The Finders Keepers Read online



  Dark Age Chronicles

  The Finders Keepers

  Eucraick Belgica Viteño

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2013 Eucraick Belgica Viteño

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the written permission of the author. If you would like to use any material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained.

  First Edition

  ISBN-13: 978-1484048771

 

 

  To Trisha and Johnrey, who caught me when I was broken.

 

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgmentsi

  1The Turpin House1

  2The Hooded Lady7

  3The Worst Laid Plan14

  4The Three Women22

  5Disciplinary Room35

  6Mid-Day Tour46

  7Marietta Hopkins58

  8John’s Revenge70

  9The Eye and the Skull78

  10The Wagon94

  11The Flamefly104

  12 The Three Cyclopes111

  13 Mr. and Mrs. Luciens119

  14The Lost Boy131

  15The Request of Lord Alfrendo135

  16The Right Wing and the Left Eye142

  17The Manor House155

  18Nolfavrel Ridgway165

  19The Winter Surprises172

  20The Hooded Figure187

  21The Spell193

  22The Sacrifice202

  23The Explanations of Emily210

  24The Gorgon224

  25The Ruby Sunset236

  Epilogue: All Too Well258

 

 

  Chapter one:

  the turpin house

  The door of a stone building opened in what seemed to be startling point. Two figures stepped out of the darkness into the damp, breezy, and rainy Thursday afternoon that was somehow fussy because both of them were wearing cotton hooded coats. The lady was walking rather faster than the man, who was apparently looking at his own broken reflection on the wet pavement.

  “Xhynia, wait!” he said, and though he looked up at her, his face was still unseen in his hood.

  The lady continued walking, as though she did not hear anything. She was probably sobbing, but the hushing of the raindrops prevented any sound of it from reaching the man behind her. Yet everything appeared so silent.

  The man glanced sideways to the enormous establishments, though none of them were open, and saw each of the advertisements wetly posted on the glass-paned windows. A flash of hope struck him, and he looked up at her in a way again.

  “Xhynia, I – I can apply to those if you want!” he shouted, and again, the lady walked quickly unconvinced. “I know the b-bank’s only joking – absolutely – er – crazy. . . .”

  His voice had trailed into silence as they curved on the corner of the street which was leading into a rural portion. There upon the wet grounds purely inhabited with overgrowing weeds rose a cluster of old and ancient trees, casting depressed shadows into a house that was cursed by time.

  The lady stood on the front porch, waters dripping from the ends of her coat. When she stopped, she began whimpering so hard that when the man came on her side, he was able to understand real pain from her part.

  “Listen, Xhynia, I’m not blaming you for it. The reality of the foreclosure of this Turpin House is destined,” the man had explained, removing the hood from his head so that his blond hairs appeared. He brushed it like something had crawled on his sculpt. “If the Lord forbids our lineage from owning a house, then we ought not to bother.”

  The lady stopped sobbing and faced the man like she had never done before. Then, after her hood slithered down to reveal her perfect pale face, her brows had met at a certain point and her eyes were dangerous.

  “If you should have known your responsibility, then maybe the Lord ought to think we deserve some shelter. And maybe Irvin’s just right about his idea of not marrying me after all. This sucking and succumbing house that was never cherished by the owners was promised as a dedication to what we thought was an unending solace, and now, see, it stood in front of us waiting to be pulled out by that stupid, idiot bank,” she talked in more than a minute without drawing breath.

  The man’s face was indistinguishable: He stood like a petrified statue and his mouth was dangling unconsciously.

  “Er – yeah sure you’re right. But if that is the situation that you’re mourning for, then I think we could still find some other alternate plans so we can still have it after all –”

  The wooden door in front creaked open. There appeared a man, beaming at them; his hairs were chestnut-brown, and his ears so sharp that he almost looked like a grown-up elf. He gazed at the lady, then to the man beside her who suddenly came to a stop when he appeared.

  “Come on, enter,” he said. “Peter, Xhynia, rush in. You two better not soak yourself in the rain, come on.”

  Peter and Xhynia looked at each other, as though agreeing at something private. Then they stepped inside as the door closed. They could barely see a thing except for the dimly lit hallway leading into a darker part of the house. And when they had arrived there, a damp smell of old curtains and furniture swelled into their lungs.

  “Smells almost the same,” said Xhynia, who had not left her cloak outside but was carrying it as they took one more step into the dark room.

  From a distant part came hurried footsteps of the man who had opened the door. A clicking sound followed, and the great fire had fortified on the chandeliers and the fireplace facing a set of long chairs.

  “Oh, you sit,” said the elf-looking man. He was standing beside the fireplace, holding a sumptuous Moroccan Lantern on his right hand. “Where have you been? I was just turning madly worried when you didn’t arrive first thing in the morning since you left four days ago.”

  “It was a bad, bad thing,” said Peter, his blond hairs had turned darker as he and Xhynia obeyed to sit. “This means to say something unexpected isn’t supposed to be coming along our wake.”

  “Yes, you think you’ve understand better of what the teller’s told you, Peter?” Xhynia asked. “You think you bore so much information after leaving that stupid bank?”

  “This house was placed on the foreclosure queue,” Peter sighed. “But that’s only happening if you tolerate it.”

  “Oh yeah, but –” Xhynia complained.

  “What?” said man, startled, his sharp ears pointing towards the chandelier overhead. “It finally managed its way to the foreclosure queue?”

  None of them talked as he moved to sit on the sofa beside the lady named Xhynia. They gazed at him as the flickering lights of the lamp on his right hand fell upon the features of the threadbare sofa.

  “Yes, it only happened because –” Xhynia explained, but she was interrupted again.

  “The record says we’ve only gone through paying half of the loan,” said Peter straightly. “But that wasn’t the problem, you know. The loan was not paid for almost eight months since last year, and we still got an enormous balance of seven hundred Meeks. Remember . . . seven hundred Meeks.”

  “Oh, that was absolutely huge,” the man had reacted, placing the lamp on the glass table in front. The surroundings became more visible this time. “Honestly, it’s absolutely huge.”

  “Yes,” said Xhynia, eyeing Peter so as not to interrupt in a way again. “That almost costs a thousand working people’s wage, and it’s impossible for us to pay it tomorrow. That’s why I
call that bank stupid.”

  She looked at Peter, then to her husband who appeared speechless after the set of explanation he had heard. Then she averted her eyes to the chandelier above in the hope of not falling into a sob, but after a moment or two of mortal silence, beads of tears began to roll from her eyelids down to her cheeks, falling into the disused, rotting carpet.

  “I l-love you, Irvin,” she moaned heavily as she cupped her hands into her face. “B-But we need to go separate w-ways.”

  “What?” said the man; Peter was looking at his sharp ears. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s o-over, Irvin.” She whimpered so hardly that the sound of her cry almost diminished the rain outside. “C-Continuing to l-live with you would be h-hard, and you know it. Seven hundred Meeks is waiting to be paid . . . and if we still continue living together, my wage would be divided, making it not enough to pay any portion of our loan.”

  “But, surely, the bank’s given you a certain grace period, didn’t it?” Irvin said, unable to look at her but to Peter, who had suddenly turned away from curiously gazing at his ears.

  “Yes, the bank has given us grace period, but none of us who have known about it has used it properly or wisely. Actually, the bank has given us half a year since last year, but we’ve been all busy arranging the documents and information of your wedding with Xhynia –”

  “Don’t ever, ever blame our wedding!” Irvin had shouted, his ears had turned quickly blotchy red. “If there’s someone you need to blame, it would be you yourself. Mom and Dad’s royalty would not have been lost had it not been because of your sinisterly careless attitude –”

  “MY ATTITUDE?” Peter had bellowed angrily, his earthly body had been waken. “WELL, JUST TO REMIND YOU, AT LEAST THE MONEY I SPENT HAD MATERIALIZED INTO SOMETHING – REMEMBER – SOMETHING!”

  “Oh, stop this –” cried Xhynia, evidently looking at them, but none of them seemed aware of her.

  Irvin shot Peter an impaling glance.

  “YOU CALL IT SOMETHING? ARE PERSONAL GAINS SOMETHING? BRAVO, YOU THOUGHT SO, BUT YOU’RE WRONG! AND FOR THE RECORD, THIS HOUSE WOULD HAVE BEEN PAID IF YOU HAD NOT SPENT OUR ROYALTIES ON NONSENSE –”

  “Please, stop! You need to stop –”

  “OH SO YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO –”

  “YEAH, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO! YOU DON’T ABSOLUTELY KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO HAVE A FAMILY AND A WIFE TO CARE, IT’S BECAUSE NO ONE COULD STAND YOUR FILTHY ATTITUDE –”

  “GO TO HELL!” Peter had shouted so loudly that even Xhynia had stopped crying.

  From behind her, a fist popped so quickly that it had reached Peter’s nose in less than a second. There was a loud bang as Peter fell with a resounding crash, headfirst, onto the glass table, which cracked, sending the vases onto Peter’s bloody face. The lamp rolled away into the cavity under the sofa.

  “What do you think you are doing?” exclaimed Xhynia, facing Irvin with a pang of shock and anger.

  She withdrew her stare and kneeled down to assist Peter, who had received a punch unprepared, and who was now lying unconscious on the overused carpet. Again, Xhynia sobbed as she wiped the flowers and pebbles off Peter’s face, scarlet blood scattered on her palms and collaborated with a torrent of silver tears.

  Irvin felt guilt all around him. He couldn’t speak, as though a spell was bound to ban him from making any further ado. He just stood there, ears pointing upwards and eyes darkly silhouetted; yet looking at his brother, Peter, slain on the floor sent him pity. And now, he could feel something heavy hanged upon his heart. He wanted to say he did not mean it, but it was too late. And though how much he had wanted to raise his brother from the dusty floor, wipe his face and say sorry, it was doomed to look impossible.

  Xhynia was still sobbing. But now, she was carrying Peter onto her shoulder with much adversity than it would have done to a man, and placed him on the sofa, still unconscious. For the first time, Irvin was able to see the result of what he had inflicted upon his brother. The magnitude of his own crime and the guilt that was making him run away.

  As the illumination from both the fireplace and the chandelier overhead streaked upon Peter gave the chance for Xhynia to sob even more. There were still bloods rushing from the slits of his nose and eyes down on the cloth of the chair. The shape of his nose was crooked and slightly deformed, and Peter would have appeared differently to the people who had not seen him for ages.

  Irvin could not bear to take another long minute looking at his defenseless brother. Without talking, without making any sound, Irvin turned aback and walked out of the drawing room into the dark hallway, then outside into the pouring rain.

  chapter two:

  the hooded lady