The Chateau

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by Twistd

Heed my warning: this tale is not for the faint of heart. Be prepared for a tale of unspeakable horror, so vile and controversial, it will question whether there's any good in the world and shake one's view of faith to the core. A visit to the psychiatrist might not even be beyond possibility for this is a tale so gruesome, yet so brutally appetizing, that the reader might imagine that these poison words must have come from the devil himself to be able to write such grief and tempt such evil. I assure you, I am not the devil for I were he, I would not have provided these words of caution.

1. DOMINIQUE

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A little less than three years after she had joined the convent and a day after the Feast of St. Nicholas, young Sister Dominique was riding on a rickety horse-drawn cart back to the convent with only her father's old but reliable steed to keep her company. Light was fading as nightfall was only an hour away. Her heavenly voice joined the songbirds on the lonely country road as she sang one of her favourite hymns.

Peace be unto Heaven and Earth,
Blessed be, all the daughters first,
Blessed be, the sons worth,
Blessed be, the women hearth.
Then bless the men who leave the home,
Bless the creatures who dwell in forests and plains they roam...

Her song had been interrupted when one of the wheels loosened and gave way, spilling her father’s wooden crafts and firewood which the cart was carrying. Only barely managing to save herself from toppling into the muddy ground, she pulled herself up to a manageable position and pondered on her predicament.

She did not have to wait long, when by some fortuitous affair, a young handsome man of regal stature and a kindly face appeared along the road ahead riding on a great white horse. He wore an opulent vest of dark royal blue and a prim white feather on his velvet cap.

“Milady, you are in distress I see”, he said. “Please allow me to assist.”

Dominique was impressed by the man who seemed unfazed that his lavish garments were being soiled and muddied as he helped fix the wheel of her cart to proper working order. He in turn, was so enamored by the young nun’s beauty that he invited her to stay at his castle.

“It is not safe to ride alone in the night” he continued. “My castle lies yonder past the woods, and we would be most pleased if you could join us for the night, if only to set you on your way again the morning after with fresh food, rested health and clean clothing.”

Tempted as she was – for the man was very handsome and the nun had felt the faint tuggings of sinful passion stirring within her bosom – she declined politely.

"I'm sorry, kind sir," she said gently. "I must make haste and catch nightfall as there are orphans at the convent who need these supplies before tonight. They are hungry and in need of the warmth of the hearth which the firewood will provide. I thank you for your offer for help."

"I understand milady," the man said, a little crestfallen. "Please take care in these woods for it is not safe late in the night. There are rumours of spirits abound."

They bade each other adieu and went on their own way.

The sun seemed as if it had been pulled down by some unnatural sorcery for nightfall came much quicker than Dominique had anticipated. Not before long, she found herself in the middle of the Bois de la Nuit de Temps, alone, frightened and ruing her decision to part ways with the man on the great white horse. In the foggy blackness of night with only her flickering lantern to light the way, all she could think of were the stories that her great aunt used to tell about the forest, of mischievous troglodytes, man-eating witches, one-eyed ogres and many more of the forest’s eerie denizens.

One particular tale which especially haunted her was of Queen Octavia who had once lived in these very woods centuries ago. It was told that she had discovered that her husband, King Augustine, had kept a mistress. Flying into a jealous rage, the queen lured and murdered the young mistress, then later cooked the young woman’s flesh for her unsuspecting family. All partook the meat at the dinner banquet, while none but the queen knew of the meat’s true source and its fatal taint until Queen Octavia, in her final act of revenge against her adulterous husband, revealed to her family that she poisoned the meat. Because the queen had dabbled in witchcraft, her family and all of King Augustine’s servants who ate the flesh had remained in the mortal realm as the undead, doomed to feast on human flesh for it is the only way to delay their destiny in hell that awaits them until Judgment Day. So it was told that if a soul was lost while traveling through the Bois de la Nuit de Temps it was because they had become supper for Queen Octavia and her ghoulish family.

Time felt as vague as in a dream, the thick fog and darkness blanketing Dominique’s senses that she wasn’t even sure if seconds were minutes or minutes were hours. However, she eventually stirred from her dark imaginings when she heard a faint weeping up along the road. Peering through the mist that seemed thicker under the alabaster light of the moon, she could make out a hunched figure with his back towards Dominique, ambling slowly at the side of the road. The stranger walked with a limp on his left leg for it had shriveled and twisted like the gnarled roots of an old tree. He soon came into view, revealing a young but pitiful man looking quite mangy from the travel and smelled strongly of feces and rotten fish. He turned around and looked up at the young nun as she drew near, gazing reverently at her flawless beauty with pathetic eyes as if she was the Lady Madonna herself. Despite her initial repulsion, Dominique’s sympathetic nature for all of God’s creatures shone through in the end.

“Poor man,” she said. “I will take you on my cart for we are heading to the same direction.”

She alighted and proceeded to help the cripple aboard, but as he came within an arm’s length from the horse, it suddenly whinnied and bolted down the road as if possessed, taking along the cart and its precious cargo into the darkness with the nun and the cripple stranded behind.

“No! The poor children will go hungry tonight. I have failed them,” Dominique cried, and the cripple cried along too.

“Oh, why did you stop for me?” he wailed. “You should have paid no heed to a wretched soul like mine for I bring bad fortune to whoever keeps me company.”

Dominique gathered her courage and consoled the cripple. "God sometimes places obstacles for goodly folk to overcome if they were strong of faith, will and heart," she said.

After composing himself with the help of Dominique’s kind words, he mentioned that not far away stood a chateau where a wealthy Comtesse lived. She once allowed him to stay in the stables one stormy night, showing him charity so rare among the nobility. She might allow them hospitality for the night especially for a sister of the cloth, but he warned that the Chateau lay deeper in the woods away from the beaten path. Dominique thought about this with apprehension. Do not venture into the woods, her father had warned before she set on her journey. But in the end, she decided that there was no other choice for there was nothing worse or more dangerous than remaining where they stood at the side of the road in the dead of night where roving brigands may waylay and murder the two helpless travelers. So, after saying a quick prayer to the orphans’ well-being, Dominique and the cripple made their way together deeper into the mysterious Bois de la Nuit de Temps.

 

2 . CHATEAU

To keep themselves distracted from the ghostly hoots of owls and the eerie whistle of the wind through the trees, the cripple and the nun exchanged stories. The cripple, who introduced himself as Claude, retold stories of his not so noble past. He admitted that in his youth before he lost the use of his left leg, he was a bandit who would have robbed Dominique blind and forced himself upon her if he had ever met her in similar circumstances. But he was finally caught and his leg crushed as punishment. He languished in prison for seven years where he had a lot of time to contemplate about his deeds, letting the shame and guilt fill inside his soul until one day, the jailers let him go for no apparent reason. Dominique thanked him for his honesty and blessed him.

"The Lord is all-forgiving and that confession is one step closer to one’s salvation," she said.

A few minutes later, deep in the Bois de la Nuit de Temps, the two weary travelers were greeted by a sight of a large castle that loomed majestically into view on the crest of a small hill. The parapets and windows were lit by the lambent glow of gaslit lamps, giving the castle an unnerving quality as the light cast dark and heavy shadows across its gargoyles and buttresses with a sinister effect. Dominique’s skin tingled with uneasiness and for a moment. She had doubted her decision not to have heeded her father’s advice. However, it had been too late to turn back then. Furthermore, the thought of shelter from the cold and mist outside was a thought that weighed more on her mind, so she followed Claude without complaint up a flight of stone stairs to the doorstep of the ornate wooden castle door.

Under the guidance of Claude’s gaunt hand, the large brass doorknocker hit against the ancient wood, emitting a deep and hollow noise that reverberated within the cavernous bowels of the great castle. Before the echoes of the knock even trailed off, the door opened revealing a dark-skinned woman, frighteningly thin and possessing a pair of large round eyes that looks almost as if they were about to roll out of their sockets. Her hair was wrapped by a piece of cloth and she wore a homeservant’s dress of dark maroon. The woman at first looked at them with suspicion, but as her gaze fell on Dominique in her black and white nun’s frock, she flashed a smile that seemed unnatural on her face.

“Come in from the cold, sister and brother. I shall fetch the Comtesse,” she said with a strange accent from a strange land.

Once inside, the servant bade them to make themselves comfortable at the waiting room as she left to fetch her mistress. Both the cripple and the nun waited and observed their surroundings. The chateau’s interior was very opulent and very ancient. Its brightly lit halls were filled with antique furniture of gold and Persian satin, well-crafted floral tapestries of chrysanthemums, roses and orchids, elaborate sculptures of majestic stallions in their full regal postures, and busts of austere-looking aristocrats who were no doubt the long dead ancestors of the mistress of the chateau. Dominique’s earlier apprehensions evaporated as she was taken in by the beauty of the interior despite the ominous mood of the chateau from outside. 

One should not judge a book by its cover Reverend Mother Mary Ignatius used to say.

Within moments, the dark skinned servant appeared and promptly announced the arrival of the lady of the house, Comtesse Eloise Chevigny. Trailing behind her was a tall, thin and immensely regal woman with a pale alabaster face. Her long ceremonial gown gave the illusions that she did not walk, but rather, glided across the fine parquet floor. She was both beautiful, and ethereal, looking neither old nor young and had the ageless appearance of someone who would be beautiful many years past her prime.

The Comtesse wore a kind face as she went up to Dominique and Claude. “Poor souls,” she said. “What brings you to my home and in such a state? Though I remember you, young man. Claude, if I remember correctly. It is well thought of you to bring a helpless lady of God to my presence. What is your story, young sister?”

Dominique introduced herself and then told her story about the orphans, the broken wheel and the prince, the encounter with Claude and the losing her cart. The Comtesse seemed touched by her sordid tale and invited the two to have supper and also stay for the night. Graciously, the cripple accepted on behalf of the two of them, but the Comtesse could see that the thoughts of the poor orphans still weighed heavy on Sister Dominique’s mind.

“I know that you are desperate to return to the convent, Sister Dominique,” said the Comtesse, “but it is too late for you to venture out in the darkness at this time.” What I can offer though, is fresh firewood and a new horse and carriage when you leave early tomorrow.” Dominique could not hold back her emotion and cried, thanking the Comtesse for her generosity. With that, the Comtesse accompanied her to her quarters while Claude ambled off with the saucer-eyed servant.

During the long walk along the labyrinthine chambers and halls of the immense chateau, Dominique and Comtesse Chevigny learned more about each other. She asked about the history of the house to which the Comtesse replied that it had a proud but brutal past.

“The line of the Chevignys had lived here for centuries,” she said. “We were part of a very influential family with estates that encompassed much of the forest. Now, the chateau is all that remain. The wild of the woods had reclaimed the gardens and with all but a handful of our subjects either dead or had left for better pastures, the Chevigny legacy has been forgotten.”

Dominique expressed her sadness at such a tale and in turn, talked about her family and home in Mignonard, her father, life in the convent. The young nun was surprised to how at ease the Comtesse had put her that she told her much about herself.

When they had reached an empty room where the nun would stay for the night, the Comtesse insisted that Dominique bathe and leave her mud-stained frock with her servants for wash and dry before her departure the day after. The lady went to the wardrobe and fetched two garments that were of the young nun’s size. One, a beautiful golden satin and silk gown fit for a lady of noble birth. The other, a plain dress of russet and beige. Both, the Comtesse remarked, had been absent-mindedly left behind by two of her guests. Despite the Comtesse’s suggestion that Dominique wear the more ornate garment, the nun refused and chose the latter. For a brief moment, the young nun thought she saw a strangeness pass across the Comtesse’s face which quickly disappeared and only the familiar kindly face of the noble lady remained.

“I shall have my servant, Nemba, wash and dry your garments to be ready for you by tomorrow,” said the Comtesse. “The bath is down the room, second door on the right. I will see you downstairs for dinner.” Dominique curtsied and thanked the Comtesse for her hospitality.

Dominique found the bath to be extremely refreshing. The fragrant soap and the warm water washed away the dirt, sweat, soreness, worries and all her troubles from her slender naked limbs and loins, feeling utterly blessed to have found such a kindly soul in the Comtesse Chevigny. But for a strange moment she could not comprehend, perhaps it was a sound, or the light shudder of cold wind that raised the hackles at the nape of her neck, Dominique felt that she was being watched and suddenly stopped to look around. Her eyes surveyed the walls, but by then, the Comtesse had already covered the peepholes and went downstairs to make preparations for supper.

 

3. SUPPER

All eyes were on Dominique as she arrived at the dining hall around half past nine. The commoner’s dress fit her splendidly and did not do much to diminish her natural beauty. Nemba, the bug-eyed servant ushered her to a seat beside Claude who looked strikingly presentable, almost handsome without the grime and torn clothing. The Comtesse, who sat by her other side at the head of the table promptly introduced the nun to the rest of the supper guests.

Across from Dominique were ten-year old identical twins Jacinthe and Jeanne, the Comtesse’s solemn faced daughters who merely stared unresponsively at the nun with stark blue eyes as their names were called out. Hunched over her seat beside Claude was the Comtesse’s mother in-law, Madame Claircine, a terribly ancient woman who merely gazed down at her empty plate when she was introduced. Finally, at the foot of the table, sat a gaunt grey-bearded man who was as stoic and distant as the rest of them. He was introduced as Comte Frederick Chevigny, the Comtesse’s husband.

Just then, a young man walked in sporting a royal blue vest and a feather in his cap. He was none other than the young handsome nobleman who had assisted Dominique with the broken wheel hours earlier. He noted her presence with one of his trademark charming smile.

“I see fate has brought us together again, milady,” he said as he doffed his cap with a noble flourish and then took his seat.

“I apologize for my son, Phillipe,” the Comtesse said as she flashed him an admonishing look. “He has no sense of timing. No matter, we are all here. Let us begin.”

The first dish served was goose paté on thin veal slices.

“I’m sure you’ll find that the food here rivals those from the imperial kitchens,” said the Comtesse to her two guests. “My cook, Bruno is a master of his art.”

Claude had already finished his plate and awaiting seconds by the time Dominique had even swallowed her first morsel which she found exquisitely delicious as the Comtesse had indicated. As they ate, the Comtesse spoke of her fellowship with the Convent of St. Michel, and her acquaintance with Sister Agnes who had only recently been posted to the township of Aubonne only half an hour’s ride from Mignonard.

“I’m sure you must be disappointed at not being closer to your father,” said the Comtesse. “I could speak to Reverend Mother Mary Ignatius to reconsider her earlier choice and perhaps put you in place there instead of her.”

Dominique however, would have none of it. “Sister Agnes is just as deserving as I,” she said, “for her family also resides in Mignonard. I do miss my father, but my service to God is my ultimate devotion, and the Lord takes care of my father. I pray for him every day. It is a sacrifice I have to make.”

The Comtesse’s eyes glared with a hidden flame that passed away quickly when Dominique mentioned the word sacrifice, and the young nun felt a brief chill down her spine, the same kind of chill that she felt as she bathed. “Please, do have more of the paté, Sister,” the Comtesse said, sensing her guest’s growing uneasiness, but she refused politely.

Throughout the evening, Nemba brought in an assortment of delicious foods – pastries served in baskets, lavish sweetbreads that make one think fondly of home, oven-baked cookies with an aroma that makes one weak in the knees. As usual, the hungry Claude wolfed piece after piece, trying his best to look decent but making an awful job at being discreet. Dominique only allowed herself a modest piece of each serving even though the food was the best she had ever tasted. Sometimes she would steal a look at Phillipe who merely looked at her with the same charming smile. The twins too would look at her with identical uncaring eyes, and even though the Comte gazed distantly and Madame Claircine still looked down almost as if she was taking a nap, Dominique still felt their eyes on her when she was not looking. The Comtesse urged her to have more, but again, she declined, saying that she did not need have more than what was necessary.

Just at that moment, Dominique thought that she saw a second face behind the Comtesse’s, a leering visage that smiled with a lecherous grin, but gone in an instant, so quickly that the young nun dismissed it easily as a trick of the light. It was also at that moment when Dominique realised that neither the Comtesse, Phillipe, nor the rest of their family members had touched a single piece of the food being served. When asked, the Comtesse replied that it was because they were not hungry as they had dinner not too long ago. The answer, however, did not comfort Dominique’s uneasiness at being observed while the rest of her family sat at the table like unmoving mannequins with only their eyes alive to her presence.

When it was time to retire to their quarters, the Comtesse saw Dominique to her room. “I apologize for my family,” the Comtesse said. “They may seem unfriendly, but I hope you will understand. It has been difficult lately, being one from the Chevigny bloodline. Only my son, Phillipe seems to retain his high spirits despite all our troubles.” The Comtesse then spoke of her admiration for the Convent of St. Michel and their works of charity. “Your convent deserves more for all the good they do. And you deserve more for your kindness to strangers, Sister Dominique. Please, I would like you to accept this as a token of my appreciation.” She handed a pouch that jingled abundantly on her palms. “Do whatever you want with them. Keep them for yourself. Give them to the convent. To your father. I have more money than I know what to do with it. There comes a time at my age, when one realizes that all the wealth in the world has lost its luster if it can’t be shared with those who are more needful. Take it, please.”

Dominique politely pushed back the bag of gold coins. “Milady, your offer is generous, but I must decline. Our convent is doing well, and we live within our means. And I know my father. He is a modest man who taught me that all the gold in the world would not buy me happiness or love. His love for me is all the gold I ever need. You have already graced me with hospitality and shelter. Please, kind Comtesse, I beg of you, not to ask me to take this gold.”

Again, there was the ominous shadow on the Comtesse’s visage that came and went so swiftly that Dominique thought whether her mind was in the right place. “Very well. I admire your virtuous nature, Sister Dominique, but be warned that it does not always pay off to be entirely wholesome,” the Comtesse said cheekily before she left and disappeared into the corridor’s gloomy darkness, leaving Dominique to ponder on the Comtesse’s last words.

Earlier in the night, Dominique could not sleep restfully as the chateau groaned and echoed indistinct noises that seemed both distant and near. She could not even tell if she had actually heard them or if she was hearing it in her mind. She worried that the feeling of unease that she felt during supper had finally caught up with her mental state. For a moment, she thought she saw her father who screamed for her to get out. And of Claude, kneeling penitently but begging for her to kill him instead of for forgiveness. Then it was grief-stricken Reverend Mother Mary Ignatius looking down on her with tears in her eyes, as if she was sitting beside Dominique on her deathbed. She could have been dreaming these visions, but they felt as vivid as a reflection in a mirror, very real, and at the same moment, quite unreal. Another vision more vivid than most was of Phillipe, stark naked save for the feathered cap on his head. He came up to her bed and held her shoulders with his strong hands, drawing her in with his radiant blue eyes. She felt a stirring in her heart, the temptations of womanhood beginning to take seed for Phillipe was an exquisitely handsome man. He lowered his head for a kiss and Dominique allowed herself to be drawn closer to him, but just before the moment came, coming to a realisation of what she was about to do, and of the sin that entailed, she snapped out of her spell, pushing the apparition away, sitting up from her bed and cry out in outrage. Sitting up, sweaty and breathing heavily, she was surprised to see that she was alone with no evidence that Phillipe or any of the other apparitions had ever been in the room. However, it seemed for a moment that a shadow passed at the edge of her vision and then nothing again. It must have been a dream, she thought. Though she had been sure of it, she recited the Shepherd Psalm just in case, and this helped her calm down and for the rest of the night, Dominique was able to sleep more peacefully.

 

4. REVELATION

When Dominique awakened with the bright morning daylight on her face, she felt rejuvenated. The sun’s golden shine had almost made the night before feel like a dream. Nemba had helped prepare Dominique for departure, readying the nun’s garments already freshly washed and dried, while the horse and the carriage laden with fresh firewood had been waiting since daybreak. Just as she was ready to leave, Comtesse Chevigny invited Dominique and Claude for breakfast at the balcony garden, to see them off and say her goodbyes. They were joined by Phillipe, wearing an olive green sporting jacket and the same familiar feathered cap.

“Please stay longer, for luncheon at least. We are celebrating Phillipe’s birthday today,” said the Comtesse.

Anxiously, the nun declined. “My sisters must be very worried about me – the orphans too.”

“Why in such a rush, Sister? It is early in the day, and there is no urgency now to warm the orphans for the cold night. If you leave after lunch, you’ll arrive there well before mid-evening, plenty of time for you. Come, son. Do stay with us for awhile, at least for my son, Phillipe who has admitted to me his affection for you.”

Dominique blushed and avoided looking at the young blonde man.

Even Claude chimed in but something in his voice rang an alarm, “Yes, Sister Dominique. Please stay, I implore you for your own sake. It would be best for you.”

The Comtesse shot him an odd admonishing look which made the cripple withdrew meekly into a corner. “Oh, if only you weren’t a nun,” the Comtesse continued, “with your beauty and grace, you could make a fine noblewoman, living the life of luxury, pomp and wealth. Wouldn’t that be grand?” Dominique did not answer, but merely sipped her tea nervously, feeling that suddenly, the morning didn’t look as bright as before.

Then after a long uncomfortable silence, Dominique spoke in a voice more firm and resolute. “I do not wish to be rude, milady, Sir Phillipe. I beg of you to allow me to leave for the convent and for your hospitality, I thank you most sincerely with the bottom of my heart.”

Then the sky darkened as if God himself had cast a shroud over the sky, and the faces of both the Comtesse and Phillipe had changed on a lightning instant to that of grotesque demons, eyes ablaze with unholy fire and sharp upturned devilish smiles that revealed cruel sharp teeth, and then gone in a blink. This time, Dominique had sensed that these visions were as real as the feeling of danger she had felt at that very moment. She looked at Claude questioningly and the expression on his face told a story of guilt and fear, confirming Dominique’s suspicions of her own grave situation.

“Excellent,” said the Comtesse with a wicked smile. “Now I think it is time for us to cease the charade.” She walked over to her son and rested a thin hand on his shoulder. Behind them, the figures of the remaining family members and their servants appeared from the gloom inside the chateau, desultory eyes upon the hapless nun. “Your visit here was no accident, not since my Phillipe first laid his eyes on you on the lonely track in the woods.” Dominique looked at a lost for words and all she could do was to look around for some place where she could escape, but there was none. The drop from the balcony was too high, and the exit was covered by Nemba, Bruno the cook, Comte Frederick, Madame Claircine and the twins.

“Perhaps you have heard stories about us – as I was told by some of our previous… victims – that our tale is rather popular in local folklore? A certain tale about a queen who had poisoned her family as they unwittingly ate the flesh of her husband’s mistress? Well I assure you the tale is quite true, though I wasn’t yet a queen, only the thirteenth in line to the throne when I died. We had somehow remained in the mortal realm neither as souls of the living or the dead. Perhaps my family’s fate was meant to be as one, for our Holy Father could not bear to send my family along with me and my servants to hell for all my sins. Or that Nemba’s knowledge of the Dark Arts from the Dark Continent had proven to have peculiar side effects. Instead, we were cursed to live in this purgatorial existence, and by only devouring the flesh and the souls of unfortunate travelers of the woods that we had managed to stave off the hell that awaits us. That is until Judgment Day, or perhaps, one so virtuous, pure and true would grace for our dining table, a sinless soul sacrificed for our salvation. In another words, like the Lord Jesus Christ, this special individual would be the one that would die for our sins.”

“And that person,” Phillipe interjected, no more eyeing Dominique in the same charming manner, but one of lewd hunger instead, “would be you.”

“We shall not be too hasty, my son. We will find out soon enough if she is the one. But oh, we were indeed hopeful to have found someone like you, a nun so young and so beautiful. I had thought to myself when my son told me about you, if you could be the one who would be our souls’ salvation. Oh, we had to be sure. You may have not noticed, Sister Dominique, that we have administered a test of the seven Cardinal Sins, each one a small step towards your doom and all of which, so far, you have passed with vestal distinction. The first being the test of vanity when you had chosen modesty over opulence. The second was the test of envy when you did not despair over Sister Agnes’ posting near to your village of Mignonard. The third was of gluttony when you had not a bite more than what you were served despite Bruno’s best attempts to tempt your palate. The fourth, greed, refusing the gold given to you. The fifth, lust, when you admirably resisted my handsome son’s act of seduction. And the sixth, the sin of sloth when you insisted on a hasty departure despite our attempts to delay you even for only a little longer. But all is not lost, my young lamb, for there is one more test yet unfulfilled, and that there is a chance for you to save yourself from ending up on our dinner table. For this, you must listen close and very carefully. What if I were to tell you that the only way for you to live is to kill the one who had betrayed you to us?”

Dominique shot an incredulous look towards the cripple who had cowered at a corner with eyes that welled up with tears full of guilt and sorrow.

“Yes, poor and crippled Claude. He is very much still a mortal and under our employ. He was being transported to Vichy to be executed for robbery, when we liberated him and turned his captors into lovely meat pies. He was spared for the dinner table only because he is so good at what he does; which is merely looking pathetic and helpless. He is the reason why many travelers go missing in the Bois de la Nuit de Temps for he has led them all to us. All goodly souls willing to lend a hand to the unfortunate. All potential candidates as the one pure soul who would save us from damnation. The peasant wench whose dress you wore last night. She made an excellent barbecued lechon, but she did fail the test of my son’s seduction. Yes, our Claude has betrayed you. And now, again as I repeat that you should listen to me closely. Since you have come this far, further than any whom we had… eaten. I will promise you a chance to live and a return freely to the convent. This I swear on our very own souls. Would you take this dagger and strike into the heart of your betrayer? Would you exact your revenge, saving your own soul in the process for you would have rendered yourself an imperfect vessel, one who will not help us achieve our final resting place in the heavens? Or would your faith in your God hold strong and stay your hand out of pity and forgiveness for this foul wretch, by which you have doomed yourself to be sacrificed to us?”

“Oh, please don’t kill him,” Phillipe interjected, now casually beside Sister Dominique, brushing the back of his hand against the nun’s trembling body. “Look at his pitiful little face, how could you? I would love so much to taste your sweet flesh than this scrawny wretch.”

“Personally, I share my son’s sentiments. But pay no heed to him, for the choice you make is your own. Take this dagger and decide.” The Comtesse laid a thin silver poignard into Dominique’s numb hands, and then retreated, leaving a clear line between the nun and the cripple who lay cowering at the corner, despondent and rocking about like a son who had just been punished. Fear for her life made Dominique walk towards Claude, dagger in hand, with the intent to kill, each step slow and painful, and a rush of thoughts flooded her head like so many bats in a cave fluttering about, clouding her judgment. The dagger wobbled, as her hand trembled. She thought of her father, sisters at the convent wanted to see them again and her grip firmed and was poised to strike. The fear drove her towards Claude until the tip of the blade pricked Claude’s neck. The stifled yelp of the trembling cripple brought Dominique to the present, as if awaken from a trance. Claude himself seemed to have resigned himself to his fate, and drawing a newfound courage within himself stood up, closed his eyes, and whispered to the frightful nun in a voice suddenly calm and brave, “Please kill me now. It is the only way you shall live. I am a wretch and I deserve my fate. Please, do it and run from this place as far as you can.”

“How could you?” said Sister Dominique. “ All those innocent people…” The blade dug deeper that a thin rivulet of blood dripped from the side of Claude’s wobbly Adam’s apple. He did not answer, for there was no reply to the kind of horrors he had allowed to happen for the sake of his own self preservation, which until now, he saw it as pointless if his sins would in all eventuality propel him to the Devil’s dominion. God, what am I to do? thought Dominique. She prayed for an answer, a sign, or a miracle that would help her escape her ordeal. And the answer came to her as clear as the light of day, not because of a voice from the heavens, nor a sign that hinted her one or the other. No, the answer came from within.

Dominique let go of the blade. The metallic blade clanged on the stone floor with high-pitched shrill. The Chevignys and their servants behind the shadows faded as they drew back into the darkness. No matter how much Sister Dominique tried to hate, even using the images of her father and her Convent as embers that would stoke the fires of wrath, she could not will herself to push the blade all the way through Claude’s neck. It had always been in her nature to forgive.

The Comtesse played her hand on Sister Dominique’s gentle face as if admiring a newly acquired treasure. At the same time, the young nun began to feel her brain growing heavy in her skull. The floor, Claude, the Comtesse, the skeletal boughs of the bare woods, all began to distort like wisps of a smoke, her mind swimming through the ripples of her vision. “Thank you, my dear. The test is complete and you have saved us all. For this I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And now, I see that the tea seems to be taking effect. Know this before you go to sleep, my young tender lamb, for you will not awake, not in this world at least; I shall have much pleasure enjoying your body before relishing your succulent tenderloin.”

Then the world as Sister Dominique knew it, disappeared from her consciousness forever.

 

5. DINNER

Nemba brought in the dishes to the main banquet hall. There had been about five silver vessels altogether, wafting a hint of meaty aroma, all covered by unblemished silver lids, some large, some long, some flat, and some deep like small cauldrons.

There was a spark of life to the diners, more so than at any other night. Even desultory Madame Claircine took time away gazing down her lap to look at the food being brought in with a quick and subtle licking of the lips. The twins looked particularly vicious, as if they were waiting to pounce like lion cubs, smelling fresh slaughter and slavering at the chops. Comte Frederick had a sad look of an aging monarch and even a trace of guilt, but there was no less eagerness that glinted in his eyes as the sweet scent of finely cooked meats hit his olfactory senses. Phillipe could barely sit still, nursing a very stiff and ghoulish hardness in his pants, apparently aroused by the coming feast. The Comtesse, sitting at the head of the table, looked every bit as sadistic, her lips lifted at one side to form a wry and wicked smile, a hand carelessly caressing a breast looking just as sexually stimulated as her son. And poor Claude, whom the Comtesse had strongly insisted that he join the family for dinner as a reward for a job well done despite his reluctance, was quietly despondent.

The last dish brought in was so large – as long and wide as a Burgundian pavise – that Nemba needed the help of Bruno to carry it to the banquet table. When the flurry of activity had settled down and the only movement was the slow rise of the steam from the silverware, the Comtess decided that the time was right and nodded to Nemba, and the first of the lids were promptly lifted its gruesome bounty.

In a deep silver bowl, a boiled human head lay half-submerged in a broth of translucent dark-brown stew. Its cranium had been cut open, serving as another receptacle. Instead of brains, chopped bits of broiled organs filled the cavity covered in thick brown sauce and sprinkled with green parsley on top. The face itself, the Comtesse observed, was still very much recognizable as the one belonging to beautiful Sister Dominique even as half of her face was hidden below the soup. She had not lost much of her youthful beauty through the cooking process though one could tell that the flesh could peel off and fall apart at any time. She had even looked as if she was still alive and merely sleeping peacefully. Looking just as beautiful in death as she was in life, the Comtesse thought in passing. Satisfied, she gave Nemba the order to reveal the rest of the night’s feast.

On two oval dishes, Dominique’s arms braised reddish brown, lay on a bed of dark raspberry sauce. They were bent in a sharp V shape in the same way as chicken wings. The stump where the upper arm would have joined with the shoulder, ended with juicy pale meat that dangled strips of flesh dripping with fat. The elbow joints were broken, revealing soft ligaments and cracked flesh. The hands curled grotesquely like dead spiders, its fingers darker than the rest with some of the digits hanging from the knuckles at awkward angles.

On another pair of square shaped trays lay shanks of meat broiled to a golden hue. Glistening with orange glaze and topped with slices of citrus fruits, the meat had been bound by twine, holding a neat cut running lengthwise along the calf and bursting at the seams where it was stuffed with pineapples and cherries. The dish could have been mistaken for any conventional lamb shanks but the unmistakable shape of a delicate human foot on each end with its arches facing upwards betrayed its true origin.

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However, the piece de resistance, the crowning glory of Chef Bruno’s culinary skills, was none other than the centerpiece, Dominique’s steaming torso, headless and limbless for the most part, save for her savoury thighs cut at the knees. Despite being butchered and roasted to a delightfully shiny and crispy deep golden brown, the carcass still possessed the familiar feminine curves of what was once a beautiful young woman. Its shapely back faced upwards, curving salaciously from a pair of rib racks cracked open at the sternum and dripping with breast fat from its ends, to the lower end where thick and succulent rumps mooned skywards with cornbread stuffing oozing from the hollow groin between a pair of juicy thighs. The unmistakable sight of Dominique’s womanhood, pinkish and tender and lightly steamed to perfection had been neatly placed on top of the stuffing like a decorative rose ready to be plucked. And all this had been served on a lush bed of French beans, artichokes, lettuce and carrots.

Dominique, when prepared by the expert hands of a master chef did really look appetizing even to one who was not used to cannibal feasts. The banquet table on the whole filled with the cooked body parts of the young nun, looking like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle arranged in place but had not yet been joined. Head near the shoulders, arms flanking the sides, calves and feet near the knobby stumps at the knees. If the meat hadn’t looked so wrong and very human, they looked every bit as appetizing as any delicious holiday feast from any other meat animal. But in the end, it was beautiful Dominique whose young body would provide divine sustenance for the Chevignys. A gentle soul whose body had been so thoroughly hidden under the nun’s frock for many years, was finally revealed to her most obscene. Her nakedness being twofold as both flesh outside and meat inside were exposed so brutally, completing an outrage so vicious that even the most hardened would cry foul against this crime on one who had lived so chastely. But that was not the end to the blasphemy for the Comtesse had the nerve to lead the saying of grace, inducing Claude to gag in disgust.

“Heavenly Father, we ask you to bless this food we share tonight. We also thank you for your generosity of providing us with the flesh of one of your holiest of lambs, the sinless, pure and beautiful, Dominique Grenet of Mignonard. May we use her tender flesh to nourish our bodies, and her innocence to nourish our souls so that we shall one day return to your loving embrace in heaven. In Dominique’s name we pray, Amen.”

Claude could only grimace at the end of this unholy prayer. Tears welled in Claude’s eyes as he mourned the loss of a shining soul in a bleak and depressing world. No matter how much he’d tried to shut it out, the perverse aroma pervaded his senses and after the initial shock and horror, had even thought that the fiendish platters did really look and smell delicious. Then a wave of guilt surged through him like wildfire that tears finally flowed freely, weeping openly for all to see and hear but not one of the Chevignys had noticed as they had been too engrossed by the delectable bounty to even bother. They were all waiting to hear the three words spoken by the Comtesse at every unholy meal, the words indicating that the night’s feasting has begun. These words, “Shall we begin?” had roused the diners from their trance.

Phillipe had been the first to move, his cutlery working on the meat that clung to the ribs, claiming a pair of the rib sections and plopping the piece on his plate. He poured sweet honey onto the meat and hungrily wolfed down his meal with his two hands, a tongue darting out like a savage lover, biting and tearing off the tender strips till only clean white bones remained.

Jeanne and Jacinthe worked on one of the legs as a team, lifting one of the tender shanks and placing it on a shared plate. After cutting the twine loose, Jeanne helped herself to the meat from Dominique’s flavourful calf muscle, closing her eyes while chewing and swallowing as if each morsel was a taste of nirvana. Jacinthe preferred the delicate foot instead. She separated the foot free from its ankle joint with relative ease and bit on the toes, sucking and pulling the meat free from the dainty digits as she ate. At times she seemed to enjoy merely licking the sauce from the toes, almost looking as there was some sensual pleasure behind the probing acts of her young tongue.

Madame Claircine even in her frailty managed to tear off a forearm, uncurling the limb and breaking the fragile piece from the elbows. Then she scooped up some of the chopped bits of heart, liver and kidney from Dominique’s boiled head and poured it into a smaller bowl. Using her own hands, she plucked the fingers off the knuckles as if they were the legs from a crab, dipping into the broth before devouring the flesh and spitting out the bones.

Comte Frederick helped himself to a piece of Dominique’s ample rump, cutting off a particularly tender portion around the inner thigh. After placing the slices onto his plate, he poured dark sauce onto the meat and much like he had been in life, dined ate with reserved dignity, using a fork and knife and with impeccable manners, cutting, chewing and swallowing with such deliberation as if he was dining in the presence of the King of France himself. However, if one looked closely enough, he could discern a hidden pleasure behind the Comte’s forlorn eyes as he ate.

The Comtesse had carved as she had promised earlier, a cut of tenderloin from the small of Dominique’s back, but she also claimed the nun’s virgin cherry for herself, setting the piece on her platter gently as one would handle a precious jewel. As she ate the tender filet, she remembered the events of the previous night, how she saw the nun’s holy nakedness, when she molested the young nun in the privacy of her bedroom before she sent her to Bruno for butchering, how she tasted her sacred womanhood with her tongue the night before when Dominique was still alive and fresh. She could not contain her arousal as she ate Dominique’s steamed sex while reveling in this mental picture, releasing a pleasurable moan as she chewed, tasted and swallowed the tender folds of her labia and the small nub of her clitoris.

Claude looked horrified as the diners feasted. He had helped the Chevignys lure numerous victims, all good Samaritans who had extended a helping hand to a poor cripple, but never once had he been asked to join the family in their unholy communion or had even seen such debauchery until this evening. Knives flashed out and violated the cooked carcass, penetrating, cutting and carving the virgin flesh. Forks and knives raping the young body in an unholy orgy of carnal and culinary lust. And at the corner of his eye, he saw the Comtesse looking at him with a dangerous glare that seemed to say, eat, or be eaten. Seeing that he had no choice, Claude reached out for the thigh. The meat oozed with the juices form the fat, the crispy skin giving way easily to the knife as he pressed his knife down onto the hamstring, revealing pinkish flesh so rich with exquisite marbling, that he silently admitted that he was indeed very hungry. Cutting off a piece of lean meat, and lifting a piece into his mouth, he bit down and a sudden rush of flavours went through him as if he had tasted food for the first time. The flesh had been so delicious that the pleasure on his palate outweighed the gruesome nature of his meal and the overwhelming guilt that he felt for Dominique’s demise. He allowed the taste to embrace him so completely that for the rest of the night, Claude had committed the sin of gluttony over and over again, as he relished portions of the young woman’s tender flesh more than what was required of him. After the diners sated themselves, Nemba and Bruno had been allowed the leftovers. Even then, it took all of them three days to finish Dominique, rendering what was once a lush and vibrant body to a mass of broken bones and ligaments. None would dispute the fact that the meal was the best they had ever eaten.

On the final night after consuming the last edible piece of Dominique’s flesh, the Comtesse thought of the young nun’s father, Pierre. Feeling both benevolent and cruel, she sent him a neatly wrapped package containing the nun’s garments, her rosary and her remains. With the package came a letter describing in every horrid detail Dominique’s fate, thanking the carpenter for the generous sacrifice of his daughter and finally expressing her hope that Mr. Grenet would not despair. After all, she wrote in the letter’s postscript, I can be kind at times for I have finally united father and daughter till the end of days.

 

EPILOGUE

Ever since those unholy nights of unimaginable debauchery, the Bois de la Nuit de Temps seemed a less sinister place. No more did travelers fear the night, nor were there whispers of ghosts and trolls. No one had an explanation to this subtle change, only that their hackles did not rise when the moon was full, nor did the trees boughs looked as menacing like the gnarled hands of a witch. It was as if a priest had exorcised the forest of its demons. As to the fate of the Chevignys and whether their consumption of the young nun had granted them a hellish reprieve, it was never known, for the family and their servants had disappeared mysteriously into the night and all reference of their existence slowly dwindling from collective memory till it seemed that they had not existed in the first place. Even the only witness alive to bear testimony to the tale would prove unreliable.

Poor Claude had awaken the morning after, finding himself alone inside the ruins of the chateau which had overgrown with lichens and moss and looking as if it had been abandoned centuries ago. The memory of the Comtesse and her family seemed to fade away fast like yesterday’s dream. He could barely recall what had happened last night nor did he care, for all that remained were lingering taste of Dominique’s sweetness still fresh on his palate and the primal urge to devour human flesh again. Once a man who had wished to be free from the Comtesse’s enslavement, in the end had become a raving madman cursed to roam the woods in search of human prey. Thus, for a year since that unholy night, there had been more disappearances in the Bois de la Nuit de Temps until a year later, when a group of hunters stumbled onto a makeshift den in the middle of the woods and were horrified to find a deranged cripple cooking the remains of a young peasant girl who had gone missing a week earlier. In the end, the cripple’s fate ended in the same way as he had been destined before the Comtesse found him – hanging by the gallows in Vichy – and the Bois de la Nuit de Temps was finally safe once more.

THE END

14 Comments

  1. Gentleman-critic
    July 12, 2017 @ 2:09 pm

    Strange , i don’t see any illustrations .

    Please wait...

  2. forbiddenfeast
    July 14, 2017 @ 2:53 am

    Are you an active member of the Gourmet Club?

    Please wait...

  3. Gentleman-critic
    July 17, 2017 @ 8:04 am

    Yes ,i can see “Butchering the Human Carcass for Human Consumption” and your carte du jour artwork just fine though .

    Please wait...

  4. Dorian Grey
    August 6, 2017 @ 2:38 pm

    same I cant see any illustrations

    Please wait...

  5. forbiddenfeast
    August 9, 2017 @ 4:01 pm

    I’ll try to fix this as soon as I can. I’m still working out why I can see it while others can’t.

    Please wait...

  6. Rudy Smith
    October 8, 2017 @ 4:27 am

    What a delicious story. Written well that, I too, could “taste” the innocent Dominique’s meats.

    Please wait...

  7. doriangrey344
    January 7, 2018 @ 1:44 pm

    still cant see there illustrations

    Please wait...

  8. The Patriarch
    January 12, 2018 @ 4:18 am

    Not sure why members can’t see them, but anyhow, I’ve released the images for all members. I think you should be able to see them now.

    Please wait...

  9. Gentleman-critic
    January 21, 2018 @ 4:14 pm

    It looks fixed now .

    Please wait...

  10. Gentleman-critic
    January 23, 2018 @ 5:45 am

    You have enough material here to make Full Comic Book too .

    Please wait...

  11. The Patriarch
    January 24, 2018 @ 8:19 pm

    THat’s a good point. I’ll consider it. 😉

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  12. Tobban
    May 4, 2021 @ 1:46 pm

    Way too long since I read this. Great story and great art to go along. Like your more recent stuff, i love that. A good story with art topping it off!

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  13. hgru
    April 15, 2022 @ 3:47 am

    Good story! Unfortunately, it seems I cannot see all the illustrations (just two). No such problems in The Bluebeard Emperor though.

    Please wait...

  14. The Patriarch
    April 15, 2022 @ 3:49 am

    Thanks. I only made 2 illustrations for this story. Maybe one day I’ll do more.

    Good story! Unfortunately, it seems I cannot see all the illustrations (just two). No such problems in The Bluebeard Emperor though.

    Please wait...

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