Diabolical - Chapter 7 (Patreon)

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As he was opening them, Arthur gazed through the gap between the doors. The sight was enough to strike him dumb --- the first thing he noticed was the sheer size of the room; it was beyond big. He wanted to compare it to a throne room, but that simply wouldn’t have been adequate. No, it was more like the inside of a cathedral.

There were a few other ‘oddities’ --- he noticed numeral marble balconies protruding from the high, sloping walls; it made him think of an opera house. And there were many chandeliers, casting their light downwards onto one very, extremely, ridiculously long table. He didn’t even want to call it a table, the word just didn’t fit --- it was in its own category entirely.

And there were chairs --- too many to count, yet exquisitely designed, from first to last. Then there was the floor --- it was made out of a strange sort of glass-covered-stone. That was the only way he could describe it; it reminded him of some of the trophy-plaques he’d seen in his previous life.

And the walls…! Good God, he’d never seen anything like it. They were one huge tapestry, showcasing some kind of degenerate epic. It somehow reminded him of the Sistine Chapel ceiling, except far more perverted. He squinted, trying to get a better look…

“…Arthur? Arthur!”

A familiar voice roused him from his torpor; he found that he’d taken a few steps into the ‘room’ without even noticing. Looking numbly towards it, he saw that it was none other than Jane! She had been seated somewhere nearby, but had gotten up when she noticed him. She was walking towards him, and someone was trailing behind her.

Arthur was utterly shellshocked --- to be completely honest, his mind had been so preoccupied since their arrival that he hadn’t even thought of her once. It frightened him --- he wondered, if she hadn’t appeared, or if something external hadn’t popped up to remind him of her, would he have forgotten her completely?

He stood dumbfounded, watching as she approached him. He felt as if he was looking at her through a layer of frosted glass --- his mind was thick and slow, and he couldn’t let out so much as a peep. He noted her expression; she seemed a little embarrassed, but, other than that, she looked fine! There was no fear, no terror… she just looked like herself! Arthur felt that, if she’d shown some discomfort, some worry, some unease, it would’ve been reasonable, but there was none! It made him feel lightheaded and weak, like he might suddenly topple over onto the floor, dead as a doornail!

She arrived in front of him with a little smile on her face, looking beautiful with her done-up hair and burgundy dress. Arthur felt her hands around his wrists, then she leaned in close to him and said something in a quiet voice. “I told you your grandparents were well-off.” She said with a hint of teasing.

Her words were like a cast-iron frying pan, hitting Arthur over the head. ‘What is she talking about…? ‘Well-off’…? Wealth. Is. Not. The. Issue. Here!! This place is FUCKING H-A-U-N-T-E-D!!! IT’S EVIL, FOUL, BEDEVILED, CURSED, ILL-FATED, BLASPHEMOUS, PARANORMAL…!!!!” He screamed internally.

He was losing his mind --- maybe he already had, and this was some kind of mad fever dream. That must be it; he was on his deathbed still, delusional with pain and from drugs. There was no way this was real.

However, his mad ravings didn’t make it past his lips. “…yes, you did.” He said uselessly.

There was a hint of something in Jane’s eyes, and she reached out one hand to cup Arthur’s cheek. When she did, her eyes widened in shock. “You’re cold as a block of ice…!” She exclaimed, growing frantic as she presumably started looking for something like a coat or blanket.

Arthur found himself taking her by the arms before turning her towards him. He looked into her eyes, mustered up his courage, and did his best to instill his expression with as much severity as he could. ‘I have to tell her. I have to convince her! We can’t stay here, we need to go back…!’ He thought.

However, the words that left his lips were not a plea nor a warning of any sort. “…cant we just eat? I’m starving.” He said.

Biting on her lower lip, Jane turned to the person who’d been behind her the entire time. “I’m sorry, Ms. Squint, but could we have our dinner by the hearth? It’s not proper, but I’m worried for Arthur.” She implored.

The lad had been so frazzled that he hadn’t taken notice of Jane’s entourage. His pale, blue eyes flicked to the woman behind her --- the moment he caught a glimpse of her, he despaired. ‘Oh Lord, have mercy on me…!’ He thought.

She was not human --- he was as sure of it as he’d ever been of anything in his entire life. He hadn’t been sure about the old bat he’d run into earlier today, but this one was standing next to Jane, who was a real person; the contrast was so great that his doubt was promptly murdered and shoved under the floorboards.

She was dressed in all-black; a long gown that covered her from her wrists to her feet. It was wrapped tightly around her body like a shroud, yet he didn’t see any creases. Then, there was her face --- it was as if some brain-sick mortician had been contracted by the devil himself, to craft him the perfect wife.

Arthur found that his words were failing him. Nevertheless, there was a memory, stirring somewhere at the back of his mind --- it was something that had happened a long time ago, when he was still a normal person, living in the modern world.

His mother had a small Yorkshire terrier; a useless and stupid little dog. Whenever someone opened the front door, the damn creature would try its very best to escape. Naturally, whenever this happened, he’d been the one tasked with its retrieval.

It was one particular misadventure that stood out to him --- the inbred little shit had beelined straight for a certain home, about five houses down from theirs. The road was busy that day, but it had scuttled with the agility and persistence of a cockroach, somehow managing to arrive at its destination without being flattened. He had followed a few seconds later, looking around frenziedly in order to spot the creature.

It was headed toward a big gate, made from corrugated iron, and, on the other side of that gate, another dog had been sitting. It was a big, black thing --- some kind of breed he didn’t know. And it was big; to the twelve-year-old boy of that time, it was very big indeed. The sight was as clear as day, even now; that retarded mongrel of theirs was wagging its tail happily, like it had encountered a long-lost friend. But, that black dog… wasn’t wagging its tail, not even a little bit. It was completely still, staring quietly at the creature approaching it. Its head was slightly lowered, and its shoulders were drawn upwards, just high enough to be level with its neckline. And its gaze was fixed on that Yorkshire terrier.

Needless to say, he very much doubted that friendship was on its mind. ‘If it wants to die so badly, maybe I should let it?’ He’d wondered. In the end, he grabbed the rat before it could throw itself to its doom. His mother had loved it, so he wanted to spare her the sadness and a possible conflict with their neighbors.

The reason that scene was now at the forefront of his mind was because of ‘Mrs. Squint’ --- the atmosphere between her and Jane was exactly the same as that time.

Blank, white eyes, without even a hint of an iris or a pupil, regarded Jane. Eventually, Mrs. Squint spoke. “…very well.” She said.

Arthur watched, fearful for his mother’s safety, as the foul woman turned and headed for the incomprehensibly long dinner table. Her words still echoed unpleasantly in his ears, like multiple voices overlapping.

While he was standing there, dizzy with dread, Jane took him by the arm. “Ms. Squint is blind, yet she knows the mansion like the back of her hand. Incredible, isn’t it?” She asked rhetorically, leading Arthur away.

The sheer disbelief he felt jostled him out of his nightmarish thoughts. ‘Does she… actually believe that? That is not a person at all…! It’s a D-E-M-O-N!!!’ He screamed internally, feeling as if he might go into a frenzy at any moment (and he was so disturbed that he didn’t even notice the irony of a 'blind' maid having a name like Ms. Squint).

There was a hearth nearby --- it had been cordoned off from the rest of the room by a few pieces of furniture; they sat on a half-moon carpet, made from a velvety, red fabric. He considered it briefly when, in reality, it was anything but brief --- it was so large (with so many chairs and sofas) that it would’ve served excellently as a common room in a golf- or men’s club.

Jane seated the two of them near the fireplace. It wasn’t lit, but wood had already been stacked inside. “There should be a flint here, somewhere…” Jane said, walking over to the hearth before running her hands across the mantlepiece. She scrounged around for a while, but was unable to find anything.

“…please, stand aside, miss.”

The words, spoken in a voice displeasing to the ear, were produced by none other than Ms. Squint. Arthur surreptitiously glanced in her direction --- her maneuvering had the same spectral quality as Mr. Fetcher’s. The fact that he hadn’t heard her coming was all the more extraordinary, given the trolly she’d brought with her. It was… the size of a small table, with multiple sections stacked vertically --- they were packed to the brim with different dishes.

Once again, the bizarreness of the circumstances became clear to him. He felt as if he was in a lucid dream, with curiosities popping up one after the other, like mushrooms after the rain. He briefly noted the… 'maid’s' expression --- despite her dollish face, he could detect a simmering murderousness. ‘Well, if I was a creature from the abyss, I’d probably be unhappy working as a maid.’ He thought.

He was calmer now, he realized --- it probably had something to do with the fact that the evil woman had just picked up a tray with the world’s most perfect looking roast chicken on top of it. It even had the two little white things dangling off the end, the ones that looked like mini chef’s hats.

Jane turned her head towards the maid. “I’m such a bother, aren’t I?” She asked, sounding genuinely apologetic.

Ms. Squint didn’t answer. Instead, she walked towards the fireplace (Jane hurriedly got out of her way) before she took something out of her pocket, knelt down, and fiddled with it. A few moments later, a little flame had sprung up and was flickering merrily.

Arthur barely even registered it --- he only had eyes for their dinner. He hadn’t immediately registered the mouthwatering scent (his thoughts had been preoccupied), but, when he did, he found himself enraptured.

Seeing his expression, Jane smiled. “I’m glad you’re hungry --- Ms. Squint and I prepared them together.” She said, having returned to her seat, across from Arthur. They had occupied two very lavish (and very comfortable) armchairs, with a low table between them --- the two closest to the fire.

The mental image of the women sharing a kitchen, passing ingredients back and forth between themselves, made Arthur feel strange.

Maybe Jane had finally caught onto the reason for his unease, because she leaned over the table (after she’d checked for Ms. Squint, who was busying herself near the trolly) and whispered something to him. “She may look intimidating, but she’s a sweetheart --- Ms. Squint practically raised me on her own.” She said, with genuine fondness.

Arthur had to fight to keep his disbelief hidden. It was like going to somebody’s house for the first time and finding a six-meter-long saltwater crocodile inside; then, having them tell you not to worry, because they’d had it since they were a child, and that it was a good boy who looked after the place. Rather than being comforted or impressed, you’d think there was something seriously wrong with that person’s head.

The maid returned, carrying some sort of mushroom & potato dish in one hand, and two large, oval ceramics in the other. After setting them down, she produced a few pieces of cutlery from somewhere, like a magician performing slight-of-hand.

Arthur found himself thanking her automatically. “Thank you very much, Ms. Squint.” He said. Somewhere in the corner of his mind, he hoped the gesture of appreciation would extend his lifespan by a few hours, at least.

“…it is my pleasure.” The maid replied, in a tone of voice that made it perfectly clear it wasn’t her pleasure in the least.

Jane seemed unbothered by it all --- that or she just didn’t hear because she was too busy serving up Arthur’s dinner.

The boy was salivating like a dog when she placed in front of him. The chicken smelled of lemon and garlic, and a tangy, spicy scent that he couldn’t identify. And the potato bake looked delicious --- it was practically swimming in cream and melted cheese; he felt he was gaining weight just from looking at it. He’d never eaten anything this grand, not in this life, at least. Just the sight of it was therapeutic, and was making him emotional. He realized that, if he wasn’t careful, he might spontaneously burst into tears.

Extending an arm, Jane affectionately stroked his hair. “You’ve had to do without, Arthur. I’ll do my best to make up for it, I promise.” She said. Towards the end, her voice trembled a little.

Arthur was dumbstruck. The grudge, which had started forming somewhere in his heart, was swept away in an instant. ‘Damn it all, she really doesn’t know!’ He thought bitterly. ‘It doesn’t matter --- I’ll find a way to live, somehow. If I die in here… I don’t even want to imagine her face when she finds out.” He reflected, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Now resolved, he clutched his knife and his fork, and dug in.

Jane had started eating as well, but, as their meal continued, she took to staring at her son, who’d just finished his second plate of food. She watched, feeling both guilty and astonished, as he went for thirds.

Once Arthur had started eating, he couldn’t stop. There was a hole inside him, a cavity that wouldn’t be filled. That first morsel had ignited a hunger within him that felt endless. Not only was he not slowing down, but he actually noticed himself speeding up as he devoured what remained of the chicken, and vacuumed up the potato bake. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d turned to Ms. Squint. “I’m sorry, but is there anything else?” He asked.

The maid regarded him coolly with her blank, featureless eyes. “…there is.” She said. She went over to the trolly before returning with a sliced ham and some kind of jelly-mustard construct.

Arthur found himself uncaring of what it even was --- he realized he was willing to eat anything, as long as it qualified as ‘food’. When the ham had been consumed, with only a spoon-or-two of the jelly-mustard remaining, he felt something hot well up inside him --- it started somewhere between his chest and his abdomen. ‘Am I going to puke?’ He thought, but, no, he wasn’t nauseous. It was a familiar sensation, it was like…

Suddenly, the little black square expanded, growing until the obsidian tablet occupied his field-of-view. There was a scratching sound, like something being carved into rock, and the first line of text underwent an abrupt change.

‘POTENTIA (0/0) -> (0/1)’

Athur’s eyes were as round as the mustard jello dish he’d just consumed. ‘Was it using the food to replenish itself...?’ He wondered. ‘That has to be it --- otherwise, there’s no way a ten-year-old’s body would be able to hold everything I’d just eaten!’ He realized. He had no idea how he was going to survive the night, but if he was able to restore the tablet, then there was hope!

His head swiveled towards Ms. Squint. “Is there anything left?” He asked, sounding a bit frantic.

Her expressionless face had gained a hint of curiosity, like she’d just seen a dog do a backflip. “…there are three dishes remaining. Shall I bring them all?” She asked.

Arthur nodded. “Yes plea-…” He started, only for Jane to interrupt him.

Reaching over the table, she grabbed one of his wrists. “Arthur, you’re going to be sick! There’s no way you can eat that much!” She stated, wearing a look of worry.

The boy gave her his best puppy-dog expression --- his new body was on the cute side, so he was confident it would work. “Please, mom? If I start feeling ill, I promise I’ll stop.” He said.

Jane’s expression crumpled. “…all-right.” She said, looking like she dreaded what was about to come.

Needless to say, Arthur ingested every last scrap of flesh, every last crumb of bread, and every last drop of oil until the trays were so clean that he could see his face in them. He watched his ‘Potentia’ rise from ‘(0/1)’ to ‘(0/2)’ with satisfaction. ‘Now, it should be able to protect me if I suffer another mental attack.’ He thought. He wondered if its defenses were more robust than that --- he expected he was going to find out, sooner rather than later.

He glanced toward the maid, who stood there with one eyebrow raised. Unconsciously, he’d developed a better impression of her. Although, that was only to be expected --- it was like how a dog would become more fond of someone if they fed it.

He looked at his mother, who sat there, flabbergasted. “Thank you mom, and thank you Ms. Squint. I really enjoyed it.” He said, feeling his lips curve into a genuine smile.

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