The Phenomenals: A Game of Ghouls by F E Higgins Read Free Book Online

Jonah hoisted him on to his shoulders from where, rather awkwardly,
Vincent picked the lock. The hatch was still stuck, however, so Jonah pushed harder and it gave suddenly, slamming noisily down on the floor above. Jonah gave Vincent a leg-up through the
opening.
    ‘Careful,’ warned Citrine behind him. ‘Knowing the Degringolades, there could be anything up there.’
    Like what? wondered Vincent, then said aloud, ‘It’s some sort of storeroom. Do you think we’ve reached the city?’
    Folly’s face creased with a knowing smile. ‘Not the city;
Degringolade Manor
!’

C HAPTER 8
D ECREPITUDE
    Vincent could hear Citrine protesting below as he stood and surveyed his new surroundings. His initial excitement waned somewhat when nothing of any great interest was
revealed. He was in a larder to be precise, but it had an air of long abandonment, smelling of mildew and dead mice and decay. It was patently obvious that not a soul had set foot in the place for
years. It was now the domain of spiders which, unhindered by humans, had patiently spun their thick sticky webs from point to point across the room and back again. A rat circumspectly emerged from
behind a bag on a low shelf and then quite brazenly stood on its hind legs and eyed the intruder. Vincent shivered. Rodents made his flesh crawl.
    Behind him his companions climbed up through the hole (using Jonah as a stepping stone) and the air became thick with the dust raised by the newcomers’ feet. Citrine was holding her hand
over her mouth to avoid inhaling it. ‘We must be the first people in here for years.’
    ‘You mean decades,’ mumbled Jonah through his collar, once he had hoisted himself up to join the others.
    Citrine noted that this larder was significantly larger than the one in the Capodel Townhouse. It was cool, as was to be expected given its purpose, and there was a small window, high up in the
wall, though no light came through its opaque pane. From a ladder-like frame attached to the ceiling there hung an array of copper pots and pans. The deep slate shelves were still laden with food
containers, tins and cartons and bags, their contents mainly unidentifiable and shredded by mice. On a large tarnished platter sat the skull of a hog and on the floor beneath the shelves there were
sacks of grain and flour and sugar, once full but now deflated and rotting away.
    ‘Could be useful stuff here,’ said Folly, eying the pots.
    ‘Later.’ Vincent was impatient to get going. He could think of far more useful things than pots to take away from a house this size. ‘Let’s explore.’
    ‘Maybe we should we stay together,’ suggested Citrine, ‘for safety.’
    Vincent scoffed loudly. ‘There’s nanyone here. The place is derelict.’ He led them out of the larder and through the kitchen, between the wide food-preparation counters, past
the dusty grey range oven, now cold but once the warm heart of the house, and up to the ground floor.
    In its day Degringolade Manor had been the finest dwelling for miles. Even in its current dilapidated state it still had a certain grandeur that instilled a sense of quiet awe in the four
explorers. The entrance hall was of enormous proportions with a vaulted ceiling that seemed a hundred feet above. Despite the dirt, it was possible, just, to see the painted mosaics on the coffered
panels. An enormous multi-tiered chandelier hung from a central rose, surrounded on three sides by the galleried landing. Jonah, never having seen such a sight, began to count the candles, but gave
up after three score and five. Tiny crystals strung on chains dangled from the chandelier hoops, but they no longer sparkled. As with everything, the pendulous centrepiece looked as if someone had
sprinkled it first with fine dust and then cast a net of gossamer cobwebs over it.
    Vincent, like a bee to honey (like a flesh-fly to rotting meat, thought Jonah), presented himself before a gilded, flaking mirror hanging over a table