The old man dipped his quill into the jar of ink and scribbled down more words. Anyone who had looked in on the small room would have thought he was mad. For the old man was completely alone except for the cat at his feet. There was one desk with one jar of ink and one quill. Though thousands of papers littered the floor - some crumpled, some folded and some stepped on. A few dripping candles were spread across the room but the room was still quite dim. The old man had adjusted to the the darkness, in fact he preferred it over a well lit room. In the back of the room was a shelf filled with bottles of ink. Across the room from the man lay an assortment of items. A puppet, a clock, a stuffed doll, a rusted sword, a potted tree, a ballroom gown and much, much more. All of the objects had a thick layer of dust on the surface, none of them had been touched in years. The man even believed them to be cursed. Now, the weathered elderly man reached the bottom of the page and grunted as he scrambled to find a new one. Franticly he searched the room but could not find a single clean piece. Out of desperation he pulled out the secret compartment to his desk and began writing on it. He knew that it would not be found unless a true author were to come upon the desk. When he reached the end of the piece of wood he smiled at his work.
"Well Evangeline," he said quietly to the orange tabby beneath his chair, "it is done. Hopefully, when the time is right, my kin of my kin of my kin will find this. And when he does - " the man was interrupted by a sharp meow from Evangeline. "Yes that's right, when he or she finds it the world will become a better place. If they use their new found power correctly." The cat meowed as the old man stuck the parchment into the secret compartment and slid its cover back on. The man coughed and let out a deep sigh, he slid from his chair and landed on the cold hardwood. Evangeline made way for the door, but the old man gasped and spoke his final words. "You must make sure the desk stays with my family, you must..... you must." He coughed and his eyelids fluttered closed. The cat stared at him and darted out the window. She ran along the cobblestone road until she reached the office of Officer Williams.
Mr. Williams was inside double checking his paperwork on the death of Sir Reginald Barkley. Evangeline slipped in and jumped onto his desk. "Why Evangeline, what in heavens sake are you doing here?" She meowed urgently and nudged him towards the door. Officer Williams put on his coat and followed the cat out onto the street. This was not the first time he had been helped by the cat. In fact some people called her the she-hound, on account that she would lead Mr. Williams to crime scenes. When they reached the old mans home Mr. Williams looked up at the sign up the door. 'Leonard Bates - Inksmith'. He was the only ink maker in the town of Bartley. When Mr. Williams opened the door he sighed, "The old man finally gave out huh?" He looked at the weathered face of Leonard. A long gray beard occupied most his face while his eyes were a soft blue. His head was bald except for a few stray hairs.
"Well Leonard, hope you tell great tales to the ghosts you were so fond of."