Bennet The Alderdice Tales

Bennet

The Alderdice Tales

D.R. Acula

Copyright 2014 by D. R. Acula

Smashwords Edition

She rested her hands on the cold hard granite stone as tears ran down her face. Her silent

remembrance and mourning faded quickly into sobs of anguish and utter despair. The

longer she knelt, holding her weight with her hands, the weaker she became. For the fresh

ground beneath gave no support for her to hold her stance. Finally, her head bumped and

rested against the stone, and she stretched her arms out, embracing the cold rock, hugging

it with all the strength she could muster. Her tears drained down the granite, reflecting the

soft moonlight as they filled the hand chiseled letters. The letters that haunted and

grieved her immensely.

'B-E-N-N-E-T'

Bennet Alderdice. The vessel of the young man that held her heart so divinely and deeply

lay just a few short feet below her.

"Why did you leave me? I begged you to stay!" She mumbled between aspirated breaths,

struggling to form the syllables out loud, stammering when she spoke. But the words and

their meaning were all too clear inside her mind. She slammed her fists against the

gravestone, angry at him. Angry at him for dying; for becoming injured. 'If I had only

been stronger...' She tortured her mind with such thoughts.

It was 2 weeks ago that the world of Bennet Alderdice and his courting bride to be, Nettie

Vandenberg, had come to a sudden and tragic change. Two weeks had passed since she

had fled...

The day started with a crisp cool snap to the air, a much welcomed ambient feeling for a

summers day. The birds exchanged songs and delight as the sun readied to slowly ascend

over the horizon. It was still dark outside, but the pale luminance of the sun gave hope

that morning was upon them. Nettie, who had been awake long enough to fire up the

stove and bake a batch of biscuits for Bennet, patiently waited by her kitchen window for

him to make his way by her house. As the shadows began to form over the land from the

first rays of sunlight, Bennet followed them to her house.

Nettie's face grew brighter than the sun that crept over the horizon when she landed her

eyes on Bennet. She reached her hand out the window and gave him a cloth with the

biscuits tied up inside of it. He looked her in the eyes deeply, but not a word of romance

was spoken. Keeping reservations between them to always present the most respectable

and proper prose, he did not speak, and neither did she. Their love grew stronger and

greater each morning. His hand graced hers as he reached for the biscuits, softly caressing

her fingers as he took them from her and rode along on his horse. She watched him ride

off towards the river, where he worked for her uncle operating a watermill. She watched

him until he became a dot amongst the landscape. She would not see him until that

evening, when he would bring her the flour to bake tomorrow's biscuits. So the cycle had

been for the past four years.

He arrived at the mill. It was a grueling job, unloading boats and wagons of grain,

grinding them into flour and meal and loading the milled product back on their respective

transport. He only did it for her. To be close to her. To see her daily, and to be an

acceptable candidate to wed her. He had worked for her uncle for three years before he

built up the courage to ask for her hand. Being an orphan, Nettie's uncle was her

guardian. Thus, Bennet strove to meet the demands required to ask for her hand. As hard

as the job was, to him it was a worthy endeavor. For he had loved her since the moment

his eyes met hers ten years prior.

Ten years ago they both were fourteen, and she had come to live with her uncle. Her

parents had died when the carriage they were riding in broke an axel and veered off the

road into a Bayou. Luckily, Nettie was not traveling with them when the tragedy

occurred. She was heartbroken and saddened, uprooted from what she had known, forced

to live with an uncle she had never met, on a secluded farm. But the moment she saw

Bennet in town, her heart skipped a beat and her stomach fluttered. Love at first sight?

Neither of them knew the feeling that had stricken them. They were young, and had never

experienced such. Especially Bennet, for his way of showing this new found emotion was

to throw a clump of mud at Nettie and run as fast as he could.

This of course came not without consequence. Ten lashings from his father and an

occasional mud made biscuit found in his lunch. But the most condemning aspect of the

mud clump was the proving himself to her uncle, a feat that required long days at the

watermill. Nonetheless, with every pound that he milled, he knew that was one pound

closer to her hand.

As the day went on and the summer sun rose into the noon position, Bennet shut down

the mill, grabbed the biscuits, and walked to the end of the pier that the boats used to

unload the grain to be milled. He took off his tattered boots and dipped his feet into the

water. The river was slightly warm from the hot sun, but still much cooler than his feet.

He opened the cloth that held the biscuits, looking at each one and counting them. Eight.

Eight perfectly formed biscuits. No mud pie this time around, he grinned. He ate the first

two while watching the riverboats drift down the mighty Mississippi.

He was reaching for a third biscuit when he heard a familiar voice echoing off in the

distance. He turned and looked behind him. Nettie was running towards him, shouting his

name as loud as she could. He quickly removed his feet from the water and thrust his

boots on. She never visited him at the mill, and given the manner in which she had

quickly sped to him, something was very wrong.

He took a deep breath, arched his knees, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him to

meet her. As he neared her, he began to understand what she was shouting, and it became

clear that she was incredibly panicked.

"HE'S DEAD! MY UNCLE HAS BEEN KILLED!" She screamed, dropping to her

knees.

Bennet made it to her side and lashed his arms around her, holding her tight. It was the

first time she had felt his arms around her. But the occasion was not met with joy, but

with horror. Bennet's arms became wet. He glanced down to find the source. Nettie's

white dress was soaked in blood. Upon noticing the incredible amount that soaked her, he

went into a mild panic, asking if she was hurt. She shook her head no, reassuring him that

she was okay, but crying out that her uncle had been attacked.

"Attacked by who?" Bennet inquired.

"Not by who, by what! IT came out of the cellar... Its claws... It came after me, but he--"

She burst into tears.

"He what? What did he do, Nettie?"

"He tried to stop it, but it struck him with its claws. He was just inches from me when it

happened! He jumped in front of me--" Nettie sobbed as she buried her head in Bennet's

shoulder.

Bennet carried her into the watermill and into the little office that was nestled in the

corner of the mill. There was a desk, a few chairs, and a bed inside the office. A bed for

those times when the orders took most of the night to fulfill.

He placed her in one of the chairs and went back into the mill, to the area where they kept

sacks for bagging milled flour. He brought a couple back with him. They weren't the best,

he thought, but they would help to dry up some of the blood. After cleaning her up to the

best of his current ability, he spoke with her and reasoned that he needed to figure out

what happened to her uncle.

Nettie immediately resisted the idea, protesting its very notion for the sake of their safety.

She cried and pleaded and begged. Oh, how she begged.

"P-Please... DON'T GO, BENNET!"

Bennet calmed her and eventually persuaded her to describe what she saw once more, in

hopes of gaining a better understanding of what happened. She struggled to recall the

events, but after some hesitation, she did so.

"I... I had just finished making lunch for my uncle and myself, his usual bass and boiled

potatoes. I served him his plate and he wanted an onion to go along with it. I went to the

kitchen, but the pantry stock was out of onions. So, I went into the cellar. I opened the

door to head down the steps, and I heard something below... At first I had thought a rat

was making a commotion, and really paid it no bother. But when I got half way down the

steps, I heard it make the most awful racket, as if it were destroying everything in the

cellar. Then I saw something massive moving around in a frenzy... It was big and dark, as

if it were made of shadow... I burst out a scream and ran up the stairs. He must have

heard me become frightened, and rushed to me. As I entered the kitchen and cleared the

cellar, that thing lunged at me. He threw himself in front of it and tried to swing at it with

his dinner knife. That is when its massive claws struck him down... It was so big that I

could not get a good look at it. Only its claws... Its steel-like blades that came down on

that man with brute force... After it struck my dear uncle, I realized I could not help him,

and I ran to you as fast as I could."

Bennet thought her story over in his mind as he looked at her with sympathetic eyes. "A

bear." He reasoned. "A bear must have made its way into the cellar, perhaps through an

unknown cave. Many caves are located in the area. Perhaps the wall of the cellar fell

through to one of those caves, and afterward, the bear came through it, and became

trapped it in the cellar." It was the only theory that made any sense. "I have to go back

and see about your uncle. After all, he is my employer."

She begged him not to go even more this time, but he insisted on investigating. He closed

the office door behind him, leaving her in a safe place for the time being. He grabbed an

axe, and a kerosene lantern that was hanging on the wall. He secured the items on his

saddle, then mounted his horse, heading toward the house where Nettie's uncle lay slain.

Three miles. The path between the watermill and the house was three miles. Bennet was

not sure of what horror, what beast, awaited him when he arrived. Three long, agonizing

miles... Even though the horse galloped faster than it had in ages, the short trip seemed

longer than it ever had. Each minute seemed an hour. Each time the horse's hooves

pounded the ground to grain momentum, so did his heart. 'Boom-Boom-Boom-

BOOMBOOMBOOM" Harder and quicker inside his chest, until the dread spilled over

from his chest into his stomach. His hands began to shake, and his knees weakened. But

even as his nerves began giving out, his will to go on grew stronger. He grasped the

saddle harder with his legs, and gripped the reins ever tighter. He knew he must go on.

Finally, Bennet arrived at the house. It was a large, nice home, built some 40 odd years

ago. Tall, decorated support columns held the front of the house up. As he always did, he

noticed their gigantesque form, but a bloody handprint drew his eye to them even more. It

was a small hand, much like the hand of Nettie... The hand he had graced each morning

when she provided him the biscuits.

He hopped off the horse and loosely, but securely, tied it to the porch railing. The air had

become unforgiving and hot, much unlike the cool crisp morning air that had soothed him

the last time he was here. He removed the axe from the saddle, and then the kerosene

lamp. He pulled a match from the saddlebag. It was an item he always kept on his horse.

Lifting the globe of the lantern, he struck his match and lit the wick. Even though the hot

summer sun was still high in the sky, the house was dark. Whatever waited inside was

dark.

With the lantern in his left hand, the axe in his dominant right, he stepped up onto the

porch. The creaking and moaning the of the steps were a dead giveaway to anything that

lay waiting inside, that something was intruding upon it. He bit down on his teeth when

he heard the sound, frustrated with himself that he had forgotten about the shoddy nature

of the steps. Frustrated that he may have given away the element of surprise. Even still,

he knew he must go on. He crept across the porch and to the door of the home. It was

wide open. Nettie's blood soaked hand prints made it evident that she had hit it with a

frenzied force to open it. Her blood laden steps marked her path as she had fled from the

home. The crimson trail made it easier to trace where the horror had happened.

He stuck one foot past the threshold and into the home. Summoning strength from his

inner self, Bennet jumped inside, swinging the axe and shaking the lantern around the

room, like a half crazed imbecile. Immediately upon doing this, he realized how foolish

the action was. If the creature within didn't know he was there from the creaking of the

steps, then now it did. Now it knew he was inside with it. The very thought made his feet

turn to lead, but he persevered and made his way past the foyer and into the kitchen, the

location of the incident as described to him by Nettie. He rested his hand gently on the

door of the kitchen, as to not swing it open just yet. Taking a deep breath, he slowly

pushed it open, the light from the lantern spilling slowly across the room.

He looked around carefully for any sort of horror or creature. As he gazed into that room,

he noticed the blood that was sprayed on the walls and ceiling. As his eyes followed the

direction from which it had come, the thicker the coating became, until his eyes landed

on the body. The body of Nettie's uncle, the man he had worked for so that he may marry

her. Clearwater Vandenberg lay gored near the entrance to the cellar. Bennet scanned the

room and was certain nothing of danger was near. He rushed over to Clearwater's body,

and it was easily determined that the man was dead. He had been gashed and sliced

beyond facial recognition, but it was him. His shoes were very much identifiable.

Those Italian leather loafers Mr. Vandenberg was so proud of. In the years prior, Bennet

had seen those shoes a thousand times, and heard a thousand times how they were

imported, and the finest leather around. Bennet's tattered boots barely held together, and

Clearwater's boasting always made him envious. But not today. Today, a tear ran from

his eye. He wished that he could hear the story another thousand times.

Bennet soon regained his inquisitive mind, and looked around the room for signs of what

had happened, hoping to see the paw print of a bear in the blood. No signs were present,

but perhaps the pooling of crimson covered them. The only signs of another entity were

the bloody footprints of Nettie leading outside. He peered down the dark cellar steps,

lifting his lantern to cast down the light. Blood had drained from the body and down the

steps, but no signs of a bear or monstrosity were visible. If it were a bear, there surely

would be further signs of it in the belly of the cellar. He stepped down with his right foot,

and descended into the cold cellar. As he made it halfway down the steps, the room

below became more visible, and nothing seemed out of....

Bennet slipped on the blood that had gathered on the mid-step and fell down into the

cellar. The axe went flying away from him, deeper into the cellar, and the lantern luckily

extinguished its flame as it flew through the air. Bennet lay at the bottom of the dark

steps, unresponsive. Unconscious.

"Wake up! Wake up Bennet!" A voice shook him from his state of lapse. Nettie had

grown weary of his long absence, and had come to check on him. Addled from the fall,

Bennet took a moment before he realized what had happened. He tried standing up, but

his leg gave away. He had broken it in the fall.

"My leg, Nettie... I think I broke it... My lungs hurt too, Nettie... I think I broke my ribs."

Bennet barely spoke.

Nettie put her arm around him. Slowly and with toil, they made their way back up the

stairs. As they reached the top, Nettie's fortitude and strength suddenly gave out, and they

fell in a puddle of blood. As Bennet raised his head to lift himself up, he noticed the

dinner knife in the corner. The blood covered blade. The handle struck him as his eyes

reached it. The blood print... The size of the blood print on the handle.

"Nettie..." He uttered.

His mind raced. There was no sign of anything out of order in the cellar. Even before his

fall, he had investigated and determined that the cellar was undisturbed. There were no

footprints, other than Nettie's. Nothing of evidence suggested that anything had intruded

on this home.

Nettie heard her name being uttered and looked at him. "Yes, Bennet?" She responded

before noticing that his eyes were glaring widely at the blade.

"You killed him... You struck him with the knife... That is why you were covered so in his

blood... Why? Why did you do it, Nettie?"

She quickly rose to her feet and pounced on Bennet with her knees, landing on his broken

ribs. He let out a most dreadful moan of pain.

"He told me that he wasn't going to let you marry Nettie! I had to stop him! I did it for

you both!" Nettie spoke in a higher tone than usual.

"Why are you talking so strangely, Nettie? You ARE Nettie!" Bennet exclaimed, hurting,

afraid, and confused.

"I am not Nettie. That weak little cretin would let everyone push her around if it wasn't

for me! Just like her filthy parents. If I had not sawed the axel nearly in two on their

carriage, causing their 'accident' ...IF NOT FOR ME, we would be in Madam Delacroix's

School For Girls now." Bennet struggled to raise up, but she pushed his shoulders back

down, continuing with a mocking tone. "Her parents wanted to give her a 'proper'

education, to make her appreciate all the taste of refinement. Nettie did not want to leave

home. She did not want to go to New Orleans. She cried, and she cried, and she cried, all

through the nights. Then I came along... I SAVED HER. I could not STAND TO HEAR

HER ANYMORE! Pitiful little creature, all helpless and alone. I had to do something,

right? RIGHT? RIGHT, BENNET?!?"

"Oh my god, what have you done? You have gone mad!" Bennet cried. She moved a

hand to his throat.

"Mad? MAD?!? I did what HAD to be done. I did what she could not do... What she

wasn't strong enough to achieve, I made manifest! She lacked vision... The vision that I

have. Looks like you two are a perfect match, because YOU, Bennet, lack vision! You

lack resolve! You are just like pitiful little Nettie, working each and every day at that

watermill, just so you can have her hand in marriage." Her hand tightened around his

neck. "But HE wasn't going to LET you! He was going to deny you what you earned.

What NETTIE earned! And now, you do not appreciate what I did for you and Nettie?

This is why you are useless, and a poor example of a man." She laughed as her eyes

glistened from the fading sun through the kitchen window, and her fingers dug deeper

into his neck.

Bennet, fearing for his life, raised his free arm and pushed against her with all his might,

expelling her off of him.

"You should not have done that, Bennet!" She shrieked, scampering into the basement.

Bennet, still weak from his prior injury, raised up and grabbed the cellar door to steady

himself. Just then, he heard the fizzing of a match and saw a wild flickering light in the

pit of the cellar. He struggled to remain upright through the pain in his leg and his sides.

He turned and hobbled toward the door leading to the foyer, but as he did, he heard a

dreadful sound scraping up from the basement... His axe, he imagined, grating across the

stone floor, being dragged closer and closer to him. Slowly, he fumbled toward the

kitchen exit. The footsteps from the cellar became harder and louder. Bennet tried to

make haste, but the footsteps were now at the top of the stairs. His heart pounding like

never before, faster and heavier than earlier that day when he had first approached the

house, he reached for the swinging door, and his whole body went numb.

He fell through the door, and it slammed against the wall. He felt an awful pressure in his

back as giggling echoed through the house. He heard the shattering of glass, and saw a

flare of light fill the room. Nettie stepped out in front of him and leaned down.

"I never liked this house. I have a house of my own in Baton Rouge. Clearwater would

never have allowed me to claim what was my rightful inheritance. But now, nothing is

stopping me! I wanted you to join Nettie... But you clearly disappointed us." She scowled

as she threw down the axe in front of Bennet and walked out the door. She untied

Bennet's horse and rode off into the night, the light from the burning house illuminating

her way.

Bennet

Book 1 of The Alderdice Tales

by

D. R. Acula

Edited

by

Kylie Jude

Copyright 2014 D. R. Acula