The Watcher in the Shadows (Niebla 3)

Lazarus paused for a moment. Simone pictured the tears behind the mask.

‘Together, we explored Cravenmoore. A lot of people think that the marvels contained in this house are all my own creation. However only a small selection of them originate from my hands. The rest, all those endless galleries of amazing machines that even I don’t understand, were already here when I first moved in. I’ll never know how long they were here before I came. There was a time when I thought that others had occupied my place before me. Sometimes, if I stop to listen in the dead of night, I think I can hear the echoes of other voices, other footsteps, filling the corridors. Sometimes I think that perhaps time has stood still in every room, in every empty passageway, and that the creatures who inhabit this mansion were once human beings, just like me.

‘I stopped worrying about such matters long ago, however, even though I was still discovering new rooms I’d never been in before after I’d lived in Cravenmoore for years. New corridors that led to wings I’d never seen . . . I think that some places – ancient dwellings that can be counted on the fingers of one hand – are so much more than a building; they’re alive. They have their own soul and their own way of communicating with us. Cravenmoore is one of those places. Nobody knows when it was built. Nor who built it, nor why. But when this house speaks to me, I listen . . .

‘Before that summer of 1916, when we were at our happiest, something happened. In fact, it had begun to happen a year before that, although I didn’t realise it. The day after our wedding, Alexandra got up at dawn and went into the large oval hall to look at the hundreds of presents we’d received. The gift that first caught her eye was a small hand-carved casket. A gem. Captivated, Alexandra opened it. It contained a note and a glass bottle. The note, which was addressed to her, said that this was a special gift. A surprise. It explained that the bottle contained my favourite perfume, the one my mother had used, and that she should wait until the day of our first anniversary before using it. This was to remain a secret between her and the person who had signed the note, an old friend from my childhood, Daniel Hoffmann . . .

‘Following his instructions to the letter, and convinced that by doing so she would make me happy, Alexandra kept the bottle for twelve months. On the agreed date, she took it out of the casket and opened it. Needless to say, the bottle didn’t contain perfume. It was the flask I’d thrown into the sea on the eve of our wedding. From the moment Alexandra opened it, our life turned into a nightmare . . .

‘Around the same time I began to receive letters from Daniel Hoffmann. He wrote to me from Berlin, where he said he was involved in a great task that would one day change the world. Millions of children were receiving his gifts. Millions of children who would, one day, form the greatest army ever known. I still don’t understand what he meant by those words.

‘In one of his early parcels, he sent me a book, a leather-bound volume that seemed older than the world itself. There was just one word on the cover: “Doppelgänger”. Have you ever heard of a doppelgänger? Of course you haven’t. Nowadays, nobody is interested in legends and magic. Doppelgänger was originally a Germanic term, meaning a shadow that becomes detached from its owner and turns against him. The book was basically a manual about shadows. A museum piece. And by the time I started reading it, it was too late. Something was already lurking in the darkness of this house; growing secretly, month after month, like a snake’s egg waiting to hatch.

‘By May 1916, the brightness of that first year with Alexandra was beginning to fade. Soon I realised that the shadow had come back. The first attacks were only minor incidents. Alexandra would find her clothes torn to shreds. Doors would slam shut as she approached them and invisible hands would push objects towards her. There were voices in the dark. That was just the beginning . . .

‘This house has a thousand dark corners where a shadow can hide. It struck me then that Cravenmoore was in fact the soul of its creator, of Daniel Hoffmann, and that the shadow would grow within that soul, getting stronger day by day, while I became weaker. All the strength I had once possessed would become the property of the shadow and slowly, as I moved back into the darkness of my childhood, I would end up becoming the shadow, and Hoffmann my master.

‘I decided to close the toy factory and concentrate on my former obsession: I wanted to bring Gabriel back to life, the guardian angel who had protected me in Paris. I felt that, if I managed to make the angel come alive, it would protect me and Alexandra from the shadow. That’s why I set about designing the most powerful automaton I had ever dreamed of. A steel colossus. An angel that would free me from my nightmare.

‘How naïve . . . The moment that monstrous construction was able to rise from the table in my workshop, any hint of obedience disappeared. It wasn’t me the angel listened to, but its master, the shadow. And its master could not exist without me, because I was the source of its power. Not only did the angel not rid me of my nightmare, it turned into the worst guardian imaginable. The guardian of the terrible secret that condemned me for eternity, a guardian that would rise without pity every time something or someone put that secret at risk.

‘The attacks on Alexandra intensified. The shadow was now more powerful and with every day the threat grew stronger. The shadow had decided to punish me through my wife’s suffering. I had given Alexandra a heart that did not belong to me and that mistake would be our undoing. I was close to losing my mind when I noticed that the shadow only acted if I was nearby. It couldn’t live without me. That is why I decided to abandon Cravenmoore and take refuge in the lighthouse. It wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone there, on the island. If someone was to pay the price of my betrayal, that someone had to be me. But I had underestimated Alexandra’s strength. Her love for me. Overcoming her terror and risking her own life, she came to my rescue on the night of the masked ball. As soon as the boat in which she was sailing approached the island, the shadow fell on her and dragged her to the bottom of the sea. I can still hear its laughter when it surfaced through the waves. The following day, it returned to the glass bottle. For more than twenty years I didn’t see it again . . .’

Simone stood up, trembling, and slowly retreated until she backed into the wall. She couldn’t listen to another word from this man’s lips, from this sick person. Only one thing kept her where she was and stopped her from giving in to the panic she felt after hearing the masked figure’s story: her anger.

‘No, dear friend . . . Don’t make that mistake . . . Don’t you understand what’s happening? When you and your family arrived here, I couldn’t help but let my heart notice you. I didn’t intend to do so. I didn’t even realise what was happening until it was too late. I tried to break the spell by building a machine in your own image . . .’

‘What?’

‘I thought . . . Shortly after your arrival, which filled this house with life again, the shadow awoke from its limbo. It had been asleep for more than twenty years in that accursed bottle, but it soon found a victim to release it again.’

‘Hannah . . .’ Simone murmured.

‘I know what you must be thinking, but believe me, there is no possible escape. I’ve done everything I can . . .’

The masked man stood up and walked towards her.

‘Don’t take another step!’ Simone screamed.

Lazarus stopped.

‘I don’t want to hurt you, Simone. I’m your friend. Don’t turn your back on me.’

She felt a wave of loathing.

‘You murdered Hannah . . .’

‘Simone . . .’

‘Where are my children?’

‘They’ve chosen their fate . . .’

An icy dagger ripped at her heart.

‘What have you done with them?’

Lazarus raised his gloved hands.