Sherlock Time

WRITTEN BY

HÉCTOR GERMÁN OESTERHELD

SHERLOCK TIME DRAWN BY

ALBERTO BRECCIA

I still can’t believe the bargain I made… such a house, for so little money… but the seller was in such a rush to sell…

it was truly much more than I, julio luna, recently retired with a few pesos borrowed from the bank, had dreamed of ever having… in the oldest part of san isidro, near the plaza…

there the house sat. “my” house. majestic, nestled in its grounds, with ancient trees…

I know it’s too much house for a single man… what do I want with a tower and such grounds?

gardener, me? what your house needs, sir, is not a gardener…

but don’t complain. it’s the deal of a lifetime: the land alone is worth more than what you paid for everything. sure, maybe it’s a bit old, but it’s well preserved…

your house needs a gravedigger!

are you the new owner?

hmm? yes, why? are you looking for work in the garden?

but…

I was stunned. I resumed gazing at the house. and it appeared to me as if a mist had settled over her.

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an invisible mist… extinguishing all color, accentuating her shadows, aging her, making her strange, hostile, threatening…

I reacted suddenly…

hey! don’t go now, friend. what do you mean by that?

her history is long, señor. a history that begins from the time of de rosas… they say that, in the mid-1800s, la mazorca, the group he formed to support his dictatorship, slaughtered a whole family in the living room…

no one knows... but one fine day, the house appeared abandoned, no sign of life. the police came, examined everything, and nothing, no trace of the inhabitants.

huh. I see they didn’t tell you anything… of course, they had to sell her…

many years later, there was another great crime, also involving politics. the tower was built at the centenary, and then…

some say that something suddenly scared them and they fled... that the fear is so great they kept running, even abroad...

if I were you, I wouldn’t live in her for even one hour… the house is cursed!

the man went and left me looking at my purchase. “the tomb”… the seller hadn’t mentioned any of that… of course, he’d worked for a company, and was in a hurry to liquidate this unsellable “headache” at any price…

4

you should know, señor, that here in the neighborhood, we call her “the tomb”… she’s a cursed house, where no one ever wants to live…

but why?

it never went well for those who occupied it.

What do you mean by “it didn’t go well?”

They died?

…some maintain that the inhabitants are still here, interred somewhere. there’s “something” in “the tomb,” señor, something very, very bad…

come on, julio. you won’t be scared by old wives’ tales… those ghosts have long since gone…

be glad that people are so afraid! thanks to that, you have a house like you could never have imagined!

the gardens are overgrown, yes, but you saw that when you toured with the seller…

everywhere there were parasitic plants, brambles among twisted trunks, branching like veins… I don’t know why, but I remembered: “the inhabitants are still here, buried somewhere”… I shook my head.

I was trying to comfort myself, but without much success. when I saw the house with the seller it was the morning, and the gardens, though unruly, seemed enchanting. now, instead, they seemed to me… …a place where plants fought ferociously among themselves, trying to drown themselves.

I didn’t know you were so skittish, julio… but…what the hell is with the front of the house that doesn’t work? I notice something strange, but I don’t know what it is…

…a body in which there was something absurd, something incongruent… now I see what it is…

I see what’s strange… the vines cover almost the entire house, but not the tower!

there the mansion was: no longer now a melancholy relic from another age, embellished by time. now she was a decrepit body, dead… why aren’t there vines growing on the tower walls?

suddenly, there next to me…

that branch moved! there it goes again!

hey! stop!

yes, there was an intruder. I yelled after him, but he fled. I gave chase.

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he’s heading to the tower!

what are you doing here?

stop!

what was he doing here? looks like a grave…

he shoved me hard… a card! he dropped it when he pushed me…

…and escaped at incredible speed.

yes, he’s been digging next to the tower. a grave. a white maggot moved there, below. but I hardly saw it. something else held my attention.

sherlock time! what a strange name!

I put the card in my pocket and shrugged. in the end, was it so strange to find an intruder in a house that had been abandoned for months? stop thinking about strange things and remember that you’re entering your own home for the first time. your home, julio! your home!

he must have been a vagabond, surely. or a thief digging next to the tower to hide some ill-gotten gains… this unimportant incident wasn’t going to stop me from taking possession of my property.

everything’s so dark… they shuttered the windows with boards… so thieves couldn’t get in, probably…

the parlor, furnished richly with colonial furniture…

6

I’ll open the windows, and…

what was that? sounded like a moan…

…smelled of isolation, damp: there were too many shadows for me. I rushed to dispel them, to see better.

no… it’s just the curtain… and the moan was some inner door… the wind, that came in with me, surely…

something cold enveloped me. I thought of a shroud. don’t lose your head, julio. anyone would think you’re a child. yes, open the window, so you can see a little…

this is too dark… and the old man’s stories…

…muddled your brain… calm down and pretend that you’re still in the office. after all, at this time of day, for thirty years of your life, you were…

and that sound? sounded like a drop…

it was then the drop fell…

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