Dreams of Death

Webster woke up, staring at the velvet canopy above his head. Warm blankets covered him, and the mattress sagged beneath him, almost as if it wasn’t there. He shook his head and chuckled to himself. The night had brought odd dreams, filled with scenes of war and destruction, ending with some odd Victorian mansion in the middle of a burnt out old German village. He shook his head to clear away the fog of sleep. He really needed to stop eating those peppers before bed. They always gave him the oddest dreams. Pushing back the covers, he stood up next to the bed and stretched.

The first thing he noticed was that he was wearing military fatigues. The second thing he noticed was the rifle and pack sitting in a corner. The pack had several patches in it, as if someone had gone to the trouble of repairing all the little tears and holes in it. The rifle gleamed, the metal and wood both freshly polished. It looked as new as the first day he had been issued it, all the grime it had accumulated was gone.

It was then that he remembered that he had not fallen asleep in a bed, but inside the sleeping bag that was now attached to the bottom of his pack. He was in a Victorian mansion in a burned out German village, and it was indeed the middle of the Second World War. This brought him to the third thing he noticed. Sitting in a chair in the corner, away from everything else in the room, sat the little girl from before. Her legs were crossed at her ankles, and her hands were clasped together in her lap. She looked as if a poster child for patience. Realizing he had seen her, the little girl smiled at him and got out of her chair. She walked over to him and curtsied. Somewhat confused, Webster simply nodded to her in response.

“I apologize, but the liberty of cleaning and repairing your equipment was taken while you slept. I wish to reassure you that everything is still in working order, and besides removal so that your pack might be repaired, your belongings were not searched.” The little girl spoke in perfect English, with only the faintest trace of a German accent. Webster nodded in acknowledgement, still trying to come to terms with what was going on, when something clicked in the back of his mind. His hand flew up to his breast pocket, where it pulled out the picture that was supposed to be there. Finding it to still be in its proper place, Webster removed it in a ritual he had performed every morning. He looked at the picture of the beautiful redhead and smiled.

He and Rebecca had been dating for several months before he had left for the European theatre. Having been away from her for the past few months only reaffirmed how much he loved her. Thoughts of her were the only thing to have kept him going through the war at this point. Only thoughts of life that might follow kept him from dwelling on the death he was offered every day. He had seen what happened to those who had lost sight of it. Some found courage, inspired by the fact that their death might hold meaning their lives never offered. Others stood up in the middle of the worst gunfights, looking for the bullet that would put their minds at ease. He had lost good friends to both already, and though he tried not to, expected to lose many more in the same way. Yet each time he looked at the picture, he couldn’t help but forget about all of it. He could only think about her and the life they might share when he got back. He hoped that London jeweler was still around. He was looking forward to picking up the order he had left there before being dropped on the beaches of Normandy.

He suddenly realized the picture had changed. It was crisp and new, the image still glossy from the development process. The corner that had been torn off was back, and all the wrinkles and folds had been smoothed away. Damage caused by wind and rain alike had evaporated, leaving the picture looking as fresh as when she had given it to him as he had boarded the train to boot camp. He looked up at the little girl, puzzlement and curiosity spread across his face. She merely smiled and nodded.

“Breakfast is being served in the main dining room. If you would follow me please?” She asked, motioning to the door. Webster nodded, and the two proceeded out of the room. He noticed they were on the second floor of the mansion, The floor had been designed with leaving the center open, one long stretch of floor circling outside the rooms, each of which had been built against the outside wall. There did seem to be one room, or possibly rooms, which had been built over the main hall, but he couldn’t tell their number or function, as all he could see was the back wall. He followed Amelia around the corner, pass the stairwell leading to the ground floor. He was about to ask where she was going when she spoke before he could.

“Don’t worry, I am only showing you a short cut!” she called back to him. Webster shrugged and followed, deciding he had time to indulge a child’s sense of adventure. She led him to simple oak door, which opened at her touch. H followed her into what must have been a private library at one point. The walls were covered in old dusty books, some of which seemed to have been left to rot on the shelves. The smell of decay was strong in the room, almost enough to make him gag. Amelia seemed not to notice at all, continuing through the room to a small staircase tucked against the wall. He followed her down into a much larger library. The books here seemed newer then those upstairs, and in much better condition as well. The colors in the carpeting were brighter, as if it had been freshly cleaned. The only thing that seemed out of place in the room was a trio of crimson stains in the carpet. He noticed they matched a stain on the table above them, and he wondered why they hadn’t been cleaned out of the carpet. He was about to ask when a bell rang out in deep sonorous tones. It rang three times, and Amelia smiled.

“Hurry now, or we’ll be late for breakfast!” she ordered, and set off with a brisker pace. Webster trotted along beside her, surprised at how fast the girl could walk. He glanced down, and for a moment could have sworn she was floating over the carpet. He shook his head to clear his vision, and nearly ran her over as she stopped in front of him. Webster found himself standing in front of a pair of plain oak doors, polished but otherwise undecorated. Amelia knocked upon one of the doors three times, and they parted slowly, drawn open from the inside. Webster followed her into the dining room, and for a moment he couldn’t help but marvel at the room. Five massive chandeliers lined the ceiling, flames flickering in their sconces. He was mildly surprised to see the owners of the place hadn't switched to electricity, but he had to admit that it gave the room a certain atmosphere. Five tables had been arranged underneath the chandeliers, the longest serving as a head table, with two of the shorter tables connected to either side of it. He noticed that Hart and Franklins were already seated, with large plates of food sitting in front of them. One of the side tables had been filled with more food then he had seen in a month. If he hadn’t been so hungry, it might have occurred to him to question where so much food could come from in an abandoned town in the middle of war torn Germany, but his hunger was the only thing on his mind at that point. He grabbed a largish looking plate, and promptly filled it with as much food as he could, piling helpings on top of each other.

He sat down next to Franklins, then remembered his young hostess. He glanced down the table to he far end of the room, where he saw a door quietly shut. He figured it lead to the kitchen, and that she had gone to take care of some food or some such. He began to eat, devouring the food on his plate. He was eating too fast though, and soon choked on a large piece of honeyed ham steak. He began to cough, instinct kicking in as he tried to spit the food back out. Hart reached over and smacked him hard on the back, and the piece of meat popped out of his mouth.

“Thanks.” Webster muttered, before tucking back into his meal.
“Think nothing of it. Just never thought I’d have to save your life from food, is all.” Hart replied as he wiped his mouth with a folded napkin.
“So you sleep well?” Franklins asked. Webster nodded, his mouth to full of food for him to speak.
“Is it odd that I woke up in a bed, when I clearly remember falling asleep in my bag?” Hart asked.
“Well, if it is, then it’s an oddity for all three of us. Who was on watch when it happened?” Franklins asked. By now Webster had finished enough food to sate him for a while. At the least, he needed time to digest to make room for more.
“Wait, did we even have a watch? Now that you mention it, I never got woken up for mine…” Webster mentioned.
“Me neither. Alright, what happened then?” Hart asked.
“Sneak attack?” Franklins offered.
“Then why are we still alive? No reason to stick us in beds then feed us.” Webster pointed out.
“I think we might want to have a little chat with our hostess. I for one, want some answers.” Hart declared.
“Does anyone know where she went?” Franklins asked.
“I saw her disappear through a side door over there.” Webster pointed to the door he had seen shutting earlier.
“Well then, let’s go.” Franklins commanded.

The three soldiers stood up and jogged across the room to the kitchen door. None was armed, but that didn’t stop them from sticking to protocol. Webster and Franklins flanked the sides of the door, both nodding Hart when they were ready. On cue, he rushed the door, nearly bursting it from its hinges, as it slammed open. The three found themselves in a kitchen, dusty from long unuse. The air was musty and stale, the windows whitewashed, preventing light from coming in from outside. The open cupboards were empty, the counters bare of any sign of food. Pots and pans hung from overhead racks, and a set of kitchen knives were sitting in their wooden block. Otherwise, the entire room was deserted, an abandoned space in an abandoned house. More disturbing, there were no footprints in the dust on the ground. If anyone had been through here, they had left no tracks. The trio of soldiers stood there, contemplating all of this.

“Are you sure her come through this way?” Franklins asked. Webster nodded.
“I’m sure of it. She lead me into the dining room, and when I turned around to talk with her, I saw the door closing.” He explained.
“Are sure it was this door?” Hart questioned.
“It’s the only door in the damned wall! Yes I’m sure it was this door!” Webster defended himself.
“Well, there’s no sign of anyone having been in here in a long time. Come on, let’s go take care of the plates, and then we’ll go looking for her.” Franklins suggested. The other two nodded and headed back into the dining room.

It didn’t take long for them to realize there was something wrong. Their plates were missing, as was all the food that had been sitting out. It would have required a good-sized crew to have removed it that quickly, yet they had noticed no one, and had heard nothing. They were instantly on guard as they looked around the tables where their food had been. The table itself was spotless, not a sign of having been used. The surface was perfectly dry, not even a trace of moisture. There was no food on the ground at their feet, no crumbs, nothing. From behind them came the voice of a little girl.

“So are you three well fed then?” They turned around to find Amelia standing there. None of them had heard the door open, or seen anyone walking across the room. Yet despite that, there she was standing right behind them.
“I yeah, I guess.” Hart replied.
“That’s good. Its been so long since the house has cooked, I was afraid it might have forgotten how to. But now I don’t have to worry!” She clapped her hands together and smiled, twisting back and forth like an over eager child. The three soldiers looked at her blankly, confused by her statement. What did she mean the house might have forgotten how to cook? Didn’t she mean the housekeepers? Individually they bemoaned the affects of war on the minds of the young and vulnerable. No child should ever end up as delusional as this little girl seemed to be.

“Well now you can help me!” Amelia declared.
“Uh, ok, I guess. How can we help you young lady?” Franklins knelt before her as he spoke.
“Why, you can help me with the riddle of the riddle!” Amelia declared. Franklins glanced back at Hart and Webster and shrugged.
“Um, ok. What’s the riddle then?” he asked.
“The riddle is the riddle of the prank. That oh so naughty prank that killed. And kept on killing, long after it had killed. And it will keep killing until the riddle is solved!” The statement was eerie, coming as it was in the cheerful voice of such a bright child.
“Well, what is this awful prank?” Jim asked.
“Well, if I knew that then I wouldn’t need your help now would I?” Amelia pouted.
“No, no, of course not. Well, then how do we find this prank?” Franklins asked.
“Oh that’s simple. Like I told you yesterday. The blood will tell you. Because the house bleeds the blood it has bled.” Amelia explained. “All you have to do is ask it.”
“How do we ask it?” Hart demanded. The little girl was beginning to annoy him, spinning her nonsense the way she was.
“Oh, touch it and it will talk.” Amelia replied. She smiled again. “So you will help me then? Thank you ever so much!” She leapt forward and embraced Franklins, wrapping around him in a hug. She then dashed off through the door, back into the hall.

“Well, I guess that settles that then. Should we split up and search?” Franklins suggested.
“Sounds like a plan to me. The house isn’t all that big as it seems. If one of us gets into trouble it should be no trouble to holler for help.” Webster pointed out.
“Indeed. Well, let us go then. Time’s a wasting!” Hart declared. The three walked out into the hall, and quickly decided who should search where. Franklins was the last to head off. For some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about how could Amelia had felt when she hugged him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the next several hours they searched the house. None of them had any idea of what they were looking for, which just confused them all the more. Worse, no matter which room they entered, there were always deep crimson stains, in the floor, in the furniture, and in the walls. They could tell just by looking at it that it was dry blood. After all the battles they had been in, there was no way for them to mistake it for what it was.

Finally, after several hours of searching, they met up in the main hall. Each had found what could possibly amount to a clue, or they could simply have been signs of an abandoned house falling into decay. Hart was the first offer up a choice.

“Alright, I think I may have found something.” He offered.
“Sure. What have you got?” Franklins asked.
“Untied drape cords near the top of one of the staircases. Figured if someone got snagged by them, bam, broken neck tumbling down the stairs.” Hart explained.
“I fail to see the prank though.” Webster pointed out.
“Well, it might seem childish, which is what I’m basing it on. Some kid probably untied them to annoy the house staff.” Hart pointed out.
“Seems reasonable to me. Lead on.” Franklins ordered. Webster and Franklins followed Hart to the top of a rather large spiral staircase in back behind the kitchen. At the top of the stairs was a full sized window, stretching from floor to ceiling. Large velvet curtains flanked either side of it, and on the left-hand side, the side closest to the stairs, the cords for the drapes had been pulled aside, left dangling near the top step.

“See what I mean?” Hart pointed to the loose cords. “Seems like a death trap to me.”
“Well, then why don’t you ask and find out?” The three soldiers turned to see Amelia sitting on the railing overlooking the ground floor.
“Maybe you should come down from there sweetheart. It’s a really long way to fall if you go over the side.” Webster said.
“Oh, I’m not worried. I’m light as a bird. Want to see?” she asked with a smile. Amelia braced her arms against the railing, as if she was going to push herself off of it.
“No!” Webster cried. “No, that’s really alright. We trust you.” He said a bit more calmly.
“Ok, then.” Amelia sat back down on the railing. “So what are you silly gooses waiting for then? Ask it!” she commanded.
“Well, how?” Franklins asked. Amelia pointed to a large bloodstain at the top of the stairs. “Ask the blood. The blood tells. For the house bleeds the blood of those the house has bled.” This time her voice was low and cold, the sense of energy and youth that had been there before replaced with something far more ancient and terrible. Almost as if they were the same, each of the three men shivered when they heard it.

Franklins bent down and stretched a hand towards the bloodstain. Ever so gingerly he touched a finger to it. As soon as his hand made contact, the spot seemed to bloom, going from a stain in the carpeting to a small pool of fresh blood. Several feet away, they could hear footsteps approaching the top of the stairs. A man, so pale as to be almost transluscent, headed towards them. He was dressed in a butler’s coat, and was carrying a large tray covered with empty plates. He was mumbling something to himself as he walked. He reached the top of the stairs and proceeded to try to walk down the stairs. Almost as if they were alive the drape cords snaked out and wrapped themselves around the ankle of the man. With a vicious yank they took the man’s foot out from underneath him.

He screamed, a scream made all the more eerie for the fact they could not hear. Nor could they hear the tray and plates as they fell, crashing down around the falling man. They watched as one particularly large knife bounced off the top step. It spun end over end, and time seemed to slow down as they watched it bury itself in the falling man’s back. He twisted as it entered his unresisting flesh, so that when he landed the floor shoved the handle of the knife deeper into his back. He lay there gurgling, blood dripping past his lips. His hands rose, as if to cover the blood covered knife tip just barely showing through his chest. Before he could get them very far though he lost his battle to live, and they fell, dropping to his side.


The three soldiers watched as the body finally stilled. It stayed there for a few more moments, and then vanished utterly, not a trace of it passing. There was a deep, impenetrable silence for the next few moments, as each of the three men tried to come with grips with what they had just seen.

The death was no problem. They had fought their way here, and were no stranger to the fell reaper. Even the manner of death was no problem, not for men who had seen their friends die in the most tragic accident known as war. As far as they were concerned, the butler was merely another unfortunate soul, unlucky enough to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing they could do to help him, so there was no need to feel any emotion on his behalf.

No, it was the suddenness with which it happened that scared them. For they knew that such a sudden end could befall them at any time in the midst of this war. The death of the butler served as a grisly reminder of what could happen at any moment. The warm, secure walls of the ancient house merely provided a false sense of security. It could be stormed by a dozen Nazi troopers looking for shelter. A pilot, needing to shed weight for the flight home, or merely even bored, could choose to drop hundreds of pounds of explosives on the fragile roof of the mansion, obliterating them before they even became aware of the threat.

Even worse was the sudden vanishing of the body. The butler had disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared, but there was a difference. His appearance had been easily accepted by their minds, simple proof of what they had thought all along. His presence simply meant they were right, and that Amelia had been living with a caretaker all this time.

But then the body had vanished. There was no sign it had even existed, not even a disturbance in the dust, save for the tracks left by their own boots. There was no blood, despite the fact that the man had been bleeding profusely. There was no stench of the final bowel movement, a sure sign someone had died nearby. The three of them were simple soldiers, sent to a foreign land to kill as many of the enemy as they could before they in turn were killed. It was not their lot in life to think about concepts such as the paranormal. They merely prayed that there was something else to look forward to when they were done, whether it be amongst the living or the dead.

“Where is he?” Franklins asked it first, though they were all thinking it. “Dead men don’t just vanish like that. We know this We’ve seen enough of them to know this!” he exclaimed.
“Maybe it’s some sort of trick. I’ve seen things like this before, you know, on stage and all that? Maybe the guy’s a magician, and he’s just having one over on us?” Webster suggested.
“No…” Hart knelt down near where the butler was supposed to laying. “Look, there’s no sign of any movement here, save for our own.” He paused for a moment. “Just our own…” he said, letting his words trail off as he was lost in thought.
“What is it?” Franklins asked. Hart shook his head.
“Nothing. Just an idle train of thought. One I could have done with out.” He replied.
“We’ve all had our own fair share of those over the past few months. Best thing to do is forget it.” Webster remarked.
“Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, I guess that does it. We solved the riddle huh? The butler did it, naturally enough.” Franklins said, semi-jokingly. Hart gave him a rather droll look by way of response. “What? The butler always does it. Don’t you read any of the pulps?” Franklins asked.
“I prefer a something a bit more sophisticated when I read.” Hart answered.
“I know what you mean. I myself prefer Chaucer with my evening tea.” Webster added to the conversation. Hart and Franklins both stared at him.
“Who?” they asked in unison.
“Chaucer? British poet? Lived a couple of hundred years ago?” Webster replied.
“I don’t know about you Webster.” Hart informed him.
“What? But you said you preferred something a bit more sophisticated!” Webster shot back.
“Yeah, I, um, meant the newspaper. Something informative, you understand?” Hart explained.
“Well, gentlemen, I hate to break up this wonderful debate, but I am truly afraid we must be moving on. There is a war about you know.” Franklins interrupted them.
“Ah, so there is. Well, what do we do next?” Webster asked.
“I believe it is time for us to depart. Hopefully there’s a headquarters set up somewhere nearby by now. Preferably one commanded by the men wearing our colors.” Said Hart.

The three soldiers proceeded to head for the door of the mansion. As they passed, Hart found he couldn’t take his eyes away from Amelia.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Hopefully this time I’m back for good. Feel free to leave any comments, compliments, or complaints at the door. Thanks for reading!