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    The Astonishing Tales of Sherlock Holmes: The Shrieking Pits
    The Astonishing Tales of Sherlock Holmes: The Shrieking Pits
    The Astonishing Tales of Sherlock Holmes: The Shrieking Pits
    Ebook117 pages1 hour

    The Astonishing Tales of Sherlock Holmes: The Shrieking Pits

    By Nikki Nelson-Hicks

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    Astounding New Adventures of the World’s Most Famous Detective-The Astonishing Tales of Sherlock Holmes!

    Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s creation that literally changed the face of fiction and popular culture lives on in a daring new imprint from Pro Se Productions. Author Nikki Nelson-Hicks takes Holmes and Dr. Watson on a mystifying, shocking journey into mystery and intrigue in the line’s debut volume- The Astonishing Tales of Sherlock Holmes: The Shrieking Pits!

    Dr. John Watson discovers that his friend, Sherlock Holmes, has gone missing while hunting fairies in Norfolk with Ulysses K. Todd and his secretary, Mrs. Bernardine Dowell. Concerned that his friend is on a drug induced bender, Watson goes with the pair to Aylmerton to help his friend, only to discover something more sinister is afoot.

    What appears a frivolous excursion into myth hunting takes on a different tone when Watson discovers encrypted notes from the Diogenes Club to Holmes. The World’s Greatest Detective is not hunting fairies, but on the trail of Viking silver and a daring heist. Holmes must use every skill at his disposal to discover the secret of the Shrieking Pits while deftly maneuvering around ghost hunters and fairy enthusiasts....and not add to the body count.

    Nikki Nelson-Hicks brings her adoration for Doyle’s character as well as her own fervent imagination to brilliant life in The Astonishing Tales of Sherlock Holmes: The Shrieking Pits! From Pro Se Productions.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPro Se Press
    Release dateNov 18, 2014
    The Astonishing Tales of Sherlock Holmes: The Shrieking Pits

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      Book preview

      The Astonishing Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Nikki Nelson-Hicks

      THE ASTONISHING TALES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES:

      THE SHRIEKING PITS

      by Nikki Nelson-Hicks

      A Pro Se Press Publication

      This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

      The Astonishing Tales of Sherlock Holmes: The Shrieking Pits

      Copyright © 2014 Nikki Nelson-Hicks

      All rights reserved.

      Table of Contents

      Chapter One: Sherlock Holmes’ Experiment

      Chapter Two: Sherlock Holmes: MISSING!!!

      Chapter Three: What Better Prize?

      Chapter Four: Discovery at Baker Street

      Chapter Five: The Interrupted Train Ride

      Chapter Six: A Delivery at Draugrhodd Inn

      Chapter Seven: Pieces to the Puzzle

      Chapter Eight: ‘A Figgerment of the Imagination...’

      Chapter Nine: Oakencrest’s Mound

      Chapter Ten: One will find the other.

      Chapter Eleven: The Challenge Accepted

      Chapter Twelve: Smuggler’s Mound

      Chapter Thirteen: A Bothersome Companion

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      DEDICATION

      I want to dedicate this story to my own Watson who keeps me grounded and on-track, Brian Hicks.

      Chapter One: Sherlock Holmes’ Experiment

      The last time I’d seen Sherlock Holmes was towards the end of a harsh, bleak winter. It was so cold that blocks of ice floated down the Thames and the papers reported birds had frozen solid on the shoulders of Lord Nelson’s statue in Trafalgar Square—typical Fleet Street hyperbole. Alas, the mood in 221B Baker Street was no warmer.

      I found the door locked so I knocked upon the thin wooden frame. Holmes? Hello, It’s Watson. Are you accepting visitors today?

      Watson? Of course! Come in, come in. Use the key secreted above the door frame.

      My fingers nimbly pushed aside the false panel above the door frame and retrieved the key. I opened the door to find my friend on the floor, in front of the fireplace, cross-legged and sitting so close I feared the fire would ignite his dressing gown. He was tearing out strips from pages of the Strand, crumbling them into balls, and tossing them into the flame.

      I took off my coat, set down my bags, pushed some papers and books out of what was formerly my favorite chair and sat down. Holmes, I am afraid to ask but, what, pray tell, are you doing?

      It’s an experiment. I am attempting to deduce what sort of chemical agents are used in the ink by the printers of this abominable rag by gauging the changing color in the flame.

      Chemical agents? Like a poison? Are you suggesting that the publishers of the Strand are poisoning their readers?

      With some sort of neurological agent, something that shrinks the mind and twists the brain.

      And you had to use an edition with one of my pieces in it?

      Holmes tossed the rest of the paper into the fire, stood up as gracefully as a cat and closed the cast iron screen as the flames crackled and popped. It doesn’t matter. The experiment was a failure. No conclusive evidence.

      And which one of my stories has fired up your contempt this time? Let me guess. Was it the one about the Scarlet Tapestry or the Sugar Glass Killer?

      There must be something in the ink! He stood and faced me in a flash. It’s the only logical conclusion as to why people would continue to dabble in this twaddle! he said and then threw himself into his chair.

      Holmes...

      So, how long will you be gone? I hope you remembered to get the right gauge of fishing line this time.

      How...? I stopped myself from engaging him in this game. I knew how he delighted in observing me attempt to fathom the brambles of his mind, but I was in no mood to finance his whimsies. I will be gone for three or four months. There is a medical symposium in Switzerland I have been invited to speak at, following which I have been invited to a friend’s hunting lodge for some fishing, and then...

      ... and then you’ll be doubtless retreating to some godforsaken cabin to compose more lurid tales for your taskmaster at the Strand. I gathered as much from the shopping bag at your feet. Full of notebooks—the horrible lined sort that smell like glue and mold—the sort you prefer to use when you are woolgathering. So, just go and scribble away more of your lurid tales, turning me, more and more, into a caricature, a figment of fiction. Still, this could be a godsend. Perhaps, in your absence, I will have the congenial silence of solitude that I am so deprived of when you are underfoot!

      I pushed myself angrily out of my chair, walked to the window, took a deep breath and slowly released it. I knew he was baiting me, trying to get me to stay and endure with him the long London winter and I didn’t want to leave on bad terms. My friend was a challenging companion at the best of times but during his dark moods, like the ones that the gray clouds of the season often inspired in him, he could be insufferable.

      I will keep in touch as best I can, I said, keeping my voice light. telegrams and the like, in case you do need me.

      Don’t worry about me, my dear fellow. I’ll be fine. I have a dozen cases just waiting for me. He nodded towards a pile of letters that were pinned to the mantle by a Bowie knife.

      Oh? You do? How wonderful. May I see?

      Please do. He stretched out his long legs until I feared his feet would burn on the grate. I suspect they are just the sort of thing you would appreciate.

      I plucked the knife from out of the stack. The return address on the first envelope was The London Society of Psychical Research. I flipped through the rest, over a dozen in all, and saw the same on each.

      Was I not correct, Watson? Surely there is some fodder in that batch to satisfy your readers?

      Holmes...

      He jumped up from the couch with more energy than he’d displayed in days and snatched the letters from my hand. Oh, do let me recite one or two. I have them scorched into my mind. This one is regarding a haunted castle with a banshee. These half a dozen are regarding fairy abductions. Fairies! And this one, oh dear boy, this one is my personal favorite: a talking mongoose! Holmes tossed them up in the air and they cascaded around him as he threw himself back into his chair. A mongoose, Watson! Talking or otherwise, it is all a bore to me.

      I sat across from my friend. The deep blue satin of his dressing gown made his pale skin all the more translucent. His arms hung over the armchair and his long, slender fingers fidgeted as if burning with electricity. His hair was unkempt and hung over his forehead and into his eyes, shading his intense gray stare that gazed into the fire as if to challenge it to a duel. The chaos of the room around me also spoke volumes. A tray with untouched plates of food sat cold on the buffet. A dozen cups, some empty and some only half filled, perched on mantle spaces and on top of towers of books. Empty beakers and cold Bunsen burners sat unused on the kitchen table. The cold winter outside had frozen not only the Thames but whatever fire kept Holmes’ mind alight and I feared for my friend’s health.

      That’s it, then, I said and clapped my hands as a gesture of finality. There’s nothing more to be done. I am not going, Holmes. Not with you in this state.

      His eyes flickered over to me and he shook his head. No. Don’t be absurd, Watson. These moods of mine never last. You of all people should know that by now. He stood, picked up my bag and coat and led me towards the door. You worry too much. Like a fat, mother hen. Something will come up. Besides, I have other means of distraction.

      I stopped him at the door. It is those means that worry me. I am your doctor as well as your friend. I can see that you are in a very bad way indeed, and I know where that way leads. Someone needs to be here with you.

      Holmes sighed deeply and waved me away with his long, pallid hand. Time away from me is probably best for both of us. Come back when London is awake and living again.

      Chapter Two: Sherlock Holmes: MISSING!!!

      Holmes’ last words that day haunted me all those

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