I read about Finch's notes. Carlos del Puente Stories

 I read about Finch's notes.

Blackwood Manor's rusty doors groaned in protest when detective Isabella "Izzy" Diaz opened them. The air hung thick and heavy, a cloying perfume of wet earth and decomposition leaves. Gothic architecture, a monument to the arrogance of an industrialist dead for a long time, stood against the sky of magulled twilight, its gargoyles apparently observe each movement. This place radiated a sinister energy, a palpable sensation of fear that Izzy could try practically.

He adjusted the strap of his worn leather messaging bag, the weight of his glock a family comfort against his hip. Blackwood Manor was his last case. The disappearance of the renowned botanist, Professor Alistair Finch, a man known for his eccentric studies of rare flora and often dangerous. He had been renting the mansion during the last months, apparently to be closer to the unique ecosystem of the surrounding Blackwood forest. Now, he had gone without a trace, leaving only a closed laboratory and a growing sense of restlessness.

Izzy was not alone. Detective Marcus Bell, his partner, was already examining the perimeter, his frown in concentration. Marcus, a meticulous officer and by the book, was the perfect foil for the most intuitive approach and, some, of Izzy, more intuitive.

"Something, Marcus?" Izzy shouted, his voice echoed disturbing in the oppressive silence.

Marcus straightened, brushing the dirt of his crispy pants. "Only the usual signs of negligence. The goalkeeper has not existed in weeks, judging by excessive growth. There are no obvious signs of forced entry. Site spooky place, Izzy. It gives me chills."

Izzy nodded, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "Welcome to my Thursday, Marcus." Inside the mansion, the atmosphere was even more oppressive. The dust motes danced in the axes of the moonlight that crossed the windows coated with dirt, illuminating furniture covered with cobwebs and paper peeled tapestry. The air was full of the aroma of the mold and something else ... something sweeter, almost sickly, that Izzy could not place.

"Finch's study is on the top floor," Marcus said, consulting his notes. "And the closed laboratory is in the west wing, according to the caregiver's statement."

They moved through the mansion, their steps resonate on the naked wood floors. Izzy felt a feeling of espinda on the back of his neck, a feeling of being observed. He looked around, but saw nothing more than shadows and the remains of a past era.

Up, Finch's study was a chaotic book of books, research work and dry plant specimens. The notes full of complex botanical jargon covered each available surface. Izzy passed his fingers on a half manuscript, his title scribbled in an elegant calligraphy: "The flora of the shadow: revealing the secrets of the darkest flowers."

"Sounds cheerful," Marcus murmured, examining a stack of photographs. "Mainly photos of plants. Exotic things. I've never seen anything like that."

Izzy picked up a small leather diary. The pages were filled with Finch's handwriting, detailing his experiments, his observations and his growing fascination with a particular plant to which he referred only as "nocturnal."

November 12: Nocturna thrives in the dark. His petals, blacks like midnight, unfold only under the pale brightness of the moon. Its fragrance ... poisoning. I think he possesses the key to unlock secrets beyond our understanding.

November 19: The effects are ... deep. Greater conscience, a clarity of thought that had never experienced before. But there are side effects. Vivid dreams. Disturbing images. I must proceed with caution.

November 26: I am losing control. Night has rooted in my mind. I see things ... things that cannot be. The walls are approaching. I must destroy it before it destroys me.

The last entry was dated December 1, three days before Finch disappeared. Scripture was frantic, almost illegible. The final prayer was simply: "We are stronger than the sum of our fears." We are stronger than the sum of our fears.

Izzy felt a tight knot in his stomach. This was more than a simple disappearance. This was something ... darker.

Meanwhile, in the depths of Blackwood Forest, a different story was developed. Elias Thorne, the Blackwood Manor gardener, snuggled under the twisted branches of an old oak, his cloudy breath in the frigid air. He was an inmate, a man tormented by his past, attracted by the loneliness of the forest as a moth to a flame. He knew Blackwood Manor better than anyone, his secret woven in the very fabric of his being.

I hadn't seen Professor Finch in weeks. He had heard rumors, whispers of strange experiments, of burning lights until late at night. He had even glimpsed the man wandering around the forest, with very open and manic eyes, muttering for himself about things that Elias could not understand.

One day, he found Finch's dog, a disheveled terrier named Pip, moaning and abandoned near the edge of the forest. Pip had been Finch's constant partner, so Elias knew that something was terribly bad.

He had followed Pip in the forest, his heart was beating in his chest. The forest seemed to close around it, the shadows that deepened, the silence broken only by the whisper of the leaves and the distant pit of an owl.

He found them near a clearing, a land patch where the trees grew antinaturally high and the air vibrated with a disturbing energy. Finch lay unconscious on the ground, surrounded by a circle of strange black flowers. Night

Elias knew about the plant. The local legend spoke of its power, its ability to unlock hidden paths in the mind, to grant visions of unimaginable beauty and indescribable horror. It was said that he went crazy to men.

He tried to wake up Finch, but did not respond. He considered asking for help, but a primary fear grabbed him. He could not involve the authorities. Not here. Not with nocturnal.

He did the only thing he could think about. He dragged Finch back to the mansion, locked him inside the laboratory and fled to the forest, hoping to bury the memory of what he had seen. But the forest had its own secrets, and the memory of Finch's lifeless eyes tormented every moment of vigil.

Back in the mansion, Izzy and Marcus had managed to force the laboratory door lock. The room was an absolute chaos scene. The broken vessels covered the floor, the dumping tables were randomly scattered, and the air was full of the same sweet and sickly aroma that Izzy had noticed before.

In the center of the room, a single plant in a pot sat on a pedestal. His petals were black as ink, his thorn and twisted stem. Night

Izzy cautiously approached the plant, his hand instinctively reached his glock. She felt a strange pull, a hypnotic charm that made her want to extend her hand and touch her velvety petals.

"Izzy, no!" Marcus shouted, grabbing his arm. "That thing is dangerous. I read about Finch's notes. You can get your mind. "

Izzy shook his head, trying to clarify his thoughts. The air in the laboratory seemed to shine, the shadows danced around them. He could listen to whispers, voices that seemed to come from his own head.

"He tried to destroy it," said Izzy, his voice barely whispers. "He wrote about that in his diary. He was afraid."

"Fear of what, Izzy?" Marcus asked, with very open eyes of concern.

"Afraid of His Fears," Izzy Reply, The Words Echoing in Her Mind. "We are stronger than the sum of our fears."

Suddenly, a cry of blood pierced silence. It came from the depths of the mansion, a sound full of pain and terror.

Izzy and Marcus exchanged a look of gloomy determination. They knew that what was happening in Blackwood Manor, was far from finishing. They left the laboratory and ran towards the source of the cry, their weapons drawn, ready to face the horrors that expected them in the dark.

They found Elias Thorne curled up in the Great Hall, his pale and twisted face of fear. He was unbalanced, his eyes fixed on something invisible.

"He is here," Elias stuttered, his voice trembling. "It is back. It has rooted."

Izzy followed his gaze. At first, he saw nothing more than shadows. But then, she saw it. A figure that emerges from the dark, its distorted and grotesque shape, its bright eyes with a mysterious green light.

It was Finch, but he was no longer the man they had been looking for. It was something else, something ... antinatural. His skin was covered with vines, his elongated and crooked fingers in thorny branches. It was a grotesque parody of a human being, a container for the dark power of nocturnal.

"We are more thorns of the sum of our missions," "Finfall Raspen, his OICE for Guitral Echo of Man. Izzy raised his glock, his hand trembling. She knew what she had to do. She had to destroy Finch, to reduce the connection between him and nocturnal, to prevent darkness from spreading.

But while looked into his eyes, he saw a flickering of humanity, a desperate supplication of help. And she knew that killing would not be enough. He had to find a way to break the nightlime he had on him, to free him from his reach.

"We are stronger than our fears, Finch," said Izzy, his firm voice despite the tremor in his heart. "Remember who you are. Remember what you defend."

She lowered her gun and took a step towards him, her eyes locked themselves in his. She saw fear in her eyes, pain, despair. And she knew, at that time, that she not only fought against a monster. She was fighting for a man's soul. The Blackwood Manor battle, and by Professor Finch, had just begun.

By Carlos del Puente relatos