by Norman A. Rubin
The old house, sealed and empty, stands abandoned to the living world; a place of sounds once heard that is now quiet. It was the scene of a deceitful debauchery on one fateful night, which the curse of the act debased the owner. But the enactment of retribution through the devious ways of demons and spirits found its revenge. The call of murder was screamed from its inner walls at the final and lasting end; murder mixed with the devil's curse that damned the house to emptiness.
The dwelling is firm, in rather good repair, standing high from the barred basement windows to the slate roof topping the attic. The first story is built from rough stone, covering the space of a large, still furnished living room, with a spacious kitchen annexed to an equally large dining hall; and alongside is a well planned library with its unopened books gathering dust. Stained dark pine paneling covers the second story, a place of two well furnished slumber rooms for the one-time occupants and one for the occasional guest; chambers now silent, with only the memory of the past. The boarded windows of the dwelling are shut tightly, and its closed portals are locked with chains and rusty padlock, all barring the horrendous history of the old house to the curious.
Intermittent winds blow through the tall oak and maple that surrounds the old house and through rows of cypress that stands sentinel around the spacious, yet neglected, garden; the many fingered branches weaving to the flow of the current, creaking to the force of the winds. Slim branches, shot from the growth, rub noisily the wood of the panels and boards, and scratch the stone with deep rasping sounds. Vine tendrils, woven around the branches, whisk about, casting a veil of mystery.
The once planned grounds, now derelict and filled with the debris of nature and man, is locked and forbidden to sight. It is now the home to a number of small scurrying animals and to a myriad of crawling insects. And, at times, the place of rest for one denied a home or for one on the run from the hands of the law, all have left part of their miserable existence on the hard packed earth.
Near one of the basement windows of the deserted dwelling is a trail of rust brown stain spots leading to the downward stairs to the cold dank cemented interior. Marks on the closed door indicated that, at one time, it had been forced opened, splintering the decayed wood. The stigma of murder continues along the rough stone floor of the cellar, bypassing a rusty coal furnace, to a far corner, hidden by the boards of the empty coal bin. The visible signs are enlarged with streaks of brownish color coursing the grayish walls. A discarded torn piece of discolored cloth is crumbled nearby, and, at a near-distance, a worn work boot lies in the dust.
It was an incident in the not too distant past; a murder carried out in the late hours of a cold night. Folks still gossip about it in whispered tones. The solemn notes, expressed by a few of the good people, spoke of the foul act being committed in the heat of passion. The majority, being the righteous ones, disagreed, and said that the murderous deed committed that terrible night, was the doings of the forces of darkness. Some of these good people claimed to be the witnesses to the tragic event of that dark night, be it true or not.
The witnesses gossiped amongst themselves and talked in the tone of puzzlement. They shook their heads in disbelief as they whispered in feared tones of the final outcome of that dismal period, "Poor fellah, thet man Henry, t'aint so he be t' killin', caint believe it. Bein' sech a good man about... Loving critter, he was." But all swore, "that it must ov' bin a curse thet' drove him loony."... And their finality of words added to the mystery.
The mysterious events, as recorded by the minions of the law, began in the hours of that windy, cold night, the time when an anonymous caller sounded the note of murder. But the narrative of the events, as told in the garble of superstitious tongues, began by first relating to the householder of the old and deserted house...
Mr. Ahriman was known, by sight, to be a respectable and prominent man of the business world. Nobody nearby cared to ask of his affairs, as the somberly dressed man didn't include his immediate neighbors as his companions in friendship. Mr. Ahriman seemed to be busy only in the early evening returning at the late hours of the night. But it was on that fateful night that he had, by chance, returned early, brimming with a package of good tidings; the meeting during the evening hours, with other outstanding figures of his business world, would bring him a tidy profit. He practically skipped on his nimble feet as he made his way to the threshold of his home. His broad, be-spectacled goateed face beamed in devilish delight with the thought of his successful business acumen.
Mr. Ahriman paused for a few moments at the stairs leading to the entrance of his grand house. He was known, or seemed to be known, as a colossus in the financial world. His sturdy middle-aged body set on muscular legs marked him well. His well-appointed apparel added to the signs of his good fortune; the velvet collared dark-colored overcoat covered a well-tailored suit of good dark cloth; the black-patent well-worked leather pumps shoed his hidden feet, and the blackish felt homburg crowned the dark of his hair. All summed up his prosperity.
During the pause, he surveyed his two-story home, a legacy of his success. As his dark-set eyes roamed their sight from the rough gray stones to the dark paneling, he noticed the lower floors beaming with light, but the thick curtained windows on the second floor hid any glow. "Ash, Henrietta, the good woman, is waiting for me," spoke the silent words from his thin bloodless lips. He recalled the thought of his young and pretty wife; presentable young miss of delectable curves, blond hair. "Ooh," he thought, "her pure creamy-white skin." The delightful lass was look upon by Mr. Ariman as another acquisition that denoted his achievements. "Some day, by the god Sammuel, she'll bear me an heir... " After an additional momentary pause, he shook himself from his reverie, and, without a pause, climbed the few steps to the threshold.
Mr. Ahriman opened the thick oak paneled front door with a flourish. As he stepped into the entrance hall, he looked about and called out in a low voice. "Henrietta, Henrietta!" No answer was heard. "Ah well," he thought, "my pretty little one must be upstairs, probably asleep." Quietly, he removed his heavy coat and dark homburg, placing them in the correct position in the wardrobe.
Then almost soundlessly, walking swiftly on winged steps, he made his way to the circular staircase leading to the upper story. The climb was effortless and upon reaching the top, Mr. Ahriman paused in anticipation. Then his shod feet practically floated as he made his way to his bedroom and to the waiting warmth of the love mistress of his earthly world.
The door to his subdued-lit bedroom was slightly ajar as he grasped the doorknob. Suddenly, he heard soft moaning cries and the sound of movement permeating from within. As he peered through the slight opening, his dark deep-set eyes flared in anger. There, in front of his maddened sight, Henrietta, his beloved, was stretched on the bed, naked to the core, covered by the equally naked well-built frame of Henry, a noted womanizer. Mr. Ahriman's temper increased and his nostrils flared as he watched, in foul temper, the plunging movements of the paramour; and heard the languid groans of pleasure coming from the throat of his wife.
"It must ov' been a terrible sight for th' old boy," chortled the gossipmongers as they vividly described the scene from their imagination.
"Don' know what happened!" they continued in their tale. The gossipers spoke of strange happenings of that night; the night of the devil was in their minds. "The Prince of Darkness t'was sighted through th' dark ov' th' heavy black clouds," they fearfully uttered. Their imagination increased in the wildness of their speech. Some spoke of the anger of Mr. Ahriman and his supposed pact with the emissaries of hell in order to rid him of the cursed sight. "Sold his soul t' them, thet he did," they uttered in the terror of their voices. And they swore on the truth of their words.
All witnesses had expressed their thoughts as to the hour and of the participants, but all were in agreement, somewhat, of the happenings of that night. They told, in their whispered superstitious tones, of an ominous aura of mystery that happened in the grand house under the clouded darkness of that night. But the hours of evil, of secretive enchantment, which occurred, still remains for all a terrifying unsolved riddle. This thought was etched in the mind for those who claimed to be witnesses to the damning scene; all swore they were half-blinded and confused by the 'eye of fire', which distorted their sight. "The eye is the sun, the wind, the breadth, the universal body," they hesitantly quoted, "tis true, tis god's truth." They emphatically stated in their slangy voices that the 'eye of fire' is the sacred fire of the underworld distorting the mirror of its acts to the mind of the beholder..
Some of the older folk claimed that they heard a clap of thunder, through the howl and fury of the winds. Others heard the crash of glass and the flapping of velvet from the upper story of the house. "Tis was a night ov' evil an' blackness," they nervously related. "T'was a night ov' the critters of hell," they fearfully thought. They spoke of the spell of that night that brought demon spirits from the depths of the nether regions.
Two, maybe three of the righteous ones swore on oath, that they saw the demons Agrath, daughter of Asmodeus, as she roamed through the night with a myriad of devasting angels calling out to other evil and vicious tormentors, hideous shadow-spirits, and horrific demons on tattered wings. Hushed tones whispered, that these minions of hell-fire cast an evil eye upon the house, which called out in their vile tongues, the curse of the damned, "May the spirits of Quezma, son of Saluminu, penetrate the very bones and plague the very souls." "Tis' true... saw it wit' me very own eyes," each one testified. But, they saw and heard, only what the devil permitted them to see and hear, and the witnesses obeyed his commands.
They continued in their testimony as it spelled out the scene of a dark mysterious naked macabre dance, orchestrated by a large angry ogre, grinning in cursed devilry. "Round and round", the witnesses spluttered, as they told how two naked bodies spun dizzily in one of the upper rooms; at first they coupled together in pleasure, and then circled alone in an ecstatic trance. The testimony to the sight continued by relating how the girl's blond flowing hair slashed the muscular torso of her paramour when they joined, and then swiftly whisked through air when the bodies parted. That demons and Harpies called out in their eerie tongues, the tempo of the dance; harsh, yet low, cacophonic music accompanied their voices. And how the spirits of the night veiled the nude frames with the mist of their breath. "Hour after hour, the dance macabre spun around the room," the witnesses claimed, "ending with flashes of fire, coupled with echoing reports."
It was recorded by the alerted authorities, that the aged housekeeper was woken by the sounds, "terrible noise ah heard.. Thumpin' on th' ceiling above... hour an' hour it went." She had raved on and told of hearing some weird sounds above the blow of the winds, but did not investigate. "Real scared I was, afeared to leave me room and have a look-see... an', later, th' ter'rible banging on the stairs... more lik' somebuddy was a-draggin' sumthin' real heavy."
The poor woman's tale continued in its ferocity as written in the police report. She stated, that when she heard the fierce closing of the front door, she tottered for a look-see through her bedroom window, "me room bein' on th' first floor, near th' kitchen." She related when she strained her myopic sight through thick glasses, she spotted Henry, naked and booted, dragging the nude body of Henrietta, the beloved wife of Mr. Ahriman, to the basement of the grand house. The sight shocked the poor woman, and the following blessed fainting spell spared the continued witnessing of further tragic events.
The faithful servant couldn't remember the length of time of her being rendered unconscious when questioned by an official of the law. She could only remember the sight of Henry dragging the naked remains of Henrietta to basement, which she repeated over and over again in hysteria; her misery of the sight was alleviated by the gentle, calming ministrations of a policewoman.
The police spared her the notice of their finding of the charred remains of a young woman in the cooling furnace, which proved to be the charming woman of the household. They also spared her the sight of Henry... whose naked body was covered with the soot of coal and sweat of his labor.
The police were horrified at the sight of the young man. He was propped naked against a far corner of the basement; his seated body was marked with demoniac signs of the 'dragons of the four corners' and scratched, with blood flowing, of concentric marks of the 'evil eye' - circles, spirals, meanders, and of the 'evil eye' itself.
Henry's face was contorted in deep agony, like a man whose soul is turning in hell. From his parched lips, he mumbled in an insane tongue, "Pyretos Megas, Pyretos Leptos, burning in Eshata Raba to Shimsha." Over and over, he worded the strange words, coupled with deep agony, "Pyretos Megas, Pyretos Leptos..." Henry's eyes were glazed, staring into the unknown.
The shock of the incident caused the authorities at that time, too forget momentarily the presence of Mr. Ahriman, husband and householder. But, if they had bothered to look at the back of the small gathering crowd, they would have noticed a sturdy man in a velvet-collared coat, topped with a black homburg, and his hoofed feet unshod; his dark red goateed face, set between two small sharp horns, was grinning evilly.
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