Inkwell of Shadows 22: Dead Secrets Never Stay Buried
November 13, 2024. Meeting at the Adelyne house. Sifting fact from fiction and coming up dread…
Author’s Note: Inkwell of Shadows is a serialized fiction story in Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries, set in Blighridge County, Alabama. A quiet corner of the world where old ghost linger, cursed objects refuse to stay quiet, and some secrets never stay buried—at least, for long.
New installments or chapters will materialize every Monday…
Missed a chapter? You can find the full list here.
Previously. After a harrowing read of Valeria’s murder-journals, an unexpected visit by Caleb Hayes drove Daniel and Cassidy to search the desk downstairs; this time thoroughly. Pulling out drawers and every scrap of paper and notebook proved enlightening. First, they found newspaper clippings, but also old photographs. The latter confirming that Daniel’s uncle worked with Sheriff Branham, Issac, Naomi, and Meredith, keeping a lid on things in Gloamstead. They also found a hidden compartment with just a little bit more. Inside was a photograph and notes suggesting Caleb Hayes, may indeed have a connection. Not to just the desk, but the Altamont family, and even the lethal pens themselves…
November 13, 2024. Meeting at the Adelyne house. Sifting fact from fiction and coming up dread…
The next morning, I brewed coffee into submission while slowly preparing breakfast. My thoughts were about as scrambled as the eggs.
Valeria. Her being a hired killer. That fiend in the black coat. All of that and too many dead bodies swirled into a messy tornado of puzzle pieces. In the center sat four fountain pens like tiny tent poles of doom. Caleb Hayes, or whatever his name was, hovered behind it all like creepy backlighting. If I squinted, I could almost make out the shape of it all. That there was some looming chunk in the middle we’d all overlooked.
I clenched my jaw, watching the condemned eggs sizzle in a skillet. Once cooked, I scraped them into a bowl, then sacrificed the bacon next. The aroma and a sip of coffee greased my thoughts, but still nothing clicked.
“Why?” I muttered.
A soft touch of fingers over the back of my T-shirt got my attention with a feathery tingle. Then a clawed, furry hand reached around me to snag a cup of coffee. Cassidy took it to the fridge for the morning ceremony of milk and sweetener. She sipped, and I watched her bat-ears sag gently in relief.
“Why what?” she asked, sliding into one of the kitchen’s wooden chairs.
“About everything so far,” I replied. Cassidy drank her coffee while I set the table, brain on full throttle. “Valeria’s journals, the pens, all of it.” I sighed through my teeth. “They almost connect in all the worst ways, like that Caleb Hayes guy.”
Cassidy filled her plate, then stared at nothing while flicking an ear. “Yeah. He really wants our downstairs desk, before you get to the whole ‘possibly a Nighthunter’ thing.”
I joined her at the table. “Don’t forget he might connect to the pens, too.” At Cassidy’s surprised look, I shrugged. “Two pens were in Professor Altamont’s estate… those pens might’ve killed him.” Worry gnawed at me. I chased it off with some bacon as I shook my head. “He also tried hard to get Meredith Rawls’ house away from Dorian.” I set down my fork and sighed at the ceiling. “Cassie, what do we even do if we get all the pens?”
“Fire is always an option,” she said dryly, then bit down on a slice of pineapple with a hum. “Daniel, you saw those obituaries. This has been a problem for almost a century. I still think following the money will clear up a lot of this. The name of whoever’s paying goes to the sheriff, and we get to focus on those pens with no near-death experiences.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So we need to wait on Dorian?”
“Yep. We do.” She gave me a rueful smile. “Though, what if we go talk to Sheriff Branham, Naomi, and… er… Issac?” Cassidy gestured with her fork. “They were out chasing Nighthunters when Valeria went after Meredith and your uncle. That seems like a pretty big coincidence.”
“Hm, a coincidence?” When Cassidy shot me a deadpan look, I held up my hands. “Okay, yes. So you mean the Nighthunter thing might have been a setup? You know, that’d be a huge connection back to Valeria’s boss. Something like that takes money.”
She shrugged, smiling over her coffee. “Worth asking about.”
The day settled into calm waves of inventory and customers, with a little dusting in between. Construction of the shop’s new window frame was a rapid drumbeat marking time. Cassidy handled the calls to Sheriff Branham and Naomi, finally getting both on the phone by mid-afternoon. We suggested meeting at the shop, but Naomi insisted on her place after we closed for the day.
“Think it’s because of Issac?” I asked Cassidy from the shop counter after she hung up.
She stared at her phone, not looking at anything before she met my eyes. “I… don’t really know.” She furrowed her brow. “Mom and Dad told me some ghost stories, but they were just that. Stories. They’re not supposed to be real, and Issac doesn’t look like ghosts from those stories.”
I nodded, leaning on the counter with a shudder. “It’s like the more he talked, the more you could see him. As if part of him’s there, part of him isn’t. Like a living memory.”
Cassidy’s expression turned into full-on worry. “Almost like, yeah. So maybe he’s what… stuck at the house?”
“Maybe,” I replied, chewing on the idea. “Not sure how to ask that.”
“Yeah,” she tapped her fingers lightly against the phone. “Feels a little like asking ‘how are you not fully dead yet?’”
The suggestion hovered in the air between us as the rattle of window repairs and the shop’s air conditioning filled the ragged remains of our conversation. Words failed, but worried expressions didn’t.
We closed the shop later that afternoon and headed out. As we drove, the sun kissed the horizon to sleep past the line of cypress and evergreen trees that surrounded the town. Their Spanish moss wavered as shadows bled long fingers across the road. Each one curled like claws as we drove through Gloamstead, grasping but never holding as we turned into the subdivision.
The sheriff’s car was already out front by the time we parked outside the Adelyne’s house. A single yellow light glowed in the living room window, dusted by a shadow. Naomi Adelyne greeted us at the front door with a prim smile.
“Always right on time,” she said approvingly. “Himself and the sheriff are in the living room. I’ll be along in a bit with some tea.”
Cassidy and I occupied our same seats as before on the parchment-tan sofa. Issac’s empty rocking chair lazily swayed in the shadows to one side, while Sheriff Branham sat opposite. I gave Cassidy an uneasy look, nodded, then jumped right in.
“Sheriff…” I swallowed, nodding to the chair. “… Mr. Adelyne.” I glanced up as Mrs. Adelyne brought in a tray with steaming dark tea and brown ginger cookies. “Thanks, Mrs. Adelyne.”
“No need to be so formal,” Issac’s voice drifted from the dark.
I cleared my throat, reaching for one of the blue and white cups, grateful for the tea.
“Right. Sorry, Issac.” I tried for a smile and failed, watching the hollowed-out wisp of Issac’s face melt back into darkness. Naomi calmly sipped her tea as the sheriff patiently leaned on the arm of his chair.
“Cassidy? You said on the phone that y’all had found a few things. Had some questions,” Branham asked in his usual low tone.
Cassidy sat up straight, toying with the edge of her teacup. “Yes. Valeria Moffet. We’ve recently gotten her journals. They’re… well… interesting reading.”
“There’s a lot of them,” I added with a deep breath. “Along with a lot of loose, handwritten pages.”
The air shifted as emotion flitted across the room. Even Issac appeared, full-bodied but hollow, sitting forward with keen interest.
“Journals?” he rasped. “Interesting.”
Naomi’s eyes snapped to Issac and the sheriff, then back to us, bright as knives. “Journals,” she said, words snipped. “That horrid woman kept… notes?”
Sheriff Branham cleared his throat, brow furrowed. “Cassidy. Daniel. How’d y’all get those? My deputies have been beating the bushes trying to find them for quite a while now.”
I exchanged an uneasy look with Cassidy, then sipped some tea for courage. “Our client, Dorian. You met him. Long story, but the cliff notes are that he wound up with boxes from Valeria’s estate. With everything going on, he thought the journals might be important.” I downed another sip, hydrating my courage again. “Especially since Valeria filled pages about those pens, murder, and a few other things.”
Cassidy reached for a ginger cookie, clutching it protectively. “Like being a hired killer,” she added in a fragile voice.
“Anything on her accounts? Who hired her?” Branham quickly asked. “I’ll want to see those journals, too. What with Valeria being a bloodleech, none of this can go to court, but there might be something I can do about who hired her.”
I nodded with a frown. “Of course. We need them a little longer because of the pens, but we’ll drop them off as soon as we can.”
Issac faded partly into view, sipping his tea. “Who hired her…?”
Cassidy shivered a little, nibbling her cookie. “Someone she called ‘V’. No other name. Valeria was really obsessed with getting the pens.” She gave me a pained glance, then winced at the others. “Seems she was after Daniel’s uncle, too. Wanted the shop real bad. Thought it was a way to get the pens.”
Naomi tartly nodded, peering at us over her glasses. “That woman… just… hmph,” she grunted. “Daniel,” she said, giving me a reassuring smile, “if it helps any, your uncle had no interest in her advances, no matter how much she threw herself at him.”
I winced. “Thanks. Though we may have found something else between what my uncle and Valeria wrote. We know Valeria killed Meredith Rawls.” Naomi, Sheriff Branham, and even Issac looked deeply uncomfortable, so I quickly pushed on. “She was trying to find the fountain pen Meredith had, but if I understand it right, everyone else was tracking down Nighthunters?”
Naomi sniffed tartly again, and even Issac looked disgruntled enough to fully appear for a moment. It was the sheriff who spoke up first.
“Like I told y’all before, we were. The last thing this county needs is crusading killers running around murdering people for being different.” He glanced down, finally recovering a cup of tea for himself, then sighed. “We chased them across the county. Here. Craigbrook. Out in the bayou. Never quite caught them. Just ran them off.”
Cassidy leaned forward a little, squinting. “Sheriff? Are y’all sure that was Nighthunters? Real sure?”
No one said a word. The silence stretched between us until I thought it would scream.
Naomi spoke first, voice tight. “We found traps. Folks living out in the Leatherdown were killed. Burned alive. Sometimes in their homes, or tied to a tree. Same pattern every other time those awful Nighthunters swept through here.”
I slowly traced a finger over the sea-blue edge of the porcelain cup, letting the moment have its due. After a shallow breath, I looked over at Naomi and the others.
“What if they weren’t?” I let that hang between us like bitter smoke. “Cassie and I were talking this morning. Given what we’ve been reading, what if Valeria arranged for fake Nighthunter sightings as a distraction? That way she’d have a better chance to corner Meredith and my uncle. We think that was around when she murdered Meredith.”
Old guilt and regret chilled the air. Sheriff Branham pursed his lips, letting out a slow breath. “We didn’t think of that, but it makes a lot of sense. Still, we need some proof to back that up.” He frowned at the space between us. “If true, we should’ve seen it. People would still be alive.”
My heartbeat felt loud in the quiet as the tea turned bitter on my tongue.
Cassidy smiled a little, scratching the silence as it fell. “Well, her journals make you want to scrub your brain off with soap… but Valeria took the time to plan her horror out pretty well. Also, remember that she was working for someone, so she had help.”
“Nighthunters,” Issac whispered from the shadows, materializing a piece at a time. “They’re an old problem. Easy distraction. So she was after those pens Elias and Meredith went on about?”
I nodded. “Yep. Her client wanted them. We’re pretty sure all four pens might be cursed.”
Naomi’s brow furrowed, eyes calculating. “Your uncle thought that. Cursed how?”
Cassidy sipped her tea, then shook her head. “Not really sure. It has something to do with some handwritten pages we keep tripping over. Y’all ever come across something like that?”
“Daniel’s uncle and Meredith did. Swore they were someone screaming for help. Bring them over sometime,” Naomi said softly. “Let me take a look with you.”
“Um, speaking of more than one problem,” I interrupted, then took a drink of my tea. “There’s been a guy coming around our shop asking some really pointed questions about a desk, similar to one in our basement. Dorian ran into this same guy, but under another name.”
Sheriff Branham’s eyes went hard around the edges. “What’s his name?”
“Hayes,” I said. “Caleb, or Price Hayes. He’s used both. There might be a tie from pens to desk to him. Have any of you heard of those names?”
“Hayes…” Branham echoed. Pulling out a pocket notebook, he jotted down the name.
“Lots of town gossip there,” Naomi said. “Price was from out of town, like up around Montgomery. Hayes? Land developer. They had an idea to refurbish old homes along the bayou. As for Altamont…” she shook her head, sipping her tea, eyes dark. “Most are gone, but some are left in Craigbrook. Lots of rumors about them having a secret ‘hunting club.’”
“The desk has a tiny brass plate with the name ‘Eugene Altamont’ on it,” Cassidy explained.
“Nighthunters hiding in plain sight,” Branham scoffed.
“Which is where that Bestiary came from,” Issac whispered from the dark.
I jumped as if stung when my phone buzzed. It was Dorian. I set down my tea. “Hold on. I need to take this.”
Stepping out of the room, I stopped halfway to the kitchen. “Hey Dorian, did you find anything?”
“Maybe so, maybe no,” he replied. I almost heard his half-grin over the phone. “My accountant arrived early. Said he found some property deeds in Valeria’s name. Have you heard of a Briarwood Manor?”
My brain stuttered for a half-second. “More than I want to. Dorian, get that damn pen away from your accountant. Bring it over to the shop, quick. Where are the deeds?”
“Not sure. But we’re tracking those down. One deed is for a spot near my place, past the cemetery.”
I realized the house had gone quiet as the others were openly listening to my conversation.
“…past the cemetery?” Issac huffed in the shadows. “Dryad country. Right about where I got murdered.”
“You’d best go meet your client,” Branham said. “We’ll find you later.”
We said our goodbyes, hurrying to the car, focused on meeting Dorian as fast as we could. Just as my hand touched the car door, a tall shadow draped over us. Cassidy’s eyes bulged wide, bleeding from human green to bat-brown in a full-blown panic; claws sliding out of her fingertips.
“Daniel!”
For more about Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries, Windtracer Tales, Legends of the Privateers, or any of my other works, please consider subscribing as I would really appreciate the support, sometimes I post behind the scenes on writing, worldbuilding and more.
If you’ve enjoyed this and are looking for a little more action, take the plunge here at the link over to Legends of the Privateers. But if action-archeology is more your style, take the leap over here to Windtracer Tales!
Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. To be honest, it’s a bit creepy, if not spooky, when is isn’t beside itself with nerves. It tends to be a little shy. Did I mention it likes to needlepoint because there’s lots of stabbing? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Which means, really, he gets all the blame.
Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or why-aren’t-they-dead-YET is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot. Like daily.