Chapter 246: The Adventure of the Empty House (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 246: The Adventure of the Empty House (5)
A few weeks had passed since Inspector Lestrade and Watson had departed London for America alongside Charlotte.
"So, Holmes... how exactly did you end up corresponding with this person, anyway?"
As they walked through the streets of Providence, Rhode Island, Watson glanced at Charlotte—who maintained a cold, detached expression—and posed the question.
"All I gave you was the surname Adler mentioned and a few minor details..."
"Now that you mention it, I’m curious too," Lestrade added. "Even with all my police connections, I couldn't track them down. Yet you managed to find them in just a few weeks."
"It was a simple matter," Charlotte responded nonchalantly, as if the feat weren't even worth mentioning. "A reclusive nature, voyeuristic tendencies, a habit of tearing down the work of others under the guise of 'critique,' and a fixation on horror fiction—it wasn't difficult to deduce what such a person would be up to."
"Ah..."
"I simply combed through a year’s worth of review archives from various American magazines. It didn't take long to narrow down a list of likely suspects."
"You went through all of that in just a few weeks?" Watson asked, stunned.
"I’m more surprised that there were several people who fit that personality profile," Charlotte remarked.
Lestrade and Watson exchanged looks of surprise, though for entirely different reasons.
"Anyway, was there someone named Lovecraft among those suspects?" the Inspector asked, her curiosity piqued.
"...No. There was no one by that name."
"What? Why not?"
"It’s obvious, isn't it? Do you really think those pathetic sorts would use their real names while spewing venom under the guise of criticism?"
"Fair point... that makes sense," Lestrade muttered, nodding along with Watson.
"Then how did you figure out which one was using a pseudonym?"
"People like that usually do it to seek attention. So, I drafted a critique—cobbled together from their own twisted opinions—and sent it out to magazines across America. It wasn't long before the replies started coming in."
"I see..."
"At first, they all responded under aliases, of course. But I played the long game, humoring their nonsense and stroking their egos just enough. Eventually, they all showed their hands."
Charlotte’s lips curled into a chilling smile as she pulled a letter from her coat. "That’s how my target took the bait a few weeks ago."
"Impressive. Even after a two-year absence, your skills haven't dulled in the slightest," Lestrade offered.
As Charlotte glared frostily at the letter, the Inspector’s praise hung in the air.
"...Let’s not bring up those two years."
"Ah, right."
Charlotte’s expression darkened instantly, her aura becoming so palpable that the Inspector quickly shut her mouth and averted her eyes. An awkward, suffocating silence descended upon the group.
"...That aside, we’re almost there."
Breaking the stillness, Charlotte narrowed her eyes and slowed her pace. "The address from the letter was somewhere around here. It should be close..."
"Wait, isn't that it over there?" Watson pointed toward a hill in the distance, her eyes widening.
"...Looks like we’ve found it."
Following Watson’s gaze, Charlotte spotted a pristine, elegant mansion perched atop the hill. A predatory smile crept onto her face as she turned toward it.
"Um... girls?"
"?"
"Are we seriously heading there right now?" Lestrade asked from behind them.
"Yes, we are. Why?"
"Do you really think... anyone could actually live in a place like that?"
Watson shot Lestrade a puzzled look. "What are you talking about? It’s the only place around here that looks habitable."
"But... well, no matter how you look at it..."
"What’s wrong with you? Did you eat something spoiled?"
"...Never mind."
Though clearly unconvinced, Lestrade kept her uneasy expression to herself and reluctantly trailed behind them. Charlotte watched her for a moment, her gaze lingering, before silently turning back to the path.
"So, what’s the plan? Should we knock? We are here to ambush them, after all..."
"...Technically, we are here as invited friends, so it should be fine."
A few minutes later, they stood directly in front of the mansion.
"Really? Then—"
Creeeak...
"Huh? Wait, it’s not even locked?"
The door gave way effortlessly under Lestrade’s hand, leaving Watson startled.
"...Let’s go in."
"W-Wait a second! Isn't it a bit premature to pull out a gun?"
"We can't afford to be unguarded in a place like this."
Ignoring Watson’s protest, Lestrade stepped into the mansion with her pistol already drawn. Watson hesitantly followed.
"...Why are you so tense? It’s just a clean, ordinary mansion."
"You call this clean and ordinary?" Lestrade turned to Watson with a bewildered, flat expression. "As a doctor, I thought your standards for hygiene would be higher than the average person's. Was I mistaken?"
"No, I mean, what are you—"
Watson trailed off as she realized something was terribly wrong.
"...Inspector."
"Yes, Miss Holmes?"
"Tell me... what does this place look like to you right now?" Charlotte asked in a low voice, her sharp eyes scanning every corner.
"What does it look like? It looks like a rotting, dilapidated ruin."
"What?" Watson’s eyes widened in disbelief.
"But to me, it looks like a perfectly normal house," Watson muttered.
"...Same here," Charlotte agreed with a quiet nod. "However, there’s one thing we’re overlooking."
"We are? What is it?"
"The Inspector’s curse."
"Ah...!" Watson clapped her hands together as realization dawned. "No supernatural abilities or anomalies ever affect the Inspector. So..."
"...The true nature of this place is only visible to me," Lestrade finished.
"Correct."
"Wait, then this place... it’s not normal, is it?" Watson shivered, instinctively hiding behind Lestrade as a chill crept down her spine. "B-But didn't all the supernatural phenomena disappear after the incident two years ago? Why is this happening now..."
"Oh my, who are you?"
"Eek!?"
Watson yelped and curled up in fright at the sudden voice.
"...We are friends of Lovecraft. We were invited."
"Oh my word, does my daughter actually have friends?"
"Are you her mother, by any chance?" Charlotte asked, maintaining her composure with a polite smile.
"Yes. Lovecraft is in her room on the second floor."
"Ah, then—"
"Please, take a seat on the sofa. I’ll go bring her down."
The woman responded kindly, offering a warm smile before heading upstairs. A brief, heavy silence followed.
"...Urgh."
Suddenly, the sound of retching echoed through the room.
"Blegh...!"
"L-Lestrade?"
Inspector Lestrade had turned uncharacteristically pale. She leaned forward, gagging and clutching her stomach.
"What’s wrong? Are you alright?"
"That thing... just now... That thing..."
"What?"
Watson patted Lestrade’s back as the Inspector struggled to catch her breath.
"That thing... I was the only one who saw it, wasn't I?"
"W-What thing..."
"...The thing that just went upstairs."
Lestrade’s chilling reply sent a wave of dread through Watson. Her face drained of color, and beads of sweat began to form on her forehead.
"What... what kind of place is this..."
Charlotte remained silent, her sharp eyes fixed intently on the second floor.
*
Meanwhile, on the mansion’s second floor...
"Hah... hah..."
[Good. Now, it’s time for the final step.]
"...The final step?"
Lovecraft, slumped over her desk and gasping for air, stared at the ominous message appearing in her notebook with unfocused eyes. "Drawing the magic circle... wasn't the end...?"
[The most critical step remains.]
"W-What... what is it...?"
The commanding script in the notebook barked at her incessantly.
[Pour precisely 4.444 ounces of your blood onto the magic circle.]
"Wh-What!?" Lovecraft bolted upright, her hands trembling violently. "N-N-No way! Why... why does it have to be my blood!?"
[Do you not wish to regain your power? You are the contractor. Your blood is required.]
"C-C-Can't it be someone else’s blood? Please?"
The writing in the notebook seemed to radiate irritation.
[You have quite a lot to say for someone with no friends to spare a drop of blood.]
"S-Shut up! That’s not true!" Lovecraft screamed, her voice cracking like a child throwing a tantrum. "I-I have friends!"
[Imaginary ones?]
"No! Real ones! I exchange letters with them, and they even promised to visit soon!"
[Hmm...]
"I-I mean, technically I invited them unilaterally... and they never really replied, but..." Her voice trailed off, growing smaller. "B-But they’ll come for sure... maybe..."
Her voice dwindled to a faint whisper.
Creeeak...
"...Lovecraft."
"Eek!?"
Her bedroom door creaked open slightly.
"I-I told you not to open my door without permission...!"
"There is a friend of yours downstairs..."
"W-W-What!?"
Startled, she clutched the notebook to her chest, ready to shout again, before her eyes widened in shock at the words.
"I’ll put the kettle on... Come down when you’re ready..."
As it turned and walked away, something wet dripping from its form, Lovecraft stood frozen, trembling with excitement.
"S-S-See? I was right, wasn't I?"
[Haaaah...]
"I do have friends!"
With a bright smile blooming across her face, she tossed the notebook onto the desk and darted toward the dusty vanity in the corner.
"Hehe... Mr. Sherinford..."
[Look, just finish the magic circle first...]
"I bet he's a dashing and wealthy young gentleman..."
[Oh, for the love of the Great Ones...]
Completely ignoring the notebook’s exasperated script, Lovecraft clumsily began applying makeup, blissfully unaware of what truly awaited her downstairs.
*
Meanwhile...
"...Huh."
Isaac Adler, hidden in a nearby bush with his three loyal subordinates, watched the situation unfold with growing dread.
"Why... why are they here...?"
Breaking into a cold sweat, he stared at Charlotte, Watson, and Inspector Lestrade through the mansion’s window.
"...This wasn't how things were supposed to go."
As always, his carefully laid plans were beginning to fall apart.