Sunday, January 25, 2009

Poe 1

This is my testament to the horrors that I, Charles Bonygne, witnessed. Being a man of science, I had no necessity to believe in supernatural or extraordinary spirits. Angels, demons, goblins, the oriental ifrit, witchdoctors and all manners of unscientific and shamanistic superstition had no place in my science; bore no weight in my thoughts, my decisions, or my deeds. Thus, on this ghastly and wretched night, I came face-to-face with criminal behavior, with an evil that men of character seldom see but lesser men rationalize and accept into their hearts.

I speak of the darkness Arthur Denham carried back from the savage and uncivilized Amazonian jungles to his urbane and sophisticated manor house. He had telegraphed weeks before his arrival that walls of obdurate rock and implacable base-iron fences be built around the manor. I dutifully commissioned the ironmongers and stonemasons and they constructed and encircled the manor house much as moats encircled castles and ramparts encircled penitentiaries. I dismissed this idea that mere styles and rails or posts and gates could have any effect other than to give succor to a troubled soul and comfort to a guilty conscience.

Arthur revealed a pair of Tsantas. On the right, a Wakini, the soul of a powerful warrior willingly sacrificed to guard its master from physical harm. On the left, an Arutum, the soul of a powerful Shaman that imbued its master with metal powers sufficient to control men and bend their will to his will. I had dismissed Arthur's treasures, these abominations, as the rankest spiritualism and irrational superstition.

When Arthur summoned me, his voice shrieking, his speech panicked, I came. The adamantine wall had been breached and the iron fence torn asunder. Stupefied, I dashed into the silent manor house. Ruby red blood seeped beneath the heavy wood doors to Arthur's bedchamber. I opened the door and beheld a sight most horrid. Arthur lay at my feet, his neck ripped to the bones by the knife-like teeth of those ravenous fiends. The Tsantas lay smiling through bloody visage and glowing eyes.

I trembled before the hellions that I must return to Amazonia. For the first time, I raised my hand and invoked the Christian Triune Godhead as protection against the demons unleashed on the countryside. Yesterday, I was ignorant of insidious wickedness. Today, I am no longer a child of innocence or whimsy.

I remain, your humble correspondent.

--Dave F.

5 comments:

fairyhedgehog said...

That's very good, Dave. You've really got a feel for how Poe writes.

R.W. Glover said...

The perfect combination of soothing erudite prose with chilling and macabre content. Not a hint of satire -- hard to do with a modern mind. Very enjoyable.

Anonymous said...

plus good dave, really liked this!

Meri

Wonderwood said...

Great job, Dave. I've not read any Poe since high school, and I believe I was stoned at the time so I'm really not familiar with his style. I was more into Twain. Even so, this was well written and engrossing. I only saw one word I would cut: the second "will" in the sentence about Arutum. Good work.

Dave F. said...

Thanks very much.