The Master

The Master

I ran through the dim silent woods pounding my feet into the dead leaf covered earth as hard as I could. Somehow dodging tree trunks and low hanging branches in the near total darkness The sun had long since set, the moon was no where in sight and the stars were all bolted out by the think blanket of clouds. The occasional flash of lightning allowed me, for a brief moment at least, to chart my path through the sparse undergrowth. It hardly helped, but still I ran forward; guided mostly by instinct, simple hope, and fear. I didn't know where I was. I didn't know where I was going. I didn't know what I was running from, but I knew what ever it was, it wanted to hurt me.

More than a few clinging, twiggy branches tore at my clothes and skin as I ran. I pushed past them, I had no time for such small annoyances. They would either break and give way, or dig small bloody rivulets in my flesh. I remained on my feet and kept myself moving forward though. That is until I tripped on a protruding tree root, and stumbled head over heels down a long muddy slope. Quickly I regained my footing and resumed running. I couldn't stop. Not for unseen obstacles, not for cuts and bruises, not for anything.

Finally I came to the top of a round hill. Below me on the other side I saw the lighted windows of a two story house. Was this what I have been looking for? Practically leaping down the hillside, I made my way to the front door, and knocked furiously.

A second later the door opened. “Please come in,” the man behind the door said with a slight smile and a wave of his hand. Though I must have been a terrible sight showing up out of nowhere in the middle of a furious storm, the man didn't bat an eye. He was on the short side and a little soft around the middle, with thinning dark hair that was more than half way to gray. The fine black suit fit well on his upright and ridged frame. He stood chin out, expression not quite an expectant smile, but not indifferent either. I stepped past him into the house.

As soon as the door closed behind me the rapid pounding of my heart started to slow; my ragged breaths turned deep and long. Until finally the frantic fear I had felt a moment earlier, was but a passing nightmare, and now being made awake, it drifted away.

“Are you alright sir?” the man asked.

“I... something is chasing me,” I said.

The man locked the front door and placed the key in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He held his hands behind his back very straight, very proper. “Do not worry,” he said with a smile, “The Master is a very powerful man. He will not let anything, out there, harm you.”

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing, instead I looking around the room. There were closed doors to the right and left, and another in the back, by the stairs to the second floor. A long floral upholstered sofa laid against the back wall, there were two oak end tables, but no coffee table. The center of the room was empty, save for an old rug and all in all the large room felt rather empty.

“This isn't your place then?” I asked the man.

“No, I am the butler,” he said.

“Thank you for letting me in.”

“Of course.”

Several paintings hung on the walls. Here a dark forest with gnarled old trees, there a pastoral wedding scene. Above the sofa there was one of Prometheus chained to his rock, liver being pecked out by an eagle. The most prominent painting, displayed over the mantle, was a portrait of a woman. Her dark hair was long and straight. She wore a simple blue dress and sat by the garden in the sunlight. Her almost too real hazel eyes seemed to be looking at me, and her gentle smile drew me towards her.

I moved to stand in front of the painting, forgetting for a moment my aches and pains, my fearful chase, or that I was dripping fresh rain water onto the old throw rug.

“Who is she?” I said out loud.

“That is the Master's wife,” the Butler said. I hadn't expected the answer. I had somehow forgotten he was there. He came to stand next to me. “He adores her, and she him.”

I nodded and pulled my gaze off of the painting.

“Come, let's get you a change of clothes, and maybe a hot shower. Yes?”

I smiled, “Yes, that sounds nice. Thank you.”

The Butler took me to the first room at the top of the stairs. The steeps groaned and creaked beneath our feet as we ascended to the second floor. The hand rail was more than well worn, indeed, the more I looked around the more old and battered the house and all it's sparse furnishings looked. When we reached the room the Butler opened the door for me.

“There are towels in the bathroom,” he said, “I will bring you some clothes, and put them on the bed.”

“Thank you,” I said again.

With only a slight nod he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

A twin bed with an oak headboard occupied the middle of the room. There was also a matching dresser, night stand, wardrobe and a small desk with a wooden chair. Along the left wall was an open door with the lights. I went trough to the and found a room with a plain blue shower curtain and a thick shaggy throw rug of a matching color. There was a small oval mirror above the sink, and clean off white towels on the towel rack. There were no personal affects in either room, as far as I could tell.

After closing and locking the door behind me, I took off my rain soaked clothes, folded them neatly on the counter, then got into the shower. Until the hot water hit my skin, I had not realized how deeply the rain and cold night air had frozen my body. Was there even a drop of warm blood left in my veins? Or was I nothing but a cold spent corpse? I certainly felt more the latter, but the water was hot on my skin, and if I closed my eyes I could still hear the steady beat of my heart; there was life in me yet. For a long while I stood under the hot shower, letting it's warmth soak into me. Who knows how long I would have stayed there, but I was disturbed by a noise, a soft, barely audible click. I would have ignored it completely, but it sounded so much like the opening of a door, that I couldn’t help but take notice. Then again, I had locked the door hadn’t I? Uncertain, I called out to see if anyone was there. There was no reply. Drawing the curtain aside I looked toward the door, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Quickly I finished washing and stepped out of the shower. The blue rug was soft on my weary feet, I realized with some chagrin that the little comforts of a hot shower and a soft carpet were making me more and more aware of my aches and pains. I was very tiered, and very sore. Slowly I moved to get a towel from the rack, but a sharp stab into the bottom of my foot made me yelp in pain. Hopping on my right foot, I held my left in the air, a steady stream of blood drip onto fluffy blue rug. I could not keep my balance and I feel with my back against the wall. Luckily from there I could reach the towel rack, so I pulled one down to cover myself, and another to wrap my weeping wound.

A jagged piece of glass was buried about a half an inch into the arch of my foot. With a quick tug I pulled the glass out, causing a spurt of blood to shoot onto the floor. I wrapped my foot with the towel as fast as I could.

There was a knock at the door. “Are you alright?” the Butler asked. “I heard a noise.”

“I cut my foot,” I called back through the closed door.

“Oh dear, I will get help.”

I managed to pull myself out of the bathroom and to the bed. The Butler had laid out a pair of black pants and a white shirt. Not wanting to stay nude, I put them on before he came back.

He returned a moment later followed by a pale young lady, with a short bob hair cut and a simple gray dress covering her whip thin body.

The Butler smiled, “Clothes fit alright?” I nodded yes. “Good,” he turned to the lady behind him and asked, “The first aid kit?” She held it up and the Butler nodded. “She will clean and bandage the wound. I am very sorry about this. A mirror broke in there the other day. I thought we got all the glass cleaned up but...”

“It's alright. It was just an accident,” I said.

He smiled again. “I will go check on dinner,” then to the young lady, “Bring him down when you are done.” She nodded but pallid oval shaped face showed no expression.

The Butler left and the young lady sat down on the bed next to me.

She opened her first aid kit, patted her knee and said, “Let me see your foot.”

I adjusted my position so I could place my injured foot in her lap. As she unwrapped the towel I had used to staunch the blood I asked, “Are you a nurse?”

“No. I am the maid.” She replied without looking at me or changing the look on her face. “But don't worry, I know a little first aid.”

More than a little it seemed to me, as she cleaned the wound confidently and with no hint of squeamishness.

I leaned back against the headboard, as the built up fatigue overtook me. I couldn't help myself, I let my eyes close and almost nodded off, but a biting pain shot up my leg jerking me awake. For a brief second as my eyes opened again, I though I saw the traces of a smile on the Maid's lips.

“I'm sorry,” she said, face blank as before. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said. She went back to work bandaging and wrapping my foot, leaving me to wonder if the smile I saw was just a dream.

The Maid finished in short order. “You shouldn't wear shoes for a while if you can help it. You don't want it to get infected,” she said as she packed up her first aid kit.

I nodded and tried to stand up. She had placed a layer of thick soft gauze over the wound, which was held in place by a bandage wrapped around my foot. It made walking possible, if not comfortable. Probably the best I could expect.

“Thanks,” I smiled at the Maid. “Do you have any pain killers?”

She didn't smile back. “That is not something we have in this house. Come on, I'll show you to the dinning room.”

The Maid lead me down the stairs and to the dinning room across the main hall. Traversing the stairs was no easy task with my injury. I had to keep a tight grip on the well warn hand rail and lower myself a step at a time down the creaky stairs. The Maid waited for me patiently, but did not offer any help. Once I had cleared the last step, the Maid moved to the dinning room door, and held it open for me. I went to the first chair I saw and sat down, my foot was throbbing and bleeding again and I just wanted to get my weight off of it.

The Butler was already sitting, elbows on the table with his fingers laced an inch or so from his mouth. Seated across from him was a tall barrel chested man with a thick brow and equally intimidating scowl. His white apron gave away his profession.

“Good to see you moving so well,” the Butler smiled. Then to the other man he said, “Will you bring our guest something to eat?”

The man grunted a monosyllabic yes, stood up and moved briskly to the kitchen. He returned just as quickly and placed in front of me a steaming bowl of soup.

“Thank you, it looks delicious,” I said.

The Chef bowed his head curtly in my direction, then sat down again.

The soup had a thick fragrant broth, and vegetables that were cut to just the right size. Not so large as to be hard to eat, but still large enough to give the meal that good hearty feeling. I leaned forward and breathed in deeply, taking in the warmth as much as the scent of the food. At first it made my mouth water, but before I could even get the spoon in my hand a second feeling washed over, one of intense nausea. It was an inexplicable, instinctive reaction; like recoiling from a snake you find suddenly under foot.

“No one else is eating?” I asked, forcing a smile toward the Butler.

“We have already eaten Sir,” he explained.

“Ah I see,” I took the spoon and slowly stirred the soup thinking again how appetizing it looked, but as before the scent of it filled me with an odd revulsion. “Will the… Master be joining us?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not. The Master is very busy with his research,” the Butler said with a slow smile and shake of his head.

“What does he do?” I asked more out of the desire to have something to talk about than genuine curiosity.

“He is a scholar of the occult arts,” the Butler replied.

“He is the chef of Escudo,” the Maid said, her voice startling me as I had not realized that she was standing directly behind me.

“He is the keeper of the Fourth Gate,” the Chef spoke with a deep accented voice.

“He is a very powerful man,” the Butler concluded.

All three of them were looking at me intently now. Beads of cold sweet formed on my brow. “I don’t know what any of that means.” I forced a polite smile.

“It is no matter,” The Butler said leaning forward. He reached his hand out toward my arm, almost, but not quite touching it, then withdrew back. “Is the food not to your liking?”

I looked down at the soup feeling a mix of hunger and sickness. “I’m sorry. My stomach just doesn’t feel right.”

The Chef grunted but the Butler nodded amicably. “It is still storming. Please stay the night. Hopefully it will all clear up in the morning.”

I thanked him and we said our good-nights. The maid walked me back to the guest room, offering no more help than she had during my first trip down the stairs. Going up wasn’t any easier on my lame foot, and more than once I felt uncertain about the integrity of the rickety handrail. In the end it held my weight well enough and I reached the second floor gritting my teeth from pain, but otherwise no worse for wear.

Once inside the room, I closed and locked the door. So exhausted I was that I didn’t even bother changing my clothes. After turning out the light I climbed into bed and instantly fell into sleep.




I opened my eyes but I did not, no could not, make myself move. It wasn’t simple fatigue from a hard day, or weariness from a fitful night that made getting out of bed so difficult. Even though the day before had been my worst day. The shock, the worry, the fear, the pain of it would stay with me, always. After such a day of course sleep would not come, and in some ways I did not wish it to. But no, it was no mere exhaustion that kept me moored to my spot in bed, it was the warmth of her lithe body next to mine; the scent of ebony hair and the feel of silken skin; the gentle rise and fall of her breath. These were the things I could not bear to leave. How could I exist without her by my side? More than anything the weight of that question immobilized me.

She turned in my arms so she could face me, but I did not release; I held her fast as I always would. “Shouldn’t we get up soon?” My Love asked, her voice a soft whisper on my cheek.

“You need to rest,” I replied.

That made her chuckle lightly and she said, “It’s not all that bad… not yet at least.”

I nodded and forced a smile. “Still, you should rest when you can.”

“Nonsense,” My Love moved to lay on her back, “Besides the world doesn’t stop just for me.”

“Oh, but it should,” I said.

“It doesn’t,” she insisted.

I sat up and leaned over her, an unforced smile on my lips now, “Then I will make it stop for you,” I said.

She laughed her eyes sparkling, making me feel like yesterday was just a bad dream, but in my heart I knew that it wasn’t. “That’s more like you,” she said, “Enough of the mopping around.”

I rolled over onto my back as My Love got out of the bed and got dressed.

She was right. If I were crushed now, what good would I be? What could I do for her then? It wasn’t time for sorrow, it was time for action. And if my action failed...there was time enough to be crushed after… NO! I would not fail. Even if no one else could see a way, I would find it. Who besides me could? In some ways wasn’t this the kind of situation that a man of my singular… talents was best suited to handle? More so than any doctor or simple healer? An idea had been forming in my mind, one I stumbled upon once long ago and dismissed as too dangerous, too extreme, but now… now it was different. Why was I hesitating? The stakes weren’t the same any more. We belonged together, My Love and I, and I would not let anything tear us apart. No matter what the cost.





A surge of emotion filled me as my eyes opened and I awoke from a strange dream. I laid perfectly still though. Some unformed instinct at the back of my mind cautioned me not to move. I had the distinct feeling that I was being watched, and although the room had been dark when I had laid down, there was now a soft light coming in from the hallway. The almost imperceptible creak of the floor boards next to the bed confirmed my suspicions. I closed my eyes, save for a slight sliver through which to peak, and did my best to pretend to be asleep. Whoever it was by my bed side did not seem to notice. All of my will was focused on keeping perfectly still, and all on my senses strained to determine what my visitor would do.

The person pulled back the covers, and I took action.

Sitting up quickly I grabbed the visitor’s arm. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

The Maid looked back at me with wide eyes, but otherwise her expression was the same flat look she had put on since I had first meet her. Twisting she pulled her arm out of my grip, then stabbed at me. I managed to grab her arm again and pulled her to the side knocking her off balance. Something fell to the floor but I could not tell what it was.

I got to my feet, forgetting for a moment the puncture wound on the sole of my foot, and wincing in pain as it hit the floor. The Maid used the opportunity to again squirm from my grip. This time she leaped onto my back and wrapped her arms around my throat choking me with her slender wrists. I tried to keep my chin down, but the little bony limbs worked their way in regardless. I was still bigger and stronger than her though, and that counted for something. Grabbing the Maid’s arm with both hands I spun and pulled as hard as I could dislodging her from my back and depositing her on the floor. The Maid was unfazed though and grabbed what ever it was she had dropped earlier and got to her feet. She stabbed at me again, this time I saw the glint of metal in the feint light. I dodged her strike and balanced on my good leg. That left her an opening. I let out a scream as she stomped down on my injured foot. The wound burst open and blood soaked the bandage the Maid had so carefully wrapped not long before. I couldn’t worry about that though. The Maid tackled me to the floor and swung the blade horizontally stabbing it deep into my left shoulder. For some reason the wide euphoric smile her face infuriated me. I bucked and rolled her over. With both hands I grabbed her by the throat, and squeezed. Frantically she clawed at my arms digging out deep red ribbons of flesh. After a while the clawing slowed and her arms dropped still by her sides, but the smile didn’t dropped from her lips.

Realizing what I had done I released her and leaned down to check her breathing. In that instant the Maid lurched up, hitting me in the face with her forehead. She grabbed the knife that was still embedded into my shoulder and twisted it out. With another scream I forced her down with all of my weight. Her head hit the floor with an audible crack, knocking her unconscious.

I wasn’t sure what to do with her, so I put her into the empty wardrobe and tied the door handles with the end of the bed sheet. Using the knife I cut a strip of cloth from the pillow case and tied it around the wound on my left shoulder. It didn’t do much to stop the bleeding, but it was better than nothing.

I limped out into the hallway, and looked around. There was no one there. No Butler, no Chef, no Master, no one. I thought for sure that someone would have heard the commotion, and come running, but the house was quite and still. A quick glanced down the stairs revealed nothing but darkness, so I decided to explore the top floor instead. Peering around the corner of the hallway I could see two closed doors. One at the far end, and another about halfway between that and where I stood. I walked with a shambling sliding gait, partly for silence and partly to minimize the pain in my foot. I was only marginally successful on both counts.

The nearest door was unlocked. The long slow creak of the hinges set my teeth on edge, but I dared not force the door any faster least it make a far louder noise. After a moment of nothing happening I entered the dark room.

The air smelled of mold and dust. There was enough light from the hallway for me to find a desk lamp on a reading table which occupied the center of the room, and turn it on. Shelf after shelf of old books filled the rest of the room. There was a disorderly stack of four books at the center of the table, and one lone leather bound journal in front of the worn oak chair.

The journal was open; the writing messy, but legible. Not wanting to sit down, due to the vulnerable position it would but me it, I instead put my hands on the table and leaned over the book to read it.

“I need more power. The Gates are closed and despite what these gurus and shamans may say I can not open them so easily. Not in the way I need, at least not in time. However, I think there is a way. One of my brethren in Escudo has uncovered what he calls a Gate Stone. He believes it to be an artifact capable of enhancing ones magic power, but what if it were no mere stone, but a key? If the power I have now is but a drip through the cracks, what will happen when the door is flung wide? I do not relish what I will have to do to get that stone in my hands. I must get it though.”

It made no sense to me. I flipped through several more pages not sure what I might find, but a page with particularly frantic writing caught my eye and I stopped to read.

“The Fourth Gate. Why did it have to be the Fourth Gate? I would have preferred any other, save one. The stone must be feed according to it’s affinity, otherwise I cannot unlock the Gate. This is the most straightforward, but most terrible of all outcomes. Should I stop now? I can not bear to think about what will happen if I do. No matter what I will see this through to the end. I must. But she cannot know. I will become a devil. I will became any sort of wretched disgusting thing, but I will not let her be burdened by this knowledge, or tainted by my actions. I will bear these sins for her. I will do anything for her. I will do this.”

I felt a hand on my shoulder and spun around knocking it away.

“What are you doing here?” The Butler asked, “You should not be in here.” The politeness in his speech form earlier was gone and his words were low and forced.

“What is going on here? I asked.

The Butler smiled. “If you want to know, I will… show you.” The Butler stepped closer to me, almost in arms reach.

“Never mind.” I brandished the knife before me as I spoke. “Just let me out of here.”

The Butler shook his head slowly and took another stepped toward me. “I’m afraid I am not able to do that.”

He was close. So close. Too close. I slashed at him with the knife forcing him to jump back. Before I could bring the blade back up to protect myself he was on me, pushing me back into the table. I grappled with him ineffectually; the wounds on my shoulder and foot hindering me. The Butler grabbed me by the shirt and threw me toward the door. I stumbled and fell through the doorway, the knife skidding across the hall. I stretched out my left hand to reach it, but as my fingers touched the hilt the Chef’s dark black boot stomped down, crunching my hand beneath it. I tried to stand but I was pushed down from behind. Someone grabbed my hair and slammed my head into the floor until I lost consciousness.

There was the sticky feeling of blood on my face as I opened my eyes. I tried to sit up, but found my arms and legs restrained by thick leather straps. It was cold with a dampness in the air, and aside from the dim light that hung over head, it was complete darkness. I opened my lips to speak and tasted blood as the small cuts inside my mouth broke open. Then I thought better of it. No need to let them know I was awake. One by one I tested my bonds, but I found no weakness. All of them were uncomfortably tight, but the one on the left wrist even more so. I could hardly move my fingers so stiff and swollen my hand was from the Chef’s generous application of his boot heel. When I pulled against the restraint it sent such a burst of pain through me that I let out an unexpected yelp.

A moment later a door opened. The light poured down on me form above and to the left, so bright it hurt my eyes. I heard the sound of someone walking down creaky wooden stairs.

“I see you are awake.” The Butler said as he sat down in a stool next to me. He nonchalantly took out a cigarette and lit it.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my throat was so very dry.

“Why?” he parroted me, “You read the Masters notes yes?”

I shook my head weakly, “But I don’t understand.”

He took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke out through his nose. “The Master’s wife became very sick. The doctors could not save her. But the Master is no ordinary man, he is an adept of the occult. There are paths open to him that others cannot walk. He vowed to do anything necessary to make sure she lived.”

“All that stuff about a stone and gates?” I asked , “I still don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

“Yes,” the Butler smiled slowly, “All that stuff.” He took a deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly; holding the butt between his thumb and forefinger, examining the bright red ember in the faint light. Then he extinguished the cigarette on the side of my neck. “You see each Stone is aligned with one of the Eight Gates, through which all mystical power flows into this world.” The Butler said after my scream had stopped. “Each Gate,” he continued, “is aligned with a different aspect. The Master’s stone is for the Fourth Gate.” He walked around me as he spoke, and I could no longer see him. There was the squeak of metal wheels as the Butler appeared again pulling a small table behind him. I couldn’t see what was on it, but the sound of the wheels made me shiver. “In order to save the Mistress, we must increase the power of the Stone. For the Stone’s power to increase, it must be,” he paused and his lips spread wide across his teeth,”feed.” The Butler sat down on the stool and leaned close to me. “I see the question in you eyes. That you do not want to ask. Yes?”

I didn’t say anything.

The Butler took from his pocket a pair of latex gloves and pulled them on. “It is unfortunate, very unfortunate. The aspect of the Forth Gate, is pain. So I will be feeding it your pain.” He picked something up off of the table and looked at me for a long moment. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”

I don’t know exactly what was done to me. After a while it became a blur of screams, the smell of blood and burns, and pain. Pain like I had never known. I don’t know how long it went on, but he didn’t stop until I finally passed out.

I sat at my desk staring down at the blank pages in front of me. My eyes burned, and the built up fatigue was making me ill, but I could not rest yet. There just wasn’t time. No matter how many times I went over my notes I could not find a solution. There was no way I could obtain enough power to save My Love. Turning back death was no simple task; still with enough power it was possible. If I could open the Forth Gate it would be easily within my grasp, but no matter how much the stone is feed, the Gate will not open. The stone responds to pain, and it responds in proportion. The greater the pain the greater the power, but that power is not stored as I had originally hoped. It quickly starts to dissipate once the feeding has stopped. No, a slow constant pressure will not open the Gate. I needed a big push.

I was contemplating that big push when I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. I looked up to see My Love’s beautiful smile shinning down on me.

“Must you keep working?” She asked in a quiet voice.

I reached up and took her hand. She had become so thin, and her once rosy completion had become that of the waning moon. “I’m afraid I must. I don’t have much time.”

My Love shook her head slowly. “No my dear,” she said, “I am the one that doesn’t have much time. What time I do have I want to spend with you though. It saddens me to think you don’t want to spend it with me.”

“No. No.” I stood up and took her by her shoulders; so weak and frail in my hands now. “I do not want our time to end; that is all. I will not let it end.”

She looked away from me. “Not that again.”

“I am close.” I said. “So very close.”

“Then let me help you,” she said, turning her eyes back to me. “Then at least we can be together.”

“Absolutely not.” This time I turned away.

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons.” I sat back down at my desk and started looking through my notes again. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I suppose so.” My Love whispered as she left the room, closing the door behind her. I continued my work for several minutes but was soon disturbed by a commotion down stairs. At first it was only loud voices, so I ignored it, but it wasn’t long before it escalated into shouting. I opened the door to my study and walked out into the hallway. The shouting seemed quieter now, but it was still there. By the time I got to the stairs there was no shouting at all, but the Maid looked up at me wide eyed form the bottom of the steps.

“You better go to the kitchen,” she said. My heart leaped to my throat as I leaped down the steps, past the Maid, through the dinning room and into the kitchen.

The Butler was there, pale and fidgeting. “I tried to stop her,” he said “but she was determined. What could I do?”

I looked in horror at the open door to the basement. Normally I had always kept it locked, but with My Love mostly bed ridden I had gotten careless.

Before I could even take a step I heard her feet on the stair steps. One by one, slowing climbing. By the time she reached the top her face was red and her breath ragged. Still when she saw me she rushed at me.

“What have you done?” she yelled, grabbing the front of my shirt and pulling me forward, only to stumble and fall into me. Quickly she pushed herself away.

“I did this for us.” I said, “So we could always be together. I did this for you.”

“For me?” She placed a hand on the side of her face and cast her eyes around the room. “This is what you have because because of me?”

“It will end soon. Very soon. I am so close. Then we’ll be together and everything will be alright.” I moved past her and closed the basement door.

She did not respond. She moved slowly out of the room without a word.





When I opened my eyes I was alone again. It seemed my captors were not interested in monitoring me while I slept. That was something at least. But I was awake now, and they would no doubt return. Then the pain would start again. I tested my bonds again, careful to make no noise. My legs were more than secure, and my right arm was tied so tight it was almost painful, but my left arm was loose. Not much, but enough to give me hope. Just before I was tied down the Chef had stomped on my left hand. Maybe the swelling had gone down, giving me extra room? Maybe the Butler had been careless? It didn’t matter, this was my only chance. My arms were lashed to the table down by my sides so I didn’t have much leverage, and I was weak from pain and lack of nourishment. Still I pulled with all my might. The pain that shot up my arm was incredible. I could move my fingers, but not my thumb. It must have been injured by the Chef’s boot heel. That was a good thing. I ignored the pain, more was going to come anyway, and yanked on my arm again, the pain was even worse now; and again, the bonds cut and torn my skin, I could feel the blood pooling beneath my hand; and again I pulled. Finally my thumb gave way and my mangled hand was free.

I shook uncontrollably, and retched. I had nothing in my stomach, no food or even water, so I grit my teeth and muffled the sound against my shoulder as best I could. If they came back now it was all over. My thumb was useless, but my fingers, though they quivered badly, with enough focus still obeyed me. The table the Butler had wheeled over was still near by. I reached out and my fingers touched the handle of some unknown tool of torture. I only prayed that whatever it was it could cut my remaining bonds. Pinching the handle between two fingers I slid it toward me. In my haste I did not notice the tray that all of the Butler’s tools sat on was sliding towards me as well, closer and closer to the edge of the cart. The tray, and all the tools fell to the ground with a defining crash, all of the tools that is. but one. Still pinched between my two fingers I brought the mysterious tool into view. It was a knife! I could not hold it with my destroyed left hand, but placed it as best I could against the bond on my right hand, then used my useless appendage, and moved my body in anyway I could to push the blade against the thick leather strap that help me down. The knife was razor sharp and more than once cut slivers of flesh from my hand and arm, but I didn’t care, I kept going until I was free. I could hear the door at the top of the stairs opening and the sound of hurried feet on wooden steeps. Taking the knife in my right hand I quickly slashed my legs free. Vertigo hit me as I got to my feet, but there was no time from that. The Butler was at the bottom of the stairs now. My head long charge surprised him. He could not dodge, confined as he was at the bottom of the steeps. The knife sunk deep into his chest. He tried to scream, I think, but no sound came out. My momentum pushed him back, and he fell onto the stairs, me on top of him, letting my weight drive the blade further in. I stayed their until he no longer moved.

I pulled myself to my feet, dislodged the knife from his chest and climbed over the Butler to the top of the stairs. I was in the kitchen, and I was not alone. The Chef scowled as he looked at me. I was too weak to think, so I just acted. I rushed again stabbing at the Chef, but there was plenty of room in the kitchen for him to dodge, and dodge he did. Grabbing the back of my neck he spun me around and tossed me head first across the room. There was a loud crack as I hit the stove, maybe it was door cracking, maybe it was my head. It certainly felt like the later. The room was spinning; blood dripped over my right eye and I had dropped the knife. I was groggily looking at the floor hoping I might find my lost blade, when the large rough hands of the Chef grabbed me and lifted me up. Without thinking I reached out groping for anything I could find, anything I could use to defend myself. My fingers curled on the handle of a cast iron skillet. I struck and hit the Chef in the face. The frying pan broke his orbital bone, and he screamed as his eye popped out of it’s socket. I couldn’t afford to feel sorry for him, so I struck again this time knocking him into unconsciousness or dead I couldn't be sure. I dropped the pan and picked up the knife.

There was still one left.

The Master.

He was the one in charge here, and he was going to pay. I moved out of the kitchen, through the dinning room and into the main hall. Pausing only to look at the portrait of the Master’s wife. Her hazel eyes seemed to pity me now. All the pain, fatigue, and loss of blood hit me, and I slipped several times as I ascended to the second floor. No one came to stop me, so I continued slowly on, my bloody hand desperately clutching at the rail; my many wounds leaving a dark trail behind me. Finally I came to the closed door at the end of the hall. It was unlocked; dark and dusty inside. I entered and approached the high backed chair beside the bed. It’s back was to me, but I felt as if someone was there.

“Are you the Master?” I said trying to spit some bile into the word, but too weak for even that now.

There was no answer.

“Are you?” Again no answer. Slowly I moved to the other side of the chair. There was someone in it alright. She was wearing a faded blue dress, her hair was long and black, and she very, very much dead. Hardly more than bones now. Dark stains of blood covered her dress, the chair, and even the floor beneath her. She had died there, and not moved since. There was no one else in the room, so I sat down on the bed. On the night stand there was a reading lamp and a small leather bound journal. I turned on the lamp and opened the journal.

“My Love has died. Seeing what I had become she decided she would rather take her own life, than live out the rest of it with me. What I had done for her, tormented her, and when her torment had ended, mine began. Whether it was from the wailing of her own heart or my own, I do not know. Either way, the Forth Gate was pushed open. Finally I had the power needed to save My Love, but she was gone. Stave off death, I could have done, but bringing her back was beyond me. Would she have accepted me even if I had? At that moment, when the power of the Gate Stone was at it’s height, it granted my wish. My wish to be punished.

All of the pain I have wrought will be returned to me, until I have paid my due. That day may never come.

That is up to you. For you are the Master. You do not remember of course. For if you remembered you would would accept your pain, even rejoice in it. Which is not true pain. That is not enough for you. Do not worry. Only you suffer here. Everything else is just a phantom, just a dream within the Gate Stone. I do not know how long you have been her, or how much you have suffered. Likely neither do you.

If you exit out the back door you will forget this house and everything that happened here. Your wounds will be healed, and you will find this place again. Your physical punishment will continue.

If you exit out of the front door you will remember yourself; you will be free again and your punishment in this house will end.

I must go now, to make my choice before my memory fades. Good bye.”

I remembered. And that memory tore at me with more anguish that any bodily wound. A world of corporeal pain, or a life with a soul shred asunder? I placed the journal back on to the night stand. For a long while I sat in the room My Love and I had shared, on the bed we had slept in together, and thought. I thought about My Love and the time I stole from her, the happiness that should have been hers at the end of her days, my arrogant pursuits, and the pain I caused for my own selfish aims. It took me a long time to decide which exit to take.

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