• It was an arid day as Dr. S. Holmes and his new assistant, Hieronymus Bosch, travelled down the rugged road—that’s copious amount of rubble and gravel cause their small buggy to shake and rattle.

    “Dr. Holmes, I fear this journey is a lost cause,” Mr. Bosch openly condemned the two’s current assignment.

    “Bosch,” Holmes began, removing his lightly smoking pipe from his lips as he continued, “I admit to your novice stature and lack of coherence in anything innovative… But I speak with honest candor when I say that I do believe this to be a novel opportunity of learning—and perhaps that, upon this journey, your sense of adventure just might nascent to some sort of degree.” Dr. Holmes spoke in a frank tone that set a blush ablaze Bosch’s complexion. What an insensitive thing to say. Feeling hurt and provoked by Holmes’s less that considerate response, Bosch retaliated;

    “What I was trying to bring fourth sir, was that we are likely to get entangled in a wild chase conjured up by the naivety of a low-standard society. Transylvania, I dare say about this barren land, is ample in worthless beggars, more than a dozen dozens permeate throughout one given place. Wild people, more desperate to rob any incoming carriages than they are to relieve themselves of their land owner’s penny devouring clutches.
    The variety of stories seems to replenish as we go about the whole countryside in search of practically nothing. Oh they’re nocturnal they are; we finally learned after many of days trying to be pervasive enough between the two of us to find a clue of some sort. What are Nosferatu anyways? Probably some legend or myth between the countrymen that rumored a little—nay, massively out of hand. This is not my kind of work Dr. Holmes.” Bosch finished with an adjustment to his ruffled neck tie.

    Holmes said nothing, seeming to be perfectly content to puff on his hookah; without revealing whether or not he decided it fulfilling enough to take the time to comprehend Bosch’s feelings. The minutes tediously ticked on when---

    The buggy came to a sudden, irksome halt and a sonorous moan from the outdoors was omitted into the night. Holmes lept from his seat, riding hat on head and rifle nudging the ground like a walking cane when he paused at the buggy door to turn halfway to a still surprised Bosch.

    “I say young Bosch—if this is not your kind of work then hold your ground, but if you wish to push the span of your life then take up you AD52 and follow me.”



    A Knowledgeable excerpt dedicated to Dr. Shirley Holmes, a dependable man.