An excerpt from the latest Tanley Of The Grim WIP:
“This body takes work,” Sylvia purred, taking hold of his hand in comfort. “And I know you like it as much as I do. But you also know how it is. When the Inheritors call-”
Tanley turned the collar of his wool coat towards the stiff frozen wind that blasted down the street. Jostling trees and rattling windows with phantasmal strength that promised a storm few had seen in many years.
“...We answer. Alright, might as well get this over with.”
Taking the initiative, Samuel led his love across the mostly empty street. His eyes trained on the roof of the building encased in glass and gilded with bronzened frame. Given the fact that they received the summons so early in the morning, the only place Chauncey could be at this time of day would be the rooftop greenhouse. Eating his breakfast beside the pool that was surrounded by a veritable grove of tropic ferns and trees. Then, with a quick vault up the marble stairs before the embossed double doors, he knocked urgently in the pattern to let the help know it was a business visit. Three hard knocks, one sharp knock, two soft knocks. All spaced out in perfect syncopation against the Grecian etchings of two men holding a sun up high that cleanly split where the two doors meet.
The sound of locks being undone cut through the moaning gale assaulting them, forcing the Sergeant and his claimed wife to bundle up tighter in their overcoats as the doors swung wide to reveal a stern older gentleman dressed in his finest attendant’s suit capped by white gloves. His slightly balding grey hair perfectly maintained and unmoving, even as the wind forced its way inside the warm abode behind his coat tails.
“Sergeant Samuel Tanley,” the man dryly croaked, a wry creeping across his face as he glared at the slightly shorter Fixer before becoming stone-faced once more as he glared at Sylvia. “And Madame du Cane, I see. The young master is expecting you by the pool.”
Naming a shadowy cabal of wealthy elites that manipulate 1920's USA's socio-political landscape by any mean possible "The Inheritors Of America" is more than appropriately insidious enough to convey how bad things really are in TANLEY OF THE GRIM.
#Writing #PulpHorror #ShortStory