They Come At Night and Other Horrors by T.L. Beeding

Author:T.L. Beeding [Beeding, T.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

The Boy’s Head

Originally published by Tales from the Moonlit Path, Summer Issue (2021)

It was common knowledge that Lord Terrence Hastings had a habit of collecting masks of the strange and whimsical – even the macabre. Most visitors to Whitely Hall (of which there were few) recanted their discomfort at the menagerie; the walls seemed to ‘gain life’ at night, lit only with eerie incandescence from a single gas lamp in the hall where the lord kept his prized possessions. A haunted house, most called it. If not haunted by true spectres, then by the curious fellow that proudly called such a grisly abode his home.

And as Stuart Langsdale stared up at the pale, gaping face without eyes affixed to the wall, he couldn’t stop those ridiculous notions from creeping to the forefront of his mind.

“This is a recent acquisition, you said?”

“Indeed,” Lord Hastings replied proudly. The strike and hiss of a lucifer filled the room, soon accompanied by the ashy smell of a lit cigar. “A rarity that I had been pursuing with utmost effort. I call it ‘The Boy’s Head’.”

Langsdale grimaced at the gruesome moniker, forcing himself to turn. “Where did you acquire it?”

Hastings puffed on the cigar, a blue ring of acrid smoke haloing his head. He reached into the pocket of his dressing gown, retrieving a silver cigar case. He offered it to Langsdale, who declined with a shake of his head. “I have a keen eye for such things, Inspector Langsdale,” the stout man stated happily, slipping the cigar case back into his pocket. “I acquire my trinkets from all across the globe, as you can see. Some I even create myself.”

A broad gesture encompassed the expanse of the wide, dimly lit room. Langsdale cast his gaze about the ghastly menagerie of faces – ‘trinkets’ that consisted of Plaster of Paris, feathered and beaded faces, painted ones, porcelain ones, and others that seemed to have no explanation. Some smiled, some laughed with open mouths. Most simply stared. But, whilst all were disturbing, there was none more so than the face of the young man.

Langsdale returned his attention to his quarry. “That does not answer my question, Lord Hastings. This ‘Boy’s Head’, as you call it, is why I am here. A rather frantic fellow came to Scotland Yard this morning; we were barely able to get the story from him, through tremors and faintness.” He eyed the burly man over his shoulder. “According to him, he was an overnight guest at your residence last evening. He was awoken by a terrible scream in the night.”

“Could have been a fox.”

“He heard it from within.” Langsdale narrowed his eyes. “And when he asked the butler for an explanation, he was told it was of no concern and to return to his room until morning. At which time he presently fled.”

Lord Hastings paused to take a long, thoughtful drag on his cigar.

“Are you a married man, Inspector Langsdale?”

Langsdale’s frown increased. “Yes, sir. What of it?”

“Do you love your wife?”

“What

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