A Matter of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 1) by Ichabod Temperance Read Free Book Online Page B

valued secrets. Two hundred plus years old, this wing is the oldest surviving part of the Manor. Seized by a sense of impending doom, I rush to the family chapel. Pulling the heavy door open, I hurry into the place of refuge. I know there to be a secret place of hiding for the family going back for generations of Plumtartts. I carefully remove several relics from the altar. Finally, a painting depicting the Sermon on the Mount is removed. A small cabinet’s secret location is revealed to be built into the wall. Opening this hidden compartment, I see its solitary possession, a small, though strongly built, iron chest. I know with certainty that this is the terrible artifact of which Sir Arthur had spoken.
    I reach for the iron box...

Chapter 17 – Trapped.
    Ichabod
    “What’s the matter Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am? You snapped your hand back away from that little metal box like it was gonna bite you!”
    “I do beg your pardon, Mr. Temperance, but I have a sudden, unexplainable revulsion to touching this object. May I prevail upon you to carry it for me?”
    “Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am!”
    Miss Plumtartt is so pretty and such a fine girl. She could ask me to carry an armful of angry pit vipers, and I wouldn’t hesitate nor complain.
    “This is kind of an awkward little box, ain’t it? It’s about twelve inches long and three inches square.”
    Miss Plumtartt snaps her head toward the door. A wave of despair passes over her lovely features.
    At the same time I hear our horse scream out in mad terror.
    “Come on, Miss Plumtartt, you and me better skidaddle.”
    I grab Miss Plumtartt by the hand and pull her from the chapel. Miss Plumtartt led the way in, but with my sense of direction and urgency, I have decided to lead the way out. We fly to an outside door. I hurriedly unlock it and pull.
    The door opens an inch.
    I put my boot to the wall and pull with strength. The door slowly opens another couple of inches, but stops. Some horrible, glue-like substance holds the portal fast. A thick, sticky, organic rope-like material criss crosses the doorway in many places from the outside and refuses to let the door be swung inward. We can hear rapid movement outside and upon the house. A frenetic and freakish scuttling resounds through the old stones as something big scurries about the mansion with inconceivable speed.
    “Come on, Miss Plumtartt, let’s try the front door!”
    Dashing to the front entry hall, the way we came in just a few minutes prior, we find the exit in the same condition as the other door. The thick sticky ropes hold the great double doors shut against us. I ram my shoulder into the barrier in an attempt to force it open, but it stubbornly refuses me. It is amazing, and impossible to conceive, but something has bottled us up in the house. We have been wrapped up like a Russian papoose in only a few short minutes. Taking up a heavy bust (that of King George III, I think) and with a running start, I heave the weighty object through a window. Impossibly, it sticks, halfway through. The marbled Imperial Monarch appears to sputter, ‘what? what? what?’ as he realizes himself in such an undignified and strange position.
    “Mr. Temperance, something has entered the hallway upstairs.”
    “Yes, Ma’am. It sounded like a big ‘un. I think I’m gonna put on my ‘Green Beauties’ spectro-enhancing goggles.”
    Rapid and terribly stout taps echo down the lofty hallways, heralding the approach of something big and bad. The industrial rhythm of the impossibly fast hammer strikes are less uniform than the devil-prawn of last night. The asymmetrical beats quickly drum their way to the banister, to reveal our antagonist.
    I blanch and nearly falter at the sight. Bigger than a grand piano, is our uninvited guest. This creature is very different than the crustacean from evening last. Putting a few of his too many legs on the upstairs rail, the grotesque aberration looks down upon us. Despite its