The duke mansion was extraordinarily large, with opulent designs and ornaments decorated at every corner. The first floor has a large vestibule, with expensive artworks, both abstract and realistic, hung on both sides to instil a sense of grandiose in whomever that enters. The duke's personal archive, enormous dining hall, parlour, ballroom lay adjacent next to each other; guests had to enter the archives to reach the parlour, most likely an intentional architectural design to flaunt the sheer size of the duke's mansion. The upper floors of the mansions are kept off-limits, even to the upper echelon guests that occasionally visit for social gatherings and conclaves. The basement is used by the maids and the butler, and is also where I spent most of my days.
Edna never seemed to have any rest. Before sunrise, she always left for her work diligently, and returned tired every night, never once had she complained about her long working hours.
Every night, she returns with a weary expression, but always puts up a smile in front of me. Some of the maids treated me nicely, occasionally offering to take care of me during mealtime. However, others felt a strong sense of disgust, knowing that I was conceived by a dead mother.
Much of the time, I was not allowed to leave the basement because the duchess' newborn loves to wander the first floor.
When I reached the age of five, I noticed more and more anomalies in my peculiar body. I did not require to eat, drink, or sleep. Sometimes, Edna got concerned over my lack of appetite and rest, so I ate and slept to keep her happy. I became concerned over the uniqueness of my body and decided to visit the archive alone for some answers.
That night, I decided to sneak into the first floor archives to know more about this world. When the candles were blown out, I slipped out of bed, and tumbled onto the ground. Tiptoeing outside the basement, I made my way to the archives. It was not easy to balance myself while trying to remain quiet. This small body was not only hard to control, it had a tendency to spasm at unpredictable times.
I shoved my tiny shoulders into the door until I fell flat inside with a thud. Wiping off the perspiration off my face, I tread through the archives with profound admiration. The interior of the archive was gigantic, the ceiling was so high that it required a ladder to reach the upper shelf. Shaft of moonlight peeked through the translucent curtains, illuminating bits and pieces of each sector. I stumbled across each section; Literature; History; Psychology, Runeology and many more. The variety of each book was expected of a duke's personal library.
On the floor laid an intricately mapped topography chart, each city and main roads were drawn in a maze-like structure. The duke''s territory was relatively small compared to other feudal lands, however, his given land is situated by the sea, which made it much more valuable than other barren lands. The main city in the duke's land was called "Fishing Hamlet '', and is most likely the city where I am currently at.
From the table top, I took a stack of accountant logs and set it down on the floor.
"Shipment logs""
A list of dates, alongside with each individual shipments, cargo, freights labelled neatly on each column. Most of the content is rather mundane ; salary expenses of fishermens; transport costs; inventory value and such.
I flipped through more pages, and slowly realised an inconsistency in the contents.
A hundred carts of frozen fish last week.
That was supposedly a month's worth of shipments, yet it was delivered to the inner city in a week. Not only the shipments grew exponentially, the weight of each cart was heavier than before by a few hundred kilograms.
I went to past financial statements and examined the records.
On average, the shipments contain no more than fifty carts per month. But for the last few months, freight of frozen fish has topped over the hundreds.
Suddenly, a ominous creak reverberated through the lightless halls. I hid in the corner with my body tightly squeezed in a narrow crevice in one of the bookshelves, afraid of being caught by whoever was wandering at this hour in the night. I curled up in a fetal position, facing away from the creaking archive door. Hands cupped on my ears, I closed my eyes and held my breath.
The archives door was pushed open, a soft footstep entered as if it was searching for something. It remained eerily quiet, not a single sound was made as it wandered. I couldn't tell who it was, was it Edna? The duke? Or is it someone wholly different?
All of a sudden, it started speaking. At first, it sounded like the duke's impassive tone, however, its pitch changed erratically, mimicking the sound of a child. The words were indistinguishable, yet its intent was made clear. The gurgling of its voice was unsettling, the voice seemed artificial, like the needles in a telegraph or the churning groans of a silk reeling machine...
It stood in the middle of the archives, unmoving.
A nauseous fishy odour filled the air, its pungence instil a profound fear and disgust. I pinched my nose, wondering what thing could emanant such pervasive odour.The odour grew more and more detestable, welling up a sick urge to vomit.
Its voice changes again, shifting and morphing sliding up and down on a piano. The sound was unnatural, not a pitch a person can replicate. A succession of pops and uncanny moans were the most accurate depiction.
Eternity seemed to elapse and the sound grew stranger by the second. Now it sounded wholly inhumane. Like a fish out of water. A tune that shook me to my core, the rhythm of the waves and pulsing sea.
The sound receded and the archives door creaked shut. The lingering odour still persisted, but the agony was over. The second I stopped pinching my nose, a concoction of bodily fluids escaped out of my mouth, a vomit so revolting that I felt myself nauseating.
I stepped out of the comfort of the narrow crevices of the shelves, examining the moonlit archives once again. The books and records that I was flipping through were neatly stacked on the table, as if nothing had ever happened. The carpet was untampered, only a trail of slime and ooze remained.
I stared out at the closed archive doors, afraid to open it. Was it a bait, or has it really left? I was unsure, but I could not stay here until the morning. Gathering the remaining sanity left, I shoved the door open and ran downstairs to the basement, hoping whatever transpired was just a hallucination, a nightmare.