The Macabre Tales of Young Edgar

Edgar looked smug while he lay waiting, but not for any reason Lord Edmund could have predicted. He was immensely pleased with himself for having lured his older mentor this far, and anticipated the forthcoming confession more for the prize it would be than because of its inherent worth. Though he was young, Edgar was vindictive. He did not like secrets being withheld from him, not even from people he coveted, and least of all because he was so fond of furtive things.

He fancied himself a prince of hidden sentiments, of vaults and tombs and blackened nights. He wore enigma in place of glamours. He would not be excluded from any part of his domain. Thus, it was merely a bonus, to his mind, that the particular secret which was about to be revealed concerned him so intimately.

Perhaps he stood to gain something, he considered. Perhaps the nightmares would cease. It didn't occur to him for a second that he, a cunning storyteller, might be drawn into the thickening plot of a larger narrative, like a fly into a sticky ointment.

No moth was he, to be beckoned to a flame! Edgar was a butterfly, admiring the patterns on his own wings.

'Edgar,' began Lord Edmund, dropping the 'young' prefix and addressing his guest as an equal. 'I am afraid that I have put you in terrible danger. You see, I believe you are being lured. Whatever it is that talks to you in your dreams is pulling you closer for a reason. You see things nobody else does. At first, I put that down to chance and talent, or impropriety on the monster's part. I hoped that it had simply let something slip, which might be glimpsed through your eyes.'

'This is why you wanted my stories?' Edgar pressed.

'Well, yes,' Edmund admitted. 'That is part of the reason, but it did not form the whole of my motivation. I thought at first that your visions might provide some insight into the tragic shipwreck that killed your family. Naturally, however, I also wished to encourage your talents. Admittedly, I... admired them.'

There was no point in hiding it now that they were both together. Nevertheless, Lord Edmund was shy. It was so much more difficult to think things aloud than to let them take place. It was harder to force the current than to build a dam and simply wait for enough pressure to well up. Yet, it was never preferable to be a pawn. He swallowed, bracing himself for the next words he would have to speak.

'It soon became apparent,' he said, 'that things were not as I had hoped. From the events in your stories, it was clear that you were not seeing things by chance. The dreams spoke to your specifically. They showed you yourself, your sister, whose memory you had recently repressed, and your family's shipwreck. They damaged you as I never intended nor wished for you to be damaged.'

All of this Edgar processed silently, nodding. Unbeknownst to Edmund, he was not concerned with his own suffering. He merely wanted to know what had been concealed from him, so as to rectify injustices he perceived, and feed an obsession which literally possessed him. In uncovering secrets, Edgar was ruthless. He would bargain his soul and his sanity, if need be, and consider it a clever trade.

'From what you have recorded,' Lord Edmund concluded, 'I can only deduce that you are being lured. I figured this out sometime ago, taking my first clue from the fishermen in your initial story. The pattern only continues from there- fishermen, fish, hunters, trophies, feelings of desperation... I think that, at various points, you have been fish, fisherman and bait. There is something even stranger, though.'

'What?' Edgar asked impatiently.

'You appear to yourself in your dreams,' said Lord Edmund. 'This is no coincidence, I fear. Parts of your subconscious must be fighting your curiosity. They stand in your path to prevent you from encountering the beast- to prevent it from encountering you. Even when they are used as bait, they force a change in their roles, so that they may ward you away from the curse. Perhaps it is because you are not a Vile. Maybe that is why you have such a strong, negative reaction. Perhaps it is for another reason. I know not.'

'That's not everything,' Edgar guessed, jumping ahead. He sat further upright, so that his now icy stare assaulted rather than implored his host. 'There's more, isn't there?'

'Y-yes,' Lord Edmund stammered, cowering slightly. He toyed with his hands now that he had no gloves, nor any staff, to occupy them. A frightened look flashed across his face as he hung his head. It was the look of a rabbit when it has just perceived a trap.

'There is more,' he admitted, hesitantly at first, then with greater ease as he adjusted to the loss of his free will in proceeding. 'The worst part is that, even as all these thoughts crossed my mind, I did not think to convey them to you. I wondered if they might scare the beast away. I sought to use you as bait for it, so that we might learn more. Though I truly believe it can be defeated, it was so wrong of me! So, very, very wrong!

'Oh, Edgar.' His pleading eyes were brimming with tears, drowning in their own alcoholic depths. 'Please forgive me!' He lunged forward like a breaking wave, saltwater spilling down his cheeks. His damp moustache found Edgar's own, cold cheek as he clung to the young man, his larger bulk wracked with sobs.

'Get off me,' Edgar muttered tersely, before he could stop himself. His ribs were being crushed under the older man's weight.

'I'm sorry,' Edmund mumbled, collecting himself with a wounded air. 'I forget myself.' He shook his head in a manner that was both sad and confounded. Then his expression grew misty and, without thinking, he added in a lost whisper, 'It was just so easy to think, for a second, that you were your father...'

'What?'

Edgar sat bolt upright, stood up on the bed, and then jumped back, nearly falling in the process. He took the sheet he had been wearing with him, and clutched it all the more desperately about his waist. He wanted to conceal his nakedness, though it was now far, far too late for that.

'What did you say?' he demanded, though he had no wish to hear the words repeated.

'Edgar, I-I'm s-sorry,' Lord Edmund choked, but his stutter only made the words pathetic to his protégé’s ears. 'I didn't mean to say that. It was foolish of me.'

Before he could convince Edgar of his apology, however, there was a tapping at the window. Both men turned, and froze, as they saw the silhouette that was scraping against the glass. There was a grating creak, and the window was ajar. A head was squeezing through it, followed by a pair of wings.

'Edward!'

The bat fell wetly over the threshold, landing in a puddle on the floor. With a squeak, it picked itself up, hopped several times, and flopped into the tangle of sheets Edgar had just vacated. As it chittered and writhed, a scrap of paper could be glimpsed, tied securely to its leg.

'What is this?' Edgar demanded again, even more furiously. 'Who can be sending you letters at this time of night?'

'Really, Edgar,' said the Lord, finding the courage to be indignant. He steadied his voice when it quavered, and announced with lidded eyes, 'I don't think that is any of your concern.'

'None of my concern?' Edgar exploded. 'None of my concern? According to you, nothing is ever my concern!'

While the storm from before had appeared to be over, it was now apparent that they had only ever been in its eye. Likewise, the storm that brewed was not outside, but behind Edgar's tense face. All of its electric malice boiled up behind those hurricane-grey irises, so that the impending destruction was palpable. It made static prickle across Lord Edmund's skin.

The Lord, who had been about to reach for the note, now found himself stayed by the sheer rage boiling up inside his young guest. The combined shock and confusion were enough to make him crumple into tears again, while Edgar snatched the note from the protesting animal. Triumphantly, he held it aloft and unrolled it in the feeble lantern light.

'Dear brother', he read aloud, 'I am glad to be in receipt of your latest tale...'

Lord Edmund winced.

'Aha!' Edgar exclaimed viciously. 'So you have another brother, do you, with whom you correspond? I can see why you never thought to mention this to me. I suppose it slipped your mind, as did the true authorship of my stories!' His face fell, and then, 'You promised me,' he added, shaking with anger and rare heartbreak. 'I wrote them for you. You promised you would show no-one.'

'Edgar, wait. Oh, tempest, dear!' his mentor begged him, but it was as useless as throwing a rock in the path of a speeding train. Although steam had not yet poured from Edgar's ears, the livid colour of his skin suggested that it was about to.

'For what?' he shouted. 'More lies? I shan't be giving you the opportunity, I think. Oh no, I won't be helping you in your deceit any longer. I won't be writing any more stories for you!' He threw the bat, which was stumbling about with fearful shrieks, a withering look.

'I'm leaving,' he announced, to both of them.

'No! Please, Edgar, you c-can't!'

'I will meet with no protest,' he insisted, pulling himself up to his full height inside the sheet, so that he was a white spectre now, rather than a black one. Soon he would be gone, and even his phantasmal image would evaporate.

'But you must stay to slay the beast! We are so close to the end now! Stay, please. Stay, tempest, and forgive me,' Lord Edmund babbled, his tears running his words together like so much ruined ink.

'Forgive you?' Edgar repeated, raising an eyebrow. 'So that you can profit further from my innocence? So that you can manipulate me?' Here, he pulled the sheet tighter, to mask what the mere fact of his wearing it made hypocritically plain. 'I don't think so,' he said.

Gathering his clothes into a bundle, he turned, and tried to make himself as striking as possible while so encumbered. The storm clouds gathered, flashing, in his eyes, and he fixed his host with a determined glare. He thought about his multiple betrayals at the Manor, and of how foolish it was to trust. He thought about his ship wrecked on the rocks that bore the Vile name, and of all he loved sunk with it. He thought of leaving Anchorage, Moorhaven, and of leaving all society, and never looking back.

Edgar concentrated on all of these thoughts, focusing them into his diamond look, so that they could scorch whatever sorry thing lay on the other side of them.

'I will write no more stories for you!' he declared. 'By next midnight, our bargain will be void, and we will be parted.'

Unannounced, a final lightning bolt appeared, to punctuate his sentence and light the fury on his face. Then, with a final, heaving breath that curdled in the air, he marched from the room, taking his swaddling with him.