1. Sir Baskerville disappears – The Reworked Version!Posted in - Fiction & The Bitch Of the Baskervilles - A Short Psychological Thriller By Robin B. Czar
1. Sir Baskerville disappears
“AAAAAA!! I… don’t… want… to… die..”
Her screams echoed through the locked door and down the corridors of the Villa Baskerville. There was a mad laughter that was nothing human at all. Then it was silent. Only the morning autumn wind howled a little around the house and through the cold and wet weather. The light in the room seemed to be off.
Omar had prayed the first of five times a day on his little carpet and just trimmed the hedge. He was in his mid-20s and had just been hired. He did not know his way around yet. “I have not been introduced to Mistress,” he said.
Carlo had come out of the kitchen with an apron, from which hot air was just coming out. “I’ve never met her either, but I’ve heard her scream like that before.” He was fat, middle-aged, had greasy hair under his hairnet, glasses, a falsetto voice, and looked like the dictator of a banana republic.
“Yes, the screams! But I thought it was not usual in a noble family to introduce a cleaning woman to the landlady. I didn’t receive any instruction in the household from her. Sir Baskerville only told me not to enter her room,” replied the young Sharon from Zimbabwe, who was resting from cleaning the rooms. It smelled good in the rooms where Sharon was already in, of cleanliness and order. “He treats me like a slave. I must admit, I’m beginning to get a little turned on.” She had a thing for men in positions of power.
“Have any of you ever actually seen Lady Baskerville?” Omar asked, clutching his long beard. He always did that when he wanted to know something.
The other two shook their heads.
Carlo summed it up: “Only those screams we heard”. To Sharon he said, “The Lord is treating you like a slave? This cursed aristocracy. After the world proletarian revolution, all the nobles will shout like this.” Carlo smiled gloomily and sucked his thumb. Because of his admiration for a certain philosopher, he was only ironically called “the Marx Brother” by his friends. On his green underpants he wore pink piglets.
Sharon considered this last remark inappropriate, raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together. Finally she said, “I’ve had enough. I’m calling the police,” and reached for the phone. Omar agreed with a vivid nod of his head.
To be continued…
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