The Macabre Tales of Young Edgar

Cooking smells infused the kitchen. There were aromas from frying mushrooms, garlic and eggs, all coming from a blackened pan on a not-too-professionally cleaned stovetop. The cook was humming idly to himself. He looked like a puppet more than a person- long and lanky, like a marionette on strings.

'There's a lot of smoke in here, Edgar!'

Lord Edmund had appeared through the doorway, and was now using his hat to fan away the thick, brown clouds. Edgar, who had apparently been oblivious to the fumes, shifted the pan as he looked up with interest.

'It's only until the new hired help arrive,' he replied, smoothly. 'How long do you think it will take to get someone from the village, if the newspaper advertisements start today?'

Lord Edmund shrugged. 'I have no idea, my boy,' he said. 'I'm sure it can't be too long, however. Two bachelors can hardly be expected to run a household without servants.'

'But what if nobody will go near this place? Word will surely have travelled.'

Picking up an onion with one hand, Lord Edmund felt it experimentally, handling its weight like a cricket ball before he tossed it aside. 'That's a risk I suppose we shall have to bear,' he said. 'I think, though, that a man need want for nothing, so long as he has money.'

'Very true,' Edgar conceded, with raised eyebrows. 'Bread is a little stale,' he confessed, shifting his attention to the French loaves he had unearthed from the pantry.

Lord Edmund shrugged again. 'We'll toast it.'

Edgar gave the pan's contents an expert flip. 'Those were my thoughts precisely.'

Breakfast was ready, and so he peeled himself away from the sizzling pots he had been guarding, and ushered Edmund back into the servants' dining area. A scarred wooden table sufficed here, but it was preferable to the long, empty dining hall the two of them would otherwise have struggled to fill. There, too, the portraits and kraken memorabilia which Edgar so despised had yet to be removed.

'We'll have to get new cutlery,' Edgar commented to the Lord, who made an agreeable sound. 'Have you given much thought to your family's coat of arms?' He turned, pausing on the threshold back down into the kitchen, which was several steps below the eating space.

Here, Lord Edmund heaved a reluctant, troubled sigh. 'It is unbecoming, isn't it?'

Edgar raised his eyebrows. 'You mean to say that you are fond of the existing crest?'

'Well...' Edmund hesitated, wringing a lacy napkin. Upon noticing that its crocheted trim was composed of tentacles rather than flowers, he then tucked it away in disgust. 'It is a foul thing, but it seems a shame to discard so much history...'

His eyes strayed longingly to the motif imprinted on a pewter teapot, where they traced the fascinating whorls and swirls, and fixed on the bulbous head of the ancestral mascot. Edgar's own eyes followed them, narrowing hawkishly. Perhaps there was still some influence left in this house, he thought. Perhaps it would take time to air out. A full purge, therefore, was the only option.

'History is told by the winners,' he said coolly, 'not by monsters.'

With another sigh that ruffled his moustache, Lord Edmund slumped in his seat, crossing his ankles and folding his arms like a petulant child. He turned away from both Edgar and the tea set, presenting a haughty profile.

'Nevertheless, I suppose you are right,' he conceded.

'Good.'

A satisfied smile on his lips, Edgar disappeared into the shadowy recesses of the kitchen. He reappeared a moment later, laden with plates and trays of food. His sulky benefactor immediately brightened.

'What have you prepared for us today?' he asked optimistically.

With pride and arrogance glowing in his pale face, Edgar assumed a butler-esque tone. 'Two-egg omelettes with leeks and onion, toast and fried mushrooms in garlic.' Carefully, he deposited two plates in front of Edmund, who pushed the second one away with a revulsion.

'Mushrooms, honestly?' He pinched his nose and shook his head incredulously. 'I don't think I can stomach looking at another mushroom!'

'Suit yourself.'

Edgar, who had slid into a chair opposite, leaned forward to collect the unwanted dish, whereupon he scooped the concoction onto his own plate. Edmund regarded him with mixed interest and horror. Repulsed as he was, he didn't want to watch, and yet, he couldn't look away. As Edgar speared a forkful of rubbery mushroom and began to chew, he mouthed helpless, silent jibberish. With pretense, he was ignored.

'How can you do that?' he was finally forced to ask, when Edgar's eyes, beneath their lowered lids, continued to evade him.

'I am merely eating,' the young man replied. 'There is nothing unusual about it. These particular fungi, I assume, remind you of the luminous specimens we encountered recently. Theoretically, I can see the connection, but I do not follow the logic in starving oneself because of it.'

'It's not logic,' Edmund muttered, bemused. 'It’s instinct. Or have you no common sense?'

'I have no common notions,' Edgar said, chewing happily. 'I am most uncommon.'

'Hmph, that's true.'

Lord Edmund began to turn over his toast, and attacked it with the tarnished knife and fork. He missed real silver cutlery. It was a small sacrifice to make, he knew, but he would have to make a note to order some fresh, undecorated items.

As he ate, he couldn't help but sneak glances at Edgar. Allowing for his scruffy hair and slightly pasty complexion, which was more porcelain and less pallor now, the boy appeared to be wholly intact. He wasn't traumatised- that much was obvious. It was as though he had already forgotten everything that had taken place.

Edgar's mind was elsewhere, it seemed. His attentions were already far away. Edmund couldn't imagine on what they might be fixed.

There was a clatter of knife on china as his protégé cleared his throat. 'I think that, after breakfast, it might be best if I packed my bags,' he said.

The announcement took Lord Edmund by surprised, even though the idea was not unexpected. They had discussed this, after all. It would be better for Edgar, who was young and for whom the past few weeks had been an ordeal, to go out into the world again, rather than to remain at Whirlpool Manor during and after the renovations.

Of course, Edmund would still write Edgar into his will. He owed the youth his life, and he had no other heir. Regardless, it would be better for the lad to journey...

It would be better.

Lord Edmund swallowed his own lump of crusty toast, trying to reaffirm this thought, or else put it away. He couldn't admit the extent to which he would miss Edgar's company.

He knew his young guest had been scheming, and that the bizarre events that had led to their connection had played a part in its eventual culmination. However, Edmund still thought there was an attraction between them. At the very least, there was an affection. There was something that could grow- the beginning of a very happy ending for both of them.

He didn't want to be alone in his old age.

'Have you decided what you're going to do with yourself?' asked Edgar, conversationally. 'But, of course,' he corrected himself, 'you'll be quite busy with the improvements, I expect.' His fork dropped, too, at this utterance, as his own thoughts were derailed.

Could Edmund be trusted to make the necessary arrangements? If left to his own devices, would he squirrel away condemned artifacts, such as the Vile family insignia? Would he undermine the essential cleansing of the Manor of past evils? Edgar couldn't permit even the slightest chance of the Angler Fish's return.

Further, however, he more than entertained a fancy for his benefactor, and recent rescuer. Though the last few weeks had been muddled for both of them, the storm and its aftermath had brought them closer, and left them with hugely enlarged respect for one another. Edgar was sure he wasn't the only one who felt it...

At that moment, there was a scratching by the kitchen window, where the ground-level hatch opened onto shrubbery still damp from the rain. With a scraping of chairs, both men got up to assist the bat in its scrabbling. Edgar was fastest.

Deftly, he untangled the newspaper and soothed the upset beast.

'Good, Edward,' he said, patting the creature's fur, so that its squawks died down to a contented chatter. Then, smoothing the creases from his own shirt and trousers, he returned with the paper to the table, where Edmund had stopped breakfasting and was wringing his hands again.

Inquisitively, Edgar laid the paper out over the table, in a space that had been brushed of crumbs. There was barely enough room for it, so cramped and cluttered was the space. Once the paper was flat, he began to peruse it like a detective.

He read articles about the recent collapse of a cavern by the sea, and the treacherous conditions of Vile Reef in recent days. He read a weather forecast, which was hopeful, and a notice dedicated to the memory of his father. It was strange to think that it had been fewer than three months since the tragic incident.

At the back of the paper, Edgar found advertisements. His eyes skimmed patiently through placements for services, cars, horses, and property listings. When they came to the bottom of the page, they flicked up, pinning Lord Edmund like darts.

'You never listed us as looking for help,' he said. His tone was plain, but there was the subtlest smirk on his lips. 'I know you better than to suppose that this is a mistake.'

As if that concluded the matter, he folded the paper back into quarters, whereupon Lord Edmund snatched it from his reach. 'What an accusation!' he exclaimed, feigning shock. Edgar only grinned more widely- he knew Edmund couldn't really be affronted.

'I'm touched,' he said. 'Verily. Of course, I understand that I am now obliged to stay with you, to look after you in your old age...' He chuckled softly to himself, in a manner he had aquired directly from Edmund. 'I shall have to unpack everything I have made a start on so far, so as to remain at least until the new help arrives.'

'At least?'

'Of course,' he beamed, his new, sunny expression sitting at odds with his lunar paleness, 'I could stay longer... if you wanted me to.'

It was Lord Edmund's turn to smile. 'It's a kind offer,' he said, 'and that is just as well. Do you remember my acquaintance from the newspaper?'

Confusion clouded Edgar's expression, and quickly resolved itself. 'Yes,' he answered, warily. 'I believe I recall.' The bitterness between them was forgotten, but the memory still stung with the venom that had corrupted everything pertaining to Edgar's dreams.

'Well, it goes without saying that we're still in correspondence. As it happens, he also holds the position of Editor at a less regular digest. He's agreed to document the strange events of the past few weeks for me, with your permission of course. Ah,' Lord Edmund paused. 'He's also agreed to publish your stories for you, and assist you in filling in the gaps. Tristrum was writing when you were not yet born. I'm sure your natural talent would find an aid in him... if you wish.'

Edmund shrank lower beneath the table, expecting admonishment, or possibly an explosion of fury. He was surprised to find his anxieties dissipating in another bout of chuckling. When he looked up, however, he found that Edgar's face had once more become smooth and serious.

'I'd like that, actually,' the young man said. His tone was very genuine. 'Thankyou.'

Nothing more needed to be said.

On the kitchen counter, Edward the bat screeched and flapped restlessly. His hook-like talons poised like daggers, he scrambled towards the open window he had come through. He scaled the wall and, there, paused on the threshold, before the foggy sunrise. His head turned briefly, so that for a second, he regarded the seated couple with curious, fuzzy features.

Edgar looked up sharply. Before the bat launched itself into the daylight, where the faint, staring moon was setting, he thought he glimpsed another full moon coming up. He blinked, and saw that he had been misled.

It was only the bat, with a misty hint of madness in its eyes.