Here is the fifth part of the weird fiction short story…
Talleyrand
Continued…
A steep, narrow staircase rose before me. Plumes of my condensed breath billowed in the icy air, and cobwebs swayed in rhythm with my breathing as I climbed the treads glistening in the lamplight. My heart pounded so fast I feared it would burst from my chest. A steady timpani of water drops fell from the holed roof above my head.
At the top of the stairs, a locked door barred my progress. The handle was slimy with thick green fungus, but to my surprise I didn’t recoil from its vile touch. Its dark wooden door stank of wet rot. Then, against my dream-will, I took a step back and flung my body against it.
What sorcery was this? This was my dream. How was I not in control of my actions? I was a spectator; a puppet of someone’s will. At first, I concluded this to be the nature of my nightmare. But when I flung myself against the door again, falling into the room on the other side, I knew my frail body could not have crashed through such a heavy barrier.
But Humphrey’s mighty body was more than able.
In horror, I realised I was sharing Humphrey’s senses. Seeing what he was seeing. Hearing what he was hearing.
Our racing hearts beat as one.
Humphrey stood and shook the rotten shards and filth from his coat. The dust-laden air stank of decay. He picked up the lantern and stared around the room. Dusty sheets dotted with mould covered whatever perishing furniture that lay beneath. Debris and trinkets were strewn across the wooden floorboards, and a cold fireplace rested beneath its ornate mantelshelf.
Behind us, the door slammed. Humphrey was turning to face the sound when his gaze snapped suddenly towards movement at the edge of his vision. On the gable wall at the far end of the room, a faint outline of light flickering around an unseen doorway was just visible through his narrowed eyes. He rested the lantern on the stone mantel and turned down the wick. Now, in the dimmed light, the outline rippled and throbbed to the rhythm of our heartbeat.
Then, with the roar of a waking giant, the newly manifested door burst open, flooding the room with a blinding light. Humphrey staggered back, shielding his eyes with his coat sleeve.
“Finally, my love, you have returned from the hunt.” The husky female voice was weary and ancient.
Humphrey lowered his arm and viewed the room through slitted eyes. The owner of the voice stood in the doorway leaning on the jamb, her flaming-red hair dancing in the wake of the swirling vortex diminishing behind her. The azure blue streak in her long hair was the last to settle on her left shoulder. Her red rococo dress shimmered in the light from countless candelabras and the fire now blazing in the grate. I had only seen such opulent attire in the Baroque paintings adorning the walls of the Forsythe family manor.
Vanished were the filthy dust covers. Now, dressers and armoires with golden acanthus leaf motifs and a bedframe with delicately crafted scrollwork dressed in a lilac satin counterpane from a more elegant bygone age, sparkled in the flickering light.
“Come sit with me, my love. You must be cold and tired. Come warm yourself by the fire.” The woman glided across the room and, beckoning Humphrey with outstretched arms, she lowered herself onto the seat by the hearth. Humphrey gasped, entranced by her grace and beauty. Although I was not privy to his thoughts or emotions, I sensed his dizzy stupor as he knelt at her feet, resting his head in her lap. He gazed into the fathomless black void of her eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“No one believed when I told them you would return. That old boar could never escape your relentless pursuit.”
Despite sitting so close to the flames, the woman’s fingers were as cold as icicles on Humphrey’s brow. Yet he did not recoil. He was either unaware of her deathly touch or so beguiled he cared not.
“Pray tell, my love… where have you been these last forty days and nights? Your Rosie has missed you so.” Her gentle voice had hardened as her fingers tightened in his hair, twisting his neck. Something steel-cold tickled his throat.
Firelight flashed on a blade rising over the woman’s head when a thunderous clamour on the stairs shattered the silence. Fists pounding on the door caused the woman to leap from the seat and, tripping on the hearth, she staggered towards the fire.
“Save me, Humphrey!” Her voice broke. As she stumbled, her shin snapped with a crack, and a blade clattered onto the floorboards.
Humphrey hit his head on the vacated seat as he grabbed a fistful of her satin dress, too late. She toppled into the fire, flames engulfing her dress in an instant. The pounding stopped. The door crashed open.
A scream shattered the air.
© Drew Halfpenny 2025
