The Closing of Twilight

By Paul Anthony

The Closing of Twilight
When Kraylen Somersett is paid a small fortune in lieu of journeying to the south to find a missing child, he has no idea of what he is about to discover once he steps through the gates of Lindham Manor.
From the moment Lady Louisa Lindham informs him that only he can find her grandson Coren, his suspicious nature heightens.
The first night Kraylen hears the cry of the Abiding, he knows it represents more than the mere wail of a wild animal. Somehow, it links him directly to whatever is happening inside the manor.
What he doesnt realize is that each night when the Abiding cries out, it draws him closer on an unparalleled emotional level. Its wail takes him to the depths of a state of melancholy, one he has never known possible whilst bringing about the question, why is no one else at the Manor affected by the creatures cry?
With the help of Lady Louisas granddaughter, Carina, he ventures through the hidden corridors by way of the panel at the back of his bedroom closet. It is while on their search that he discovers a diary written nearly 300 years earlier.
He later learns that the diary was written by his very own ancestor, Thomas Casor, who was deeply in love with Anastasia, the daughter of Charles Lindham.
It becomes a race against time and a life-altering decision for Kraylen to connect the past with the present to find the true meaning behind Corens disappearance by the seventh day of the seventh month when he will finally understand the meaning of the closing of twilight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781493164547

Paul Anthony

Paul Anthony was born in London England but grew up in Canada where he studied creative writing at Sheridan College. He currently resides in Toronto working on his latest novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Twilight.

It has remained my favourite.

That diminutive period of time that lies briefly between daylight and nightfall; when the day walkers and the night crawlers are able to glance over and glimpse those otherwise inaccessible on their jaunt to or from their respective places of rest.

It is their respectful quiet that I admire.

For that moment, forever fleeting, while proprietorship is passed from one group to the other, they share a calm that is not broken until the exchange has been made.

Even the setting is ideal.

Not too dark for those making their way to the nest or lair for a goodnight’s rest and not too well lit for those preparing for a night of the hunt.

It is the time when both the sun and the moon can be seen sharing the skies simultaneously, the changing of the guard, if you will.

Most people appreciate either the dawn or the dusk.

It’s only human nature.

You’re either a morning person or a night person. It’s when you are at your best.

I, on the other hand, am in between.

I’m a twilight person.

Chapter 2

Saturday

‘Lindham Manor’ in big iron letters, the length of both front gates greeted me as I pulled off the main road.

That’s when I saw it for the first time.

Under the reddish glow of the setting sun and the bluish glimmer of the moon, it seemed to possess two distinct personalities. The westerly portion seemed alluring and calming under the last remnants of the sun’s rays while the rest of the house seemed very much foreboding and looming with nothing more than the rising moon to illuminate it.

I’m sure in the light of day the Manor would take on a completely different persona, one more engaging; while in the dead of night, I can only guess it to be comparatively unassuming.

I got out of my car, as much to stretch my legs as to attract any inhabitant’s attention and looked for any sign of someone willing to open the gates and allow me in.

Enjoying the moment, I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with a mixture of both day and night. The air had cooled to a comfortable temperature and was still.

No breeze, only still.

The day wind had already left and the night wind had yet to arrive.

From where I stood, as I stared through the gates at the Manor, I was unable to take in its full size. Yet it was, indeed, an impressive sight.

Several windows in between age old brick, an indication of the amount of rooms, mostly hidden behind the leaves of a series of vines allowed unrestricted growth over most of its exterior.

Standing there watching a structure with obvious history was captivating. A building of that age had witnessed a great many events in its time with untold secrets of its own.

It was the awakening sound of the opening of the gates that brought me back. My presence obviously known to the inhabitants inside as I listened to the engaging sound the two gates made as they moved.

It was one of melancholy.

The hinges rubbed against their housing and the slow movement created a dull scraping sound. It was quite noticeable, disturbing the refreshing quiet that had been steadily maintained until that very moment.

I started up the car and waited while the slow and even movement of the gates continued to fill the air while the Manor, void of any light, created the illusion it had taken it upon itself to invite me in.

When the gates finally came to a halt, there was only the sound of my car engine’s hum.

I drove slowly onto the property no faster than a fast roll. The sound of the tires across the gravel-covered driveway was louder than the engine as I made my way closer to the Manor’s front doors.

By the time I got out and stood close enough to see the paint peeling off the woodwork, I realized its obvious state of disregard. Its upkeep had been severely neglected by the look of the grounds that surrounded it.

Weeds that grew to a height of nearly three feet had overtaken the lawns. Gardening equipment, along the edge of the path, was discoloured by a thick covering of rust and the double front doors, although quite impressive in their stature, seemed as though they hadn’t been opened in ages.

It was the sound of the gates behind me, making their long journey back to their closed position that had me glancing over my shoulder. They were barely visible, with the road as a backdrop, as the last fleeting minutes of light from the sun shone down on them.

Now their sound seemed even more intrusive.

Turning back, I stared at the doors. They were enormous but fitting for a structure of its size. With still no sign of its inhabitants, I took a few steps closer and then stopped, suddenly wondering if I had the correct address.

The sound of the gates coming to a stop brought about the realization that if this was the wrong address, if this place was indeed abandoned as its appearance suggested, I had no way of opening the gates to leave.

I stared at the Manor and contemplated on how unlikely it was for the double doors to open by their own will. But what caught my attention most about them was the massive knocker. Being such an old residence, it was understandable that there would be no doorbell. Obviously original, it was a little tarnished from age but undoubtedly worth more than any made today.

As I lifted it to make the first strike, its weight was truly authentic.

It had the weight of a stone block.

I let it drop and a heavy sounding tap against the strike plate vibrated through to the other side. I waited a moment and then dropped it a second time.

After several more minutes and still no answer, I was close to convincing myself that I was standing outside of a home void of any inhabitants.

With the sun finally set, it was too dark to see beyond the trees that partially shielded the moon. A sudden breeze, passing over the tall weeds caused them to sway against one another and produce the sound of waves.

And then several metres from where I stood, the sound of crickets helped drive away the silence.

And without any light coming from inside the Manor, there I stood within the blue hue of darkness.

Twilight had ended.

Chapter 3

It was the sound of the door before me suddenly unbolted and then eased open that brought me back. The crickets had gone silent but then resumed their nightly ritual several metres further away as a shaft of dim light escaped through the door’s opening.

I stood and waited as I became anxious, wondering who, from the other side of the door, was about to finally reveal himself to me. Friend or foe?

The sound of the hinges as it creaked open reminded me of the gates and convinced me further that the opening of that great door was a rare occurrence.

But one thing was certain in my mind, unless this place really did have a will of its own, I was about to meet one of its inhabitants.

I had only spoken over the phone to someone acting on behalf of a woman by the name of Lady Louisa. I had been informed that she was desperate for my arrival although she hadn’t the time to come to the phone.

The appearance of a tall, slim man with a full head of grey hair quashed my fears of a haunted dwelling as he stepped to one side, allowing more light to flood the front steps and called out my name.

You must be Mr. Kraylen.

Yes, but it’s just Kraylen.

Well, come inside. I can’t hold this door open for you indefinitely.

As I stepped through the doorway past him, I was surprised by the difference to the outside. If I hadn’t just come from it, I would not have believed that I was standing inside that large, unkempt, gloomy structure.

There was no similitude.

Unlike the outside, the inside was well kept and managed. The large foyer showed well with all fixtures polished and dusted, all in its place and properly illuminated.

Lady Louisa will be down shortly. You may wait in the receiving room for her.

She kept me waiting the better part of forty minutes as I tried to keep myself occupied by thumbing through some of the books in the room. Although quite well preserved, I doubted their pages had seen the light of day in several years. When she finally arrived, she made quite an entrance with the doorman first announcing her presence. A tradition I was sure was passed down from an earlier time.

She took a seat across from where I was sitting and looked me up and down with judging and discerning eyes.

You were expected this afternoon!

I apologize for being so late. This is my first time to Savannah.

Your tardiness will be excused just this once, Mr. Kraylen.

Just call me Kraylen.

In this house you will be referred to as Mr. Kraylen and you will address me as Lady Louisa. Is that clear to you?

I took that moment to take a stronger look at her. She carried herself well in clothing that was outdated but definitely expensive. She sat and looked back at me with an heir of elegance and contempt and seemed to become impatient quickly as she waited for my answer.

The only thing that I am clear about is being unclear as to your reason for asking me here.

You’re here to assist with a family crisis.

What is the crisis?

My grandson has gone missing and your services are required in his safe return.

I could tell by the way she looked at me earnestly that she was serious.

I’m sorry to hear that he’s gone missing. Have the police found any leads?

The police have not been informed.

I stared at her with no more than a blank expression.

Excuse me? You haven’t called the police yet? When did he go missing?

He’s been gone a week now.

I’m afraid I don’t understand. Your grandson has been missing for an entire week and you haven’t called the authorities?

We called you.

But why? I’m no detective or child-finder.

She waited before answering me; giving me that look of discontent.

We shall see.

You give me too much credit. I assure you, I know nothing about finding a missing person. You need to call the authorities and get the best help for your grandson.

You are his best chance Mr. Kraylen; his only chance.

A look of sincerity showed in her eyes. She was definitely genuine. And for some bizarre reason, she believed me to be her saviour.

It’s not that I don’t want to help you find your grandson, I just don’t know what help I can be.

You may be more help than you can know.

I wouldn’t even know where to start looking. It’s been a week. He could be anywhere by now and like I said, this is my first time in Savannah.

Your familiarity of Savannah is immaterial to the assistance you can offer.

Her demeanour quickly changed. She no longer stared back at me with obvious signs of hurt. Her impatient side again had returned.

How can you be sure?

Because, Mr. Kraylen; my grandson is here, somewhere inside the Manor.

Chapter 4

My first response was to stare back at her again. It was strange hearing her say her grandson was missing somewhere in the Manor even if it was the largest one I’d ever stepped foot in.

How do you know he’s still in the Manor?

I know because he has been heard moving about.

Her eyes showed no obvious trait of deceit and I knew she believed what she had said. Even a well-orchestrated practical joke had its boundaries.

I don’t mean to sound crass, but if you hear him, maybe he’s not really lost.

Do not doubt for a moment Mr. Kraylen; he is lost and only you can help him.

I looked at her solemnly. There was no callousness in her expression or her words. She truly believed that I was the one capable of helping her.

She had gone to a lot of trouble locating me. I was suddenly curious; if she had extended half as much effort in finding her grandson, she could have saved herself all that money. Not that I didn’t appreciate the small fortune she had deposited into my account; definitely overkill in regards to hiring even the most expensive team of private investigators.

I guess the wealthy regard money differently. It is acquired and spent more rapidly.

I’ll have Mr. Jaimes retrieve your bags from your car and bring them up to your room. You’re too late for dinner; we generally eat by 5pm. If you’re hungry, Mrs. Cortez will fix you a sandwich. Are there any questions before I retire to my room?

I realized at that moment, there wasn’t anything more to say. Her strong desire to have me there, however unfounded, had enlisted me; that and the fact that I had already spent some of the money on overdue bills, solidified my loyalty to her request.

My chance to back out had passed.

From the start I could have declined up to the moment before I gave my account number to the person on the other end of the phone.

But I didn’t.

When I checked my balance and saw that it had increased into the six-figure category I had, by my unwillingness to decline it, already given my answer.

No. No other questions for now.

Then I look forward to seeing you in the morning at breakfast. We eat at 8am sharp. I trust you will not have any difficulty being on time.

She got up and without looking my way, walked out of the room. Moments later, I heard voices and soon realized she was speaking with Mr. Jaimes. I then heard the front door being opened and then quickly closed.

There were no windows in the room I sat in. I hadn’t noticed it at first; I was preoccupied by all of the paintings and artwork that almost over-crowded it. The room was obviously for impressing guests. I was no connoisseur, but I could tell that each piece displayed must have cost a small fortune.

Maybe my failure to compliment her on her good taste was part of her obvious aversion to me. Then I noticed something else. There was a painting missing. By the looks of the empty space on the wall, it had been there up until recently.

When I heard the door opened again, I headed back to the foyer to meet Mr. Jaimes. He had my bag, just the one. In that phone call it was explained to me that I would need to be there for one week. I’ve always been a man of simple means and for me a week’s worth of clothing would easily fit inside a single bag.

As I followed Mr. Jaimes up the stairs, I realized the more we ascended the warmer it became. By the time we were standing on the second floor landing, the temperature was noticeably different. It seemed strange to me to find such a significant difference from one floor to the next.

Like the foyer, the second floor was both large and impressive. Paintings, probably all originals, adorned the walls between each door. Even with my limited understanding, I could tell that they were great works of art. The only time I had ever seen such a collection was during a school trip to the local museum. Looking at them, I realized several more paintings were missing. The one in the sitting room I could reason had fallen off or been relocated but there were at least five along that hallway that were also missing. Someone had chosen and removed them.

I had always believed that in old houses such as this one, the paintings would be portraits of family members. Old dusty paintings of people long since departed. I was sort of hoping to see a portrait of Lady Louisa as a young woman before she found her look of condescension. Maybe those were the paintings removed.

Mr. Jaimes stopped at a door near the end of the hall and stepped inside. As I followed him in, the first thing I noticed was the slight lingering of a musty odour. I was probably the first guest that room had received in quite sometime and their attempt to air it out prior to my arrival hadn’t been entirely successful.

He placed my bag at the foot of a large queen-sized bed and turned on the bedside lamp. He then walked over to a door and opened it.

This is your personal bathroom; it has a tub as well as a separate shower… Lady Louisa mentioned you might be hungry. I’ll have Mrs. Cortez fix you something to eat. Come down when you’re settled. When you get to the bottom of the stairs, come around to the rear of them and follow that hallway. It will lead you to the kitchen.

He then walked out of the room and after closing the door I heard him walk back along the hallway. He had avoided making eye contact with me.

Not a very hospitable pair.

Maybe the little boy was merely hiding from them and didn’t want to be found.

By the time I made it down to the kitchen, it was empty. I noticed a sandwich and a pot of tea on the table and a chair pulled out for me to sit on. Steam was coming out of the teapot so I knew it had been freshly made but there was no sign of Mrs. Cortez. I guessed she had retired as well. At least I wouldn’t go to bed hungry.

Chapter 5

I had just turned off the water in the shower when I sensed a presence in the room. I listened, thinking it might have been Mr. Jaimes, but the movements were fainter than he was capable of.

Who’s there?

I was almost tempted to run out and surprise whoever it was, but dripping wet, naked, it wasn’t the surprise I had intended. Maybe it was just my imagination. The Manor was old and so was the plumbing. I wasn’t even completely sure I’d heard anything.

Another sound and this time it was distinct; a door, moving ever so slightly, but moving.

"Who’s there?

Mr. Jaimes, is that you?"

Still wet but wrapped in a towel, I stepped out of the bathroom and looked about.

Nothing.

I checked around the room for any signs of someone in there with me but found that I was very much alone. I opened the door and peered out into the hallway. Except for a small light near the stairs, the second floor was dark.

Something made that noise.

That’s when I noticed the closet door.

It was ajar.

I wouldn’t have thought much of it, but I hadn’t gone into the closet and I remember it being closed when I came back up from the kitchen.

Is someone there?

I stood by the foot of the bed and waited. I deliberately shortened my breathing, as I got ready to approach the closet door. I actually found myself hesitating.

Silly, it’s just a closet. I gave up on monsters in my closet years ago.

Still I waited.

Suddenly, the warmth became quite apparent to me. I had forgotten how humid it was until I realized that I was already sweating so soon after such a cool shower.

I was beginning to drip on the hardwood as I tried to reason the pros and cons of finding a closet door ajar inside a very old house even though I knew it was definitely closed earlier.

Somehow I shook off my trepidation and stepped forward, hand out and took hold of the doorknob. Opening the door I almost expected to find someone inside, staring back at me with a pitiless expression. But I found no one.

With a smile brought about by sudden relief, I felt a wave of embarrassment flow over me at the thought of believing I might actually find something in the closet staring back at me.

Those types of thoughts were better left for children with vivid imaginations.

Closing back the door, I finished towelling off and in a pair of shorts, got into bed.

To say I was exhausted would be an understatement. I had been up since before the sun and it was now catching up with me.

I could feel myself drifting off quickly. I even heard myself snore before I was fully asleep.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but I suddenly woke out of my deep sleep.

I was fixated on two important things: One being the fact that the closet door was once again ajar. But that wasn’t my sole reason for my unexpected suspicions.

I could reason away the door being partly open; the latch didn’t catch properly or maybe the airflow from the bathroom door opened it.

But what I couldn’t reason away with any certainty as I sat there listening to the overbearing noise of the crickets’ sounds, filling my room; it suddenly dawned on me that I shouldn’t have been able to hear them so easily. Turning toward their