Of Manors and Mysteries.
Megan returned to the third floor after grabbing the flashlight from her room. It worked fine, and she began to search through the rubbish and cast-off furniture for anything interesting. She looked for hours, it seemed, and found nothing. The house was huge, and even one floor was hard to search properly. Following the floor plan, she returned to the staircase and walked down to the first level. Searching the third floor was tough, what with the dim light, the clutter, and the cobwebs. The first floor was a safer and easier idea, she thought. So she proposed the idea to Jared. He agreed that it might be easier, and even offered to help.
“I know my way around this place pretty well, as you might have guessed, so it’s probably a good idea for me to come.”
Megan agreed readily. So they set off, if that is relevant. Down many hallways and many rooms they looked, searching for something, anything, that looked interesting. Nothing was found. They returned to the parlour. Megan was disappointed. If Jared was, he hid it well. He sat down in a big armchair before the fireplace and stared at the empty grate. Megan sighed and flopped down on the fainting couch. She was sure there would be something there, but there was nothing anywhere. She looked up at the picture of James McSanford over the fireplace in resignation. That’s when she noticed something strange. His left hand was resting on a pace stick, but his right hand was pointing down and back, as if gesturing to something. She looked closely, and confirmed her suspicions. Inside the frame, just behind him, there was a low door, almost blending into the wall, but open wide enough to be visible. She looked around to see where it was. The room had changed so much since the picture had been painted, that she could no longer tell where it was.
“Jared, where was this picture painted?”
“Right here in this room, why?”
“Right there, under his right hand. Do you see it?”
He looked closely, then his eyes widened.
“A door! I can’t believe I didn’t see it before! I’ve been staring at this picture every day for four years and never noticed that! And the picture was painted here, so the door would be... right over here.”
Where he pointed was a wall covered by a big tapestry. He touched the wall gently, then pushed. There was a click, and the tapestry was pushed out slightly. Megan pulled it aside, and, sure enough, there was the door.
Both Jared and Megan stood dumbfounded for a moment, then Jared crouched down and pushed his way into the space behind the door. It was a small room with no light, filled with dust and cobwebs. Megan followed Jared inside. There was a small wooden table with a small metal box on it. Jared picked this up. He glanced at Megan, and they retreated from the small space. Megan crowded around him as he looked over the box slowly.
“What is it? Is it the treasure? A clue? What is it? What’s inside it?”
“Well, hold on a second while I figure that out, okay?”
Megan almost held her breath as he found the latch and the box fell open. She let out her breath in a harsh sigh of disappointment. There was nothing inside the box. Jared frowned.
“Nothing? That doesn’t make sense!”
“Maybe it’s, like, a false trail! You know, to keep people off track. People who shouldn’t be looking for the treasure. So, maybe we’re missing something important.”
Jared sighed and set the box on the end table.
“Maybe. Or maybe we’re just not looking in the right place. Maybe it’s not here at all. Who knows?”
He walked out of the room quietly, leaving Megan to her private thoughts. She left soon after for her room. In the big room, surrounded by old furniture and an old atmosphere, she felt strangely compelled, and knew what she could do. She pulled out her trusty ol’ laptop and searched mystery stories and the solutions. She came up with all sorts of ideas and theories for the metal box, but there were so many, she fell asleep at the desk, her head on her arms and her hands still on the keyboard. Jared, coming up with a late dinner and to check on her, found her thus. He carried her to her bed, then took the tray of food and went back downstairs. He sat in a little study on the first floor, fiddling with the little metal box. There was more to this puzzle than it appeared.
“What secrets do you hold, hmm?” he whispered to himself. After a while, the metal cube fell from his limp hand and he let out a sigh, finally asleep. Outside the mansion, shadows roved in the moonlight, the wind whispering to the trees secrets that the old house hid. And what other mysteries did the manor still hoard?
The next morning, Megan awoke in her bed and sat up. She had an idea as soon as her head left the pillow. She swiftly dressed and rushed downstairs. As she reached the parlour, she found it empty, and looked around for Jared. She eventually found him in the little study across the front hall. He was leaning back in an old armchair, fast asleep. He looked so peaceful, so calm. He actually looked like he was not being hunted by trained assassins out to murder both of them. She left him to get the rest he needed, and went to the kitchen to see what she could dig up. She found some biscuits and fresh fruit. She soon put together a nice meal with jelly biscuits, fruit smoothie and bacon that she found. She brought two plates of it into the parlour And set them down on the little table. As she began to eat, Jared came into the room, looking very tired and considerably ruffled. He sat down across from her and ate his food silently. She didn’t speak to him, knowing he was probably still waking up. Finally, he spoke.
“You make this?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s good.”
“How late did you stay up last night?”
“I dunno.”
“Go to bed. You look tired. Sleeping in an armchair probably doesn’t help, either.”
“I’m fine. We still need that clue.”
“I can find it myself, and you need sleep.”
“Fine. I’m going. Happy?”
“Perfectly.”
So Jared went up to bed, and Megan again examined the box, and much as she suspected, found nothing. So she went back to the secret room and searched the table. she found, carved on the underside, a rhyme in the wood. She quickly copied it down and took it out into the lighted sitting room. She went over it with great care.
The secret I hold,
What with greatest of care,
Hidden within,
None can find where.
Decipher this code,
And my secret I give,
The key is a letter,
A note of missive.
Begin with the darkness,
It’s not in the light.
The same as the ocean,
Nor the highest height.
I, not a soldier,
Nor over eighteen,
Not highest or lowest,
The key is between.
She put it down in despair.
“This is hopeless!” She groaned miserably.
“I knew I didn’t know anything, but this is ridiculous!”
She sat back and thought hard, but came up with nothing. She read it again, more slowly, and thought as hard as she could.
“The riddle seems to start here at ‘the key is a letter.’ What letter? What kind of letter? Like a letter in an envelope with a stamp, or one from the alphabet? I don’t get this at all. It was nearly twenty minutes later when Jared came back down, sporting a new outfit and looking well-rested. He found her sitting on the fainting couch with a grumpy look on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I found this, and I can’t figure it out.”
She flung the paper out at him, and he caught it in one hand. Straightening it out, he read through it.
“Wow. That is confusing. I have no idea.”
“See?”
“I thought you said you would figure it out all by yourself.”
“You know I was only trying to get you to bed.”
“So you can’t figure it out?”
“Stop teasing.”
“Fine, fine. I’m sorry. Now, let’s get down to business. How to decipher the clue.”
“I think the actual clue starts here, but I have no idea what it means.”
“Well, let’s look at it. It says a letter. What kind?”
“I dunno. What?”
“Let’s look at the next line. Maybe that’ll tell us.”
“Okay, um, ‘a note of missive.’”
“So it’s a letter from the alphabet.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a musician. It has to be A, B, C, D, E, F, or G. Those are all musical notes. It’s gotta be one of them. See, it says ‘key,’ in the line before. That just insinuates that it’s music. Now we have to find out which note it is. What’s next?”
“Let’s see... It begins in the darkness, it’s not in the light.”
“Hmm, no, next.”
“The same as the ocean, nor the highest height.”
“Yes, I get it. The same as the ocean. It’s a C. That rhymes with ‘sea’. That’s what it is. But That’s not enough information. Where do we play it? Keep reading.”
“I, not a soldier, nor over eighteen, not highest or lowest, the key is between.”
“Middle C. But what’s all that about soldiers and eighteen?”
“I dunno. How old are you?”
“Seventeen. Why?”
“What would you call yourself, since you’re not in the army, or over eighteen?”
“A civilian?”
“I was actually thinking more along the lines of... um... What’s the word... Oh, yeah! Minor! Under eighteen, you’re a minor!”
“That’s genius! C minor! That’s a chord! I get it! Where do I play it, though?”
“Let’s check the box.”
Excerpt Diary Entry, March 19, 2013.
So there’s this big mystery that we’re solving, looking for that treasure, and It’s loads of fun, even if it is frustrating and hard. But I think I’m beginning to settle into this kind of fugitive life, and I’m not worried about my family anymore. Though I wonder what they’re saying about me at home.
They retrieved the box and looked it over. Then Jared pointed something out.
“Here, see? It’s a keyboard, like on a piano.”
“Well? Play the chord!”
So Jared played a C-minor on middle C, but nothing happened.
“What’s wrong?”
“Read the poem again.”
“Um... The key is a letter, a note of missive, begin in the darkness-”
“That’s it!”
“What?”
“It starts on the black key! Here, like this!”
He played the chord again, and this time there was a click, and a secret compartment opened, and inside was a small piece of yellowed paper with burn marks on the edges. Megan carefully took it between her fingers.
“This is the next clue then?”
“Looks like,” Jared said.
“Can you solve this one? I’m feeling a little hungry. I’ll go get some food for us both.”
“I’ll look it over, and we’ll see. But I’m not that hungry. Get something for yourself.”
“Okay. I’ll be back.”
Megan pored over the piece of paper for several minutes, then went to find Jared. She didn’t see him in the kitchen, then realized that she didn’t know what room he was sleeping in. She looked around, then came to the little study off the foyer. Except...
“Hey Jared, I think I...”
Jared spun around, surprised. But... Was it Jared? Megan’s hand dropped, the paper falling to the floor.
“M-Mason?” she faltered. The boy in front of her was not a brunette, nor did he have brown eyes. His hair was blonde, and his eyes were shocking blue. They both stood frozen, Megan a tear sliding down her cheek. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He groped for words, nothing coming to his mind.
“I... I’m... so sorry...”
“Mason? You’re... Mason?”
No words came from Mason’s mouth. Megan turned and ran from the room, crying. Mason sat down hard on his chair, picked up the wig and contacts and threw them into the trashcan angrily. He put his head in his hands and sat still for a long time. A tear fell through his fingers and onto the floor. Megan had collapsed onto her bed upstairs and was crying silently her pillow soaked with tears.
Excerpt Diary Entry, March 19, 2013.
I... I can’t believe it! Mr. Mystery is Mason! I thought he died! But here he is, alive and well, and hiding out in the country for no reason. And he brought me out here with him! What on earth is he thinking! I can’t... I don’t... Why? I see puddles on the desk, and I’m afraid I’ll short-circuit the keyboard if I cry any more.
That night, Mason came in with tray of food and placed it on the window table. He glanced at Megan, who was lying on the bed. He saw tear stains on the pillow, and left quickly, his eyes downcast. When he had left, Megan glanced at the tray. She slowly got up and walked over. On the plate, next to some tomato soup, was a folded note. She picked it up and unfolded it. She read.
Megan,
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I know it’s a shock, but I had to keep my identity safe from the people after us. I wanted to keep us both safe, and I don’t know how I can make up for it, but I’m very sorry. Please don’t hate me.
Megan dropped the note back on the plate and flopped back onto the bed. It was almost two days until she and Mason saw each other again. Megan came down to the kitchen for breakfast. Mason put out two plates, and they sat down to eat. They both kept their eyes down, Megan in contempt, and Mason in guilt. Finally, Mason spoke.
“Megan...”
“No. Don’t say a thing. You’ll only make it worse.”
“But I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you!”
“You don’t get it! Three years! Three years I thought you were dead, and I cried over you. And the whole time you were just hiding from some people who probably don’t even exist!”
“They do exist! And I was only hiding to keep the people who I love safe!”
“Keep us safe? What about all the people that cried over you? What about the people who still think you’re dead? What about your family, who go through torture every day remembering you, and seeing nothing but an empty room, and an empty grave with your name on it? How would you like to be them, eh? How many people are you going to hurt just for some stupid treasure?”
“You don’t know what it’s like, Megan! You have no idea! Having to stay here all the time! Not being able to see anyone I know, not being able to speak to my friends, my family! Not being able to leave without fear that I could be killed at any second!”
“But I was here with you, to stay, I suppose, and you still didn’t trust me enough to tell me!”
“I’m sorry. But it was for your own good! I don’t want you to die, Megan!”
“You know what! Goodbye! I’m going upstairs to pack my things!”
Megan stood swiftly and slammed her fork on the table. Mason jumped up as she turned to go.
“You have no idea how I feel! Do you know what it’s like to have to lie like that? To have to make the decision I had to? Run away and hide, or come home, reassure my loved ones, and have them all die for me? Which would you do? Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’d rather have you hate me then have you dead! I’d rather watch my family cry over me then cry over their dead bodies!”
Megan stopped and came back and sat down, her eyes still down. Mason sat down as well. They both began to eat again. Megan glanced up briefly, and saw Mason wipe his eyes on one sleeve. A tear fell into his plate. Megan turned away sorrowfully. She had no idea it hurt him this much. No wonder he had seemed so stiff before. They finished their food, and Mason brought out the scrap of paper. Few words were between them still, but there had been a quiet acceptance for both of them. The poem on the paper was short, but as confusing as the one before. Mason read it aloud.
“The next of keys is hidden
Within a morning song.
The rain of man which sees no end
Until the final wrong.
Placed beside the former clue,
The note to set you free.
Frozen inside cherrywood,
The work of Italy.”
Megan frowned.
“Well, I’m stumped.”
Mason nodded his agreement, then pointed out one line.
“Here, it says ‘placed beside the former clue’. Could that mean in the secret room?”
“Or beside the picture of our ancestor.”
“Good idea.”
They traversed back to the parlour and looked about the room. Megan glanced at the wall on both sides of James’ portrait over the fireplace. A thought occurred to Megan as she looked about.
“What does it mean, ‘frozen inside cherrywood’?”
“I’m not sure. Do you know what cherry wood looks like?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I do. We went on a nature walk at school last year. It’s a kind of pinkish wood, and people usually finish it sort of red, like cedar.”
“So, like this.”
He pointed out a small picture on the wall.
“Yeah, sort of. More like this.”
She gestured to a frame hanging next to James’ portrait.
“Hey, could that be it?” Mason asked, walking over.
“I guess. What is it?”
“A sampler. It’s got a song stitched in.”
“What’s it say?”
I’m holding on to my dear life,
To the railing on the roof.
And the ground below me looks up
And says, “What are you gonna do?
Are you gonna throw it all away?
Are you gonna end it all,
Or not?
And I’m waiting for the phone to ring,
To hear your voice again.
‘Cause you’re the only one who can save me
From this dark and lonely end.
And it’s getting colder by the second
Surrounded by these forget-me-nots
And second thoughts.
And I want them to stop.
Please stop.
Stop.
Please stop.
Well, the concrete’s looking softer
Every second that I wait.
And the rain is stinging on my skin
As tears fall down my face.
And I hold your picture in my hand,
So you’ll be with me when I go.
And I recall the moments that led me to this,
All of my mistakes.
I say goodbye to all my memories,
And lies to my face.
‘Cause I was hurting on the inside,
So I hurt myself on the outside, too,
But then came you,
And you begged me to stop.
Please stop.
Stop.
Please stop.
And I walk up to the edge,
And I kiss your picture goodbye,
And I turn around and lean back,
And I see you with your hands out,
Screaming, Stop!
Please stop!
Stop!
Please Stop!
But you were just a little too late.
I touched your fingers on my way down,
Falling faster than I fell for you.
And when I look up,
I see you looking down on me,
You’re screaming, crying, begging, pleading, sobbing,
That’s when everything stopped.
Stopped.
Stop.
Stop.*
Megan had tears streaming down her face, and even Mason was wiping something out of his eye.
“That’s so sad!” Megan said, her voice shaking with emotion.
Mason didn’t say anything for a moment.
“Do you think it’s the clue?” he asked when his voice returned to normal. Megan shrugged, wiping her eyes dry quickly.
“I don’t know. What would it have to do with anything, and what’s this about ‘the work of Italy’?”
“It could be the writer of the song. Right here. His name’s Louis Rapattoni. That’s an Italian name. That could be it.”
“But the whole ‘song of morning’ part doesn’t fit in. There’s nothing in it about morning. No birds singing, no sunrise, no breakfast-”
“Wait, wait, say that again.”
“There’s no sunrise in it?”
“No, before that.”
“Nothing about morning in it?”
“No, no, earlier.”
“The whole ‘song of morning’-”
“That’s it!”
“What?”
“It’s not ‘morning song,’ it’s ‘mourning song’.”
“Huh?”
Megan looked confused.
“See, one is ‘morning’ like you said, with sunrise and birds and stuff, but the other is ‘mourning’ like grieving, and sadness, and stuff.”
“Oh! I get it! You’re a genius!”
Mason glanced away with a smile, and Megan blushed. Then Mason became more serious.
“But we still don’t know what the key is. How are we supposed to figure that out.”
Megan glanced up at the sampler and stared at it.
“I wonder what went through the head of whoever wrote this,” she said quietly. Mason didn’t answer. His eyes slowly turned from the sampler to Megan, then to the ground. Absorbed in her own thoughts, Megan failed to notice his expression as she turned around.
“Well, let’s get cracking, eh?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Mason said, as cheerfully as he could.
___________________________________
Song written by Dalton Rapattoni of IM5. All credit to him.
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