《The Strange and Magical World of Mad Doctor Crepsley》


 Prologue: The Child Who Dreams

    Prologue


    The Child Who Dreams


    People say that only misfortune would happen in the midst of a stormy night. To the people living in Lower Heysdale knew this as a fact and held the belief as something close to their own heart.


    Lloyd Scuggins, owner of the Blue Shears Tavern, swore by the aforesaid motto and was known to close up early when the storm was coming.


    Tonight, it was especially stormy. The wind blew harshly over the trees, threatening to blow down everything that weren¡¯t nailed down. It howled and tore at the canvas outside.


    ¡°Cripes. Look at dat weather! Feels like somethin¡¯s abrewin¡¯ in de devil¡¯s cauldron!¡±


    ¡°Again wid de old wife¡¯s tale, Scuggins!? I tole ya, no one¡¯s coming here even if it ain¡¯t spittin¡¯ ice out dere!¡± He spat, ¡°yer pie tasted like rat¡¯s ass.¡±


    ¡°Yer free to stop eatin¡¯, den!¡±


    Cray shrugged as he bit into his pie. ¡°Never said I don¡¯t like rat¡¯s ass, Scuggins.¡±


    Cray the greengrocer swiped another piece of pie from the table and put on his cloak.


    ¡°A¡¯right den. See ya tomorrow, if yer place still stands.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll damn will!!¡±


    Knock Knock.


    Cray opened the door. Suddenly a big gust of wind flung the door open, nearly off its hinges, bringing droplets of water and cold wind inside. The wind put out the candles and all of a sudden, there was a mysterious figure in cloak standing in front of the door. He was short, stocky, and lurched a bit. He moved with the ease of an unoiled machine.


    Lloyd Scuggins stared at the new guy, sizing him up. He intended to tell him off, but what came out was anything but menacing. ¡°T-the tavern¡¯s closed.¡±


    ¡°Evening, thurs. Thorry if I thcare you, do you happen to know the road to Elmore Hill?¡±


    Tension left his shoulders when he heard the man talk. He didn¡¯t sound like he meant harm. Lloyd had been robbed enough times to know the difference. ¡°Elmore Hill? What¡¯cha gonna do dere in de middle of this storm!?


    ¡°My mashter happen to own that hill.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°But de only thing on dat hill is-¡±


    Before he even finished talking, the man held up a shiny golden coin between his fingers, ¡°I have a gold coin for your trouble,¡±


    At the sight of the gleaming coin, Lloyd quickly gathered his guts and pointed North. ¡°It lies dat way. It is beyond the river and Smith¡¯s Smithies.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the man flicked the coin. It landed on top of the counter with a satisfying plunk.


    When he turned to see him, the man had already vanished.


    There were neighs outside, a loud cry, a thunderclap and then everything was silent again, except for the beating of the rafters.


    Lloyd Scuggins took the coin and bit it. It was real. And a crooked smile appeared on his lips. As he pocketed the coin, he called out to Cray. ¡°Cray, ya coward! Stop sittin¡¯ on yer butts and close the door. It¡¯s gettin¡¯ chilly in ¡®ere.¡±


    But Cray didn¡¯t move. He was still on the floor, trembling.


    ¡°Cray?¡±


    ¡°Dat face! ¡®s like a monster!¡±


    A pair of horses pulling a carriage went down the road without caring of the storm. They let out a grunt every time their hooves touched the ground, sparks flew as they did.


    ¡°So how was it, Igor?¡±


    ¡°Just a few minuteth more, mathter.¡±


    ¡°I see the villagers have given my house an amusing name,¡± the one Igor respectfully addressed as mathter ventured. His lower and upper jaw was misaligned, causing the man to lisp.


    ¡°Why do we have to return to this godforsaken village, Mathter?¡±


    ¡°Because the Oracle said it so. The Child Who Dreams has appeared. And we will find him. The one who will decide the fate of the world.¡±


    <hr>


    England in the 1800¡¯s was a bad time for babies to be born. It was a time when health was something you buy and most of the people were too poor to care.


    In Lower Heysdale, a town so poor that boots were considered staple, a man watched as a woman gave birth on a birthing table. His eyes were empty and unfocused. Like a man watching a scene that wasn¡¯t there.


    Before he even realized it, he felt his arms holding something warm and heavy. And he was pushed from the warm glow of the house to a chilling November weather outside. For the briefest second, the man looked at his arms where a baby boy ¨C still red from birth ¨C was sleeping in a crude yellowing cloth with a big rusty key around his neck.


    And his eyes glowed with sanity, something he had lost long ago.


    Then he walked, advancing slowly against the wind and snow. He ignored the freezing cold, not even knowing his destination, only that he must keep on walking. Without warning, the white snow that surrounded him turned black, white, and then black again. From the shadows of the snow came long arms which reached out to the baby. White teeth appeared on the surface of the arms, ripping through the arm¡¯s ethereal flesh like opened wounds.


    The teeth splith apart, forming misshapen mouths that uttered incorrigible words.


    ¡°You will not take him!¡± he said at the top of his lung. As soon as he said that, blood gushes out of his mouth. He ignored the pain and took out an old bronze wand. He wove an intricate patterns in the air and the air grew hot. A bright light came out of the wand and formed a dome which enlarged and snuff out the darkness.


    When the spell vanished, the man fell. A drop of blood stained the white snow crimson. He looked at the baby, still sleeping without a care, and he found a new strength welling up inside. He forced his legs to move until his eyes spotted a window glowing with the warmth of a fire and walked to its door.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my son...I didn¡¯t even get a chance to give you a name.¡±


    With the last of his strength, he balled a fist and beat on the heavy door. Shortly after, the poor man slipped to his death in the snow, wearing the smile of a father having accomplished his mission.

 Chapter 1: Oliver, his life and his woes

    Chapter 1


    Oliver, his life and his woes


    As fate has it, the door the poor man had knocked on belonged to the son of the Head Butler of the richest household in Upper Heysdale. The Reinfelds.


    The son - of course - wanted nothing to do with the baby being the scoundrel that he was. Mrs. Connelly, his mother who was home at the time had another idea, however. With a slap upon his head and a thorough lecturing with no dinner at the end, the baby was swiftly taken in by the Head Butler¡¯s wife and was named Oliver.


    It was an undeniable surprise to her husband later. The stern, stony faced gentleman did not agree to this. But Mrs. Connelly was adamant, giving him a full week of cold shoulder. Not long after he gave in and took him in. Even so, he did not give him a last name.


    And thus, Oliver lived with the Connelys until his sixth birthday. Upon which time, he was taken to the main mansion to live there as a servant under the stairs.


    The man never did grow to love him as he merely tolerated his existence out of love for his wife.


    Oliver was small for his age, but he compensated with hard work, something that the senior servants thought of as arrogance. His place as a hall boy did not make things easier for him either.


    He had a particular feeling about him. Something resilient and indomitable. It made him a constant target for the Renfield¡¯s spoiled little princess who found him an excellent target for her little tantrums and or any sorts of unbecoming words.


    Even though he worked hard, Oliver¡¯s work was often criticized, mostly because it was him doing the work. And so the label stuck.


    But he refused to give up. A man needs to be worthy of his job, so said the Head Butler; the man who was as close as Oliver understood to be a father figure.


    And he tried to be worthy. All the time. Even if he was blamed for something that he did not do, he would buck up and take it. And by doing so, he survived.


    Time went on and contrary to expectations, Oliver survived to reach his fourteenth winter.


    It was a brisk, freezing winter morning in Upper Heysdale. The beautiful garden that was its pride had a light blanket of white over it and the well had a thin film of freeze at the top.


    Oliver yawned as he skipped down the stair. He was late to wake. Morning came early to the servants. Wake up a minute late and one must go through the day with empty stomach. Breakfasts were always a war of attrition and he had been losing for two days now, with many thanks to the selfish little princess. Seeing the cleaned-out table sent fear up his spine.


    ¡°Is there anything left?¡± he whined.


    ¡°None. You should wake up early if you want any grub.¡±


    Louie, a servant who was like his older brother waved his spatula. ¡°You look like a mess. Are you having nightmares again?¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Louie was the only servant who did not make fun of or pegged him to be a loser. He was handsome, tall, and liked by everyone. And he was only two years older. Over time, they began to treat each other as brothers.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± He scooped some water from the basin and splashed the freezing cold water against his face. ¡°And it¡¯s the same dream. Over and over again,¡± he said while shivering from the cold.


    ¡°Sucks to be you. Here, towel. And dress yourself faster next time!¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s too big for me. I kept telling you that! I tripped everytime I tried to move!¡±


    His clothes were a poor affair of used clothes from older servants who had outgrown theirs. They were hardly enough to shield him from the wind.


    ¡°Hatchoo!! (Sniffle)¡±


    ¡°Are you sick, Oliver? Then go out to the garden and pull out the weed, it¡¯ll warm you some!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s really cold outside!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I gave you that coat, right? Come on! Those who don¡¯t work don¡¯t eat! Go on, chop chop!¡± The older boy clapped his hands together, mimicking the head butler¡¯s habit and laughed.


    Oliver sniffled and threw him a thin frown before braving the cold outside.


    ¡°Nggh¡­NGGH!!¡±


    Oliver grimaced as he tried to pull another leaf of weed. Three hours had passed and his hands were now dry and bleeding. He rubbed his hands and licked them in hope to lessen the pain, but it just made it worse.


    Suddenly, his vision turned upside down and he felt wetness all over his face.


    ¡°Hello Oliver!? Are you free to play? You are free right? Not like you can do anything right anyway!¡±


    ¡°J-jamie¡­!¡±


    Jamie Crowe and his two younger brothers, Conney and Mark. They were the sons of Upper Heysdale Mayor. They were cruel and chock full of evil. They had been torturing him for six years.


    ¡°Oliver the bastard child! He has no mom and no dad! Oliver the coward! He doesn¡¯t have the guts to stand up and fight!!¡±


    Jackie, the youngest of the brothers, pushed his face deeper into the mud.


    ¡°Hmmph¡­MMPH!! F-fop bit!!¡±


    ¡°Make us!¡± Jamie yelled out as he kicked his face.


    ¡°Oof!!¡±


    Just as he was about to be kicked once more, a loud voice came from inside the house.


    ¡°HEY!!¡±


    A pretty girl in golden curls came running in her Sunday frills. Her red cherry lips and clear blue eyes were like that of a doll.


    ¡°M-miriam!¡±


    All of them exclaimed.


    Miriam Renfield was the sole daughter of House Renfield. Spoiled like an angel and as beautiful as one ¨C or so her parents said. To Oliver she was no different than a little devil.


    But to Jamie and his brothers, she was the very image of beauty and were all head over heels for her.


    Normally people would be happy to be helped out by their master. But not Oliver. He knew better.


    ¡°You can¡¯t bully Oliver! The only one that can bully him is me!¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Miriam...¡± The brothers said bashfully. ¡°That is a very nice dress, Miriam.¡±


    ¡°My mother specially ordered it made in London. Beautiful isn¡¯t it?¡± she chuckled as she twirled around. Her radiant smile made the older Jamie blush.


    ¡°You look beautiful in it.¡±


    Suddenly her tone changed. ¡°So I am not beautiful without the dress?¡±


    ¡°N-no! We mean, uh...we mean, hey guys! Help me out!¡±


    ¡°Hmh, I don¡¯t expect boys like you understand an adult¡¯s charm,¡± she folded her arms haughtily. ¡°So what were you guys doing here?¡±


    ¡°We just want to, er...ask you if you want to come with us...um, shopping. There is a new candy store in town. So we were wondering...¡±


    ¡°A new candy store!?¡± she exclaimed. ¡°So what are we waiting for? Let us go!¡±


    The boys beamed with excitement at her agreement. In contrast to their joy, Oliver''s face grew sour and a bad premonition arrived upon him.


    ¡°You are coming too, Oliver!¡±


    ¡°Why are you taking the orphan boy? If you want guards, we can do much better that this beggar!¡± the eldest Crowe voiced his displeasure as he glanced at Oliver, who was wiping his face with the sleeves of his coat.


    ¡°He is coming! A lady needs to have a servant handy at all times!¡±


    ¡°Yes Miriam...¡± They all answered together, faithfully like dogs.


    Oliver gritted his teeth inwardly, but outside, he was all smiles. ¡°Young miss. It would be better if you bring your handmaid. She is the one holding the money.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense. We¡¯ll sneak out as usual. And of course, you will pay for me, right?¡±


    Jamie and his followers smiled. They were after all, the sons of the Mayor. They had more money than regular commoner children. And to gain her favor, they would even sacrifice their pocket money.


    ¡°Yes, Miriam.¡±


    Oliver groaned. He knew then that he would have to face another bout of her tantrums and there would be nothing he could do. It was his fate. The fate of an orphan.