The Wayne Murder Case Retake

The film The Wayne Murder Case, aka A Strange Adventure, was released in 1932 by Monogram Pictures, and resides in the public domain. It was remade in color in 1941 by an amateur film club, the Triangle Cinema League of Chicago, but that version is currently lost. My story was inspired by a second remake made in 1979, during the minor boom in retro-styled mystery films that broke out in the wake of the release of Murder on the Orient Express in 1974. The 1979 version of The Wayne Murder Case is, like the 1941 iteration, also lost.

March 1934. New York.

Darkness reigned over the Wayne Mansion, home of old Silas Wayne. The Mansion was lonely amid the sea of pines that swallowed it up, with only a hangnail moon to light the forest. It wasn’t as lonely as it always was, however. There were visitors who’d come to see Silas Wayne tonight—those who would benefit from his impending death. Cancer ate away at Silas Wayne day by day, hour by hour, and everyone who shared his blood knew that when his time came all his money had to go somewhere…

Not all of them were vultures, but a good number were, in their own ways. Silas Wayne loathed his guests, condemning all of them wholesale. Yet as much as he painted them all with one hateful brush, he also arranged unique fates for each of them. He took that as his right, to weave destinies for his family as a spider spins webs. Now, one of his intended victims was now discovering what was in store for him.

To all appearances, Claude Wayne was the most loyal of Silas Wayne’s nephews. He was the only member of the family to live with his uncle, serving as his personal secretary. Claude had weaseled his way into the position through years of negotiations just to attain tonight’s triumph—access to the old man’s safe. It took months before he learned the safe was hidden in the library, and it took months of observation afterwards to learn the combination. Claude had now opened the hidden vault and retrieved two objects. The first was the Khandur Diamond, a treasure of inestimable value, a stunning jewel. The second was much more complex and, indeed, perhaps even more valuable. It was Silas Wayne’s will, which was to be signed before the rest of the nephews and their loved ones within the hour.

“‘Five hundred dollars and a 3% stock option in United Utilities?’” he whispered, reading the typed page aloud. “That’s what my loyalty gets?”

That’s why he’d nabbed the Khandur Diamond. He was going to get his chunk of change come rain or shine. Never mind that the will left the Diamond to Ms. Sheen, the housekeeper—on the hopes that it still bore the deadly Asiatic curse which Silas blamed for his misfortune. Claude felt no one would finger him if the gem happened to go missing before its gifting to Ms. Sheen.

The Diamond was plainly cut, despite its beauty, and so it had been easy to come up with a paste replica. It would fool the old man and anyone else who laid eyes on it.

The real thing would bring in far more than five hundred dollars and a pity’s share of stocks. Damn the old man!

Just then, Claude heard footsteps behind him. He threw the Diamond into his pocket and placed the will and the fake in the vault. He closed the safe door and hid it behind a column of books. Then he pretended to be working on some of the old man’s papers, sitting rather presumptuously at his desk.

Slowly, Silas Wayne shuffled into the room, using his cane to carry his emaciated form. “Claude!” he barked. “Did I hear you open up my safe?”

“Ah, hello, Uncle. I thought you’d be entertaining the others downstairs.”

“Heh! Silas Wayne does not ‘entertain.’ My relatives are more than capable of keeping themselves occupied while I make the final preparations.”

“Geoffrey informed me that Inspector Dart from Scotland Yard is here.”

“Ah, yes, Alice—the only woman I trust in this world. She’s flown a long way to get here, which is a testament to our friendship. She saved my life once, you know.”

“Yes, Uncle, you’ve told me the tale.”

“Enough distractions! What were you doing with my safe?”

“Nothing at all, Uncle!”

“You mewling milquetoast. I bet you’ll stolen the Khandur Diamond! Now I may despise that accursed jewel, but it’s worth a lot of money!”

“I haven’t, Uncle Silas.”

“Hmph! We’ll see about that! Get out of my way!”

The old man pushed past Claude and opened up the safe. He was so convinced that Claude had already burgled him that he didn’t care that he was seeing him put in the combination. As his aged fingers turned the knob, Claude thought fast. He knew that Silas would try to prove the reality of his gem by using it to cut glass—probably demonstrating it, as he often did, on the plain glass rectangle he used as a paperweight. But he was ready for that. A little sleight-of-hand would save the day.

Silas retrieved the paste diamond and brought it over to his desk. “We’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong…” he muttered to himself.

He marched over to the desk and, as Claude had predicted, he picked up the paperweight. As he did so, he had to lean on the desk with the hand that held the fake gem. Using a pickpocket trick he’d learned in the big city, Claude reached over and placed the real Khandur in his uncle’s hand, even as he took away the fake one. It was so quick and so gentle that Silas didn’t notice.

“We’ll see who’s right…”

He brought the Diamond up to the surface of the paperweight, and started trying to scratch it. To his great surprise, the jewel cut a line across a glass like a hot knife through butter.

“Incredible! You weren’t lying!”

“I told you so, Uncle.”

“It seems I mistrusted you, Claude. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at the reading. I have something very special planned for you.”

Claude felt his fist clench, but he soon caught himself and relaxed his grip. He smiled at the old man.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Uncle. You taught me to work hard and build myself up. I know that when you’re gone, I’ll become a successful man, just like you.”

“I hope so, Claude, I hope so. Still, I couldn’t help but leave you something of a boon. Now, I think I’ve kept them waiting long enough. What say we go downstairs and get this over with?”

Claude nodded acquiescently, and watched as Silas placed the Khandur Diamond back into the safe. He promised the jewel silently that he would come back for it.

Silas retrieved his will, placing it in the front pocket of his suit. Then he closed the safe, and placed the books back over the door, and the two departed the library.

* * *

“That old bastard!” Robert Wayne cried at last. “What’s taking him so damn long?”

“Robert, please, language!” admonished his fiancee, Gloria Dryden. “I know that your uncle hasn’t always been the most pleasant person, but—”

“Unpleasant is just the tip of the iceberg, darling. I’ve little doubt he’s going to turn this whole event into a way to punish us. He’ll punish you for being with me. He doesn’t understand that I love you, he just sees your family’s background.” Robert had to hold himself back from spitting on the floor. “Every time that clock chimes, I feel I’ll go mad…”

“Don’t worry, darling, he judges the rich girls too,” said Sarah Bolter to Gloria. Her husband was Stephen Bolter, the son of Silas Wayne’s sister. “He hates me as if I were his own flesh and blood. Poor, hateful old man!”

“Uncle is cruel to all of us, flesh and blood or no,” said Stephen, nodding. “If Claude had a woman in his life, rest assured that Silas would hate her too.”

“But Claude’s a-a confirmed bachelor, isn’t he? Just like Silas himself?” Gloria asked. “Maybe that’s why he shows favor to him. Claude has put duty to his family before love—not that I’m condoning that.”

Three observers watched the two cousins and their women converse. First of these was the young and beautiful Inspector Alice Dart of Scotland Yard, one of Silas’ few true friends. She’d flown all the way over from London to attend tonight’s reading. Second was Ms. Sheen, the dour-faced housekeeper. It was said that Ms. Sheen’s son and husband had died in a hideous accident some years back, and she had never fully recovered from the flight of her senses that ensued. Third, there was Dr. Bailey, Silas’ personal physician. Ms. Sheen, Dr. Bailey, and the butler, Geoffrey, joined Claude and Silas as the other permanent inhabitants of the house.

The three observers were silent, though each of them had their own judgments about the nephews and their partners.

“I’m sorry for cursing,” Robert Wayne said then, “but it’s nearly 1 in the morning. He’s exhausting us on purpose.”

“Yep, that’s definitely one of his tactics,” Stephen agreed.

“It’s okay, we have endurance,” said Sarah with a smile.

At that moment, Claude entered the living room, and wordlessly took his seat.

“May we assume he’s almost ready, then?” Robert asked his brother.

“Oh, yes, he’s right behind me.”

This proved true. The scraping of the cane came first; then the staggering shape of Silas Wayne himself, whose entrance provoked all present to stand from their chairs.

“Sit down, sit down, all of you! It’s just me, you dumb idiots.”

“Uncle, it’s so good to see you,” Stephen said. “It’s been years.”

“Yes, well, some separations happen for a reason. You don’t need to flatter me with, ‘Uncle, it’s so good to see you!’ I see right through you, boy, always could.”

Stephen said nothing, and sat down, with the others following suit.

“Nah, Alice, you stay standing!” Silas said then. “Let me get a look at you. It’s good to see you, Inspector!”

“Silas,” Alice Dart said warmly. “It’s been too long.”

“Thank you for agreeing to come out here tonight, I know it’s not a short way. But maybe once we’re done with all this tomfoolery you and I can go up to the study and have some of that Scotch whiskey you gave on my last London trip.”

“That sounds delightful, old chap,” she said, with a professional smile on her face.

A chair had been arranged for Silas at the head of the room. He took it, sitting down slowly cautiously, as though his legs would give out under him without careful control.

“Ahh, that’s better,” he groaned, once he was situated. He produced the will from his pocket, and from the pocket opposite he pulled out a weathered pair of reading glasses. “Well, I’ve kept you little shits waiting long enough, so let’s just tuck right in. Dr. Bailey, my tonic.”

“See, my language comes from him,” Robert whispered to Gloria. Though his anger hadn’t left his voice, Gloria couldn’t help but grin. Even in his frustration, Robert had a boyish side to him that she always liked. That side wanted only to do good in front of the girl he loved. Dr. Bailey prepared Silas’ health tonic, and placed it before him. Silas took a sip from the glass, and then began to read.

“Lessee…uh…ah, yes. ‘I, Silas Demophilus Wayne, being of sound mind and body, blah, blah, blah, etcetera, etcetera, um, do leave the following to my heirs and relatives.’” He cleared his throat. “‘Before explicating the inheritances, I must first include this disclaimer indicating that I leave my fortune to my family under a love of tradition, not a love of my siblings’ spawn. Ever since I received the Khandur Diamond, which was stolen long ago from its temple in the Himalayas, I have been living a cursed life. And that curse manifests principally in the fact that I am a poor man. For I may be rich in terms of gold and silver, but I have not one true friend among my living kin. And to be alone in such a fashion is poverty indeed.’”

Robert and Stephen groaned and rolled their eyes, but Claude kept his face stiff and unmoving. He didn’t betray an ounce of his irritation.

“‘To my eldest nephew, Stephen Bolter, and his wife Sarah—I leave the sum of $100,000.’” At this, Stephen’s eyes widened. He took his wife’s hand and looked at her hopefully.

Then Silas sneered and said, “‘The money is to be paid upon the birth of the happy couple’s first child.’”

“Why, you rotter!” Stephen cried. “You know that Sarah and I can’t have children!”

“Yes, and whose fault is that, hm?” Silas asked suddenly. “I suspect Sarah, flawed as she is, is a fertile woman. It’s just that you’re not enough of a man to—”

Stephen stood up from his chair. “I dare you to finish that statement, I dare you!”

“Stephen, calm down! Let him have his cruel joke,” Sarah implored.

Stephen did his wife’s bidding, but only hesitantly.

“Now then,” Silas went on, “‘to my second oldest nephew, Robert, I leave one dollar. He’s always boasted about that hopeless oil endeavor of his paying off, so I figure he won’t need a dime more than that.’”

Robert held his tongue, but his body quaked with rage.

“‘To his fiancee, Gloria Dryden, I leave the entirety of my estates and fortune—on the condition that she does not marry Robert Wayne.’”

“Oh, Silas,” Gloria sighed. She tried very hard not to cry.

Silas smiled at her heartbreak and said, “‘To my youngest surviving relative, Claude Wayne, I leave five hundred dollars and a 3% stock option in United Utilities. His service to me as secretary is the most effort I’ve ever seen a Wayne who wasn’t me put into anything, and his work should be honored and recognized.’”

Claude bowed humbly and said, “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Spineless whelp. Anyway: ‘To my housekeeper, Ms. Sheen, I leave five hundred dollars, no strings attached. Thank you for your service. To my butler, Geoffrey, I leave nothing, despite the fact that he is a credit to his race. To Dr. Bailey, I leave my golfing equipment, so that he may further pursue his love of the game. And to Inspector Alice Dart, it is regret that I have nothing to leave you but memories and the assurance that you were one of the only people in this world I truly cared for. Thank you for your long friendship.

“‘Should the conditions of inheritance not be met by the heir whose terms grant them the largest share, i.e. Ms. Dryden, then the entirety of my estates and fortune are to be given to the National Rifle Association of America, in hopes that they will advance the interests of the forces of law and order.’ That is all.”

He allowed the words of the will to sink in for a moment, before he split the silence with a loud cackle.

“What, did I ruin your evening? Were you expecting me to grant you my forgiveness and my blessings, and make you all millionaires? No, I worked too hard to make United Utilities what it is today for that. I don’t give handouts to moochers! And that’s what you all are, children of my siblings—moochers.”

Each member of the crowd chafed under his words. Even Ms. Sheen and Dr. Bailey couldn’t conceal a measure of irritation. Inspector Dart, too, wondered if she’d misjudged her friend.

“Now to finalize it. With a stroke of my pen, this is all set in stone. After that, it’s just a waiting game. Could be weeks—could be years. Who knows? All I know is—I get the last laugh.”

He took another sip of his tonic, relishing the herbal flavor. As he drank, he pointed to Ms. Sheen and snapped his fingers, expecting her to bring him a pen.

She found one on one of the side tables, and started to carrying it over to him. As she did so, Robert Wayne and Stephen Bolter frowned—they thought they saw their uncle start to sway unsteadily.

“Hmm…” Silas groaned. His voice came out weak and low.

“Uncle?” Claude said.

At that moment, Silas slumped forward in his seat. His whole body went limp all at once.

Dr. Bailey bolted forward, and the others let him go through. He knelt down and examined the old man’s crumpled form.

Then, after a moment’s examination, he reared back in horror.

“He—he’s dead!”

“Dead?!” Sarah Bolter exclaimed. “And the will left unsigned…!”

Inspector Dart dashed up in to Silas Wayne’s body, and confirmed that she was dead. Besides a touch on his neck to feel his lack of pulse, she didn’t lay a finger on him.

“What do you think, Doctor? Is it poison?”

“In his herb tonic? No, it couldn’t be! I prepared it myself, in front of witnesses.”

“I’m going to call in some of your local officers...I’ve no jurisdiction here. But I’ll tell you now that I’ll see justice for Silas Wayne!”

The crowd began to panic—it was all happening so quickly. “The police?” Ms. Sheen hissed. “Oh, no, I-I can’t talk to the police.”

“Why’s that?” Stephen Bolter asked.

“I-I’m frightened. I was not born in this country, and so I worry they’ll harass me.”

“You have nothing to fear, as long as you didn’t kill Uncle.”

Robert Wayne shook his head. “I just blinked—and then—he was dead! I can’t believe it. I’ve hated him for so long, but I never wanted this…”

“Quiet, darling!” urged Gloria. “You don’t want to incriminate yourself.”

“Where’s Geoffrey, the butler?” Inspector Dart demanded. “Why wasn’t he at the reading?”

“Geoffrey was told in advance by Mr. Wayne that he’d receive nothing,” said Dr. Bailey. “This was Mr. Wayne’s way of telling him he needn’t bother attending the reading.”

“Show me to his room. Ms. Sheen, you call the police.”

Ms. Sheen’s face crinkled up in terror, but she nodded and obliged, making her way for the nearest telephone.

The two couples were left seated with the corpse, and they looked at each other with deep concern. Robert and Claude looked at each other, and seemed to speak to each other through a silent brother-language.

Gloria Dryden was left with unspoken fears. It wasn’t just the worry that her family’s poorness would put her under suspicion. She knew how much her fiance hated Silas Wayne—so she prayed wordlessly that the man she was to wed was not a murderer.

* * *

“Well, I can’t say I blame him,” Alice Dart said. She and Dr. Bailey stood in the room that belonged to the butler, Geoffrey. The butler had packed his things hurriedly and left the Mansion, resigning his position. But he had taken time before he left to find a can of paint and a brush. In bright red letters he had painted a word on the far wall of his bedroom: “CRACKERS.”

“Yes, Geoffrey was abused beyond the limits of his position,” Dr. Bailey said. “He was never very fond of Silas Wayne, but this is the worst he’d ever do. He may have fled the house but it’s not because he’s the killer. In fact I believe he was gone before Silas passed.”

“I agree. We’ll have to lock down the house and question everyone here—including you, doctor.” Upon seeing him cringe, she said, “I’ll also have to be interrogated. Again, I may be a policewoman myself in my own country, but that doesn’t mean I have authority here.”

“I guess we should go back to the others. The police will be here soon.” The sounds of sirens could now be heard through the windows. The doctor shrugged. “Speak of the devil.”

The two departed the room, satisfied with the butler’s removal from the narrative.

When they returned, Ms. Sheen was nervously granting the police access to the home. Two officers walked in, brushing past the maidservant, and coming upon Silas Wayne’s body.

“It’s good none of you touched anything,” one of the men said.

“Sound off! Who are all of you?”

“Robert Wayne, Silas Wayne’s nephew. This is my fiancee Gloria Dryden.”

“Claude Wayne, Robert’s brother. I was the elder Mr. Wayne’s secretary.”

“Stephen Bolter, Silas Wayne’s nephew, and my wife, Sarah.”

“I’m Dr. Jason Bailey, Mr. Wayne’s personal physician.”

“I am Inspector Alice Dart of Scotland Yard.”

“Scotland Yard?” the policeman exclaimed. “I can believe it with that accent, but I didn’t know they let dames get jobs with ‘em over there!”

“I persevere,” she said simply. “I was fortunate to be a good friend of the late Mr. Wayne.”

“And you, madame?” The cop pointed to Ms. Sheen.

“I-I-I-I am Ms. Sh-Sheen, the housekeeper, and, it would seem, the sole remaining servant in the house.”

“Why so nervous, Ms. Sheen?”

“I-I-I…”

“Ms. Sheen is simply distraught due to Mr. Wayne’s tragic death,” Dr. Bailey put in. “Calm yourself, Ms. Sheen, the police will handle everything.”

Ms. Sheen nodded at the Doctor’s words, but couldn’t stop herself from rubbing her hand together anxiously.

“Let’s look at the corpse,” said one of the cops. They stepped over to Silas Wayne’s body, which continued to sit where he had passed. They pulled him back up from his slump, and at once an ocean of gasps echoed across the room. They could see now that the front of Mr. Wayne’s shirt was soaked in blood.

“Why, he’s been stabbed!” one officer exclaimed. “Was anyone with him when he was stabbed?”

“Yes—all of us,” Robert Wayne said.

“He was stabbed in front of you and none of you saw a thing?”

“I-I suppose not,” said Stephen, shocked.

“That wound wasn’t there when I examined Mr. Wayne!” cried Dr. Bailey. “One of you must have stabbed the corpse when Inspector Dart and I were out of the room! When the others weren’t looking!”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Sarah Bolter said. “There’s no way that we wouldn’t have noticed it!”

“Do you suppose that’s the fatal blow, Doctor?” asked one of the policemen.

“I-I thought that maybe, somehow, someone had poisoned the glass I served him his health tonic in. But now it does appear as if this knife-wound is the cause of death. It—it would seem that Mr. Wayne merely fainted, and was stabbed surreptitiously after we saw him collapse.”

“This is madness,” said Claude Wayne suddenly. “I-I’m going to faint. I’m going to Uncle’s office to get some air.”

None of them knew that he was going to take back the Khandur Diamond, and replace it with his fake. He knew he had to act fast, before the cops covered too much ground.

“Just don’t leave the house, Mr. Wayne,” said one of the cops. “I’m afraid none of you can leave until this matter is resolved. Anyone attempting to leave will be arrested.”

Claude paused as he rose from his chair, and nodded slowly at the officer. Then, pale and limp as a dishrag, he left the room.

“Alright, folks,” the cops said then. “Now’s our least favorite part of the job, the writing-things-down part. Let’s get all your stories…and make sure you all tell the truth.”

* * *

A third officer arrived at the house, and was assigned to guard the front door. He frowned when he looked out into the road that led to the Wayne house, and saw a car park itself in the street. His frown deepened when the door opened and a woman came out. This officer, like many of his ilk, was a woman-hater, and he thought this woman—who happened to be young and pretty on top of everything else—was nothing but trouble.

But then he saw she was crying.

Not just crying—weeping.

Eventually she came within shouting range. He called out to her: “Hey! Who the hell are you?”

And she called back, in a voice riven with woe: “The widow!”

“The widow?”

The cop thought to himself that that couldn’t be true. They’d all been told that Silas Wayne was one of them confirmed bachelor types. He was surprised they hadn’t found a little catamite of his lurking around in some forgotten cellar.

Besides, this dame was young enough to be Wayne’s granddaughter. If not great-granddaughter.

Damn, she was a dish.

“Please, I heard that my husband…ohh…my poor husband’s been killed!”

“Hey, take it easy, lady. You’re really Silas Wayne’s widow?”

“Yes, yes, I am! I’ve been his sole comfort for the last seven years!”

Now that’s some comfort, the pig thought to himself. “Alright, lady, I’ll let you in. Just be careful, the coroner hasn’t had a chance to zip up the body yet.”

“You mean poor Silas is left naked to the elements?! Ohhh, boohoohoo…”

“Well, nah, he’s still clothed. Just...be careful in there, alrighty?”

“Ohh, thank you, my dear man, thank you...ohh, boohoohoo!”

She sidled past him and crept inside the house. As soon as she was over the threshold, she wiped away the salt drops she’d sprinkled on her face, and grinned widely.

“Must be the French-American charm, Nellie, old girl,” she said to herself. Nellie de Tremeuse was her name, and she was a reporter.

She was very pretty, so pretty in fact that she might have actually turned Silas Wayne’s head, if they’d ever met.

She wound her way through the Mansion’s halls, until eventually she found her way to the well-haunted living room. The officers were still in the process of taking everyone’s stories, and so they all turned to face her when they came in.

Only one pair of eyes recognized her: Inspector Dart.

“Hold on,” she said, in her smooth English accent, “what are you doing here?”

“Hey, Inspector, you know this lady?” asked one of the cops.

“I most certainly do. And I never expected to lay eyes on her again.” She shook her head. “Nellie de Tremeuse, as I live and breathe.”

“Alice Dart! So you’re an Inspector now, huh? Not bad, not bad at all.”

“Who is this woman?” Stephen Bolter asked.

“She’s a reporter,” Inspector Dart said, slowly. She felt like adding “she’s also an extraordinarily unfaithful lesbian,” but that didn’t seem necessary.

“Charmed to be in your company again, Inspector Dart,” Nellie said, curtsying. “Do you boys in blue mind if I sit in for the interrogation? The Inspector’s not wrong, I am one of those nasty journalists. And I wanna get some dough to buy feed with.”

“You people’d chase ambulances if you had half a chance,” said an officer.

“I guess that’s why they say no news is good news.”

“She can stay,” said Inspector Dart, glancing over at the officers. “She did help me once or twice when she was assignment in Britain. She could be useful here.” Nellie jumped at that; she wasn’t expecting her to show her any sympathy.

“Just don’t meddle!” the cops exclaim.

“Well, fill me in, what have I missed?”

“Claude Wayne has stormed off to his uncle’s office,” Alice said. “Maybe you could go interview him. It would keep you out of our hair.”

Nellie was a spritely thing, and she wanted to make a joke about how Alice never wanted her out of her hair before. Especially her southernly hair.

But she instead flashed an impish smile, and asked which way she should head. She was utterly indomitable, a flawless skimmer of the shallows. She thrilled to the feeling of the Inspector’s eyes on her as she left.

* * *

“Hello again, old friend.”

Claude Wayne had returned to the library safe, and had gingerly opened it once again. He replaced the real Khandur Diamond with his fake, and pocketed the gem. There were some other articles in the safe as well, bonds and deeds and the like. Only he knew they were there, so he decided it wouldn’t hurt to help himself.

He allowed the joy of the theft to surge through him. It was so satisfying to take Silas’ wealth from right under the cops’ noses.

Just then, however, he thought he heard the sound behind him of somehow clearing their throat. But it couldn’t be—it sounded like a woman’s voice.

Then, from out of the shadows: “What exactly is it that you’re doing?”

Claude felt like he was going to jump right out of his skin.

“Who’s there?!”

“Oh, just little old me.”

Claude turned, and found himself facing a radiantly beautiful blonde who he’d never seen before.

“Who the devil are you?”

“A reporter. You’re Claude Wayne, aren’t you? I was hoping to interview you, I heard over the police radio that your uncle was murdered. Only, now it seems like I’ve come across a valuable thread in the story. You’re burgling your uncle’s safe.”

“Silas allowed me to keep my personal things in here,” Claude lied.

“Is that the Khandur Diamond? I’ve heard about it. It’s one of Silas Wayne’s most famous possessions.”

“I-I am simply removing the Diamond from its hiding place in case it could serve as police evidence.”

“Oh, you’re going to give it to the police, then?”

“What? No, it belongs—belonged—to my uncle. It must be safeguarded.”

“What, in your pocket? In your apartment?”

Claude’s face flushed red.

“You’re a journalist, you say?” he said.

“Nellie de Tremeuse, freelance.”

“Listen.” And his voice went low. “I am happy to pay you to forget this little incident. Reporters don’t get paid much, do they? I’ll give you—I’ll give you the whole of my inheritance if you don’t mention my handling of the Diamond.”

“Ah, yes, your ‘handling’ of the Diamond. I’m going to assume you’ll go on ‘handling’ it until the day you die.”

“Listen, girl! I inherited 3% stock in United Utilities! I’ll gladly sign it all over to you if—”

But she only laughs in his face.

“Let me just say this, boy: I don’t have all the facts of this case, and I don’t feel comfortable phoning my editor until I do. So whether or not ‘Wayne Heir Robs Safe Minutes After Uncle’s Murder’ ends up on the front page is still up in the air. You’d better pray there’s something more sensational here.”

Claude’s crimson rage bleeds out of him, and he blanches instead.

“Ms. de Tremeuse—”

“Sorry, toots,” she interrupts. “I have a Scotland Yard Inspector to go talk to.”

Claude tries to think of something to say to her, but no words come.

Only when she’s gone does he have a chance to say aloud to himself: “I won’t be held back by any girl—!”

* * *

Inspector Dart had spotted another departure from the living room: Ms. Sheen. The housekeeper had answered the questions the officers had for her, but she had done so nervously. She definitely attracted a lot of attention to herself, needless attention. The cops had let her go, but Dart wanted to follow her.

Ms. Sheen knew every inch of this house, and she thought that she could sense every motion that went on within it. But Inspector Dart was a clever lady, and she could step as quietly as a cat. The housekeeper had no idea that the English investigator was tailing her.

They journeyed through the labyrinthine passages of the Mansion together, and for the first time, Alice Dart had a chance to inspect her dead friend’s home. Many of the archways that divided hallways from rooms were hooded over with figures of foreboding ghoulishness. Twisted, distorted angels, carvings warped and wrinkled by the passage of time marked the liminal boundaries. Silas Wayne had also made a habit of collecting grotesque abstract art, portraits of oozing faces and unearthly landscapes. Dart had seen a great deal of Silas’ ugliness during the reading of the will, and now she could see that her friend’s soul was sick indeed. There was good in him, but he could not be judged by his goodness.

Eventually, Ms. Sheen reached her destination, in an obscure hall near the center of the manor. Dart tucked herself around one of the corners, knowing that the maid would likely look behind to make sure no one had pursued her. Her patience paid off—when she peered around the corner, the maid had already set to work on removing one of the eerie paintings from the wall.

Behind this painting was a normal-looking wooden panel. But Ms. Sheen pressed on the upper left corner of the panel, and suddenly, with the sound of clockwork, it retracted upwards into the wall. Sheen reached inside and produced a packet of documents. Inspector Dart squinted, and her eagle-keen eyes were able to spot at least one line of the top paper on the stack: CERTIFICATE OF BIRTH. At once, her deductive mind started whirling.

Ms. Sheen was just making sure the papers were safe. She put them back into the gap as quickly as she removed them, and then pulled the wooden panel back down before replacing the painting.

Alice turned to leave, knowing the maid would come back the way she came. She wormed her way through the halls until she found a turnoff that separated her from the route back. She hid there until she heard Sheen’s clomping footsteps stomp by.

She waited for a few minutes, until the coast was fully clear. She was about to step out, when suddenly a voice came behind her: “Hi.”

She knew that voice. It was Nellie.

She sighed. “What are you doing here, de Tremeuse?” she said, not bothering to face her.

“Didn’t I say that already? I’m here to get the scoop on the Wayne Murder Case.”

“No, I mean, why did you come find me?”

“Oh, no reason.”

Now Dart turned around. “Listen, you little tart. You’re tooling with me, and I don’t like it one bit.”

“Claude Wayne just stole the Khandur Diamond from his uncle’s vault.”

Dart tilted her head. “Really? Now that is interesting.” She still looked dead serious.

“I know you, Ally, you never could resist a mystery.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m looking past your faults.”

“But then who will tell you more about the robbery?”

The Inspector growled. Nellie found the noise arousing.

“If you tell me about what you just saw with that old maid, then I’ll tell you about Claude Wayne.”

“Fine,” Dart said. “I wasn’t lying earlier when I called you useful. From what I observed, Ms. Sheen was retrieving a birth certificate. Her own, or her child’s.”

“Curious. The police radio talked about all the suspects. They said Ms. Sheen’s husband and child were dead.”

“You little snoop—still tapping into police radios, are you?” Dart tried to hide the grin that suddenly bloomed on her face, but with little avail. “I have my own theories on what I saw. But I told you my clue. Now ‘spill the beans,’ as you Yanks say, about Claude Wayne.”

“He tried to bribe me into forgetting about his stealing the Diamond.”

“And it was the Khandur Diamond? Well and truly?”

“Oh yes. I know valuable stones when I see them.”

“Hm. I suppose I should go make a citizen’s arrest, then.”

“Mind if I join you? It might add color to my narrative.”

Alice wanted to send her away, but couldn’t bring herself to.

“Come with me, pretty. Maybe we’ll talk about old times along the way.”

* * *

Gloria turned to Robert with concern on her face. “You should make sure your brother is okay,” she said.

“Claude? Oh, he’s fine. He’s just going to Uncle’s office.”

“I think that Claude became very close to Uncle Silas in the last few years. He’s probably nearly despondent over his death.”

“We’re all distraught, darling. He just wanted some space, like Ms. Sheen.”

“Well, if you won’t make sure that my brother-in-law is safe, then I will. I’m serious, Bob, I think that he’s really depressed.”

“Are you insinuating he might...take his own life?”

Gloria didn’t want to answer, but the thought had occurred to her.

“I’ll be right back,” she assured him. She gave a look to Sarah, silently asking her to watch her husband-to-be. Sarah already had her hands full with Stephen, who was starting to sink into a dire mood.

Gloria knew the way to Silas’ office, but when she arrived there, she found it empty. She called out Claude’s name, but no one answered. She didn’t know it, but Nellie de Tremeuse had come here before her, and found it abandoned as well. Right next door was the library. Gloria decided to walk inside.

She crossed the threshold, and then she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Robert heard her scream, and without a moment’s restraint he came running to find her. The Bolters came with him, fearing for their cousin’s fiancee’s safety.

A gasp shook the library when they entered. It looked for all the world like Claude had hanged himself. Gloria was frozen in place, half-crazed with fear.

After a moment, Dr. Bailey came running into the room as well. He had last mentioned that he was going to the kitchen for something to drink. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “Claude!”

“The murderer’s struck again!” Sarah Bolter shouted. Stephen wanted to soothe her, but his whole body was shaking. Robert’s face was like a death-mask—his eyes stared wide ahead at the ghastly sight. “He must have been murdered, right, Dr. Bailey?”

“Well, I don’t need to be a doctor to tell you there was a struggle. Look at those broken chairs! And those bruises on his forehead! He must’ve been attacked and overcome very quickly.”

“Poor Claude,” Robert moaned.

“The murderer is still among us,” Dr. Bailey said. “One of us. Someone who will benefit financially from the murders…”

“But none of us benefited from the will!” Robert Wayne protested. “And it wasn’t signed, besides.”

“I believe that the law will still grant the inheritance to the oldest heir, in absence of a will. That means Stephen.” Dr. Bailey stroked his bearded chin. “It’s curious, because if I didn’t know better, I’d say that Claude’s noose was tied with a sailor’s knot.”

“What are you saying?” Stephen said. Suddenly, beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

“Well, I’ll be frank, Stephen, Mr. Wayne told me all his pet peeves. I’ve been his doctor for fifteen years, and he had a tendency to vent his spleen to me on all matters of life—”

“What—are you saying?” asked Stephen, more insistently.

“Silas had his reasons for hating all of you—as much as I hate to say it. He hated Claude for being meek and, in his mind, transparently greedy. He hated you, Robert, because he thought your sureness of striking oil someday was boastful.”

“Yes, he was very critical of my dream,” Robert growled.

“And he hated you, Stephen, because you shirked your wealth to become a sailor instead. He would rant to me night and day about your associations with slender, girly sailor boys…”

“My past is my past!” Stephen exclaimed. “My uncle was a cruel man, who never gave quarter to anyone—least of all his own flesh and blood. But my Sarah understands. Silas believed that my failure to sire a child was tied to my intimations during my career at sea. But he had no comprehension or understanding or pity for a man of my persuasion, who has wronged no one, and who has taken a wife!”

Dr. Bailey seemed sympathetic in that moment, as if he understood the hatefulness of Silas Wayne more than any of them.

But his mercy was not infinite. “It is still curious that a sailor’s knot killed Claude, though. I don’t know anyone else on the premises who would know how to tie such a knot.”

It was at that moment that Alice Dart and Nellie de Tremeuse arrived on the scene.

“What’s going on here?” Inspector Dart asked. “Is that Claude Wayne?”

“It is,” murmured Robert. “He was hanged.”

“Dr. Bailey is, essentially, accusing my Stephen of the murder,” said Sarah Bolter. “He claims that he was strangled by a sailor’s knot—and he brings up the fact that Stephen was once a sailor.” Her eyes seemed to take on a knowing light for a moment, as if understanding the reason why Alice and Nellie came in together. “He also expresses hatred towards Stephen for having been an open-hearted sailor, in his day.”

Alice Dart, at least, picked up on the hint. “We’ll have to dig deeper into the case to discover the truth.”

Dr. Bailey seemed dissatisfied. “This night has run late, Inspector Dart,” he said. “I think we’re all getting worn out, and we’re…losing the thread, as it were. Maybe in the morning…”

“I’m starting to feel satisfied about this case,” she interrupted. “There’s enough falling into place for me to make an accusation. In fact, I feel like I’m starting to see what’s actually quite obvious.”

“What do you mean, Inspector?”

She smiled at him. Then she glanced at Nellie de Tremeuse—and took her hand.

“I think that—”

Just at that moment, another scream shot through the mansion. For the first time that night, Inspector Dart seemed caught off-guard.

The scream belonged to Ms. Sheen.

“Whatever you were going to say, Inspector, it seems to have been invalidated,” said Dr. Bailey. “Let’s go make sure the maid isn’t being harmed!”

The sheer volume of the screams betrayed the location of the imperiled housemaid. The group sprinted off in that direction, until they crossed into one of the house’s many parlors. Inside was Ms. Sheen—and she was not alone. A tall figure was struggling with her.

The figure was wearing a black cloak, like that of a cultist. A broad hood covered their head, obscuring their identity.

“Mother of God!” Robert Wayne shouted. “Who is that?”

“Help me!” shrieked Sheen. Her meager strength was nothing against that of her assailant—whose fingers clutched the grip of a knife.

Nellie de Tremeuse ran forward, heedless of the danger. Instead of grappling with the maid’s attacker, she decided to give them a firm kick in the shin. Her blow struck true, and the figure doubled over with pain. Thinking without mercy, the reporter kicked the cloaked figure again, nearly knocking them over.

The would-be killer decided to get out while the getting was good. Under the reporter’s desperate strikes, they turned and ran away from her, heading for a far doorway. They tore the door open and sprinted through the open frame. Nellie was right behind them, but her target slammed the door in her face—and when she tried to work the knob, she found it locked.

“Where does this door lead?” she demanded. Without meaning to, she turned her voice towards Ms. Sheen.

The housekeeper could only let out an exhausted wheeze. She had not been prepared for such a violent attack. She had gone from terrified to traumatized. None of this was meant to happen to her.

Nellie thought of asking again, but knew it was no use. Something else drew her attention—she saw then that Gloria Dryden was only now catching up with the group.

Somehow, Gloria had been separated from the group, even though they didn’t have far to run. Nellie realized she hadn't been in the room when she and Alice had followed the sound of her scream. Perhaps she had killed Claude, screamed for help, and then snuck away while everyone was looking over Claude's body to don the robes of the figure they’d just seen. Then she could have tried to murder Ms. Sheen, and when that failed, she broke away from the attempted killing in time to discard her simple disguise.

“Who was that?” Gloria cried.

“It must have been the killer!” Robert said.

Nellie considered the facts; she tried to think as Alice would, in terms of motive.

Gloria had a reason to kill Silas Wayne and his other heirs. From what Nellie knew, she had been treated poorly by Silas both in life and in his will—he had offered her a fortune, but only if she would throw away her one true love.

She turned towards Inspector Dart, seeking out her expertise. And her sturdiness.

“I’m not convinced that we just saw our killer,” Alice said, almost casually. “Not the one who killed Silas Wayne, anyway.”

“What?!” Stephen exclaimed. “That had to be the killer. Who else would wear such a bizarre costume—but a madman?”

“No—none of this helps change my previous opinion,” Inspector Dart said. “I stand by my prior conclusions.”

“And what were those?” Robert Wayne cried.

“Yes, I echo Robert's curiosity,” Dr. Bailey said. “What was your conjecture going to be—before we were so unfortunately interrupted?”

“Simple, dear doctor. You were the first to examine the body of Silas Wayne, yes?”

“Of course! I was his attending physician! When I saw him in distress, it was my duty to go to his side.”

“But you didn't go to his side. You ducked down in front of him. Right in front of where he was stabbed. You see, doctor, there are some in society who are given certain privileges as a result of their occupation. A priest can hear the confessions of someone's darkest sins and have the right to keep that secret, even from the police. And a doctor gets access to the body of someone in need even before their own family does, if it's a thing of life and death. Very few suspect doctors of killing their own patients, because, well, few do, thank God. But you also swore an oath to heal, never to harm, and the law and the public hold you to that oath.”

This is all slander, Bailey growled. Alice was undeterred.

“You had access to Silas Wayne's body - his unconscious body, I might add, unconscious from the drug in his tonic - and you used your privilege as a doctor to deal him the death-blow, right in front of everyone. You stabbed Silas Wayne right in the heart.”

The doctor's eyes stared wide and bloodshot; sweat dripped down his forehead. He tried to interrupt her, but she kept talking.

“I was also going to raise the fact that I saw Ms. Sheen examine a birth certificate some minutes ago. And not just any old birth certificate—yours, Doctor.”

“What?! Ridiculous!”

The Inspector shook her head. “Not at all. You see, I got a good look at Silas Wayne’s bone structure. If you took those distinctive Wayne cheekbones and transplanted them onto Ms. Sheen’s face—you’d get a dead ringer for Dr. Jason Bailey.”

The surviving relatives of Silas Wayne seemed taken aback. They were starting to realize, for the first time, how closely Dr. Bailey resembled the family patriarch. 

“I believe that Ms. Sheen’s intent was to prove that Dr. Bailey was the true heir to the Wayne fortune—because he was actually Silas Wayne’s son. And hers, too. After all, why would she own the birth certificate to begin with, if she wasn’t Dr. Bailey’s mother?”

Everyone turned to look at Ms. Sheen then. She had been scared before at the thought of dealing with the police, but now she looked positively mortified.

“I’ve found you out, haven’t I?” asked Inspector Dart.

“You—you bitch,” Ms. Sheen exclaimed. “Yes, it’s true. Silas and I were lovers. He disdained me, but I lived for him—perhaps I even lived for his disdain! He loved me, but only when the whim took him—but by God, those whims were very Heaven! He loved like no man ever could. In the marital bed he was divine. And I was proud to bear his son—Jason Bailey—Jason Bailey Wayne! True heir to the glory that is the Wayne estate and fortune!”

“Mother, you fool!” Dr. Bailey cried. “You always told me it would be death to reveal our secret! Now you will know death!”

From within his coat, Bailey suddenly retrieved a revolver. It was then very doubtful that he was a doctor at all, for his murderous nature seemed to define every inch of him. Without a single thought he squeezed the trigger, and he killed the woman who brought him into the world.

“He’s crazy!” Nellie de Tremeuse shouted. “Holy shit!”

“Get back!” the faux doctor roared. “I’ll kill you all, I swear to God!”

The three police officers who had been assigned to the case dashed onto the scene—but they saw the gun in his hand, and froze. He turned towards them with madness in his eyes, and he emptied his five remaining shots into one of them. The crowd shouted out, and in the fog of chaos Bailey dashed out for one of the doors.

“Stop him!” one of the cops cried. “He’s gone nertz!”

Inspector Dart was already right behind him, and the two remaining cops were with her. Bailey found a staircase leading up, and started climbing.

It was all a blur after that. Bailey managed to climb up to the attic, and from there he reached the Mansion’s roof. Dart was behind him but one of the American cops surged past her—he must’ve been a running back in high school.

The winds raged high over the Mansion, and Dart felt that the officer was too eager for the capture. He wasn’t watching his step.

The policeman caught up with Bailey, and started trying to wrestle him to the ground. But he underestimated the insane strength of a desperate man. Besides, the wind was against him—Bailey pushed back on his shoulders, and threw him off-balance. The cop waved his arms helplessly as he lost his footing, and plummeted off of the roof of the big house. Down below was the cement foundation of the fountain that decorated the back garden. He hit the cement head first, and ended up with his skull compressed down into his stomach.

Bailey kept on running. Dart knew she was lagging behind him—he had longer legs than her. He also knew the layout of the roof, and she didn’t. He wouldn’t have much space to run, though. The roof only went so far.

She chased him to the edge, and there was nowhere left to go. But then he spotted the transmission tower for the house’s electricals. If he could just reach one of the beams, then he could climb down to the ground and make a break for the pine forest. He could hear sirens—more cops were on their way. But if he pushed it, he could make it…

He leapt for the crossbeam of the pylon. To Dart’s surprise, he made it. But she wouldn’t let him get far. She drew her gun.

She fired at one of the wires over his head. Her aim was true, and the cable snapped. It swung down in a wide arc, and Bailey was right at the midway point.

He screamed when the wire touched him—it was still live. His fingers forced open and he dropped down hard to the ground. But he was dead the instant the voltage touched him. It fried all his insides in a single second.

Dart could only stare—Nellie was with her then. Once the Inspector saw she was nearby, she reached back and took her hand.

Nellie knew that she had never wanted to be a killer. That wasn’t who she was, in her soul. But if Bailey escaped he would almost certainly kill again.

After a time the sparks stopped flying, and there was silence, save for the chirps of distant forest crickets.

“That—that was the most brilliant deduction you ever made,” said Nellie. She couldn’t hold back the praise. Whenever a woman wowed her she couldn’t contain herself.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“What do you mean?”

The Inspector’s face was hard and focused.

“Jason Bailey attempted to frame his cousin, Stephen, by killing Claude Wayne with a rope configuration that included a sailor’s knot. I think there’s a reason he knew that knot. Before he started working for his secret father, Bailey was himself a sailor. I suspect that he also became familiar with many obscure inland locales as well. These could have included the secret temple of Khandur.”

“The place the Diamond came from?”

“Yes. Khandur is an ancient proto-Mongolian word meaning ‘Malice.’ It’s sometimes called ‘the City of the Shining One.’ It is ruled secretly by the High Priests of Donjor.”

Now Nellie didn’t know what Alice was talking about.

“Jason Bailey wanted us to believe that Gloria was the figure in robes. A final ruse. In reality, he used the Khandur Diamond to call forth the being known as the Shining One.”

“What do you mean?”

Just then, from behind them, beyond the howl of the winds—they heard a distinct hissing sound. It sounded like the hiss of a rattlesnake.

They turned to face the sound, and found themselves facing the robed figure from before. Only now they could glimpse beneath its robes. It was human-like, in that it had two arms and two legs and a head. But its entire body was made of glinting-wet black eels. The hands and face split open into maws full of hooked, beak-like teeth—the mouths of lampreys.

“What is that?!” Nellie demanded.

“Something from the dark under-sewers of the Temple of Khandur. Spawn of something nameless and torture-loving.”

Just then, the Bolters, as well as Robert Wayne and Gloria, appeared on the roof. Nellie’s eyes went wide, and she waved her arms wildly.

“Go back! Go back!”

But they didn’t heed her. Instead, half-smiling, the Shining One, glistening in starlight, turned back to face the Wayne heirs.

“I-it’s horrible, but…” Sarah Bolter’s voice was strangled. “…the look of it could drive me insane.”

Perhaps the abhuman thing took offense at that, for in that moment it lunged at her.

Stephen Bolter howled, and seized the creature by its robed shoulder. He tried, in vain, to tug the creature’s hungry maws away from his wife.

Robert Wayne fought like hell, too. He had lost his brother, and he wasn’t going to lose his cousin’s wife.

Time seemed to distend, and Sarah’s screams and the creature’s otherworldly shrieks blended together into something that made the whole forest reel. The long moment seemed to hang deathly still.

But Inspector Dart was still armed. Her gun was still loaded. She let the Shining One have it.

Two bullets ripped through its back, and neither of them harmed Sarah. The creature screamed and spilled its black blood on her. It was slick and clung unpleasantly to her clothes, but it did no harm to her.

The thing bucked back and let out of a sizzling sound from its mouth. Alice Dart squeezed the trigger again and again, until the robed beast was a fountain of black blood, and it moved no more.

Only then did the horror of that evening come to an end.

But at what cost?

Sarah Bolter screamed like she was bound for the asylum. This night would change her. Robert Wayne’s stare went on a thousand miles. Stephen tried in vain to soothe his wife, while Gloria held her fiance close beside her.

The Khandur Diamond had been cursed—far more deeply and more strangely than any of the Waynes could ever know.

* * *

When the sun began to rise the survivors found a sense of calm. Maybe it was the return of the sun that reminded them that life goes on—that cycles echo on forever throughout the universe. There is life after death, and vice versa.

The cops escorted Alice, Nellie, and the Wayne heirs out of the house one by one. They stood in the Wayne Mansion’s great shadow, and it seemed like an enormous ghost rising wailing from its grave.

“What—what will happen in the absence of the will?” Robert asked.

“I assume that the state will decide from here,” said one of the cops. “You guys may get the house and fortune—you may not.”

“I’m just thankful to be alive,” Sarah said. Stephen had his arm around her, and he pulled her in close. She was unharmed physically from the Khandur creature’s attack, though whether she sustained harm to her mind was a different story.

“Life is a precious gift,” Alice Dart said. She turned to look at Nellie de Tremeuse. The two let themselves melt into each other’s eyes for a moment.

“I don’t think I could live here even if I did inherit it,” Stephen said. “This house is full of splendor, but it’s a gilded cage. Besides all splendor fades and dies eventually. Passing with the tides.”

“It could still be home to our family,” said Robert quietly. “Waynes have lived here since the days of Plymouth Rock.”

“Could it still be home? I think death is too much a part of it for that,” said Stephen. “I think we’ll see time pass this place by before too long. And then everybody will see it as the cemetery it really is.”

“Best to leave the past behind,” Sarah agreed.

Robert looked unsure, but he had no choice but to accept reality.

The three couples walked away together, hand in hand, leaving the stately Wayne house behind them.

The change didn’t take long.

By the time the moon came again and the sun sank from view, the window sills were dipping and drooping, like tired eyes. The roof tiles grayed and sagged, forming a vagabond’s crown. All of the planks seemed to dip and lose their strength, until it was less a house than the uncanny shadow of a house.

The Wayne Mansion bore a melted face, a face scarred by war. After that long night, that strange adventure, not even birds dared gather on its heights, for the face of the house stared and stared, filled with a sorrow that grew more desperate by the hour, and had no release.

* * *

Though Inspector Dart helped cover up certain details of the Wayne Murder Case, some of the more inexplicable elements still somehow leaked to members of the public. Mere weeks after the Case transpired, a Poverty Row motion picture studio released a fictionalized adaptation of the events under the name The House of Mystery. The Khandur Diamond was turned into a more generic treasure, and the temple of its origin was relocated from Tibet to India. Because the writers didn’t know how to account for the Khandur entity, they made their movie’s monster a gorilla, a symbol of the unknown to many moviegoers at the time. That gorillas didn’t live in India only served to make this unusual narrative element feel more anomalous.

The Wayne family initially considered suing the film studio for the release of House of Mystery, but concluded that doing so would only serve to publicly connect them to the events of the movie.

* * *

Nine months after the horror at the Wayne house, the newly-married Robert and Gloria Wayne finally struck it rich in their oil venture. They proved to be far more generous with their newfound wealth than Robert’s uncle, and so many of their friends and family received cash gifts. None benefited more from Robert’s kindness than Stephen and Sarah Bolter. Robert had always been fond of his poor cousin and his wife, and so he gave them $100,000 and a cozy cottage to live in. Stephen ought to have been heir to the wealth of the Waynes, but the state had to take it to cover old Silas’ back taxes. It turned out that Silas hadn’t paid any tax on the Wayne Mansion since Cleveland was President. But that was a small matter to Stephen and his wife—they had never lost their gratitude for having survived that horrible night.

The two had just finished moving all their furnishings into their new home, and were enjoying a quiet sit in the living room in their armchairs. They looked warmly and fondly at each other, bathing in the love and success they’d earned after a long life of hardships. There were few people in this world who loved each other as much as these two did, and no silence ever burdened them, because their affection for one another let them speak with their eyes.

But in the midst of their joy, there was something unspoken between them, something that cast a shadow of regret and worry on their faces. Eventually, Sarah couldn’t hold her back from speaking.

“It’s a lovely house, Stephen, but I wish it wasn’t so lonely.”

“I know,” he said, nodding slowly. “When I was fixing up the study I kept telling myself it would be better as a nursery.”

“Do you think…?” And she cut herself, wondering if that was a step too far. “Do you think it will always haunt us? This absence in our lives?”

“We could adopt,” he suggested, but that’s a suggestion he’s made before. For better or worse Sarah was one of those people who needed her children to come from the waters of her womb, and no one else’s.

This time, however, she smiled, and gave a little ground. “Maybe we could get a cat?”

“A cat!” Stephen couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “I think if we’re ready for a little boy or little girl, we could probably handle a cat.”

He stretched his hand out to take hers, and the feeling between them was palpable.

Suddenly, Sarah lurched forward in her armchair. Stephen’s face went pale and he rushed forward to catch her.

“Darling! Darling, are you okay?”

And then Sarah Bolter spoke the strangest words her husband ever heard her hear:

“I-I can feel the baby coming.”

Sarah didn’t mean to speak those words, but they forced themselves out of her.

Just then, something else started to force itself out of her.

She suddenly let out a shrill shriek, which was cut off in her throat halfway—it yielded to a loud, furious gurgle, as she struggled to breathe outward. Her breath froze inside her, being blocked by a sudden bulging mass that plugged her airway. She flopped out of her chair and flailed on the floor; her hands slapped against the floorboards with such force that two of her fingers broke.

“Sarah!” Stephen Bolter screamed, kneeling besides her. “Sarah, I’ll telephone the hospital!”

But it was already too late. Now the front of Sarah’s throat was starting to swell and distend. The flesh beneath her skin turned black, and the whites of her eyes took on a pale greenish color, like egg yolks boiled wrong.

She screamed as loud as she could as the skin of her neck split open, forming into a crude orifice, through which a seething, churning bundle of oil-bright eel-like bodies spilled. Her neck was full of lamprey-like worms.

They were born with the instinct to strike out at any warmblooded body nearby. One of them lunged and gnawed its way through Stephen’s shirt, and bit down with all nine of its baby teeth into his chest. Its goal wasn’t to feed, but instead to inject both hormones and sperm—for it was born fertile. The hormones sent Stephen’s nervous system into shock and gave him a panic attack. He began seizing on the floor, wracked with terrifying hallucinations of worlds made of poison, with cities made of rot and rivers that ran thick with melted animals. The sperm inside him let out their own chemicals to convert his muscles into uterine cells. Within seconds, a uterus-like organ began to form in the back of Stephen Bolter’s neck. Its walls pushed out with such force that it displaced his vertebrae and severed his spinal cord. He was dead by the time an aperture formed in the back of his neck, and his wife’s grandchildren wriggled out of him.

The terror the pheromones induced in him provided an energy field upon which the newborns could feed. They derived both energy and pleasure from feeling the fear and suffering of others.

This was the beginning of a 72-hour-long event which eventually necessitated the formation of what would come to be called the National OCcult Tactical Unit for Reality-Negating Events. Despite the name they eventually became international, though they remained headquarters in America.

THE END