Do you like stories with mystery and suspense? Strange and “wyrd” ones? Well, if you do, keep reading and enjoy Eggcentricsagas. If you are just joining Eggcentricsagas, you might want to start from the beginning: A La Mano: Part 1-The Treasure
Back in the alley being chased by the red head. “You cannot keep what you do not own, you cannot keep what you do not own,” she called. Her words burned into my brain as she hounded me from behind. Hearing her approaching footsteps, I tried to run faster. Suddenly, I was in the river. Her icy breath was on my neck. Her pale hands grasping my shoulders; pushing me down. Submerged underwater, I tried to yell for help but couldn’t breathe…
Gasping for air, I sat straight up in bed. My chest heaving, I opened my eyes. Someone was knocking on my bedroom door. Fearing it to be the red-head, I broke out into a cold sweat. Thankfully, the knocking ceased, but the doorknob started to turn. Sucking in my breath, I watched as the door creaked slowly open.
“Are you alright?” Mrs. Tilsby stuck her head in and peered at me in the dark.
Much relieved at seeing her face framed by her nightcap I sighed. “Yes, thank you.”
“I heard you call out in your sleep when I walked past. You must have been having a nightmare.” She paused and added, “Mr. Fu is not feeling well. This is the third time I have taken him out tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I hope he feels better.”
The next morning, I declined breakfast having lost my appetite from the nightmare. Why did the haunting continue? Before I left for work, I noticed that Mr. Fu was in a similar state; his bowl of mush was left untouched.
The following two days were the same; only the time of being held underwater by the spirit seemed to increase. When I arose on the third morning, I resolved to return to Madame Mariposa to seek counsel. I was shocked when I came down the stairs and saw Mrs. Tilsby slumped in her armchair in the sitting room with Mr. Fu clasped to her large bosom.
She looked up at me as I approached her, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Mr. Fu is really sick. He hasn’t eaten in three days. I don’t know what to do.” We both looked down at Mr. Fu listless in Mrs. Tilsby arms. “He passed blood this morning.” She pointed to her soiled handkerchief lying on the end table as proof. “He’s all that I have, now that Mr. Tilsby is gone.”
With this revelation, she burst into a fresh round of sobbing and buried her face into the fur of Mr. Fu’s neck. All at once, I saw Mrs. Tilsby in a different light. Not as my grumpy old landlady who served me bad meals but as a person searching for love and companionship. Mr. Fu, her only true friend, was on the verge of dying; I felt remorse for all my negative thoughts about them. What could I do to help? I thought about Jim; he always gave me sound advice.
“Let me take him to my friend. He’ll know what to do,” I suggested.
For the first time I could remember, Mrs. Tilsby smiled weakly at me. “Would you do that for me and Mr. Fu?”
I nodded and she handed me Mr. Fu. He was in bad condition as he barely lifted his head as she transferred him to my arms. “Do you have something in which I can carry him?” She got up and fetched a basket with a handle as well as my bowler hat and coat. I set out for Jim’s place toting Mr. Fu in his container.
After I arrived, Jim listened with patience as I explained all that had happened. I lifted the lid of the basket. When Jim saw the dog, all he said was “Dr. Wu.” He put on his cap and jacket before we set off in search of a remedy.
We rode the trolley to Chinatown in silence. I feared for my safety as my imagination ran wild thinking of all the rumors; notorious Chinese gangs, bubonic plague, opium dens but most of all sorcery. Was Dr. Wu a necromancer? When we disembarked, I stepped into an exotic landscape. I surveyed the unusual surroundings; multi-storied buildings with pagoda roofs, intricately carved wooden balconies, and signs with elegant but unfamiliar calligraphy. The streets were crowded and noisy by men going about their business of peddling their wares beneath fringed canopies and colorful Chinese lanterns. Most, but not all, were adorned with round crown fedoras or fishermen’s caps. A few people gave us curious looks; the majority ignored our passing. A temple gong and clashing cymbal in the distance announced some ceremony as children ran by pulling metal toys with clacking wheels. A variety of novel smells overwhelmed my senses.
Jim led me to a storefront; I glanced up to see dragons carved into the stone facade above the royal blue canopy. Golden letters on the window spelled out Wu’s Herbs followed by Chinese script. As Jim reached for the handle, I fervently hoped that this so-called magic man could cure Mr. Fu.
Next: Part 9- The Chinese Necromancer
