One day Raymond awoke to find his family missing.
It was terrifying, and although the police were very reassuring and the neighbors consoling, it disturbed him far deeper than he let on. His grandmother came from Pittsburgh to stay with him and send him off to school and make him tea. Worst of all, she reminded him of his mother, and that was terrible as he missed his mother immensely.
Their family lived – oh, sorry – had lived in a very, very large old mansion built upon a stony crag near the edge of town out past where the trolleys would run. Raymond’s father had bought it with the lottery money he had won, all 43 million dollars, after taxes and legal fees and paying off the judges. Not that Raymond’s father had cheated, mind you, it was just that the judges made it quite clear that they expected remuneration for having pulled the big steel handle that had dropped the series of polished red balls on the winding wooden shoot that had deposited them in that miraculous order: 879026 which were the very same numbers on Raymond’s father’s lotto. Raymond’s father gladly paid them their extort – err, reward.
One very sad day, after a couple of police detectives had visited with absolutely no good news for either Raymond, or his grandmother (who by now was itching to get back to the warm little bungalow her dutiful son had bought her with a portion of the proceeds from the lotto win) his Grandmother announced she would be leaving at the end of the week.. She found Raymond tedious.
Just as Raymond found living in the huge old mansion tedious, but also very frightening. For good reason.
What the builders of the mansion didn’t know, and never would have guessed, was that before Raymond’s mansion had ever been conceived, was another –which had burnt down in a mysterious manner some 230 years prior. And underneath this oldest structure was a catacomb of subterranean passages and rooms, which themselves were built upon an even deeper layer of natural chambers left over from a previous age when giant volumes of water had carved out intricate passages and rotundas on its deep, dark way to the ocean. For another very good reason, the builders had failed to discover a passageway that lead to this complex of rooms because someone had artfully disguised the entrance to look like a foundation stone.
This would explain the uninvited guests.
Raymond found them standing at the foot of his very large bed late one night when the moon had penetrated the dense curtains of his bedroom windows and cast a dim glow about the room.
He sat up with a start, screaming. Of course, if you’ve ever been small, and ever been terribly afraid, you understand that Raymond wasn’t making a sound at all. The poor little boy’s mouth was open, but the rest was all inside his head.
“Raymond,” said the short, round man in the dark brown derby. “Listen very carefully. Your family is very much alive, although likely not for long, at least, not until you take this note your father has so willingly written to his attorney, Mr. Standbush.”
Finally a word came from Raymond’s mouth.
“Where…?” It was all he could utter.
“Oh very well hidden from all of the policemen and bloodhounds and would-be heroes. You’re not a hero, are you Raymond? Because any sort of heroics would be severely limit your family’s ability to remain alive.”
“Please don’t hurt them!” Raymond cried.
The man in the derby and the other two small figures leaned closer.
“Oh, rest assured, Raymond. We would never harm your family.”
Raymond felt a rush of relief.
“But he would…”
Out of the shadows emerged a brute of a man some seven feet tall, wearing a pair of dark purple pants and a long dark coat. In is hand was a very long, silvery needle of immense size.
Brown derby took the needle from the brute’s hands, and continued.
“Raymond, do you understand why blood clots?”
He held the needle into the light.
“Because if it didn’t, you could bleed to death at the slightest prick. I’m sorry to say that your dear father and mother and annoyingly spoiled sister have all ingested a very powerful anti-clotting agent. I would hate to see any of them prick themselves, wouldn’t you?
- - to be continued - -
It was terrifying, and although the police were very reassuring and the neighbors consoling, it disturbed him far deeper than he let on. His grandmother came from Pittsburgh to stay with him and send him off to school and make him tea. Worst of all, she reminded him of his mother, and that was terrible as he missed his mother immensely.
Their family lived – oh, sorry – had lived in a very, very large old mansion built upon a stony crag near the edge of town out past where the trolleys would run. Raymond’s father had bought it with the lottery money he had won, all 43 million dollars, after taxes and legal fees and paying off the judges. Not that Raymond’s father had cheated, mind you, it was just that the judges made it quite clear that they expected remuneration for having pulled the big steel handle that had dropped the series of polished red balls on the winding wooden shoot that had deposited them in that miraculous order: 879026 which were the very same numbers on Raymond’s father’s lotto. Raymond’s father gladly paid them their extort – err, reward.
One very sad day, after a couple of police detectives had visited with absolutely no good news for either Raymond, or his grandmother (who by now was itching to get back to the warm little bungalow her dutiful son had bought her with a portion of the proceeds from the lotto win) his Grandmother announced she would be leaving at the end of the week.. She found Raymond tedious.
Just as Raymond found living in the huge old mansion tedious, but also very frightening. For good reason.
What the builders of the mansion didn’t know, and never would have guessed, was that before Raymond’s mansion had ever been conceived, was another –which had burnt down in a mysterious manner some 230 years prior. And underneath this oldest structure was a catacomb of subterranean passages and rooms, which themselves were built upon an even deeper layer of natural chambers left over from a previous age when giant volumes of water had carved out intricate passages and rotundas on its deep, dark way to the ocean. For another very good reason, the builders had failed to discover a passageway that lead to this complex of rooms because someone had artfully disguised the entrance to look like a foundation stone.
This would explain the uninvited guests.
Raymond found them standing at the foot of his very large bed late one night when the moon had penetrated the dense curtains of his bedroom windows and cast a dim glow about the room.
He sat up with a start, screaming. Of course, if you’ve ever been small, and ever been terribly afraid, you understand that Raymond wasn’t making a sound at all. The poor little boy’s mouth was open, but the rest was all inside his head.
“Raymond,” said the short, round man in the dark brown derby. “Listen very carefully. Your family is very much alive, although likely not for long, at least, not until you take this note your father has so willingly written to his attorney, Mr. Standbush.”
Finally a word came from Raymond’s mouth.
“Where…?” It was all he could utter.
“Oh very well hidden from all of the policemen and bloodhounds and would-be heroes. You’re not a hero, are you Raymond? Because any sort of heroics would be severely limit your family’s ability to remain alive.”
“Please don’t hurt them!” Raymond cried.
The man in the derby and the other two small figures leaned closer.
“Oh, rest assured, Raymond. We would never harm your family.”
Raymond felt a rush of relief.
“But he would…”
Out of the shadows emerged a brute of a man some seven feet tall, wearing a pair of dark purple pants and a long dark coat. In is hand was a very long, silvery needle of immense size.
Brown derby took the needle from the brute’s hands, and continued.
“Raymond, do you understand why blood clots?”
He held the needle into the light.
“Because if it didn’t, you could bleed to death at the slightest prick. I’m sorry to say that your dear father and mother and annoyingly spoiled sister have all ingested a very powerful anti-clotting agent. I would hate to see any of them prick themselves, wouldn’t you?
- - to be continued - -
posted by Darrell at 1:07 AM
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