part two of three by Joe Stanley
“IT’S A CURIOUS STORY IN ITS OWN RIGHT of how I found this place” he began, after we all agreed to stay the night. “It’s the sort of coincidence that gives me cause to pause. But forget that as the story starts most properly across the ocean…”
“A man and his bride had gone on a honeymoon tour of Europe. In addition to the great cities, they passed through tiny villages where time seemed to have stopped. The people lived the way they had for centuries, if not millennia. In those places, traditions are strong and superstition is never disregarded.
“At any rate, it was a colorful celebration that caught the attention of the happy couple and to better take in the festivities, they booked a room at the village inn. Wandering through the spectacle, they happened on a great pile of rubble surmounting a nearby hill. Though the difference in languages made communication difficult, they were able to piece together that the celebration and the ruin had much in common.
“They were marking an unseemly event, that of an execution. This figure so despised that they would not even speak his name. That he had once been the lord of these lands, they conceded, and that his position inherited through his bloodline. For ages, this family had ruled in terror from their donjon on the hill. There were whispered tales of debauchery and perversion, and the very serious charge of practicing the dark arts.
“The people were not unfamiliar with the disappearances of those who stayed out late at night. These they tolerated out of helplessness, like the draconian law that saw men imprisoned for life, for undeserving or even fabricated crimes. It took the vanishing of a young and beloved maiden to bring the villagers to revolt. With the blessing of a priest, they stormed the tower and found their fears well-founded.
“At his trial, the black heart said nothing. He merely smirked at each charge and the heaps of ghastly evidence brought nothing from him but a sneer. At the pronouncement he was silent. It was not until they bound him to the stake and lit the fire that he spoke. It said that the curse he uttered was so vile that it brought a frenzied terror to all and struck down others with madness. He is said to have cackled long after a mortal man should have died.
“But their terrors were not over; indeed the horror had just begun. One by one, those who had charged and condemned him were murdered in unspeakably savage ways. The killings strangely attended by sightings of an inhuman beast. The people knew a fear even greater than before, and now they had no villain to seek out. When the last of his accusers had been slaughtered, the creature was seen atop the tower.
“Even the priest was powerless to cast out the infernal monster and a hurled piece of masonry sent him to the hereafter. So the people dragged a canon through the streets and blasted down the tower. The ground of this wickedness hurriedly blessed and the sightings and killings stopped. But each year since, the people celebrate the death of the wicked lord and the sundering of his tower.
“The man was so impressed by the tale that he combed the ruins, finding little but shattered rubble. But among the devastated stone, he uncovered what he believed to be a statue. Against the urging of the villagers, he had it packaged up and shipped home.”
Here he paused to refill his glass. While his tale had made me thoughtful, I noted that he fought against his own unease.
“That is quite a story…” I began, but he went on.
“The man in question, being of idle wealth, had his own interest in the occult. The statue was the centerpiece of a party he threw upon his return. His friends and associates were men and women after his own heart, but all were mere dabblers and had no idea of the curse they brought to life.
“At one point in their revelries, a séance was performed using the statue as a fetter to reach the vanquished lord. The results were so terrifying that some left the gathering immediately afterward. These wise and lucky few would give no details, countering inquiry by questioning what good it could ever do to disturb a soul that burns in Hell.
“There were indeed many questions that arose from the events of that night. By the morning, the few who remained were as cold and lifeless as stone. It widely upheld that the host had gone on a drunken, murderous rampage. When his rage had subsided, it is believed, he saw the horror of what he had done and hung himself.
“As I said, these walls have known blood and death. As for the statue, I ask you, my skeptical friend, would you care to see it?”
I don’t remember answering; the four of us seemed to float to the room he had neglected to show us earlier. I may have distantly wondered what prank might await me, but I felt myself committed to seeing things out, for whatever end as may be.
The room was large and long, with visible rafters that vanished into the shadows above us. It was a library of sorts, though I recognized many objects of esoteric and arcane purpose. There were the trinkets of dozens of mystic traditions, charms, talismans, scrolls and books best unmentioned. An evil, inscribed mirror doubled the wickedness in the room, but our eyes focused on a silk-shrouded form.
With a flourished, he pulled the cloth away and we laid eyes upon it.
“A gargoyle,” I muttered, barely aware of his nod. I was somewhat taken aback by the simplicity of its form. It was not a winged, reptilian monster as I might have imagined, but was far closer to the human shape. However, I was not disappointed as to its fearsome appearance.
Its build was stocky and brutish, more bestial than man. In its posture there was menace and it seemed more than ready to leap to murderous life despite being made of stone. Its face was a hobgoblin, drawn from the hellish nightmares of a superstitious mind. The weathering, it had known for perhaps centuries, did little to lessen its intimidating gaze; rather it had brought the curious effect of making this fantastic thing look like a corpse. Strangely it was more horrid for the suggestion of having once been alive.
Maryanne and Danielle have long since turned from the specter and that broke the spell holding me transfixed. Frank, who may well have gloated didn’t seem to be interested at having unnerved me. Like me, he stared at the thing, instinctively repelled yet fascinated.
“I think the ladies have had enough,” I said.
“I hope I haven’t frightened you too much,” he mumbled, a touch of shame visible in his face.
“Well done,” I told him and knew I needn’t say no more.
We returned to the table, having sealed up the door, but not even a full glass of wine could loosen our tongues. Accordingly, we said goodnight looking forward very much to the light of morning.
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