Edward was ushered through the dining room and into the drawing room at the back of the house, suspecting guests were taken that route solely to admire the spread upon their arrival. The table was set with the finest dining settings Edward had ever seen. There before him spread a spectacular culinary sight; a display of fruit that blazed in a fury of colour at the centre of the regal twelve seated oak table. Wines lined the bar behind in age matured bottles eager to be tasted; the place-settings were accessorised with the purest silver cutlery, spotless and glimmering, and the finest china, leafed with gold.
It was exactly as he would have had it, had he the means to host a dinner party such as this. But perhaps his luck was changing. The evening did promise the attendance of some of the most prestigious and wealthy folk of London and with it he so hoped the tides of his fortune would change.
As a humble bank clerk, it was rather unexpected when Edward received his hand delivered invitation; which in itself was a small embossed work of art. However, he had always expressed his ambitions to progress, in business as well as socially, to those who could help that happen. He had always felt in his heart that he was destined for better things and that he was above the slow, irritating nobodies that swarmed him daily to the point of claustrophobia. And here was proof. Look at him now. He sat in the Chairman’s home, on the finest of leather armchairs with the finest of rugs beneath his black polished shoes, being offered the finest of whiskey in the finest of crystal. He allowed a moment to rest back in his chair while no one was watching, and he smiled.
He was apparently the first to arrive, even though he had rung the bell of the grand black door at the precise time instructed by the invitation – which he had brought with him in case there might be any doubt of his receiving it. He had wanted to display his impeccable punctuality to his gracious host by arriving on the very chime of 6 o’clock – a little early for dinner, Edward had first thought, but who was he to tell the Chairman when to dine? He had made a point of not arriving prematurely either, as it was imperative to demonstrate that while his time keeping skills were at the forefront of his attention, he was not so devoid of society and business that he had nothing better to do than arrive early. But, of course, Edward had been awake and out of bed by 7 o’clock that morning, and had diligently prepared the whole day for the evening.
Such was his desperation for the night to commence, Edward fancied that time itself had slowed to a near stand-still, as the other guests had still not arrived and he had not yet been welcomed by his host, which was most peculiar. Edward could not even check the time as he had inadvertently left his time-piece in his coat pocket, which the butler had taken from him upon his arrival. There was no clock in the room that he could see. Edward thought it rather strange that in a room dedicated to keeping guests, a man as particular as the Chairman would overlook such an important necessity.
With his glass long empty, and rather than tap his foot nervously on the polished floor, Edward decided to take a turn of the drawing room, admiring the finery which detailed it so handsomely. As well as the superior furniture, the fine brass and the little knick-knacks which clearly proved the impeccable taste of the Chairman, there was a striking grand fireplace that smouldered at the far end of the room like a gaping mouth aflame. Carved of the finest marble, it depicted a chorus of innocent cherubs, their plump round faces smiling serenely while their blank eyes seemed to stare down at Edward as they danced and played along the breadth of the hearth. He felt a strange unease from their gaze, and by the queer absence of wings upon their little backs. They look rather rascally for cherubs.
Above the fireplace a life-sized portrait of the Chairman himself had been hung. A fine painting, thought Edward, and most like its subject. The Chairman stood, stately against the dark canvas backdrop with his powerful hands regally at his collar, glowering at the room so severely that Edward almost believed the Chairman himself must have stood behind the painting, lending his own watchful eyes such was the familiar intensity of that stare.
He laughed, imagining the eyes to blink. The Chairman’s red face seemed to burn with annoyance under his knotted brow, as though the artist was trying his patience in taking too long to paint him. Edward looked away. Where are the other guests?
The house itself was still and another silent thirty minutes passed before Edward began to feel anxious. The butler had not returned to attend to him or offer him another drink and it was always Edward’s assumption, however uneducated, that one’s host should welcome one’s guest in person, yet he had seen no glimpse of the Chairman, nor anyone in fact, other than the disturbingly life-like painting that craned above the fireplace.
Edward would never presume to judge the Chairman for his lack of attention, as he had never, until this day, been invited to dine by anyone, yet he could not help wonder what was keeping him.
It was decided. He would have to leave the allocated drawing room and find the butler. After all, surely the Chairman had employed this man to ensure Edward’s comfort and yet here he stood with no beverage and no clue as to what was keeping his host, not even an idea of the damned time. No, this will not do at all. The Chairman would no doubt thank him for bringing to his attention the neglect of his own house staff.
Passing the dining table once more, stopping briefly to admire it, Edward made his way to the main reception room of the large town house, his shoes quickly tapping the wooden floor. But he found it empty. He thought briefly to retrieve his watch from his coat but noticed that where the butler had hung it on his arrival, the stand was now empty and his coat gone. He went on further down the hall until he stood below a flight of stairs leading up to the Chairman’s own rooms. Edward could surely not impose on the Chairman. There is clearly some urgent business that he is attending to, which could be the only reason for his delay. It was likely the fault of the insolent butler, who had neglected to keep him informed.
He past the grand marble stairs, his shoes echoing further along the dimly lit corridor towards the back of the house, until he reached another set of small, less ostentatious stairs that led down. Down towards the servants part of the house. Dreaming of a day that he himself would own a house such as this, and servants of his own, Edward descended. Only he would make damn sure they kept his guests attended and well informed.
The light drained from the stairwell as he made his way lower into the house, absorbed like a sponge by the walls that caved him. Noticing how unusually quiet it was for a quarters that should have been bustling with preparation for the master’s dinner, Edward called out a rather timid ‘Hello’, but there was no utterance of human reply.
Edward was, however, welcomed by the assortment of magnificent aromas that oozed from the huge iron stove, steaming in the kitchen. Pots of frothing liquid rattled and boiled while inside a pungent furnace of stews and casseroles cooked and simmered to perfection. He almost forgot himself such was the pleasurable intensity of those scents. They pulled him in as though wrapping smoky tendrils around his neck, seducing him into tasting them. He could barely remember why he had come down to the kitchen. All he knew that he must taste what smelled so divine.
Upon the large preparation block in the centre of the kitchen a thick rag lay next to a razor sharp cleaver that glimmered in the lamplight. Edward used the cloth to open the heavy, hell-hot stove door. He peered inside, avoiding the blast of heat that felt like the fires of hell that plumed out, stomach suddenly ravenous and eager to drown in that scent. In the furnace there cooked a monstrous pie, topped with golden, crispy pastry. Edward pulled it out, careful not to drop it, and set it down atop the large kitchen block. The contents of the pie simmered beneath its pastry roof and Edward salivated down the crisp white shirt he had spent half the morning starching. All control seemed to have left him.
Edward’s eyes flicked across the table for any type of cutlery, but there was nothing and he was unprepared to waste more time looking. He didn’t care that it was too hot to eat, he would plunge his face into the pie and suffer the scolding afterwards. He placed his hand almost reverently upon the pastry top and broke the crust, setting free those rich perfumes locked within, feeling the molten gravy inside. He pulled out a piece of meat and inspected it for a moment. It was tender and moist, smothered in sauce. He placed the meat on his tongue and shuddered with pleasure, the taste spreading like a fever over his face, down his spine, limbs, into the pit of his stomach and all the way to his toes.
Edward submerged his hand into the scolding hot pie once more, this time bringing up a handful of meat. He devoured the contents like a starved child, the thick dark gravy smearing his face and soiling his starched shirt and shined shoes. Again he immersed his hand into the pie until almost half the contents were consumed. He went in for more. Only this time, when Edward’s hand wriggled around in the belly of the pie, he grasped something hard. He supposed it to be a wing or leg of the meat he could not place by taste. Upon hungrily retrieving his hand he realised that he held a severed human finger.
He looked down with horror at the bony finger, its nail soft and flapping half detached, the tender skin falling away even as it sat in his palm. The room around him spun. Dropping the finger, he held tight to the table else he would fall. Panic rose inside, dropping the finger and staggering towards the stairs.
The stairs were harder to climb than they had been to descend, and it took all of Edward’s concentration to keeping from vomiting up his organs as he pulled himself up. He clambered like an old man, a cold sweat dripping from his soaked clothes, the fine dinner suit that he had rented costing half his monthly wage just for that evening. The stairs spun and twisted like beneath him like a giant moving serpent, the hissing mouth the exit he longed for but seemed so far away, and poised to gulp him down like a rodent. He clung to the walls and found the final stair. The wooden floor of the hallway crushed his face as he fell with a wet thud. I must get up. I must get air. His limbs, however, would not move.
“Mr. Collins?” a crisp voice said from the shadows of the hall. Edward heard no footfall and could barely look up. “Mr. Collins, you have gotten yourself into quite a state.”
Edward turned his head slightly and raised his eyes. The Chairman himself towered over him, his unmistakable grey eyes burned like smoke and fire in the dim. Edward’s eyes rolled back into his skull and unconsciousness finally claimed him.
Edward’s eyes opened with a flutter, as though two resting butterflies had been awoken from the cold winter by the siring white light that stung down on him. He strained to see but its harsh glare blurred his vision. The confusion of unconscious lingered before his hearing returned, and then his memory.
Edward’s body washed with dread and the urge to vomit returned. He attempted to raise his arms and shift his weight but found he could not move his stagnant limbs even an inch. They were locked by his sides as though lashed down and his body felt twenty times its normal weight. Panic gazed eyes searched his surroundings.
People were clapping and cheering. Edward’s instincts told him to cry out in terror but the sound never escaped his lips, never crawled along his tongue to pass his teeth. It stayed deep within his chest and began to fester instantly. He could not utter a word. His mouth would not open. Edward soon realised that the only part of his body he could move successfully were his eyes alone, which he strained and flicked fearfully into the blazing light, catching obscured glimpses of monstrous figures who laughed with such wild hedonism that, had Edward control of his muscles, would have sent them convulsing.
The bright light finally dimmed. Around him the room began to appear and the laughing silhouettes came into full view of Edward’s recovered sight.
Oil lamps of red glass burned intensely, setting alight the shadows with a crimson glow. The Chairman stood directly in front of a sconce mounted on the wall behind, suffusing the air around his head as though it were a halo gone demented, contaminated and smeared with blood.
Edward realised he lay naked upon the very dining table he had admired. Spread, as though on some cold mortuaries’ slab or savage sacrificial alter, surrounded by plump fruit offerings that propped up his head and framed his naked body.
The Chairman spoke and Edward listened as though it were some distant dream; a memory of something awful that he could not bring himself to remember. “I welcome you all here to my house this night,” the Chairman said. “I thank you all for making the time on this most momentous occasion.” The Chairman’s face grew dark and a sly smile widened his grin, exposing his gleaming teeth. His guests clapped and grinned through hollowed masks of make-up and smiles.
Around the table the powerful sat: barristers trusted to uphold the law, titled noblemen from long lines of pureblood inbreeding, priests with hands that Christened babies’ heads and felt little boys trousers, doctors with egos of playing God, socialites thirsting with hedonism. They all listened to the Chairman keenly.
“Of course,” the Chairman continued, “we owe our many thanks and gratitude to Mr. Collins here, who accepted our invitation with such expectations. I almost feel for his obvious disappointment.”
The table erupted into laughter. A pack of hyenas dressed in fine clothes, frothing at their mouths. Edward’s heart sank further into his chest, receding from them in fear. He knew most by reputation the faces who sat around him, but he saw in them now a depravity that lay under each thinly veiled expression. He attempted to struggle once more but his leaden limbs worked against him, laying there like bags of useless sand. His eyes welled, erupting over the lids, clotting his eyelashes with frustrated tears that trailed into his mouth down his cheek and onto a shiny apple under his numb head.
The Chairman checked the time of his glimmering pocket watch and nodded. “It is time.”
A young woman entered the room, carrying what looked like a bundle of white cloth. She was very pretty and adorned with jewels and silk. Her face was soft and her eyes were red and swollen with tears. Not once did she look at Edward, they faced the floor always. Her hands clutched the cloth with clawed fingers and the Chairman gestured for her to come to him. She did so, with slow shaking steps. He held out his arms for her to hand him the cloth, but he did so in a way that was jarringly familiar to Edward, holding his hands out, palms upwards. It wasn’t until he noticed a tiny pink arm rise from the bundle as the girl handed it over did Edward realise that it was a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes.
As soon as it left the comfort of its mother’s arms the child began to wriggle and fidget, sensing something had changed, that something was wrong. The Chairman let loose the wrapping and held up the child ceremoniously, the podgy naked flesh now cold and exposed. The room was silent, the mother weeping quietly in the corner, hands across her face to shut off her eyes.
A dark figure stood over Edward, seeming to rise from the shadows behind. Somewhere, a drum beat thudded. The figure in the shadows exposed a screaming bright dagger from beneath its robes. The drum beat louder.
Edward’s eyes protruded with alarm. Not the child. God no. Not the baby. He screamed for help with his stunted tongue as the drum went on, louder and faster. The baby wriggled as the Chairman held the baby over Edward’s naked body. The guests stood, rising like demons from the underworld, clawing their way out of the red flamed darkness to see, to watch, to witness with eyes now shadowed and turned black as oil. The figure with the blade drew back his cowl. It was the butler, standing over him.
The drum beat on. Where was that coming from? Edward’s own heart caged in his chest. The faces came closer, hungry and pushing into Edward’s vision. They didn’t want to miss a moment. Don’t hurt the child, Edward willed, begging silently for them to not hurt the infant while he could not look away or turn his head. He could not stand to see.
A flash of steal sliced passed his vision.
Howls echoed from the writhing bodies that curled over him. They all reached out towards him, their arms the starving tentacles of some heaving creature, fingers splayed out to grab, to feel. They dived forward in frenzy, knocking the Chairman as he held the baby up high in the air, an offering to some obscure Dark God. They clutched handfuls of something wet and glistening, bringing it to their snapping mouths.
Edward felt dizzy. He looked down at himself and the drums grew louder and louder in his head. His stomach laid slashed open, gaping from chest to groin. Blood spilled and gushed and splattered as dozens of hands ploughed inside him.
The table swayed under him and another flash of steal ripped past him. More hands grabbed hungrily at his open chest. Edward helplessly looked down at his mangled body. Streamers of long intestine and pulpy red organs were torn from him like plucking fruit from a bush.
Blood gurgled and pooled in Edward’s throat, the breath rattling through.
The Chairman’s guests withdrew, not sated, only resting. Their faces stained red, fine clothes drenched with Edward and their mouths were gaping wide with red teeth.
Blackness came, welcomed by Edward. It enveloped him like soothing arms and finally his vision left him. Edward heard the Chairman speak one last time before Death took him completely.
“Now, my son. Eat!” he said.
This is sort of fucked up. I love that.
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