The Strangers on Tier Hill

NINE o’ CLOCK

Leopold Fuchs stood about six feet in height. Although his complexion was that of a man approaching early middle age, his hair was a ghostly white with streaks of gray that lay gently over his ears. His eyes were penetrating, and demanding in such a way that they could command attention simply by their gaze alone. Our attention, however, was so focused on the progression of the night that we hadn’t noticed him until he announced himself to us.

“You must be Mr. and Mrs. Hudson. I am Leopold Fuchs. Welcome to my home.”

He shook our hands and replaced a wisp of gray hair that had fallen from atop his right ear.

“It’s, it’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Fuchs,” my wife elated. “We were actually wondering earlier why such a prestigious man as yourself would invite a couple of tourists to a grand place like this?”

“Well,” Fuchs explained. “A man must have the dignity and refinement to extend an offer such as this to anyone who catches his interests in any sort of manner. You two did just that when I saw you enter the hotel. I said to myself, there is a couple in love. So much so that it radiates throughout the room. At that moment, I concluded that such a love deserves to radiate here in my home.”

We looked at each other, speechless. Did we really radiate such as what Fuchs had just described? Regardless of whether we did or not, it was quite the compliment coming from a stranger.

“Well, thank you very much,” we both said as we took his praise.

“Please, my guests, feel free to converse. Make yourselves familiar to my other guests and to this house.” Fuchs dismissed himself to interact with others in the room.

At this time my wife looked at me and expressed for me to escort her into an adjacent hallway. Reluctantly, I followed as she progressed down the hallway as if she had no particular aim or sense in where she was going.

“What’s going on, love,” I asked.

She just stood there, leaning against the wall.

“Did you notice that,” she asked me.

“Notice what?”

“Mr. Fuchs’ ear.”

“No, I didn’t. What about it?” I questioned further.

“It looked quite strange.”

“How do you mean – strange?”

“Well,” she explained. “It appeared pointed and swollen.”

“How do you mean pointed and swollen?” I looked at her, confused.

“Well, it appeared much bigger than any ear I’ve ever seen before.”

At this point I looked at her with disapproval.

“You, of all people, should know not to spread such rumors; especially of the host.”

She stood silent for a moment.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said.

“Just…just forget about it, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied.

“I’m going to go and find the washroom. You can either wait here or I can meet you in the ballroom,” I suggested.

“I think I’ll go back in and mingle some more,” she replied and smiled.

I gave her a brief kiss and went off to seek the facilities.

The activity in the ballroom, upon my wife’s return, had tamed. Couples were standing along the walls under great paintings of landscapes and mythic architectures. She walked along the center and it wasn’t long before a statuesque couple caught her attention.

“Frau Hudson, is it,” the man inquired as he extended his hand.

“Yes.”

“Herr Becker. Delighted to meet you,” he responded and kissed her hand.

“This is my wife, Frau Becker.”

“Mein lieb,” he addressed her and she gestured courteously.

“My name is Mary. Mary Hudson.”

“Oh, Frau Hudson. Herr Fuchs told us about your possible attendance. It’s so nice that you could be here,” Frau Becker said and smiled.

“We’re glad we came.”

“We? Oh, your husband.”

“That’s right! I saw you two dance. And splendidly I might add,” he lauded.

“Oh, well, thank you.”

“You two are Americans,” Herr Becker asked.

“Yes, we are,” Mary replied.

“How lovely,” Frau Becker stated. “Which part are you from?”

“New York,” Mary informed.

“Ah, New York,” Herr Becker chimed in. “Is it just like in the photographs?”

“Well, I think so. But I don’t know what photographs you’ve seen,” Mary wittingly replied. Both Beckers laughed in response.

“Have you ever been to any part of America?”

“No no,” Herr Becker replied. “Not yet.”

“Well, I do recommend it. It’s a beautiful place.”

The Maitre’D came up to them at this time with full glasses of champagne resting atop a tray. All three grabbed a glass and toasted.

Meanwhile…

…I carried on in search of the restroom in a mysterious and expansive house.

The first room I entered was a bedroom. Or what I thought was one. It was dark in there except for the faint flicker of embers from a dying fire in the fireplace. It gave off just enough light to reveal the square frame of what appeared to be a bed. As I moved over to let light enter from the hallway, I lost my balance when I tripped over some unknown thing and planted my side on the bed. Curious, I reached down to locate what I had tripped over. Eventually, my hands retrieved something soft. As I held it up to the light, I saw that it was clothes. They appeared to be torn to shreds, however, and coated with something else. Something strange. There appeared to be what looked like long, thick hairs all over it; hair that seemed not to come from someone’s head as though it had brushed it off. Rather, it appeared as though it had been shed. It also carried a strange, musky odor. I dropped the pile of clothes where I had found them. Newly freed stands of hair tickled my nose and I struggled to free my senses of it. My nose curled and I found that my hands reeked of the unsettling odor. To my disgust and in efforts to avoid further hazards or accidents that would accompany further exploration of the room, I decided to leave and continue down the hallway.

The second door I entered came up on the right. I opened it and peered inside.

This room I could see in. Candles, burning at their full capacities, illuminated it completely. It was an expansive chamber, its walls filled to the brim with books. Ancient tomes of history, mystery, and forbidden subjects of uncountable variety occupied looming bookshelves. In the center of this room, I was attracted to such a book that lay atop a desk. This volume, upon my inspection, seemed incomplete, as it appeared to be a work in progress; its open pages revealed sharp cursive strokes of ink from a nearby quill that rested securely, soaking in its port.

But what was written I could not make out. My German was unskilled and, even if it had been, my experience in reading such calligraphic characters was ignorant. The only clue that gave me insight into what had been written in this most enchanting tome was from charts that lay within close proximity of it. Upon my brief examination of them, it came to me that these charts contained pictures illustrating the phases of the moon. Several other books were opened around them as well. They were turned to pages that also contained illustrations. These ones were of constellations and planetary cycles.

Such fascinating texts.

Before I could examine them further, something caught the corner of my eye.

It was the glimpse of a shadow of something tall and upright. Something enormous was briefly projected on the wall to my left. And then, as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared. Though I was certainly frightened, my curiosity, fueled by my imagination, compelled me to find where that shadow had gone to. This led me to a corner bookcase. There on the bookcase was a book whose resting position was offset from the others’. It was protruding out from its place on the shelf, appearing as though someone had neglected to secure it. However, when I placed my hand upon it to push it back in, it fell instead and landed hard on the wood floor. I picked it up, brushed it off, and, as I was examining it for damage, I felt the slightest chilling breeze that compelled me to look into the space in which it sat. There, behind the book, was a lever. I reached my hand in and prodded and groped to find it. And when my hand had located it and was about to pull, the door to the library creaked open, causing me to release my grip and retreat to a less suspicious state. I stood there, waiting for what could possibly be on the other side, waiting for what could have observed my activities within this room. As the door creaked slowly open, I found no surprise at its release. It was merely the chilling current of air that had made its way out of the room. And so I followed; too frightened to stay.

The third room I entered was indeed the washroom. Everything seemed ordinary in place and purpose, but my eyes wandered still, as one’s would in an unfamiliar environment. But upon this superficial inspection, I found nothing strange. I finished and, as I was washing my hands, I noticed a door that I hadn’t seen in the washroom before. It was in the corner and quite out of the way. That in itself wasn’t peculiar. What was, however, was its condition. Along its bottom border were scratch marks. Deep scratch marks with small clots of hair and even minute streaks of something resembling the color of rust. I walked out of another room, confused and uncertain of the unnerving mystery it held.