Odd Prompts: A Knocking Cometh

This is a snip of my ongoing WIP, a sequel to The Groundskeeper: Raking up the Dead. 

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“You are a goth.” Mr. Cruor’s smile over the rim of his cup was slightly crooked. “That is what they call it these days, yes? Have you seen the work of the excellent Charles Addams? I believe I have a book of his here if you have not.” 

“I’m a pastel Goth.” Chloe sipped her tea. Della had the knack of making it hot enough to get the flavor out of the leaves, but not so hot it burned. “I like lavendars and greys. But yes, also snakes and skulls.” 

“No spiders?” 

She looked up and caught the twinkle. He was teasing her now. “You should just be happy I’m not a glitter Goth!” She shot back at him, deadpan. 

Mr Crour shuddered visibly. “I do have my limits of strange.” 

Chloe giggled and had to set her teacup down until she could stop. She wasn’t going to spill the tea on Della’s lovely table. 

The doorbell rang, and Chloe jumped. Her cup, safely on the table, didn’t budge. Mr. Cruor, who had started to lift his for a sip, froze. Only for an instant before the cup smoothly journeyed back to it’s saucer. 

“How... unexpected.” He murmured. “I suppose I shall go answer it.” 

Chloe blinked, then thought of the reaction a normal human would have to meeting Della, or worse, Trunk at the door. Trunk had the personality of a shy scholar, and the face ripped from a rock wall, complete with ferns and mosses. She occasionally helped him mist the hard-to-reach spots and he was very proud of his greenery, explaining to her the rarer specimens and how he had acquired them. Bridge trolls were not your everyday encounter. 

“I’ll go.” She got up. 

“I rather think we both ought to go.” He was already standing. 

“The main gates were closed.” Chloe followed him, his long legs making a pace she almost had to trot to match, “I don’t know how someone could have gotten in without a key.” 

“There are ways.” Mr. Crour didn’t elaborate, and they were in the lobby. The lights were on, and Chloe glanced around her. 

“Ready?” Her boss, one long hand on the elegantly curved bronze door handle, looked at her. There was a knocking - more like a pounding - on the outside. 

Chloe nodded, knowing her eyes were round. 

The door swung inwards, and the man on the outside, one hand raised to strike again, stumbled forward in surprise. 

“You rang?” Mr. Cruor drew himself up to his full height and looked down his knife-blade thin nose at the stocky policeman. 

“I didn’t think anyone was going to answer.” The policeman, who was in full dark-blue uniform with the bulk of a bulletproof vest under his blouse, straightened up and frowned irritably at the keeper of the cemetery. “You Cruor?”

Chloe didn’t think her boss could get any more icy and hoity-toity, but he managed. “I have that pleasure.” 

“I have something for you. Sergeant said it was to come to you.” For the first time, the policeman noticed Chloe. He frowned harder. “I’ll need you to sign for it, it’s evidence.” 

Mr. Cruor lost some of the tension he’d been holding himself upright with. “Ah. I see. Very well, then. Come, Miss Brandt.” 

Chloe trailed after him and down the shallow stairs towards the drive. It was still light enough she could see the motorcycle. The policeman walked to the back of it, and opened one of the rigid saddlebags, pulling out a square box. “You’ll sign on the seal.”

He offered a pen, and Mr. Cruor meekly signed where indicated, then handed the box off to Chloe, who took it gingerly. It was not heavy, and she resisted the urge to shake it and see if it rattled. Mr. Cruor signed again, this time on a clipboard he was offered. The patrol officer dropped that back into the saddlebag and picked up his helmet. “Sergeant said you were to call him with any questions.” He looked at Chloe. “I don’t know anything, and I don't want to know anything.” He crammed on his helmet and swung his leg over the big motorcycle, firing up the engine in almost the same movement. 

As he roared away, Mr. Cruor watched him go. His eyes were sunken and shadowed with the dying light. He turned to Chloe when he could be heard again. “There are a few keys to the front gate not in my keeping.” 

He didn’t elaborate, but turned the rest of the way and went back up the stairs they had just come down. Chloe hurried after him, holding the box with both hands. Something shifted inside, something hard. She followed him all the way back to the library. He gestured at the table. “Place the box there.” 

“What is it?” Chloe asked, feeling more comfortable in this sanctuary. 

“An unpleasant surprise, no doubt.” He went to his desk and opened a drawer. “Ah. Would you please ring the bell for Miss Della?” 

“Sure.” Chloe headed for the archaic velvet rope that dangled next to the door and gave it a gentle tug. She knew that this would, in theory, set off a bell somewhere. She’d seen it in a movie. She’d never been out of her allowed part of the house, though. Not that she was forbidden, it was just that the library was permitted, in some unspoken pact. 

“She will take the tea service.” Mr. Cruor had a roll of something like paper in his hand. “And then we will open the box with proper precaution.” 

Chloe decided that it would be nice if she cleared the tea things onto the trolley, and had just finished this little chore when Della entered the room. Chloe backed away a little guiltily, but the skeleton just nodded slightly and pushed the trolley out of the room again. 

“Now.” Mr. Cruor unrolled what he’d been holding, which turned out to be a heavy paper with plastic lining one side of it. 

Chloe looked at it. “That looks like...” 

“It is.” He cut her off. “If you would place the box on the paper, please, I would like to keep from potentially damaging the table.” 

Chloe did as she was told, and her boss produced a slender silver blade seemingly from thin air. At her expression, he stopped and let out a rare dry chuckle. “It is not magic, Miss Brandt. Merely a sleeve holster with a clever spring mechanism. I shall show it to you another time, I think you will be intrigued.” 

Chloe nodded and stepped to his side as he slit the seal and paper tape under it. 

“And now...” He murmured, lifting the lid free of the box. 

The familiar pale dome of a skull gleamed from the dark interior. They both leaned over the table, staring down at it. 

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This week I was prompted by 'Nother Mike, with "When the policeman opened the saddlebag on the motorcycle, there was a skull inside…"

My prompt went to  Leigh Kimmel with "At the end of things, there is a beginning" 

You can read all the prompt responses and join in on the challenge fun over at More Odds Than Ends. The MOTE crew would be happy to have you!