Deep Sea Embers

As Duncan continued to focus on the artwork, allowing his eyes to follow the tangle of shapes and hues, he realized that the chaotic patterns were evolving into discernible forms. What initially appeared to be random shadows began to coalesce into definitive lines. The seemingly indiscriminate blobs of color started to take on recognizable shapes.

Suddenly, the painting seemed to come alive. It portrayed a powerful blaze, almost like a fireball, soaring through a thick layer of clouds to crash into a turbulent sea below. The blazing entity split the sky in half, and the ocean churned angrily beneath it as if protesting the intrusion. And looming behind this dramatic scene was a menacing figure, enshrouded in dark crimson tones, appearing as a harbinger of some apocalyptic event.

Interestingly, Duncan found that the painting echoed a fleeting vision he had once had. In that vision, a trident-shaped spacecraft, engulfed in flames, spiraled down from the sky before exploding in a magnificent splash into the ocean.

Upon closer examination, though, Duncan realized that the artwork was not an exact match to his earlier vision. The spacecraft from his memory was a marvel of advanced technology, easily recognizable by its futuristic design and grandiose presence. By contrast, the object in the painting seemed archaic, perhaps even a wooden ship, encircled by flames that looked more like natural fire than the advanced propulsion of a spaceship.

It was as if the artist, who might have lived in medieval times, had been driven to the edge of sanity and had dreamt of a futuristic vehicle. However, lacking the context or the vocabulary to fully understand what he had seen, he was forced to interpret this advanced technology through his own limited artistic lens. This resulted in a painting filled with ambiguous symbols and unsettling imagery.

Just as Duncan was deeply engrossed in his contemplation of the painting, he was interrupted by the voice of the mansion’s headless butler. “Are you intrigued by this painting, sir?” the butler inquired, breaking Duncan’s intense focus.

Intrigued, Duncan asked with a note of curiosity, “What can you tell me about the origins of these oil paintings that adorn the walls of this mansion?”

“The paintings have always been here, sir,” the headless butler replied in a tone that was measured and composed, betraying no urgency.

“Always?” Duncan pressed, his voice tinged with an air of confusion. “Do you mean since the very moment this grand structure, known as Alice’s Mansion, was erected? Or perhaps you mean since Alice herself took on her role as the mistress of this estate?”

“From the dawn of time, sir,” the butler intoned, “prior to any events or existences one could possibly conceive of.”

Duncan’s brow furrowed involuntarily, his face a tableau of perplexity. The butler’s reply felt cryptic, frustratingly nebulous, almost like a riddle without an answer. He scrutinized the headless figure before him, but reading emotion or intent from a being without a face proved impossible. What remained were courteous but empty words.

Taking a moment to marshal his thoughts, Duncan formulated two more questions. “Does the painting we were discussing have a name? Can you elaborate on its subject matter?”

“The painting is, in fact, nameless, as are all the paintings that grace these walls,” the butler informed him. “They exist for their own sake, free from the constraints of titles or interpretations. As to what it portrays, I must regretfully admit that the subject exceeds my comprehension.”

“Surely, as the housekeeper of this place, you should be familiar with its many nuances, shouldn’t you?” Duncan prodded, a touch of disbelief entering his tone.

“I am merely a servant, sir. This mansion harbors an array of enigmas, protected and secluded in its depths. The knowledge of such mysteries is not intended to fall within the scope of a servant’s responsibilities.”

A brief flicker of irritation twitched at the corners of Duncan’s mouth. Part of him wanted to push the butler further, to pry more information from him, but he quickly squashed the urge. This was Alice’s Mansion, a place with its own peculiar customs and unknown dangers. Challenging the butler could jeopardize the safety of Alice herself, so he resolved to tread carefully.

Taking a deep, quiet breath to regain his composure, Duncan’s eyes drifted over the numerous paintings that decorated the expansive hallway. Each was a cascade of colors and abstract forms, but unlike the painting that had initially captivated him, none of these seemed to morph or change under his scrutiny.

Finally, he spoke. “Let us move on,” he said, feeling a pang of regret as he tore his gaze away from the mesmerizing artworks. Turning to the headless butler, he issued his next directive. “Please lead me to the garden you mentioned earlier.”

The headless butler executed a slight bow of acknowledgment before turning to continue their guided tour of the mansion. Leading Duncan across the opulent landing on the second floor, they descended the intricately designed spiral staircase. Once on the first floor, they navigated through the expansive hall, eventually arriving at a narrow corridor that led to the mansion’s secluded rear garden.

However, before proceeding down the corridor, Duncan hesitated and looked back. His eyes were drawn to the opposite end of the hall where a plush, vibrant red carpet culminated at a massive, dark wooden door. The door was framed by tall, slender windows that offered glimpses of thorny bushes planted just beyond the glass.

“It almost seems like the gateway to the entire mansion,” Duncan thought aloud.

Suddenly, curiosity ignited within him, and he found himself asking, “What’s on the other side of that door?”

The instant Duncan’s question escaped his lips, he noticed the headless butler visibly quiver—an unprecedented break in the servant’s usually unflappable demeanor. “I must urge you, sir, to quell any curiosity about what lies beyond that door,” the butler responded, his tone unusually unsettled. “That is a pathway to an irrevocable destiny, an abyss of eternal torment.”

“A pathway to nowhere?” Duncan’s eyes narrowed, his expression gravitating towards stern seriousness. “Why would you describe it in such ominous terms? Could it be some sort of portal to another dimension?”

“Another realm, you say? I can’t fathom what you mean, but I implore you, never attempt to open that door,” the butler cautioned. He began to wave his arms in an agitated manner, clearly unsettled. The door, it seemed, was sacrosanct—a forbidden territory within the mansion that no one was allowed to cross.

“However, I’m not bound by the rules of this place,” Duncan pointed out, his eyes twinkling with a provocative eagerness. He had noticed the butler’s emotional perturbation and considered it a significant clue to understanding the mansion’s mysterious nature. “You said earlier that I hold the key, implying that I have the capability to unlock any door here.”

“True, you do possess a key, sir. But employing it on that particular door would be a grave mistake,” the headless butler warned, his tone steeped in palpable anxiety. Despite being constrained by his role—and perhaps by rules he couldn’t divulge—he made increasingly frantic gestures and used more urgent language to dissuade Duncan. “For the sake of everyone within this dwelling, I beg you not to unlock that door.”

“What really is behind that door?” Duncan fixed a hard, unyielding gaze on the butler, his voice imbued with grave seriousness.

The butler seemed to falter for a moment, stuttering as though struggling to organize his thoughts into coherent speech. “Behind that door… beyond that door,” he hesitated, “lies a world in ruins. An apocalyptic doom is imminent, and that door serves as a seal holding back the end of days. I beseech you, do not unseal that threshold and unleash the apocalypse upon us.”

Duncan’s eyebrows knit together in a deep furrow as he absorbed the headless butler’s frantic and fragmented revelations. The words “a world in ruins” and “imminent apocalyptic doom” reverberated unsettlingly in his mind. Could it be that the mansion was not just an enigmatic residence but a fortress against some looming catastrophe?

After a few moments of intense contemplation, he took a deep breath and exhaled, as if discharging the weight of the unsettling information he had just received. “Don’t worry,” he finally said, offering a reassuring nod in the direction of the headless servant. “I had no intention of opening that ominous door to begin with.”

The relief that washed over the butler was almost palpable. Despite the absence of a head or face to express emotion, the sudden release of tension in his posture was unmistakable.

“Your words earlier had unsettled me greatly,” admitted the butler, his tone regaining its measured cadence as he resumed his guided path. “I urge you to refrain from making such distressing inquiries in the future. The apocalypse has already consumed much of the world, and this mansion is the last sanctuary.”

Duncan remained silent, carefully observing the butler’s demeanor as they walked through the narrow corridor. Eventually, they reached a glass door framed with dark, robust steel. The steel framework divided the translucent glass into a variety of geometric shapes, each filled with etchings of flowers and plants. The overall aesthetic was oddly disquieting as if a fairy tale world had collided with a darker, more ominous realm.

“The mistress is awaiting you in the garden. Please make yourself comfortable,” said the butler, twisting the door’s handle and taking a step back.

“You’re not coming with me?” Duncan asked, visibly surprised.

“The garden is a private space reserved for the mistress and those who possess the key. Even the gardener only enters when it’s absolutely necessary,” the butler clarified. “Should you need assistance, a slender rope is available near the entrance. Pull it, and I will come to the gate immediately.”

“Thank you for leading me here,” Duncan responded, diverting his attention away from the butler’s unsettling presence.

With a gentle push, he opened the creaking glass door, crossing the threshold into the secluded garden.

The immediate shift in atmosphere was astonishing. As the door swung shut behind him, his eyes were bathed in brilliant sunlight—a stark contrast to the mansion’s otherwise gloomy, enigmatic interior.

Sunlight. Actual, life-affirming sunlight.

It struck Duncan that, within the heart of this eerie, labyrinthine mansion, there existed a sanctuary filled with the warmth and light of the sun.

Duncan’s sense of wonder soared as he delved deeper into the garden. His eyes roamed over the lush scene before him, taking in intricately designed flower beds bursting with a multitude of colors, shrubs sculpted to perfection, and meandering pathways flanked by vividly green grass. The garden seemed to revel in an ethereal warmth that suffused the air, lending a surreal glow to every leaf and petal.

However, as he tilted his head skyward, that initial sense of awe started to wane, replaced by a nagging discomfort. What met his gaze was far from the ordinary sky one would expect to see outdoors. Instead, he was confronted by an eerie artistic interpretation, almost childlike in its execution. Patches of blue, interspersed with crude white cotton-like clouds and simplistic golden rays, made up a fantastical sky. The center was dominated by an equally amateurish doodle of a sun, radiating lines of golden light. It was from this “sun” that the garden drew its otherworldly illumination.

Despite the whimsical charm of the overhead tableau, Duncan felt a deep sense of unease gnawing at him. This wasn’t just a quaint sky; it was a harbinger of the garden’s underlying strangeness. Shaking off a shudder, he averted his gaze from the peculiar sky and turned his attention back to the garden’s earthly aspects.

Soon, his eyes caught a peculiar splash of color that seemed out of place amidst the greenery and blooms. Driven by a blend of curiosity and apprehension, he moved briskly toward the source, dodging through clusters of thick shrubbery and skirting a diminutive wall adorned with an array of flowers.

As he reached the area where several pathways converged, he found himself in a secluded clearing at the garden’s heart. The atmosphere here was markedly different—hushed and solemn. Dominating the clearing was a single figure seated tranquilly as if absorbed in deep meditation or perhaps caught in the throes of sleep.

This figure rested against a grand marble column, which itself was covered in ivy and flowering vines. Yet, as Duncan edged closer, he realized that the romantic imagery of the flowering tendrils was marred by an unsettling detail—numerous sharp, black thorns peppered the vines, coiling menacingly around the figure’s form as if holding her captive in a vegetative snare.

Duncan’s breath was caught in his throat for a moment as he processed the dichotomy of the beautiful yet imprisoning spectacle. The figure, both regal and vulnerable in her entangled repose, drew his gaze irresistibly.

“Alice?” he finally managed to utter, the word barely more than a whisper, laden with a complicated mix of concern, bewilderment, and anticipation.