The Kettle

The sound of hissing echoed in the small room, face to face with a man who could either fix my broken life or grind what was left into dust. My host lazily glanced at the kettle spitting and sputtering on the stove, alerting through its wail that it was ready to fulfill its purpose. The sudden whistling cut through the silence that prevailed when I entered this room.

That sense of unease deepened as my host slid from his perch and made his way to the angry kettle. Every step was careful and measured, starkly contrasting to the cutting figure that produced that graceful stride. His steps fell perfectly in time to the gentle tick, tick, ticking of the clock as he made his way to the small stove. It had a mesmerizing, almost metronome effect.

As my eyes tracked his movements, the thought of forgetting this endeavor again assailed my mind. I had been warned more than once that the moment I stepped into this room, there would be no going back. No one of a respectable nature sought out this man without having some unsavory reason for being here. More than once, I had heard him being likened to the devil himself. From what I could gather from gossip or other offhanded comments, my host never gave out a name to which he could be referred. He was an enigma that nobody could quite puzzle out. Part of this devilish reputation stemmed from the mysteries surrounding the man now acting as my host for the night.

Everyone I talked to about this man never went into detail about their meeting. I had known through whispers that things would change after this meeting. All that could be wrought out of those who had sought out my host was that he should not be underestimated before they ultimately changed the subject and would not say another word. 

There was a time I would have scoffed at such characters that would stoop so low to fix the unfixable. The sort of unfixable calamity that could devastate everything dear, and all you could do was watch. Funny how life has a way of dragging you into the mire of prejudices you once held yourself high above. My thoughts turned from fear to bitterness as I thought about my own ruined life. If this man could provide me with any solace in any way, I would be willing to put aside my trepidation and fear for a night. 

The hour chiming loudly proclaimed itself from the clock on the wall, pulling me away from these thoughts. It would all be for naught if I fell apart now. I took a deep breath to steady myself as I once again focused on the man fiddling with the temperamental pot. Now that I had a moment to observe the area the man busied himself in, I found it a stark contrast to the rest of the room. 

Books and papers littered the space, with some discarded on the floor or haphazardly placed on the chairs that were currently unoccupied. I could not make out most of the titles of the books, but from what I could see, they ranged around a variety of subjects. The only piece of paper I could make out was a newspaper clipping of a recent event. A manor burnt down in the city, killing nearly all the occupants. There were speculations surrounding the lone survivor of the fire. I clicked my tongue at the article and paid no more attention to it.

The yellow light from the two lamps in the room and the gentling crackling fireplace before me gave movement to the shadows that pervaded the room. That golden light mingled with the gentle glow of the moonlight filtering in from the only window to my left. The sound of the fire made me uneasy—a sense of guilt built inside me as I heard the crackle and hiss of the wood. Instead, I focused more on the books and other novelties on display throughout the room. Glancing around, I thought an eclectic scholar would find themselves at home here.

The room with the stove, perhaps a kitchenette, would be a more fitting description, but it was the exact opposite of the scholarly mess I found myself in. It was small and tidy. Everything was neatly arranged in an orderly fashion. It seemed almost devoid of all life compared to the chaotic sitting room. The only piece suggesting that the area was in use was the whistling kettle that my host now deftly handled. Seeing my host standing in that small, cramped area, I wondered how often he utilized the space apart from entertaining guests.

Now that I was saved from my host's probing gaze, I could study him a bit more. A young man stood a few paces away in a well-tailored suit. Every piece was crisp and perfect, with no wrinkles in sight. His suit was dark, but from where I observed him, I could hardly make out any color hidden in the depths. But somehow, I knew a color was hidden there. The suit matched nicely with his well-styled hair, which did not have hair out of place. He was a well-built man standing perhaps a head taller than me with eyes that held an emotion, a certain depth, that I could not place. Everything about him seemed perfectly put together, from his suit to his hair. I could find no fault with his appearance.

Only one word bubbled up into my mind when I looked at him. Facade. At a glance, one would assume he is an upstanding gentleman that you would gladly bring home to meet your parents and elevate yourself in their eyes. But the more you kept company with him, the more your mind started plucking at the intricate knot that was my host. Though young as he seemed, his eyes told a different tale. One of an unfathomable age that seemed to say that my mortal mind would not comprehend. Though his clothes seemed natural, the more one observed, the more vivid their color became. It seemed almost unnatural, but within a blink, it would be gone so fast that you would wonder if you had seen it at all. 

The gentle clinking of glass pulled me from my careful observation. The man placed two cups on the counter before turning back to me. 

"Tea?" He asked, grabbing the kettle and making a slight motion with it to emphasize the question.

One of the few warnings I received before entering this room was not to cause offense or demean my host's courtesy. Yet somewhere deep down, I knew I should decline like a divine sense or a long-forgotten instinct prevents destruction.

I opened my mouth to decline his somewhat innocuous offer but could not utter a sound. I tried a few times, and as the seconds ticked by, my heart began to start and stutter an uneasy rhythm.

Whether by divine providence or pure coincidence, smoke wafted from the kettle's spout and swirled upwards around the man. The effect was ominous—almost like a devil arriving from hell. This scene made me more steadfast in my decision to decline his offer.

I closed my mouth with an audible click when I realized I was getting nowhere with trying to form words. My host cocked his head to the side, waiting for my answer, and my gaze locked onto his. I have been offered tea hundreds of times before, and all the gazes I have met have been slight curiosity or monotonous courtesy. But my host's gaze held something different, something…darker. It was a gaze one would give to an insect that had captured their attention. Or that of a predator sizing up their next prey. Whatever emotion was held in those eyes, I could not give a proper name to it and wished to get that gaze to settle somewhere else.

Something came over me in that instance, and before I knew what I was doing, I was nodding yes to his question to my utmost horror. 

"Lovely. I know just the blend to serve."

My body almost sagged against the velvet couch like some thrall had released me. He turned away from me to complete the refreshments, and I was thankful that I would no longer be subjected to his scrutiny. 

I turned towards the window, hoping this somber night would do something to save my fraying nerves. I began to think this was too much for me to handle. What made me think that I would be able to do this?

Desperation.

Desperation could make a fool out of anybody, and I was the most desperate of all. Images began turning like a carousel in my mind. Flashes of faces and gentle catches of voices of days past. Once happy memories twisted into amalgamations of anger and hatred. Then screaming. Lots of screaming. Emotions began swirling through my mind as the memories swirled faster and faster. Hope turned to despair, turned into anger, turned into… My mind became a muddled mess of people and scenes. As the swirling seemed too much to bear, a familiar fire pervaded my memories and burned them to ashes.  From those very ashes came that very desperation that led me here. Led me to this man this very night. 

The sound of footsteps startled me from my reverie. My host handed me the teacup, which I graciously accepted with both hands. I did not dare take a sip, but I allowed the cup's warmth to suffuse my trembling hands, hoping that warmth would give me courage.

The man also gently placed the kettle on the table. I hardly paid any attention to the action apart from having the fleeting thought that perhaps it was in case I wished for more tea, however unlikely that may be. 

My host once again slid into his hair next to the roaring fireplace. He took a gingerly sip of tea before setting the cup beside him. His gaze not once left me. The angle at his chair allowed the light and shadows to play eerily on his face. I shifted uneasily in my seat, unsure whether or not I should begin. 

My question was quickly answered when he cocked his head to the side and said, "Curious how one will seek me out when they have nowhere else to go. Makes one feel special in a way."

"Aiding people in their hour of need is quite amazing. I do agree," I said, offering a small smile. He returned that smile but said nothing else. I could tell from the silence that he was not going to offer any pleasantries and that I should get on with it.

"I don't suppose I have to tell you why I am here, sir. I need your help, for you see, I have a little problem I was hoping you could fix—" My host placed his face in his hand, his eyes locking somewhere between us. 

His hand cast a shadow on his face that made it hard to discern what expression he now held. However, his eyes were full of an emotion I could not discern. A shiver ran down my spine as I desperately racked my brain for what that emotion may be. My mouth went dry, but I dared not sip that cup of tea. I knew in my heart that I needed to figure out the meaning behind the gaze if I was going to survive this meeting. Every thump of my heart sent fear shooting through my brain. He knew something. 

The sound of the fire became a roaring in my ears when I finally figured out what it was. Amusement. The look in his eyes was pure amusement. It took a herculean effort to pull my eyes away from his and follow his gaze. There on the table was the tea kettle. At first, I could not understand what elicited such a strong emotion from such a mundane object. I carefully inspected the kettle from spout to handle and could not understand why-

My blood ran cold when I realized what this kettle was. The scratch from Aunt Millicent scraping it against the counter when I was a child, the worn leather wrapped around the handle fraying at the edges, and the delicately carved initials at the base sparked familiarity and dread. Then there were the char marks as if it was pulled from a blazing inferno. I knew this kettle. It was my kettle. 

I gripped the tea cup harder and flicked my startled gaze to his. My heart sped faster as I took in that look, which was now focused on me. Mocking amusement and curiosity suffused his face as he leaned forward in his chair. 

"Now, darling, before I can find a way to help-" He took his hand from his face and clasped it with his other in his lap. He flashed me a grin that seemed far too wide for his face. It dawned on me that his moniker of the devil was not simply from his lack of name.

"You'll have to tell me a little something about yourself." 

My whole body gave way to tremors. He knows. He knows. He Knows. He kn-

I sucked in a shuddering breath. The blood drained from my face. I knew there was no going back now. I was ensnared within the hands of the devil himself. I cursed myself for not seeing this was how it would end. I kept my gaze locked on his, anticipating that dreaded question.

"What did you do?"