Wild Stories 2- Unexplained Happenings

Chapter Thirteen: Enquiry for Life

They stepped out, and peered up at the looming lighthouse again. The dusk lit it up in oranges and pinks, giving it a heavenly quality that it lacked at night.

Wild brushed the back of Jack's hand as he walked to the small metal door, and Jack followed him.

He paused at the door, running his hands over the white bricks that made up the lighthouse.

He walked around the entire structure before coming around the other side to look at Jack in confusion.

"I don't actually know what I'm looking for."

Jack leaned against the lighthouse. "Maybe a message... a loose brick with something hidden behind it. An arrow, pointing somewhere."

Wild let himself fall against the lighthouse. He looked up at it, his curly hair lightly falling back and shining in the orange light.

"I think I saw a loose brick somewhere up there." He looked over at Jack and gave him a lopsided smile.

"What?"

Jack just shook himself and nodded at the door.

Wild rolled along the side of the lighthouse and stopped next to him.

"Gentlemen first."

Jack walked in, Wild close behind him. He notices that somehow they end up the other way around, and choose not to comment on it.

They got out at the top and Wild stopped just on the inside of the small door.

"3, 7." He said, looking down at the floor. Beneath their feet are large stone tiles

He steps three tiles to the left on the platform.

"3. And seven." He touched a brick close to the one he's standing on, and then the one above it. He counted up seven bricks in total.

"Ah." Jack leaned over to see Wild tap on the brick. "You feel that?"

Jack put his hand on the brick, and traced the "M" carved into the paint. His hand brushed Wild's and the detective paused, starting at the place their hands were connected.

"Ahem, anyway. So if this is it..."

He moved it and found it was rather loose. He pulled it out, and made a small noise of surprise when letters began to rain down on him.

Jack caught them as best he could, and collected some of the ones that had fallen onto the ground.

Wild picked up the letter that was, more or less on the top of the pile, and began to read.

"Ha! Sorry, couldn't make it easy for you. If you're reading this, then I'm probably dead.

To be expected of course, in this profession. If I had been a baker or something, then you would have had cause to worry.

And if you're reading this, then you're probably someone who picks through every clue. Who cares about finding the truth. That kind of person is the only kind I can entrust with this secret.

Contained in this jumble of paper is the Flower's bank statements and their account booklet. You can see evidence of their fraud, and their criminal underpaying of the staff.

I didn't want to take it, but I couldn't risk them moving everything. And I couldn't tell the local police... Ubel. I couldn't tell Ubel, for reasons I'll disclose shortly.

Also contained in this jumble of paper, is Wilfred Flower's birth certificate. The Flower's widely claim that he was born in 1897, making him 24 years old. But this certificate says he was born in 1896, making him 25.