3. Unrestful Peace

Chapter 3

Unrestful Peace

" W ell, Mr. Dodds," Thaddeus said. "You are dead."

Hugo Dodds backed further into the corner. He bumped against the bookcase lining the side wall of the living room. He raised the statue he clutched in his hand above his head. He bared his vampire fangs in a display of aggression like a wild animal.

"Back away or so help me . . ." his words trailed off.

The four ghoulish figures approached. Their faces sunken. Their skin shriveled and faces painted white with black circles around their eyes to give the appearance of wearing a skeleton mask. Slack-jawed and emotionless. They crept closer to Hugo. They reminded him of the vision he had in Antonio's Italian Ristorante. The vision of Elizabeth's ghoulish image lurching toward him.

"Stand back," Hugo shouted. He stuck out his left arm to keep them at bay. He repositioned the statue in his hand, drawing it closer to his body, ready to strike at the first one to touch him.

"Mr. Dodds, please put down the statue. I assure you they will not hurt you while you are in my presence," Thaddeus said.

Hugo never turned away from the ghouls before him. "Where am I? Who are these? Who are you? Where is Alice?"

"Huh, always the same questions right off the start," Thaddeus answered. "No one ever asks, ‘ How are you?', or ‘ What can I do for you?', or ‘What year is it?' It is enough to drive someone mad." He laughed manically.

"I'm a vampire. I'll bleed you dry," Hugo threatened.

"Bleed what blood?" Thaddeus asked.

"Who are you? Tell me!"

Thaddeus shrugged his shoulders. "Fine. My name is Thaddeus Price. I am the warden of your house. I am here to guide you through this next phase of your afterlife."

"What do you mean? What is this place?" Hugo asked.

Thaddeus turned his attention to the other four occupants. "Ghouls, you can leave. Go back to your master. This one is not harmful."

They turned and shuffled out of the living room, limping forward as if they had no control over their balance.

"The box," Thaddeus added. "Take it with you."

They returned to lift the wooden casket, marched to the front door, and shut the door as they left.

Thaddeus retrieved his tea cup. "You can never find any good help, even in the afterlife. If you can call it help."

He titled his head down, held the cup to his lips, and took a sip. "Please put the statue down. I assure you, you will not be able to do anything to me."

"I'm not putting anything down until you tell me where I am." Hugo held his attack pose.

"Fine." Thaddeus glanced to Hugo, his head still tilted downward. He took an annoyed breath. "You are dead."

"I'm aware."

"You probably thought this was going to be sunshine and rainbows surrounded by former loved ones." Thaddeus laughed. "I assure you it is not."

Thaddeus set his cup down once again. He slapped his thick, pudgy hands together. "Or were you expecting fire and brimstone? A little fire and brimstone might improve the surroundings. No, this place is something much worse. I can assure you."

"Then where am I?" Hugo lowered the statue. "Why is my house here?"

Thaddeus slapped his hands together once more. His eyes scanned around the room. "This truly was a wonderful house. So interesting. And there is tea. I thank you for the tea. It is hard to get good tea here."

"Enough! Where am I?" Hugo growled.

"Well, this place has gone by many names. Purgatory. Nothingness. The Void. The Underworld. It used to be rather pleasant, actually." His giddy voice lowered and slowed. "Until she arrived. Then it changed. She bent it to her will."

"Why don't you have one of those masks like those creatures?"

"Those creatures are people. They were people ? It is so hard keeping it straight. They were not strong enough to survive. They were not strong-willed like myself. I have been here for a long . . . a long time."

He smiled a Cheshirish grin and said, "Huh, funny. It seems like yesterday, but yet eons ago. I guess time has no meaning here. Sometimes it drives you mad. But I guess that is the point of all this. To go mad."

Despair washed over Hugo's face as his jaw slumped and head drooped. His fangs retreated up into his gums. He lowered the statue, but he kept hold of it by his side. In a soft voice, he asked, "Will that happen to me?"

Thaddeus shrugged his shoulders. "Depends. If you are strong like me, then you will survive. I am here to help you. Guide you. Protect you. You can trust me. You will have to listen."

Hugo glanced at the memory shelf. The wooden box containing his wedding ring resided in its final resting place. His eyes shot up to the top of the bookcase, to Galahad. The hickory broomstick wasn't there. "What . . . why is this like our house?"

"She thought it would help if everyone had a familiar location. You know . . . Make everything alright. Smoother."

Hugo shook his head and narrowed his eyes. "Who? Who thought this would be alright?"

"You will meet her in due time." Thaddeus picked up the black and orange mug.

"Put that down!" Hugo shouted. "It doesn't belong to you."

"Not being very hospitable, are we?" He turned the cup over. "It is empty, anyway."

"I want you out of here. Get out of my house."

"Oh, you will want me here. You will need me here."

"Alice!" Hugo shouted as he took off running through the house.

"Why do they always run?" Thaddeus asked.

Hugo sprinted through the living room to the hallway and dining room. He scanned his surroundings. Everything appeared to be as if he never left his house. The console tables were still in their proper position, decorated with the candelabras and various crystals, and the candles blazing bright.

"Alice!" Hugo shouted. "Alice, can you hear me?"

There was no response.

He dashed for the door in the middle of the hallway and swung it open. He rumbled down the set of wooden stairs leading to the darkened basement. The steps creaked with every thunderous step as he rushed into the darkness. Hugo's hand instinctively lunged for the light's pull string. He had tugged on the string so many times that its location had become second nature to Hugo. His hand caught the cord, and with a flick of his wrist, the room illuminated.

Hugo's jaw dropped. It was exactly as Hugo remembered, but slightly off. Things were missing. The basement was mostly dull and empty, with scattered cardboard boxes. It was missing the various items Hugo brought with him during the move to Alice's house. Things they kept in storage, including their seasonal decorations.

His eyes furiously scanned the room. They met the wood door with ornate iron fixtures. He bolted for the door, grabbing at the cast iron handle.

"Alice!" Hugo shouted. He yanked on the door handle. It didn't budge.

He yanked a few more times. Nothing.

"Alice. Alice! Can you hear me?"

There was only silence.

Hugo's breathing labored as panic set in, each breath shorter than the last. He worked himself into a frenzy, nearly hyperventilating. A thought raced through his mind.

Her reflection .

Hugo darted up the basement stairs and into the hallway. His foot slipped. He braced himself against the wall to catch himself, and without missing a step, bolted for the stairs.

"Find what you are searching for?" Thaddeus asked with a sadistic laugh, now standing in the entryway to the living room.

"Fuck you," Hugo yelled as he gripped the newel post of the upstairs banister. He proceeded with his mad dash up the stairs. "Alice? Alice, are you up here?"

"She is not here," Thaddeus replied. "Only you and me."

Hugo flung open the bedroom door. He took a few steps in. The room was empty, expect for the black canopy bed they shared. The room appeared as Hugo remembered. The covered windows to block out the sun. The dresser. The bedroom closet where he had fashioned a makeshift vampire stake. The piles of clothes. His dark gray hooded sweatshirt, which Alice had borrowed so much that it became her sweatshirt. Everything in its proper place, except for Alice.

"Hey!" Hugo shouted toward the bathroom. "Are you there?"

There was no response.

He moved closer, one short step at a time. His breathing slowed to where he held his breath and exhaled only when taking a step forward. He entered the bathroom and flipped the light switch.

"Are you in here? Please be in here. I need you."

There was no response. He peered in.

The familiar sight of the bathroom greeted Hugo. The black and white checkerboard tile. The white claw-foot tub. The ornate mirror above the porcelain sink pedestal. As Hugo moved closer to the mirror, there was no sign of Alice's magical reflection staring back at him.

Hugo bent over and gritted his teeth. His eyes watered. He tried to breathe, but he couldn't, as his throat constricted with every inhale. Hugo lifted himself and slapped the side of the porcelain sink with the palm of his hand. The internal rage and fury built up to a crescendo of screams.

His chest rose and fell with every breath now able to fill his lungs . . . at least, what he thought were his lungs. When the rage subsided, he gripped the sink and stared into the mirror. Only his reflection stared back. The other side, where Alice's reflection should be, was empty.

"What do I do now?" he asked the mirror. "How do I get out of here?"

Hugo wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his black shirt. He left the bathroom and headed for the bedroom door. As he reached the threshold, he paused. A thought came over him.

The closet.

Hugo shut the bedroom door. He tiptoed to the closet door, not wanting to give away where he was headed. He placed a hand on the knob, lightly gripping the brass so it wouldn't jiggle. He placed his other hand firmly in the center of the door to help guide it. He twisted the knob slow enough to not make a sound, and he opened the closet door. The boxes of various odds and ends remained inside, including the box marked Hockey Stuff .

Hugo pulled the cardboard box closer to him, opened the flaps, and rummaged through the contents. The wooden mini hockey stick was gone.

"What is this place?" Hugo asked under his breath.

Something in the side of the closet caught his attention. Two black graphite hockey sticks nestled in the corner. The sticks he played with in recreational leagues after college. He checked the bedroom door. There were no footsteps following him up the stairs. He grabbed one stick, gingerly closed the closet door, and moved to the bed.

Hugo pulled up the covers from the side of the bed. He slid the stick in between the mattress and box frame. He shoved his arm into the mattress, to the middle of his forearm, ensuring it was well hidden. Hugo withdrew his hand and replaced the covers. With a gentle touch, he smoothed over the surface to conceal any signs of disturbance.

Hugo stood, gave a quick glance around the room, and left. He took his time walking down the stairs, letting the sound of each foot slamming into the step linger before continuing. Thaddeus still waited for Hugo in the living room entryway. He held one of Alice's black and orange mugs, sipping tea.

"Or did you find what you were looking for up there?" Thaddeus asked before taking another sip.

Hugo reached the bottom of the stairs and glared at Thaddeus. His eyes narrowed and darkened, staring proverbial daggers at Thaddeus. "Start talking. What is this place?"

"This is the place you made for yourself. A little place to call home in the afterlife."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I am your guide, Mr. Dodds. I am here to help you transition." Thaddeus curled an eyebrow and shot a glance at Hugo. "To make it easier on your soul."

"This is nothing like they promised."

"I told you. This is not that place. Neither place. Far worse, if you ask me," Thaddeus replied. "Let me guess, when you were alive, you were guilt-ridden? Maybe you were impure of soul? Or you were cursed by someone or something? Or perhaps someone banished you here? Either way, she called out to your soul and brought you here."

"Who?" Hugo's grip on the newel post tightened. "Who brought me here?"

Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. "She is right outside, but if I were you, I would not . . ." His words trailed off.

Hugo rushed to the door and flung it open, charging across the porch and down the steps. His mind was ablaze with the various profanity-laden choice words he had for his captor.

The dark gray clouds swirled in the air like a raging ocean, roiling over each other like waves erupting and tumbling into murky torment. Lightning crashed, illuminating the sky above. The black carriage awaited in the dirt path between the rows of mismatched houses. A headless driver sat atop the carriage with ghostly pale horses bridled to the carriage's axle.

Next to the carriage, atop a blackened horse, sat a rider clothed in a black hooded robe. His face unseen. A shadow concealed where his head once rose above his shoulders. A sword sheathed at his side. Black boots primed in the stirrups of the horse's saddle, with enough tension to take off at a moment's notice.

The rider's horse spewed fire with every breath. Wounds seeped with dark, ichorous blood onto its black hairs. The rider and horse followed Hugo's every move as he charged toward the horse-drawn carriage.

Three knocks rang through the sky.

Hugo reached the end of the walkway. His eyes remained focused and determined on the horse-drawn carriage before him. Hugo's hands clenched into fists. As he took a step off the walkway and onto the dirt path, the rider withdrew his sword.

Fire engulfed the sword's blade. The flames roared to life and grew as the rider swung the sword above his head. Hugo reeled at the sight, nearly losing his balance and falling backward. Hugo held his breath, his mouth agape. His eyes traced the fiery path as the rider swung the sword.

Thaddeus grabbed onto his shirt, yanking Hugo backward, and putting himself in between Hugo and the rider.

"Wait!" Thaddeus shouted as he raised an arm. "Wait."

The rider stopped the sword's progress with ease, as if the sword had no weight to carry the momentum.

Thaddeus cowered his head low and said, "He does not know the rules yet. He is new. We ask forgiveness this time."

The rider held the sword aloft, not moving, waiting.

"He is learning," Thaddeus pleaded. "I take responsibility for this one."

The door to the carriage opened, and a woman stuck her head out. Her face was painted white like a skeleton, with black circles around her eyes and one around her nose. Black circles on her cheeks. Her face was the embodiment of death itself.

"Mr. Price, are we having trouble with this one?" she asked.

"No. No, ma'am. I am teaching him the rules," Thaddeus answered.

"Good," she replied. "Rider, please put your sword away."

The Rider did as instructed, never taking his blank void of a face away from Hugo. The Rider's hood followed Hugo's every movement. Fire erupted from the horse's nostrils. Hugo's stomach sank, an uneasiness washing over him. A chill ran up his spine. He gulped.

Three more knocks rang out, their beats increasing.

"I assure you this will not happen again, Ms. Sinclair," Thaddeus said.

"Sinclair?" Hugo asked in a hushed murmur, breaking his concentration from the cloaked figure before him.

"Good," she replied. "I expect quick results." She closed the carriage door with a soft grace. The only sound was the door locking shut.

Thaddeus exhaled. He rubbed his mouth and chin with his hands. Thaddeus pushed Hugo toward the house.

"Who is she?" Hugo asked. "And who is on the horse?"

"The Rider on the horse . . ." Thaddeus started as he peeked a quick glance over his shoulder toward The Rider. "It is your path to oblivion should you ever be struck down by its sword. Now get back in the house before you anger him again. We have much work to do."

Three more knocks rang out.