The Eyeball Collector by F E Higgins

with me. It’s not too late.’
    I tried to answer but my words were blown back in my face so I just shook my head. Solomon shrugged in helpless disbelief. He clapped me on the shoulder, wished me luck and hauled himself back on to his seat. I stared again at the looming Hall and when I looked back the carriage had already turned and was gathering speed down the hill. Now my only choice was to go on.
    I pushed on up the road, tripping and sliding and skidding, and within minutes I was soaked through. I must have battled against the storm for nigh on half an hour before finally reaching the huge iron gates that flanked the broad gravelled carriageway up to the main doors. Intermittent lightning flashes allowed me to see for only seconds at a time the full extent of the building: the six tall towers that reached up to the black clouds, the tall, narrow leaded windows, atop the arched pinnacles of which sat grinning devils and the roof edge supported by gargoyles of the most repulsive nature.
    Close now to exhaustion I staggered up the steps. In the centre of the oaken door was a huge brass knocker in the shape of a hog’s head. It took all my remaining strength to lift it with both hands and bring it down upon the ancient wood. The impact resounded within and was immediately answered by a cacophony of howling dogs. Then as I waited I thought I heard a different sound, neither animal nor human but the strains of a tune, a high-pitched and mournful air that was soon swallowed by the wind.
    With a ghastly groaning the door finally opened. A skeletal man towered over me and took in my bedraggled state with dull, unforgiving eyes. His etiolated pallor was like a plant that had never seen the sun.
    ‘Yes?’ he said. He elongated the single syllable in a low monotone.
    ‘I have a delivery,’ I croaked. ‘For Lady Mandible.’
    ‘What is it, Gerulphus?’ enquired a second, higher pitched voice. A lady came up behind him, in a voluminous skirt, with the darkest hair you have ever seen and wide shining eyes of violet hue and full blood-red lips.
    ‘It’s a boy, Your Ladyship,’ replied Gerulphus slowly. ‘Just a boy.’
    I tried to speak but again, from somewhere within the Hall, I heard the music. It rose to a merciless crescendo, filling my ears and ringing in my head until I could hardly think.
    And that is the last thing I remember. Exhaustion overcame me and in an instant everything went dark and I fell an indeterminate distance to the ground.
     
Chapter Fifteen
          
Arrival
    After his collapse on the steps of Withypitts Hall, Hector awoke in a far better place. He came to on a couch of the softest velvet in a chamber of flickering lights. From the domed ceiling above him hung a many-tiered chandelier with a hundred or more glittering candles.
    Slowly he looked around and was so taken with the gilded furniture, the oriental patterned cocked wallpaper, the sumptuous dark curtains, the black marble fireplace in which roared a gloriously red and orange fire, that it was some moments before he became aware of the other people in the room.
    ‘He is awake, My Lady,’ said the unmistakable voice of Gerulphus. He was standing directly behind the couch.
    Hector’s bemused gaze met the curious stare of the lady with the sanguine-hued lips. She was sitting opposite on a cream silken chaise longue and cooling herself languorously with a peacock-feather fan. Closing the fan with a snap she beckoned him over.
    ‘Come closer,’ she said. Her voice was soft yet commanding. If it was a colour, Hector thought, it would be deep brown. ‘Have a seat.’ There was a small stool beside her chaise longue and in front of it a low table set with a platter of colourful sweets. Beside that stood a tall silver spouted pot, a delicately patterned cup with matching sugar bowl, and a crystal glass and jug filled to the brim with sparkling amber liquid. Hector stood up and his feet sank into the thick grey wolfskin rug (complete with