Fallen by James Somers

pipe rare of beauty and costly to
afford.
    “Ah, the meerschaum lion,” he cooed as he
retrieved the exquisitely carved pipe from its case. “You are
perhaps my favorite of all.”
    The white mineral held the regal form of a
lion’s head with the mane sweeping back along the stem. Lord
Winston had had it specially made in order to compliment his
collection with a piece bearing the lion from his family’s crest.
The stem had been fashioned from ivory to compliment the white lion
and had been kept long after the style of churchwardens.
    Examining the contents of his dozen or so
tobacco jars, Lord Winston settled upon a recent Turkish blend that
carried a hint of mint. He opened the clear glass jar and took a
pinch between his thumb and forefinger before replacing the
lid.
    “Charles! Where are you?”
    Lord Winston jumped at the sudden intrusion,
scattering tobacco across the front of his new smoking jacket.
    “Confound that woman,” he muttered. “Always
when I’m enjoying my leisure time! Always.”
    “Charles?” she called again from the floor
above where she had her private bedchamber.
    “I’m in my smoking room, of course!” he
shouted back, though he was certain she wouldn’t hear. Lady Winston
had not been able to hear well for quite some time.
    “What is it, Amanda?” he shouted again.
    A maid appeared in the archway leading into
the den.
    “Alice, go and see what she wants,” he
said.
    “Yes, sir,” the younger woman said. “I’ll
see to her needs directly.”
    Lord Winston brushed the tobacco from the
red velvet jacket, no longer paying any attention to either Alice
or his wife’s calls. He went back to the jar of Turkish mint,
removing another pinch and placing it quickly into the top of the
white lion’s head. He picked up a stopper from his pipe rack and
tamped the tobacco down.
    There was no moon visible tonight. Lord
Winston had kept a fire going all afternoon against the damp. Half
a dozen gas lamps burned upon wall sconces. He picked up his
matches and sat in his favorite chair before the fire. Striking a
match to his pipe, he puffed several times drawing the flame into
the tobacco. He sank into his leather high-back, relaxing as
flavored smoke coiled about him like a python.
    The sound of a serving tray spilling onto
the floor above his smoking room startled him. He heard footfalls
as though two people were wresting against one another.
    “Will you two please be quiet!” Lord Winston
shouted to the ceiling.
    The tussling stopped abruptly, satisfying
him.
    “It’s getting so that a man can’t even enjoy
a good smoke anymore,” he muttered. Then he drew upon his pipe and
closed his eyes, attempting to relax again.
    Lord Winston was not sure how long he had
dozed. Only a few minutes seemed to have passed as he enjoyed his
pipe and the warmth of the hearth. However, when he opened his eyes
he found both Amanda and Alice facing him from across the room. He
blinked only once as he straightened in his chair, but now they
were a mere few feet from him.
    “What the devil?” he exclaimed, wondering if
his eyes might be playing tricks on him.
    The two of them held warped vacant
expressions—unfeeling looks through darkened eyes. Lord Winston
attempted to stand, but he was held in place in his chair. He
looked down to find burlap mittens gripping him tightly. Upon
closer inspection, he realized that the leather upholstery had
actually transformed completely into burlap.
    The chair came alive beneath him, standing
and hoisting him into the air with it. His feet dangled above the
carpet as the arms of the chair wrapped around his torso. He
attempted to scream, crying out for help from his wife and the
maid. But they only grinned at his predicament, and he saw in their
eyes that they were something other than human.
    The mid-seam opened behind him and the
burlap monster’s arms pushed him inside. He heard the rattle of
chains and felt their tightening grip around his body. The aroma of
mint