy night in late June. A woman was bore into the foyer by three men, claiming she was with child. One was her husband, another was her father, and the last, and youngest, was her brother. They claimed she had just started labour pains, and the baby was soon to be born. My father said their family name was Mayhon.
"We were full that night. It was the last night of a fair in the nearby small town of Ricketts. One man, however, was courteous enough to leave his room to the family. I was sent to bed for the night, but I remember hearing the woman's screams of pain far into the night. Finally, around the third hour of the morning, her screaming stopped. I had simply assumed that the child had been born. I was so terribly wrong.
"When I woke in the morning, I found police to be swarming around the inn. The woman had been killed, Mr. Holmes. She was at a lull in the pains, or so I was told, and the men slipped out for a small bite to eat. While they were away, she had started up howling again. And then... She just stopped. They returned to find her with a great ax in her stomach." By this part of the narration, I should have gasped or made any sign of sympathy. But I just stared intently, taking in every aspect of the story. I raised a finger when Warrick had paused.
"Did they apprehend the villain responsible?" I asked.
"If I remember correctly, they took in a man under suspicion. Though, there was a definite lack of evidence. He was given twenty years, I believe."
"The cur!" Watson cried, slamming his fist against the doorframe. I turned, astonished. "Committing such a vile act without retribution! Why, if we had been there, Holmes-"
"We were not even thoughts in our parents' minds, let alone able to solve a mystery at that time." I gave him a stern look. "You are not well. Lay down, and I shall be there in one moment's time." He shot me a pleading look, but I shook my head. Saddened, he turned in to the room.
'He cares about you, Jack,' Holmes said. 'He dearly loves the cases you work on together.'
"I know," I whispered. Warrick glanced up from his tie.
"Hmm?" He asked.
"Nothing, nothing. Please, continue."
"Before your friend interrupted, I was going to add that the man took his life before his term was served. Killed himself by tying his shirt around his neck and jumping from his bed. But I ramble... Well, you see, the poor woman was in this room when she was killed," he said, indicating room 13 behind him. "Folk who sleep there always say... Something along the lines of , 'The room is always colder than the rest of the inn,' or 'I see someone standing behind me in the mirror, but there never is anyone there,' or even, 'I hear screams at night,' when no one else does." He sighed. "I do not mean to trouble you with this, Mr. Holmes."
"No, there is no problem. I can't resist a good yarn." I glanced up at the door behind the manager, and nodded. "Will you be needing our names for the register?"
"Oh, yes!" Warrick cried, as if just remembering. "If you would follow me?" We walked back to the foyer, where a large book was laying open on the main desk. I picked up a pencil from beside it and scribbled our names in on the next line. Warrick looked over my shoulder, and I heard his low, quiet intake of breath as I wrote Watson's name after mine. I glanced up at him.
"How much do I owe you, sir?" I asked. He stared at me incomprehensively.
"You are 'Holmes' and he is 'Watson'?" His eyes hardened. "Is this a ruse?"
"No, sir. Our names are merely coincidence. I am Jack Christopher Holmes, and he is William Jonathan Watson."
"May I ask... What your business is?"
"How much do I owe you?" I asked again. Warrick gave me a quizzical look, then turned his eyes away.
"Five pounds for each of you. And another five for resources." He held out his hand, and I dug in my pockets, searching for exact change. We were lucky to find such cheap lodgings. I handed him the money with a smile that was not returned. In a huff, I turned to go to our room. No utterance was given from the man as I left him. Just before I entered the room Watson and I were to share, I glanced sideways at the dark doorway of room 13. I felt a chill pass down my spine.
'Jack,' Holmes whispered, 'step closer to the doorway.'
"That door was not open when we left," I said, my voice quavering slightly.
'I know. That is what interests me.' He moved my leg forward. There was no deterring that man once he was interested in something. Without his aid, I moved toward the now opened doorway. I laid my hand upon the wood of the doorframe and slowly moved my head into the darkness of the room. Just as my eyes were about to adjust to the darkness, a heavy hand gripped my shoulder.
I leapt backwards, a small scream exiting my lips. I smacked away the hand, ready to defend myself... only to see the frightened form of W. John Watson, his hand suspended in midair. My face grew red-hot with embarrassment, and my hand migrated to my chest in attempts to slow my racing heartbeat. Watson attempted a half-smile, and my lips turned down in a scowl.
"Watson," I hissed, "what in God's good name did you hope to accomplish by dropping me dead with fright?"
"I... I didn't mean to frighten you, I just-" he inhaled through his nose, and, unfortunately, he breathed in the heavy dust from the unused room. A thunder-clap of a sneeze exited his frame, and the rafters shook. I steadied him by taking his left shoulder slightly, and glanced back into the room.
"... Come on, Watson. We've stayed up for far too long. We still have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow. London is no short distance, my friend." He started into the room, and I followed him, and, ever so slightly, I gazed into the darkness of room 13. For the shortest and most shocking moment, I could have sworn I saw a woman sitting at the window. I blinked and the image was gone.
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Chapter Two: Arrival at the Ostendorf Inn
"Watson!" I called into the driving rain. Sheets of the water poured down, obstructing all sight. I pulled my jacket closer around me, feeling the deep chill of the cold rain seeping into the small covering. I then cupped my hands over my mouth and shouted through them. "WATSON!!" I could hear my voice echoing off of every single raindrop, and it bounced back and forth in the house of rain that surrounded me. Then, far off, I heard something, I strained my ears to find what it was.
"Holmes!"
"Watson!" I cried with joy. "Watson, follow the sound of my voice! I've found it!"
"This is dreadful!" I heard Watson shouting to himself. "I'll chance that we've not seen rain like this since before my grandfather was slicing cadavers!" Finally, I saw his form emerge from the mists like a great beast. He had his large pack slung over his back and was hunched over in attempts to shield his eyes from the slanting rains. As he approached, I wrapped my arm around his shoulders to guide him.
"Can you train your eyes about twenty meters ahead of you?" I asked. His head popped up and I could see him squint and peer into the impenetrable sheet of rain.
"If you can, I am sure you are cheating." He pointed at my temple, and I felt his fingertip against my flesh. "You have a very perceptive mind, Holmes." I pushed his hand aside, smiling slightly.
"Though that is true, I am not one to boast."
'You are getting to be perceptive on your own, Jack. You do not quite need my aid as you did against Moriarty,' Holmes said quietly. My smile widened, and I guided Watson forward, steering his cold body.
"Let us not forget your sharp mind, Watson." I saw him blush slightly as the rain ran off his face. I pointed ahead of us into the fog. "Just ahead of us is the Ostendorf Inn. If you gaze long enough, its lights are discernable through the mists."
"I suppose you are right..." He shuddered, and I felt his whole body shake beneath my grip. I quickened our pace. It wouldn't bode well if my friend were to catch cold only halfway through our trip. Not three minutes later, I nearly dragged Watson across the threshold of the tiny inn. A man came rushing to us at once. He relieved me the pressure of Watson leaning against me by grabbing the boy under his armpits.
The man was obviously the manager of the establishment. His hair was a light red, and thinning. A thick moustache, however, bristled under his nose. He was in fairly good shape, but a round stomach protruded from his midsection. He offered a hand to me, and I took it in my own soggy hand, shaking it lightly.
"Ronald Warrick, sir," he said, sticking his hand back under Watson's arm to help prop him up. Watson gurgled slightly.
"Jack Holmes, and I am pleased to meet you."
"Pleasure's all mine, young sir. We don't get many customers on account of the war." His pale face contorted in sadness, and he pulled Watson to his feet. He gained footing, but his normally tanned face was pale, and his eyes red. I offered my friend my hand.
"Have you lodgings? I am afraid all that walking in the rain may have made my friend a bit ill. Any room will do."
"Room, sir? We have so many we don't know what do to with 'em!" He chuckled slightly, but I could tell it was strained with agony. "Just... Just follow me young sirs. Since you're our first in a week, I will find you a good room." We followed Warrick down a short carpeted hallway, and he stood next to the door with the number 12 in brass on its front. He nodded, reaching for the key ring at his hip. "Many favor this room. Say its cozy." He handed me a small, worn key. I stared at it, then handed it to Watson so he could open the door.
'There is something odd about this,' Holmes muttered. I nodded solemnly.
"Mr. Warrick," I said quietly, hearing Watson scraping the key against the lock, "I do not think the war is the only problem you are facing." A shadow seemed to pass over his face, then he exhaled softly.
"I was not going to tell you, for fear you would think me insane."
"I have met an insane man, Mr. Warrick. I do not think you are one. Please, tell me what bothers you." I heard Watson figure out the lock and the door swing inward. Warrick's face clouded, and he looked to the room behind him. It bore a brass number 13 on its door. He turned back, his lips thinly pulled across his teeth.
"Many folk say my inn is haunted, Mr. Holmes. Please," he said quickly before I could insert a comment, "do not think me mad. Please listen to my tale." He paused, seeing if I would stop him. I did not. "Before I succeeded my father as the manager of this inn, and I was just a child of 15, I remember a rainy night in late June. A woman was bore into the foyer by three men, claiming she was with child. One was her husband, another was her father, and the last, and youngest, was her brother. They claimed she had just started labour pains, and the baby was soon to be born. My father said their family name was Mayhon.
"We were full that night. It was the last night of a fair in the nearby small town of Ricketts. One man, however, was courteous enough to leave his room to the family. I was sent to bed for the night, but I remember hearing the woman's screams of pain far into the night. Finally, around the third hour of the morning, her screaming stopped. I had simply assumed that the child had been born. I was so terribly wrong.
"When I woke in the morning, I found police to be swarming around the inn. The woman had been killed, Mr. Holmes. She was at a lull in the pains, or so I was told, and the men slipped out for a small bite to eat. While they were away, she had started up howling again. And then... She just stopped. They returned to find her with a great ax in her stomach." By this part of the narration, I should have gasped or made any sign of sympathy. But I just stared intently, taking in every aspect of the story. I raised a finger when Warrick had paused.
"Did they apprehend the villain responsible?" I asked.
"If I remember correctly, they took in a man under suspicion. Though, there was a definite lack of evidence. He was given twenty years, I believe."
"The cur!" Watson cried, slamming his fist against the doorframe. I turned, astonished. "Committing such a vile act without retribution! Why, if we had been there, Holmes-"
"We were not even thoughts in our parents' minds, let alone able to solve a mystery at that time." I gave him a stern look. "You are not well. Lay down, and I shall be there in one moment's time." He shot me a pleading look, but I shook my head. Saddened, he turned in to the room.
'He cares about you, Jack,' Holmes said. 'He dearly loves the cases you work on together.'
"I know," I whispered. Warrick glanced up from his tie.
"Hmm?" He asked.
"Nothing, nothing. Please, continue."
"Before your friend interrupted, I was going to add that the man took his life before his term was served. Killed himself by tying his shirt around his neck and jumping from his bed. But I ramble... Well, you see, the poor woman was in this room when she was killed," he said, indicating room 13 behind him. "Folk who sleep there always say... Something along the lines of , 'The room is always colder than the rest of the inn,' or 'I see someone standing behind me in the mirror, but there never is anyone there,' or even, 'I hear screams at night,' when no one else does." He sighed. "I do not mean to trouble you with this, Mr. Holmes."
"No, there is no problem. I can't resist a good yarn." I glanced up at the door behind the manager, and nodded. "Will you be needing our names for the register?"
"Oh, yes!" Warrick cried, as if just remembering. "If you would follow me?" We walked back to the foyer, where a large book was laying open on the main desk. I picked up a pencil from beside it and scribbled our names in on the next line. Warrick looked over my shoulder, and I heard his low, quiet intake of breath as I wrote Watson's name after mine. I glanced up at him.
"How much do I owe you, sir?" I asked. He stared at me incomprehensively.
"You are 'Holmes' and he is 'Watson'?" His eyes hardened. "Is this a ruse?"
"No, sir. Our names are merely coincidence. I am Jack Christopher Holmes, and he is William Jonathan Watson."
"May I ask... What your business is?"
"How much do I owe you?" I asked again. Warrick gave me a quizzical look, then turned his eyes away.
"Five pounds for each of you. And another five for resources." He held out his hand, and I dug in my pockets, searching for exact change. We were lucky to find such cheap lodgings. I handed him the money with a smile that was not returned. In a huff, I turned to go to our room. No utterance was given from the man as I left him. Just before I entered the room Watson and I were to share, I glanced sideways at the dark doorway of room 13. I felt a chill pass down my spine.
'Jack,' Holmes whispered, 'step closer to the doorway.'
"That door was not open when we left," I said, my voice quavering slightly.
'I know. That is what interests me.' He moved my leg forward. There was no deterring that man once he was interested in something. Without his aid, I moved toward the now opened doorway. I laid my hand upon the wood of the doorframe and slowly moved my head into the darkness of the room. Just as my eyes were about to adjust to the darkness, a heavy hand gripped my shoulder.
I leapt backwards, a small scream exiting my lips. I smacked away the hand, ready to defend myself... only to see the frightened form of W. John Watson, his hand suspended in midair. My face grew red-hot with embarrassment, and my hand migrated to my chest in attempts to slow my racing heartbeat. Watson attempted a half-smile, and my lips turned down in a scowl.
"Watson," I hissed, "what in God's good name did you hope to accomplish by dropping me dead with fright?"
"I... I didn't mean to frighten you, I just-" he inhaled through his nose, and, unfortunately, he breathed in the heavy dust from the unused room. A thunder-clap of a sneeze exited his frame, and the rafters shook. I steadied him by taking his left shoulder slightly, and glanced back into the room.
"... Come on, Watson. We've stayed up for far too long. We still have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow. London is no short distance, my friend." He started into the room, and I followed him, and, ever so slightly, I gazed into the darkness of room 13. For the shortest and most shocking moment, I could have sworn I saw a woman sitting at the window. I blinked and the image was gone.