The coachman had met all sorts of people from all sorts of places, but never in his many years had he ever met someone as peculiar as Victor Vertigo. Victor had pale, ghostly skin, which made his striking amber eyes all the more vivid. He wore a black collared shirt, a gray striped vest, and silver earrings that were shaped like rosemary petals. It wasn’t Victor’s unique appearance that startled the coachman but his destination. When the coachman asked where to ferry the young gentleman, Victor simply held out a map with a red circle drawn around a random patch of trees in the forest. The coachman then asked why the young gentleman wanted to go to such a place, and Victor simply answered, “The impossible.”

During the ride down the beaten dirt path through the forest, the coachmen decided to hold his tongue. Questions, he had learned, only led to trouble. Anxiously, he glanced back at Victor sitting in the back seat of the carriage, staring emotionlessly out the window with a small suitcase across his lap. The sky was quickly darkening, and a chill filled the autumn air. 

“This is as far as the path goes.” the coachman called back, pulling on the reins. “You’ll have to walk the rest of the way.” 

Victor hopped out of the carriage and handed the coachman his money. As he turned, suitcase in hand, Victor tipped his hat and attempted what the coachman could only interpret as a smile.

 “I’d be wary if I were you. Wolves and bears–that’s all you’ll find out here.” the coachman warned. 

Victor stopped, one foot stepping into the thicket. He turned, and with the same apathetic expression, he spoke. His voice was smooth and cold, like the ice water that ran through the river veins in winter. 

“I have encountered far worse beasts.” 

And with that, Victor set off into the forest, leaving the lantern light of the carriage behind him.

. . .

Hidden away at the top of the steepest hill in the forest was an old manor. It was a dilapidated, desolate place with broken windows and walls of ivy. Victor stepped onto the porch and inspected the sizable arched door engraved with strange, devilish creatures. He attempted the doorbell, which was hanging off the wall, but it made only silence. Finally, he turned the stiff brass knob and pushed open the door, letting himself inside. 

A week prior, Victor had arrived in a quaint town known as Still Water. There, he had been met by a slew of rumors about a mysterious manor out in the woods. The people of Still Water referred to the manor as “The Castle,” though it looked nothing like the medieval drawings Victor had seen. Rather than local gossip or world news, the townspeople tended to stay solely on the topic of The Castle. Brushing aside the hyperbole to make for a more extravagant story, Victor had managed to piece together what exactly had taken place to make the desolate manor such a hot topic. 

The Castle had once belonged to a beloved aristocrat named Nicholas Strange. He was a playboy who had stolen the hearts of many young men and women in Still Water, throwing lavish galas and giving large sums to charity. But, slowly, he began to withdraw from the spotlight. He became reclusive and irritable. He started purchasing strange items from the market, and when that did not satisfy him, he foraged for them in the woods. The townspeople began to suspect witchcraft and set off to the manor with pitchforks and torches. But when they arrived, they found that the manor had suddenly aged hundreds of years. From inside the manor, the mob could hear monstrous whaling, a roar that shook the very roots of the trees. Ever since that day no one had dared to visit The Castle; that is, until Victor. 

Victor walked down the main hallway of the manor, his feet sinking into the mold-ridden carpet, bending the rotted wooden floorboards. Luxurious furniture was stern about, covered in dust and cobwebs. A rat scurried in front of Victor and dove into a hole where the floral wallpaper had peeled away, squeaking fearfully. 

Victor took a small silver lighter from his pocket and sparked the flame. He cast the light about the room, letting it fall across an oil painting hung askew on the wall. Immediately, Victor could tell from the townspeople’s descriptions that the painting was of Nicholas. The wideness of his grin and the way in which he bared his perfect white teeth was enough for Victor to tell he had been a narcissist. Victor’s attention moved to an ajar door that led into a large library. He ran his fingers down the decayed books, their titles worn off, lost to time. As Victor drew close to the brick fireplace at the back of the library, he noticed a single small ember burning within it. The ember turned into a spark of red flame, which burst, bringing the fireplace to life with a mighty roar. 

“Do you fancy books?” a voice called from the doorway. Victor, unafraid, turned toward the voice and found Nicholas standing there. He had shaggy brown hair, dark green eyes, and was wearing the same smirk from the portrait in the hallway. “I’m sorry my collection is worse for wear. You should have seen it in its prime,” he said, waving his hand to the side. Suddenly, the rot seemed to lift from the manor, and all of the mold, cobwebs, and dust disappeared in an instant. The sconces on the wall slowly grew brighter, buzzing with electricity. Victor looked back at the bookshelf and found that the books had been restored to their original condition. 

“Magic?” Victor inquired. 

“A simple spell to keep the townspeople from poking their noses where they don’t belong. It usually works quite well, but it didn’t work on you. Why is that?” Nicholas asked, drawing closer. 

“I suppose I don’t scare easily,” Victor answered. 

“Oh?” Nicholas said, amused. “Then what scares you?”

Victor shrugged. “...Nothing comes to mind.” 

“Maybe you just haven’t come face to face with real fear yet,” Nicholas smirked, waving his hand once more. This time, skeletons appeared all around them, dressed as maids and butlers. They were bustling around the manor, each carrying out a different chore. 

“You’ve really worked your help to the bone,” Victor said more as a statement than an actual joke. 

“You are a strange one,” Nicholas hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I could actually use someone like you around the manor.”

“What do you mean?” Victor inquired. 

“I would like to offer you a job,” 

“What kind of job?” 

“Oh, the most daring of occupations. Not something for the faint of heart, I’m afraid.” Nicholas sighed wearily.  “I run a sort of…odd-jobs business. If any creature or cryptid requires a service, then I provide said service. Simple as that.”

“That doesn’t sound so daring. I can’t imagine odd jobs to be too exciting, offered by an otherworldly creature or otherwise.” Victor said. 

“...May I say you seem much less fazed by all this than I expected? Most people go running for the hills when they see this place.” Nicholas said. “Praytell, have you had a previous encounter with the supernatural?”

“Only once,” Victor said. “When I was young, my parents were murdered by a beast I had never seen before and have yet to see since.”

Nicholas gulped. “Well, that’s quite the grim introduction into the supernatural. Most would sob while retelling such a tale. But here you are, with a content little frown, as if we were chatting over tea.”

“My apologies,” Victor said, his eyes flickering down to the floor. “That day, I feel as if my emotions may have been robbed from me. Not literally, though I am sure such a feat is possible. No, the curse of this little frown did not come from some strange creature but my own mind. The doctors had to work for years just to get me to talk again.”

“Grim little fellow, aren’t you?” Nicholas said. 

“Grim I may be, but my work is efficient and thorough,” Victor said. “Now, in terms of pay–?

“How much do you want?” Nicholas asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Enough to keep my stomach full and my clothes clean,” Victor said. “I’m not here to make a fortune. I came to this place to find the impossible.”

“The impossible? Is that a sort of cryptid? I’ve never heard of it before.” Nicholas said. 

“No, not quite. It’s an idea. You see, after that beast claimed my parents, everything that had once seemed impossible was suddenly possible. I lost the comfort I once had, knowing the world had limitations. I have been traveling the countryside searching for the impossible, to prove to myself that there are indeed some things that simply cannot be.” Victor explained. “By taking this job and getting to know your clientele, I feel I may finally get one step closer to finally reaching my goal.”

“Then there’s only one question left,” Nicholas said with a smirk. “When can you start?”

“As of right now,” Victor said, looking down at his watch.