Getting in 

The excitement in the pub was high. All of us would be working as a team and all reaping the same benefits as long as we worked together. Plans were made and each of us were given six names from the list and sent to the estates to question about the paintings, then told to wait at an inn in the middle of south Scotland, called the Inn of All. The puns. I do not miss working for Kooper. The man was a good teacher but he had a few oddities that came with his age.

Anyway, I being the youngest got the more dangerous undertaking. I got the estates that were far to the north. It was cold this time of year, It had already begun to snow at my first stop. The farm was just dusted but it gave off a wonderfully homely vibe. The McClung estate of North Hampshire The farmhouse is where the family lived, but I was more interested in the big house that lay far within the property. 

I knocked on the farmhouse, an old man answered. I asked if I might take a look at the big house. The man said that he was the groundskeeper and that as long as I stopped back by and told him when I was leaving, I could take as much time as I needed at the big house.

There was a fountain and a big circle drive in front of the two story mansion. The cloud layer, the evening dusk and the cold all seemed to give the building and the area around it a creepy feeling. The statue that resided on top of the fountain was very unnerving. It was a statue of the angel of death. It’s head was bowed toward the front door of the house.   

Nobody lived there. In fact, it looked to have been abandoned for some years. White sheets covered the furniture and the wall decorations, protecting them from dust. The living area was drafty and chill. The breeze of the open windows made the sheets dance like ladies in a waltz. 

I pulled out my flashlight and began to inspect the painting and portraits on the walls. I gently lifted the sheets and moved forward deeper into the mansion. It wasn’t until I got into the master bedroom that I found the picture in question. 

It was a portrait of a woman holding a golden box. There were two angels that stood next to her one on either shoulder. The corner of the portrait read Stephen Hill. Must’ve been the artist. I flipped on my phone and ran a search on the artist. 

While my phone worked, I continued to listen to the house as it creaked and settled in the wind and cold. The evening dusk was gone and it was dark in the house, except for my phone and flashlight. It seemed that the shadows really began to play tricks in my mind. For instance the angels did not appear to be angelic, they looked to be shadowy and looming. The woman in the portrait looked to be scared rather than at peace. And the gold box looked to be a stone. 

The search finished. I couldn’t believe how long it took, but I supposed that I was far and away from the nearest cell tower. I could hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the hallway. I guess what I found on the artist would simply have to wait. I pocketed my phone and held my flashlight like a club in my hand. The footsteps came closer and stopped for a bit. Whoever they were they were following my path and stopping where I stopped. the wooden floors would make it hard for me to sneak away, but I saw the window next to me. I was still on the first floor so I simply stepped out through the window and onto the crunchy snow. 

As I turned from the window, I  was quite startled because a statue stood right behind me and the hooded figure freaked me out. It was another looming figure of death. I don’t know who was the exterior decorator for this house but all these statues made it damn near impossible to feel comfortable. They were tall and frightening, almost menacing. 

I could still hear the footsteps coming down the hall. I quickly moved away from the window and staying close to the house walls, I slipped away.

I moved to the big back doors, I could see the back garden. Overgrown though it was, the dusting gave it a unique quality. There were two more of the large and imposing statues, one to the right of the center path and one to the left. They were of the same make and quality of the one by the window. As I made my way onto the central path, I saw that there was a small pedestal right in the middle. I imagined that a young woman was sitting on it. It was the perfect setting for the portrait. Each of the perfect angels were now replaced by these scary statues.

I got a strange feeling that I was being watched, there was nothing but the statues. 

As I was about to cross the corner, I saw that one that was still standing by the window. Unmoving, undaunting. There was something just otherworldly about it. I kept my eyes on it until I crossed the threshold of the yard. Then at the last conceivable moment, I thought that I saw the head turn in my direction. 

That was weird. 

In that single strange moment, I took a step back to see if my eyes had played a trick on me. In that single step the statue had moved. It’s head was now completely looking at me. Its eyes glowed under its hood. Then it’s whole body moved, it turned to rush me and it moved with a speed that was surprising for stone.

It came for me.

The other statues seemed to wake up at the other’s movement. Their heads turned toward me and they started to move in sync with the other and they came for me. Their stone robe made big swaths in their running motion. They were ten feet away from me when my body caught up with the terror that my mind was feeling.

However, it was really my mind that was working slow, for my legs had decided to leave some three seconds ago. The top half of my body caught up to my legs and shot forth. I had to get to my car and leave this place. There were no clues anywhere here. This mansion reeked of death and was surrounded be it, seemingly.

As I was rounding the corner I ran  headlong into another stone statue. However, this one was not stone. The deathly figure looked down at me and I stared back at it. Its eyes glowed with a pale light, and though it was cold outside, its breath was colder and it could be seen in the twilight of the night. It screamed a hoarse shout and my legs began to move on their own again. It seemed that I ran the rest of the way to my car while my shoulders were still on the ground.

I got into the driver seat, forgot my seat belt and began to drive away. The four deathly figures came up to the car and tried to latch onto it. I sped away like my car was in the Indy 500. Not too shabby for a four cylinder. 

I did notice the fountain was missing its ornament before I left the big house and its death guardians. I saw the house fading into the distance in my rear view mirror. I felt like I could still see the robed figures still coming after me. 

I stopped back by the groundskeeper’s house and told him that I was off. He asked if I found what I was looking for. I say that I did and then some. 

What did I find you may ask, well whatever this golden box is, death seems to be all around it. A box worth dying for, has to be worth at least as much as a title.

The next site for exploration was less pleasant than the estate. Though the curator specifically mentioned that gravesites would not contain the treasure, mausoleums may contain clues to where the treasure might be. 

This particular mausoleum was 46 miles away from the estate. It resided in the middle of a graveyard. The site may have been south of the estate, but the snow and the cold had already come. I decided to stay in my car and simply take a tour of the area before I was ready to leave the relative safety of my vehicle. I don’t think that I was quite ready to leave.

 Headstones and tombstones lined the road. So many. Hills and gardens, past the marking lay the giant buildings and tombs. There was a parking area with one other vehicle, a small garden truck. Another groundskeeper was nearby. I parked two spots away from him and made my way into the mausoleum. 

Four statues stood at the front, two on each side of the entrance. Greece statues of grace and poise. I moved past them warily. The building was dark and cold at this time of night.  My little flash light bounced off the white marble and lit up the inside with a dazzling surprise. I moved down the way and inside the building. Rooms to each side, plaques and vases lined the walls. further on down the way there were some more distinguished vases. One belonged to one Rachael McClung. 

Her portrait hung above her vase. It was a portrait of a young woman, fair skinned and fair haired. She held in her arms a bouquet of red roses and a small golden box on top of that. Stephen Hill’s autograph was there in the corner. Same artist. That was odd. According to the internet search, Stephen Hill was a death portraitist. There was nothing special about him other than the particular golden box was in all of his portraits. 

There was nothing else that might have told me anything different than what I found at the estate. I turned around and headed outside. I felt my phone vibrate as I crossed the threshold. I pulled it out to see what news the others may have found. I honestly felt that eyes looking at me. It was a text message. 

    “Klein died. He was chasing a lead far to the north. Regroup at the Inn, immediately. Kooper.”

“That sucks.” I said out loud to no one in particular. Klein was a smart mouth, but he was like an older brother to me. It happened to be one of the hazards of this line of work, dying. But yet we did the work anyway, anything to be famous and rich. 

It started to snow again. I hunched my shoulders and placed my collar up. I could once again feel eyes on me. I took one final look at the mausoleum and the door seemed to be a gaping maw than it’s first impression. The statues in the front had also changed. Figures of grace that they were, were now the robed figures from the estate. They were not statues at all, their robes moved freely and they approached me. My legs were not my saviors this time. For my whole body seemed to be frozen in fear. I fell back on my butt and the physical shock seemed to wake up my body and started to crawl away. To move in my fear away from my tormentors. 

They spoke together and in a whisper, “You seek death, but yet you fear us. Away with you, away.”

Their message, at the time, was as clear as mud. I got up and ran back to my car. I looked behind me and the robes did not follow. I got in my car and the groundskeeper was at his place. 

“Jesus, son, you look like you have seen a ghost.” He said. “Of course, the graves are a bit restless with the stench of death on you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Don’t most men that stink of death mean that they have killed someone?”

“It might be true that while a man that has killed another stinks of death. A man that actively seeks death is more in tune with what death smells like. You look as though you have been spending time in the company of death whether you realize it or not. Ah, pay no mind to the useless ramblings of this old man. Did you pay your respects well?

“Yes, I did I suppose. Tell me, do you know of the artist Stephen Hill?”

“The death portraitist? All I know is that he is responsible for most of the portraits in that mausoleum.” The groundskeeper pointed at the building that I had just left. 

“The McClung family?”

“Yes. Always that family sought to be immortalized after death, they sought to take their riches with them and always failed to do so. Their greed lead them to their downfall. Well, that is enough gab from me. The weather is too cold and I am old, my wife is waiting.” After he was done speaking he got into his small truck and drove away.

I took one more look at the stone building and I almost thought that I could see those robes staring back at me. I quickly got in my car and drove away.