Lokius / Haunted Mansion & Crimson Peak AU | Priest!Mobius and Thomas Sharpe (19th century era) | Music: X
"You may not believe in the afterlife, Mr. Sharpe, but know this... most of us will see the light at the end of our lives, but not before we look into the very essence of darkness."
Thomas's eyebrows furrowed. "Your words give little comfort to a grieving man. I'm here to hire you to expel the spirits, that is all. Your spiritual guidance is not required."
Mobius gazed at Thomas Sharpe for a while, perhaps longer than necessary, before nodding. "Of course."
The tension that had settled over Thomas's shoulders seemed to loosen, but the hardened expression continued to stay. Mobius wondered, not for the first time, what Thomas Sharpe's face would look like when he smiled. Perhaps in lighter, better circumstances, he would have been able to see such a moment. But today was not to be.
Mobius had been asked to meet Thomas Sharpe one month after the young lord came to realize that he was being haunted. It had also been one month since his sister had died in a tragic accident, making him the last surviving heir of the Sharpe family. For a man who did not believe in the existence of god, however, Mobius can guess how much it must have pained the man to succumb to contacting him.
Mobius was glad he did because he could sense that the spirit (or spirits?) that dwelled in this mansion were malevolent. He had felt it the moment he stepped closer, each step growing heavier with every passing moment. By the time he reached the door, he felt the stifling thick air as if it were a curling grip around his throat, trying to suffocate him.
Thomas Sharpe had continued to remain within the mansion in spite of the looming otherwordly problem, which Mobius found to be peculiar, considering most men and women would have abandoned the mansion a long time ago to find their lodgings elsewhere until the issue was solved. But there was a stubbornness to his actions for staying put.
Did he not believe that I can exorcise the spirits properly? Mobius thought.
The first night crawled slowly. The young lord had given him a room to stay in. It was small but quaint; comfortable enough, but not cozy enough for him to stay any longer than a few days at most.
Since there was still a bit of daylight to spare. Mobius was invited to meet with the man to discuss certain matters after he settled down, and he agreed. He was intrigued when Thomas Sharpe asked him to meet him in the library. This room was relatively larger, and Mobius saw the room was filled with shelves that carried books of many different titles, some of which he recognized, while others were foreign to him. What was clear was that the mansion had a very intriguing collection ranging in many different categories of subjects, and it had been curated with care over the years by many generations of Sharpes. Mobius can easily see Thomas Sharpe being one of them.
When Mobius had walked in, he found Thomas sitting in a Victorian wingback armchair with a book in his right hand, his elbow settling on the armchair so that the book's slightly yellowing and bent pages on the corners, bristling with age, were splayed out before him eagerly. Thomas was so engrossed in his reading that for a second, he didn't seem to notice Mobius was even in the room. Mobius took in his concentrated, furrowed eyebrows as his gaze traced the words on the page, fully engrossed in the subject. The spine of the book read, 'Frankenstein' by Mary Shelley and took Mobius aback a little because not only was this book his favorite but he was intrigued by why Thomas was reading it as well.
Mobius coughed softly to get Thomas's attention, and for a moment the baronet's long lashes blinked in confusion as if he was unsure where he was. But this gaze settled upon Mobius, cool crystalline blue eyes taking him in. Thomas set the book down on the chair, carefully as if it were precious; and perhaps it was. Perhaps it had sentimental value. He stood up to greet him and spoke with an eloquent British accent that felt out of place in New Orleans.
"Father Mobius. Forgive me, I had been immersed in the story."
Mobius smiled, "Frankenstein is fascinating."
Thomas looked amused and a little surprised, from the way his eyes widened just a fraction. "You have read Shelley's work?"
Mobius nodded, and he couldn't help but give a small smile as well at the little twinkle in Thomas's eyes that seemed to warm his usually guarded and distant azure eyes. "Mmm, it's quite a book."
Thomas's cocked his head, "What did you make of it?"
Mobius thought for a moment, and the silence fell but it was not an unkind or fretful kind of silence that needed to be filled with words or noise. If anything, it seemed natural, a calm quiet that was broken when Mobius spoke, "I... pity the monster."
"Oh?" Thomas said. Mobius hadn't noticed before, but he found Thomas had been gripping his hands into a tight grip as if he were holding something in. As to what, he couldn't quite fathom. But it contrasted with the man's interest in his answer.
"The monster had no choice on whether to be alive or not, and yet it was shunned by its creator."
Thomas's eyebrows rose, "Can the same not be said of your God, Father? Does he not also forsake us on this land?"
Now it was Mobius's turn to be amused, "He never leaves our side, Mr. Sharpe. Even if you may not have faith in him anymore."
Thomas was clearly not convinced, but this time he did not give him a cold remark as he did their first meeting. Instead, the man regarded him with curiosity. "It is not a question regarding loss of faith, Father. I merely choose what to believe. Like Victor Frankenstein, I am engrossed in finding the meaning of life through facts and actualities. I find comfort in it."
Mobius inclined his head in a small nod. He wasn't about to comment on the man's belief again, no matter how tempting that might be. While he was a religious man to his core, having been raised in it, he knew there were men who believed in science, finding it to be reliable and honest in its writings, whereas religion gave little more than soothing thoughts that did not give these men any advantages in their businesses. He had heard Thomas to be a skilled inventor, which he guessed was another reason why the man trusted numbers and science to that of the teachings of God.
The two men had found a place to sit and discuss the matter of the house and the haunting, as well as how Mobius will expel the spirits in the house. The conversation was succinct, to the point. And conversations about God was not brought up after that. They left, but not before Mobius noticed that this time... Thomas's right hand, which had been curled into a tight fist, was twitching as if something was causing this nervous tick. He did not comment on it, but it stuck with him.
Was Thomas ill? Or perhaps the stresses of the past few weeks had been affecting his health? Mobius couldn't help but worry. I will try to ask him, gently... Mobius thought to himself as he went back to his room.
As the darkness ebbed and latched onto every corner of the mansion's walls, Mobius felt the presence of the spirit grow stronger as night fell. He hadn't quite let this fact settle quite yet when he had been having his conversation with the baronet. Or rather, he hadn't quite wanted to worry Thomas or scare the man, even though he probably could guess he was most likely made of sturdier stuff than most.
Readying himself, Mobius pulled out his bible and cross. Goosebumps formed over his skin as a chill enveloped the room. He had memorized all the words inked on those pages by heart, and the Latin inscriptions had saved him numerous times when he had to perform an exorcism. Perhaps he was going to be lucky and the spirits will come to him, not the other way around?
He waited but nothing happened. With a sigh, Mobius stepped out of his room, grabbing the lantern as he did. The door creaked, as well as the floorboards. He looked around, and the silence and chill greeted him. Slowly, he walked through the hallways of Sharpe Mansion. He passed by many a room, taking in how huge this mansion was.
According to the young baronet's report, he had described the phenomenon where the room temperature had dropped dramatically. Thomas Sharpe had also been plagued by numerous odd noises occurring in the first week, many of which sounded like screams as well as cackling laughter. After the second and third week, he'd seen glimpses of shadows which he guessed were the spirits. In the mornings, he would find dead animals outside of the mansion, as if laid out like blood sacrifices.
"Must have been upsetting," Mobius had said. It was the usual sort of words he said aloud to most of the people he helped. It seemed to reassure them a little, knowing that they were being heard. However in Thomas Sharpe's case, he seemed to flinch as if acknowledging the disadvantage of his situation meant he was also accepting his weaknesses. His lips pressed together as he looked Mobius straight in the eye.
"It did not scare me."
Mobius's eyes widened a little in disbelief, "Really? Not even a little?"
Thomas did not answer him then, instead taking it upon himself to continue detailing the string of strange occurrences that happened in that one month. In Mobius's mind, the list was enough to scare him if he had nothing to fend himself with.
There was a sound of a loud thud, as if a large piece of furniture had been dropped to the floor and Mobius turned in the direction of the sound. It had come from behind one of the rooms he had passed by.
"Mr. Sharpe?" Mobius called out, but he saw no one behind him. Narrowing his eyes, he walked back to where he heard the sound and stood in front of an oak door. He heard another thud again, this time slightly less louder than the first and he knew that it was coming from this room.
Mobius contemplated going in search of the young baronet, but something told him that perhaps this room was unlocked. Spirits had a tendency to play cruel games, and if they were the kind Mobius had encountered in the past, then he had a feeling they were more than willing to play with him for sport.
It was only then that he noticed there was a name on the room, and his eyes widened when he saw the name of the master of the house etched into the silver name plate.
Thomas Sharpe.
It was chilled over, and Mobius saw small speckles of frost seemingly covering over it. But that was absolutely impossible, in this New Orleans heat.
"Mr. Sharpe? Are you there?"
No answer.
Mobius breathed in deeply and tried the handle. Unfortunately for him, he was wrong about the door being unlocked. He twisted and tried to push it forward but to no avail. He could run back to where the servants might be, if they were even here, to seek the room keys but Mobius had a dreadful feeling that there wasn't time.
Gosh, I hate this part.
Bracing himself, he stepped back a moment and then slammed into the wood. It creaked in protest, but Mobius continued to crash into it a few more times, all the while feeling the cold further chilling his body to the point where his breath was coming out in white vapors.
After the sixth try the door relented, and in Mobius went, staggering before he found his footing. Panting and sweating, he looked up, expecting to see a glimmer of glowing figures of some kind in the room. What he found instead caused him to take a sharp intake of breath.
"Mr. Sharpe?" Mobius said uncertainly at the man who stood near the bed, his back and face turned away from him. Thomas was unresponsive, and there was a red glow surrounding him that rippled around his form.
"Thomas...?"
It was only after a few moments before Thomas Sharpe's shoulder twitched, and then his head slowly turned to look at Mobius.
"I am not Thomas."
Mobius's eyes widened as he saw Thomas Sharpe's eyes were glowing red, his face twisted into a wide smile. It seemed so out of character from the Thomas Sharpe that Mobius had come to know over the few hours he'd met, and it caused a shiver to ripple down Mobius's spine.
His grip on the bible tightened, and Mobius raised his cross higher.
"You will not take him," the spirit that used Thomas's voice hissed.
"Tell me who you are," Mobius demanded.
Whoever it was that used Thomas's body as his puppet seemed to find this question amusing. "I know men like you. Here to corrupt us all with your superstitious lies."
"Tell me who you ARE!" Mobius repeated his demands, and this time he took a few broad steps towards the spirit. The spirit hissed, and its eyes burned bright.
"Lady Lucille Sharpe. But you knew this already."
"Why did you possess your brother's body?"
Lucille tilted her head just a little, and her hands cross over her back. Mobius found a devilish glint in her eyes. It was disconcerting to see them in Thomas Sharpe's eyes. So... wrong.
"The better question is, how would you like to die, priest? Because you will die, and when I see the life leave your eyes, I will savor it as I feel my brother's anguish for not having been able to save you."