The Ebony Secrets

Secret holders traveled from far and wide to see the man who lived in 532 Furitif Lane. Men and women, young and old, ventured by boat, train, carriage and foot to talk to this mysterious man. There was always a line up outside his door, reaching far past Ash Tree Lane. These folks would come and go, day in and day out. But one thing always remained the same. Whoever would walk into that house on 532 Furitif Lane, would walk out a new man, or woman for that matter. There was something special about that man. He was able to help folks on the verge of self-destruction and remove the burdens which so held their soul. His name was Solomon Kovacs.
A young man by the name of Timothy Abbot entered the house on 532 Furitif Lane, not knowing what to expect and he said to Solomon Kovacs “I don’t know how this works, you see, I am not from around here.” Pausing briefly with a look of fear on his mug.
Solomon replied in a solemn voice, “my child, I judge not your actions, I am only here to take your secret.” Solomon did not speak another word to Timothy Abbot.
Timothy said, “I’m scared and I did’n mean to kill him, it just all came out, I threw away the knife and my clothes.” Pausing briefly again, this time shedding a tear, and continuing, “My secret sir is I killed Marshal Fallon, He stole from my store and I…I, oh god.”
At that moment, a stream of black, not solid, not liquid, not gas, seeped out of Timothy’s forehead. The substance began to take shape after trembling in the air, as Mr. Abbot was trembling in his seat. It floated directly into the hands of the Secret Keeper, and he covered it. When he took his top hand off, Timothy was in awe, the black substance had become a small black knife with an ebony blood like substance constantly dripping but never landing. Solomon Kovacs took the black knife and engraved in it the initials T.A. and the date of the murder. Timothy Abbot walked out of 532 Furitif Lane with a feeling of elation, and a weight off his soul. He was never seen in the small town again.
After Timothy had far vanished from the town, before the next secret holder entered the house, Solomon Kovacs rolled up his left pant leg. His left leg had knobs running down its entirety, all equally spaced. Looking beyond these knobs one could see tiny cracks surrounding each one in the shape of a rectangle. Starting at the thigh about six inches wide, all the way down to his ankle where the smallest rectangle was only an inch wide. The Secret Keeper pulled on the knob at his knee, and with a creak like that of worn wood, revealed a drawer packed with small black objects, each with the Initials of whoever once held that secret.
Solomon’s Legs ached constantly from the heavy drawers packed with years of life and secrecy. Yet he somehow always had room for more tiny black secrets in his sore legs. From top to bottom his left leg was filled with the past ghosts of others. More black knives, beside a black rose, stuffed between two little children, or even on top of a black casket. Although they all looked like toys from a child’s play set, they were much more than that. Each one represented the deepest secrets of those who came to see the Secret Keeper, and each person left feeling nothing of the secret they came to tell. Each little black object represented a part of someone’s life, and each one was engraved with the initials of whom it once belonged to.

Several days later another young man came barreling down the streets of the small town, cutting in front of the line, with utter disregard for those who traveled by boat and train to get there. His name was Benjamin Briggs. He was known in the town for his crude lifestyle and debauchery, as well as being married to the fairest lass in the town. As he entered the house on Furitif Lane he said to the Secret Keeper in a malicious tone, “you listen here old man, you need to help me, I don’t care what it takes, but so help me god if this secret gets out, I’ll have your head.” He meant every word.
This young man’s outcry did not seem to startle Solomon Kovacs one bit. He calmly replied, “I shall keep it safe, and if it truly is a secret, it will not get out by me”.
“I slept with Miss Collins from the brothel house, now if my wife finds out, I’ll be done for, ya hear!” Benjamin came back with almost as much malicious intent as before. Just as the last words escaped his mouth, that strange yet so familiar black substance erupted from his forehead. As the Secret Keeper uncovered the substance, he revealed s small black peacock with a spear through its heart. Not understanding the symbol, but feeling much obliged, Benjamin Briggs left the house gleefully.
Benjamin Briggs returned to his beautiful home and his beautiful wife only to find her with tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. As he approached her he cursed under his breath to himself, “God damned old man.” However when he reached his wife, he said “my love, what’s wrong? Surely there must be something I can do about these tears?”
Her only response, “Surely there ain’t Ben because you are the cause of my sorrow. And to think you wasted what we had on a cheap whore.” With these final words she fled the house, another soul never to be seen again in the small town with the Secret Keeper.
As she left the house Benjamin, began to think, not about what he had done, not about his wife leaving, but about how he would smash Solomon Kovacs. And with a vengeance he ran out of his house, past Ash Tree Lane, gathering his friends along the way. He said to anyone who would listen, “The Secret Keeper did not keep my secret!”
To this the people responded, not in words, but in actions. They followed him down the street to the house at 532 Furitif Lane, thinking about how their lives would be ruined if their secrets got out. Each one grabbing axes and hammers along the way.


While Benjamin was in the brothel several days past, with miss Collins, a nosy young boy named Tom was gazing in the window. As he saw Benjamin and miss Collins kissing, the boy ran straight to Benjamin’s house.
When he reached the door, Mr. Briggs wife was standing outside and as she saw Tom she said to him, “Now Tom, what’s the meaning of this?”
To which Tom replied “I saw yo’ husband miss, he was with miss Collins at the Brothel, they was kissin’.”
The beautiful lady had no response; she simply wandered back inside her house, with tears flowing.

Benjamin blasted through the door of the house on Furitif lane, and with more maliciousness in his voice now the ever before he said “You lyin’ son of a bitch, you told my wife about me and that whore!”
Solomon sat there and with just as much tranquility as before, closing one of the drawers in his left leg and said “Now Mr. Briggs, I gave you my word, that I don’t judge, and your secret is safe with me”
However, as the final word escaped, Benjamin had already begun to swing his axe. It hit Solomon right in the knee, and stuck there like an axe in a tree, as tiny black shapes begun to fly through the air. Benjamin kept on swinging his axe, and Solomon’s leg fell apart, splintering in all directions. What remained of the Secret Keeper’s left leg were a few knobs and sanguinary wood shattered on the floor like old furniture.
Everyone around Benjamin was frantically grabbing the black shapes, looking for their own initials, even grabbing those that were not, to discover someone else’s deepest secret. The black objects were so abundant that they bled through the windows, filling the streets with secrets. The people of the small town crowded Furitif Lane and seized as many inky objects they could. However, one went unnoticed. It was a small black dresser, with shapes oozing out each drawer. Engraved in it were the initials S.K.