468 Unkempt cellar
Vincent and Eve took the key to the cellar room from Carla and walked down the stoney spiral stairways of the mansion. With each carrying a lantern, they continued to make their way through the darkness.
“I cannot deny that this mansion is spookier than I first thought,” Eve remarked. Her eyes fell on the cobwebs that decorated the corners of the walls and ceilings.
“This place has been locked away for a long time. In the last few years, there have been barely any people actively using the mansion, which has led to some of the places being untouched. Some of the families are strict on it. Even if they are put in hibernation, they order the housekeepers to not touch anything that is not required to have any attention. Sometimes they’re rooms, or sometimes things that hold importance,” Vincent explained, while taking the lead ahead of her.
“But if they are family portraits, why not have them hang on the walls of the corridor, instead of leaving them here to collect dust?” Eve asked him.
“Maybe they were extras, or people didn’t like each other and decided to leave them behind,” Vincent hummed and then said, “There was once a story about the ghost in the portraits.”
Turning intrigued, Eve asked him, “What was it about?” Their footsteps made soft noises on the dusty floor as they continued to walk.
“The story went something like this. A woman marries a man, and once she starts living there, she feels she’s being watched and attacked by someone from the family. It is only later does she find that the ghost, that has been haunting and killing people, was in an old portrait. Poor woman’s husband dies.”
“Oh,” Eve’s eyebrows furrowed, and she asked, “What happens later?”
Vincent turned to look at Eve over his shoulder, with one corner of his lips pulled, and he replied, “The ghost leaves and don’t know after that. I lost the book and couldn’t find it again.”
Suddenly they heard a sound coming from the direction they were walking, that had Eve’s breath caught in her throat. She asked, “What was that?”
Vincent turned to the front and said, “Probably rodents.”
Reaching in front of a grilled gate, Vincent inserted the key Carla had given them before coming here. Eve heard the harsh sound of the lock, and once it opened, Vincent pushed the gate for it to creak.
Stepping inside the open gate, both of them finally reached the dark room with no windows because the cellar was built underground like the few chambers. Vincent walked towards the walls, and finding the torch hooked to the wall, he lit them one after another until the room finally was bright enough for them to see, and they didn’t have to rely on their lanterns.
The cellar wasn’t an ordinary cellar but had many things. There was a rack dedicated to books, but it was built in the walls of the cellar. Eve looked out for the rodents or spiders that had grown in the dark and cold place like this.
On another rack, a column of liquor bottles was placed on the other side of the wall. Curious, she picked up a bottle and felt the dust on the tips of her fingers and skin. When she turned it around, she noticed the label read that it was four centuries old. Eve remarked,
“I didn’t know blood could be stored this long,” because she doubted this was wine.
“If tempered right with right preservatives, it turns into alcohol. Only that it is slightly thicker than your other liquors, just the perfect taste. In the past, the blood preserving was mostly drawn from virgins. Male, female didn’t matter, of course, it is just a myth about virgins tasting better when in truth,” Vincent turned to look at the boards that leaned against the other side of the walls. “It is just that the younger a person is, the finer and fresh is the taste. Of course, there are other exceptions, like how your blood tastes more delicious than any person.”
Eve noticed Vincent’s gaze on the turned canvas and followed him to the other side of the cellar.
Vincent bent forward, stretching his hands and he grabbed the back of the nearest painting before he turned it around. Eve’s eyes furrowed, and she said,
“We don’t have any Moriarty ghosts, do we?”
“Not that I know of,” Vincent hummed before sitting on his heel to take a better look at one of the portraits, which had a portion of the painting missing as if it was intentionally torn.
They turned three more portraits before noticing another one having a patch as if it was ripped out. Like there was a person that didn’t want to be revealed. Vincent then picked up another portrait that was placed on the other side before their eyes fell on a big family, and there was a black cat that was held by a young woman. It looked exactly like Timotei.
Before either of them could say anything, someone sneezed in the cellar, “Achoo!” It didn’t belong to Vincent or Eve. A utensil toppled and fell.
“It is time to come out,” Vincent stated, standing up and turning to look in the direction where the utensil fell.
The black cat stepped out of the shadows, behind which it had been hiding, and it said, “It’s you both! I was here catching a rat–“
pAnD a(-)n0ve1.com
“WHERE?”
It took less than two seconds for Vincent to catch hold of the mischievous cat by grabbing its scruff.
“Don’t throw me out! I haven’t developed wings yet!” Timotei dangled in the air.
“Did you tear the paintings, Timotei?” Eve asked the black cat, who looked in the other direction instead of answering.
“I think you can be an excellent log once put in the fireplace,” Vincent stated, taking a step towards the exit of the cellar.
“Wait! Stop! I will tell you the truth! It was I, me who did it!” Timotei cried.
“Why?” Eve asked the black cat. “What are you hiding?”
Timotei stopped struggling and replied, “I was just hiding my charismatic self and to stop blinding people from my splendid self!”