Highly Commended in the SULS Writing Competition 2021
By William Pyke (JD 2)
The shards of sun that could pierce through the clouds illuminated a red plain. The wind was starting to pick up – by nightfall it would be roaring – but otherwise the place was deathly still. A lone wallaby stared at a shape fixed in the middle of the plain. A gargantuan shape, green and black. A house, a manor of some sort that had long since been deserted. It had more than decayed. The house looked as though the next gust of wind would blow it over. The glass windows were shattered or missing entirely. The inside of the front door was burnt black as coal, and some shutters hung by a single nail, creaking as they swayed in the dusk. One might have been mistaken for believing the house to be haunted, but there was no denying that in its heyday it must have been worth millions. Such fine observations were largely undiscernible for the wallaby, who, after a moment of staring at the Manor, resumed her scavenge and trailed lightly away. But the Manor went nowhere.
As the sun disappeared entirely behind the clouds, it began. Dust started falling from the hulking frame. The nap had been long enough, it was time to wake up. Lights sharpened into focus and voices became audible. The decay was long gone, the glory restored. Once darkness fell, it was time to start the party.
‘Otto Mantell!’
The voice came sharply to his ears, and Otto knew at once who it belonged to. He turned and saw Seamus Myers practically sprinting towards him. Any chance Otto had to wonder how he had gotten so distracted was already gone. Myers was now so close that Otto could see the throbbing vein in his freckly forehead. This was a tell-tale sign that Seamus was not happy, but Otto didn’t need any reminding of that.
‘Is there a reason the lamb roast hasn’t been delivered to Doctor Ramsay?’ Seamus asked.
‘N-no, Seamus,’ Otto replied. ‘I must have gotten dis—’
‘Distracted?’ Seamus finished, pulling Otto’s face inches from his own. Otto swore that from this distance, he could almost see the forehead vein throbbing.
‘Yes, sir,’ Otto darted his eyes downward.
‘I might have guessed,’ Seamus threw Otto backwards and, quick as a flash, had a silver platter in his hands.
‘It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’ He handed the platter to Otto, his movements delicate now. Otto shrugged.
Finnegan was about to continue before being interrupted by the chefs, furious about the cheesecakes. Otto didn’t want to waste his opportunity to get out of the kitchens. With a hop he clambered through the double doors and into the parlour.
The music hit him at once. Live jazz. Somewhere in the dining room. His heart skipped a beat. Otto felt his eyes water involuntarily as they often did now when he heard jazz. He had to see the band. Perhaps just one song…
No time to get distracted, he told himself. Find Doctor Ramsay. Then jazz.
But the search for Doctor Ramsay proved harder than he would ever have guessed. He wasn’t in the mess hall, nor games room, and he wasn’t to be found in the library either. A group of men roared with laughter and boasted of hunts gone by, drunk and smoking. Smoking. Perhaps Ramsay preferred to smoke alone? And where better to do that than outside?
Otto skipped as quickly as he could down the stairs. He had been working here for too long than to wonder what Seamus Myers would do if guests complained about cold food. Truth be told, Otto had hated this job from the moment he had started it. Four long years had passed since Joey had sailed for New York. In his heart, Otto had always known that Joey was too bright a spark for Perth. When a talent agent had offered to sail Joey to the big apple to pursue jazz, it seemed only right that he had taken it. But Otto would not stay at home for long after him. Not with those deadbeat parents. Not with the belt every night. Not while he could start a new life overseas with his brother. And so he had run away and wound up in the service of Myers’ Services. The pay was dismal, the living conditions atrocious. But Otto wasn’t far off from his goal now. One last night, and he was gone. First to Sydney, and then to Joey. To the city that never sleeps to hear the saxophone that played in his dreams.
Besides, Otto thought to himself, I’ve seen some pretty nice houses on the road. He smiled at the thought, striding outside past the carriages. The horses bristled in the night breeze. This place is pretty incredible… He took in the green mansion. The Kettle Estate. As mysterious as it was beautiful. Long had it stood here, a diamond in the rough. He sighed and continued towards a lone figure he had seen, smoking by the end of the carriages.
‘Doctor Ramsay?’ Otto asked.
‘Yes, thank you,’ the man replied, taking the platter.
‘Here,’ he offered Otto some money.
‘Thank you so much, Doctor Ramsay,’ he beamed.
‘Call me Mitchell,’ he replied. Otto had never been asked by a guest to call them by their first name before.
‘Thank you, Mitchell,’ he replied. He turned to go, but something stopped him.
‘Would you not prefer to eat with the others?’
Otto had no idea why he asked the question, and instantly felt like an idiot for asking it. There was a long pause.
‘I used to sail when I was young. My Father and I. The night sky… Helps me think.’
Otto smiled and nodded but wasn’t sure whether the stranger could see him. After a moment he walked back towards the Manor. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but Otto felt the need to turn around and tell Doctor Ramsay about Joey sailing to America.
Otto turned with a smile on his face that soon vanished. The Doctor was gone. The wind had picked up out of nowhere, whistling in the night. Otto felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He started once more back to the house, his head bowed. Behind him, carriages stood with empty horse harnesses. Otto burst back into the house and found the ball room utterly empty.
What on earth? Otto asked himself.
Suddenly it felt as though he was moving through thick mud. He wanted to move faster but an unseen terror was holding him back, preventing him from discovering what scene was afoot here. Somewhere, far away, the jazz band continued to play, the haunting melody echoing throughout the seemingly empty house. It soothed Otto and for a moment he thought he even heard Joey’s saxophone.
Joey. Do it for Joey.
With a newfound courage, Otto determined to march to where this had all started, the kitchens. His footsteps bounding loudly on the polished floor. A sense of foreboding grew stronger with every step that Otto took, but somewhere deep within he knew he had to pass through those double doors and see what lay beyond. He pushed them open with what felt like Herculean strength.
The kitchen was empty. Only one sound could be heard, a whistling kettle. Or was it? Otto crept forward to find the source of this whistling that only grew louder. His stomach dropped to the floor when he realised it wasn’t a kettle at all.
The boiler – dead ahead – was almost shaking itself off its hinges. A dial on it pointed firmly into the red.
‘Don’t ever let it get in the red, or else we’re all dead.’
It was Seamus who said these words on Otto’s orientation, but Otto who spoke them now. With a sad smile, Otto walked to the window and glanced outside. The sun was beginning to rise on a beautiful red plane. A diamond in the rough.
Outside, a Father and Son passed by in a Holden X-Trail, a red trail in their wake. If they had looked at that very moment, they might have seen Otto, smiling sadly back at them. But such fine observations were largely undiscernible for the pair, who, after a fleeting glance at the old burnt down building, drove on.