Days 2-6: The Girl, the Magi, and the Dinner Club
We meet an extraordinary girl, an ancient magician, and eat a late dinner in good company
Paranormal Dinner Club is a work of fiction told in dispatches from the Invisible Man’s brother as he explores a mysterious and deadly island.
New to the project? You can find a Table of Contents here.
Thanks to your feedback as readers I’ll now be posting one longer dispatch per week rather than two dispatches per week. They should go up every Wednesday and maybe together we can make the worst day of the week, the best day for mysterious islands.
Day 2: Waiting
Still waiting for our host to arrive.
The coffee here truly is wonderful though — is it the climate? The roast? The exotic locale? I do not know and do not care. The scientists speak of solving mysteries while we are here but the only mystery I want to solve is how to bring this back home.
If I only had a home to return to.
Day 3: The Shed
I’ve gotten quite used to walking into a building and ferreting out its secrets. In most mansions there is a secret room or two. In most labs there is a hidden place to keep research safe. In most offices there is a lockbox hidden in the floor or wall or desk. I can’t help looking for them now.
So given the delay I’ve decided to see what I can learn here. And I have a trail to follow. I checked and the captain’s quarters and the ship are empty, meaning our “guest” from the shipwreck has been moved somewhere here. I can be sure that they’ve moved him to wherever the secrets of this home lie. If I can find him I can find the areas our host doesn’t want us to find.
Thankfully, the captain and crew have returned to the ship and are waiting for boxes to be loaded onto the ship before departing. They assure us another ship is scheduled to be along to take us home at the end of the month.
After pulling on books, knocking on walls, and peaking behind corners I think I’ve found where the trail begins. I’ve noticed porters walking into a storage shed in the furthest garden, very near the large fence around the lodge grounds, and disappearing for hours at a time.
This is where I’ll start.
Day 4: The Girl
Mystery solved.
No, not that one. I’m still working on the mysterious shed. The mystery of that girl.
After several days of trying I finally learned the girl’s name. She always seems to arrive into rooms in a rush, breakfasting with several documents out on the table, drinking a coffee in two gulps, and then disappearing again. Or apologizing she can’t stay for dinner, convincing the staff to bring it to her room, and then appearing late at night again looking for a bottle of port.
If anyone else did this it would be rude, irritating, and quite unseemly.
And yet, I can’t help but think she does it in a way that only makes you chuckle to yourself and love her all the more.
(By love I of course mean that warm affection you feel for a temperate day where you lie upon the grass watching the light reflecting across the pond in front of you. Not “in love” or some such nonsense. I barely know her.)
Every time she’d appear I’d exchange a few words, trying to find out a little more of her story. Of course, doing so out of a desire to know my colleagues and ensure that none of our research falls into the wrong hands. As you’ve instructed me many times.
I’d ask, “Been to this part of the world before?”
She’d reply with a scone in her mouth, “Isn’t every part of the world the same in all the most important ways — beauty, danger, loss, wonder, and not enough hours in the day?”
Or I’d ask, “How are you finding the accommodations?”
She’d reply with a glass in one hand and a book in the other, “Stark. Well built. Plain. Boring. But you should never underestimate a quiet and secure place to lay your head at night.”
What an extraordinary woman. I say woman but I’m more convinced that she must be near my age. Yet she’s the furthest thing from a girl.
Finally, using something of a ruse I constructed (you’re not the only genius in the family) I managed to at least secure her name.
I had taken a small clipping of that extraordinary purple flower from the front gardens and noticed that after plucking it the petals turned the most peculiar shade of gray, while the center itself turned a deep maroon red, nearly the color of blood. I had taken it to the front porch to examine it further, when I saw the girl again. As she passed, I called out.
“Ah! You again! I remember you saying you were something of a scholar of the odd and occult? The strange? Perhaps with knowledge of sources outside the — shall we say — the scientific journals of the day?”
Again the half smile played on the corners of her lips and she replied, “You’ve a good memory for passing comments Dr. Cutter. I am indeed a lover of these so-called unscientific sources.”
“Oh, I’m not a doctor. Just a mister. The doctor in the family is my older brother.” (Much older.) And I continued, “In that case, would you mind looking at this and seeing if there is anything in your sources of something like this occurring? It seems so strange that I’d imagine an odd folktale or two would have sprung up around it.”
All scientist now she laid it out carefully, took a pair of tweezers from a side pocket, and a magnifying class from another and began examining it. “Fascinating,” was all she said.
In fact, she leaned quite close to me— apparently almost forgetting I was there in total disregard of her surroundings. (Like someone else in the family I know.) I tried to lean over her shoulder and found that she smelled of leather and mint.
Clearing my throat I said, “I’ve a small collection of clippings and I’ve managed to save, including a stem that hasn’t drained of color fully. Shall I have them sent to your room if you’d like to examine them further?”
“Hmm. Yes. You’d better do that,” she said it magnifying glass still in hand.
“It occurs to me,” I said casually, “That I don’t know your name to — you know — tell the porters to have the samples sent.”
“Oh,” she said, snapping out of her examination and looking me straight in the eye.
She smiled then as if she realized she’d been baited into giving me her name. The smile turned from the corner of her mouth and lept up into her eyes. Hazel? Green?
“I’m Cornelia Van Helsing. But my parents and close friends call me Nell. Cornelia is such a stuffy name.”
“And which should I use?” I said.
“That’s for you to decide. And I’ll let you know if you’ve made the wrong decision.”
And taking the plant she gathered her books and whisked herself out of the room.
Now, on the matter of our disappeared castaway…I did try to get close to the garden shed but as I approached a porter suddenly emerged from it. I was able to pretend that I was examining plants.
I’ll try again tomorrow.
Day 5: The Adventurer
Yet more waiting for our host but I’ve been busy in the meantime.
I did manage to slip into the garden shed today. It was about the size of a large dining room. There were various crates and tools arranged neatly. The only odd thing about it was that a large stack of boxes in one corner. Yet when I tried to move them I found them incredibly heavy and they didn’t budge. I suspect they are fake but as I tried to feel around for a latch or trigger the door of the garden shed opened.
Edmund Cagely that famed African explorer stepped in silently and quickly closed the door behind himself.
I had no time to hide and instead simply said, “Hello!”
He scowled back behind his wild mustache and stood silent, staring.
“I was just um…looking for…a shovel,” I offered.
And I grabbed one from a hook nearby.
“Yes, a shovel to examine some of the root systems,” I tried to say confidently.
“Root systems.” His reply was monotone.
“Yes for my experimentating…”
(Yes, in the moment I forgot how to pronounce the word “experimenting.”)
“Experimentating,” he said without a smile.
“Yes.”
Not my finest improvisation, I’ll admit.
We looked at one another for a long moment. I wondered not for the first time if he’d been paid by our host to keep an eye on the other guests and to act as something of a guard. I wondered if I’d be allowed to leave the shed alive.
But, to my relief, he said simply, “Sorry. Was just having a look round.”
And then abruptly he left.
Was he doing the same thing I was? Looking for our lost guest?
Day 6: The Magi
The mood among the scientists is souring significantly.
Most of them are people who are never kept waiting for anything. Where once they praised the Lodge’s sturdiness and perfect construction they now complain that it lacks some of the comforts of home. Where once they were content to explore the gardens and surrounding areas they’re now questioning why they can’t go further afield. And some are complaining of animal sounds behind the walls and conjecturing that there must be mice or rodents in their rooms. They swear there is scratching behind the walls. I’ve heard it as well, but assume that its simply part of living on a frontier — much better than the rat infested ship you made me spend a month on last year.
The porters bear the many questions and demands with a forced smile and assure the guests that the doctor is returning soon, that anything they need can be provided, that there will be plenty of time to explore shortly, and that their ears are mistaken and the lodge is entirely rodent free.
In the meantime I’ve made a discovery of another remarkable colleague on this expedition. He’s so notable and unique I don’t see how he could have escaped my notice before.
He is dark-skinned with a noble face that seems to have leapt out of a history book. His accent was extremely difficult to place until I was bold enough to ask him where he was from. He’s from Egypt, or near it at least. North African. Apparently, though, in his region science is not as clean and strict as it is here. He’s part ancient magician, part astrologist, part classical scholar, and part Western scientist. His voice is low and rich and makes even common pronouncements sound magisterial.
You’d think I’d notice a regal Egyptian scholar sitting at the breakfast table, wouldn’t it? Well, three reasons for my oversight:
First, he has an odd habit of blending in with the shadows as he moves from room to room. He can make himself near invisible when he wants to be.
Second, he keeps strange hours—often breakfasting much closer to mid-day and eating a very late meal after everyone has retired either to bed or to scotch in the library.
Third, he seems much more comfortable with the porters than with the rest of the party. Many of the porters are Western African, but they are from everywhere from South America to Northern Europe and everywhere in between. Yet, this mysterious man seems to know enough in their various languages to converse easily. You’ll often find him in conversation with them and I’ve seen him more than once taking his meals in the staff dining hall instead of with us.
For these reasons, much of the scientific party seems to avoid him. Or at least, they ignore him. Yet, after discovering him I find myself strangely drawn nearer.
In fact, upon seeing him up close I’m nearly sure he was one of the men on the deck of the ship when we recovered the castaway. He’d had a surprising strength that night, able to hold a wild man firmly in place. But now he seems all gentleness and slow deliberation.
In seeking to cross paths with him I have found a happy surprise. Today, after losing track of time making the final preparations for exhibiting our science to our host (it’s ready, yes, don’t worry) I arrived to the dining room very late. I found our esteemed Egyptian sitting in the middle of the table by himself. I asked if I could join him and the regal face broke into a warm smile.
“Not many keep these late hours my friend,” he said in that low voice.
“Ah! But I find some of the greatest discoveries do not occur according to normal hours in society.”
“Very true. Very true. Many of the greatest discoveries tend to break the normal scientific methods and rules. We cannot bind nature and wonder according to a strict method, normal hours, or even…” he looked out the window distantly then “…pristine labs and spotless lab coats. Nature itself beckons us into the wild. It invites us to be mastered rather than master it, and in that—find contentment.”
I confess he said it with such gravity I was at a loss for words. It was the most I’d ever heard him speak at once to me.
And then a voice came from behind me.
“Oh, Melchior you’re not scaring our young guest are you?”
I turned to find Cornelia Van Helsing pulling a back a chair and sitting next to me. (“Young guest”? She can’t be much older than I am, surely! I’d venture to guess we’re the same age. Or nearly.)
Melchior smiled back, “Of course not. Simply pondering the mysteries of the universe together. An old habit of the Magi.”
And from there we all three fell into easy conversation. We talked of our travels (both have traveled as widely as I have, if not more) our thoughts so far on the island (wild and unique and unlike anything we’ve seen) and even to the best way to prepare coffee (Melchior takes his in the Arabic style, thick and rich).
As the plates were cleared, and Cornelia got up just as quickly as she arrived, she paused and turned back.
“See you both tomorrow for dinner? Same hour?”
Melchior and I exchanged looks and nodded.
It appears I’ve found a dinner club. A dinner club of the most peculiar guests who all have an interest in what is beyond the normal scope of science.
A paranormal dinner club if you will.
On a strange island. In a stark and imposing lodge. Waiting for a mysterious host to appear.
But at least the coffee and company are not entirely disagreeable.
That’s it for this week. But I need your help in shaping the story. Let me know what you think, especially:
What do you think of Cornelia and Melchior on first impression?
What do you think is hiding in that shed at the edge of the grounds?
Why does eating dinner really late at night sometimes feel so invigorating?
Send your feedback to me with a box of Biscoff cookies to ensure I receive it, or comment below.