Wax and Wane

I was away from Tumbledown managing my own affairs for the next few days. Life does go on and you can only miss so many days away from the office before your customers begin to worry. The longer I stayed away from Tumbledown, the more surreal the events seemed and eventually they took on a dream-like quality. I had managed to convince myself that it was all a hallucination and made up my mind to auction off the entire estate without ever visiting it again. Even the link with Lurk had faded away into a barely noticeable thread. In fact, the memory of Lurk was something that my mind skirted around completely.

I was fortunate enough to run my own business, small as it was. My partner Paul had managed nicely enough while I was away, but I could see his relief when I returned. Paul was not a people person, he worked much better with computers. I wasn't much of a people person either, but compared to me, Paul was severely handicapped by his shyness.

The weeks passed in a blur; there were computers to fix, networks to manage, and of course, clients to talk with. I never spoke of what happened at Tumbledown, in fact, when Paul asked I evaded his questions. He must have taken my reticence as a sign that I was still upset over Edgar's passing, because he didn't press for many details and seemed happy to swing back into routine.

As the month of July progressed, I couldn't shake the image of the full moon out of my head. No matter where I looked, I saw the blasted thing, hanging over the horizon like some double exposure in my brain. A sense of urgency was building and I felt a compelling desire to leave my offices and return to Tumbledown. I paced restlessly, until the eve of the 17th when the presence of lurk exploded in my mind, frantic with urgency.

I had to return to tumbledown and carry out Edgar's wishes.

The Letter

Honoring Edgar's wishes, I opened the letter when I arrived at Tumbledown. The paper was yellowed with age, as if he had written it many years ago before sealing it and remanding it to the executor. I could smell the stale, lingering odor of his apple Cavendish pipe tobacco on the papers as I read the contents.

I suppose I could bore you with all the minutiae of the letter, or retype the contents, but the truth is that many of the things it contained are personal and some few could be dangerous.

However, the gist of the letter was clear. Make friends with Lurk, the house familiar by leaving a bowl of milk and honey by the fireplace. Wait for the full moon and renew the wards that protect the house. Visit his grave on the new moon and place a ward around it with salt.

My opinion of Edgar was always high, but my head shook with disbelief as I read the letter over and over. His... eccentricity... was often remarked upon, but I had no idea as to the depths that it went. The only thing that kept me from burning the letter and shutting the place up until I could sell it was his post script "Nephew, I know you will find the contents of this letter hard to believe, so I must offer you proof of my sanity. Feed Lurk and call his true name, Elemanzer. Oh, he will answer to Lurk readily enough, but only once you befriend him with the ritual offering and make him yours. You will have no doubts when you have befriended Lurk."

With a self conscious grin I found the milk and a jar of local honey. The milk was a few days past expiration, but smelled good to my nose. I envisioned Lurk as a cat of some sort, so in a shallow dish I mixed the milk and honey and set it upon the hearth.

"Lurk!" I called. "Here Lurk! Kitty, kitty, kitty!"

When no cat immediately appeared, I settled in the large rocking chair across from the fireplace and reread the letter.

Feed Lurk and call his true name, Elemanzer.

What the hell.

"Elemanzar!" I called. "Here Kitty..." and my words died in my throat. Elemanzar was not a cat. Elemanzar was the least cat-like thing I had ever laid my eyes upon. I watched in frozen terror as the small, black creature slunk around the firewood, leapt upon the hearth and with a wary eye upon me, lapped at the milk and honey with a bright red tongue.

Pausing in its lapping for a moment, a sibilant whisper came to my ear "I am not a cat."