Chapter 80 …
The reason we came to rely on her necromancy was actually quite simple.
First, we had absolutely no idea what the relic even looked like.
Second, now that Sir Charles was dead, the only being who could tell us about it was—
Let’s ask the spirits.
What do you mean by that?
Have you ever heard of a necromancer named Miss Jane?
Even after becoming engaged to Chris, Jane hadn’t quit working.
If anything, backed by Chris’s wholehearted support, her necromancy business had gone from strength to strength and was positively flourishing.
There was no way Sherlock Holmes—who had more than a passing interest in the occult—hadn’t heard her name before.
Don’t tell me… that “Miss Jane” on the guest list is that very same Miss Jane?
Sherlock gasped in surprise, then praised the idea as brilliant, clearly taken with my suggestion.
Soon after, he added with a grin,
I should ask her for an autograph.
…There really were moments when he didn’t quite match his image.
Anyway.
We also sought permission from Miss Titania, who was now effectively the mistress of the estate.
I detest superstition, but… if that’s the only way, then it can’t be helped.
A devout believer who denied anything unscientific in principle, she too had no choice but to bend before the unknown mysteries she had experienced firsthand.
Once she agreed to my plan—clutching at straws as she was—there were no more obstacles.
I’ve already explained the situation fully to Henry, Jimmy, and Chris.
They wanted to take part in the investigation as well.
But since this case clearly involved unknown forces, ordinary people could lose consciousness or be driven mad at any moment.
And so, at this very moment—
Only four people were gathered in what the servants claimed was the quietest room in the mansion.
Myself, Sherlock, Jane, and Sally.
We sat around the table—only those with some degree of resistance to unknown forces.
“Then, I’ll begin the prayer.”
As Jane began chanting a prayer in an unknown language, the necromantic ritual commenced.
Its purpose was singular.
To learn not only what the relic looks like, but if possible, where it is located.
The moment Jane finished her prayer, the temperature seemed to drop by at least a degree, and the air suddenly turned frigid.
“Everyone, open your eyes now.”
Shiver.
The pointer on the talking board was visibly trembling.
When it slid to point at HELLO, Sherlock swallowed a shocked gasp.
“…My God.”
Come to think of it, Sherlock Holmes was the only one here witnessing a necromantic ritual for the first time.
While Sally and I remained composed, Jane continued the ritual.
“Greetings. Whose spirit are you?”
The pointer trembled again.
It darted across the alphabet, forming a message.
H, U, G, O, B, A…
Hugo Baskerville!
The great-grandfather of Sir Charles Baskerville—the man said to have brought the curse upon the family.
Knowing this well, we lifted our gazes and met each other’s eyes in silence.
Jane, visibly more tense now, pressed on.
“Greetings, Sir Hugo. There is something we wish to ask—”
Before she could finish speaking, the pointer began to quiver violently, forming another message.
“Do not pry into the secret.”
“Do not pry… What do you mean by that?”
Another message followed in response to Jane’s question.
“It is something that must be buried forever.”
“That my descendant received it from HIM was the gravest mistake of all.”
Was this “HIM” the same person Sir Charles referred to as “that one” in his diary?
While I was lost in thought, Jane worked desperately to persuade Sir Hugo’s spirit.
“Sir Hugo, this is for the sake of your descendants. Though Sir Charles met an unfortunate death, unless the relic is destroyed, the number of victims cursed by it will continue to grow—”
“It cannot be destroyed.”
“So do not seek to know.”
As Jane hesitated, I leaned in and whispered something to her.
She repeated my words exactly.
“Wasn’t it you, Sir Hugo, who brought it here in the first place? If you feel even the slightest responsibility for your actions, then at least give us a hint.”
The pointer wavered as if hesitating.
After wandering aimlessly for a moment, it finally formed a new sentence.
“I… I warned them enough…”
Like a broken machine, the spirit kept repeating the word warning.
But Jane did not give up.
“Then where is the relic—the relic that has claimed not only your life, but so many others?”
At last, the pointer began to move again, slowly and reluctantly.
It spelled out a phrase.
“Shining stone.”
A… shining stone?
I frowned, searching my memory, but I couldn’t recall seeing anything like a jewel box in Sir Charles’s room.
“It sleeps within a shining stone.”
“But remember this.”
“Never—no matter what—touch it—”
The pointer suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
Then, abruptly, it began forming a different message.
“T, H, E, H, O, U, N, D.”
The Hound.
The word appearing in both The Hound of the Baskervilles and Lovecraft’s short story The Hound.
At that instant, an ominous premonition swept through my mind.
“…A hound?” Jane asked, unable to understand.
Another message appeared.
“BEHIND YOU.”
“Behind you.”
“DON’T LOOK BACK.”
“…What?”
Everyone froze like stone.
Though curiosity burned, none of us dared to turn around.
Then—
Woof!
Somewhere far off, the sound of a hound barking echoed.
“Emily…”
Jane’s eyes widened as if they might burst from their sockets as she locked eyes with me.
Understanding her gaze, I quietly nodded.
The sound we heard in the drawing room the night before Sir Charles died.
It was exactly the same barking.
And Sir Charles had been deathly afraid of dogs… which means—
Sherlock Holmes, who hadn’t been present then, whispered to me in confusion.
“What’s going on? Why is Miss Jane suddenly—”
“Shh.”
Just as I raised a finger to my lips—
The barking came again.
Woof! Woof-woof!
…This time, it was closer.
“What in the—”
Sally, who also hadn’t been in the drawing room back then, frowned in confusion.
Woof-woof! Woof-woof-woof!
Now there was no doubt.
If the first bark came from outside the mansion, and the second from beyond this room—
The third sounded as though it were right here inside.
…The hound was getting closer.
“…!”
Jane, having reached the same realization, stared at me with a pale, terrified face.
“Emily, I think this is—”
At that moment.
The pointer, which had been motionless since the barking began, started trembling again.
“THEY”
“CAME”
Jane’s eyes widened as she followed the pointer.
“HERE.”
After deciphering the message, Jane slowly lifted her head.
“They… came here.”
The moment her deathly pale eyes met mine—
Grrrrr…
From directly beneath the table where the ritual was being conducted came the low growl of a dog.
Perhaps—
Perhaps we shouldn’t have.
But half on instinct, we looked under the table.
And there—
“…?”
Beneath the table’s shadow, something glowing crimson met my gaze.
“Eeeeeek!”
With a final scream, the lights in the room abruptly went out.
Before my eyes could adjust to the sudden darkness, the stench of blood hit my nose.
As a dreadful premonition slammed into my mind, I heard Sherlock’s groan—his vision, sharp as a wild animal’s even in darkness.
“My God… this is—”
The next moment—
The room brightened again.
“Ahhh!”
Jane, seated directly across from me, had her throat torn out.
Sally screamed at the horrific sight, and I barely managed to swallow my own cry.
How could this—
Before I could even properly process her condition, the room went dark again.
Another scream.
Then light once more.
…This time, it was Sally who lay dead.
“AAAH!”
Sherlock shouted upon discovering her lifeless body, her eyes still open.
“It’s the hound.”
“What?”
“A jet-black hound—emaciated, nothing but skin and bones.”
Sherlock explained.
“It’s invisible when the lights are on, but when it gets dark, its form finally reveals itself.”
That thing had taken the lives of two women—
Just as Sherlock was speaking, the lights went out yet again.
“…!”
When the room brightened once more—
Sherlock was dead.
His body, far more brutally mangled than the others’, made my throat go dry.
Woof-woof! Grrrrr…
At the sound of the hound once again, I finally understood.
…It was my turn.
Lights flickering on and off at will.
The hound’s breathing right nearby.
A dog invisible in the light.
People being helplessly torn apart before my eyes.
Half resigned, I lifted my head.
Darkness fell again.
“Grrrr!”
Hot, damp breath engulfed my face—
And then a searing, razor-sharp pain tore into my throat, followed by something warm spilling down my neck.
In that fleeting instant, as overwhelming sensations flooded every nerve in my body—
—My faithful apostle, Emily.
A voice I hadn’t heard in a long time echoed in my mind—
and in this moment, it sounded more welcome than ever.
—I shall turn back your time.
