‘It can’t be true… NO, the truth will out – It was I’
They say nobody can describe the degenerate effects years of pain and humiliation can have on one’s mind. I say I can. My master was of the ancient house of Horatio and dispensing pain and humiliation was one of his daily chores. But of course I’m the one who does all the ‘chores’ and I’m the one that is beaten. I was late today, much too late with my master’s wine. I shudder to think what he will do to me now…
The boot marks would take a few days to go – I am used to humiliation, my master and I lived alone in the ancient Horatio castle – which was immense, immense and dark. The many spires of the castle generally contained torture chambers and the dungeons of the castle seemed to go on for ever. My father was buried there – buried due to an unecessary death since he had ‘upset’ my master. The many years of humiliation and pain borne by me seemed nothing compared to what was inflicted today – after my master pulled of his boots from my neck he kicked me out of the room and insisted I run around the castle within a set period of time. I should have known it could not be that simple. I ran – I ran very fast just to please my master but that was followed by him picking up the nearest knife and taking one of my toes – he disfigured my foot just in case I decided to ‘run’ away as fast as today. Humiliation, Pain – Revenge.
As I once again took a look at my ‘belongings’ I realised how little I actually had – I lived only because my master let me and I worked for master and I was supposed to die for master – NO! I should have known that he would try to kill me as soon as possible. My master was rumoured to be a sadist – he has been known to prey on the homeless in the villages and take them up to the torture chambers where he devised new ways to kill them. He has urges – he did. He had moments when he could not control himself and I was sent out to find the nearest homeless vagabond and offer him my masters ‘protection’ for the night – most of them obliged. The villagers knew this and even though they could not speak openly about it as my master owned all their land, it was I that was pelted with rocks whenever I was out looking for my masters next victim – Humiliation, it seemed to follow me everywhere – it stalks me- haunts me even taunts me.
Like a drunk moving with glee towards a drink my master welcomed his latest victims into his castle, and like a drunk who cannot stop at one drink my master could not stop at one victim…and was overjoyed when an entire vagabond family of 5 entered his castle just expecting a roof over their heads for the night. My master had dreams; he dreamt about death and how he brought it to innocent people. He dreamt of new ways, he cried out in happiness at night when another innocent’s life was taken away – it would be fine if it remained as dreams but that was not to be. My eyes fell on the new victims – a child of four was along with them holding on to his mother’s hand. The child looked at me with large trusting eyes – my master caught a glimpse of those eyes too. He shivered – shivered in anticipation, anticipating what he would do to those eyes. My mater had an entire range of knives and other torture equipment. I led the victims to their quarters and left them there. It again saddened me to see that they had better living conditions than I did… but that is what I lived for to suffer more and more humiliation.
‘Sirrah’ my master called – ‘Sirrah, get my wine’. I rushed up with his goblet that he always drank wine from before he slept – I knew I had to save these poor people, in an effort to save them I mixed a drug into my master’s wine, hoping he would sleep through his lust for blood. ‘Ah, thank you Sirrah – Do you not find it odd that I never see our guests ever leave the castle, it is almost like they mysteriously disappear by morning’. ‘Y…yes… m…master’ was the only reply I could fathom – was this another trick of his to make himself feel a saint, to get his mind and body ready for what he would do later that night – a justification for the pain he was about to impose…?
That night was nerve racking for me, how could I sleep when so many innocents were about to feed the hunger of a sadist. At length, I fell asleep. I was rudely awoken by the vagabond in the next room who insisted I was crying out almost happily while sleeping and that I was disturbing all the others. It was still really dark outside…at least I hoped my master was sound asleep.
I awoke sweating…much too sweaty for a cool winter’s night as it was. I made a dash to the room containing the vagabonds my master had so ‘kindly’ let in. They were gone…not a trace. I looked up to the heavens and prayed that they had survived the night. I made a dash up one of the castles towers, taking the steps 3 at a time. The torture chamber resided at the top – high enough that no sound of a person being led to death would ever land on the lower levels. The stairs were mossy and gloomy – the only light came from the tiny arrow slits that were helpful when the castle had been under siege many times in the past. I reached the door and pushed it open…what I saw next could have brought even the strongest of men down to their knees…
The entire family lay there dead…and it was not a quick one. I could see remains of intestines having been drawn out when with special tools that keeps a man alive during the gruesome process. I saw the iron nails that were forcibly used to pry out fingernails from already bleeding hands… and… the eyes… of the vagabond child, perfectly removed and left in a jar – preserved for ever. The eyes watched me, watched me with the same level of innocence as when I first saw them. And yet, a strange feeling kept tugging at my spirit… for some odd reason none of this seemed to shock me as much as it should…
I heard footsteps coming – it had to be master. My rage grew how a man could inflict so much pain on another. I resolved myself…I took a reassuring look at all the tools of death around me. I instinctly felt I would know how to use them when the time came. My master pushed open the large wooden door…’Sirrah’ he called into the darkness…
I threw open the windows to let the morning sun into the chamber, my master looked drowsy almost in a daze, the drug had worked…the drug had worked. I started to charge him… his clothes seemed remarkably clean. ‘SIRRAH!’ he cried. In an instant I bent down to retrieve a long gelding knife…and thats when I noticed it. My tunic was filled with spots of dried blood, browning blood, crusting blood. I stared into horror filled eyes of my master and it all hit me hard. The knife fell from my hand – it was I that discovered this chamber unknown to my master, it was I who dreamt and cried out sadistically at night, it was I … who expertly removed the eyes, I did not feel myself slump and fall into the bloody mess that was the floor but the last thought that hit my mind before it was overwhelmed – I am the murderer.
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