The Vampire's Ball:
Act 5
Act 5
She quietly opens the
window and slithers in from the outside.
To enter through the hallway would have been impossible, unseen. It was a colder than usual night, but the
frigid air would not distract her from her cause.
The room was pitch
black, total darkness, and yet she found herself slowly but steadily able to
pierce the void as the room comes into a yellowed focus. She steps down off the small ledge into the
office as scanning the crisp outline of every item in the immense space. The window silently and gently closes behind
her.
Her bare feet recoil
on the chilled wood floor, but it only lasts a moment. Her nightgown provides little warmth,
however, she finds herself less and less affected by temperature, hot or cold,
it all seems growingly indifferent. All
changes that were so subtle they were easily ignored at first, but with each
day, she becomes increasingly aware of them.
Strange, indiscernible changes, like her addiction to that sweet and
tantalizing juice. She could never put a
particular taste too. Void of a
description that could truly define it even with her newly acquired vocabulary.
Somehow she is
stronger, faster, sensed everything around her.
Very little escaped her attention now, whether it is smell, taste or
touch. Everything was amplified,
renewed. She was rediscovering the
excitement and energy of even the most mundane objects or situations.
As she traverses the
floor she is immediately intimated by the massive looming bookcases that
surround her, acting more like towering inanimate guards than archives of
literature, prose, and legacy. So many
books, all so old, you could almost feel their history surge from their worn
leather bindings. Their ancient tales
whisper, even beckon to her in the dark.
She reaches the
gigantic, oak desk in the middle of the room, its chair like a throne with
crushed red velvet nearly glowing against the backdrop of the night. How can she possibly see that in the dark?
The desk’s top is clear without a single item loitering on its vast antique
surface. There are three sets of drawers
lining each side, each with a brass keyhole.
She swiftly tries each one, locked, as expected.
She cautiously pushes
out the chair; it makes very little sound.
Curious! But how? By mere appearance, it must weigh twice as
much as she does. Yet it effortlessly
glided across the floor as if it was on taught satin. She is only a foot taller than the desk as
she pulls on the drawers again, using all of her strength. Their tarnished handles cooperate
little.
She crouches down and
peers under the behemoth using her nimble fingers to search its area for a key
somehow, somewhere attached to its bottom.
Nothing! She then frantically molests
the two interior sides with the same result.
In frustration, she slams the right side hard temporarily forgetting the
deadliness of travelling sound. She
cringes praying she hasn’t brought attention to herself as the old mansion
echoes like an empty cavern.
Suddenly a small plank
of wood drops from the center of the desk and falls to the nauseatingly ornate
oriental carpet below it. She slides
under the wooden monstrosity to view what has been exposed. The tips of her fingers tickle the newly
exposed, perfectly formed hole. She
feels some sort of lever, like a large smooth switch.
Taking a deep breath,
she flips it to the other side. There is
an abrupt, but tiny clanging sound and then the hum of a small ball descending
down a hollow tube. What has she done
now? The object reaches its bottom and
rolls forward inside the desk making contact with something metal. Another quick click and the top drawer pops
open.
Has anyone else heard
the sounds? She pauses to ensure her
mission has not been jeopardized.
Slowly rising up she glances into the drawer as her eyes widen. She stands and reaches in to pull out a
barely bound scrap book dripping with articles and keepsakes. Placing it on the desk her heart races, she
knows the answers are here.
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