The Shadow Anthology

Oscar

Oscar Blakemont sat at his table and pondered the faces lying before him. He refused to live in or even near Milbrey Cottage until he understood what had transpired there on the nights of the vanishings. He was now living in the nearby village for the foreseeable future. He had waited well over a month for the release of Zoe Karmir, which was scheduled for a week’s time, but she had already commenced preparations for her arrival and Oscar’s plan.

Looking back through his family history, he could see a distinct path of relatives who had disappeared. He traced it from his mother’s side but could only go back so far until a single, benign piece of paperwork released a traceable signature which unveiled even more of the mystery to him. Layla Blakemont, Damian Milbrey, William Ario, Alicia Blakemont, Sophie Hayes and Jennifer Hayes had all vanished under mysterious circumstances. There was evidently no gender discrimination, neither did age or affluence play a role. Other than their bloodline, the connections baffled him.

Given he had only a week to impress the beautiful murdering psychopath that was Zoe Karmir,

Oscar vowed to be productive with every waking moment. The overgrown corpse of the Glanshire town hall was once Moor's Orphanage and the site of Jennifer’s disappearance, therefore it was the best place for Oscar to start his journey. His car stopped with a muffled sigh before he could reach the place when he rolled over a shard of glass, flattening his tires. He called for new wheels but decided to soldier on rather than wait.

The mud was hellish quicksand and clawed at his shoes to drag him down. He slipped after thrusting himself free. A small bird met his muddied face. Little could scare Oscar given the intensity of his workouts and the severity of his steroids, so a little dead robin pressed against his face hardly made him flinch. Oscar picked himself back up and marched onward, dripping with decrepit sludge.

The wild mausoleum beckoned him inside. The two lamps were breathless and chilled the air with their absence of light. Oscar looked up and saw only the piercing white sky of a stagnant spring morning. The mud on his skin became crisp and flaked off him like dust. As Oscar Blakemont walked, it seemed as though he were fading out of existence. He became a husk of himself, a shadow.

He wiped himself off on the nearest lamppost and heard a faint murmur emanating from the shell off the eternal sentinel. There was a hushed rustle amid the prying trees. Oscar looked behind him and the wind silenced, leaving a thick coating of quiet, unnatural ambiance painted within the detective’s ear. He pushed on and refused to look back.

The door handle was locked and entwined with ivy. Lacking gloves and patience, Oscar retreated backwards. He charged like a rabid bull and took down the door while the poisonous vines lapped at his face and smothered his clothes. As he stood atop the door, basking in the pearlescent light of the clouds, wrapped tightly in a sheathe of vines, Oscar became one with nature and felt the choking vines warn him of a watcher. Guided by the green, he ensnared a rock and hurled it into the woodland.

“Whoever’s there, get out before I kill you.” He roared. The trees shook again but this time the quiver retreated out of sight. Oscar entered the ghostly manor and noticed the open windows which had allowed nature to reclaim the land almost entirely. This reminded the man that he was covered in flora. He ripped the veins off himself and returned them to the ground. He crossed his arms behind his back and paced through the corridors, the blaze in his eyes igniting each step.

Photographs littered the cupboard by the exit. Using them to map the shadows, Oscar rationalised which room was which. Jennifer’s room, like the rest of the building, was now covered with carpet and washed in vines. He knew that his lineage was what connected the missing to both himself and one another but could hardly deduce why they had all left when and where they did. His mind fired beams of speculation but nothing tangible formed before him.