Evil Jester Digest, Vol.2

by Peter Giglio (Editor)

  A bolt of lightning flashed, and a crack of thunder sounded, and the Price’s laugh shattered.

  The woman rose, taller than Ruskin by a head. She spoke in voice that was deep in pitch and furious in tone.

  “Wicked man. Your heart is dead to the world and your capacity for affection is like a dried husk that was formed hollow and has since withered away. For your punishment, you will be as vile in appearance as that of your character; a man who appears as death—still alive—but rotting as a corpse that is suspended in decay.”

  More lighting and thunder besieged us, and the sorceress’ words wove throughout the fibers of the castle and all its inhabitants.

  “You will covet the flesh you no longer possess and will seek to satisfy that craving by ingesting the flesh of others,” she said.

  As the sorceress decreed, the Prince morphed before our very eyes into living death. His skin turned gray as ash and floated from his once-mighty chest like flakes of bloody snow. Bones pushed through flesh that became thin and translucent as gossamer. And the smell—mercy on us all—caused great retching malaise amongst us, his indentured staff.

  Though I bore no affection for my master, I was pained in horror for him. Regardless of his debased manner, he was not meant to suffer as such; touched by death, yet not fully taken.

  The sorceress was not completed in the words of her curse.

  “Serfs of this wicked man, pay heed. I cannot release you from your oath of servitude. In his undeath, as in his life, you will continue to attend your master. Since he now craves to devour flesh, I must enshroud you from his sight, so he does not consume you one-by-one.”

  I gasped and raised my hands to my mouth. Then I shrieked, for there were no hands before me. I felt normal as before, prior to her hex, but I was now invisible. I looked down at myself and saw only the cold slate I stood upon. The other servants cried as well in great clamor, so that we sounded as if ghosts haunting the castle foyer.

  Ruskin fell to his knees and moaned, his tongue no longer able to articulate words. All that emitted from him were broken bleats, presumably the plea of mercy he surely begged for. Except for the sorceress, he now appeared alone, and they stared into each other’s eyes.

  “And now, you will take the rose I offered,” she said. “For it contains your hope of deliverance. Within these pedals lie the essence of true love. You must find someone who will love you in your current state. Present them with this rose and, if they accept it with their heart and kiss you, the curse will be lifted. Until then, you will rot for your evil.”

  The sorceress turned and walked away into the forest, her long shadow flickering under bursts of lighting. Ruskin’s fingers were stiff and gnarled, and he could barely grasp the rose she had forced into his hands. His jaw dropped open to emit a long moan, and I saw inside his mouth. It appeared as a cavern of horrors, with teeth that skewed like crooked stalagmites, covered with brown sludge such as which forms along the edge of chamber pots. I wondered how anyone could ever feel love enough to kiss that. I felt we were doomed to remain in the perpetuity of the curse for all eternity.

  The Prince stumbled to his chambers. His gait slowed so he shuffled when he walked, like an old man, and he wept all the while.

  The other servants and I dispersed throughout the castle, occasionally bumping into each other. We each dealt with our grief in different ways. I stared for hours into a mirror that reflected back to me only the opposite side of the room. Some snuck ale and drank away their despair. Some cried until the following morning. One of the kitchen staff leapt to his death from the top of a spired parapet. In death, he remained invisible.

  It is the law and life for servants to care for their master regardless of circumstance. The oath is a solemn one and ingrained in our conscious that we are bound to his duty, to serve and to protect him. Only if our master threatens the life of another may we cause him harm, and only by his word, or his death, may we be released from subjugation.

  The next day the storm passed, and the sun dawned over timbered land. Though melancholy haunted my every thought, duty compelled me to engage in daily labor. I swept the halls and gathered flowers from the garden to place in the dining room. While outside, I saw the Prince’s rose gardens and shuddered.

  The other servants bustled about, minding their own obligations. Though not seen, I heard the crash of pans as the cooks baked bread. I saw the Prince’s silver lifted in the air and polished with utmost care. I heard the song of the laundrywomen as they cleaned and pressed our linen. Even in difficult circumstances, a semblance of normalcy returns quickly. It is a means of comfort to not dwell on terrible changes, but rather lose oneself in the mundane activities that make the days pass quickly.

  We did not forget, however, what the Price had become. The memory of him transforming to a beast of decay brands my mind with terror still to this day. Even so, the sight of him approaching from his quarters after the bell for breakfast caused such revulsion that my stomach cramped and I nearly disgorged its contents in heaving. I heard the exclamations and whispers and sounds of retching from others around me.

  His chair pulled out for him, and I knew Pieter was there; that was his duty. The Ruskin-beast sat, and beads of amber fluid leaked from his mouth to splatter on the great table. Moments later, gold platters arrived, bearing fruit and eggs and cream. The Prince stared at it all then bellowed. His cry sounded of confusion and of hunger, yet he knocked the trays away without so much as a taste of the food presented.

  I suddenly remembered.

  “Dear mercy,” I whispered. “It's flesh he wants. It’s as the sorceress commanded; he craves only flesh.”

  Gasps filled the room, but they knew I was right.

  We called out to the strongest of the servants, the stablemen and groundskeepers, and bade them new responsibilities. They agreed and, two hours later, returned with a wild hog hunted from the forest.

  The animal was laid on the dining table, seeping blood from spear wounds. Ruskin squealed in delight. The silverware, carefully polished and laid in arrangement, were brushed aside. He clutched as the hog’s carcass and bit down into its flank, so that sinew and muscles tore, snapping like the sound of cracking ice. If you have ever seen a feral dog tear into its kill, that is how Ruskin appeared as he burrowed his head into the creature, rending from side-to-side, while meat and fluids showered the floor.

  The Prince’s appetite was changed. No longer did the cooks vex over the temperature of soup or if bread was too soft or too hard. All that was needed to feed him was flesh... and well-fed we kept him. When the Prince became hungry, he began to tremble and his eyes dilated, and we knew the lust fell upon him. Being invisible kept us safe from his sight, but we knew not what would happen if he caught hold of someone while in his craving. Each day we brought him pheasants and squirrels and deer and other animals caught from the forest, and, in this way, he seemed content.

  We lived as such for many years. They were not then—unlike now—truly terrible times. The sorceress’ magical rose was placed in the palace vault for safekeeping, waiting for the day when Prince Ruskin might find true love. We became accustomed to him wandering the plush halls, moaning like a lost child, and we tended his affairs as customary. He was fed and entertained, and his clothes washed daily to scrub off the decay, the rot. We grew accustomed to being unseen, though a numb sense of futility shrouded our thoughts, just as our sight was shrouded from the world. I took Pieter, the valet, to my bed and found a semblance of meaning from his touch. Being invisible is not so terrible while in a lover's embrace.

  One stormy night, a visitor arrived at the main gate, just as the sorceress had so long before. Josef, the butler, opened the heavy oak door. To the visitor, it must have appeared as if the door opened by itself.

  There stood a young girl with frantic eyes and golden hair like spun straw. Her skin shone as porcelain, and I recognized her appearance as that of a debutante, though one who had not been cleaned or attended to in several weeks.
She wore a lavender dress and a man’s riding coat over that, both which were frayed and soiled from mud and elderberry thistles. Though her face bore fear and pain, I saw too the shadow of avarice when she first spied inside the castle’s great hall, filled with crystal and gold.

  She began to enter without invitation, when Josef's voice sounded. “Halt!”

  “Let her in,” I said. The Price, though still master of the palace, had long ago stopped issuing commands. “Haven’t we learned enough of the perils of inhospitality?”

  The girl gasped at our voices and turned quickly, looking for the source. “Why can't I see you?”

  “We are invisible,” I said. “Though otherwise, we are just as you.”

  She slowly stepped inside and gazed in wonder at the interior.

  “What is your name, dear?” I added.

  “Belle,” she replied. “I became lost in the woods, and the storm came. I was so cold but saw the lights of the castle.”

  A moan from the Prince’s chambers echoed through the great palace.

  Belle gasped. “What was that?”

  “That is our master. But fear not; we will keep him from you.”

  She looked again around the great hall. Lavish gold-framed paintings of the Prince and his parents adorned the walls, bordered by tapestries of royal silk.

  “Is your master a prince?”

  “He is a prince, though like none you have ever seen.”

  “I’ve seen many princes,” she snapped back, as if I dared questioned her refinement. “They are not so different from the beasts in the woods. They take what they want and then roar and cry when they don’t get their way.”

  If I was visible to Belle, she would have seen me smirk.

  “Well then,” I said. “A bit to eat perhaps?”

  She nodded, and I saw in her manner that she was accustomed to being served. I suddenly imagined her sneering at her own valets and waiting staff, finding flaws in their presentation or even grooming choices. The crook of a nose or style of hair might elicit a cruel derision, and at that moment I felt thankful I was invisible from her sight. Were all the youth of royalty raised in such an arrogant manner? Her character mirrored the Prince’s. Though I welcomed her in, I wondered how an aristocratic girl, brushing the edges of womanhood, could end up wandering lost in the forest.

  I took her hand and led her to the dining hall, announcing as I went to the others that we hosted a guest.

  I saw her admire the furnishings as we walked along: the cheval looking glass rimmed in rubies, the emerald sculptures, the scarlet rugs, the antiques collected from exotic lands.

  “Pieter,” I called out.

  “I’m here.”

  “Please have the kitchen prepare a meal for our guest; venison if we have any left, stew, peaches, wine.”

  We arrived at the dining table, and Belle startled, squeezing my hand tight. The table had not yet been cleaned since the Prince’s last meal. The carcass of a large mongoose lay across, savagely torn apart. Broken ribs stuck out from the chest at all angles, as if an explosion occurred from within. Drops of blood and bits of flesh splattered across the floor.

  “The master,” I said, “has eaten here last.”

  She shuddered.

  I continued. “Come. We will serve you in another room.”

  Over the following days, Belle remained, growing comfortable in the palace. The Prince maintained his regular routine of wandering the halls and dining when served. We kept Belle from his presence, for both their sakes. However, I knew the time would arrive that she would see him, and I feared for her sanity. I led her privately into the library to speak.

  “My Lady,” I said, as that was how she directed we now refer to her. “I’m pleased that we’ve been able to provide for you during your time of need.”

  “Yes, I find that it suits me here.”

  “However, surely, there are others that worry for your well-being. Perhaps the time has come for you to return to your own home.”

  She frowned and dark clouds seemed to pass across her blue eyes, as if a black tempest formed in the clear sky. “I no longer have a home.”

  “My Lady...was I misunderstood to believe that you are well-kept by your own people? I thought you were... a princess.”

  “It is true, I am, was, a princess. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be accustomed to only the finest luxuries of life. I was raised in privilege and expected to die in privilege. My parents were nobles, and, not so long ago, I was bequeathed to Prince Horace, who was fat and had warts upon his brow like a toad. But his coffers flowed with gold ingots and diamonds the size of cherries. I bought anything I desired, and I was happy. Love, after all, is only an idea, whereas riches are the tangible resources of life, the means to gain anything one desires—power, prestige, adoration.”

  As she spoke, her convictions perplexed me, but perhaps it was as she prefaced: I wouldn’t understand what it was like to be accustomed to the finest luxuries of life.

  She continued. “Horace was a stupid man with no fortitude. We consummated the marriage on our wedding night and I never let him touch me again. His palace was mine, and I ran it as such. Unbeknownst to me, however, his wealth was a fraud. He had engaged in bad business, investments, and squandered our fortunes. In only a year, we lost our rights to the very land that the peasants revolted against us from. Horace owed to other kingdoms and they came and took everything, including him. Horace was sent to debtor’s court and hanged. They came for me as well, but I escaped. I fled knowing that providence would aid me, for a true princess is not fated for squalor.”

  Unwittingly, Ruskin must have passed by the library as we spoke. He managed to stifle his customary moans and stood in the doorway listening to Belle’s tale. We both startled when he suddenly spoke.

  He spoke no words, of course, but the Prince’s voice rumbled in gargles and growls, and I imagined I comprehended what he tried to say. The intonation of his moans sounded of welcome, and the excitement that radiated from his yellowed eyes registered the lust of attraction.

  Belle, credit to her, did not shriek in horror at seeing the Prince, as I surely would have, should our circumstances been reversed. His blue-gray figure blocked the doorway, and his hands upraised, as if in greeting, to show gnarled, splayed fingers. I believe she suspected something of Ruskin’s condition from his daily moans and the raw carcasses left from meals, and she must have steeled herself for the expected meeting. Even so, her eyes gave her away; they betrayed fear and disgust. Quickly, she corrected herself and bowed to him.

  Invisible hands from passing servants quickly took hold of the Prince and moved him along, perhaps thinking he meant to attack her. He was led away, presumably to feed.

  "You spoke true," she whispered to me. "Your master is like none I have ever seen."

  Though she had discovered the castle’s secret, Belle remained. We could have removed her by force, but it was comforting to see another person, one who appeared as we once had. Her orders became increasingly more complex and arrogant, though there seemed no wish of hers that we had not previously fulfilled under Ruskin’s voice. She required to bathe in water that was heated and kept precisely at ninety degrees. She demanded we tailor custom gowns from the most supple of silk and lace. She adored the Prince’s roses and bid a fresh one be placed at her bedside each night.

  She also ordered us to wear chimes around our necks so that she was aware of our presence. Though I verbally complied, I wore my chime only occasionally. I preferred to watch her unknown. I dreamt I was Belle and began to emulate the way she dismissed us with her hand and the way she pursed her lips in the mirror. There were none who could see my behaviors, but it aided my fancies to pretend I was someone else, someone beautiful and entitled. Once, I spoke to Pieter as if I was her: What do you know of the ways of the world? You are but a sad boy locked away in servitude. Immediately I felt loathsome, as if a lake of slime formed within my soul and its ooze overflowed from the weight of those
words. I quickly apologized and thanked the Gods I was not born to nobility.

  The Prince began to follow after Belle, shuffling from room to room with the bleats of a lamb in pursuit of its mother. If he could not find her, he bellowed with a ferocious howl and bared his teeth so that we feared the outcome of his wrath. They started to dine together, facing one another across the long table. He would tear apart the killed animals we brought him and bay with joy as gore and innards dribbled from his mouth. It took only the sight of blood or the scent of a wound to bring upon the bloodlust that twisted his face into a mask of uncontrollable frenzy. Belle would watch, polite though visibly disgusted, as she nibbled at her own foods, fruits and cream and grains. After seeing Ruskin eat for the first time, she proclaimed vegetarianism. Belle knew, though she lived in the castle as if it were her own, she was still only a guest at Ruskin’s whim. Should the mood strike, he could have her dismissed, and so she treated him with all the distant affection and courtesy she could muster.

  Of course, the more attention she allowed the Prince, the more he expected from her. I spoke of this with the other invisibles and we wondered, what if... what if...

  I took it upon myself to tell Belle everything. The sorceress had never indicated rules of confidentiality so, one night wearing my chimes, I sat by the Princess at her bedside, bearing her nightly rose. I explained the curse, and I told her that only a kiss of love could return Ruskin to his rightful position as ruler of this land.

  “A kiss? That is all?” she asked. “And he will be a man again, as he looks in the paintings?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “But the kiss must be from the heart, it must be a kiss of true love.”

  “Of love,” she repeated. “I will think on that.”

  I bid her goodnight and went to look in on Ruskin.