Sherlock Holmes: The Shadow From Beyond (4 page)

“What do you mean Holmes?” Watson asked

“These books are so rare and expensive that it would be difficult for Harper to acquire them on his normal salary, many are first editions or original translations. Although I have heard of some of the titles here, I have never thought to read them as most have been dismissed by scholars as ancient works of fiction or simple rumor. This has not reduced their value however or desire by collectors in acquiring them at insane cost. Harper must have put much effort and money in obtaining them.”

In another ornate exhibit case Holmes examined mementos amassed from Harper’s numerous travels abroad, curios from all parts of the globe were displayed within. Intermixed with the normal souvenir trappings one may collect Holmes noticed: two star shaped relics about the width of a man’s palm made of a strange and unknown grey stone material; some primitive photographs of scientific expeditions in the Arctic or Antarctic polar regions, the photos were dark and blurred and yet seemed to outline immense architectural structures high up in the frozen mountains beyond. Also on display was a plastic cast mold of some three toed creature, primitive and strange in appearance, it was large enough to occupy an entire two feet of shelf space.

Also within the display were an array of various small stone and jade sculptures from assorted cultural backgrounds that depicted a similarly featured toad like figure of great obscenity, and a shiny onyx statuette of an octopoid-like being that squatted on a raised dais, its clawed hands rested gently on its upturned knees. The twisted visage of horror stared back at him through sparkling green gem eyes. Also of note were four large clay bas-reliefs featuring intricate carved hieroglyphs and images of horrific tentacled creatures of alien origin. In fact most of the curious items on display in Professor Harper’s study were beyond interpretation to even the great mind of Sherlock Holmes, it was if he had stumbled upon a whole realm of knowledge he had rarely before explored, or even knew existed. “Watson, it seemed the professor held knowledge of subjects beyond even my far ranging scope. I have heard vague mention of these strange and other worldly references before, yet have felt no interest to explore them on a deeper level. In my opinion such elements of mysticism have no relation to proper science and logic, it is all arcane hogwash! “I have read some of the fictional works of modern authors who have based their tales of the fantastic on the so- called non-fictional elements described within these ancient tomes as well as other historic texts known to exist around the globe, but I fear it is just to lend some element of false fact to elaborate their fictive prose. These scribes have recently released works that include pseudo-facts that relate to strange occult practices of native tribes, their so called worship of a pagan mythos and the pantheon of convoluted Chthonic deities within these myths. These stories are of such outlandish and illogical vision that I have never been able to separate what elements may be fact and which are fantasies, but my senses point to the latter. I have always said that the supernatural has no place within the bounds of reality and logic, the world is big enough for us, no ghost need apply!” Watson noticed that Holmes’ arms gestured about wildly as he spoke, and he seemed full of passion. “We are men of science, not science fiction!” he added. “But certainly Holmes there are some things that even science cannot easily process,” argued Watson. “Evil manifests itself in many strange and unexplainable ways. The lore of mankind, however exaggerated, usually takes root in some base reality does it not?”

The detective turned his gaze from the display case to face his old friend, then upon the mummified corpse starring wide eyed at their feet.

“Perhaps Watson, we shall become unwilling students of these dark arts once again,” He said as he cracked a sly grin. “Let us see if these evil spirits manifest themselves at all.

“But as in our prior adventures, like the ones that you have penned; ‘The Hound of the Baskerville’s’ and ‘The Sussex Vampire’ amongst others, we have found these supernatural elements to lack truth. Indeed much more natural and much less super in fact.”

“But Holmes, how often have you said that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?”

“Improbable Watson, not impossible. There is a big difference.”

Following the Trail

A closer examination of the shattered patio doors prove to bear no new information. The doors themselves had been securely locked together and remained so, the bolt still in place. The wooden frames that contained them were fractured and broken inward, the brass support mounts twisted and torn.

Muddy footprints that lead into the study from the patio and garden area beyond are evident. These prints continued up to, and away from, both the corpse and the desk area before retreating back out of the study via the way they entered. These footprints are well defined on the light patterned carpet and Holmes took some time in analyzing them.

“Let us inspect the grounds behind these ruined doors,” Holmes stated as he rose. “Come Watson, Lestrade, follow me but be mindful not to disturb any possible evidence.”

The morning sun shone brightly on the large garden behind the house. Perhaps it was once well maintained but now in noticeable decline. Empty flower beds, hedges and small trees dot the scene of disregard and piles of rotting vegetation are heaped about. A stone trail meanders about the area and a wooden fence borders a field in the distance.

Holmes signaled to his companions to remain behind him as he proceeded slowly forward, bent low, magnifying glass in hand. He noticed that the footprints that lead toward and into the study originate from a a flowerbed just off the landing where the intruder’s boots picked up the soil that was tracked into the house. Holmes scanned the grassy area beyond the flowerbeds and discovered imprints in the turf that suggest a person had passed through that area as well.

“The intruder approached slowly, hesitantly,” he said as he pointed to the bent blades of grass. “The footprints here are spaced closer together and well defined, implying that each step was held for a moment, time enough for pressure to leave its full mark upon the grass, a sign of caution.” Holmes continued forward. “But these prints, leading away from the house, are spaced further apart and show only the front toe marks, evidence of someone running or retreating quickly.”

The trio followed the receding footprints to a small gate in the rear fence, the gate was unlocked and slightly ajar, a small dirt path ran just behind the fence from East to West. An empty field of yellowing grass lay beyond the rear grounds of the house, a few cottages could be seen off in the distance. The detective once again bent low to examine the ground with his magnifying glass, his eyes scanning over the minute details before him.

“The intruder travelled from the East up this pathway,” he indicated, “It is a cautious approach, slightly staggered and in many areas the prints show a hesitation in pace.

“Here the person stopped for a few moments.” Holmes motioned downward. “The prints then lead from this spot into the rear garden via the gate, over the grass, through the flowerbed and into the study, exiting and returning via the same route. These return prints, the further paced ones, exit from this gate and continue in a staggered run off along the dirt path but in the opposite direction. Come, let us follow the trail, perhaps there will be a fish at the end of the line.”

Holmes began to walk down the trail that lead off to the West, Watson and Lestrade followed close behind.

“Only one set of footprints Holmes?” enquired Lestrade as they trudged onward. “Could only one man do such immense damage to the patio doors of Harper’s study? He must be a monster of a man then! We should be on guard with pistols out!” Lestrade moved his hand toward his coat as he looked around nervously. Watson simply rolled his eyes at the inspector’s remark while Holmes grinned slyly.

The Vagrant

The dirt trail followed a rather straight course for a while before leading down into a small overgrown glade. By now the sun was high in the sky and a slight breeze blew the loose leaves off their branches, the fields were a mix of bright autumn hues. Down in the glade the group spots a figure lying under a tree, from their vantage point they see no movement.

“There’s our man Holmes,” Lestrade stated as he removed his pistol from beneath his jacket and raised the barrel toward the figure. “Be careful of the beast!” Watson felt the inspector was being melodramatic indeed and his expression showed it.

As they slowly approach the prone form beneath the tree they noticed that the figure is not a beast at all, although the smell emanating off it could easily be confused with that of an unwashed animal.

The body on the grass is that of an old vagrant, curled up near the base of the tree, snoring lightly. Beside his outstretch arm is an empty bottle of Warre’s Vintage port. The man is grubby and unkempt, his clothing is stained and he reeks of sweat and alcohol, his grey streaked black hair and bushy beard are a greasy, tangled mess. A few leaves have come to rest upon him, adding a little color to his dark form.

“Fear not Lestrade. I doubt you need use that,” Holmes mentioned while pointing to the inspector’s pistol. “Unless our homeless friend here possess physical strength equal to that of his powerful stench, he will be of little threat.”

Lestrade embarrassingly replaced the gun in its holster before giving the slumbering man a few light kicks on the leg. When the vagrant failed to awaken him from his deep sleep Lestrade increased the force of his attempts. The snoring man awoke with a start, slightly muddled and obviously surprised.

“Eh? Wah? Wass diss all bouts eh? A man can’t (hic) sleep off a nights fun eh? What be you bout?..Leave me be!..” Babbled the vagrant in a gruff and haggard voice. He peered up at the group through bloodshot eyes, his pockmarked and furrowed brow held an expression of confusion. He even attempted to roll over and return to sleep.

“Be advised there sir, that you are needed for questioning in regards to a murder committed last night in this area.” spoke Lestrade in a manner of fact.

Upon that statement the vagrant rolled back and sat up with a start. He looked directly at the inspector as Lestrade continued his dialogue. “We have found evidence that you may have been at the scene of the incident.” He pointed to the empty bottle of port lying in the grass. “Therefore you must accompany us to the station to provide information in regards to your actions over the last twenty four hours, and more specifically as to how you obtained that bottle of spirits there. Come along now peacefully; let us get on with it.”

“Eh? Murther?” The vagrant seemed to straighten with attention at the remark. “You be daft boys (hic) I am no such persons! Madness and horror be on the night true, (hic) but demons and witchcraft is be blamed and not poor old Cowely! No sirs, not I!”

“Demons? Witches? What’s he about Holmes?” Watson asked. The detective just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in disdain.

Still drunk of sorts, the vagrant seemed in no condition to speak coherently at the moment, so the trio carefully prop him up off the ground and gradually escort him back to the awaiting police carriage where they gently ease him in. Lestrade leaves orders with his constables to secure the crime scene and to stand guard at the residence until further notice. The small group of four then head off back to Scotland Yard with the vagrant Cowely in their custody.

While Lestrade opened wide the carriage windows Watson lightly spritzed Cowely with a small bottle of cologne he had in his jacket pocket, unfortunately both actions do little to remove the stench wafting off the vagrant, who has since returned to a snoring slumber.

Scotland Yard

During questioning the vagrant man expanded upon his tale, a cup of strong black coffee steaming in his trembling hands: Walter Cowley by name, he stated that he was wandering home drunk along the trail that passes behind the victim’s house, as he does every night after enjoying a few pints down at McKraken’s pub. He was on his way back to his rustic shack, located in the woods not far away from Harper’s house, when the incident occurred.

“Musta been around mi’night or juss before, as I left the pub at half past eleven or so...when me pocket change had run out.” He mumbled with slightly slurred speech. “So der I was nearing the back fence of this one house along da trail when a shadow ‘peared in da sky blotting out da moonlight. Lookin’ up I sees a black winged shape spread across the brightness o’ the full moon!” Cowley stood up and spread his arms high and wide dramatically. “First me thought the booze had brought my ‘magination up, but then the shadow it dropped from the sky, very fast like! Making down toward da Earth like a comet! It went fo’ the back of da house straight. Never slowin’ it crashed right through da rear windows an’ within the house itself!” Cowley gesticulated wildly while he narrated his story, spittle flew from his mouth and his old eyes sparkled as they darted about.

“Not trustin’ my drunken wits I stood stuck on da spot staring, dazed and lost. Then a strange orange glow shines from within the back of da house, next a bright flash and then, a most ‘orrific scream that chilled me soul! All took mere seconds to ‘appen. Then, outta da glow, the shadow again streaks into da sky from the house. I could feel da wind blow me hair as it passed. Up, up it went, like a comet to be lost in da blackness of night! Me stood dumbfounded sirs, scared straight almost! Me spine stiff and the flesh on me arms like pimples on a goose.” Cowley went on to recount that he had then looked over the gate toward the shattered rear of the house and seeing that the glow had vanished, had cautiously walked over the grass and garden to satiate his curiosity. The doors of the patio had been blown inward leaving a large gap in the garden side of the house. He had then cautiously entered into the ruined study, stepped through the shattered patio doors and carefully over the shards of broken glass. He stated that there he heard no sound within the room but noticed a putrid smell that filled the air, like wet dog, musky. On the floor just inside the entrance a shriveled and still lightly misting corpse had gaped up at him. He panicked, backed away, bumped into the desk and knocked over the re-sealed bottle of port. He had grabbed at the bottle to upright it, but then heard a commotion of people approaching, then knocking on the study door while calling out someone’s name. In a panic he quickly fled out the way he had arrived, bottle still in hand.