"Please, don't go to any trouble. I'll be leaving right away, I won't co in... It's like this..."
Amid the snowy landscape of St. George Avenue, the holess man and Jenkins spoke through the fence. The man breathed a cloud of warm air onto his hands, his eyes peering at Jenkins's face from beneath a tangle of unwashed, matted hair.
"Last autumn, Mr. Pisco did a great kindness. I might not have survived until today otherwise. To repay him, I agreed to do two things for him on specific dates. The first was waking you so rudely last week. Mr. Pisco told that if you were ho that morning, I was to give you this letter tonight. If not, I was to co back tomorrow evening."
As he spoke, he pulled a crumpled white envelope from his overcoat pocket. The paper had yellowed slightly, but not much. When Jenkins took it, he could feel a faint warmth, a trace of the man's body heat.
"Ah, yes, this is Mr. Pisco's handwriting," Jenkins confird. "Thank you so much. Please, wait a mont..."
Jenkins reached into his pocket, intending to find a few coins. But the man had already backed away from the fence, hunching his shoulders and retreating toward the street corner.
"No need for that, generous sir," the man insisted. "I'm doing this to repay Mr. Pisco's kindness. You don't need to give any money, really..."
Without another word, he ignored Jenkins, tucked his hands into the pockets of his ragged cotton coat, and walked briskly away, vanishing into the night.
Jenkins stood at the gate, watching until the man had completely disappeared from sight before turning back to the house. His right hand clutched the crumpled envelope. It felt weightless; there was nothing inside but paper.
Once inside the living room, he examined the envelope's wax seal before slitting it open with a small knife. His curious cat padded over to see what was inside.
Inside the envelope were two sheets of ordinary letter paper, the kind of affordable stationery anyone with a modest inco might use. On the first page, two lines of italic script were written in dark blue ink across the center, unconstrained by any guiding lines:
Mr. Williatte, it is I. I forgive you for looking at the photograph in my hand after my death. Although I am not yet deceased as I write these words, I know you will do it.
There are only two pages in this envelope.
"Hmm..."
Mr. Pisco had successfully predicted the future. Jenkins recalled how heartbroken he'd been for so ti after seeing the photograph in the dead man's hand.
The second sheet of paper also contained a few simple lines of text. Judging by the date at the bottom, it had been written around the ti of the Twin Demons incident, right after Jenkins had first arrived in this world:
Mr. Williatte, I apologize for disturbing you even after my death. But this matter is of the utmost importance. My choice of residence was not a random one. Beneath that apartnt building lies a small ruin connected to the old mining tunnels. A dangerous creature within those ruins will escape its seal on February 13th. Please, enter the ruins before then and reinforce the seal.
P.S. The rent for the apartnt (basent included) is due at the end of February. I have left the key in the location ntioned in the addendum. Please do not tell the Church about this. Trust , it is safest for you to enter alone.
P.P.S. The thod for reinforcing the seal is also included in the addendum. I have left the key with a sum of money, which you may use for any necessary supplies.
Rest assured, I am well and truly dead.
Ti seed to rewind to the night of October 31st, with Mr. Pisco sitting before the apartnt fireplace, telling Jenkins what he must do in that all-knowing tone of his. And even though Jenkins had watched him draw his last breath in that very apartnt months ago, he still found himself wondering if the man was truly gone.
The letter was utterly bizarre. The playwright had successfully predicted everything.
"Could a single page from the Millstone of Fate truly be this powerful?"
He couldn't help but mutter to himself. The cat, lying nearby and enjoying the spectacle, imdiately began to nod its head rapidly.
He checked the letter over several more tis, ensuring he hadn't missed any details, before finally setting it down on the coffee table. It was truly one thing after another. The matter with the undead was still unresolved, and now Mr. Pisco had sent him another enormous problem.
He would, of course, go and seal the creature as requested. He didn't even plan on bringing his friends or notifying the Church. As bizarre as Mr. Pisco's thod of delivery was, he was still a man worthy of trust.
"February 13th... Next Wednesday."
He frowned, feeling as though his schedule was about to burst at the seams. Waiting until the last day would be foolish. Since today was the weekend, that ant Jenkins would have to start his investigation tomorrow to be ready to perform the sealing before Wednesday.
"Oh, great Sage, are you playing so kind of joke on ?"
He pressed a hand to his forehead, a wave of irritation washing over him. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a spark of fla into the hearth, then turned and opened the window, needing so fresh air.
Just then, he saw Silver Flute Miss walk into the empty house next door.
"Well..."
He clicked his tongue, then turned to look at the cat behind him. Chocolate let out a yawn, perched on the back of the sofa and playing with the Life Pearl. With skillful paws, it batted the perfectly round orb back and forth. Despite the sofa's curved surface, the pearl never rolled off.
"It really is Chocolate," Jenkins mused. "So I'm not dreaming, then."
He took a deep breath, then exhaled, feeling as if he'd just sucked all the pollutants from the outside air straight into his lungs.
He closed the window, turned to snatch the Life Pearl, absorbing it back into his spirit, then scooped up the reluctant cat. In the entryway, he pulled on his overcoat and boots once more. He pushed the door open, left his ho, and after exiting the yard, took a sharp left to ring the bell at the Goodman family's gate.
Lights were still on in the Goodman house, a sign that the family hadn't yet gone to bed. Soon enough, Mr. Goodman opened the door and poked his head out. Seeing it was Jenkins, he broke into a warm smile and unfastened the security chain.
Their family cat was the first to slip through the crack in the door, but the mont it looked up and saw Chocolate perched on Jenkins's shoulder, it scurried back inside with its tail between its legs.
"Mr. Williatte, please, co in!"
Mr. Goodman, wearing slippers, stepped outside and opened the gate, eager to invite Jenkins in.
"It's perfect timing. We baked so pies after dinner. You must try a piece, they're delicious."
"No, no, thank you for the invitation."
Jenkins quickly waved his hands in refusal.
"I'm so sorry to disturb you this late," he said. "It's about this..."
Reviews
All reviews (0)