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

against the wall. He rubbed it clean, but
when he caught sight of the arch-browed expression on Folly’s face behind him he quickly moved away. ‘What exactly happened here?’ he asked. ‘Why is nobody living in this
place?’
    Citrine, the only true native of Degringolade, told them what she knew: how the sea had slowly flooded the Degringolade estate and created the salt marsh; how the ancient Degringolade family had
had a run of bad luck and died, one after the other, until fifty years ago only Lord Cornelius Degringolade was left. Without even a distant cousin left to marry, he had struggled to find a bride.
The Degringolades were rich, but were now believed to be cursed. Cornelius was rumoured to be a hunchback, and to the city folk this was simply further proof of the blight upon them. Finally,
against all previous tradition, he had settled on a woman from a noble yet unknown family somewhere in Antithica province. From the start, things had not augured well for the union. Within a year,
with no heirs, the couple had become reclusive and were rarely seen again. Servants’ jobs were short-lived, and they returned to the city with elaborate tales of the eccentricities of the
lord and lady of the manor, especially Lady Scarletta.
    ‘My father told me,’ said Citrine, lowering her voice, ‘that she used to throw servants who displeased her into the Tar Pit. The last servant to work there was so frightened at
what he saw that he lost the power of speech, so he wrote it all down in a journal, but it was lost. Apparently there are secret rooms all over the manor and the servants used to hear screams, but
couldn’t tell where they were coming from. Eventually no one would work there any more and the Degringolades stopped coming into the city and were never seen again. The only person who dared
go to the manor was their solicitor, and he came back one day and said they were both dead. No one really cared. Some people think Lady Degringolade murdered her husband and then gave herself up to
the Supermundane.’
    ‘Presumably that’s when the d’Avidus family gained control of the Tar Pit,’ suggested Folly.
    Vincent looked thoughtful. ‘If those are Lady Degringolade’s bones in the Kryptos, then why isn’t Lord Degringolade in there too? And who owns the manor now?’
    Citrine shrugged. ‘I only know what I told you, and that is what my father told me. I think eventually the house will pass to the city, a promise made by the first Degringolades. But with
all the weird stories about Lady Scarletta, people stayed away because they were afraid and it was left to rot. Degringoladians don’t like to tempt fate. They observe the rituals without
question.’
    ‘It’s a wonder this place survived the earthquake,’ said Jonah.
    Citrine pulled on one of the curtains that were drawn over the window beside the solid wooden front door. The material ripped to shreds instantly and both the curtain and its heavy pole came
crashing down. The noise was all the more shocking because of the contrasting silence of the manor. A huge cloud of smutty particles seemed to explode from the rotting, moth-eaten material, as
indeed did a fluttering of moths. Citrine dissolved in a fit of coughing.
    Vincent wiped a small patch of grubby windowpane and looked out. It was dark outside, as much because nature had encroached so wholly upon the surroundings as from the depths of Nox itself. What
had once been a broad, gravelled drive wide enough for a coach and four to turn in a graceful arc, was now a jungle of broad-leaved bushes. He thought he saw something move and pressed his nose
against the cold glass, his hands shielding his face to avoid the reflection of the lights behind him. But whatever it was, or wasn’t, had gone. He felt something hard underfoot and found he
was standing on a three-legged frog made from finely sculpted adderstone. It must have been knocked from its perch on the door frame (placed there for luck