Mr. Stilton's Vision

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Chapter 2

58 Cloth Fair didn’t happen to be that far from where I live, only about 15 minutes or so. It was a very narrow street with shops and houses on both sides that seemed to have a warm feeling emanating from them but also cast shadows into the street which seemed to loom over you infinitely. It was also a very luxurious street, the shops and people all looked exquisite, it was definitely a high-class neighborhood. Although 58 Cloth Fair drive did not seem to have that warm and welcoming glow that the rest of the street had. It looked like a very broken down. The venue the sing at the top looked rusted beyond repair but you could faintly see the word Salutari on it, once again the same word as one Mr. Stilton’s cane. Must be the name of the venue. The doors to the venue did not look very inviting in any way. There where bolts up and down and chains holding the door closed. Just then a tall man in all black came out the side of the building. He was bald and had a stony look on his face that didn’t seem to portray any emotion. “Mr. Weaver would you please come with me,” He said. his voice sounded as though he hadn’t spoken in ages! Surely he must just be getting over a cold I though. “Almost looks like a torture room in which you will be bringing me” I joked trying to lighten up the mood. He just stayed silent and started walking back to the alley from which he came, indicating me to follow when finally he spoke at last. “Not torture only change he said” A rather odd response I thought, but then again it was true, Mr. Stilton did say I would need a change clothing for I couldn’t be seen in what I was wearing. The ally in which we were walking ended quick enough and we entered a door which brought us into the building. The room was dark with few candles to lit it but I could faintly make out a big wardrobe. There were velvet skirts, leather coats, trench jacket to last a lifetime and any piece of clothing you could think of (for high-class stature people of course). The man kept walking through the room until we were in front of a small curtain where he indicated me to go in. On the other side of the curtain was a better lit space with a full-length mirror and a stool on which was a nicely folded set of clothes along with a comb and some hair grease. So I put on the clothes and did my hair when I turned around to look in the mirror I could hardly recognize myself. The trousers I wore were a deep blue almost black with an expensive leather belt, I whore a silky smooth shirt that bore not one wrinkle along with one of the nicest frock coats I had ever seen. It was a very dark red velvet, like the color of blood, with a star brooch on the left breast pocket. Although the best thing was that the whole outfit fit me perfectly, it was almost a miracle how Mr. Stilton had been able to know my size perfectly only upon a few short glances. As I stepped out from behind the curtain the man in black was no longer there and instead was Mr. Silton, wearing the same clothes as earlier but still looking exquisite. “Ahh, Mr. Weaver I’m pleased you came! I was very right about your size and what colors would suit your complexion, that outfit looks astonishing on you! Now if you’d please follow me we would like to begin shortly” And so I followed Mr. Stilton through a series of never-ending corridors when finally we made it to where, I can only assume, is the heart of the venue.

There were people everywhere. A lady in a bright purple dress, with full-length sleeves and a slight train behind her skirts passed in front of us, she had piercing blue eyes with brown hair tied up tightly. A curious group of men were standing in a tight circle but didn’t seem to be talking. There was a stage in the middle of the room with rows and rows of red velvet, gold plated seats circling it. The venue seemed somewhat normal, slightly more high class then what I had envisioned, but normal. Excluding the fact that everyone in the room whore a stoned faced and showed no sign of expression, like the man who escorted me inside.

Mr. Stilton lead me down an aisle between the seats to the stage. In the middle of the stage was a plain wooden stool, perhaps the cheapest item in the whole building. “We will be beginning very shortly Mr. Weaver, why don’t you just wait here until we call you up on stage.” He said with an encouraging smile, he patted me on the back and left back up the aisle to go talk to the group of men. When I turned back around to look at the stage I saw the same stone-faced man from earlier placing a guitar on the stool. Although this time he seemed to be whispering something under his breath while sprinkling some sort grayish powder around the stool. The powder smelt strongly of herbs. “This must be some god worshipping group,” I thought. Wonderful, they could not mean me any harm.

Suddenly, all the candles in the room turned off and the only light to illuminate the space was a small window beside the stage. Everyone in the room then started filing down the rows to the seats in a very orderly fashion. Once everyone at their seats Mr. Stilton walked out into the middle of the stage. “Welcome fellow members of Metuendas Dcemonis, salutari! Tonight we have a splendid singer who will be playing for us, please welcome to the stage Mr. Alexander Weaver” As he left the stage a round of applause began, but it was like no applause I had ever heard. All the clapping was in sync. I must be simply nervous that I will be singing in front of all these high-end people, surely no group of people this big could clap in sync? But I had to ignore that and push down my nervousness, for I had songs to sing and money to make. So as I stepped onto the stage I took a deep breath and took a quick glance around. I had everyone’s attention, so I sat down on the stool picked up my guitar along with the lyrics Mr. Stilton had given me to sing.

“Quod tumeraris:” I began, my voice seemed to emanate around the room and it didn’t sound bad “per Jehovam, Gehennam, et consecratam aquam quam nunc spargo, signumque crucis quod nunc facio, et per vota nostra, ipse nunc surgat nobis dicatus Azazel!” As I finished everyone in the room stood up and held hands. “This must certainly be a very religious group,” I thought. I started to smile in astonishment on how well the song went when the room started to spin and the smell of herbs seemed to intensify. My smile faded quickly as I started to feel sick. I was about to stand up when I felt this urge to sit down, so I sat. I tried to move, but could no longer quiver. Just then when I was about to scream for help, my vision blurred…

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