A Parish Darker: A Victorian Suspense Novella by Rhys Ermire Page A
Authors: Rhys Ermire
Tags: Thriller & Suspense, gothic horror, Action Suspense, gothic fiction, horror action adventure, horror novella, psychological dark, dark gothic, victorian 19th century, dark fiction suspense
Ads: Link
The Baron attempted to remove his trusted axe from the head of the man he had downed with only a tug in the opposite direction. Finding it insufficient, he wasted little time placing his foot to the man’s upright back and using his weight to complete the task.
With the axe removed, nothing remained to keep the man on his knees, causing the body to topple and his head to settle with a crackle just affront my feet. Whether it was his fractured skull making such a sound or his spine snapping in some place, I was not sure, but I took some comfort in the thought I may never hear such a sound again.
After some moments staring in horror at the inside of a man’s skull for the first time, I return my glare to the Baron himself. With as focused a disposition as ever, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping down the blade that had been soiled with blood, bone fragments, and likely brain fluid.
“Edwin, is something wrong?” Mild concern was evident in his voice.
Whatever utterings were carried with my breathing at the time were not vocalizations but instead evidence of shock. My hands trembled, and the Baron noticed. My fingers tingled with a sensation entirely foreign to me, and somehow, I felt the Baron noticed that as well.
“Edwin, Edwin, Edwin!” he exclaimed happily. “You have nothing to fear. It is over now. You are safe, as am I. This can be a dangerous world, but only if you are unprepared.”
The scene had turned into a macabre one. Blood had found its way onto my clothes and his, as well as onto the cages of the mice behind me. As I was surveying the damage, my open mouth no doubt signaling my ill-suited temperament, Baron von Savanberg tossed his bloodied handkerchief in my direction.
“My friend, you have some of it on you,” said he, Germanic accent intact, with the practicality and mannerisms of a host just as he had upon my arrival. “Do hurry though, as I will require your assistance if we are to make the most of this night.”
His reference to blood as a nondescript entity did not escape my notice. I could only guess as to his psyche, but it did not appear he had any sympathy for the man that now lay dead and ruined on the stone slab beneath our feet.
He no doubt sensed my apprehension at the thought of even speaking following what had occurred. “We will do things, and we will do them right. You shall see. For now, do make yourself presentable.”
I had many questions for the Baron following what transpired, but I found myself unable to speak, as if paralyzed. The feeling was akin to that of a dream in which you cannot scream.
The Baron placed the two-handed axe against the wall by the door in a casual manner before crossing the room, stepping over the dead body with no alarm. In a curious move, he centered his attention on the mice in the cage, first taking nondescript food from a small container and tossing it into their cages.
A strange rapport was present between him and the rodents. Upon getting near the cage, they reacted much differently than they had with me. Their reaction was in fact that of grateful companions, not of a creature predisposed to fear and abuse.
As the Baron indulged in his routine as if nothing had occurred, I at last managed to utter something resembling a question. “Did you—know him?”
“No, no,” said he with a whimsical pattern to his words, “I have never laid eyes on this man before.”
My host removed one of his rats from their cages, allowing it to scamper along his arm. On instinct, as I looked down upon the carcass near our feet that faced down onto the stone slab, I brought my own arm over the lower portion of my face.
“We should contact the local constabulary at once,” I said.
“Edwin,” replied he, “if there is one thing you must do for me, you must not speak of this to any other, and most importantly, not utter one word to the police.”
A
With the axe removed, nothing remained to keep the man on his knees, causing the body to topple and his head to settle with a crackle just affront my feet. Whether it was his fractured skull making such a sound or his spine snapping in some place, I was not sure, but I took some comfort in the thought I may never hear such a sound again.
After some moments staring in horror at the inside of a man’s skull for the first time, I return my glare to the Baron himself. With as focused a disposition as ever, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping down the blade that had been soiled with blood, bone fragments, and likely brain fluid.
“Edwin, is something wrong?” Mild concern was evident in his voice.
Whatever utterings were carried with my breathing at the time were not vocalizations but instead evidence of shock. My hands trembled, and the Baron noticed. My fingers tingled with a sensation entirely foreign to me, and somehow, I felt the Baron noticed that as well.
“Edwin, Edwin, Edwin!” he exclaimed happily. “You have nothing to fear. It is over now. You are safe, as am I. This can be a dangerous world, but only if you are unprepared.”
The scene had turned into a macabre one. Blood had found its way onto my clothes and his, as well as onto the cages of the mice behind me. As I was surveying the damage, my open mouth no doubt signaling my ill-suited temperament, Baron von Savanberg tossed his bloodied handkerchief in my direction.
“My friend, you have some of it on you,” said he, Germanic accent intact, with the practicality and mannerisms of a host just as he had upon my arrival. “Do hurry though, as I will require your assistance if we are to make the most of this night.”
His reference to blood as a nondescript entity did not escape my notice. I could only guess as to his psyche, but it did not appear he had any sympathy for the man that now lay dead and ruined on the stone slab beneath our feet.
He no doubt sensed my apprehension at the thought of even speaking following what had occurred. “We will do things, and we will do them right. You shall see. For now, do make yourself presentable.”
I had many questions for the Baron following what transpired, but I found myself unable to speak, as if paralyzed. The feeling was akin to that of a dream in which you cannot scream.
The Baron placed the two-handed axe against the wall by the door in a casual manner before crossing the room, stepping over the dead body with no alarm. In a curious move, he centered his attention on the mice in the cage, first taking nondescript food from a small container and tossing it into their cages.
A strange rapport was present between him and the rodents. Upon getting near the cage, they reacted much differently than they had with me. Their reaction was in fact that of grateful companions, not of a creature predisposed to fear and abuse.
As the Baron indulged in his routine as if nothing had occurred, I at last managed to utter something resembling a question. “Did you—know him?”
“No, no,” said he with a whimsical pattern to his words, “I have never laid eyes on this man before.”
My host removed one of his rats from their cages, allowing it to scamper along his arm. On instinct, as I looked down upon the carcass near our feet that faced down onto the stone slab, I brought my own arm over the lower portion of my face.
“We should contact the local constabulary at once,” I said.
“Edwin,” replied he, “if there is one thing you must do for me, you must not speak of this to any other, and most importantly, not utter one word to the police.”
A
Similar Books
